Travel

Max Shykler
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

I've met Max Shykler several times. He is a short, thin man with thick gray hair. He is astonishingly vivid considering he is 83 years old. I visited Chernovtsy in summer, and Max spent a few hours a day in the mountains and woods. He has always liked hiking and walks 20 kilometers every day. Many people in town know him. Since the early 1950s he has been chairman of the hikers' club in Chernovtsy. He took schoolchildren on hiking tours in Bukovina. Now their grandchildren go hiking with him. Max is a very intelligent and smart man. There is one thing he told me, and that is that he 'erases' unnecessary information from his memory to keep it perceptive for anything new. He remembers very few names. There are gaps in his life- story due to that. He took me on a very interesting tour of the town. He knows every building in Chernovtsy and its history. He is a very interesting storyteller.

My father's parents lived in the town of Putila in Chernovtsy province, about 35-40 kilometers from Chernovtsy. Putila is located on the foothills of the mountains and surrounded by woods. Bukovina belonged to the Austro- Hungarian Monarchy until 1918, then it became part of Romania. There were many Jews in this town. They got along well with the Ukrainian and Romanian population. Jews were involved in all kinds of activities in Putila. Besides being involved in traditional trades they were farmers, timber dealers and even woodcutters.

Jews evacuated from Putila during World War I. There were Kazak units deployed in Putila. Kazaks used to drink a lot and behaved nastily towards Jews. There were pogroms 1, burglaries, rape and murder almost every day. Every now and then they would kill a whole family including older people and children. The local Jews evacuated to the Czech Republic and Austria. Germans behaved properly and were friendly in Bukovina. When the war was over the Jews returned from evacuation. This positive experience with the Germans had its negative impact during World War II when Jews believed they had to beware of the Russians rather than the Germans. They paid a bitter price for their trustfulness.

My grandfather on my father's side, Meyer Shykler, was born in Putila in the 1850s. I didn't know my grandfather. My father told me about him. I was named after my grandfather Meyer. He inherited plots of land covered with woods and was involved in cattle breeding. They bred cattle for sale. Timber dealers were considerate about their successors. Each timber dealer understood that his children and grandchildren would have to work for a more farsighted employer. Timber dealers were very careful about cutting wood. They always planted 2 or 3 young trees in return for one that they cut in their woods, so that their children could cut those and plant new ones for their grandchildren. That was how it worked. The woods were growing and generations were changing, and everyone had enough space for living: Jews and non-Jews.

I don't remember my grandmother's first name. I only know that it started with an M. My sister Milia was named after my grandmother. I believe my grandmother was the same age as my grandfather. She was a housewife. Putila was a patriarchal town. Women didn't work there. Married Jewish women could only be housewives.

My grandfather's family was wealthy. They had a house, owned woods and bred cattle. They had many children, but I don't remember anything about them. My father, Shai Shykler, was born in 1894.

My father's parents were religious. At that time religiosity was a common rule. On Saturdays and holidays they went to the synagogue to pray. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. All Jewish boys studied at cheder. My father and his brothers went to cheder. After finishing cheder my father and his brothers studied at the Jewish lower secondary school for 7 years. Girls were taught at home as a rule. It was more important for a girl to become a good housewife and mother to her children. The girls helped their mother about the house and looked after their younger sisters and brothers. The boys helped their father. My father's family spoke Yiddish like all other Jewish families. They spoke German and Russian with their neighbors. Most of the Ukrainians spoke fluent Yiddish. My grandfather died in 1915 and my grandmother in 1919.

The family of my mother, Leya Shykler [nee Kronefeld] lived in Vizhnitsa. Vizhnitsa was a small town on the bank of the Prut River, 50 kilometers from Chernovtsy. The Prut is a mountainous river with a strong current. Vizhnitsa was a town of woodcutters. They cut wood on the foothills of the mountains, tied it in rafts and floated logs down the river to Vizhnitsa. The whole population was involved in the timber business in one way or another. There were sawmills, drying facilities and storage facilities. Merchants and experts came to Vizhnitsa to purchase timber from the storage facilities. The timber floaters were Ukrainians, and Jews and Romanians were involved in all the other working processes. Jews were the best timber specialists. My grandfather Kronefeld was a timber expert, too. He was away on business very often, but his work paid well. My grandmother was a housewife. They were a wealthy family.

I don't remember the first names of my mother's parents. They had 14 children. My mother was born in 1897. Some of the children died in infancy. I knew a few of my mother's brothers and sisters. I remember that one of my mother's brothers lived in Vizhnitsa and owned a store. My mother's younger brother lived in Putila. He was a cattle breeder. He had six children.

It goes without saying that my grandparents' family was religious. They lived a traditional Jewish life. Perhaps, not all of them were fanatic believers, but going to the synagogue on holidays and Sabbath was mandatory. Their children grew up religious. My mother brought into our family what she had been used to since her childhood. All children in the family got religious education. The boys went to cheder and the girls were educated at home. Besides, all their children finished the Jewish lower secondary school in Vizhnitsa.

My grandfather Kronefeld died in 1927 and my grandmother in 1930. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Vizhnitsa.

I don't know how my parents met. I believe they must have been introduced to one another by a shadkhan, which was a traditional way of arranging marriages at the time. They had a traditional Jewish wedding in my mother's hometown. I know that my parents got married before 1918. There was a rabbi at the wedding, and the bride and bridegroom stood under the chuppah. The newly-weds moved to Putila and had another wedding party. I have seen a traditional Jewish wedding in Bukovina. There were Jewish weddings even after the war. Many Jews only had a religious wedding and didn't have any civil ceremonies

I saw many wedding ceremonies and parties before 1939. There were Jewish weddings even after the war. Many Jews only had a religious wedding and no civil ceremony. I have seen a traditional Jewish wedding in Bukovina. There was a chuppah installed in an elevated area. It was a crimson brocade chuppah held by four poles. Lions, flowers and Stars of David were woven on the brocade. There was a fringe with tassels on the sides. The bride and bridegroom The bride and bridegroom were standing underneath the chuppah during the wedding ceremony. The bridegroom was escorted to the chuppah by the two fathers, and the bride was brought in there by the two mothers. The rabbi said his blessings, they exchanged the rings and drank a glass of red wine. Then they wrapped the wine glass in a tissue with embroidered quotations from the Torah on it, threw it on the floor and the bridegroom stepped on it. The wine glass was supposed to break. I know that it symbolized the destruction of the Jerusalem temple that one always had to remember. This was the end of the ritual and then the actual party began.

Klezmer musicians played at the wedding. There was traditional food at a wedding: chicken, stuffed fish, stuffed chicken necks and pitcha - a spicy chicken neck and giblet snack with garlic and vinegar. There was a great deal of pastries. There were sponge cakes and strudels with jam, raisins and nuts. Maina had a meat stuffing and was served with clear chicken soup. The guests ate a lot and drank little. There were up to a hundred guests. Such weddings took place in big halls in bigger towns and in taverns or at home in smaller towns. Special wedding cooks [sarvern in Yiddish] were invited to cook. They worked in crews, and each of them specialized in one dish.

The bride and bridegroom danced the first wedding dance to a Jewish tune. They usually danced sher, a Jewish dance. The guests joined them, and the wedding party lasted all night long. After the first dance the bride poured wine into glasses to take it to the klezmer musicians, and her mother brought them a tray with food. In the morning the klezmer musicians received their money and some food left over from the wedding party.

After the wedding Mmy parents moved settled down in toPutila. I remember their house. My family lived in it until the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 2 in 1941. My father had bought this house for his future family before the wedding. The house was removed after the war. There were three rooms, a hallway and a kitchen. There was an orchard and a flower garden in front of the house. There was also a kitchen garden, sheds and pastures near the house.

My parents had four children. We were all born in Putila. I was born on 14th October 1919. My brother Mothe followed in 1921, and my younger sister, Milia, was born in 1923.

My parents were religious people, but they weren't fanatically religious. They celebrated all Jewish holidays and Sabbath. My mother always cooked Saturday meals on Friday. She left the food in the stove to keep it warm for Saturday. It wasn't allowed for Jews to light a fire on Saturday to warm up the food. It wasn't even allowed to have a fire to heat the room in the winter. However, my parents asked our Ukrainian neighbor to come in and light the fire in the stove and the lamp. On Fridays we said a prayer, my mother lit candles and we began Sabbath. On Saturdays our whole family went to the synagogue. When we returned, my father used to read the chapter of the Torah which is read on Saturday. Then we sat down at the table. In the evening we conducted HAavdalah, the separation of Saturday from weekdays. All Jews went to the synagogue to avoid being condemned by the community.

My mother strictly followed the laws of kashrut. There was kosher and non- kosher meat in every food store; it was the same price. Jews only bought kosher meat, of course. They sinned every now and then and ate non-kosher meat, but in general, Jews followed the kashrut. There was no market in the village. There were suppliers, who delivered products to each family.

We spoke Yiddish and German at home. Even after Bukovina joined Romania in 1919 German was more frequently spoken than Romanian.

My parents celebrated all Jewish holidays. We had traditional Pesach. On the eve of Pesach all children were looking for chametz at home. We conducted our search with a candle, a chicken feather and a paper bag, into which we put all breadcrumbs or pieces of bread that we found. Later we burnt it all. The family always bought enough matzah to last for all days of the holiday. We had a big family. My mother did all the cooking herself, although we had a housemaid. She made chicken, goose, and geese cracklings. We had stuffed fish on every holiday. Mother also made keyzl. She also made pastries from matzah flour. She crashed matzah through a sieve. She used fine flout flour to make pastries and made pancakes, latkes and dumplings for chicken broth from what was left in the sieve.

On the first day of Pesach the whole family went to the synagogue. In the evening we all sat down at the table for a family dinner. My mother had a special tablecloth for Pesach that she had embroidered before she got married. It was a white tablecloth with embroidered quotations from the Torah. We had high silver wine glasses that were part of my mother's dowry. On the first day of Pesach we all drank Pesach wine, even the children. There was one extra glass of wine on the table, but nobody drank from it. [This was the glass for the prophet Elijahu.] I, and later my younger brother asked our father a question [the mah nishtanah] in Hebrew. Our father replied in Hebrew. Father read the Haggadah out loud. The whole seder was conducted as it was written.

Jews in Putila also celebrated Sukkot. They made a sukkah near each house. It was a small booth made of branches where they had their meals during the whole period of the holiday. There was no special food on Sukkot, just traditional Jewish food.

We all fasted at Yom Kippur. The ritual of kapores was to be conducted before fasting on Yom Kippur. First a prayer was said, and then men took a rooster and women had a hen in their right hand. They turned them slowly above their head saying, 'May this be my atonement'. Then these chickens were given to the poor. We all fasted on Yom Kippur. It was also a tradition to fast on Tisha be-Av, on the 9th Aav and the Fast of Gedalia in September (on 3rd Tishri). The majority of Jews observed these three fasts. Children and sick people didn't have to fast, but in our family children began fasting when they reached the age of 5. The ritual of Kapores was to be conducted before fasting at Yom Kippur. First a prayer was said and then men took a rooster and women had a hen in their right hand. They turned them slowly above their head saying "may this be my atonement". Then these chickens were given to the poor.

Of course I remember Chanukkah when all children received Chanukkah gelt. All children were to play with a spinning top. We had new tops for every Chanukkah. They produced a sound while spinning, and we scared away the wicked Haman. Purim was the merriest holiday, I guess. All young people wore Purimshpil masks going from one Jewish house to another. People treated them with some food or gave them some change. Every family made hamantashen, strudels and fluden stuffed with raisins, nuts and prunes on Purim.

My father took me to the synagogue when I turned 7. There were two wooden synagogues in Putila. One of them was bigger, the other one smaller. There was a Jewish population in all villages along the highway, and every village had a synagogue. When the Romanians came here in 1941 they burnt them down. The Romanians and the local population burnt down most of the synagogues in Bukovina.

My father had his tallit and tefillin. I had tefillin after I had my bar mitzvah at the age of 13. Tallit were for married men only. At the age of 13 I lived in Vizhnitsa, but I came home for the bar mitzvah. My mother made a festive dinner. There was no rabbi in Putila, so the shochet performed his duties instead. He conducted the bar mitzvah.

My brother and I went to cheder when we turned 6. We were taught by a melamed. We first studied aleph and- bet [the Jewish alphabet] and began to study more complicated things afterwards. Those who finished cheder could continue their studies in a yeshivah. There were big yeshivot in Vilnius and other towns. One could become a rabbi upon finishing yeshivah, but it wasn't mandatory. We studied ancient Hebrew at cheder. It's different from modern Hebrew [Ivrit]. It's the Hebrew of the Torah. At the age of 8 I started to go to the Jewish elementary school in Putila. I finished 4 classes. There was no grammar school in Putila, so there was no chance for me to continue my education.

In 1931 I moved to Vizhnitsa and went to the grammar school there. My parents, my brother and my sister stayed in Putila. I lived with my mother's cousin. Her husband was manager of the orchestra of klezmer musicians in Vizhnitsa. They played at all weddings in Vizhnitsa and the surrounding areas. He left for Israel later and lived there until the age of 100.

There was a fee to pay for education at the grammar school. However, only a few students paid. When a student submitted a certificate issued by the village council saying that his family was poor, he was exempt from payment. Almost all students obtained such certificates. This was a Romanian grammar school. All subjects were taught in Romanian. Romanian was the official language of the state, and we all spoke it. All teaching was in Romanian since 1918. We studied foreign languages: German, French and Latin. We had classes in general subjects such as physics, chemistry, literature, history and geography. We also had religious classes: Jewish and Christian children studied separately. There were many Jewish children at school, as there were quite a few Jewish families in Vizhnitsa and the surrounding villages. I also continued to study Jewish traditions, prayers, Hebrew and Yiddish, and the Talmud at cheder.

I finished grammar school in Vizhnitsa in 1934. I wanted to complete my lower secondary education at grammar school. I moved to Chernovtsy and went to grammar school there. I lived with my mother's sister. I forgot her first name, but her married name was Gaber. They had a small house in the center of town. My aunt and her husband had four children: two sons and two daughters. They were all 5-10 years older than me. By the time I came to Chernovtsy they were adults, had left their parents' home and had their own families. Only one of my cousins was still living with her parents, but she got married and moved out soon. They had a brick house with three rooms and a kitchen. There was a small yard, but they didn't keep any livestock. They had no gas. There was running water and a toilet in the house. My aunt's family celebrated all Jewish holidays and Sabbath.

The population of Chernovtsy was 105,000 people; about 65,000 of them were Jews. There were about 60 synagogues in Chernovtsy. All Jews went to synagogue regardless of their level of religiosity. Purim was a real carnival in Chernovtsy. Everybody wore a mask and people laughed, danced and enjoyed themselves. There were Purimshpils in Chernovtsy organized by the Jewish theater. On this day the whole town became a stage. People installed stages in the streets and in the squares, and everywhere professional and amateur actors performed Purimshpil performances.

Teaching at the Romanian grammar school was in Romanian. I studied there 4 years, from the 5th to the 8th grade. The majority of students at this grammar school was Jewish. The attitude towards Jews was very good. There was no national segregation in those years. However, there was anti- Semitism at higher educational institutions. Officially Jews were admitted to these institutions, but all Romanian students were members of the fascist and anti-Semitic organization, the Iron Guard 3. They persecuted their Jewish co-students. Therefore, Jews couldn't study at higher educational institutions in the late 1930s. Better off families could send their children to study in Vienna or Prague. But gradually fascists came to power in those cities, and Jews couldn't hardly get a higher education from the late 1930s. But everyday life was all right until the Romanians came to power in 1941. There were individual demonstrations of anti-Semitism: A student was murdered in Chernovtsy once and some Jews were beaten, but these were rare demonstrations of anti-Semitism.

I had many Ukrainian, Romanian and German friends at grammar school. However, in 1935 the Germans stopped socializing with us, even the ones who had been good friends before. They stopped greeting us, and so on. Romanians behaved in a normal way until the beginning of the war. The Germans lived in Rosha, in the outskirts of Chernovtsy. After 1935 Jews didn't go to Rosha in the evening because they were afraid to be abused.

During my studies at grammar school I joined a Jewish youth organization, the Betar 4. It was a right-wing Zionist organization. There was strong Zionist propaganda at that period. They said Jews had to live in Palestine, sing Jewish songs and have military training.

Senior members of the Betar wanted to go to Palestine. Those who wanted to move there had to work for a landlord for about a year to learn farming. Upon completion of this course they obtained a certificate and could move to Israel. The British Embassy issued those certificates. It was their requirement to have this certificate attached to the package of submittals. However, this was just another requirement to restrict entrance to Palestine. They actually wanted to turn Palestine into their colony. The borders of Arabian countries were open, and Jewish capitalist entrepreneurs went to Palestine creating new jobs. Arabs were free to go to Palestine, but Jews had restrictions. We can witness the consequences of this policy now. It's the fault of the English. The League of Nations issued the mandate to England to found a Jewish state, but it failed to perform this task.

One could go to Palestine from the age of 18. Some of my acquaintances from Betar left. I don't remember their names, though. There was a hakhsharah center in Chernovtsy, up the street from the Town Council. Those, who intended to move to Palestine, got registered there and waited for a permit because only a restricted number of people could go to Palestine. There were many people willing to go there, but only few obtained permission. I didn't want to leave my family and friends and my country. Our friends from Palestine wrote about their hard life and work, the difficult climate, malaria, the lack of water and the simplest comforts. But they came to like this country and were enthusiastic about changing their lives for the better.

I finished grammar school in 1938. I was 19 years old. I became an apprentice at the Chernovtsy stocking factory. I still lived with my aunt's family. Late I became a professional knitter. In the evenings I met up with my former co-students. We went to a youth club. We also went on tours, hiking in the woods and in the mountains, and we met up with girls.

In 1940 Stalin threatened the Romanian government to start a war if Romania didn't transfer its western regions, Moldavia, Bessarabia 5, the Carpathian Mountains and Bukovina, to the USSR. Romania agreed and all these areas joined the USSR. I was on vacation visiting my parents in Putila when the 'liberators' came to town. The Romanian army had just left and the Soviet army was expected at any moment. Within a day the Soviet tanks came to Bukovina, and it became part of the Soviet territory. The locals, who supported the Soviet power, were appointed as heads of village and town councils.

There were many communists among the Jews. They believed in the communist ideals of equal rights for everybody, a happy future for their children and the possibility to study. However strange it may sound, there were communists even among richer Jews. There was a very rich Jew in our town. He owned a soap factory and was a communist. During the Soviet power he became the director of the soap factory. It was strange that wealthy Jews became communists, but that's what happened.

There were different views on the Soviet power. The Jews believed it was their liberation from the Romanians. Jews accepted the Soviet power hoping for a better life because the Soviet propaganda was very strong before the war. Although the Communist Party was officially banned, the communists became members of the Social Democratic Party, the Bund 6. The Bund was practically a disguise for communists.

There was a rich Jewish attorney named Grayev, who lived in the center of Putila. He was a communist and looked forward to the establishment of the Soviet power. I helped him to make a poster reading, 'Long live the Red Army'. He put it on his house. The following events were horrific. In 1941, ten days before the war, a bigger part of the - not only - Jewish population of Bukovina was deported to the North of Siberia on Stalin's orders. Wealthy and rich people were deported, including attorneys, lawyers and doctors. They also deported Grayev and his family. After the war somebody told me that he and his wife hanged themselves in the railcar on the way into exile. Another case was the story of a doctor in Putila, Gary Winkler, a Jew. When the Romanians were in power he spent 4 or 5 years in prison for his communist views. The Soviet authorities released all political prisoners, and Gary went to visit his father in Putila. He even held a greeting speech in the central square of the town in honor of the Soviet army. His father was an attorney. He was deported and so was Gary. Somebody told me later that he was in Aktyubinsk in the North during the war and managed to reach Austria after the war.

There were many weird things happening at that time. But the weirdest thing was that it all happened within ten days before the war. There was a feeling of war in the air, but Stalin was adamant about his policies. My parents, my brother and my sister were also deported. I wasn't aware of it. I visited my family in May 1941 and returned to work in Chernovtsy. My family was accused of being wealthy cattle dealers, and that was sufficient for the deportation to Siberia. I learned about it after the war.

All hopes for a better life under the Soviet power failed. The deportation of people was a brutal act. The people that had lived under the Soviet power since 1917 knew more about it, but to us it was a shock. A huge number of people was deported from Bukovina in one night.

I was in Chernovtsy in June 1941. We heard about the beginning of the war on the radio. A German fighter was shot on the first day of the war, but then things became quiet. There were rumors that the Soviet armies had occupied Warsaw, Sophia and Bucharest, but then we heard that the Soviet forces were retreating. This was at the beginning of July 1941. I worked at the stocking factory and was on a night shift. I went into the yard and saw our director getting into the car, ready to move. I asked him, 'What shall we do?'. He said, 'You have to escape'. He gave me 500 rubles. He left and took all money from the factory with him.

Young people of the stocking and knitwear factories gathered for a meeting the following morning. The majority of the employees were Jews. There were about a hundred of us. We decided to escape. It was impossible to get on the train. It was a hot summer, and we decided to walk. We left wearing shorts and summer shoes. We walked as far as Kamenets-Podolsk, about 150 kilometers from Chernovtsy. We saw trains that were heading for the front. One officer, a Jew, called us and asked whether we were from Chernovtsy. We were surprised and asked him how he could tell. He said that idiots, who were stupid enough to evacuate in their shorts and speak Yiddish on the way, could only come from Chernovtsy. He said that we were on the territory of Ukraine where nobody wore shorts. [Editor's note: such clothing was believed to be immoral, and nobody in the USSR wore these kind of clothes.] He said that the locals could take us for Germans and even kill us. We were lucky. He gave us trousers, and we proceeded on our way. We didn't have any luggage, only some money. We didn't need money, though, because villagers gave us food for free. We walked for about 15 days avoiding the main roads. The Germans were bombing the main roads. We walked as far as Uman, 350 kilometers from Kamenets-Podolsk. In Uman men were recruited to the army. I don't know where the girls went.

Regretfully, people that had met Germans during World War I remembered them as being very friendly towards Jews. These people were sure that the Germans weren't going to hurt them. On our way from Chernovtsy to Uman we passed smaller towns where the majority of the population was Jewish. At that time the Germans concentrated on areas in the direction to Moscow, and Ukrainian Jews had every opportunity to evacuate. Wherever we spoke with someone we told them to hurry up, but they replied that they remembered the attitude of Germans towards Jews during World War I. The Jews hoped to open their stores and synagogues and return to their habitual way of life when the Germans came. We were trying to explain that those were different Germans. We had heard from refugees from Germany and Poland about how the Germans treated the Jews, but people didn't believe what we were saying. They stayed and so many of them perished.

We were sent to the military unit in Zolotonosha near Uman. We stayed there for a short while when Stalin issued an order to release those that came from the Western areas from the front-line forces. Stalin didn't trust people that had lived under the Soviet power for less than a year. We were sent to the construction units; every one of us to a different one, just in case. We were upset, but other officers were telling us that Stalin was rescuing our life by sending us to the rear. Of course, it wasn't his goal to save our lives - the authorities were concerned about desertion and betrayal on our part. I was sent to the construction unit in Kamyshin, Saratov region, and from there to Saratov in Russia. We didn't have anything to do in this construction unit. There were military men of various nationalities from different parts of the USSR, but we were all 'not to be trusted and not worthy of the trust of the most fair Soviet power'. There were the former camp prisoners, political prisoners and young people from the parts of the country that had recently joined the USSR. First sergeants stole our food, and we stole from collective farms. The locals mockingly called us 'defenders of the motherland'.

There was a doctor with the military unit, Mergenier, a Jew from Chernovtsy. He was also transferred to this unit from the front. He called me once and said, 'There are only two of us from Chernovtsy in this unit: you and I. You make trenches here, but nobody needs them. So, let them do it, but lets say you will have dysentery the whole winter'. I stayed in his field hospital the whole winter. I could read and sleep as much as I wanted. In the spring the chairman of the local collective farm requested a few soldiers to help him during the seeding period. The doctor submitted his report to the commander of the regiment informing him that I could be sent to the collective farm. I became a water carrier at the collective farm. We had sufficient food there. I stayed at the collective farm until 1944.

When Chernovtsy was liberated in 1944, I was recruited to the front-line forces. I was sent to Verkhovetskiy training camp in Gorky region. Soldiers were sent to front-line forces from this camp. We lived in earth-houses. There were huge fleas, and the conditions were awfully unhealthy. Many young people were sent to the front. I went to the battalion commanding officer to ask him to send me to the front. I said to him that fleas had almost eaten me, but he replied in Yiddish, 'I'd rather fleas eat you here than worms there. When I hear that somebody needs a translator I will send you to them'. I spoke fluent German and Romanian, and he was going to find me a position as a translator somewhere with the headquarters of the army. But then the war was over in 1945, and we were sent to Termez at the border with Afghanistan. The military had to take their assignments and fulfill orders. I served there until 1946 when I demobilized.

I returned to Chernovtsy and got my former job at the stocking factory. I worked there until I retired in 1989. I was living with my aunt. She and her husband returned from a camp in Transnistria 7. The majority of Jews were taken to camps during the war, but the mayor of Chernovtsy, Marian Popovich, a Romanian, managed to rescue 16,000 Jews from Chernovtsy. He issued work permits to them, which were their official permission to stay in Chernovtsy. Those that were in the camps were starving to death and suffering from diseases. I don't know the exact number of survivors. Romanians didn't arrange mass shootings, but they created conditions under which people were dying anyway. There were mass shootings arranged by Germans, who didn't stay long and were replaced by Romanians, in Chernovtsy at the beginning of the war. 900 Jews were shot. This year a monument was erected in their memory and was inaugurated by Doctor Mark, the rabbi. My cousin, the son of my father's sister, was among those that were to be shot, but he managed to escape. I got to know that my family had been deported in June 1941. I didn't hear from my family for a long time.

Life was very difficult after the war. There was an awful famine in 1947, but then life began to improve. When I returned to Chernovtsy there were only a few synagogues operating. They were gradually closed, except for the one in Kobylitsa Street, which is still there. I sometimes went there on holidays.

In 1948 the campaign against cosmopolitans 8 began. The Jewish theater and school in Chernovtsy were closed. The official broadcasting stations told incredible stories about the cosmopolitans, who wanted to overthrow the Soviet regime. I can't remember any examples, I just know that it was terrible. The majority of the people didn't believe the official propaganda. People listened to foreign radio stations. The authorities were jamming radio broadcasts in Ukrainian and Russian, but many people knew German and could listen to those stations without obstruction. People shared the news they heard. So we were aware that anti-Semitism was Stalin's policy and that he was planning to deport Jews to Siberia. There were rumors that Stalin's daughter wanted to marry a Jewish man and that this was the reason for the persecution of all Jews, but it's hard to say whether this was true or not. Then the Kremlin Doctors' Plot 9 began. Nobody believed a word of this lie. The local population knew that Jews were the best doctors, and nobody believed this slander about Jewish doctors. There was no anti-Semitism at the factory, and I didn't face any.

In March 1953 Stalin died. Although he was a brutal man almost all people in Chernovtsy cried. I couldn't understand why they were crying when he had caused so much evil. People were aware of the truth, but they just didn't know how to carry on living after the 'father of all people' died and they had become 'orphans'. They were afraid of chaos after his death. Many of my acquaintances were in grief, which surprised me.

Krushchev's 10 speech at the Twentieth Congress 11 of the Communist Party, in which he denounced the cult of Stalin, wasn't a surprise to me. I already knew a lot of what he said. However, I believed it wasn't sincere what he said because if he had been a real democrat he would have said it when Stalin was still alive. He was aware of the true situation before but he kept silent. There is a Latin saying, 'One can only say good things or nothing about the deceased'. I believed that it made no sense to talk about Stalin like this after his death, but the Twentieth Congress was as a revelation to many people and helped them to get to know the truth.

In 1954 all members of my family were completely rehabilitated 12 and returned home. I didn't have any information about them before. I didn't get any responses to my requests about them. They believed I had perished. Besides, they weren't allowed to write letters. They lived in a remote location in Siberia, worked hard and starved. Only my father perished in exile in 1944; my mother, my brother and sister returned home. During the war their house in Putila was destroyed. We all rented an apartment in Chernovtsy. My brother found a job as a driver at the town council. I worked at the stocking factory and earned well. Later my sister and brother got married and moved to Israel. I visited them in 1994.

My mother and I stayed in the apartment. Later I received an apartment from the factory, and my mother and I moved in there. After the war we continued to celebrate Jewish holidays. There was only one synagogue open in town. There were too many people that wanted to pray, and many of them remained outside the synagogue, but they could still pray there. People bought matzah for Pesach at the synagogue.

After the Jewish theater was closed in 1948 Jewish actors from other towns came to Chernovtsy on tours. The local actors gave concerts. A well-known Jewish actress and singer, Sidi Tahl, was a favorite of the public. She often gave concerts, sang Jewish songs and read extracts from books of Jewish writers and poets. At the beginning of the war she went on tours all over the Soviet Union throughout the period of occupation. After the war she returned to Chernovtsy.

We had religious books and fiction in Yiddish at home. My mother and I read them, but my brother and sister couldn't read in Yiddish.

When I was in the army party members suggested that I became a member of the Party. I refused and told them I would do it after demobilization. Then party members at work recommended me to enter the Party, but I couldn't. It wasn't for me. So I never became a party member.

I got married after I turned 40. It wasn't a happy marriage. My wife and my in-laws were too quarrelsome. We got divorced within a year's time. My wife and her parents moved to Israel later. That's all I can say about my marriage. It was my first and last effort.

When Jews began to move to Israel in the early 1970s, I believed that they were making the right choice and that this country would have a good future. Unfortunately the latest events prove different. I was considering moving to Israel. But then, I didn't want to go with my ex-wife and her parents. I stayed and delayed my departure over and over again. Then I grew older and quit thinking about it. I visited Israel in 1994 and admired the country. I felt at home there. But again, I didn't want to move to this country as a pensioner and receive all its welfare and not be able to do anything in return.

There were meetings at work condemning the people that wanted to leave. This was an official act, performed on the orders of the management. After such meetings people used to say, 'He is doing the right thing' about those that were leaving. Party unit leaders were ordered to conduct such meetings, and they couldn't ignore the orders. Regional and town party committees issued texts for mandatory speeches to be made at the meetings.

There was actually no Jewish life in Chernovtsy after the Jewish theater and school were closed. My generation of Jews was becoming less and less religious. Celebration of holidays became just a matter of habit.

My mother died in 1985. I buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy. It was still open. I buried her according to the Jewish tradition, with no coffin, wrapped into a white shroud - takhrikhim. There was a rabbi at the funeral. I recited the Kaddish over her grave. Soon after the funeral the cemetery was closed. It's in decay now.

By the way, Adolf Hitler was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy. I'm not joking, it's true. Adolf Hitler was the name of a tailor in Chernovtsy, who was very popular before the war. My cousin's wife used to be a seamstress in his shop in Glavnaya Street. Unfortunately, somebody stole the bronze gravestone from his grave with his name in German and dates of birth and death. His grave was one of places of interest in Chernovtsy.

The cemetery was founded by the Jewish community, and its chairman at that time, Doctor Shtrauher. When Shtrauher built the community house, he was blamed for wasting the community money. [Editor's note: At that time it was customary that every Jewish family contributed 5% of their income to the Jewish community, regardless of their wealth. The community always had some money available in case of emergency and every member of the community could count on their assistance.] He said, 'Did I build the Jewish hospital for myself? No, it's for all of you. And the cemetery? That's also for all of you.'

In 1991 Ukraine became independent and Jewish life has revived since then. There is Hesed, a Jewish cultural center and library. There are concerts and exhibitions. But Jewish culture is still far from being completely restored. Jewish life will not be as active as it used to be before the war. There were 65,000 Jews in Chernovtsy before the war, and now there are only about 3,000. Many young people leave because they see no perspectives here, and there are no jobs for them. I remember Chernovtsy in the past: an orchestra playing in every square in summer and beautifully dressed Jews walking along Glavnaya Street. They believed in their future. The past will never come back, but we need to save and keep every memory of it.

Glossary

Raissa Smelaya
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: February 2003

Raissa Smelaya is a stout woman with silver-gray hair and surprisingly young looking gray eyes. She lives alone and is tired of her solitude. It is especially hard considering that she buried her son recently. This wound is still bleeding and the ache is so hard that she even refused to talk about her son during the interview. Her daughter and granddaughters also live in Chernovtsy. Raissa loves her granddaughters dearly. She proudly told me that they both work at Hesed. We met at the Jewish Charity Committee where Raissa has charity meals every day. Raissa is very sociable and friendly.

My father's parents came from Mozyr town. It is located in Belarus now, but at the end of the 19th century Mozyr was part of the Russian Empire. It was a small patriarchal town. Half of its population was Jewish and the rest of it was Belarus. I know about Mozyr from what my father told me.

I never knew any relatives on my father's side and just know about my grandfather and grandmother from what my father told me. My grandfather, Borukh Ravikovich, was born in Mozyr in the 1870s. My grandmother, Riva Ravikovich, was born to the family of a tailor, who had many children, in Mozyr. I don't know her maiden name. My grandmother was the oldest daughter. She was born in 1873. I don't know how many brothers and sisters she had exactly. My father said there were about 15 other children and my grandmother helped her mother to look after her younger brothers and sisters. The difference in age between my grandmother and the youngest child in the family was a little less than 20 years.

When my grandfather turned eleven his parents sent him to study with a tailor and that was my grandmother Riva's father. They met and fell in love with one another when they were in their teens. After finishing his studies my grandfather continued to work with my grandmother's father. He couldn't afford to open his own shop, but he also wanted to stay close to my grandmother. My grandfather was saving money for the future. He could only propose to my grandmother when he had enough money to buy a house. When he had saved a sufficient amount he proposed to my grandmother. Her parents gave their consent, but they told my grandfather that my grandmother was not getting any dowry since there were many other children in their family to provide for. My grandfather didn't get discouraged and they got married. They had a traditional Jewish wedding.

After the wedding my grandfather took his young wife into the house that he had bought. It was a wooden house. Wood was the least expensive construction material since Belarus is the country of forests. My grandfather had his own tailor's shop in the biggest room of their house. He worked alone. He had a sewing machine and an iron. There were three other smaller rooms. One served as a bedroom for my grandparents and the two others were for their children: three sons in one room and their daughter in the other. My father, Lipei, was the oldest child. He was born in 1899. The second one was Jacob, Yankel in Yiddish, born in 1904. Then came their daughter Haya, born in 1908. The last child was Oscar, born in 1913. My grandfather earned their living. They even helped poorer Jewish families before holidays. My grandfather believed that charity was his holy duty.

My grandparents on my father's side were religious. They followed the kashrut and observed all Jewish traditions. All boys were circumcised in their babyhood. At 13 my father had his bar mitzvah. He began to attend the synagogue with my grandfather on Saturday and Jewish holidays. All boys went to cheder. Haya studied Hebrew, the Talmud and the Torah with a teacher at home. They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My grandfather prayed at home every day. As was customary for Jewish families my grandfather began to teach his oldest son tailoring from his early childhood. My father liked sewing and was an industrious apprentice. He told me very little about his childhood though.

My grandfather died of a disease in 1916. He was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery in Mozyr. My father had to support the family. By that time he could already work independently. In 1922, when his brothers were old enough to provide for themselves, my father moved to Kiev. He wanted to live in a bigger town thinking that he would have more opportunities in a bigger town and more clients. He got a job in a tailor's shop in Kiev. In a short while he became a skilled tailor and had his own clientele. Gradually my father's younger sisters and brothers moved to Kiev as well.

Jacob became a worker at the shoe factory. He married a Jewish girl and had two children. I don't remember them. During the Great Patriotic War 1 Jacob went to the front and perished near Stalingrad in 1943. Haya got married in Kiev. I don't remember her husband. They didn't have children. Haya was a housewife. She took my grandmother, who lived alone in her house, to live with her. On 29th September 1941 Haya and my grandmother were shot by fascists in Babi Yar 2. I don't know what happened to Haya's husband. Oscar, the youngest brother, finished a higher tank school before the war and became a professional military. He was at the frontline throughout the war. Oscar was wounded several times, but every time he returned to the front when released from hospital. His family perished during the war. I didn't know his wife or child. After he returned from the front Oscar got an assignment at a military garrison in Yurmala, Latvia. He got married and had two children. We had no contacts with his family, I don't know their names. He must have died by now.

I knew my mother's parents well. When I was born they had lived in Kiev for several years already. Before they moved to Kiev my mother's family lived in Gornostaipol, Kiev region, where both my grandfather and grandmother were born. My grandfather, Aron Gorokhovskiy, was born in 1870s. My grandmother Haya was few years younger than my grandfather. I don't know her maiden name. My grandparents got married in Gornostaipol in 1899. They had a traditional Jewish wedding.

There were seven children in the family. The oldest, Shyfra, was called by the Russian name [common name] 3 of Shura. She was born in 1901. In 1902 Michael, Munia, followed. The next child was my mother Golda, born in 1904. Then came David in 1907 and Hanne in 1908. In 1913 their son Naum, Nuhim, was born and the last daughter Polina, Perl, followed in 1917. My grandfather Aron was a shoemaker and my grandmother was a housewife. They were a poor family since what my grandfather made for their living was hardly enough for them to lead a hand-to-mouth life. My grandmother kept a few chickens in the backyard. They didn't have a kitchen garden or an orchard.

Their family was religious. All I know is what my mother told me. They observed all Jewish traditions. They spoke Yiddish at home. My grandfather went to the synagogue on Saturday and on Jewish holidays. When Munia grew old enough my grandfather took him to the synagogue with him. On weekdays my grandfather prayed at home twice a day: in the morning and in the evening. Munia and David studied at cheder and the daughters Shura, my mother Golda and Hanne studied Hebrew, the Torah and reading and writing in Yiddish with a melamed at home. My grandfather couldn't afford to pay him, but he fixed his shoes in return. The younger children didn't study at home. They went to a Jewish elementary school.

They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My mother told me that my grandmother lit candles and prayed on Friday evening. Then the family said a prayer together and had a festive dinner. There was always gefilte fish and freshly made challah for dinner. My grandfather drank a shot of vodka. He didn't work on Saturday. He used to read a section from the Torah to his children. My grandmother didn't cook on Saturday. She had all food cooked the day before. Their Ukrainian neighbor came in to light a lamp or stoke the stove on Saturday. My mother told me that once this woman failed to come one Saturday and they almost froze to death since they weren't allowed to light a fire in their stove.

Their favorite holiday was Pesach. My mother told me how they started preparations ahead of time. My grandmother whitewashed the house on the outside and the inside. They brushed away and burnt all breadcrumbs. They didn't eat bread throughout Pesach - they only ate matzah. My grandmother made traditional Jewish food. Chickens that my grandmother fed were taken to the shochet. My grandmother made chicken broth and stuffed chicken necks. In the evening my grandfather conducted the seder for the family. My mother was a wonderful singer. She often sang Jewish songs in my childhood. She sang at seder, too. That's all I remember about holidays in my mother's family.

Gornostaipol was a small town where half of the population was Jewish. There was a synagogue and a shochet in the town. There were no conflicts between Jewish and Ukrainian inhabitants. Ukrainians switched to Yiddish when they talked with Jews. There was no specific Jewish neighborhood in Gornostaipol. My mother told me that Jewish houses were scattered among Ukrainian houses. They had Ukrainian neighbors. They were all good friends and their children played together. When mothers of families were through with their routinely work they visited each other or sat on a bench between their two houses. At Pesach my grandmother always took honey cake, strudels and gefilte fish to their Ukrainian neighbors. And at Easter their neighbor brought them Easter bread and painted eggs. In the late 1910s there were Jewish pogroms 4 in Gornostaipol. Gangs 5 from other locations robbed Jewish houses and beat Jews when they captured any. Some Jews got killed in those pogroms. My grandmother's family hid in the cellar when gangs came to town. Once a gang came to Gornostaipol on Saturday when Jews were praying at the synagogues. The bandits closed the door and set the synagogue on fire. The Jews hardly managed to survive by jumping out of the windows.

Before 1917 according to the law of the Russian Empire Jews could only settle down within special restricted residential area [Jewish Pale of Settlement] 6 and they weren't allowed to live in bigger towns. Exceptions were made for doctors, merchants and lawyers. After the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 7 many Jewish families moved to cities hoping for a better life and more opportunities for their children to get education. My mother's family moved to Kiev in 1924. They settled down in Spasskaya Street in Podol 8, an ancient neighborhood in Kiev where craftsmen lived. My grandfather purchased a shoemaker shop from an old shoemaker that had decided to retire. This shop was near the house and all tenants of the house were my grandfather's customers.

My mother became a shop assistant in a small food store. David went to the school of political studies. [Editor's note: these were Marxist party schools where future party cadres were trained.] David finished the school of political studies. He was a political officer. He got married to a Jewish girl and had a son, Pavel. The younger children went to a Russian elementary school. Munia went to work at the reconstruction of the garment factory, which was ruined during the Civil War 9. When the factory was set up Munia was appointed director of the factory. He received a room in a communal apartment 10 on Kreschatik, the central thoroughfare [Kreschatik is the main street in Kiev]. He spent all his time at work. He was single. He lived with his parents.

Naum entered an Air Force school after finishing secondary school. My mother's older sister, Shura, married a Jew named Michael. Of all children only my mother had a traditional Jewish wedding. The rest of them had civil ceremonies and no wedding parties, which was customary after the Revolution of 1917. Sheura had two daughters. The older one was called Maria. I don't remember the name of the younger one. Shura was a housewife.

Hanne finished an accounting school. She married a Jew named Michael. I don't remember his last name. She worked before her daughter was born. When she had the baby she quit. Polina also got married to a Jew and had a son. If I remember correctly, his name was Vladimir.

My father was invited to work at the factory as production consultant. He met Munia at the factory and they became friends. I guess Munia introduced my father to his sister. They were young and handsome and loved dancing. My mother told me that my father met her after work and they went to a dance club. The popular dances back then were the waltz, the tango and the foxtrot.

My parents got married in 1926. My grandparents were religious people. My mother was their first daughter to get married. They insisted on a traditional Jewish wedding. They made a chuppah at my grandparents' house and a rabbi from the synagogue conducted the wedding ceremony. Later my parents had a civil ceremony at a registration office and in the evening they had a wedding dinner for two families. After my parents got married Munia moved back to his parents and gave his room to the newly-weds. Our family lived in this apartment until the Great Patriotic War began in 1941.

I was born in 1927. My name was written as Raissa in my birth certificate, but my Jewish name is Rokhl. In 1929 my parents had another daughter, who was named Bronia, Brukha in Yiddish. She was a premature baby. She was very weak and of poor health. She died in 1931. Only seven years later, in 1938, my younger sister, Maya, was born. Maya was a popular name at that time.

We lived in a big five-storied building on Kreschatik. Our apartment was on the second floor. The entrance door opened to a long hallway with seven doors - there were seven rooms in the apartment: one room for each tenant's family. There was a big kitchen at the end of the hallway with seven tables with a Primus stove on each of them. There was no gas in the house. All cooking was done on kerosene stoves and there was the permanent smell of kerosene in the apartment. There was a common bathroom and toilet and tenants took turns to clean themselves. Only one tenant - Gustav Dreich - was German; his ancestors settled down in Russia. The rest of the tenants were Jews. We all got along well. I cannot remember any conflicts or arguments. There were children in every family. We were friends and used to play in the hallway. The hallway was our favorite playground. We played hide-and-seek and ball.

My father went to work at a big couture shop. He was a popular tailor. He made men's suits. Party and logistics officials were his customers. My father also took private orders and worked at home in the evening. He arranged a corner for his workroom behind the wardrobe where he had a table for cutting fabrics and a sewing machine. I remember waking up at night because of the sound of the sewing machine. Several times we almost had accidents with irons that were heated with coal; electric irons were rare at the time. My father also had to keep his business in secret since entrepreneurship was almost treated like a crime. My mother always strictly reminded me to never mention it to anyone. My father provided well for us and we led a wealthy life. My mother was a housewife. My father was a hearty eater and I remember my mother buying tinned caviar and expensive sausages.

My mother was a shop assistant and I liked to go to her workplace when I was old enough. I liked my mother wearing a white apron and a lace crown. My mother liked fashionable clothes, but my father didn't have time to make any for her. She learned to sew and made nice dresses for herself and for me. She liked to wear hats and necklaces.

My mother was close with her sisters. They sometimes came to see us. The brothers were too busy at work. My mother's relatives visited us on birthdays and Soviet holidays. On Jewish holidays the family visited their parents.

My parents weren't religious. We spoke Russian in the family. Only when our parents didn't want us to understand the subject of their discussion they switched to Yiddish. We celebrated Soviet holidays: 1st May and 7th November [October Revolution Day] 11. We watched a military parade and then a parade of civilians that marched past our house on Kreschatik. My parents always took me to parades and afterwards we had guests at home. My mother made a festive dinner to celebrate. We didn't celebrate Jewish holidays at home. We never ate bread throughout the eight days of Pesach, but in general, my mother didn't observe Jewish traditions.

However, my grandfather and grandmother observed Jewish traditions after they moved to Kiev. There was a synagogue not far from their home. They dressed up and went to the synagogue on Saturday and on Jewish holidays. My grandfather prayed at home every day. I don't remember my grandmother praying at home. Sometimes when I visited them my grandmother told me that my grandfather was not to be disturbed during his prayer. My grandfather was sitting with his tallit and teffilin on his hand and forehead. It was no use talking to him at such moments - he didn't reply anyway.

All tenants in the house were Jews. Before Pesach they got together at somebody's apartment to make matzah for all families. My grandparents celebrated all Jewish holidays and all their children and their families visited them joining the celebration. My grandmother made traditional Jewish food: gefilte fish, chicken broth with finely cut matzah, matzah and egg pudding and strudels with nuts and raisins. When we visited my grandparents on the first day of Pesach we stayed overnight to be present at the seder that grandfather conducted. One of the sons usually asked him the four traditional questions [the mah nishtanah]. Each person had to drink four glasses of wine during the night and there was one extra glass of wine on the table. Grandmother left the front door open and I was told that they were expecting Elijah the prophet 12 to visit their home. Every time I hoped to see him, but always fell asleep before he came.

I also remember the Chanukkah celebration at my grandmother's house. Every day my grandmother lit another candle. I was given Chanukkah gelt. I held my hands to form a scoop and made the round of everybody present. They dropped coins in my hands that I spent on ice cream and lollypops. My mother also bought me these sweets, but they tasted more delicious if I bought them myself. That's what I remember. They probably celebrated other Jewish holidays, too, but I don't remember.

The famine in 1932-33 13 didn't have an impact on us. I remember one incident. My mother bought a loaf of bread and some boys extorted it from her. However, I can't remember people starving in Kiev. Perhaps in villages people starved to death. But this was a forced famine, as they put it now. We didn't starve. My parents were spoiling me since I was their only child at that time. Every summer my father rented a room in a summer house in Boyarka or Vorsel near Kiev. I drank cow milk, not pasteurized, there since my parents believed it was good for my health. I was a sympathetic girl since I was raised in a loving and caring atmosphere. I liked helping other people and enjoyed helping older ladies to cross the street or carry their shopping bags.

I started to study at a Russian secondary school located not far from our house in 1935. There were many Jewish children in my class, but we didn't care a bit about nationality. We were raised in the spirit of internationalism. It happened so that my school friends were Jewish girls. My favorite subjects were literature and mathematics, and I didn't like physics and chemistry at all. I liked poems and collected books. My parents gave me money to buy books. I also borrowed books from libraries or my friends. I knew many poems by heart. I often recited poems at school concerts. There was a corner in the room where I had my desk. There was a lamp with a green shade on it. My parents didn't have books. My mother liked buying little things that she put on the shelf, but she didn't buy books. My parents had a record player and many records. There were Jewish songs and music and pop music. In the evening my parents often listened to records. They were very tired after work, and it was their rest. They hardly ever left the house in the evenings.

In the 1st grade I became a Young Octobrist 14. I began to attend the Forpost club for children and teenagers in a basement. There were several rooms in the basement and a sports field in the yard. In the Forpost club I had folk dancing classes and sang in the choir. Our choir took part at a concert in the Philharmonic. There was a volleyball-ground in our yard and we played volleyball when it was warm. The leaders of Young Octobrist groups were senior pupils. They seemed very mature to us. In winter a skating-rink was arranged in the yard of the building next to ours. There was music playing. My mother made me a suit and knitted a hat. I tied my skates together with a rope to go to the skating rink. I was a 'street girl', so to speak. My parents spent a lot of time at work and I spent time with my friends. We went to ballet performances and shows at the Drama Institute. They were free and we didn't miss one single performance.

My friends and I liked walking around Kiev. Kiev is a very beautiful city with beautiful houses in the center. It's a very green city with many parks and old trees. Kiev stands on the Dnepr River. There are beautiful beaches where we liked spending time in the summer. During the tsar's reign Jews were allowed to settle down in Slobodka, a workers' district in the suburbs on the left bank of the river.

The arrests in 1936 [during the so-called Great Terror] 15 and the following years didn't have any impact on our family or our relatives or acquaintances. I wasn't even aware that there were arrests at all. The only thing I remember from those years is that sometimes our teachers told us that some of the people whose portraits were in our history and literature textbooks were 'enemies of the people' and we painted them over with ink. And I didn't know why they were 'enemies of the people'.

From the 3rd grade on we had military training at school. The boys formed two groups representing the armies and pretended to fight battles. They were taught to use weapons, clean and put together rifles and machine guns. These were replica weapons. Girls were medical nurses. We were taught to carry wounded patients on stretches, treat the wounds and apply bandages. In the 4th grade we even stayed in a village for two days. There was a field kitchen trailer. We made cereals in big bowls on the fireplace. We learned to shoot. We had an automatic rattle gun that was very much like a real gun. We learned to assemble and disassemble weapons and provide first aid to the wounded. There was competition between the various groups. It was very interesting.

I was a pioneer at school. We became pioneers in the 4th grade. There was a ceremony on 22nd April, Lenin's birthday. We went to the Lenin Museum where the ceremony was conducted. We were told that capitalists wanted to destroy the power of workers and peasants and that they were our enemies. After classes we patrolled Kreschatik. When we saw a man wearing a hat and decent clothing we understood that he might be a spy. There were articles published in children's newspapers about pioneers that captured a spy and we dreamed that we would get lucky, too.

There were many songs about the war at that time. In those songs the Soviet army defeated an enemy in a matter of days. We sang, 'If there is a war tomorrow and if we have to leave our homes tomorrow, if dark forces attack us all, Soviet people will rise as one to fight for their great motherland'. However, we never believed that somebody would dare to attack our country.

In June 1941 I finished the 6th grade with all the best marks in my report book. My friends and I were planning to go to the circus on Sunday, 22nd June 1941. Early in the morning we were woken up by the roar of explosions. Our neighbors came to the corridor to find out what had happened. German planes were bombing Kiev already. About noon Molotov 16 spoke on the radio. He said that Germany was attacking the USSR without having declared a war. My father went to the antiaircraft headquarters immediately. Volunteers patrolled the streets and put out firebombs. During air raids we ran to the basement of our building. Actually, I ran holding my sister and my mother stayed at home waiting for my father. At the beginning of July my father volunteered to the front.

The enterprise where my mother' sister Hanne worked evacuated. Her husband Michael was at the front. Hanne and her family lived with my grandparents. When lists of people for evacuation were developed at her enterprise Hanne had my mother, my sister Maya and me, Polina and her child and my grandmother and grandfather enrolled. My grandparents refused to evacuate. They said that they weren't afraid of the Germans and didn't believe what people said about their brutalities. Besides, they were too old to leave their home. And they stayed. My mother's older sister, Shura, and her two daughters evacuated to the Ural with the plant where Shura's husband was working. She also tried to convince her parents go with her, but in vain. My mother's brother, Munia, also stayed in Kiev. He was responsible for all the preparations at the factory for evacuation. After the war we got to know that on 29th September 1941 my grandmother, grandfather and Uncle Munia were shot by fascists in Babi Yar.

We, three women and four children, evacuated on 14th July, 1941. I was 13 and the other children were under five years of age. We had little luggage and food with us. We didn't think we would be leaving for long. My mother took my sister Maya's doll, but she left her winter coat at home. I can't remember how long our trip lasted. I guess we were on the way for several weeks. The train was overcrowded, but at least it was a passenger train with sleeping berths and a toilet. When the train stopped my mother and aunt got off to get some food. We were starving. I got off the train to get some water and was always afraid that the train would leave without me.

There was a horrible air raid near Dnepropetrovsk. German planes were flying so low that we could see the pilots. We got out of the train and ran to a mound. Fortunately, only two railcars were destroyed and the locomotive wasn't damaged. We reached the village of Nikolskoye village, Enataevsk district in Stalingrad region, 900 kilometers from Kiev. We got accommodation in a local house. The owners of the house, Dunia and Vania, were very nice Russian people. They accommodated us and gave us food. Once a funny thing happened. Another train with evacuated people arrived and they invited us to go take a look at the Jews that arrived on this train. My mother replied, 'You needn't go there. Just look at us'. Our landlords were shocked to hear that we were Jews. It turned out they had never seen Jews before and they thought Jews looked different from other people.

I went to work at the collective farm 17. We worked in the field picking potatoes and making shieves. My mother and Hanne also worked and Polina took care of the children. German troops were approaching and we had to move on. We got to Astrakhan in Middle Asia by train and from there to Makhachkala across the Caspian Sea. From Makhachkala we went to Kazakhstan by train covering in total over 3,500 kilometers to the East. Those were freight trains that we went by. People put luggage, newspapers and even straw onto the floor to sleep at night. The railcar was stuffed with people. One of the boys in our railcar fell ill with measles. It was impossible to stay intact in such insanitary conditions and soon all children contracted measles including our little ones. My sister Maya, who was two years old, and Hanne and Polina's children died on this train. Polina's son had dystrophy. Almost at every station a cart came to the train to collect the dead. We don't know where the children were buried.

We reached Djusaly station, Karmakcha district in Kazakhstan. We were taken to the town of Karmakchi on a coach. Polina went to the military registry office to volunteer to the front. She perished in action in 1943. My mother, Hanne and I stayed in Karmakchi. We got accommodation in a local Kazakh house. We lived three horrible years in a small dark room. The owners of the house treated us nicely and with understanding though.

Kamakchi was a small town typical for Middle Asia, with narrow streets and small clay houses. There were no trees in the streets due to the desert climate and sand soil. There were wells in the streets but the water was deep down in the well. There were irrigation streams - aryks - in some streets. Children used to have a bath in them. The locals spoke Kazakh. Only few of them could speak Russian.

I went to work at the military mechanic plant that was evacuated from Central Russia. I worked at the foundry that manufactured blanks for shell frames. When a blank got cold I had to remove all burrs and scars. We worked in two shifts: the first shift from 7am to 7pm and the second shift from 7pm to 7am. I received a worker's card for one kilo of bread. The bread was heavy and sticky and one kilo wasn't that much. My mother and Hanne received cards of non-manual workers for 300 grams of bread. They were nurse attendants in hospital. Workers at the plant got a bowl of soup and cereal at the canteen. I took soup home in a jar. My mother added some water to it and had it with Aunt Hanne. I was growing up and didn't have enough food. We didn't have any clothes to exchange for food. We were on the edge of survival throughout the three years in evacuation. I had dystrophy. Once I found potato peels in a pile of garbage. I brought them home. My mother washed and boiled them and we ate them. Sometimes we received bran per coupons. My mother added boiling water to it to make a meal for us.

There was a school at the plant. There were many teenage workers at the plant that needed to attend school. The school worked in two shifts. I attended classes after work and finished the 7th and 8th grades in evacuation. Later I got a job at the district health department - in the document control section.

Some Chechen people were deported to the town where we lived [forced deportation to Siberia] 18. Most of them were ill with typhoid and malaria. Those Chechens were such bandits. When they came to Karmakchi we were afraid of going outside and had to lock all doors, even though there was nothing to steal from us. The health department sent me to make a list of those Chechens. I contracted spotted and enteric fever from them. Later I developed relapsing fever. If it hadn't been for my mother, who worked in hospital and attended to me, I could have died any moment. There were no medications or food. Fortunately, my mother didn't contract the fever from me. Well, however hard life was I don't remember any conflicts or disagreements associated with the issue of nationality or any other issues. People were united and believed in victory. We all tried to support and help one another. There were Jews among them, but I don't know if they observed Jewish traditions.

My mother corresponded with my father. He sent us cards with the address of his field post. Once my mother's letter was returned and there was a stamp saying, 'Addressee left' on it, but soon we received the notification that my father was missing. And almost immediately afterward we received his death notification. This happened in 1942. My father had volunteered to the front when he could have gone with us but he thought that it was his duty to defend our motherland. People believed in the Soviet people and the Party. Soldiers marched into battles in the name of Stalin because they trusted him. They won because they believed.

In November 1943 we learned that the Soviet troops had liberated Kiev. Aunt Hanne left for home immediately. She wrote us about our relatives that had been exterminated in Babi Yar. Our neighbors told her about them. Other people lived in my grandparents' apartment. Aunt Hanne rented a corner in a room and was working on getting back the apartment. She got it back after a trial.

I finished eight years of lower secondary school. There was a college of film operators in Kiev. I wrote a covering letter and attached my school certificate with all highest grades in it. They replied that I was admitted and sent me an invitation to come to Kiev to study at the college. This invitation was a pass for us to return to Kiev. In summer 1944 my mother and I went to Kiev. Our return trip was less difficult. Besides, we were used to hardships after our life in evacuation.

Kiev had suffered a lot from bombing. Kreschatik was all in ruins, but our house wasn't destroyed. High-rank military lived in it. Upon arrival I obtained a certificate from our residential agency to confirm that we had lived in this building before the war. We had a certificate saying that our father had perished at the front and a certificate stating that we had worked in evacuation. There was also evidence from our neighbors that we had lived in this apartment and my mother's passport with a stamp that included our home address in Kiev. However, we didn't get our room back. We didn't even get back our belongings that we had left in the apartment when we left. Hanne and we settled down in my grandparents' room.

Victory Day 19 on 9th May 1945 was such a happy day! People seemed to have forgotten about their hardships and losses for the time being. Everybody went to the streets exchanging hugs and kisses, greeting each other, singing and crying.

My mother went to work as a dressmaker at a shop near our house. I studied at the Cinematography College and in the meantime I finished a higher secondary evening school and received a certificate. In college I joined the Komsomol 20. I was very happy about it. I still have my Komsomol membership certificate. I couldn't find a job upon finishing college: most of the cinemas had been destroyed during the war. I went to work as an assistant accountant at the shoe factory where my father's brother Jacob had worked before the war. I had a training period and learned to operate calculators promptly. I found my school friends that had survived and returned to Kiev. We went to the cinema and dance parties together; we were young and wanted to enjoy life.

In 1945 my mother's brother David returned from the front. His family perished in evacuation. David remarried a Jewish girl and had a son called Alexandr with his second wife. David lived in Kiev and was an accountant. He died in Kiev in 1980. My mother's younger brother Naum, who had finished a flying school before the war, also returned from the front. He was a fighter pilot throughout the war. After the war he got married and had two children. He didn't keep in touch with his relatives after he returned from the front. I have no information about him or his family. Naum lived in Kiev and was a lecturer at Kiev Air Force College. He died in Kiev in 1984.

My mother's older sister Shura returned from evacuation in the Ural where she was with her two daughters. Her husband Michael also returned from the front. They managed to get their apartment back and lived there all their life. Shura died in Kiev in 1972. None of them was buried in the Jewish cemetery. They didn't observe Jewish traditions after the war.

In the late 1940s we began to face anti-Semitism. This was a hard period: there was lack of food products and there were long queues in stores for any kind of food. I remember the flour sale in a store. A lame handicapped man came to the store and brandishing his stick began to yell that zhydy [abusive name for Jews in the Soviet Union] should leave the queue since none of them had been at the front. In general, people had a very aggressive attitude towards Jews. Most of them were sure that Jews had been sitting in the rear during the war and that none of them had struggled at the front.

I got married at the beginning of 1948. A friend of mine who worked at the Fire Department of Kiev invited me to a party at her workplace. Leonid Yakovenko, the head of the Investigation Department, asked me to dance the whole evening. Shortly afterwards he became my husband. Leonid didn't know his parents. He was raised at a children's home. He is ten years older than I. He returned from the front with the rank of a major. My mother took it easy that Leonid was a Ukrainian man. What mattered to her was that he had an apartment because I was poor and miserable. My friends were jealous of my luck.

We had a civil ceremony at the registration office. My mother and her sisters bought a big goose; it was their wedding gift. In the evening my mother arranged a wedding dinner for us. We had roasted goose and a bottle of wine. My aunts and my friend Zina, who had introduced me to my husband, came to the wedding. After the wedding I went to live with my husband. He had a two-bedroom apartment in Lipki, the best neighborhood in Kiev. There was heating, gas, a bathroom and a kitchen in this apartment. Soon we took my mother to live with us. My daughter, Irina, was born in February 1949. I left work after she was born and became a housewife. My husband provided well for the family.

In 1950 my husband got an assignment to Dnepropetrovsk, a big town in Ukraine, 400 kilometers from Kiev. My mother and I followed him. We received a three-bedroom apartment. Our son, Vladimir, was born in 1950. I stayed at home. My friends were the wives of my husband's colleagues. There were Jews among them, but not many. I spent little time with them since I was busy at home. I tried to be an ideal housewife. We got together with friends on Soviet holidays and birthdays. In summer I took our children to a summerhouse on the outskirts of Dnepropetrovsk. My husband had a vacation of one month that he spent with us. I dedicated my life to my husband and children. We were well provided for. My husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1956. I went to work as a radio telephone operator at the Department of Internal Affairs where my husband used to work. The children went to kindergarten and then to school. I worked and took part in amateur art activities: I sang in a choir and attended a folk dance club.

My mother left for Kiev. My aunt wrote to her saying that she knew a Jewish man whose family had perished during the war and who wanted to meet a Jewish woman. The most important factor for my mother was that he had an apartment. She moved to Kiev and got married. My mother's husband, Solomon, was almost 20 years older than my mother. He was a very nice and decent man. My mother wasn't in love with him, but she got along well with him. Solomon fell in love with my mother and she treated him with respect and care. They got along well and went to the cinema and theater together. They were pensioners. They didn't observe Jewish traditions. After the war very few people observed Jewish traditions. Every summer my children and I spent two weeks with her. She was very happy to see her grandchildren and me. Solomon also loved my children. My mother died in Kiev in 1988. We buried her in the town cemetery. I'm glad that she lived to see her grandchildren.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 21 began. There were talks about doctors that intended to poison Stalin. I think anti-Semitism got stronger then. Most of the people had no doubts that newspapers published the truth. Jews had problems with employment. Patients in polyclinics refused to visit Jewish doctors. I didn't face any anti-Semitism personally, but it was certainly there.

I remember what a terrible tragedy the death of Stalin was for me. I listened to bulletins about his condition every day when on 5th March they announced that he had died. How terrible it was! There was a big sculpture of Lenin and Stalin in the central avenue in Dnepropetrovsk. When Stalin died people got together near this monument. They were crying and grieving. There was a memorial celebration and it seemed to me that life was over and there was only uncertainty ahead of us. The railway in Dnepropetrovsk was overcrowded with those willing to go to Moscow to Stalin's funeral. Many of them traveled on the roofs of the railcars.

I was very upset to hear Khrushchev's 22 speech at the Twentieth Party Congress 23. Well, yes, people were arrested and sent into exile before and after the war. Don't they do the same now? Well, there might have been innocent people among them. Perhaps, it might have been difficult to find out that they were innocent. But it wasn't Stalin in person that sentenced them! Life was much better during the rule of Stalin and we won in the name of Stalin. And then all of a sudden he became a criminal... He is accused of having deported whole nations. Yes, he deported Chechen people, but I saw that they were bandits and rapists. Besides, he didn't shoot them. After the Twentieth Party Congress the statue of Stalin was removed.

I married a Ukrainian man in 1958. My second husband's name was Petr Smely. We met at our acquaintances' and Petr began to court me. I was afraid that my children would have problems with their stepfather, but they liked him at once. Petr was a very nice man and I agreed to marry him. I took his last name when we got married. Petr came from Dnepropetrovsk. His father, Vassiliy Smely, was a worker at a plant and his mother, Galina, was a housewife. Petr was born in 1921. He was at the front during the war and after the war he studied and graduated from the Faculty of Road Transport Operation at the Road Transport Institute. He was a driver until he retired. Petr accepted my children as his own.

My husband insisted that I quit work and became a housewife. My friends were my colleagues for the most part and there were Jews among them. I didn't care about nationality. I was raised that way. After I quit work I didn't see them often, but I was busy at home and didn't have time to get bored. I didn't celebrate Jewish holidays with my first or second husband. This wasn't just because both of my husbands were Ukrainian. They were raised in the spirit of internationalism. I was raised an atheist. I couldn't even imagine what could make a grown-up person believe in fairy tales about God or Elijah the Prophet. I raised my children in the same manner. They didn't make a difference between nations. Personality is important for them. They didn't identify themselves as Jews, but they knew that I was a Jew, of course. We celebrated Soviet holidays in our family. Soviet holidays always were days off and I cooked a festive meal. My husband's friends and colleagues and my children's friends visited us. In the morning we went to the parade and in the afternoon we had lunch at home. We had a good time and enjoyed ourselves, sang and danced.

We moved to Chernovtsy in 1959. My husband got a job assignment there and my children and I followed him. We exchanged our apartment in Dnepropetrovsk for one in Chernovtsy. Chernovtsy is a nice town. There are beautiful old houses in the central part of the town, which have their own history. I felt at home in this town.

I was very surprised to hear Jews speaking Yiddish in the streets. Jews observed Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays. And they weren't old people, they were the same age as I. There were many Jews living in Chernovtsy. After the Great Patriotic War many Jews moved to Romania from Chernovtsy and from there they moved to Israel, but there were still many Jews left in the town.

When Jews began to move to Israel in the 1970s I didn't even consider this possibility. I was married to a Ukrainian man and my children were Ukrainian, even though they were aware that their mother was Jewish. Many of my friends left then. I wished them a happy life, but I didn't understand why they were leaving their own country for a different one. The non-Jewish population was very loyal to Jews.

I wasn't a member of the Communist Party. I was a housewife and had nothing to do with any public activities. However, I always believed that our country became so powerful because of the guidance of the Communist Party. Like the majority of people I believed that we had a better life than people in capitalist countries.

I didn't work after we moved to Chernovtsy. My children studied and my husband worked as a driver in a car pool. He was very tired when he came from work and went to bed. I read in the evening. We occasionally went to the theater or to the cinema. Sometimes we went to see friends. My husband went to work even at weekends to earn more for the family and it was difficult for us to make plans. We spent vacations with my mother and aunt in Kiev. They were always happy to see us. My mother got along very well with them. Petr died in Chernovtsy in 1987. I live alone now.

My daughter finished Music Pedagogical School in Chernovtsy. After finishing this school she worked as a violin teacher until her retirement. Now she plays the violin in a symphonic orchestra. Irina is married and has two daughters, my granddaughters. Irina took her husband's last name of Kantemir. Irina's husband is Ukrainian, but his nationality was of no significance to me. What I cared for was that they were in love and cared about one another. My older granddaughter, Ludmila, was born in 1969 and the younger one, Tatiana, in 1975. My daughter and granddaughters live in Chernovtsy. My granddaughters are musicians: Ludmila is a violinist and Tatiana is a pianist. Ludmila works at the symphonic orchestra. Although my grandchildren weren't raised religiously they identify themselves as Jews. They care about Jewish culture and traditions. My granddaughter Tatiana works at Hesed. She is the art director and concertmaster of a Jewish song and and dance group called 'Mazltov!'. I shall not talk about my son. He died recently and this is still an open wound. It's hard for me to talk about him.

I believe life has got worse significantly after perestroika 24 in the 1980s. If it hadn't been for perestroika the great and powerful Soviet Union wouldn't have fallen apart. Young people have nothing sacred nowadays. Lenin and Stalin were our idols and we loved our people and our country while young people now don't believe in anything, but money.

Jewish life has revived in the past decade. Hesed provides great assistance to old people. I live alone and I appreciate the assistance provided by Hesed very much. I receive Jewish newspapers and attend the communication club in Hesed. This helps me to overcome my solitude. I have lunch at the canteen of the Jewish Charity Committee every day. It's not only a big support for me, but also an opportunity to communicate. I know that I will see people that have become close to me. There are 50 of us and we feel like a family. In recent years I've identified myself as a Jew thanks to Hesed. I attend lectures on Jewish history, go to performances of the Jewish drama studio in Hesed and to the communication club for elderly people, where we often watch Jewish movies or listen to life stories of outstanding Jews. It's all very interesting. Regretfully, my memory is getting worse and I can't study Hebrew any more. I've got new friends at Hesed that help me to overcome my solitude.

Glossary

Larissa Rozina
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Elena Zaslavskaya
Date of interview: June 2002

My grandfather on my mother's side, Mihail Rozin, was born somewhere in Russia in the 1860s. Before the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 1, he lived in with his family. He worked as a salesman. I don't know what or where he was selling. He didn't get any other education. After his wife's death in 1920 he went to live with his daughter Catherine who lived in Belaya Tserkov, Kiev province, Ukraine. He didn't work there, because of his old age.

My grandmother Haya Rozina, nee Rabinovich, was born in 1874. I don't know anything about her. In 1920 my father was in Kiev and my grandmother was traveling on the train from Voronezh to visit him. My father told me later that this train was attacked by bandits. My grandmother vanished and nobody ever saw her again.

They had four children: my father Alexandr, Lena, Sophia and Catherine.

My father's first sister, Catherine, was born in Voronezh in 1893. All I know about her is that she worked at the shoe factory in Belaya Tserkov before the war. Her son, Aron, was born around 1928. I don't know anything about her husband. She and her father and her son were shot by Germans in Belaya Tserkov in 1941.

My father's second sister, Sophia, was born in Voronezh in 1894. She didn't study at school, but she could read and write. She went to work when she was eleven. I don't know where she worked. She lived in Voronezh. She was married. Her husband Osip, a Jew, died in the late 1920s. After he died, she and her children moved to Kiev. She worked as a nurse at a kindergarten before the war. She had two daughters and a son. Her son Natan, perished at the front. Her older daughter had four children. Sophia got married for the second time after her husband also died at the front. Sophia, her younger daughter Chara and her three children were in evacuation in Frunze, Kirghisia [today Kyrgyzstan], during the war. Chara's husband also perished at the front. They returned to Kiev in 1944. Sophia didn't work after the war. She looked after her grandchildren. She died in Kiev in the 1960s.

My father's third sister, Lena, was born in Voronezh in 1895. She could read and write, but she didn't study anywhere. When she was eleven she began to work at a hat shop and learned to make lovely hats. In the late 1900s she was inspired by revolutionary communist ideas. After the Revolution of 1917, she studied at the Institute of Red Professorship in Kiev. [Editor's note: This institution was later renamed the Institute of Marxism-Leninism; it prepared the party officials.] She was a convinced revolutionary and a member of the Bolshevik Party. She was arrested in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] 2. Her husband Mihail Moiseyev, a Jew, was arrested a few months later and shot in 1937.

Lena was in exile in a camp near Magadan from 1937 to 1952. She lived in Magadan until 1954. Throughout this period she wrote a few letters to my grandfather. In 1941 he perished and other members of the family went to the front, or evacuated from their homes, and she didn't know their address. We didn't know anything about her until she returned to Kiev. Her skills in making hats saved her life. Instead of working on a wood cutting site, she was sitting in a warm office making hats for the camp managers' wives. She made hats in Magadan, too. She got married for the second time. She and her husband, Iosif Maidlah, a Jew, came to Kiev in 1954. She didn't work after she returned from exile.

Lena had a son with her first husband. His name was Mark Moiseyev, born in 1923. He was 14 when his parents were arrested. He went to live with his mother's sister, Sonia. In 1941 he went to the front, survived the war, and ended up in Berlin. After demobilization from the army he had to submit a questionnaire to obtain a passport. He wrote that his nationality was Russian. This enabled him to enter and graduate from the Moscow Aviation Institute and work at the cosmonauts' town in Podlipki near Moscow. He died in 2000. Lena died in the middle of the 1970s.

My father, Alexandr Rozin, was born in Voronezh, Russia, in 1896. His family wasn't religious. Voronezh wasn't a Jewish town. It was located outside the Jewish residential area. [Jewish Pale of Settlement] 3 I don't know how they managed to obtain the permit to reside there. My father's parents didn't know Yiddish. They spoke Russian. My father didn't know one word of Yiddish. Their family was very poor. My father didn't have an education. He had to go to work at the age of ten. His parents taught him to read and write. He worked as an apprentice in various small shops. He read a lot. Even when he was very young, my father already believed that the Soviet power was the best system.

In 1918 he went to the Civil War 4. He was a cavalry man and then a horn player in the army of General Budyonny. [Editor's note: Marshal Semyon Budyonny was one of the most famous Bolshevik Cavalry Commanders of the Russian Civil War]. When I grew up and made critical comments about the Soviet power, he replied, 'You know, there is nothing worse than working for a master, a private employer'. From 1920 my father lived in a big room that his sister Lena and her husband were sharing with him in Merengovskaya Street, Kiev.

My maternal grandfather, Lemel Gurtovoy, was born in 1871. I don't know where he was born. Before the Revolution he lived in Fastov with his family. Fastov was a small town within the area of residence. Jews constituted about half of the population. There were many Jews, rich and poor, in this town. There were several synagogues there. My grandfather had a huge brick house and a garden and owned a small mechanic plant or shop. He had a few employees and was like an engineer himself - he could do everything. I don't know what exactly they were producing. My grandfather didn't have a professional education. He learned everything he knew by himself.

In 1918 the power in town was continuously changing, and a Jewish pogrom 5 began with each new system. My grandfather's family found shelter in a friend's house. His friend was Polish. Many Jews were killed during the pogroms in Fastov between 1918 and 1919. In the early 1920s my grandfather and grandmother left their house and shop in fear of pogroms and moved to Kiev. Their three daughters - Anna, Fania and Bronislava - lived in a room in Proletarskaya Street in Kiev. My grandfather didn't work in Kiev. His daughters provided for him and their mother. My mother told me that my grandfather was a very hospitable man. They always had about twenty guests sitting at the dinner table. He was very kind and agreeable. My grandfather died in 1933. I was only two years old then and can't remember him. In the 1950s or '60s we were on vacation near Fastov and my mother told me that my grandfather's house was still there. It served as an office for a governmental institution.

My grandmother Keina, nee Galperina, was born in 1873. I don't know where she was born. My cousin Grigory, the son of my mother's older sister, Anna Gurtovaya, said that their family came from Austria. My grandmother had two brothers and two sisters. All children, including my grandmother knew German well. My grandmother got married when she was 17. Her parents died when Eva and Esphir, her sisters, were still small. Both of them grew up at my grandmother's house.

My grandmother Keina was a very intelligent woman. I remember that she always had a book with her. I don't know where she studied. She read fiction and memoirs in Russian and German. My grandmother knew Yiddish well. She often spoke Yiddish with my grandfather, but never with the children. I don't know whether their family observed Jewish traditions before 1917. They never told me anything about it. I don't remember my grandmother doing any housework. She had a housemaid. My grandmother wore plain clothes and didn't cover her head.

In 1933, after my grandfather died, my grandmother lived with her daughter Lena's family in Gorky Street, Kiev. They lived in our building, a floor below us. This family didn't celebrate Jewish holidays or observe Jewish traditions. They weren't religious. They were Bolsheviks, after all.

In 1941 my grandmother and her daughters, Fania and Bronia, evacuated to Sverdlovsk. Fania worked at the Bolshevik plant in Kiev [one of the biggest machine tool plants in Kiev], and the plant was evacuated to Sverdlovsk. My grandmother fell ill and died there.

My grandmother's sister, Eva Medvinskaya, nee Galperina, was born in 1880. I don't know where she was born. The family called her Havka. She was married to Iosif Medvinsky. She had a son. Her husband and son died from tuberculosis in the 1920s. She lived in Kiev until 1941. She gave German lessons to private students. She had an excellent command of German. From 1941 to 1944 she was in evacuation in Buzuluk, Orenburg region. After the war she returned to Kiev. She worked as a nurse at school and lived in a small room there. She died in 1961. I don't know whether she got married for a second time, or whether she had children.

My grandmother's other sister, Esphir Voloshyna, nee Galperina, was born in the 1880s. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. I don't know whether she had a higher education. She worked at the library of the Academy of Sciences in Kiev from the middle of the 1930s until retirement. She was married to Yakov Voloshyn, a Jewish man. She had two children: a son, Iosif, and a daughter, Liya. In the late 1930s Iosif entered a Navy college in Leningrad. He was 16. After finishing it he worked on various military ships. He was the captain of a submarine. He died in 1994. Liya, Rubashevskaya after her husband, worked at the library with her mother. Esphir died in 1967. Liya died in 1989.

My grandmother's brother Aizek was born in the 1860s. I don't know where he was born. Before the Revolution of 1917 he lived with his family in a big house in Gorky Street, Kiev. Once I overheard a conversation between my parents in which they mentioned that, before 1917, he was part-owner of a big six or seven-story building. This was the kind of a house where the owner leases apartments. He rented apartments to not very rich people. They weren't big or posh apartments. After the Revolution of 1917, Aizek lived in a small communal apartment 6. His property was expropriated by Bolsheviks. Aizek died in Kiev in the late 1930s.

My grandmother's other brother lived in Odessa, but I have no information about him. I don't even know his name.

My grandfather and grandmother had six children: Efrem, Hava, Anna, my mother Revekka-Liya, Fania and Bronislava.

My mother's older brother, Efrem Gurtovoy, was called Froichik in the family. He was born in Fastov in 1880. He finished Russian grammar school and graduated from the law department of Kiev Institute of Commerce. He worked as a lawyer at various offices in Kiev. He died of a heart attack in Kiev in 1953. His wife's name was Beila. She finished grammar school and was a housewife. Froichik and Beila had two sons: Mitia, called Mihail, and Boris.

Mitia was born in 1911. He finished Kiev Polytechnic Institute before the war. He fought at the front. He was a talented physicist. He lectured at the University in Kiev. Mitia died in Kiev in 1981.

Boris was born in 1913. He graduated from the Kiev Polytechnic Institute before the war. During the war he was severely wounded. He survived, but due to his spinal cord injury, he couldn't even tie his shoe-laces. He was a talented welder. He worked at Kiev Paton electric welding institute. He was single and died in Kiev in the early 1990s.

My mother's sister Hava Gurtovaya was born in Fastov in the 1890s. She finished Russian grammar school and Dentistry College in Kiev. She worked as a dentist in Gorodnya village, Kiev region. In 1937 she got married and moved to Leningrad where she also worked as a dentist. She and her Jewish husband, Zeidel, survived the blockade of Leningrad 7. She died of a heart attack at her work place in 1947. Her husband had died a year before. They didn't have children.

My mother's sister Anna was born in Fastov in the 1890s. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. She had a beautiful voice and dreamed of becoming a singer. She married Haim, a Jew, when she was very young. I don't remember her husband's last name. She worked as a stenographer and typist. Haim was a member of the Bund 8. He had kidney problems and received a small pension as an invalid. He didn't go to work. They were very poor, and, it is my understanding that he was not that ill that he couldn't go to work. But he realized that if he did go to work he would have been arrested for anti-Soviet activities. They lived in the same house, one floor below us. They had a separate apartment. These were small apartments in this building: a study, a bedroom and a dining-room. My grandmother and Fania and Bronislava lived with them. Haim was helping Lena with her typing work until 1941.

During the war they were in evacuation in Serdobsk, Penza region. Haim was a very intelligent, talented and well-read man, though he didn't have any special education. After the war he earned good money by writing dissertations for other people. They had two sons. They were named after Lenin and Plekhanov 9: Vladimir, born in 1926, and Georgiy, born in 1929.

Vladimir was recruited to the army in 1944. He reached Berlin with the army. After the war he finished the school for workers and graduated from the Kiev Polytechnic Institute. He got married and moved to Stalingrad, where his wife lived. He worked at the plant. He died of a heart attack at his work place in 1977.

Their younger son, Georgiy, had asthma. He studied by correspondence at the Kiev Polytechnic Institute and worked at the Paton electrical welding institute in Kiev. He died in 1969. My mother's sister Anna died in Kiev in the 1960s, and Haim died in 1954.

My mother's sister Fania was born in Fastov in 1900. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. Her fiancé was killed during a pogrom in Fastov in 1918. She stayed single. She worked at the Bolshevik plant in Kiev. She evacuated to Sverdlovsk with the plant and stayed there. Fania died in the late 1970s.

My mother's sister Bronislava was born in Fastov in 1907. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. In 1937 she married Piotrovsky, a Polish man. He was the son of my grandfather's friend who gave shelter to the family during Jewish pogroms in 1918. He was a member of the Communist Party and a military. In 1937, during the 'clean up' campaign [the Great Terror], he was arrested. There is no information about what happened to him. He was probably executed. Bronia's daughter Natasha was born in 1938. In 1941 Bronia and Natasha evacuated to Sverdlovsk. They didn't return to Kiev after the war. Natasha is still living in Sverdlovsk. She got married and has a very big family. In the 1950s, after Stalin's death, Natasha was trying to find out what happened to her father, but she failed. Bronia died in Sverdlovsk in the early 1980s.

My mother's name was Revekka-Liya Rozina, nee Gurtovaya. She had a double name. In the course of time, the family members called her Liya, and her childhood friends were calling her Venia. She was born in Fastov in 1898. Mama didn't have a higher education. She finished grammar school in Kiev and entered Kiev Medical Institute in 1919. In 1920 or 1921 Mama went to Povolzhye to help fight the famine 10 there. She helped to arrange canteens or other catering facilities. Besides that, she was involved in the distribution of humanitarian aid that was provided by the Americans. This famine was arranged by the Bolsheviks in order to suppress the citizens that weren't willing to accept the socialist revolution. People like my mother didn't understand the actual cause of the famine and made every effort to help those who were starving. Mama told me that they were unwilling to let volunteers go to famine-stricken areas.

Mama returned in 1924, but she couldn't continue her studies, because she had been away for too long. She took a course in planning and got a job as a planning economist at the alcohol factory in Kiev.

My father was working as a laborer at this same plant. He was a very handsome man. I know that my father's first visit to my mother's home was on 8th November. The day before, the two of them went to the parade dedicated to the anniversary of the great October Socialist revolution [October Revolution Day] 11 and forcedly stayed beside each other for over five hours. My father realized that he didn't want to let this woman go. They got married in 1930. They didn't have a wedding party - they couldn't afford it. In due time, my father was sent to take a course in accounting. He became an accountant. At first he was working at the same alcohol factory, but then they decided that it wasn't very convenient for a husband and wife to work at the same place. My father got a job as auditor- accountant for the protection of patent rights and as a part time auditor- accountant at the Red Cross.

I was born in Kiev in 1931.

My parents didn't earn well and they had to take on additional typing work in the evening. We didn't have an apartment. We had a room. We lived in a four-story house. There were two apartments on each floor: one three- bedroom and one two-bedroom apartment. There was a bathroom on three floors, but there wasn't one on the fourth floor. The fourth floor was like an attic. We lived in the study on the fourth floor. Our neighbors lived in the bedroom and dining-room and we had a common kitchen. There were four of us in our family: my father and my mother, my sister Lena, born in 1937, and I. We joked that Lena had been born thanks to the Communist Party and the government that banned abortions. We had a photograph of the building under construction in Tereschenko Street, where we were supposed to move. My parents paid a monthly fee - a considerable amount of money - for an apartment in this building. We didn't have any riches, but we had a huge collection of books in Russian. This was a collection of classical literature, books about adventures and tours, historical books and a few encyclopedias. My father was very fond of reading and had a wonderful book collection. Through him I developed a love for reading.

Here is what my father had to do at work. If a writer wrote a play and this play was staged in a theater, he was supposed to receive a certain interest fee. My father had to go on audits all over Ukraine to make sure that the theaters were paying such fees. There was an authorized representative in each city and Papa worked with these employees. Often such representatives were free-lance employees of the Association of Writers and worked full- time in bookstores. They helped Papa to get books that he wanted to buy. There were lots of propagandizing publications at that time and buying a good book was a problem.

My father was very kind. Mama used to say that he was ready to sell anything if he wanted to bring me a chocolate. I was shy about asking him to get me something because I knew that it would be hard for him to refuse me. If I asked Mama about something that was beyond what she could afford her usual reply was, 'I wouldn't steal'. Therefore, it was easy to ask her about things, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to do because she could easily refuse.

One of my childhood memories is that we were living in Proletarskaya Street. When Gorky 12 died, I saw our janitor replacing the plaque with the name of our street to another one that said, 'Gorky Street' [gorky means 'bitter' in Russian]. I could already read at that time. I read the name, went home and said that I didn't want to live in 'bitter' street. My parents explained to me that it wasn't a 'bitter' Street, but Gorky Street, named after a writer that died.

Later I went to the kindergarten, but only attended it for two or three months. That wasn't because I didn't like it, but because I fell ill and it took me about half a year to get better. I got scarlet fever that turned into measles, and then chicken-pox, etc. I attended a group of frebelichka [tutor] for some time. Our tutor had five or six children to look after while their parents were at work. We stayed at her house, had meals - we brought snacks with us - and slept. Our parents were paying her for taking care of us. She was German and my mother hoped that she would teach me some German. She did try to explain things to us in German.

In 1937, when I was six, I remember that some fathers of the children from our yard had vanished. Adults didn't say anything to us kids, but we understood that these fathers were arrested and that we weren't supposed to ask questions about it. I remember one of my parents' discussions in the evening; they talked when they thought I was asleep. They were talking about my father's sister Lena and her husband Misha Moiseyev, and I heard that they had been arrested. My parents took parcels with food and cigarettes - it was all that was allowed - to jail twice a week or even more often. If the jail officers accepted such parcels, that meant that a person was alive.

I went to a Russian school, located not far from our home in 1938. There were Jewish schools at that period, but neither my parents nor I knew Yiddish, so we didn't have a choice. We received second-hand textbooks during our first day at school: ABC and other books. There were portraits of leaders in these books with their eyes poked out. The children who had used the textbooks before us had been told that these leaders were enemies of the people; that was why they poked out their eyes and crossed them out. I remembered well the expression, 'enemy of the people' 13.

I remember very well the Jewish and Ukrainian children in my class. I already understood that people had different nationalities. In 1940 all Jewish schools in Kiev were closed and our class was placed in a formerly Jewish school. Few former schoolchildren from this school came to our class. Thus, there were quite a few Jewish children in our class. I can't quite remember how I knew whether one was or wasn't a Jew. It happened subconsciously, perhaps. But I can't remember any anti-Semitism among children or teachers at that time.

I remember, in 1940, after the Non-Aggression Pact [Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 14 with Germany was made, there was a ban on anti-fascist literature issued in our country. Such books were to be removed from libraries and destroyed. Papa brought home a few anti-fascist books. He couldn't let these books be destroyed. There were a few children's books among them. I remember the title of one book, 'Henry Starts Fighting'. Its main character was a boy that was helping his father in his struggle against fascism. I enjoyed reading these books. I was nine years old. The anti-fascist spirits of the population were high and the Non-Aggression pact turned out to be a big surprise for many people.

I remember how Haim, Anna's husband, was visiting us in the evenings and he and Papa argued passionately about whether there was or wasn't going to be a war. Papa said that there was going to be a war, considering the circumstances, and Haim maintained that the German working class would never allow a war against a socialist country. As for me, I had a dilemma: on one hand, I wanted Papa to be right, and on the other, I didn't want a war.

I also remember that one night I woke up hearing someone tramping on the staircase. Mama said, hearing the noise, 'They aren't coming here, are they?' It turned out that some late guests were visiting our neighbors, but my mother got very scared. Anybody could be arrested at that time.

We had a Ukrainian housemaid. She was very nice. She was more of a nanny than a housewife. She helped Mama about the house, but she mainly took care of us and would even punish us when we were naughty. We always had the radio on at home. We didn't observe any Jewish traditions, nor did we know any Jewish songs, but I remember my sister and I loudly singing revolutionary songs. We learned them at school. We went to parades on 1st May and 7th November. We also sang patriotic songs there and enjoyed it. My parents were apolitical people. They didn't sympathize with the Soviet power, they were afraid of it and tried to stay away from any politics.

In June 1941 I went to the pioneer camp for the first time. I stayed there for a week. Papa turned up one day and went to the director of the camp and told him that the war had begun. We packed quietly to prevent any panic and left. I was so sorry to leave the camp, but I enjoyed the ride home from the railway station on a cart. It was a rare treat for me. We always walked because we didn't have money to pay for a ride. The following day my friend and I were seriously discussing the possibility of joining the army when we were out in the yard.

Kiev was overwhelmed with panic and Papa didn't want to wait until his enterprise began orderly evacuation. He said that if he were to go to the army, Mama wouldn't leave Kiev, but would be waiting for news from him. Papa wanted his family out of Kiev. He read anti-fascist books and had a very clear idea of what fascism was like. So, we packed and walked to Brovary [a small town on the outskirts of Kiev]. At Brovary railway station we saw the announcement that men of Papa's age, 46, were to join the army. He went to the supervisor of the train that was evacuating a children's home and asked him to take his family on the train. We left on this train: Mama, my four-year-old sister Lena, Mama's sister Anna, her husband Haim, their two sons and me; I was ten. My father returned to Kiev, destroyed all photographs and documents - they were important to him and he couldn't allow anybody else to have them - and went to the military registration office.

He mobilized on 9th July, and on 14th August 1941 he was severely wounded. It must have been a big battle, and the Red army and fascist units left the battlefield scattered with dead bodies. My father was unconscious and stayed on this battlefield for almost 24 hours. By chance, a Russian military cart was passing by. It picked my father up and took him to a field hospital. He stayed there from August till December. He was severely wounded: a few floating splinters near his heart and splinters in his legs. He didn't want to tell us any details; those were hard memories for him. Once he told us that German tanks drove over the trench that they were sitting in. Many of those sitting in the trench turned gray. For many years we dedicated two birthdays to my father. The second birthday was 14 August, because he survived on this day.

Papa didn't return to the front-line forces after the hospital. He went on a month's vacation and came to where we were in Penza region. He registered at the military registration office on the first day. He was sent to various military units six times, but they didn't accept him due to his condition and age. He returned and we were happy, but then he had to go to the registration office another time and again he was sent to another military unit. He then stayed at the military unit in Penza region. He served there for a year and a half as a private, first-sergeant and sergeant-major. He wasn't promoted because he didn't have an education. In 1944 their military unit was transferred to Moscow, and he served there until the end of the war.

We were in evacuation in Serdobsk, Penza region. I remember the apartment that we rented from a landlady. Mama told the landlady that her husband was in the army, and the landlady asked immediately, 'Do they take Jews to the army?'. When we moved in our landlady took away our passports in which our nationality was indicated. Besides, we looked like typical Jews. I played with our neighbors' children. When asked about my father I answered that he was in the army. People used to tell me that Jews weren't taken to the army. I mean, people knew that we were Jews. Or boys would see me in the Street and say, 'Zhyd - rope-walker. The rope tore, killing the zhyd'. I fought with them angrily: I even scratched and bit them. They stopped teasing me after a while. I mean to say that I understood that they called me 'zhyd', but I didn't feel humiliated because I believed them to be fools. Mama was surprised. She thought that, as there had been no Jews in this area before, this was preplanned propaganda. This was my mother's interpretation of such hostile attitudes.

I went to the third grade of the Russian school. I don't remember any anti- Semitic attitude on part of other children or teachers. I studied well and could fight, if necessary.

Mama found a job at the tobacco production shop. She had to mill tobacco leaves with her feet. Her daily payment was three rubles - and one bucket of potatoes cost 300 rubles. When he left for the front, Papa told Mama that he would be writing to Hava, my mother's sister, in Leningrad so we didn't lose each other. Papa was very much afraid that if he went to the front, he would never see us again. But he found us promptly and we began to receive some payment as the family of a military. This payment was called 'certificate'. Papa was a private and we received 100 rubles.

We were starving. But within about a month a military transport plant from Belarus was evacuated to Serdobsk and Mama was employed as a planning department supervisor. She received a worker food card and my sister Lena received a children's card. I didn't receive a card, because I was over ten years old. I went to work when I was eleven. There was a farmyard and a kitchen garden at the plant. I weeded the kitchen garden, and received a card. There was a list of food products on the card, but not all of them were available. Besides, the products were of poor quality. Bread was half- done, for example. I dreamt of eating a lot of bread after returning to Kiev.

We tried to celebrate birthdays whatever the circumstances, especially children's birthdays. I remember birthday treats: Mama gave us a few slices of bread and a few dry beetroot slices. On my birthday Lena acted as a guest and I treated her; and on her birthday, I was her guest. We cut bread into small pieces and ate it with beetroots.

In summer 1942 Mama fell ill and the doctors suspected typhoid. We called the ambulance. My mother had gorgeous hair. I asked the nurse to not cut her hair. I understood that they were taking my mother to the ward for patients with typhoid. The nurse replied, 'Hair? She won't live until morning'. I was eleven and my sister Lena was five years old. But Mama survived.

I read books for adults at that time: Balzac, Maupassant, etc. Our landlady's daughter studied at a pedagogical college. She had to read a lot. She borrowed all these books from the library, but she didn't read them. There was a wonderful library in Serdobsk. I think it was because the authorities confiscated private collection after the revolution. In the first months I read Rabelais, Cervantes and [Homer's] 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey'. I remember these books very well.

We left Kiev on foot and didn't have any winter clothes with us. I went to school until September while it was still warm. I stayed at home through the winter and read books. In May Mama came home and told me that she'd discussed with the school director about letting me take the 5th grade admission exams. I went to school for a month and passed my exams successfully. I stayed at home most of the time in the 5th grade, but this time I knew how serious Mama was about school and I did my homework, exercises, read my German textbooks and passed my exams.

In 1944 we returned to Kiev by train. Our room was occupied by my nanny, her daughter and her daughter's child. We didn't receive the apartment that we had paid for before the war. We didn't get any money back, either. We didn't have anywhere to go and we stayed in this small room. There was no electricity or water. I fetched water from a pump a few blocks away from our house. The room was heated by a stove. Gas supplies were arranged in 1947 or 1948. The center of the city was completely destroyed. We played hide-and-seek in the ruins until Mama found out and forbade us to do it.

In 1948 Mama sold the only valuable possession that we had: her father's golden dental plate. She gave this money to the nanny so that she could buy a small room in the neighboring wooden building and move out. There was nothing left in our room - everything had been stolen. There was only an empty wardrobe left. My father returned from the army in 1945 and went to work at his previous job: auditor-accountant at the patent right supervision committee. When my father was receiving his passport after demobilization from the army, a clerk at the office suggested that he might have his nationality written as Russian, but my father refused.

My sister Lena and I went to the Russian school for girls, not far from our house. My favorite subject was literature; I liked to write compositions. After school I often ran into my former math teacher on my way home. He couldn't forgive me for not going to study at the department of mathematics.

We didn't face any anti-Semitism at school. There was one teacher of physics: she gave Jewish girls lower grades. She gave me a '4' at the final exam and I didn't receive a gold medal. I received a silver medal instead. My composition at the final exam was mentioned in a newspaper.

Our favorite teacher was Tamara Fyodorovna, a Ukrainian. She was a teacher of history and she spent a lot of time with us. We attended a historical club that developed into a drama club: we staged some excerpts from plays. I enjoyed it a lot. In the 10th grade I read The Oppermans, Jud Suess [Power] and then, Success, by Lion Feuchtwanger 15, and understood that sooner or later things end up with Jewish pogroms. It is just a matter of time. For how long had Germans lived in Germany and everything was fine until Hitler came to power giving a start to mass extermination of Jews? Well, what I mean to say is that one has to have a home. Our problem is that we were not born at home. Jews must have a country of their own.

I didn't choose my friends according to their nationality, but it so happened that I had more Jewish friends.

My sister Lena finished school in 1954. She faced anti-Semitism for the first time when she was finishing the 10th grade. She was supposed to finish school with a gold medal, but she was treated with prejudice and didn't get it. At the end of the academic year, correspondents came to their class to interview the best students. The teacher pointed at Lena saying that she was the best student in class. My sister and I have a typical Jewish appearance. The correspondents ignored her and interviewed other girls. It was then that she faced anti-Semitism and she was very upset. After school she entered the woodwork department at the Academy of Agriculture. She got a job at the design institute, furniture department and worked there her whole life.

After finishing school I was eager to study at the department of journalism at Kiev University. I had a medal and I was supposed to be admitted without exams. I submitted my documents and didn't even go there to inquire whether I was accepted or not, as I was sure that I was. However, it turned out that I wasn't. This was clearly a prejudiced attitude. According to the law I requested to be allowed to take exams in accordance to general procedures, but they didn't allow me to.

Before I obtained my documents, the entrance exams were over in all higher educational institutions. I met one of my acquaintances, a Jew. She had also tried to enter the university, but had failed. She told me that the Institute of Foreign languages had just been opened and that academic year there began on 1 October. Both of us had medals and we were the first attendees with medals and were admitted right away. I liked studying there. I learned English very well. We were short of money, and I gave English lessons from my first year at school.

I didn't face any anti-Semitism during my studies at the institute. However, I wasn't admitted to the post-graduate school, even though I deserved it. Upon graduation I got a job assignment in the village of Yaroslavka, Khmelnitskiy region. It was a distant Ukrainian village, 60 kilometers from the railroad. I worked as an English teacher at school. The school rented me a room in a house in the village.

The establishment of Israel in 1948 passed by me. I wasn't interested in politics. I cared more about my private life. But I was hurt by any demonstration of anti-Semitism. I couldn't forgive anyone for such things.

During the winter vacation of 1953 I went to Kiev and fell ill. The doctor issued me a sick-leave certificate and I went back to school. I was absent for three days. It was the first time that I got a sick-leave and I didn't know that this certificate was to be stamped at the polyclinic. I submitted this sick-leave certificate to the accountant at school. He sent it to some place as if it were a false document without mentioning it to the director. They opened a criminal case against me and wanted to expel me from Komsomol 16. If one got expelled from Komsomol the next step was dismissal from work and an impossibility to get another job. The director of the school was a very decent man. He was trying to delay things and he stood up for me. Finally, Stalin died. The director didn't know that he would die, but he knew that it was necessary to drag out the case for as long as possible and that time would tell. After Stalin died in spring 1953 the case was closed. Stalin's death didn't make any impression on me. People around were crying, but I didn't care to cry.

At 26 I had a discussion about departure with a friend of mine. Moving to another country was so far from me that he said angrily, 'If you need a Communist Party, you'll find two there'. But I didn't care about the Communist Party. I just couldn't imagine living in a different country. When I worked in the village they were trying to drag me into joining the party, but I didn't give in. At first, I was always afraid of having to attend another meeting, and I understood that a party member couldn't ignore party meetings. Secondly, I knew that one day they would expel me anyway for violation of discipline. To cut a long story short, I didn't join the party then.

My father joined the Communist party in 1943 during the war. In 1953 my father's office fabricated a case. I don't remember exactly what it was about. Some employees were accused of some criminal actions. My father wasn't in this group, but they said that he wasn't watchful enough when it was his duty as a communist. Papa was expelled from the party and they wanted to open a case against him in court. A famous writer and dissident, Viktor Nekrasov 17, supported him. He was the only one that supported my father. After Stalin's death, this case was closed. Within about a year or a year and a half my father was called to the party office and his membership was restored. My father told me that the same people that expelled him were shaking his hand saying that they always understood how he felt. I asked him, 'Why did you want to be restored? You should just ignore them.' He replied, 'I got restored, because I didn't want my daughters to write in the questionnaires that their father was expelled from the party.' This could have been a reason for persecution at that time.

I couldn't find a job for a long time after I returned from the village. I wanted to teach at school. Directors were willing to employ me, but their human resources departments didn't give their consent. They told me openly at one place, 'Our goal now is to promote Ukrainian employees.' At that time patent-right departments were established in many design institutes. They were checking a unit under development that had a patent abroad. They needed translators. By that time I had finished a course in German and French and studied Polish a little. I was employed by an institute and received the lowest salary possible.

In 1964 I married Aron Hankin, a Jew, born to the family of Leiba and Sophia Hankin in the town of Snovsk, Chernigov province, in 1927. Snovsk was renamed Schors 18 in honor of the hero of the Civil War. It was a very small town. The majority of its population was Ukrainian. They were farmers. There were rather few Jews in the town and there are none left at present. I know that there was a synagogue and a church in the town and that people were poor, but friendly. In the late 1920s the family moved to Kiev.

My husband's father, Leiba Hankin, was born in Snovsk in 1894. When I saw him for the first time I had the impression that he was a very important man. He looked like a school director. He studied at cheder, but at the time when we met he didn't observe any Jewish traditions, though both of his sons were circumcised. They knew about the Jewish holidays, but had no specific celebrations and didn't cook anything special on holidays. They spoke Russian in the family. Leiba didn't have a professional education. He worked as a packing specialist at the vegetable storage facility in Kiev. He died there in 1971.

My husband's mother, Sophia Hankina, nee Yegudina, was born in 1896. I don't know where she was born. She finished a private Jewish grammar school in Snovsk. Teaching was in Russian. She didn't have any professional education. She was a very nice, kind and intelligent woman. I lived with her for a year and came to like her a lot. Fasting at Yom Kippur was the only tradition that she observed. She didn't cover her head. She got married in 1923 and her husband told her that a woman had to do the housekeeping. He didn't allow her to go to work even during the war when they were in evacuation in Ufa. She died in Kiev in 1973.

They had two children. Their older son had the Jewish name of Faiba, but he used the Russian name [common name] 19 Fedia - for pronunciation reasons, he explained. He studied at school in Kiev and finished it in Ufa. He had a poor sight and wasn't recruited to the army. After the war he graduated from the Kiev Institute of Finance and worked at the bank for many years. He was a member of the Communist party. He died in 1987. He was married and his daughter lives in the US.

My husband, Aron Hankin, was born in Kiev in 1927. He studied at a Russian school in Kiev. He finished seven classes before their evacuation to Ufa where he continued his studies at school. They returned to Kiev in 1943.

He finished school in Kiev in 1945 and entered the department of philosophy at Kiev University. He graduated in 1949. Beginning in 1948, Jews were not admitted to university. However, he couldn't find a job. He had to work part time in 18-19 schools at a time, because there was one logic and psychology class a week at school. In the early 1950s he entered the department of mathematics at Krivoy Rog Polytechnic Institute and graduated. Later he finished a three-year course in cybernetics.

When we met in 1963, he was a teacher of mathematics at school. Later he read an announcement about a vacancy of a mathematician-cyberneticist at the Institute of Mathematics at the Academy of Sciences. He went to an interview and was employed. He was interested in the job, but the salary was very low and it took some time for him to accept the job.

We got married in September 1964. We didn't have a wedding party. We just obtained our marriage certificate at the registration office. I moved into the apartment that my husband shared with his parents. It was an old communal apartment, and there was a 'splinter of the past' - an old woman in every room. I was short-sighted and had to put on my glasses to be able to tell who was who. Immediately after we got married we started paying fees for a new apartment.

In 1965 we moved into a small two-bedroom Khrushchovka 20 apartment. Our daughter Alexandra, or Sasha, was born in February 1966. When she was six months old I had to go to work and we started looking for a baby-sitter. A Ukrainian woman came for an interview and we came to an agreement with her. The following day her neighbor came to tell us that she didn't want to work for us because we were Jews. That was when we faced everyday anti-Semitism.

Our daughter often faced anti-Semitism demonstrations in her class. Some girls used to call us on the phone and say nasty things about Jews. Our daughter was a tight-lipped girl and spent her time with a book. She hardly had any friends at school. Her friends were our acquaintances' children. We had warm relationships in our family. We had many friends visiting our home with their children. We had up to 30 guests at birthdays or New Year celebrations.

We didn't celebrate religious or Soviet holidays. We were atheists and didn't raise our daughter religiously. After school our daughter graduated from Kiev Institute of Culture. She had the profession of an 'amateur group manager', but she couldn't find a job for many years. Every month we gave her a small amount of money. She got married in 1992, but her marriage only lasted four months. She didn't have any children. In the middle of the 1990s she became fond of the study, 'Jews for Jesus'. She changed and became more sociable and easy-going. She was going to get married. She died from brain aneurysm in 1999. She is buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.

My sister Lena got married when she was almost 45. She doesn't have children. She and her husband are pensioners and live in a small apartment that belonged to our father.

I've never been interested in the Jewish history. My husband Aron took more interest in such issues. He used to buy books like 'Beware - Zionism!' [available at that time] and read them attentively. He also had a special scrap book where he kept articles on the subject. He also kept articles from newspapers. We still have this scrap book. Besides, he listened to the American Radio Liberty 21 every day. We read Samizdat underground publications, books that were forbidden by the Soviet censorship, and books by Solzhenitsyn 22, Zoshchenko 23, Bulgakov 24, etc.

In the 1970s my husband was trying to convince me to emigrate to Israel. I didn't mind, basically, but I was afraid that my parents - my father, in particular - wouldn't accept this decision. This was the main reason for my unwillingness to move. Besides, I am a woman of the Russian culture and I love Kiev. But this wouldn't have stopped me. I often think that if my husband had said to me that he would go alone, I would have followed him. But he has a soft character and he wouldn't have said anything like that. Our friends were leaving. I had a friend, and when he was leaving I said, 'I'm very happy for you and unhappy about myself. It's a pity you are leaving'.

I felt like a Jew only when I was hurt. My husband is different in this respect. He never forgot about his roots, religion and traditions of his people. He wanted to live where his people were living on their own land.

My parents retired and spent all their time with their granddaughter and books. My mother died in 1985. My father died in 1991. Sasha grew up and refused to emigrate, without giving any reasons.

During Perestroika 25 in the 1990s I came across a book by the famous Zionist, Jabotinsky 26, that changed me. I read Isaac B. Singer 27. We couldn't find such books before. Now my national self-consciousness has returned to me. But I still believe that one cannot be proud of being Polish or Jewish. It's equal to be proud of being red-haired or blonde. But my heart aches when I hear about terrorist attacks in Israel. I have become chauvinistic about Arabs.

Many of our friends left in the 1990s. We couldn't afford to visit Israel. We've seen photos, guide-books and read books about it. My husband knows more about it than I do. We listen to all the news from Israel. We listen to Israeli programs in Russian on radio Reka [River] every night.

If there is love in absentia, I can say that I love this country. My sister Lena has never been interested in Jewish subjects, but when she visited Israel in 1995 she said that she had felt at home.

In the 1990s the Sholem Aleichem Society 28 was established in Kiev and I enjoyed going there. Its leader Sophia Polisker died, and no activities are conducted there today. It used to be a real Sholem Aleichem Society: we had meetings, dedicated to him and his writing, and other Jewish writers. We met with interesting people.

I participate in the daytime workshops at Hesed. I spoke there about poets in Israel twice. My article about Rachil Baumwol, an Israeli poetess, was published in the 'Jewish Tuning Fork' in Israel, in Egupets magazine in the Ukraine and in the US. Hesed supports us a lot. We receive food packages that make a very good addition to our small pension.

We haven't come to observing Jewish traditions yet, which is unfortunate. Perhaps our Jewish self-consciousness has come too late.

Glossary

Zina Kaluzhnaya
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: December 2001

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

My name is Zina Petrovna Kaluzhnaya. I was born into an ordinary Jewish family on 29th March 1932. My father had no higher education, but he was a very intelligent, well-read and smart person. My mother never worked, but she was also intelligent. I didn't meet my grandparents. Mama's parents emigrated to America in the 1920s, and my father's parents died during a gang 1 attack in 1918. Therefore, our family was very small. My older sister fell ill and, basically, she didn't live with us.

My father's name was Pinhus Zelmanovich Slobodskoy. He was the director of a greengrocery. Mama didn't work. My parents came from Skwira, a small town in Kiev region. My father was born in Volodarka, in the vicinity of Skwira, but his family didn't stay there long. His younger brothers and sisters were already born in Skwira. I know little about my father's family, my grandmother Sarra Slobodskaya and my grandfather Zelman Slobodskoy. I only know that my grandfather worked in the synagogue. He was very religious. He went to the synagogue regularly. He followed the kashrut, worshipped Saturday and observed all Jewish holidays. My grandmother had a little store.

My grandfather was much respected, people regarded him as a wise man and were seeking his advice, as at that time disputes between the Jews were resolved in the so-called court of arbitration. Some of my grandfather's advice is still remembered in our family. An example: 'Never speak about your dreams, especially not the bad ones. Because if you don't speak about them, it is possible that they will not come true'. It was known in the family that some gang came to the village - they were chasing a peasant girl; they wanted to rape her. And she ran to the house of my father's parents. They hid her. The bandits stormed into the house and slashed my grandfather and grandmother to death. They didn't touch the children. The peasant girl escaped.

My father, born in 1903, was the oldest of the children. He was 14 then, and he couldn't study, as he had to support the family. He started to work after this incident. My father raised all the children, three sisters and a brother, and they all finished a rabfak 2, a trade school. This kind of education allowed finding a good job. My father had to take up any work he could find, which included selling stockings and socks at the market, to support them all. He took some precious metal, silver and gold, to a Torgsin store 3; he even melted coins.

I hardly remember my childhood. But one of the few recollections I have is about how I got lost, when I took my cousin to my father's workplace. I was three years old then and my cousin was about five. My father worked as the director of a greengrocery on the corner of Kreschatik [main street in Kiev], near Roofed market. We lived in Shuliavka, near former Kerosinnaya Street. From there my cousin and I were walking to my father's workplace. We came to Kreschatik, and from there I didn't know the way. We stopped in the middle of the road and burst into tears. A crowd gathered around us. This was at the time when the film 'Foundling' was showing, and right away there was somebody who wanted to adopt me, and someone wanted to adopt my cousin, but the militia interfered. They took us to the militia office, started asking questions and found out from the little information they could get out of me where my father worked. They called his workplace and someone came and picked us up.

My father's younger brother, Lyova, was born in 1908. He was a very active Komsomol 4 member, one of the organizers of the Komsomol unit in Skwira. My mother's sister, Aunt Golda, was also an active Komsomol member. My father also had three sisters: Aunt Rosa, born in 1907, Aunt Mania, born in 1911, and Aunt Etlia, born in 1914. Aunt Rosa stayed in Skwira during World War I and II. She died there along with her children in 1941, when Skwira was occupied by the Germans. Etia evacuated to Alma-Ata during the war and survived. She had a good life. Her husband was very lucky - he was in captivity, in the encirclement, but he was rescued and survived. Later they emigrated to America. Aunt Mania lived in Moscow all her life. She married a Russian and any relationships with the family were terminated, as my father rejected her for doing so. Once, before the war, my father went to Moscow to take her and her two children away from her husband. He brought them to Kiev, but her husband took them back. Only after the war they started writing to each other and she came here.

My mother's name was Bluma Fridelevna Slobodskaya, nee Tsyrulnik. She was born in Skwira on 8th July 1905. There were 14 children in the family; ten of them survived. I don't know anything about the other four. In the early 1920s two sisters and two brothers went to America and took with them my grandmother at first, and, later on, also my grandfather.

The departure must have been illegal, they might have used somebody else's documents, as they lived under a different name in America. In Skwira my grandfather was called Fridel Tsyrulnik, and my grandmother Sarra-Rukhl Tsyrulnik. In America they lived under the name of Segal, and my grandmother's first name was Amy. At that time only single people could leave, and later they closed the border. That's how it happened that six children are here and four children in America. I visited the USA and went to the Jewish cemetery in Philadelphia where my grandparents were buried.

There is a story in the family: one of the brothers was eager to join the Komsomol, but he wasn't accepted as my grandfather was considered to be a rich man. He left for America and sent a letter to this Komsomol unit from Philadelphia. There was a picture in that letter: he and his own car in the background. And on the back of the picture he drew a big doulia [insulting gesture].

My grandfather owned a pawn-shop in Skwira before the Revolution of 1917. My grandmother was raising the children. They were believed to be well-to-do for those days. Judging from my mother's clothes one could tell that she didn't like cheap things. Se used to say that we weren't so poor as to buy cheap clothes and therefore it would be better to save some money, make do without something else and buy a good quality piece instead. In general, she had high-and-mighty manners. But she had difficult times. They took away my grandmother first, and my mother stayed here. She told us she had to travel, exchange things, sell something. She often traveled on the roofs of trains. When she was very young she attended a dress-making course. She specialized in shirt making.

My mama had a very soft character, but at the same time it was tough to some extent. If she believed somebody to be dishonest, or if somebody tried to say something bad about her family, she tried to stop seeing those acquaintances. She did a lot of good to her acquaintances, family and relatives, and she loved children. Relatives and neighbors always brought their children to her, and she looked after them. She was very kind-hearted, and when I grew up and got married, all our acquaintances used to say, 'You know, Zina, you are really lucky with your mother'.

Growing up

My sister Sarra was born in Skwira in 1926. She was very intelligent, but her health was failing her. She was ill for the bigger part of her life. She fell ill when she was about six years old. For a very long time the doctors couldn't find out what it was - her legs were failing her. She was prescribed physical exercise. It didn't work and her condition was getting worse. This happened at the time when Postyshev 5 held the highest position in Ukraine. Mama was told to try and meet with him to ask him for my sister to be sent to the Crimea. They told her that Postyshev always walked in the park over the Dnipro river. Mama went there early in the morning, waited for him and addressed him with her request. At that time things were different. Mama told him about this trouble in the family and on his direction my sister was taken to the Crimea.

She didn't stay long in the Crimea - just about half a year. Her illness progressed rapidly and her legs got paralyzed. Then they diagnosed the disease - it was bone tuberculosis. She was put into hospital in Puscha-Voditsa. During the war the hospital moved to Buzuluk and she stayed there throughout the war. Then, gradually, the paralysis retreated, she returned to Kiev and stayed in the health center where she studied all the time. Later she went to school, finished it and graduated from university. However, my mother had to take her to the university and back home. My sister worked as teacher all her life, but she didn't live a long life and died in 1990.

My father's family was religious. My father observed all holidays except Saturday because it was a working day. One couldn't just say that we had to have the day off on Saturday, so we had to work on Sabbath. But on holidays my father always went to the synagogue; he had his own seat there. He even went there when he was already very, very old. And later we took him there by taxi and I brought him back home. And even the year he died he was at the synagogue at Yom Kippur. At home we observed all holidays. I knew what this holiday was about and what was to be done for each other holiday. For Yom Kippur they cooked chicken and stuffed fish; for Purim they made little pies with poppy-seeds and so on.

We generally spoke Russian. My parents only switched to Yiddish when we, children, weren't supposed to know the subject of their discussion. I understood Yiddish, but I never learned to speak or read in Yiddish. My parents knew it well. My father could read and write perfectly in Yiddish and Hebrew; my mother only spoke Yiddish.

After my older sister was born in 1926, the family moved to Moscow looking for a better life. My mother's older brother, Solomon Tsyrulnik, lived there. But for some reason they didn't stay long in Moscow. They came back to Kiev, and I was born there.

I never heard my father call the Soviet power anything other than, 'these bandits'. Mama only said, 'Careful'. Well, but this does seems to be all one can say about the Soviet power, really. My father didn't take it seriously. He never spoke about it seriously. He didn't even want to talk about it. If there were discussions he used to tell me, 'Remember what I tell you, Zina. These bandits won't last long'.

We openly discussed things. Once, when I was younger, they warned me, 'Zina, you're not supposed to talk about this elsewhere'. Besides, we knew very well what was going on in the 1930s [during the so-called Great Terror] 6 because Aunt Golda's husband, Semyon Novobratskiy, was repressed. He was raised in an orphanage, and he was promoted in the Party and was a delegate of the Congress and Party organization in Vorontsovo-Gorodische. And he was a Jew. Once they came and took him away. When they took him to their office an NKVD 7 employee said to him, 'You understand, Semyon, that I can't do anything. All I can do is to allow you make a phone call'. He called my father immediately.

Aunt Golda - she was also a party member - was a woman with a strong character. She went there, put her party membership card on the table and said that if her husband was an 'enemy of the people' 8 she couldn't be a party member, and left. Late in the evening an acquaintance of theirs came and said, 'Leave immediately'. My father went there and took her to Kiev right away. There they separated. My aunt and her younger son were in Belaya Tserkov at her brother Gershl's, her second oldest son stayed with us and her older daughter was in Dnepropetrovsk. My aunt changed her name but she was afraid all her life and kept it a secret. She always took on minor jobs as a cleaning woman or something the like because she was afraid of being recognized. However she was summoned to the authorities during the rehabilitation 9. They told her that her husband had been rehabilitated and that she would receive compensation. She replied that she wouldn't accept anything for her husband. She took the certificate and left. But she was on the lists for an apartment and she received it promptly, strangely enough. Mama's brother Yankel lived in Alma-Ata. His son-in-law was also repressed and shot.

We lived on Kerosinnaya Street before the war. We had one small room there. There was a yard. We had very friendly neighbors and got along well. There were many Jewish families. There was a blacksmith and I always went to see him. I was absorbed by what he was doing. The blacksmith was a Jew. I always ran to him and said, 'Blacksmith, shoe my foot!' and pushed forward my little foot. And he pretended that he shoed my foot. All our neighbors were nice people. The ones that survived met after the war.

Later we moved downtown to Meringovskaya Street, where we had one big room in a communal apartment 10. We had four neighbors in this apartment. One neighbor's name was Nikolai Alexandrovich. He paid a lot of attention to me. When I studied in the 1st grade he checked my homework. He lived in a small room. At that time he didn't work. He had two daughters and he visited them. One Sunday he visited one of them and the following Sunday the other one. Once a week a woman came to his place, cleaned up and did everything else necessary. There was another Jewish family there. They had a boy, Vilia. His parents were the same age as my parents. There was also a Ukrainian family. There were a mother and daughter, the daughter's name was Nadia, she was already an adult. And there was an old blind man, a musician. He died, and another musician came to live in his place. He was a violinist. This was the beginning of all my tribulations. In those years Bousia Goldstein, a boy that played the violin splendidly, was very popular. And all Jewish parents wanted their children to be like Bousia. All in all, they started teaching me to play the violin. I wasn't particularly gifted, but I honestly spent several hours a day pestering the violin. Tears were running down my cheeks and I couldn't do anything about it until they took pity with me and cancelled the violin lessons. I was six years old then. Everything was fine: the communal apartment, the common kitchen - I cannot remember one single quarrel, or argument, and no yelling.

Everyone cooked on Primus stoves. There were no kerosene stoves then. Everyone had his little table, Primus stove and everything was left unlocked. Nobody touched anybody else's belongings. Nobody ever quarreled. Vilia's parents sometimes argued. We heard their yelling through the closed door. We had one big room, 25-30 meters. It was a nice, square room on the second floor; the balcony was facing the yard. There were two gardens nearby. One of them was across the street from the Franko theater. We went there for walks. The second garden was across the street from the gift store.

I didn't go to kindergarten, I attended the Froebel Institute 11. This was sort of a private governess system. The groups were small: six to eight children. We took our breakfast with us and went outside. We studied German. But it wasn't academic studies, it was everyday conversation. The teacher only spoke German with us. I spoke fluent German. I started to understand Yiddish due to German. In the afternoon we went to somebody's home to eat our food there. Then we went out again. She talked to us all the time and played with us. It all lasted from morning till five o'clock in the afternoon. It's difficult to say how many Jewish children were there, as there was no such issue - Jewish or not Jewish. However, all our relatives and acquaintances were Jewish. When my aunt married a Russian man it was a terrible scandal. But otherwise nationality wasn't an issue. No one seemed to pay attention to it. By the way, I can tell you that those who weren't Jewish always knew that some Jewish holiday was coming up and it was all right with them. I remember them saying, 'Your Easter is soon', for instance. And, fish got more expensive before the Jewish holidays.

People who weren't Jewish visited us on Jewish holidays. They danced, and then a good dinner was served. And, by the way, my mama never made cakes with cream, which were in fashion then. They were always traditional Jewish dishes: strudel, honey cake and sponge cake. And I told her that some people soaked white bread in milk to add to the mince for cutlets. I thought, the cutlets were more delicious that way. Mama told me in horror that one should never do such a thing. All laws were followed in our family, but somehow intuitively, traditionally.

We were doing quite well. In summer we went to the dacha [cottage] in Puscha-Voditsa, as my sister was there in the health center. We rented a room and lived in the dacha all summer. We were well dressed. It's not that I had millions of dresses. I may have had two summer dresses and one woolen one, so I didn't have many of them but they were of good quality. And we were well fed.

Before the war I finished the 1st grade at school #79 12. School #79 was located near the Franko theater, on the square. After the war Kievenergo was housed in the building. At that time one could start school at the age of eight. Therefore, I went to school later. I studied well, and things were easy for me.

During the War

I remember well the first day of the war [see Great Patriotic War] 13. My cousin Volodia, Aunt Riva's son, was visiting us. And in the morning we had a fight. Mama wasn't at home. When she came in we started complaining about one another. But Mama sat down and started crying. She said, 'What are you talking about? The war has started, and you have nothing better to do than fight?' Papa was at work. Later they took Papa away, first to the militia unit and then to the army. Within a few days he was gone.

They managed to send Volodia to Dnepropetrovsk on that very day. And then there were just mama and me left. Mama was at a loss - she didn't know what to do. All of a sudden the son of Mama's older brother, Uncle Solomon, came. He worked as doctor with the NKVD. He had changed his name to Alexei. Previously he had a different name [see common name] 14. He came in and said, 'Bluma, get packed and leave immediately. The car is waiting in the yard'. 'What?! I won't go!', my mother replied. And he urged her, 'Go now! The Germans are killing all Jews'. Nobody else said anything like this back then; nobody knew. That's why mama didn't take his words seriously and didn't want to leave. I remember how mama was holding on to the doorway crying that she wouldn't go and leave Sarra alone in the hospital. Alexei and the driver lifted mama up, took her outside and threw her into the car. And he said, 'I will take care of Sarra. They will evacuate health centers first'. I believe, this was on 6th August. We were one of the first people to evacuate. When we arrived in Alma-Ata they welcomed us with an orchestra, as we were the first ones to arrive.

I remember the trip. Uncle Solomon's younger son Misha was with us. He was a 1st-year student at a medical institute. We traveled in railcars, and the people in there were lying side by side like sardines. It's unbelievable how many people fit in there. On all stops we were given some boiling water; sometimes they gave us some soup. Then, all of a sudden, we heard a siren, which meant there was a raid - and then all people got out of the train and hid wherever they could find a place to hide. After the raid they all came back to their places and the journey went on. Of course, there was no schedule whatsoever. When we were passing by a river the train stopped and we could wash ourselves in the river. That was our trip to Stalingrad and that took us three weeks. I remember one thing that helped us on the way. During one bombardment they ruined a food store and the people ran over there to take whatever they could away with them. And Misha brought a big piece of ham and a pack of cookies. I don't really know how we managed to keep that ham in the summer heat. We sailed from Stalingrad to Astrakhan. And in Arys they put us on a train again.

My father went to the militia unit and we didn't hear from him for a long time. Then he was a private in the army. In 1942 they sent him to Novosibirsk as a result of his illness. Later he joined us in Alma- Ata. They put us in the apartment building of NKVD employees, where we lived with the secretary of a minister. Mama, myself and my cousin lived in the connecting room. Later mama's brother, Misha's father came with his daughter Sonia. And mama and I moved in with another family on the first floor. This was done unofficially. A woman and her son lived there and her husband was on the front. The kitchen was occupied by a family from Kiev; a woman and her daughter. A woman and her son lived in another room. When she saw our condition she mentioned to mama that she might be more comfortable living with them. We settled in her room. There were four of us - herself and her son and mama and I. After my father returned he went to work at the Ministry of the Fish Industry. He was logistics manager. He wasn't satisfied with the life we were leading, so he made some arrangements and we moved in with a Jewish family in a private house. Mama worked for entrepreneurs - she knitted stockings and leggings on the knitting machine.

We corresponded with my sister. She told us afterwards that she was living in horrible conditions and that they were starving. Nurses were begging to get some food for the children. But the children were treated nicely. By the way, my sister was the only Jew, but she shared much love and compassion. Mama didn't see her throughout the war. When my sister was back it took us some time to get used to her. We helped her to learn to walk. All relatives on my mother's side moved to Alma- Ata. We got along all right, but we hardly ever saw each other. The children did meet, but the adults were always busy. Mama worked at a factory and she only came home to sleep.

Our life improved after my father returned. I remember I received 400 grams of brown bread and my mother received 600 grams of white bread. In addition, mama received half a liter jar of semolina porridge. I only remember this semolina porridge and white bread. I don't know what mama ate. Besides, mama gave blood regularly: not only because it was needed, but also because she received an additional ration of food for it. I was awfully thin and tall and my face had turned green. Once Aunt Riva, who lived better, suggested that I moved in with them for some holidays. She said that I would eat better and would fatten a little. My mother had never let me away from her side. But then she decided it was a good idea and we should take advantage of it. She let me go stay with Aunt Riva. That evening we sat down for dinner, but I wasn't used to such rich food and so much of it. So the next day I had jaundice. Mama took me back home right away and put me on a semolina porridge diet. Aunt Etlia, my father's younger sister, was a waitress in Mosfilm studio. On Sundays many actors were away. The employees could bring their families and children to give them food. Her son and I regularly went to the studio and had dinner there. After my father had come back, we got fish as he worked in the Ministry of the Fish Industry.

I went to school. We studied the Kazakh language, but the teaching was in Russian. Nek tepte means school in Kazakh. That's all I remember. I had a Kazakh friend. After school we always went to the hospital. We read to the patients and wrote letters to their families. I studied in the 2nd, 3rd and 4th grades in the Kazakh school. The conditions were very difficult - we wrote on pieces of newspapers. I remember losing a book from the library. It was 'Package' by Gaidar 15. My teacher said to me that she wouldn't give me my award diploma for successful studies until I return this book. I was sobbing and huge tears were running down my face, as I couldn't get a copy of this book anywhere. I became a member of the pioneer organization in the 3rd grade. I remember them gathering us all in the hall, and we all aligned. There was a bust of Lenin and everything was very official. They told us about Pavlik Morozov 16, the main pioneer, and we tied up our red neck kerchiefs. We were happy. This was such a great event! They told us to study well to be accepted into the pioneer organization. Our parents didn't care about us becoming pioneers.

We knew everything that was going on at the front. We knew the commanding officers and the marshals. We knew that Zhukov [Marshall of the USSR, played a leading role in gaining victory in the Great Patriotic War] showing up on some front meant victory. At that time the novel Timur and his team by Gaidar, was very popular. We were timurovtsy 17. We helped people who were alone or old people. Then we got together and shared what we had done. At some place I fetched some water, in another place I lit a fire in the fire place, etc. This was all discussed. But somehow it wasn't associated with the pioneer organization. We made tents or little huts and we were kind of different from the others. Our parents complimented us for this assistance.

After the War

As soon as Kiev was liberated we started preparations to leave for Kiev. We were back before the new academic year - in summer 1944. We traveled via Moscow - mama, papa and I. Sarra joined us later. We didn't have a dwelling in Kiev - our apartment was ruined. At first we lived on 3, Kruglouniversitetskaya Street. Then it was Krutoi Spusk Street, where we lived on the first floor, on the side of the yard. It was an amazing building, a real Kiev building, that is the neighbors felt and lived like a big family, shared things and supported one another. Rosa Sheitskaya, my friend, lived in the same building. I remember well one Ukrainian family - they were a very nice family. They got along well with everyone. We had a small room, 14.5 square meters. We had no neighbors, though. 1.5 meters were separated for gas storage. The apartment had very thick walls, and I could sleep on the window sill because it was so wide. Then we took my sister away from the hospital, so there were four of us living there.

My father continued working in commerce. He was the director of a vegetable storage base in Podol 18. He didn't work there long.

I studied in school #78, which was high standard. It was located in Pechersk, beside it there were mansions and ministries. Therefore I studied with the girls from ministry employees and the party elite. At that time girls and boys studied separately. There were Jewish children at the school but I didn't feel any discrimination. There weren't many Jewish teachers. One of them was our history teacher Isaak Lvovich and we all dreamed of having him teach us. He taught about the history of the USSR. Not once did I witness any anti- Semitism in all these years. I didn't even feel that nationality was of any significance when at school. The teachers treated me very nicely. When boys or girls in the streets tried to abuse me somehow, I would fight back since I was a strong girl. I was a big patriot and an active Komsomol member, although I knew what had been happening in the 1930s. When at school I heard a lot from my sister, she told me about things, and one of the things she told me about was Lenin's testament. But I still thought that if Lenin had been alive things would have been all right. It wasn't much that I knew about Lenin, so I blamed Stalin for everything. Only later, when I had to deal with things like these, I changed my mind.

I believed that communism was good, that we had a wonderful constitution, that everything was fine. I remember well the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 19. I remember that I didn't quite believe that it was all against Jews. I remember mama preparing for the expulsion of the Jews. Mama understood everything. Once she bought three Orenburg headscarves - warm woolen headscarf to be worn in winter. We never wore headscarves. She explained to us that we were supposed to depart and needed something warm. And she ordered three pairs of warm, fur-lined heavy boots. She was preparing for departure and I rebelled and said that it couldn't be, and that she just heard some rumors.

I became aware of the struggle against cosmopolitism in the institute. At that time KPI [Kiev Polytechnical Institute] proved that it was no better than university. Everything always started at university. But I knew what was going on at university because Sarra studied there. There was a girl there - Gershunina. Her father was a general and there were weapons in the house. She wasn't Jewish. Then all of a sudden that girl committed suicide. Back then they thought that girls who lost their virginity could do that. But they said it happened because she attended some nationalistic meeting and was afraid. Then there was Reznik - they declared him a cosmopolitan, put his daughter in prison and killed him. He was a lecturer at the university. Then there was a young and very intelligent man studying with Sarra called Edinger. The works by Lenin and Stalin were discussed in the faculty of philosophy. When they were discussing one of Stalin's works Edinger said that he didn't think there was anything new in that work, that it was a repetition of what Lenin had said. But at least he was smart enough to go home and tell his family about what had happened. His parents put him on the train immediately and sent him to their relatives.

My sister entered university in 1947. One probably had to be a Gestapo man to reject my sister being accepted to university. [Editor's note: The term Gestapo man was used as a nickname for someone extremely cruel.] With her disease, and the signs of it were visible, and with her knowledge I can't imagine what kind of person could have rejected her. One could tell that she had bone tuberculosis. After she came out of hospital she wore a corset for three years; a plaster corset at first and a leather one later. The corset reached from her waist to the root of her hair. Mama used to take her to classes and pick her up again. My sister was very smart, they listened to her, she went to the academic library, read books in the original language and could read between the lines, as they say. She couldn't go to discotheques or meet with boys, so, she spent all her time reading. Afterwards she told me the contents of what she had read. She gave me to read whatever she could.

I was shocked when I encountered anti-Semitism during my entrance period to university. I couldn't imagine anything like that existed. I finished school with a gold medal. At that time this was sufficient to enter a higher educational institution without taking exams. So I submitted my documents to University. I wanted to study at the economy department. I liked The Capital by Karl Marx. In general, I was a girl with high ideological principles and very intelligent. When at school I read works by philosophers, Kampanella, etc. I was familiar with this subject and wished to continue studying it. I submitted my documents and was rejected. They told me that I didn't make it. I have always been a fighter, so I made my way to the office of Bondarchuk, the rector. I went into his office and said, 'Competition! But we are out of any competition! Nobody called me in, nobody talked to me, I didn't take any exams. I submitted my documents, I have a gold medal - that should be it!' He said to me, 'It's because you are a Jew. We are only supposed to accept a certain percentage of Jews'. He said it openly. I went numb. This was the first case of anti-Semitism I experienced in my life. It had happened before that somebody would say 'zhydovka' and my response would be punching him with my fist. But nothing like that had ever happened in my life before. I left the rector's office. But with my high ideological principles and my faith in our system and justice I couldn't leave it at that. So I sat down and wrote a letter to Stalin without speaking to my parents.

It was a month or a month and a half later that I received a response from Stalin's reception office. Mine was a copy; the original letter was sent to the rector of the university. It said that nothing like that could possibly exist in our country. And they requested the rector to look into this issue personally, although I had written to them that it was the rector in person who had said that to me. My parents were horrified, when that response came, because everything could have ended in a very different way. If they had known, they would have sent me away from Kiev that very same day.

The rector of the university invited me to an interview. He asked where I studied and said that I should pass the exams of the term and then I could be transferred to university. But I was too indignant and proud and told him that I wouldn't study in their anti-Semitic university. This was the end of that issue. Nevertheless, I didn't want to study at the Economy Department and entered KPI the following year. I studied well. But that was the time of the struggle against cosmopolitism and it also echoed at Kiev Polytechnical Institute. I faced it for the second time, when they wanted to expel Jews from the Komsomol first and then, consequently, from the institute. All those students were Jewish. As we didn't have such serious things as discussions of Stalin's works they were picking on anything they could.

I remember Stalin's death. First I was happy because my father was taken away and under investigation then. And it was my prior intention to let him know about Stalin's death. Secondly, I felt happy that Stalin had died. But I learned so well to conceal my feelings that one couldn't tell anything by my looks, neither happiness nor grief.

My father was arrested in 1952 on the charge of squandering. A big case was being prepared then and they wanted to cook up a counter- revolution. He wasn't alone, there was a group of them, 25 people, which was even worse. The manager of that office wasn't Jewish. The rest of them were Jews. My father's charge was that he named the amount lost and how much was to be covered. He participated in it. This case lasted long. After 15 years in prison he started collecting certificates from people, stating how much he owed and to whom. They all gave him a signed piece of paper and it turned out that he didn't owe anything to anybody. This means that this whole case was built on sand. There were no debts and no embezzlement, but there was a very big case. They were even going to enforce the death sentence to some of them but it was abolished then.

I remember well how they arrested him. They came to his workplace, he called home from there, but didn't return home on that day. And they sealed off his workplace and started searching. They took him to his workplace and then they took him away. He had to transfer his office to his replacement. The process lasted two weeks, and during those two weeks I went to his workplace and brought him some food and could see him when he was escorted past me. Mama had to steal away. They said then that wives would be arrested, too. I saw her secretly.

Then they came one day and took me away to a mansion in Pechersk, and into an office. And then they brought my father in there. My father was all swollen up, I couldn't understand what had happened to him. Stalin had died and I wanted to let him know somehow. I said to him, 'Our country is undergoing great changes. We all hope for the better'. I was interrupted right away. The investigation officer was Jewish; I could tell from his surname. He made such a hullabaloo to prevent me from saying too much. Papa said, 'Give them all our valuables'. We didn't have anything of value. My sister and I had a ring, a pendant and a watch each, and mama only had her wedding ring. I said, 'Papa, what can I give away? I don't have anything! I pawned everything we had. We had to live somehow! I have the receipt'. But he kept saying, 'Give away everything. Here, this officer will go with you and you give him everything'. 'All right', I said.

The officer and I made the rounds of our relatives, my father must have given them their addresses. I entered and said right away, 'Aunt Etlia, give them all your valuables, please'. She was staring at me. 'Do you have anything that belongs to us? Give it to them!' - 'But I don't have anything!', she replied. I went on, 'You have nothing that is ours? Then give them something of yours, so that they leave me alone! Because they demand that I give them something but I don't have anything except my gold medal!' She still didn't understand what this was all about. Shurik, her younger son, was playing with his watch, so I said, 'There! There is a broken watch - give it to them!' The officer didn't take it. That way we made the rounds of all our relatives. They had to make sure that we hadn't hidden anything at anybody's place. Then our trip was over because we really didn't hide anything.

They took me back and then there was a trial. I attended the court hearing; it was very hard. Sarra worked in Khmelnitskiy at that time and mama was away all the time. Therefore I brought my father parcels and tried to have him see me, to let him know that we were fine. Reality very soon destroyed my youngster's illusions. After my father had been arrested I went to the Komsomol leader at the institute and told him about it. He said, 'So what? Firstly, he hasn't been convicted yet, and, secondly, are you going to announce this at every opportunity now?' I said to him, 'Well, I just wanted to let you know, that's it'. Later, when the second wave of expels came, I was swept over by it for the reason that I concealed the fact of my father's arrest. However, my co-students at KPI were fighting for every person. We won and nobody got expelled. Only one person from the list was expelled for the reason that he smiled at the announcement of Stalin's death.

This was a difficult time. Mama didn't work and was hiding away. I didn't eat enough. There had to be something to keep me alive, and it was my future husband, Alexei Dmitriyevich Kaluzhniy, or Alyosha as I call him, who supported me. He came to the classes, and during the first break he stated that he hadn't had breakfast yet, unwrapped a huge package and said, 'Zina, let's have breakfast'. I accepted it, and we ate his huge breakfast. In the afternoon I walked to Volodarskogo Street for dinner at his aunt's. As for dinner - I cannot remember whether there really was any food though. I was a thin girl. As for mama - I don't know what she was eating. Later, after the court hearing, mama took a job at some dressmaker's shop; she was sewing underwear. In the evening she brought home bras and we sewed buttons onto them.

Alyosha helped us sewing on buttons. Mama thought nicely of him. After my father's arrest they stopped people coming close to our home and interrogated them. We were spied on. So all my admirers disappeared immediately. I valued highly how my husband treated me then. My mother liked Alyosha very much, but such a 'present', that is a second 'goy' in the family because he's Ukrainian was terrible. She was very afraid of papa's reaction. So, she said to me, 'You know, Zina, you will graduate from the institute, go on your [mandatory job] assignment 20 and you will get married there. Then I will tell papa that I had nothing to do with it'. But everything turned out to be much easier when papa returned because he accepted Alyosha.

Alyosha comes from an intelligent family. His ancestors were Cossacks 21. On his father's side they were a well-to-do family. And their grandparents on his mother's side were well-off, too. When the dispossession of the kulaks 22 began, they left their village for Dnepropetrovsk. His mother got higher education there. She was a candidate of Chemical Sciences at the Academy of Sciences. Her second husband was also a teacher; he worked in a military college. They didn't want Alyosha to marry a Jewish girl. They didn't accept me and we didn't keep in touch. Alyosha left his home before we got married. He stayed away from home for a year, we finished our studies and got married. Life was difficult, we hardly had anything, as our belongings had been confiscated. [Editor's note: if a member of the family was arrested, the Soviet authorities also confiscated the family's possessions.] Alyosha took nothing from his home. We bought a mattress and placed it on four chocks. We had to start from scratch.

I started working in 1956. Kievpribor plant was hiring young specialists then. They needed 180 employees. Their representatives came to the KPI human resource department in search of specialists. They didn't want to employ me, but they took Alyosha's documents for review. He was called in for an interview with the director. My husband told them that he couldn't take this job. 'Why?', they asked. 'I'm married', he said. 'Well, in that case, your wife is hired, too', they replied. So that way I was hired, too and worked at Kievpribor all my life. At first I worked in the energy department, then I was transferred to the design office. I worked there as a designer for 15 years and then went to the standardization department. In total I worked at this plant for 33 years.

We earned little money, but our life was gradually improving. We all lived in harmony. At first we lived with my mama, then we got a child and later my sister joined us. And we all lived in that one room, 14 and a half square meters, and there were no rows or arguments. Then we received a one-bedroom apartment. We exchanged our room and this one- bedroom apartment for a two-bedroom apartment. My father returned and we continued living in peace. We lived like that for three years, and then we got ourselves a cooperative apartment. We left the two-bedroom apartment to my sister and my parents and moved into our cooperative apartment.

My father was in prison, which was a camp at the same time - prisoners were sent out to work in the woods and those who weren't strong enough stayed and worked in the camp in Soswa, Sverdlovsk region, for 15 yeas. It was located behind the Urals. It was a small village. I visited him there. The roads were planked with wood, there was terrible frost, but the people were friendly. I came to this prison, and the director gave us three days to spend together. My father did everything there, including dentistry. He was a dentist assistant. People treated him well. He loved life. There was always music in our home and records, and dancing. He was always the entertainer at weddings. So, he easily found a common language with the management and convicts in the camp. They didn't send him into the wood, he stayed in the camp. My father didn't tell us about the prison camp. He tried to forget it. Only rarely he would mention something, but never - about preliminary investigation. I tried to ask him but he wouldn't say a word.

Although my husband wasn't a Jew we still observed Jewish traditions. First Alyosha was surprised about some things. He couldn't get used to stuffed fish, for instance. Then he finally took to liking it. I don't cook Ukrainian food like his grandmother did. So, he likes to eat when we visit people. His eating manners are the same as they were in his childhood. At home I always give him a fork and a spoon at the table. But at the end of the meal he always returns a clean fork, as he eats with his spoon. After getting married I started buying pork because he likes pork. But he doesn't mind veal or beef either. He is very patriotic, he loves Ukraine and everything Ukrainian. But with due respect of each other and different traditions and habits there can be no conflicts. Whatever one likes is good.

Our son Alexander, or Sasha as we call him, was born in 1957. When I got a son, I couldn't afford to leave work for good. There were two months of maternity leave, one month vacation, and one month vacation saved from the previous year. That made four months altogether and then I had to go back to work. Mama arranged for herself to only work one shift. I arranged to work without lunch break. When I came home she had already left. So, mama wrapped my son into a blanket, put him to sleep and placed his pram under the balcony of our neighbor's, right next to her window. Sasha was sleeping and I took him home when I came back from work. And the neighbor watched him all this time. If there was trouble she took him to her place, changed his nappy and the like.

Sasha was an ordinary boy. His friend was the neighbor's boy, Kostia, who was also a good boy. Once Sasha came home and whispered to me, 'Kostia doesn't want to be my friend'. 'Why? I asked. 'I called him zhyd [kike]', he replied. I was paralyzed with horror. I said to him, 'Kostia is a Jew. Only bad people say zhyd. But at least he is a Jew whereas you are nobody.' He asked, 'How come?' and I replied, 'Your papa is Ukrainian and your mama is Jewish. So you are a nobody'. He was confused. Then I decided to draw his attention to this issue. At that time Kuznetsov's 23 Babi Yar was published, so I told Kostia about it all, and then I gradually introduced him to the Jewish history. I got the World History of the Jewish People by Simon Dubnow 24. I made some notes. As nobody knew about it, I decided to type it. We had a typewriter at home and Sasha and I were typing my notes. As a result, Sasha knew about the history of the Jewish people and their traditions very well.

He was raised Jewish, although not religiously, and with all respect to his Ukrainian origin. We all respected and accepted each other. My son's wife is Jewish. Of course, deep down in my heart I wanted him to marry a Jewish girl, but I thought I didn't have the right to decide. So I'm happy he did. My sister had books of the well-known writer Schopenhauer 25; three volumes. She said, 'Sasha, they will be yours if you marry a Jewish girl". Of course this wasn't the reason why he got married to a Jewish girl. He simply fell in love with a Jewish girl, but at least he got close to the Jewry that way.

Our son was 13 when his grandfather returned. It was the most difficult thing to have them get used to one another. It took a lot of effort on everybody's part. It took about half a year, or maybe even longer. The difficulties lay in the behavior and manner of speaking. My son was used to a different manner of speaking; he didn't understand how a person could spit on the floor, and my father had forgotten what a normal life was like. But gradually it all improved, my son realized what his grandfather had gone through.

When my father returned he continued going to the synagogue. My father died on 2nd December 1990. In his last years we went to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But he couldn't go there by himself. He went to the synagogue by taxi in the last three years of his life, and I brought him back. He was very proud to introduce his daughter to people. He liked the fact that his daughter was at the synagogue. And they allowed me to sit beside my father in the synagogue, along with his childhood friend Iosiph Mats. My father was happy. I have a special feeling when it comes to the synagogue. I don't go there but I would like to go there. I've heard psalms since my childhood. Iosiph used to sing them whenever he visited us.

Being Jewish didn't really interfere with my life. I never regretted being Jewish. I encountered anti-Semitism when I took my entrance exams to the institute, and another time when my boss told me she wanted me to be her deputy. She was told that it wasn't possible. I didn't feel sorry about it. I lived behind my husband's back, and we earned all right for that time. And that was all I wanted. Therefore, I cannot say that I had any problems in this regard. But once my husband had a problem. They didn't allow him to go abroad. They explained to him that it was because his wife was Jewish. My Jewry was of no assistance to me either, until we became very poor. Then Hesed and Joint 26 started supporting us.

Of course, I dreamed about a different career. I could have chosen a different way. In this respect my Jewry interfered, of course. They once even cut my wings after this incident with my entering the institute. I lost faith in myself. My husband made a good career for a person without any support from 'above'. He defended his dissertation and became a candidate of sciences. He got promoted at work. But he decided he didn't care about titles. His degree allowed him an additional 100 rubles to his salary. I also wanted a quiet life after all we had gone through. We were content with what we had. We could only afford to go to a restaurant once or twice a year in Kiev. But we could afford to go to any theater, any performance of a theater on tour in Kiev. And buying a pair of shoes or a suit wasn't a problem either.

We also had many hobbies. My husband has always been very fond of music. He plays the guitar, and participated in amateur performances at the institute. He went in for sports. I was also fond of sports when I studied at the institute, but then I gave it up. My family and son were enough for me. We liked swimming, and my husband was very fond of skiing, he went skiing to the Carpathian Mountains in winter and took me with him. We often had guests at home. My son was a gifted boy, but he got ill in his teens. He spent almost a year in the same sanatorium where my sister had spent so many years. He studied a lot and finished the faculty of mathematics at university. He is a candidate of mathematical sciences and lectures at Solomon University at present.

I keep in touch with my relatives. I've found my relatives that had left in the 1920s. I've been to America to visit my two cousins. We went to my grandparent's grave there. I saw my cousin's son. My cousin was in a different country then. We correspond with those that emigrated. This year my last cousin died.

My sister Sarra died a long time ago. She was more patriotic than I. If she could she would have taken the first chance to move to Israel. Whenever she found out that somebody was a Jew she would tell me. She also made notes. Now we have a book of 'Famous Jewish people', but I had more names written down. Sarra always told me what new she learned about the Jews. I'm very glad that Sarra attended the first Jewish concerts at GVF [Institute of Civil Aviation] Institute. There was already a rabbi there at the time. The whole family went there: papa, myself, Sarra and Sasha. And Sarra was translating a little for us.

Sarra worked as a teacher all her life. She taught logistics and psychology first and then chemistry and mathematics. She changed her profession, as she couldn't find a job. All those who had a philosophical education took to public activities or teaching history. One could only teach history if a party member. And we never wanted to be party members. Sarra was a very smart woman and she reacted promptly to everything. What took me three days to grasp she got in three minutes. If somebody said something to her at the pedagogical council, and it was touching her indirectly, she would retort in such manner that they wouldn't want to speak against her again. It was noticeable that she had been ill, therefore, people were feeling sorry for her. I think, she was treated well.

Many of my relatives and friends moved to other countries for good, but I had made up my mind on this question a long time ago - the remains of my dear parents and all my close ones are buried here and I will always live here.

My granddaughter Lubov studied in a Jewish school for five years. She is a 4th-year student at KPI now and studies well. May God give her happiness. As for my son, I only wish him health and lots of it. My family has always been doing okay, but it has always been health that we lacked.

Glossary

Dora Slobodianskaya
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: November 2002

Dora Slobodianskaya lives in a big three-bedroom apartment in the center of Chernovtsy with her husband Boris and granddaughter Marina. Dora is a tiny woman with nicely done gray hair. She is a very sociable lady and still takes an active part in public life regardless of her age. She prepares material for the monthly radio program of 'Dos Yidishe Wort'. Besides Dora collects information about victims of the Holocaust and sends questionnaires that she fills in to Yad Vashem 1. She is fond of Jewish folk songs, which she collects and sings in the Veteran Club in Hesed. Dora also reads a lot.

My parents and their families came from the Moldavian town of Faleshty. It was a small town in Bessarabia 2. Before 1918 it belonged to Russia. After World War I Faleshty became part of Romania. The majority of its population was Moldavian and Jewish, but there were also Russians and Ukrainians. A church and a choir synagogue were in the main square. The choir synagogue was the biggest and most beautiful of all the synagogues in town and was attended by wealthy Jews and local Jewish intellectuals. There were several smaller synagogues around town. There was a cheder as well as Romanian secondary schools. Jews lived in the center of town. Moldavians, for the most part, lived on the outskirts of town where land was less expensive. They had big orchards and vineyards. There were never any pogroms] or even minor conflicts between the different nationalities in Faleshty. There was a spring on the outskirts of town. Water was delivered by a horse-driven cart with a huge barrel filled with water from that spring. There was a barrel in the corner of my father's shop, which the water carrier filled with water. We paid him for this service.

Power supply was provided in 1938. Before then there were kerosene lamps to light the houses. We had nice bronze kerosene lamps in the house. Before holidays these lamps were polished with chalk. There were cobblestone pavements and ground sidewalks in Faleshty. Owners of houses swept and cleaned the area near their houses. There was a lot of mud when it rained and people wore knee-high rubber boots.

My grandfather on my father's side, Aron-Itzyk Melman, was born in the late 1860s. His family came from Faleshty. My grandfather was the youngest in the family. His brothers and sisters moved to the US, Palestine and Argentina at the end of the 19thXIX century. My grandfather was a short slim man with a well-groomed beard. He always wore a long black jacket. He wore a kippah at home, but he put on a black hat when he left home. My grandfather was a very nice and kind man. He died of pneumonia in 1938 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Faleshty. My grandmother, Dvoira Melman, also came from Faleshty. She was born in the 1870s.

My grandfather was a shahmmash in the main synagogue. My grandmother was a housewife. My grandfather didn't earn much, and she had to do her best to make ends meet. They lived in a small house near the synagogue in the center of town. There was a small shed and a toilet in the backyard. They were a very religious family. They observed all Jewish traditions, celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays and followed the kashrut. My grandfather was a well-respected man in Faleshty. When somebody needed to borrow money he was asked to be a guarantor between the parties. He took the responsibility to pay back a debt in case a debtor wasn't able to do so, but my father told me that it never came that far. My grandfather charged some interest for his service.

My grandparents had three sons and a daughter. The oldest, Motl, was born in 1897, my father, Wolf, in 1901, Zeilik in 1903 and Feige in 1905. The boys finished cheder. Feige was educated at home; her brothers and parents taught her mathematics and how to read and write in Yiddish. My father didn't tell me much about his childhood - he was a taciturn man and didn't like to recall the past.

My grandfather didn't remarry after my grandmother's death in 1912. Other relatives helped him to raise the children. The sons studied crafts after they finished cheder. Motl got involved in farming and Zeilik became a shoemaker. When they were old enough they got married. They had traditional Jewish weddings in a synagogue. They started their own businesses. Motl and his family moved to Kalineshty village. Motl and his wife Rekhl had five children: Srul, Khona, Reizl and the twins Khova and Moishe. They perished when the Germans occupied Kalineshty in 1941. Zeilik, his wife and two sons managed to evacuate. After the war they settled down in Chernovtsy. Zeilik died in Chernovtsy in the 1960s. His sons are doing well. They graduated from a construction institute and work as engineers for private companies. They are both married and have adult children. Feige married Yekhil Rozhansky, a shoemaker. They had two daughters. I don't remember the older daughter's name. The younger one, Tube-Rekhl, and I were the same age. Feige, her husband and both daughters were shot by the fascists in Faleshty in 1941.

After finishing cheder at the age of 11 my father studied to become a fur specialist. His tutor, Shloime Shnaiderman, lived in the same neighborhood. He was my mother's father, my future grandfather. He was born in Faleshty in the 1870s. His wife, Perl Shnaiderman, also came from Faleshty and was the same age as my grandfather. He was a fur specialist. He bought sheep and lambskin from farmers and made hats and other things of fur. There were two or three employees and a few apprentices in his shop. My grandmother was a housewife. The shop was in their house.

They had seven children: five daughters and two sons. My mother, Golda, was born in 1905. She was the oldest in the family. The next child, Nehama, was born around 1907, Mindl in 1910 and Sheindl in 1913. Then came two sons: Yankel, born in 1916, and Shmil, born in 1918. Khaya, the youngest in the family, was born in 1922. The boys studied at cheder, the daughters were educated at home. They had a teacher from cheder who taught them Hebrew, Yiddish, the Torah and Talmud, history, literature and mathematics. They spoke Yiddish at home.

The family was religious. They observed Jewish traditions. My grandmother strictly followed the kashrut. She had separate utensils and tableware for meat and dairy products, and different pieces of cloth for washing dishes for meat and dairy products. They celebrated Sabbath. On Friday mornings my grandmother began to cook food for Saturday. She baked challah bread in the Russian stove 3, made carrot tsimes, gefilte fish and clear chicken soup. She left pots with food in the oven to keep the food warm. She made Jewish stew, cholent and chicken. My grandmother baked delicious strudels and honey cake - the best I've ever had in my life. On Saturdays my grandparents dressed up to go to the synagogue. When they returned my grandfather read the Torah and prayed.

Their daughters cleaned and washed the house thoroughly before Pesach. They walked the rooms with a candle looking for chametz, breadcrumbs. My grandmother and her daughters took fancy dishes down from the attic to use them on Pesach and put utensils for everyday use in the attic. They ordered matzsah at the synagogue, which was delivered in white cloth bags. They ate matzsah during Pesach, and my grandmother baked pastries from matzah and matszah flour. She made chicken broth, gefilte fish and matzsah and potato puddings. She always made strudels, honey cakes and cookies. My grandfather conducted seder on the first night of Pesach.

After the October Revolution of 1917 4 in Russia, young Jewish people in Romania became very fond of revolutionary ideas. My mother's sister Mindl became a member of an underground revolutionary group. Members of this group studied works by Marx and Lenin, distributed flyers with communist ideas and arranged parades on 1st May . The Romanian police had lists of young people involved in revolutionary activities. Every year before 1st May there was a search in my grandfather's house. Policemen were looking for underground books or posters, which they never found. The other children didn't share Mindl's enthusiasm. My mother's younger brother, Yankel, was a shoemaker. Shmil and Khaya finished a course of tractor drivers and began to work in a tractor crew. Before the war Khaya married Pinia Kislyuk, a Jewish man from Faleshty, who was also a tractor driver. Yankel and Shmil were single.

My father met my mother when he became an apprentice to my mother's father at the age of 11. My mother was 7 years old then. When they grew up they fell in love with one another. Grandfather Shloime gave his consent to their marriage. They got married in 1924 when my mother was 19 and my father 23 years old. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. Two years after the wedding my father bought a house from a Jewish family that moved to Argentina. The house was in the main street of town. When my father bought the house he quit his job in my grandfather's shop and opened his own leather shop. He purchased black and gray sheep and lambskin from farmers in the neighboring villages. He put sheepskin in a tanning solution that had a terrible smell. Afterwards the sheepskins were dried in the yard. When they were dry my father removed the inner layer of the leather and treated the skins with a fur polishing solution. Then they were placed in a big drum with sawdust. It had to be rolled with a handle for 12 hours before the sheepskins were ready for further handling. They were brushed and then my father made hats, collars and coats. He had a special sewing machine for leather. After the harvest in the fall Moldavians came to buy hats from my father. My father had two to three apprentices. They learned at his place for a couple of years and after their apprenticeship my father paid them for their work.

Jews settled down in central parts of towns because they were tradesmen and craftsmen in their majority and had more business opportunities and clients, if they lived close to the center. Land was expensive and the cost of a house was based on the width of the façade of the house. Therefore, Jews made facades of their houses narrow to reduce the cost. Our house was like this - built with its narrow façade facing the street and advancing into the backyard with its wide part. The rooms were in a row and accessible from a long hallway. The first and biggest room was my father's shop. The next one was the dining room, then came the kitchen, my parents' bedroom, a nursery room and a living room. There was a door to the backyard leading onto a verandah annexed to the back of the house. There was a cellar where my mother stored eggplants, carrots and parsley during winter. She also kept tinned vegetables and fruit. There was a big shed in the backyard of the house. My father bought wheat in the fall and kept it in this shed. There was a toilet behind the shed. We had several fruit trees in the backyard. There was a fence around the house and a gate with a lock. My father's sister Feige, her husband and two daughters lived in the same neighborhood.

I was born in this house in 1930. I was named Dvoira but was always called Dora. My mother's grandmother Esther moved in with us after I was born. She was widowed a long time before. My great-grandmother was the oldest in the family and had helped her mother to raise her brothers and sisters. When she joined us she helped my mother to raise my brother and me.

My brother was born in 1933. He was named Shmil. I was very jealous of him because I was told that I was his older sister, and I thought that I was no longer a child and my parents were going to give me less of their love. I remember the ritual of circumcision of my brother. Actually, I don't recall the ritual as such. All I remember is that there was a rabbi and many old Jewish men with long gray beards. I also remember the party. Many children were invited and there was a wooden baby cradle full of candy in the yard. When the cradle was rocked candies fell out and children picked them up. My father hired klezmer musicians, who played Jewish music. Guests danced and enjoyed themselves.

My great-grandmother always wore black clothes. She wore a black kerchief over a white kerchief. My grandmother told me that when my great- grandmother got married she had her hair shaved and began to wear a wig. Once my great-grandmother went to visit my grandmother Perl and fell ill there. She wanted to be taken back to our home, so my father went to pick her up. He also brought a doctor to examine her. She had pneumonia. She was ill for several weeks before she died in 1936. She was about 100 years old. She was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery in Faleshty. This was the first time I saw a Jewish funeral. My great- grandmother lay on straw in the room. All relatives were sitting around her crying. They had their shoes off. My great-grandmother was wrapped into a white shroud.

We also had a housemaid, a Jewish girl from a poor family. She did all the housework, worked from morning till night, and my mother paid her. My mother followed the kashrut. We spoke Yiddish at home. My parents were religious. On Saturdays and on Jewish holidays they went to the synagogue. My father had a black suit and a black hat that he only wore when he went to the synagogue. Women had to wear black clothes to the synagogue. My mother had two fancy black dresses, a silk dress and a woolen one, as well as a silk shawl.

We always celebrated Shabbath at home. My mother made dough for challah bread in a big bowl on Friday mornings and went to the market to do some shopping. When she returned she started baking challahhala bread. She always made gefilte fish and chicken broth. After she took the challahhala bread out of the oven she put Jewish stew with meat, potatoes and beans in a ceramic pot into the oven. It stayed there until lunch on Saturday. It wasn't allowed to heat food or do any work on Saturdays, but the food was kept warm until the next day that way. A Moldavian farmer, who lived on the outskirts of town, came to all Jewish houses in our neighborhood to light kerosene lamps and stoke stoves. Jewish families paid him for doing this. He was paid on other days because it was forbidden to touch money on Saturdays. In the evening the family got together for the ritual of lighting candles. My mother wore her best gown and said a prayer over the candles before she lit them. Then a general prayer for the health and wealth of all those that were dear to us followed, and afterwards the family sat down for dinner. We had silver shot glasses for festive dinners. My father drank a shot of vodka and my mother brought fish sprayed with herbs in from the kitchen. After dinner my father read the Torah to the family.

Pesach was my favorite holiday. Long before Pesach my mother and the housemaid began with the cleaning of the house. Furniture was removed from all the rooms to paint the walls and wash the floors. The house was shining before the holiday. My brother and I went around the house with a candle and chicken feather looking for breadcrumbs. We swept whatever we found on a sheet of paper, and later it was burned in the stove. Fancy dishes were taken from the attic and everyday utensils were taken away.

A Jewish bakery in Faleshty stopped baking bread to make matzah for Pesach. A rabbi had to inspect the bakery and issue a certificate to confirm that any bread or dough with yeast had been removed. Matszah was put into 10 kilo linen bags to be delivered to Jewish homes. Every family needed a lot of matzah because it wasn't allowed to eat bread for the eight days at Pesach. Pastries were also made of matzah flour. My mother bought live chickens and geese from farmers and took them to the shochet. Goose skin and fat were melted in a frying pan, and afterwards onions were fried in it. My mother made chicken broth and added finely cut matzah. She also made goose stew and gefilte fish. My mother made delicious strudels with nuts and jam, honey cakes and little round cookies that melted in the mouth. On the first evening of Pesach my father conducted seder. The table was laid with a snow-white tablecloth. Traditional food, wine and beautiful high silver wine glasses with engraved Stars of David were sitting on the table. There was always one extra wine glass for Elijah, the Prophet2. My mother told us that he came to every Jewish house to bless it. During seder everyone had to drink four glasses of wine. When my brother and I were small we were given water with a drop of wine in it. On the other days of Pesach we went to visit relatives or had guests at home. My father's shop was closed and his apprentices left to see their families.

On Yom Kippur the family fasted. Children were supposed to fast from the age of 5. My mother was always upset because we were so thin. On other days she worked to give us more food while during the fast she begged us to be patient and wait until the fast was over. She told us that God would bless us with a good year for our patience. Before holidays our relatives and acquaintances came to ask forgiveness for intentional and unintentional insults. My parents also made the rounds of other homes asking forgiveness. Christians have a different theory - repent and God will forgive you - but Jews believed that God couldn't forgive people. We always had the ritual of kapores conducted before Yom Kippur. My mother bought white hens for herself and me and white roosters for my father and brother. It was necessary to roll the hens over our head and say a prayer repeating the words, 'May you be my atonement'. My mother was very serious about the kapores.

Before the harvest holiday of Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard - he installed posts and we twined them with branches. The roof was also made of branches and decorated with ribbons. There was a table in the sukkah, and we had meals there during the whole period of Sukkot. On Chanukkah all children got Chanukkah money. Another favorite holiday of mine was Purim when my mother made hamantashen. Every family sent messengers with shelakhmones, gifts for their relatives, friends and neighbors, and they also received gifts from them. Performances were arranged in the main square. People dressed in Purimshpil costumes made the rounds of Jewish homes with their performances and got some money for it.

I attended a Jewish wedding for the first time in 1936. It was Aunt Mindl's wedding. Her fiancé, Avrum Kessler, shared Mindl's revolutionary convictions. They didn't want a traditional wedding with a rabbi, but the family convinced him that a traditional wedding was more of a tribute to traditions. They registered their marriage in the town hall and had a traditional Jewish wedding afterwards. Mindl was in my grandmother's home and wore a white dress and a bridal veil. Her friends were with her and the bridegroom and his friends were waiting in the house next-door. The bridegroom wore a black suit. They had the wedding in the yard of my grandmother's house. The bridegroom, his father and friends came to the house where the bride was waiting. A cantor from the synagogue sang a Jewish wedding song. The bride cried because she felt sad about saying goodbye to her girlhood.

Later everyone went into the yard where a chuppah covered with a crimson brocade with golden patterns had been set up. The bride and bridegroom were taken to the chuppah. A rabbi stood beside the chuppah. He said a prayer and the bridegroom said, 'I take you to be my wife'. Mindl and Avrum exchanged their rings, drank wine from a wine glass and broke the glass. Then they went around the chuppah seven times hand in hand, and the guests shouted 'Mazel tov!' [good luck]. Then the bride and bridegroom started a dance, and the others joined them. After dancing they sat at the table, which was full of traditional Jewish food: gefilte fish, chicken and goose stew. There was a lot of wine and a little vodka. Klezmer musicians were playing at the wedding. My mother's other sister, Sheindl, got married to Shaya Fishman in the winter. They had a chuppah installed in the synagogue. My mother's sister Nehama married Shopse Tirerman at the end of 1939, and they also had a Jewish wedding.

There were no Jewish schools in Faleshty. There was only cheder for boys. I started to study at a Romanian school for girls in 1937. We studied in Romanian. All children spoke fluent Romanian. There were many Jewish girls at this school. Our teachers were very strict. They punished us when we misbehaved - sometimes we even had to kneel in the corner. I have one sad memory associated with that period. When I was 10 or 11 my father believed I was big enough to have wine at seder. The next day I went to school. We had to learn a poem by heart, and I was called to recite it. After the mandatory four glasses of wine I had the night before, I couldn't remember one single line and burst into tears. Since then I've never had another drop of alcohol.

I had classes at school on Saturdays. When I came home my father played records of Jewish music. We had many records of Jewish secular and religious music, and wethey also hadve records of Moldavian and Romanian popular music. We often had guests. We sang, danced and told each other stories. Besides Jewish holidays we also celebrated the birthdays of family members. On these days my mother made a festive dinner, and our relatives and friends got together. After dinner adults had discussions or danced and children played in the yard or in the children's room.

My mother was very strict with us, children, but my father spoiled my brother and me. We always turned to him when we wanted something. There was a sausage store near our house, owned by a Moldavian man. There were pork sausages behind the shop-window that looked ever so delicious! How I wished to try them! We never had any pork at home. Once I ran into the store. The storeowner was a kind big man wearing a white gown. He asked me what I wanted. I felt like a criminal but I still bought a piece of pork sausage for my Chanukkah money. I ate it hiding behind the house. I became obsessed with the idea of buying sausage, and once I asked my father for some money and bought another piece of sausage. After that I began to ask my father for some money regularly. He was quite indulgent when he heard what I spent the money on, but my mother fainted when she heard the news - they heard it from our neighbor, who saw me in the store. My mother was shocked, but when she came back to her senses she said, 'Let that beanpole eat anything she wants, if she only gains some weight!' My mother was deeply concerned with my thinness. Every summer she took my brother and me to a resort in Zakarpatie. It was expensive. Sometimes we rented a room in a village. My brother and I spent a lot of time in the open air, and our mother made food for us. She used to say that children never felt hungry when there was a lot of food available, but if there were no food, they would ask for it. I often recalled these words later when I was in the ghetto.

I had finished the 3rd grade before Moldavia became part of the Soviet Union. In 1940 the USSR declared an ultimatum to Romania about the return of Bessarabia3, which became part of Romania in 19184. Romania agreed to transfer these areas. There was anarchy in our streets for three days after the Romanian army had left and the Soviet army hadn't arrived yet. Everyone came into the streets when the Romanian army was leaving. There were tables with bread, butter, sausage and new Moldavian wine in the streets. People liked the Romanians - life in town was good when they were in power. On 28th June 1940 everyone in town came out into the streets to meet the Red Army. According to Russian tradition the 'liberators' were met with bread and salt. We liked to see Russian soldiers talking to officers and addressing each other with the word 'comrade'. There was a strict subordination in the Romanian army, and it was hard to imagine anything like that.

The euphoria about the 'liberation' was over soon. There was a lack of food products in stores, and people were queuing to buy food. Bread in stores had a terrible taste. We were starving. Children and older people were starving to death. Due to the currency change one ruble was 40 lei, and we didn't have enough money to buy the most necessary things. People who moved here from the USSR were astonished how inexpensive life was in our area. A chicken cost 40 lei at the market. It was rather cheap for them while my father had to work a whole day to earn 40 lei. Many wealthier people, Zionists and even those that had been involved in revolutionary activities during the Romanian regime, were arrested and exiled. The Soviet power didn't touch my father since he only had a few apprentices in his shop and therefore wasn't considered an 'exploiter'.

A Russian school was opened in town. All Romanian schools were closed. We didn't know a single word in Russian, and our teacher didn't know Romanian. I was lucky that my parents knew Russian because they grew up in Faleshty when the town belonged to Russia. I became one of the first pioneers in Faleshty, which was a big honor for me.

On 22nd June 1941 the war [the so-called Great Patriotic War] 55 began. On Saturday night we were woken by the sound of distant explosions. We thought that this was another military training, which became a routine during the Soviet regime, but in the morning we heard that the war had started and that German and Romanian troops occupied Faleshty. We became captives. Aunt Khaya, her husband Pinia and my mother's brother Shmil went to a collective farm 6 before the war. Shmil was captured by the Germans, and we never heard from him again. He must have perished in captivity. Khaya and Pinia managed to escape. Pinia went to the front, and Khaya was in evacuation in the Ural. My mother's brother Yankel was in the army during that period and the rest of the family was at home.

At the end of June the Germans ordered all Jews in Faleshty to come to the main square. Communists and members of their families were taken away and shot. My grandfather Shloime, Aunt Sheindl and her one-year-old daughter Esther, my mother's pregnant sister Nehama, her husband Shopse and his mother, Rivke-Surah Tirerman, were shot that day. Shopse was ordered to dig a grave for his wife and mother before they were all shot. The Germans also shot my father's sister Feige, her husband Esil Rozhansky and their two daughters. About 200 people were killed that day. The rest of us were taken to the ghetto. Old people and children had to march with the rest of us. Mothers were carrying their babies. There were dogs trained to 'herd' people. When someone stepped aside from the group they attacked them and usually went for their throat. Those that got exhausted or couldn't catch up with the rest of us were shot or beaten to death with rifle-butts.

There were four of our family: my parents, my brother and I. My mother was pregnant. Our grandmother Perl, Aunt Mindl, who was also pregnant, and her husband Avrum were also with us. We went from Faleshty to Lymben, Marculesti and Kosoutsy, covering about 100 kilometers. We were allowed to rest for a few hours per day. Once we met German motorcyclists, and they began to photograph us. A Romanian gendarme who saw their craving for sensation, grabbed a baby from a woman and hit its head against the wheels of a cart. In Kosoutsy we were distributed to various ghettos. More than half of those that arrived in Kosoutsy were shot in Kosoutsy forest in one night.

We proceeded to Vinnitsa region: Yampol, Olshanka, Obodovka, Ustye. We stayed in Yampol overnight. My brother and I sat down on the ground. A Romanian officer asked us where we came from and how we happened to be in Yampol. We talked with him in Romanian. The officer ordered his fellow soldier to give us food. We couldn't stop eating. A Jewish ghetto was set up in Ustye village and fenced with barbed wire. The German troops moved on from Ustye, so the ghetto was guarded by Romanian gendarmes. We were accommodated in former cowsheds with ground floors covered with a thick layer of frozen manure. There was no heating and no door. We put some straw on the floor and slept there side by side. Men were taken to do road repairs every day. They didn't get paid and weren't given food for their work. The only way we could get food was to exchange clothing for food products in the village. My mother and I knitted socks, sweaters and mittens for villagers. They gave us yarn and paid us with food for our work. My brother Shmil fetched water and brushwood for villagers and helped them with the harvest in the fall.

The winter of 1941-42 was very cold. Many people died every day. Frozen corpses were stored in the anteroom of our dwelling. We passed by them every day, but all our emotions were gone. Sometimes the dead bodies stayed there for weeks, sometimes they were thrown into a pit near our barrack. I slept beside my grandmother Perl - she warmed me at night. One morning I woke up and she was dead. We lived in constant fear. Every week a few people were shot. Nobody knew who was going to be next.

My younger sister Rachel was born in the ghetto in March 1942. A few days later Aunt Mindl's daughter, Esphir, was born. All tenants of our barrack helped to raise the girls and brought us whatever they had. A woman living next-door taught me how to swaddle babies.

The Roumanians allowed inmates of the ghetto to go out, but no further than to the village. My mother and I went to villagers' houses to take their knitting orders. One winter day in 1942 my mother and I took a sweater to a woman, who lived on the outskirts of the village. She gave us a bottle of sunflower oil, salt and matches for our work. When she went out to see us off she suddenly pushed us back into the house. The woman told us that she saw a group of Jews accompanied by gendarmes in a convoy. She saved our life that time. Another incident happened in February 1943. My mother and I were on our way home with some potatoes and flour that we received for our work. We met an old villager who told us to come into his house immediately. He said that he had seen that Jews were being shot in the ghetto. We stayed in his house for several hours before he let us return to the ghetto. We found out that a Romanian soldier had disappeared and the Romanians shot 40 Jews in reprisal for him. There was another tragedy in the ghetto in May 1943. There was a German hospital in Vinnitsa where they kept wounded German soldiers from the front. They ran out of stocks of blood for blood transfusions. Some doctors from that hospital came to the ghetto, selected ten Jewish boys of 14-15 years of age with the required blood group, took their blood to the very last drop and left.

In the summer of 1943 a group of men, including my father and Mindl's husband, were sent to the construction of a bridge across the Dnieper river in Nikolaev. Before they left the ghetto the Romanians ordered all men to line up near the gate to the ghetto and then every tenth man had to step forward - in effect taking two steps towards death. They were hung on gallows erected along the fence. Our co-tenant, a Roumanian Jew, fell from the gallows three times, and every single time he was hung again. The rest of the men walked to Nikolaev, 300 kilometers from the ghetto. They lived in terrible conditions there. They were ordered to make holes in the ground and lived in those holes. The Germans provided one meal per day - they brought potatoes and threw them in a bowl with water. Prisoners starved and died of diseases and hard work. The Germans usually killed exhausted prisoners, but for some reason they let the group of my father go home. They probably thought the prisoners would die on the way anyway. My father was either dragging Uncle Avrum or carried him on his back all the way home. They managed to get back to the ghetto.

We didn't observe any Jewish traditions in the ghetto - life was too hard. Many people stopped believing in God. They couldn't believe that He would let these tragic things happen. We were living on the brink of hope that rescue would come. We were liberated on 24th March 1944 when the Soviet troops entered Ustye village. The Romanian troops had left the village two days before. We were in a state of stupor and nobody even tried to leave the ghetto before the Soviet troops arrived in the village. Then we started on our way home to Faleshty. We walked following the frontline. Sometimes we got into bombardments, sometimes we got a ride on villagers' carts and sometimes military trucks gave us a lift. We reached our house, which hadn't been ruined. Mindl, her husband, their daughter Esphir and our family settled down there.

In September 1944 I went to the 6th grade. When I turned 14 I became a Komsomol 7 member. I took part in all Komsomol activities, attended meetings and spoke at the meetings. My brother also went to school, and my father became a worker at the garment factory.

We went to Kalineshty village where my father's brother Motl and his family lived before the war. Their neighbors told us that his family perished at the very beginning of the war. We never got to know whether they were killed by the Germans or by locals - that might have happened, too. Aunt Sheindl was shot in Faleshty. Her husband, Shaya Fishman, survived. In the middle of June 1941 he went to see his relatives in Beltsy. He was arrested by the Roumanians there but pretended he was Georgian and they released him. He moved to Balta, Odessa region, and worked for a Romanian owner of a fur shop until the end of 1944. In 1944 he volunteered to go to the front to take revenge for his family. He was killed in action near Budapest. My mother's brothers, Shmil and Yankel, perished in captivity. We lost over 30 close and dozens of distant relatives during the war. There were only nine survivors of our families.

Pinia Kislyuk, Aunt Khaya's husband, was on the front during the war. After he demobilized he was sent to work at the railway station in Chernovtsy. In 1945 Khaya, Pinia and their son Arkadiy, born in the evacuation in the Ural in 1941, moved to live in Chernovtsy. Their daughter Nina was born after the war. Aunt Khaya was a housewife after the war. In the 1970s their family moved to Israel. Khaya died in Israel in 1991. Her daughter Nina, her husband and two children live in Beer-Sheva in Israel. Khaya's son Arkadiy and his family live in Canada. Mindl, her husband and their daughter also moved to Israel. Mindl died in Israel in the late 1990s.

I finished lower secondary school in Faleshty in June 1946. I wanted to continue my studies, but there were no higher educational institutions in Faleshty. My parents were thinking of moving to a bigger town with more Jews and more opportunities for us to study. They corresponded with Khaya and decided to move to Chernovtsy. When we arrived there we settled down in Pinia and Khaya's home. We liked the town. It was a beautiful town. Besides the majority of the population was Jewish. After the war one could hear people speaking Yiddish in the streets. There was a synagogue, a Jewish school and even a Jewish theater. Shortly after we arrived Pinia helped my parents to get two rooms in the basement of a house. We had to renovate them before we could live in them.

I went to the 9th grade of a Russian school. There was a Jewish school in town, but I intended to get a higher education and all higher educational institutions were Russian. I spoke fluent Russian by that time and had no problems with studying. I got along well with my classmates. Many of them were Jews. There was no anti-Semitism at that time. I finished school with a silver medal and entered the Faculty of Biology at Chernovtsy University in 1948. I was a first year student when the campaigns against cosmopolitans 8 began. This process involved scientists and cultural workers that were arrested and sent to camps. They were innocent people, and we understood that it was just a preparatory step before the authorities started persecuting all Jews. Jews were accused of propagating Zionism, espionage and God knows what. The word 'Zionist' became a curse- word at that time. Several Jewish lecturers were fired from university. The Jewish theater and Jewish school were closed. KGB informers patrolled the area near the synagogue. They didn't pay any attention to older Jews, but when they noticed a young man go into the synagogue they informed his management that he was under the influence of Zionism. At that time this might have resulted in dismissal or even arrest.

My father was a laborer at the garment factory. He had a low salary, but he had to go to work. There was a law against jobless people. They were called 'parasites', and militia offices were responsible for making them go to work. My father made hats at home. He purchased sheepskin from villagers and treated them until they were ready to make hats out of them. There was a wood-shed in the yard of the house where my father placed barrels with tanning and painting solutions. My mother assisted him. She, poor thing, rolled the drum with sawdust at night. The earnings of my father's extra work were often higher than his salary. My mother stayed at home looking after my little sister and my brother. He was sickly after our time in the ghetto. When he couldn't go to school my mother helped him do his homework.

My parents celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays after we moved to Chernovtsy. Every Friday my mother lit candles, and afterwards the family sat down for a festive dinner. In the first years in Chernovtsy my mother made matzah at home. Later a Jewish bakery was opened. All Jews in Chernovtsy knew its address. They brought flour for matzah at dusk and returned to pick up bags with matzah late at night. My father and mother went to the synagogue on holidays. We were short of money, but my father made contributions to the synagogue and also paid for a seat for himself and my mother. My mother also saved money from my father's salary to buy food for a festive meal on holidays. She always managed to make gefilte fish, chicken broth and strudels. My father always conducted seder on Pesach. My parents followed all fasting rules. We spoke Yiddish at home.

I did very well at university. I was elected Komsomol leader of the students of my year, but in 1952, at the height of the struggle against cosmopolitans, I got almost expelled from the Komsomol and dismissed from university. My fellow student, Haim Rabin, a Jew, corresponded with his sister residing in Israel. All other students were aware of it. Later he moved to his sister in Israel. Our Komsomol leaders blamed me that I failed to talk him out of emigration to a capitalist country. They said it was my duty to be on guard in such situations while I almost became a supporter of Zionism. Those were serious accusations at that time. My future husband, Boris Slobodianskiy, helped me. He was secretary of the Komsomol committee at the garment factory. He knew the secretary of the town committee of the Komsomol well. He reviewed my 'case' and said that there were no reasons for such accusations. The Komsomol meeting of my fellow students and the Komsomol meeting of the Faculty approved my expulsion from the Komsomol. There was only the district committee of the Komsomol that we had to go to in order to get a final decision. I went there with the secretary of the Komsomol organization of the Faculty. On our way I asked him, 'Kostya, why?' He replied, 'I don't know why, Dora, but this is how things are'. The district committee of the Komsomol didn't approve the decision of the Faculty to expel me.

Uncle Pinia's brother worked at the garment factory. He introduced me to my future husband. Boris was born to a poor family in Poyana village, Rezin district, Romania, in 1926. His father, Moshe Slobodianskiy, leased a field to grow tobacco. His mother, Pesia Slobodianskaya [nee Koopershtok], was a housewife. Boris had two sisters: Khaya, born in 1922, and Sheiva, born in 1932. His family was religious. They observed all Jewish traditions and raised their children religiously. During the war Boris, his mother and younger sister were in evacuation in Kata-Kurgan, Uzbekistan. His father died when he moved the cattle of the collective farm to the Caucasus in 1941. Boris worked at a collective farm and later on a construction site. In 1944 he went to the front and served in the army until 1950. He served with the Soviet troops in Germany. He became a member of the Communist Party in 1948. After the war his mother and sister moved to Chernovtsy, and Boris joined them after demobilization. He became a human resource inspector at the factory where his mother worked. Boris finished an evening secondary school and entered the Faculty of Economics at Chernovtsy University. He studied there by correspondence. He became secretary of the party organization of the factory. Boris was very busy with his party activities. His mother died in 1958.

We got married in 1952. We had a civil ceremony and my parents arranged a festive dinner party for us. My parents wanted us to have a traditional Jewish wedding, but my husband was a communist and it was unacceptable for him.

Boris received a room in a communal apartment 9 from his factory. We installed partitions to arrange a kitchen and a bathroom in the room. The room was dark and damp, but it seemed like paradise to us. We received an apartment 20 years later.

In March 1953 Stalin died. There was a marble bust of Stalin on the second floor of the university. Lecturers and students got together next to the bust. We were grieving over Stalin and many of us cried sincerely. Gradually we came to understand the situation. After the Twentieth Party Congress [710] I believed every word of Khrushchev [811]. He revealed the truth about the tyranny of Stalin and his companions. I guess, many people understood these things before, but refused to believe that it could be happening to us. I hoped that the bad times were over and that Jews had finally lived through their hard time, but I was wrong. Anti-Semitism continued.

I graduated from university in 1953. I was offered a job at a Ukrainian school. I didn't know the language, and it was a difficult year for me. In the fall I was going to take exams to be admitted to a post- graduate course. I had publications and my favorite professor told me that there was a vacancy at the university for me, but during the entrance exams it turned out that there was another candidate - a demobilized officer. I got the highest grades at my exams in Biology and English, but my exam in Marxism-Leninism lasted over two hours. They looked for a chance to give me a satisfactory mark, but I answered all their questions. However, they still put a satisfactory mark, which I didn't even argue about. It was useless. I couldn't be a competitor to a non-Jewish officer and party member. I returned to my school and taught biology until I retired in 1981, when my granddaughter Marina was born.

My daughter was born on 22nd May 1959. We named her Polina, and she also has a Jewish name, Pesia-Perl, after Boris' mother and my grandmother Perl. I had had a few miscarriages before my daughter was born. The doctors said that former inmates of ghettos had problems with pregnancy due to hard living conditions in their childhood. My husband and I had to go to work, but there were no kindergartens available. I didn't want to quit my job because I feared that I wouldn't be able to get another one. My parents helped me raise my daughter. Polina went to kindergarten at the age of 5. My husband and I spoke Yiddish at home. My parents also spoke Yiddish with my daughter, and she said her first words in Yiddish. Our neighbors were loyal to us. One of our neighbors, an old Russian woman, told me that I should speak Yiddish with Polina since she needed to know her mother tongue.

We celebrated Soviet holidays at home. Soviet holidays were days off and we took advantage of this chance to get together and have a party. We enjoyed such occasions very much. My parents continued to celebrate Shabbath and all Jewish holidays after the war. We visited them on Jewish holidays and participated in the seder on Pesach. My father died in 1968. We buried him in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy in accordance with Jewish traditions. My mother died in 1983. The Jewish cemetery was closed, but we still buried my mother next to my father. There is an inscription in Hebrew, Yiddish and Russian on their common gravestone.

My brother and sister finished the College of Light Industry in Chernovtsy. They became production engineers in the garment industry. My brother was a production engineer, and my sister became a forewoman in a shop. My brother married a nice Jewish girl and they had two children. In the 1970s my brother and his family moved to Israel. They live in Bat-Yam. My sister married Isaac Dinishenskiy, a Jew, in 1962. They have a son and a daughter. Since my sister was born in the ghetto she always had health problems. She died in Chernovtsy in 1989. Her older granddaughter was named after her.

In the 1970s many Jewish families began to move to Israel. We sympathized with them. Many of our friends were leaving and we wanted them to have a happy life. As for us, we didn't want to move to Israel. We were afraid that we wouldn't be able to get adjusted to a new life. My husband and I like to be at home, and it's hard for us to change things. Even when we are on vacation we get homesick. Therefore, we decided we'd rather stay.

Polina finished a secondary school. After that she finished a music high school and entered the Music Pedagogical College in Ivano-Frankovsk. It was a smaller town, so it was easier for a Jewish girl to enter a higher educational institution there. Polina returned to Chernovtsy after she finished college and became a teacher at a music school. She still works there. She married a nice young Jewish man. My husband and I were happy that our daughter married a Jewish man. They didn't have a traditional Jewish wedding because my husband was secretary of the party unit of the garment factory. If his daughter had decided to have a Jewish wedding he might have lost his position. Our granddaughter Marina was born in 1981. I helped my daughter raise Marina. Marina finished a Polytechnic College. She is a manager in a company now.

In the late 1980s my husband and I organized a club for old people. This took place at the beginning of perestroika when we felt free. We wanted to take part in the restoration of Jewish life. There were 300 seats in our club, and it was always overcrowded. We arranged meetings twice a week. Poems by Jewish poets were recited and Jewish music and songs were sung. I sang Jewish songs I knew from childhood. There was still anti- Semitism, and my daughter was concerned about a possibility of Jewish pogroms, but we were alright. Our club existed until Ukraine became independent in 1991 and Hesed was established.

We believe that the restoration of the Jewish way of life is our mission. In 1995 my husband established a radio program in Yiddish called 'Dos Yidishe Wort'. It's a monthly program and we get free broadcast time. I help my husband to collect material for this program. We invite many interesting people. About once every three months we broadcast a program on Jewish history.

My husband and I take an active part in the work of Hesed. Once a week my husband conducts a meeting of veterans of the Great Patriotic War. Hesed is our big family. We celebrate holidays and birthdays at Hesed. I also try to do all I can to preserve the memory of the victims of the war. In 1990 I began to collect data about Holocaust victims. I send this information to the Yad Vashem museum in Israel. I've sent over 400 forms there. It's my duty to do everything to contribute to the memory of the innocent people that perished, so that we may never forget this horrific tragedy of our people, the tragedy that took 6 million lives or a lot more, I guess. This must not happen again, and if we don't want it to happen again, we need to know and remember.

Glossary

Engelina Goldentracht
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: October 2002

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

My family background

My grandparents on my mother's side, Aron and Matlia Stravets, lived in the town of Ekaterinoslav [regional town of Dnepropetrovsk now] in the south of Ukraine. I have no information about where they were born. They must have been born around the 1860s. My grandfather may have come from Pinsk. I have no information about my grandparents' families. I don't know my grandmother's maiden name.

My grandfather was a building contractor in Ekaterinoslav. He built houses. He had a construction crew. He developed construction designs and managed construction processes. He didn't have any professional education, but he was very skilled. He constructed several houses in the town. He didn't have his own house. His family lived in a four-bedroom apartment in one of the buildings that he had built in Philosophskaya Street in the center of town, near the synagogue. There was a living room, my grandparents' bedroom, a children's room and my grandfather's study in their apartment. In his study he had a desk, bookcases with books on construction, and a drawing board.

My grandfather was a caring husband and father. At the beginning of the 20th century, when many Jews were leaving Russia in search of a better life, my grandfather also decided to move to America. He went alone to settle down and bring his family later, but he only reached Madrid. He became so homesick that he had to return home.

My grandmother Matlia was a housewife. They had five children: Abram, born in 1896, Rachel, born in 1898, Bencion, born in 1900, my mother Lubov, born in 1902 and the youngest, Maria, born in 1904.

My grandfather Aron wasn't religious. He didn't go to the synagogue. They celebrated Pesach at home - out of respect for old traditions. They spoke Russian in the family, but they knew Yiddish very well. My grandfather believed that it was very important for the children to get an education. He spent all his savings paying for their education. All of them had teachers at home; they studied to read and write, French and German, manners and literature, and finished grammar school. They had many books at home: fiction, Russian and foreign books on philosophy and economy. They read books by Gertzen 1 and Maxim Gorky 2. There were quite a few of Karl Marx's works in their collection of books. There were also other books about revolutionary movements and communist ideas. Those were read with great interest and discussed in the family. The result of the good education the children received was that their oldest and favorite soon, Abram, became a revolutionary.

After finishing grammar school Abram graduated from the Law Faculty of the Uuniversity in Ekaterinoslav - he took an external degree. He was a very intelligent and talented man and finished the whole law course in two years. He became a lawyer at the age of 19. But he didn't work - he became overwhelmed with revolutionary ideas. Abram organized an underground Bolshevik unit in Ekaterinoslav that published flyers and a newspaper. Abram's name in the party was Pavlov; it was a pseudonym. Abram corresponded with Bolshevik leaders. He also wrote books about the poor, their hard work and misery, about the revolution and happy life in Russia in the future, and sent them to Maxim Gorky for review. Gorky sent him very warm recommendations.

My grandfather Aron was against Abram's revolutionary activities. He argued with him and even stopped communicating with him for some time. My grandmother Matlia was on her husband's side, but she also supported Abram. She even helped her son with the distribution of the newspaper. He also asked her to go to the market square to see whether people were reading his newspaper and flyers.

His underground group was about to be exposed to the authorities and, in order to continue their revolutionary activities, they moved from Ekaterinoslav to Kharkov. But there Abram's group was reported, and all of its members were taken to court in 1916. My grandfather Aron found out about the court sitting and came to Kharkov. He didn't even mention it to his wife. The judge sentenced Abram and his assistant to execution by hanging. Grandfather was near Abram during the execution. The executioner offered to blindfold them both, but they refused, and grandfather was looking into the eyes of his beloved son until the last minute.

Grandfather returned to Ekaterinoslav and only said to his children, 'Your brother is gone'. He fell severely ill shortly afterwards. He stayed in mental hospital for two months and became taciturn and reserved after he returned home. He couldn't talk to his family about Abram. Once he got together with his friend Zamanskiy and told him the story of his son's execution. His friend realized that my grandfather told him the story on purpose, so that he would tell it to Matlia and the children. He visited them when grandfather was away on business and told them about Abram's execution. When grandfather returned home, they all pretended they didn't know a thing about Abram, and nobody dared to talk to him about it until he died. After his son's death grandfather turned to God and became a deeply religious man. He believed that God had punished him for his heresy and searched for atonement in his prayers. Every morning my grandfather put on his tallit and tefillin and prayed. He began to go to the synagogue. But he couldn't change his children's convictions. They were very enthusiastic about the revolution of 1917 and the Soviet power.

Rachel, my grandmother's oldest daughter was born in 1898. She entered the Medical Institute in Ekaterinoslav after finishing grammar school and graduated in the first years after the revolution. She was a physician in a hospital in Dnepropetrovsk. She was married. Her Jewish husband Misha Gurvich, also a doctor, was in evacuation with their son Abram, named after Abram who had been killed, during World War II. Misha was released from the army due to his poor eyesight. Rachel was recruited to the army in the first days of the war. She worked at a front line hospital. Rachel was sickly, but she couldn't afford to get ill at the front. She died a few years after the war. Her son became a builder. He was construction manager at the airfield construction site in Izhevsk. He got married there and stayed in this town. He died in 2001.

Bencion, my grandmother's younger son, graduated from the Construction Institute in Dnepropetrovsk. Bencion specialized in the construction of cinema theaters and cinema sites. His wife Sonia was a doctor. They had two sons: Abram and Galiy. Abram was at the front during the war, and Galiy perished in a plane crash during training in pilot school. Bencion died in the middle of the 1960s in Dnepropetrovsk.

My grandmother's youngest daughter, Maria, also became a doctor. At the institute she met a young Russian man, Yuri Grigoriev, and married him. My grandfather took it dramatically. He was very religious at that time, and he never forgave Maria for this marriage, but he always helped her when she was in need. Upon graduation Yuri and Maria worked at a hospital in the country where they both got their job assignments. Later they lived in Dnepropetrovsk. Their daughter Nelia became a chemist. She lives in Kiev with her family. She lectures at the Road Transport Institute. She has a Ukrainian husband named Parkhomenko, who was Minister of Higher and Professional Education in Ukraine at one time. They have two children and three grandchildren. Maria died in Dnepropetrovsk in 2001.

My mother, Lubov Stravets [1902-1970], finished grammar school for girls in 1917. She was very close with her older brother Abram. She was very influenced by him and performed his assignments. She became a member of the Bolshevik Party after the revolution. During the Civil War [1918-1921] she became a member of the revolutionary committee. [Revolutionary committees were the first revolutionary punitive units. - ed.] My mother had an office in which she interrogated 'enemies of the revolution'. She always kept a grenade on her desk in case somebody attacked her. My mother's party name was Pavlova and she had the name of Pavlova-Stravets written in her party membership card. She never changed this name.

In the first years of the Soviet power she lived with my grandfather Aron's family. Grandfather Aron was invited to lecture on construction at the Construction Institute in Dnepropetrovsk. He was paid lower rates as he didn't have a higher education, and the Institute Management never paid him full compensation for his work at the end of each fiscal year. My grandfather sued them every year, and the court always decided in his favor. During the NEP 3, when students had to pay for their education, my grandfather paid for poorer students and they all paid him back upon graduation.

My grandfather wanted my mother to get a higher education and felt very critical about her involvement in revolutionary activities. He insisted that my mother entered the Medical Institute. She studied there until her first class of anatomy. She couldn't bear the sight of a human corpse and quit. In 1923 my mother met my father, and they started living together.

My father, Zakhar Voosiker [1904-1958], was born to an ordinary Jewish family. His father David Voosiker was a shoemaker; he was a very religious man. His father and his mother Sophia were born around 1875 in Dnepropetrovsk. They lived in the basement of a small apartment. My father's family was religious. My grandparents went to the synagogue and observed all Jewish traditions. However, I can't remember any celebrations in their family. They were very poor and couldn't afford any celebrations. Besides, my revolutionary mother boldly forbade my grandparents to arrange anything related to religion in our presence. They talked in Yiddish, but they spoke Russian to their children and grandchildren. They were very enthusiastic about the revolution. They were so poor that they couldn't even dream of giving their children an education. The boys went to cheder because it was free, and the girls didn't study at all. They had four children: Gutl, born in 1900, my father Zakhar, born in 1904, Jacob, born in 1914 and Galia, born in 1915. My father's sisters and brothers were not religious and didn't observe any traditions after they had left their parents' home.

Gutl married Roman Simonian, a Persian man of Armenian origin. My Her parents were not against this marriage. They probably wanted her to marry a Jewish man, but they understood that it was their daughter's choice and they had to give in to it. Roman lived in the Soviet Union, but he had a Persian citizenship. He was a skilled shoemaker and made shoes for the party officials and their families. The Soviet authorities tried to convince him to accept the Soviet citizenship, but he refused. My father was working at the NKVD office 4 in Dnepropetrovsk, and his management threatened to fire him, if he didn't convince Roman to become a Soviet citizen. He managed to do so. A few days later Roman became a Soviet citizen and received a Soviet passport. He was arrested and nobody ever saw him again. Gutl didn't talk to my father for many years. She couldn't forgive him that she had lost her husband. Gutl and Roman didn't have any children, and Gutl never remarried. She died in Dnepropetrovsk in the early 1950s.

My father's younger brother Jacob entered the Faculty of Journalism at Kiev University after finishing the Rabfak 5. He proved to be a talented journalist. During the war he was a political officer at the front, and after the war he became a leading journalist with the Kiev newspaper Vecherniy Kiev. He married a Russian woman called Nina. Their daughter Natasha and her family live in Kiev. Jacob and Nina died in the early 1990s.

Galia married a Jewish man called Leonid Lapidus. He was a professional military. Galia finished a military college in Chernigov, and they left for his service location. He was at the front during the war. After the war Galia and Leonid lived in Chernigov, where her husband came from. They died in the early 1990s. Their daughter lives in Israel and their son lives in the US.

My father finished cheder and this happened to be his only Jewish education. My father studied at a Russian elementary school. He was a very gifted man: he wrote poems, fables, and parodies, and drew well. He got very fond of revolutionary ideas, just like many other young people from poor families did. He became a Komsomol 6 member, and in 1923 he became a member of the Communist Party. At that time it was popular to change first and last names to better sounding ones, and my father chose the name Vladimir Zorin. Vladimir after Lenin1, and as to his last name: he just found it beautiful.

Growing up

My parents met at one of their party related events. My mother didn't know my father's real name until he invited her to his home and introduced her to his family. They got married at the beginning of 1924. At that time many young people merely announced themselves husband and wife and began to live as a family. That was my parents' plan, but their parents convinced them to register their marriage. A Jewish wedding was out of the question at that time. My parents celebrated their wedding with their party comrades and left for Berdiansk on one of their party assignments to organize a commune in a village. Members of this commune lived in barracks and did the farming together, hoping to harvest big crops and establish new communal relationships. They had a very poor life and ate potatoes and sauerkraut. In the evenings they got together to sing revolutionary songs, recite poems and dream about a happy future. I was born in this commune on 18th December 1924. I was named Engelsina after Frederic Engels 7. Later, after the war, I changed my name to Engelina.

Shortly after I was born my mother's father Aron visited the commune. He insisted that my parents moved to Dnepropetrovsk. In the middle of January 1925 we returned to my grandfather Aron's house. My father got a job at the NKVD office, and my mother was secretary of the party unit at a factory. I stayed at home with my grandmother Matlia and my grandfather Aron. He called me 'my pet'. I was their first granddaughter - they only had grandsons before. My grandfather told me fairy tales and stories, both Russian and Jewish tales. In the morning my grandfather prayed, and I often helped him to put on his tallit and tefillin. My grandfather attended the synagogue. Once he took me to the synagogue, which made my mother very angry. She forbade him to tell me any religious stories or take me to the synagogue or speak Yiddish in my presence. .

In 1929 my brother was born. He was named Julen [Junior Leninets]. There was a portrait of Lenin over his bed and a portrait of Engels over my bed. Shortly after my brother was born my parents moved to Kharkov and then to Chernigov as directed by their party authorities.

My father was an NKVD officer, and my mother was chairman of a woman's council at the equipment yard [collective farm equipment maintenance yard]. My mother went to villages and met up with young women in order to propagate for the Soviet power and to explain to them the need to study. My mother came home late after work and often went on trips. My mother's younger sister Galia came to help my mother in the house. She lived with us for a year or two before she married Leonid Lapidus. She

In 1934 the capital of Ukraine was transferred from Kharkov to Kiev, and my father was assigned to be director of the NKVD cultural center in Kiev. We received a big three-bedroom apartment in Pechersk. [This was an elite neighborhood in Kiev where all government institutions were located and where high governmental officials lived. - ed] It was a spacious apartment, and my father's parents and his brother Jacob moved in with us. My grandparents prayed quietly in their room. It wasn't possible to follow the kashrut at that time. There was no place selling kosher food. My grandfather David and my grandmother Sophia went to the only synagogue in Podol 8. My parents understood their religious needs, but they didn't allow them to involve their children in any religious activities. We got along well. On Soviet holidays - anniversaries of the October Revolution 9 and 1st May my mother's friends visited us and we used to party. They sang revolutionary songs, Ukrainian and Russian ballads, recited poems and danced. In summer my parents went on vacation to Sochi or Yalta [popular holiday resorts in the Soviet Union] and sent us to our grandparents in Dnepropetrovsk. Our family never celebrated Jewish holidays. My mother didn't allow our grandparents to speak Yiddish to us. My parents spoke Russian, although Yiddish was their mother tongue. Sometimes my grandfather Aron visited us on my birthday. My birthday was often at the same time as Chanukkah and my grandfather gave me and my brother sweets and money. This is how I knew that we were Jews in my childhood and about Chanukkah, a Jewish holiday. My grandfather Aron died in 1937.

I went to the best Russian secondary school in Kiev in 1932. My brother went to the same school. In this school children of the party elite studied. There were Ukrainian, Russian, Jewish and Polish children there, but we didn't segregate between children of different nationalities. We were all raised as patriots. We had no doubt that we were living in the best country of the world. There was no issue about nationality among us.

Our family faced the issue of nationality for the first time in 1936. My mother, who was deputy director of the art workers club, was offered a position as an instructor at the Party Town Committee. My mother sincerely believed that this position was too high for her and that she couldn't take it due to her lack of education. But the First Secretary of the Town Committee convinced her to accept this job, which she did. Some time passed, but she received no notification from them. She went to see the First Secretary, and he told her that the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Ukraine didn't approve of her for this position because it could only be taken by a Ukrainian national. My mother was so hurt that she even cried. But neither she nor my father thought it was anti-Semitism.

In 1936 many innocent people were arrested. 10 My parents' friends stopped getting together. Our neighbors began to vanish. People were arrested at night. Some of my schoolmates' parents were arrested. But before this disaster swept over our family we believed that all these people were enemies of the people and that everything in our country was done in accordance with the laws of justice.

In summer 1938 my father went to the sanatorium in Zheleznovodsk to get medical treatment for his ulcer. [Zheleznovodsk is a resort in Northern Caucasus.] He went there with my brother Julen, and my mother and I went to Sochi. After a few days my mother received a telegram. My father's co- tenants informed her that my father had been arrested and that my brother was staying with them. My mother and I went to Zheleznovodsk. My mother was trying to find my father, but she was told that he had been sent to Kiev. We returned to Kiev.

My father was kept under arrest. Later he told us that he spent a few weeks in jail in Minvody, a town near Zheleznovodsk, after he had been arrested. There were many inmates in his cell. Once a little bird flew through the window and sat on my father's shoulder. One of the inmates said to my father that this was a good sign and meant that he would be free soon. My father was charged of espionage and declared either a German or a Japanese spy. Investigation officer Gorodinskiy, who defended the case, was our neighbor, but he pretended that he didn't know us when we met. The interrogation lasted for hours and hours, and Gorodinskiy was trying to make my father confess, to give him evidence of his guilt. He told my father that I had fallen ill with tuberculosis and that my mother had become a street woman [prostitute]. Of course, my father didn't believe him, but he was still nervous and worried about us. The interrogation officer hit him on his lower leg during interrogations, didn't let him sleep for days and wore him down with non-stop interrogation.

After my father was released it took months for his leg to heal. My father had a sick stomach and he felt very bad in jail. At times he felt like signing any charges brought against him in order to stop the tortures. But he thought that if he was believed to be an enemy of the people, Julen wouldn't be accepted to serve in the Soviet army when he turned 19, and that I wouldn't be able to become a Komsomol member. These thoughts stopped him from signing any charges brought against him.

Immediately after my father was arrested my mother sent me to her sister Maria, and Julen to my father's sister Gutl. She was afraid that she would be arrested, too, and that we would be sent to a children's home for being children of enemies of the people. Soon my mother was told to move out of our three-bedroom apartment. My grandparents and my uncle Jacob moved to some relatives, and my mother stayed with some distant relatives of my father. In order to keep her stay with them a secret from their neighbors, she went there in the dark of night. She left the apartment at dawn. She didn't want these people to be accused of contact with enemies of the people.

My mother also had problems at work. There was a party meeting at her workplace at which she was supposed to be expelled from the Party. She was asked how she could live with an enemy of the people for so many years. My mother replied that she didn't believe that her husband was an enemy. He was the son of a poor shoemaker and the Soviet power had given him everything, and she didn't believe that he had betrayed his people and the Party. She put her party membership card on the desk of the secretary of their party unit. He was a very decent man, didn't submit the details of this meeting to higher authorities and kept my mother's card in his safe. When my father was released sometime soon after this meeting (he was in jail for more than four months), my mother's boss gave her the membership card back.

At the end of 1938 the Soviet authorities announced an exaggeration in the struggle against criminals, and the Chief of the State Security, Yezhov 11 was arrested. My father was released at that time. He was told that he had come through this test - they called his time in jail 'test' - and turned out to be a devoted communist. When my father was leaving the jail he said to the militiaman at the gate that he had no money for the tram. The militiaman gave him some change. My father went to our apartment in Pechersk. He didn't know that we had been told to move out of there. He got off in Engels Street, which went up a hill, but he was so starved and exhausted that he couldn't go up the street. Our acquaintance Colonel Lebedev was passing by. He saw my father and carried him to our house. He put him on a bench in the yard. Our neighbors saw my father and ran to him, bringing him some food. He ate a lot and suddenly felt terrible pain in his stomach. He was taken to hospital by ambulance and was diagnosed with intestinal disease. He spent a long time in hospital.

We didn't get our apartment back. We got one room in an apartment in Lenin Street. Jacob moved in with us, and my grandparents went to Dnepropetrovsk. My father was ill for a long time and didn't work. My mother hired a country girl called Ustia as a housemaid. Ustia slept on a folding bed in the corridor next to the door.

During the war

In 1941, after I finished 9th grade, my mother sent my brother and me to our grandparents in Dnepropetrovsk. We left on 21st June. There were many young military men in the train. They were going on vacation. They enjoyed themselves, joked and sang. We arrived at our grandparents' on the morning of 22nd June 1941 12. We had breakfast and went to sleep. At 12 our grandmother woke us up screaming, 'It's the war!' We listened to Molotov's 13 speech on the radio.

A few days later my mother and Ustia came from Kiev. Mother told us that our father had gone to the front although he was released from service in the army due to his bad health condition. But he insisted and managed to pass a medical check. My mother's sister Rachel also volunteered to the front.

In the middle of July we were all evacuated. My mother's parents joined us. My grandfather was paralyzed, so he was taken on the train on a stretcher. My grandmother Matlia went into evacuation later with some of her children. We didn't have enough food with us and were starving. When the train stopped my mother and Ustia exchanged clothes for food. Our trip lasted almost a month until we reached Kustanai in Kazakhstan [about 3,000 km from Kiev]. We rented a room there.

My grandfather's condition got worse and worse. He died in December 1941. My grandmother died at the beginning of 1942. They were both buried in the town cemetery. Ustia was a big help to us. She went to work as a cleaning woman at the theater and often brought some bread or cereal back home for us. My mother also worked, but I don't remember where she worked. We also received a food package given to us because of my father serving at the front line. I entered the Pedagogical College and studied there until February 1942. My brother attended school.

In February 1942 we moved to Cheliabinsk [Russia, 1,000 km from Kustanai], where my mother's acquaintances lived. It was a big town and easier to find a job there. My mother wanted me to study at the Pedagogical Institute. When we arrived there it was empty. There was only a cleaning woman. She told us that all students and lecturers were helping with the harvest at a collective farm. She also said that there had been no classes that year - everybody was working in the field, where they were starving. My mother and I went back home. I didn't study until March 1942 when my mother and I saw an announcement that the Kiev Medical Institute (which was in evacuation in Cheliabinsk) was admitting students. The rector of the institute, Lev Medved, admitted me without exams when he found out that I was from Kiev.

In autumn 1942 my father fell ill with tuberculosis and was released from the army. He stayed at the hospital for some time and then came to us. My father needed to live in a warmer climatic zone, and in January 1943 we moved to Frunze, the capital of Kyrgyzstan, where grandmother Matlia and Rachel's husband and son were in evacuation.

It was easier in Frunze. We had a kitchen garden where we grew potatoes. My father got a job delivering roasted geese to the town officials. He collected fat from the trays and brought it back home. We dipped bread into it and ate it with potatoes. I can still remember the bitter taste of this fat. Ustia got ox tails and we made soup with them. It was a delicious meal. My mother worked as an assistant to the Minister of Culture of Kyrgyzstan. The minister was a plain Kirghiz woman. She shared her food with my mother. They had plov [a traditional oriental meal of rice, meat and herbs]. The minister ate it with her hands [in the traditional oriental way of eating], my mother used a fork. They ate from one plate. I was transferred to the Medical Institute in Frunze and studied there until we returned to Kiev.

Kiev was liberated on 6th November 1943. We returned to Kiev in April 1944. There was a lot of snow when we came back. It was a shock to see the ruins of Kreschatik [the main street of Kiev]. 2. We returned to our house. During the war our neighbors from the upper floor had moved into our room. They thought lower floors were safer during air raids. We were happy to get our room back.

Grandmother Matlia, Michael and Abram returned to Dnepropetrovsk. My grandmother lived with Rachel's family. She died in 1952.

Post-war

My mother went back to her former job at the art workers club. She was the director there until the pre-war director returned from evacuation. My mother then became an instructor. My father worked for some time until his condition aggravated. He often had to stay in the tuberculosis hospital and sanatoriums for patients with tuberculosis. He developed lung cancer and died in 1958 at the age of 54.

I went to study at the Kiev Medical Institute in 1944. There was an anti- Semitic atmosphere in Kiev at that time already. All students with Jewish last names were transferred to the Neurology Faculty, which was considered to be the least promising faculty of the institute. My last name was Zorina [which is a typical Russian surname], so I could remain at the Therapeutic Faculty - they didn't expel me.

In April 1946 I met Michael Goldentracht at a party. He was born to a family of doctors in Kiev in 1920. His father, Grigoriy Goldentracht, was a famous veneorologist in Kiev and his mother, Alexandra, was a doctor, too. She graduated from the Moscow Medical Institute. They were Jewish. Michael and his sister Lialia also became doctors. Lialia became a dentist. Michael entered the Kiev Medical Institute and graduated from it during the war, when the institute was in evacuation in Fergana. In 1942, after receiving their diplomas, all graduates went to the front. Michael worked as a military doctor in hospitals.

We got married on 24th June 1946. We had a small wedding party with about 20 guests, my closest friends and relatives. After the wedding we began to live with my parents and brother. My husband was still a military doctor and I went to work at the polyclinic. In 1947 our daughter Alla was born. I quit work and stayed at home for two years.

In November 1949 my husband got a job assignment in Petropavlovsk- Kamchatskiy, Kamchatka [over 12,000 km from Kiev], and we followed him there.

In Kamchatka Michael was a junior, and, later a senior doctor at a tank regiment. I worked at the hospital. We had a room in a hostel. It only had one kitchen and one toilet for 50 families of the military. We got meals at work. Michael was the only Jew among the doctors. The Doctor's Plot 14 and the fight against the cosmopolites 15 didn't affect us. Life was too hard in this northern part of Russia, and we had too many problems to face to concern ourselves with political matters. We had red caviar and fish brought to us by fishermen. Bread was delivered once a week, and we could buy one kilo of it. We forgot the taste of butter, milk or eggs. Smaller children got half a kilo of powder milk when planes could fly to deliver it. Newspapers and magazines reached us in two to three months, and we were not aware of what was going on in the country. Only once there was a meeting at Michael's workplace to discuss and condemn the Doctor's Plot, directed against Jewish doctors. Such meetings were required to be conducted by the party leadership. During the meeting someone said that it was necessary to exterminate rats at the military unit. The commander commented, 'There, you've learned to persecute people, but can't cope with rats?'. People sympathized with my husband, knowing that he was a Jew, and accompanied him home on that evening to show their support.

I was missing my parents. At the beginning of March 1953 I went to Kiev by train. When I was boarding it, it was announced on the radio that Stalin had died. The conductor checking our tickets dropped them, burst into tears and went to her compartment. The trip to Moscow lasted two weeks, and passengers made acquaintances and friends during this time. There were a few young soldiers going on leave on this train. They said openly that HE [Stalin] could have died before they were going on leave. They weren't in the mood to listen to the mourning music on the radio. We arrived in Moscow and could feel the horror that Muscovites were in after Stalin's funeral. Many people died in the crowds, many lost their loved ones. My parents came to meet me in Moscow. They were impatiently waiting to see me. My mother and father sincerely mourned for Stalin who remained their chief and idol until the end of their life.

At the beginning of 1954 Michael came to meet me in Kiev, and we moved to the town of Pavlovsk near Leningrad, where he got a new job assignment as a doctor in a military hospital. We lived in Pavlovsk until 1961. The head of the Soviet government, Nikita Khrushchev 16, declared demobilization: 1,200,000 militaries were demobilized from the army. After the war was over most of the militaries were dismissed and returned to their civil life. My husband was one of them. We returned to Kiev and lived with my mother, my brother and his wife in one room in our communal apartment. In 1961 my husband and I got two rooms in a communal apartment in the city center. After a few years we exchanged it for a two-bedroom apartment - this is the one I still live in now.

Michael was a very good surgeon. He worked at the polyclinic. He became a member of the Communist Party when he was at the front. It was necessary for his career. But he was very critical about what was happening in the Soviet Union. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind. At night he listened to the Voice of America and Radio Free Europe. These broadcasts weren't allowed, and foreign radios were jammed. However, the Radio Free Europe broadcasts in German weren't jammed. My husband knew German very well and could understand the news. He shared what he had heard with his colleagues at work and with friends. He told them about medical achievements in the West and how far behind we were, etc. My husband never had an anti-Soviet attitude. He loved his country and his people. He was a good doctor and helped many people. In 1988 he fell ill with polyarthritis, which confined him to bed. He was bound to bed for eight years until he died in 1996.

I worked as a children's doctor at the polyclinic throughout all these years. I was well respected at work. My former patients still congratulate me on my birthdays and come to see me.

Our daughter Alla entered the Kiev Institute of Foreign Languages after finishing school. When she was a student she married a construction engineer, Alexandr Karelshtein, a Jew. He was a leading engineer at a design institute. In 1970 Alla gave birth to Marina. My mother died shortly after Marina was born.

My brother Julen was a builder. He graduated from Kiev Engineering Construction Institute. His first wife Lida and his daughter Valeria moved to the US in 1978. In the early 1990s Julen went to Israel. I visited him in Ashdod in 1999. Julen died shortly after my visit.

My husband always spoke about Israel with respect. During the Six-Day-War 17 and at the height of anti-Jewish propaganda in the Soviet Union, Michael spent hours listening to the radio to hear the truth about Israel. My husband wanted us to move to Israel or the US. But I was concerned about having to start things anew and facing difficulties. We often argued, and my work was mostly the crucial factor in the end. I adored Israel when I went there. It's a truly amazing country. It's a garden on stones in a desert. I traveled a lot across the country and felt very proud of my people. I feel sorry that we didn't emigrate in the early 1970s. Now it's too late. My children want to stay here, and I'm too old to change my life.

Ukraine declared independence in 1991. People had more freedom and opportunities to improve their life. The Iron Curtain 18 fell, and they could travel and visit their relatives and friends abroad. I've always dreamt about traveling, and I've visited Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels and many other towns and countries lately. The economy is improving and we can buy books and products that we knew nothing about during the Soviet times. Isn't it wonderful!

Neither my brother nor I were members of the Communist Party although we grew up in a family of devoted Bolsheviks. We never celebrated Jewish holidays. Jews can speak proudly about their nation, its history and culture for the first time in many years. Only now I gradually get closer to the Jewish way of life. There is a Jewish religious community, an association of Jewish culture, the Israel Cultural Center and the Hesed in the Ukraine. I'm interested in Jewish traditions. I go to the synagogue and attend the Torah study classes. I celebrate Pesach and other big holidays. My daughter Alla works at the International Solomon University [Jewish University in Kiev, established in 1995], and my granddaughter Marina works at the Judaism Institute.

Glossary

Asaf Auerbach
Praha
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídil: Lenka Kopřivová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: říjen 2005 – únor 2006

Vždy, když jsem za panem Auerbachem přišla, měl výbornou náladu, neustále se usmíval. Nepamatuji se, že bych ho kdy viděla mračit se. Ba naopak, zpívá si, pohvizduje si... Po smrti své ženy žije s Robinem, svým psem, v bytě na jednom z pražských sídlišť. Ŕíká, že jeho život není moc zajímavý - a přece. Jeho rodiče byli sionisté a pan Auerbach se narodil v jednom z palestinských kibuců. Rodina se však vrátila zpět do Čech, prožila zde těžká třicátá léta a na jejich konci se rozdělila. Asaf Auerbach se svým starším bratrem Rubenem měli to štěstí, že se dostali mezi tzv. Wintonovy děti 1, skupinu dětí, kterou se podařilo zachránit Angličanu Nicholasi Wintonovi. Válku prožili v Anglii a po návratu domů, do Československa, byli konfrontováni s hrozivou realitou osudu evropských židů. Navzdory všem očekáváním, z nichž žili po celou dobu války, mnoha z nich se nepodařilo přijít domů a znovu se šťastně shledat se svými rodiči - také rodiče Auerbachovi zahynuli v Osvětimi. Pan Auerbach říká, že jeho život není zajímavý - není to tak docela pravda.

Rodina
Dětství
Pobyt v Anglii
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Chcete, abych vyprávěl o rodině, ve které jsem žil, o svých předcích, jaké prostředí mne, příslušníka minoritní entity žijící, jen občas v harmonické symbióze se svým okolím, obklopovalo. Své rodiče jsem viděl naposledy v létě ´39, kdy jsme s bratrem jako Wintonovy „děti“ emigrovali do Anglie. Bylo mi jedenáct, v tom věku jsem se o tyto reálie moc nezajímal, bral jsem je jako danosti, to snad nezajímalo žádné dítě mého věku pokud nepřišlo na příklad do bezprostředního styku s agresivním antisemitismem. Znal jsem ho jen zprostředkovaně, o tom co se děje v Německu jsem do určité míry věděl od rodičů. Takže jsem neměl mnoho podnětů ke kladení otázek, spíš jsem informace přijímal, ne je vyhledával.

K seznamování se svou dávnější minulostí jsem se dostal až velmi pozdě. Náhodou. Četl jsem asi před šesti lety, nejspíš v Roš Chodeš 2, to je měsíčník židovské obce, poznámku o tom, že vyšel almanach k tuším 900. výročí založení Bečova nad Teplou, a že v tomto almanachu je také stať o dějinách tamní židovské obce. To už byl silný podnět, neboť v Bečově se narodil můj otec. A tak jsem zašel do Židovského musea za autorem této stati a požádal ho o kopii. V ní jsem se dozvěděl, že přítomnost židů v Bečově je historicky doložena od roku 1310, že se tam počet židů postupně zvyšoval, jejich počet kulminoval v roce 1880, kdy tam žilo 100 židů, asi 4,5% tamního obyvatelstva. Chtěl jsem se ponořit do „stromu života“ rodiny svého otce, vypůjčil jsem si ve Státním archivu na Hradčanech matriky bečovské židovské obce, ale daleko jsem se nedostal. Teprve za vlády Josefa II. byli židé nuceni přijmout rodinné jméno 3 a z tohoto roku je první zachovaný zápis o narozeních a sňatcích v Bečově. Matrika zemřelých se zachovala až z roku 1840. A tak nevím, kdy se mí předkové přistěhovali do Bečova a odkud. A nebylo jednoduché luštit matriky. Jsou psány v němčině, jak jinak. Ale švabachem a o krasopisu se už vůbec nedá mluvit. Nicméně jsem tam snadno vyhledal zápis o narození mého otce Rudolfa 23. března 1899, Simonu Auerbachovi a Luise rozené Fischerové. Jejich sňatek však v matrice zaznamenán není, nevím kde se uskutečnil.

Dědeček Simon je v knize narozených veden jako Samuel Auerbach, narozený 8. 6. 1849 jakožto nemanželský syn Abrahama Auerbacha a jisté Löblové, jejíž rodné jméno jsem nerozluštil. S ní měl už jednoho syna narozeného 16. 7. 1847. Prababičku rozenou Löblová dodatečně pojal za ženu, a to v červenci 1849. Její věk není v knize uzavřených sňatků uveden, ač to bylo zvykem. Nebyla to však pradědečkova první žena. Tou byla Babette Kleinová, se kterou se oženil 28. 10. 1840. V té době mu bylo 30 let a 3 měsíce, nevěstě 29 let a 11 měsíců. Asi to bylo bezdětné manželství, v knize narozených jsem žádného potomka nenašel, nenašel jsem ani v knize zemřelých pradědečkovu první ženu, takže je možné, že ji zapudil, protože mu nepovila žádná dítka a tak si mohl vzít matku svých nelegitimních synů.

Pradědeček Abraham zemřel podle matriky na marasmus v roce 1896 ve věku 86 let. V knize zemřelých jsem v roce 1902 nalezl záznam o úmrtí Fanny Auerbachové ve stáří 86 let. Narodila se tedy v roce 1816 a mohla by to tudíž být má prababička rozená Löblová. Z údaje o stáří pradědečka Abrahama v době jeho prvého sňatku vím, že se narodil v červenci 1810. V matrice jsem však záznam o jeho narození nenašel, takže se asi do Bečova přistěhoval a tím mi znemožnil pátrání po prapradědečkovi. A není to tím, že pátrání mi znemožnila skutečnost, že židé nemívali rodinné jméno, v době jeho narození už jej mít museli.

A tak nevím, odkud přišli. Mám takovou nedoloženou hypotézu. Na sever od Bečova, několik desítek kilometrů za naší hranicí s Německem, leží městečko Auerbach, Kolega z práce mi odtud před 15 lety poslal pohlednici, je to malebné městečko označené Kurort Auerbach, u nás se tomu říkávalo klimatické lázně. Před časem jsem si zahrával s myšlenkou, že tam zajedu, ubytuji se v hotelu a až jim řeknu, že se jmenuju Auerbach tam na mne budou koukat s otevřenou pusou. Ale jet tam kvůli tomu?

Jméno Auerbach není vzácné, to jenom teď v Čechách, dřív bylo dost časté a jinde je asi časté i dnes. Nedávno mi dokonce jedná známá vyprávěla, že kdesi četla, že to je nejstarší doložené židovské příjmení v Čechách. Slyšel jsem to poprvé, ale nevylučuju to. Na Starém židovském hřbitově v Praze, na zdi vedoucí podél chodníčku po kterém se hřbitovem prochází, jsou plechové tabulky se jmény naproti hrobkám pochovaných osobností. Hned ta první říká že tam leží jistý Auerbach, byl to současník Rabi Löwa 4 a císaře Rudolfa II [Rudolf II. (1552 – 1612): z rodu Habsburků. 1576 – 1611 římsky císař a český král – pozn. red.]. Takže to bylo v době, kdy ještě židé příjmení zpravidla nepoužívali. Kolikrát už jsem si říkal, že bych měl zajít do Židovského musea a někoho se optat čím se tak vyznamenal, ale skutek utek.

Zpět k dědečkovi. Podle matriky sňatků se Samuel Auerbach, svobodný, 1.3.1882 oženil s Annou Luxbaumovou, starou 31 let a 1 měsíc, která je vedena v knize narozených jako matka tří dětí zplozených s (teď už) Simonem Auerbachem. Nejstarší Jenny se narodila v roce 1883, kdy zemřela nevím, neznal jsem ji, nevěděl jsem ani o její existenci. Až po válce jsem se dozvěděl, že trpěla duševní chorobou a zemřela v psychiatrické léčebně. Zda před válkou nebo až za války to nevím, ptát jsem se nechtěl. Ale znal jsem nevlastního otcova bratra Leopolda, ten se narodil v roce 1885, jediný z rodiny byl zámožný, měl v Karlových Varech obchod s obuví a velký činžovní dům. Občas přijížděl do Prahy a navštěvoval nás, ale nebylo to často. Byl svobodný a v roce 1940 se mu podařilo utéct do Palestiny. Tam se mu moc dobře nevedlo, zemřel v polovině padesátých let. Byl to nezvykle obětavý člověk, podporoval mou babičku, svou nevlastní matku, po úmrtí dědečka jí koupil v Terezíně domek, kde měla obchůdek, táta z Terezína dojížděl do Litoměřic do obchodní akademie. A tak zřejmě financoval i studia svého nevlastního bratra a nevlastní sestry, která vystudovala konzervatoř.

Druhý sňatek Simona Auerbacha jsem v matrice nenašel, asi se oženil s Luisou, tedy mou babičkou, v jiné obci. Nevím odkud babička pochází. Kdysi mi to sestřenice řekla, když jsem se jí ptal, zda babička mluvila česky nebo německy, neboť ani to jsem si nepamatoval. Pocházela z vnitrozemí a proto uměla dobře česky. S babičkou měl dědeček dvě děti. Jako první se narodila v roce 1897 teta Ida a po ní 23.3.1899 Rudolf, můj táta.

Dědeček zemřel v Bečově 13.3.1914 ve věku 64 let a 9 měsíců. Fáma tvrdí, že byl alkoholik. Táta ani teta o něm nikdy nemluvili.Tomu se nedivím. Jak už jsem řekl, babička se s dětmi pak přestěhovala do Terezína. Já jí však pamatuju až z doby, kdy žila v Nuslích u své dcery, tety Idy. Babička toho moc nenamluvila, proto jsem si taky nedokázal vybavit, zda mluvila česky nebo německy. Před očima jí stále mám jenom jak sedí v kuchyni na židli, mírně se usmívá, ruce v klíně. Sestřenice mi vyprávěla, že se jednou strašně pohádala se svou dcerou, sbalila si svých pět švestek a odebrala se žít u svého syna, tedy u nás. Jenže přechod z obvykle poklidného prostředí u tety, kde nejvíc hluku nadělalo křídlo, na němž teta učila děti hrát, do bytu, kde se bratři věčně hádali a prali, tak to bylo z bláta do louže a za několik dnů prý sbalila svých pět švestek a vrátila kajícně k dceři. Toto je bez záruky pravosti.

Babička byla v roce 1942 deportována do Terezína 5 a tam, zemřela tak zvanou přirozenou smrtí díky nepřirozeným podmínkám. Jinak by se dožila vyššího věku. Datum úmrtí si nevzpomenu, musel bych zajít do Pinkasovy synagogy a tam ho na zdi vyhledat.

Takže zbývá něco říct o tetě Idě a její rodině. Vystudovala konzervatoř, hru na klavír. Vdala se za Otto Druckera, stavebního inženýra, v lednu 1927 se jí narodila dcera Dita a v únoru 1929 zemřel manžel na zánět středního ucha. Přecházel ho, bylo to právě v době pověstných třeskutých mrazů, které tehdy sužovaly střední Evropu, a tak teta ve 32 letech ovdověla. Po druhé se už nevdala, a tak ty tři ženy tří generací, babička, její dcera a vnučka, žily spolu. Měl jsem k nim z našeho vršovického bytu blízko a navštěvoval je tak jednou za čtrnáct dní, to už přesně nevím,většinou jsem chodil sám. Pěšky. Teta i sestřenice přežily válku v Terezíně, teta mi jednou vyprávěla, že se tátovi podařilo ji dvakrát vyreklamovat z transportu do Osvětimi, do kterého již byla zařazena. Měl nějaké vlivné známé. Takže možná, kdoví, bylo dobře, že už se nevdala. Bylo by určitě obtížnější vyreklamovat z transportu oba a tak by nakonec možná odjeli do Osvětimi oba. O tom, jak by o jejím osudu rozhodl Mengele nemám pochybnosti.

Neměla to lehké po válce. Malou penzi po manželovi – jaká asi mohla být po asi pětiletém zaměstnání – strýc už jí nemohl podporovat, hodin hry na klavír po válce taky moc nebylo, její předválečná „klientela“ byla nejspíš převážně židovská. Poměrně velký byt v Nuslích, ve kterém žily do transportu do Terezína, už zpátky nedostaly. Místo toho jí a Ditě dali podkrovní garsoniéru na Pankráci v šestém patře, se skoseným stropem, asi tak šestnáct metrů čtverečních, bez výtahu, a tak uhlí tahaly ze sklepa do šestého patra po schodech. Když Dita emigrovala do Austrálie v roce 1949, tak jsem tetu často navštěvoval a při té příležitosti nanosil uhlí. Teta odjela za dcerou na jaře 1951, bydlela z počátku sama, byla zaměstnána v kavárně, kde vařila kávu a čaj, později, když už sestřenice s manželem měli dům, tak se přestěhovala k nim. Dostávala po nějakém čase z Německa, v rámci tak zvaného Wiedergutmachung, jakousi penzi, s tím vystačila. Často jsme si psali, až do její smrti v roce 1986. Jednou tu ještě byla na návštěvě v doprovodu dcery, bylo to v květnu 1978, zrovna když jsem slavil padesátiny. Dita teď z té dálky jezdí poměrně často, jednou za rok, nejvýš za dva – vídám ji tak častěji, než sestřenici z matčiny strany, která bydlí v Mostě. Přitom nejsou mezi mnou a mou mosteckou sestřenicí žádná nedorozumění, jenom to časově nevychází.

Dita mi vyprávěla, že jí v Terezíně jedna cikánka věštila z karet budoucnost a předpověděla, že se s budoucím manželem seznámí na lodi. Na obchodní lodi, co ji vezla z Marseille do Sydney déle jak dva měsíce protože po cestě v každém přístavu nakládali nebo vykládali zboží, se rozhlížela po potenciálním manželovi, ale nebyl tam. A pak se s ním seznámila na přívozu v Sydney. Což je taky loď. Takže cikánka nelhala. Je to maďarský žid, před válkou emigroval do Anglie a po válce se přestěhoval do Austrálie, mají dva kluky, čtyři vnoučata. Manžel ještě pracuje v makléřské firmě. A to je mu už přes osmdesát. Doma by ho prý nicnedělání zničilo. Alespoň Dita to tvrdí.

Víc už toho o tátově rodině nevím. Tak teď mámině rodině. Pocházela z odlišného prostředí. Tátova rodina, to byli velmi chudí němečtí židé, máma pocházela zase z českožidovského středostavovského prostředí. Dědeček, Jindřich Fantl, narozený v roce 1867, pocházel z vesnice Chlebnik. Babička, narozená v roce 1873, byla tuším odjakživa Pražanka. Její maminku, tedy mou prababičku jsem znal. Jmenovala se Róza Epsteinová, narodila se v roce 1848, tedy v roce, kdy se narodil o generaci mladší dědeček Auerbach a zemřela v roce 1936, to už mi bylo osm let, takže si ji pamatuju. Měla prý nálevnu alkoholických nápojů, ale v době, kdy jsem ji znal už žila u své dcery, dlouhá léta jí vedla domácnost, protože babička trávila hodně času v obchodě. Její vnoučata jí milovala. Mám pocit, že jim byla bližší než jejich maminka, asi proto, že na ně měla víc času.

Když jsme přijeli s mámou za jejími rodiči na Smíchov, kde měl dědeček U Anděla, v dnes už zbouraném domě, obchod s pánským prádlem, a to bylo pravidelně jednou týdně, tak jsme vždy nejdřív zašli za prababičkou. A když jsme jí nezastihli doma, tak jsme jí našli v parčíku u Vltavy. V kapsáři měla pro mne vždycky cucavý bonbón. Nebo několik slepených. Pak jsme teprve šli do krámu za dědečkem a babičkou. Dědeček s babičkou a prababičkou a před tím i se svými dětmi bydleli ve Vltavské ulici, pár minut chůze od Anděla. Byl to typický prostorný měšťanský byt v domě z přelomu století.

V krámě za kasou kralovala babička, dědeček „úřadoval“ vzadu v „komptoáru“, což byla úzká temná chodba ohraničená zdí a zadní stranou stěny z regálů, na jejím konci psací stůl se stolní lampou, telefonem, psacím strojem a dalšími náležitostmi a tady zase kraloval dědeček. Občas mi dovolil psát na stroji, což jsem považoval za velký projev dědečkovy přízně. A za pultem obsluhovala teta Oly s příručím. Později, když děda předal obchod tetě Oly, tak mne posílali pro dědu do blízké kavárny, kam chodil každé odpoledne, samozřejmě kromě šabatu, na partičku karet. Tam jsem ho vždy našel s nezbytným viržinkem a nedopitou vystydlou černou kávou. Vždy dohrál hru, dopil kávu a bez reptání, že mu zrovna jde dobrá karta, posbíral na stole drobné a odešel se mnou do kšeftu.

Měli čtyři děti. Nejstarší Markéta, moje máma, se narodila v roce 1900, rok po ní strýc Rudolf, s delším odstupem v roce 1908 teta Olga a v roce 1915 teta Mirjam. Strýc Rudolf byl stavební inženýr, vídal jsem ho zřídka, byl na stavbě tabákové továrny na jižním Slovensku jako stavební dozor Československé tabákové režie, to byl státní monopol na zpracování a prodej tabáku a tabákových výrobků. Byl svobodný, měl vážnou známost, křesťanku, naléhala na něj, aby si ji vzal, nechtěl ji však ohrozit a chtěl se oženit až po válce. Kdyby si jí byl vzal tak by neskončil svůj život kdesi v Polsku, jenže jak to mohl tušit?

Zato teta Olga přežila právě proto, že se v roce 1937 vdala za křesťana, taky to byl stavební inženýr, Němec z Těšínska, vystudoval německou techniku v Praze. Oskar Dworzak. Takže asi jeho předkové až tak moc čistokrevní Němci nebyli. Samozřejmě na něj naléhali, aby se rozvedl, nedal se, možná tak i sobě zachránil život, neboť z tohoto důvodu nenarukoval do armády. Mohl taky zmrznout u Stalingradu, v lepším případě být po válce vysídlen nebo vyhnán 6, vyberte si sloveso, které se Vám víc líbí. Dědečkovi, pravověrnému židovi, se ovšem manželství s „nežidem“ pranic nelíbilo, asi se ani nezúčastnil svatby, na fotografiích ze svatby není ani on, ani babička.

Hůř na tom byla teta Mirjam. Ta se vdala sice za žida, ale o rok dřív než její sestra, a to bylo pro dědečka taky těžce stravitelné, měla počkat až se vdá starší dcera. To se u židů nedělá. Prožila Terezín, půl roku s manželem v tak zvaném rodinném táboře v Osvětimi, při selekci oba sice obstáli, ale byli už odděleni, strýc Oskar zemřel vysílením na pochodu smrti 7, několik desítek kilometrů od Terezína, kam je pěšky vedli. Teta pak byla v Hamburku, kde hlavně odklízeli sutiny po bombardování, konce války se dočkala v Bergen-Belsen, což bylo snad v posledních dnech války to nejhrůzostrašnější místo pod sluncem. Po válce se vdala za Františka Klemense, ten se vrátil do Prahy po emigraci v Anglii, sloužil tam jako navigátor v bombarďáku, dokončil tu pak studia medicíny. StB 8 ho obtěžovalo, něco na něj měli a slibovali mu beztrestnost pokud se upíše ďáblu jako spolupracovník, což odmítl a tak se rozhodli v roce 1951 ilegálně překročit hranice. V té době měli už dvě děti a třetí na cestě. Dr. Klemens měl obavu dát mladšímu, tehdy dvou nebo tříletému synovi, kterého nesl spícího na zádech dostatečně velkou dávku sedativ, ten se probudil v tu nejnevhodnější chvíli, zařčal brečet a tak je pohraničníci chytili. Strýc seděl delší dobu, přidali mu za neúspěšný pokus o útěk z vězení, teta si odseděla tuším půl roku, a to ještě nadvakrát, byli tak „ohleduplní“, že jí přerušili výkon trestu, aby mohla porodit mimo věznici. Nejspíš tam neměli porodníka ani porodní bábu, tak proto. A tak po tu dobu měla teta Oly [Olga] pět dětí na starostí. Nezáviděníhodné. Strýc měl po výkonu trestu zákaz vykonávat lékařskou praxi, pracoval ve fabrice, rozhodli se emigrovat legálně, trvalo to dlouhou řadu let, než jim to povolili. Emigrovali do Izraele, strýc už zemřel, devadesátiletá teta žije teď u své dcery. Podrobně o tom martýriu píše můj bratranec, syn tety Olgy, Ivan, ve své knížce nazvané „Report“. Já jsem s nimi užší kontakt v padesátých a šedesátých letech neměl, přestěhovali se nedlouho po návratu strýce z vězení do Písku.

Vlastně jsem Vám zapomněl říct o dalších osudech dědečka a babičky Fantlových. Dědeček měl štěstí – jinak se to nedá říct – zemřel ve své posteli na zápal plic v květnu 1940. Nedovedu si představit, jak by ty hrůzy snášel. Nepřežil by ani Terezín. Když jsem tento názor kdysi řekl tetě Mirjam, tak mi ho potvrdila. Babička byla z jiného těsta, to byl bojovník s obrovskou energií, který se jen tak nedal. V 72 letech onemocněla v Terezíně břišním tyfem, nechápu jak v těch podmínkách dokázala tyfus přežít a dočkat se tam konce války. Osvětim by nepřežila.

Babička zemřela v roce 1954. Ani ten závěr života neměla lehký. V posledních dvou letech žila v židovském starobinci, šťastná tam rozhodně nebyla, to mi bylo jasné, když jsem jí přicházel navštívit. Tehdy starobince vypadaly trochu jinak než dnešní domovy důchodců a jak neměla co dělat, tak se jí hlavou honily asi hodně smutné neodbytné vzpomínky na zemřelé děti. Měl jsem jí moc rád, po válce mi byla ze všech příbuzných nejbližší.

Dětství

Takže se mám konečně vrátit ke svým rodičům, osudům svým a bratrovým? Nerad, pořád to bolí, i po tolika letech. Mládí rodičů bylo poznamenáno příslušenstvím k sionistickému hnutí 9, to bylo v té době in, tak se tomu dnes říká, ne? Tam se zřejmě seznámili a připravovali na návrat do zaslíbené země. Připravovali se na práci v kibucu na nějakém statku a učili se ivrit, tedy novodobé hebrejštině V roce 1922 emigrovali do tehdejšího britského protektorátu Palestina. Stali se členy kibucu v Bet Alfě, patřili mezi zakládající členy, přijeli do pustiny vykoupené od arabských šejků, postavili stany a postupně obojí zvelebovali. Na fotografii z roku 1930 už to tam vypadalo velmi slušně. Je to pohled z kopce, na stráni je veliký sad s již vzrostlými stromy, nejspíš pomerančovníky, pod svahem už řada budov, zejména hospodářských. Při kopání jejich základů narazili na zachovalou mozaikovou dlažbu synagogy z šestého století, tak je z toho museum. Hodně známé, fotografii té dlažby jsem viděl v několika publikacích.

Kibuc je zemědělské družstvo, fungující na principu každý podle svých možností, každému podle jeho potřeb. Ovšem velmi uskrovněných potřeb, podle možností kibucu. Měli společné stravování, když se jim roztrhaly kalhoty tak dostali nové, atd. Tedy základní komunistická idea. Jak řešili problém nekuřák versus kuřák deseti cigaret denně versus kuřák třiceti cigaret to nevím. Možná dostávali jakési kapesné. Kibucy jsou v Izraeli ještě dnes, je jich už méně, nežijou tam taky už tak sparťanským životem jako tehdy. Od zemědělských družstev, tak jak jsme je znali tady, se ale podstatně lišily tehdy i nyní. Do kibucu vstupovali dobrovolně, mohli kdykoli přijít a kdykoli odejít. Často tam začínali svůj život imigranti i po válce, než se rozkoukali a rozhodli pro jiný, nezávislejší život. Takže ke kibucu měli a asi dosud mají poněkud jiný vztah než měli naší družstevníci k jejich družstvu, tomu asi taky odpovídala pracovní morálka. Byl je tam navštívit prezident Masaryk 10, dochovaly se fotografie, jak si s kibucim povídá v jídelně, ale jsou tmavé a neostré.

No a my jsme se tam narodili. Ne v Bet Alfě, ale v Ain Harodu, to je nedaleké městečko s nemocnicí. Nejdřív bratr Ruben na Silvestra v roce 1924 a pak já v květnu 1928. Zachovalo se potvrzení vrchního rabinátu v Jeruzalémě o svatbě rodičů. Bylo to až v roce 1926, asi hromadná svatba všech párů do té doby žijících na hromádce, nejspíš byli rabíni pohoršeni a tak jim kibucim vyhověli. Jim samotným to asi nevadilo. Bratr byl tedy v době narození nemanželský, ale na rodném listu nic takového napsáno není. Zato v mém rodném listu je omylem napsáno, že je otec Polák. Asi to bylo rodičům lhostejné, byli přece pouze Židi. Až těsně před naším návratem do Československa koncem roku 1930 se otec chtě nechtě musel odebrat na matriční úřad v Ain Harod a tam podepsat místopřísežné prohlášení, že není Polák ale Čechoslovák. Na základě toho mi příslušný matriční úředník na rub rodného listu napsal, že se na základě přeloženého místopřísežného prohlášení Nationality Polish mění na Nationality Czechoslovak. Takhle jednoduše jsem změnil svou státní příslušnost. U nás by to asi bylo složitější. Zejména po válce. K cestě z Palestiny se mi váže jedna vzpomínka. Je to bez záruky, taky jsem si to mohl dodatečně vsugerovat. Stojím na palubě lodi a přede mnou nic než moře. Mohla by to být skutečná vzpomínka, ten rozdíl mezi vyprahlou Palestinou a Středozemním mořem mohl být hluboký dojem.

Proč jsme se vrátili? To nevím, nezeptal jsem se, proč by mne to tehdy mělo zajímat? Neznal jsem ani pojem sionismus. Vracela se tehdy řada rodin, asi hlavně ze zdravotních důvodů, jsou tam dost jiné klimatické podmínky než na jaké byli zvyklí a také fyzicky namáhavá práce, slyšel jsem, že tam řádila malárie, tak asi hlavně proto. S několika těmito rodinami jsme se stýkali i tady. To víte, že jsem si mockrát po válce řekl, že kdyby tam tehdy rodiče vydrželi, tak by bylo všechno jinak. Asi si to za války, možná ještě naposledy na rampě v Osvětimi, řekli také. Kolikrát v životě děláme klíčová rozhodnutí, která pak litujeme když dodatečně zjistíme jejich následky pro celý zbytek života? To co se stalo nemohli v roce 1930 předvídat ani astrologové. V té době byl Hitler ještě směšná bezvýznamná nula. O tři roky později by se už určitě rozhodovali jinak.

A tak jsme se tu octli v době velké hospodářské krize 11. Začátky asi nebyly jednoduché,  přijeli jsme se s holýma rukama, jak v té situaci táta sehnal práci nevím. My kluci jsme neuměli česky, já měl dost času se naučit, bylo mi dva a půl roku, bratr si ale musel pospíšit, měl na to před vstupem do školy tři čtvrti roku. Ale v Anglii jsme na to měli mnohem méně času. Z počátku, do mých šesti let, jsme bydleli v pavlačovém domě na Žižkově. Vzpomínky téměř žádné, jen to že jsem chodil rok do mateřské školy Na Pražačku, to byla tehdy úplně nová škola, asi proto se na ní pamatuju. A pak si ještě vzpomínám na to, že v domě byl obuvník, spíš příštipkář, že jsem ho chodil navštěvovat do jeho temného krámku, zvědavý na to, jak to dělá a on mi něco vyprávěl. Jak vypadal náš byt si nevzpomínám. Vlastně ani na ten další, kde jsme žili dva roky. To bylo v Podbabě, kousek do kopce od konečné tramvaje. Tam jsem začal chodit do školy. Na školu si pamatuju. Bylo to několik provizorních přízemních dřevěných staveb, v každé z nich dvě třídy proti sobě. Po Praze jich bylo víc, v jedné takové učila pak začátkem padesátých let v Bráníku manželka.

Když jsme přijeli koncem letních prázdnin v roce 1936 z pionýrského tábora, tak nás na nádraží očekávali rodiče, ale místo do Podbaby jsme jeli do Vršovic. Do našeho třetího, teď už posledního bytu. O stěhování nám předem neřekli, to bylo překvapení. Byla to novostavba, byt byl prostornější, měli jsme tam velký obývací pokoj, který byl dětským pokojem a jídelnou, rodiče měli pokoj o něco menší a po celé šířce obou pokojů byl balkón. Měl asi stejnou velikost jako ten můj současný. Kuchyň měla jen nepřímé světlo, mezi naším pokojem a kuchyní byla od metru až ke stropu zeď ze skleněných cihel. Byl to už moderní byt, s ústředním topením, teplou vodou, výtahem v domě, v suterénu byla prádelna s pračkou a vyhřívaná sušárna. Ten tento byt bych dokázal ještě dnes namalovat, vidím ho zcela jasně před sebou. Tam jsem dochodil tehdy tak zvanou obecnou školu, to byla první až pátá třída, na konci školního roku v červnu 1939 jsem se ještě přihlásil na měšťanskou školu, ale tam už jsem nechodil, koncem července jsme s bráchou odjeli do Anglie.

Mé vzpomínky na mládí se vážou v podstatě jen k Vršovicům. Tehdy tam bylo ještě spousta nezastavěných ploch, kousek od nás kasárna 28. pěšího pluku a jeho vojenské cvičiště, tam jsme jako děti taky směli, o pár set metrů dál Eden s kolotoči a letním cvičištěm, které se v zimě proměnilo na kluziště. Nic nám nechybělo. Hodně jsem tehdy četl, to byla moje nejmilejší zábava, ležet na břiše a číst si. Doma jsme mnoho knih neměli, já si z nich pamatuju jen na Švejka 12, toho jsem poctivě celého přečetl, z dětských knih si pamatuju na Čapkovy 13 pohádky a Dášenku a taky na knihu Bambi od nějakého severského autora, byla o životě kolouška. Ta se mi moc líbila. Měla zelenou plátěnou vazbu se zlatým nápisem. Asi mi jí někdo daroval k narozeninám. Vzal jsem si ji s sebou do Anglie, asi tam zůstala. Chodil jsem pravidelně do dětské knihovny, byla na Korunní třídě na Vinohradech vedle vodárenské věže, pěšky to nebylo ani půl hodiny. Ta dětská knihovna je tam pořád.

Jak to vím? Chodím se psem k veterináři do Vršovic. Našel jsem ho kdysi v telefonním seznamu, když jsme si pořídili tady toho welsh teriéra, jmenuje se Dr.Bondy, takže bylo zřejmé, že je souvěrec, tak proč bych ho nepodpořil, a navíc Vršovice, na které stále nostalgicky vzpomínám. A tak tam jezdím minimálně dvakrát za rok na vakcinaci, pokud nespěchám tak jedeme tramvají k Orionce, kde to v oněch dávných dobách nádherně vonělo, sejdu po schodech dolů na Ruskou, pak do Bulharské, v té jsme bydleli, na chvíli se zastavíme a já se dívám na náš balkón, vzpomínám a v duchu tam vidím mámu. Bulharskou pak dojdu do Kodaňské, po obvyklé trase do školy, u té se taky chvíli zastavím, před tou jsme v hodinách náboženství my nekatolíci hrávali škatule škatule hejbejte se, no a pak už je to jen kousek k panu doktorovi Bondymu.

Rodiče byli komunisté. Zřejmě si to přinesli z kibucu, což byla jediná fungující skutečná  komuna, fungující bez diktatury proletariátu, vedoucí úlohy strany, represí, gulagů či drátěných zátarasů nabitých elektřinou. O tom, co se dělo už tehdy v Rusku nevěděli a pokud někdo něco tak svatokrádežného tvrdil, tak to určitě považovali za nepřátelskou kapitalistickou propagandu 14. A tak nás v tomto duchu také vychovávali, nechodili jsme cvičit do Sokola 15 ale do Federace proletářských tělovýchovných jednot, místo do Skautu do Spartakových skautů práce a v létě jsme jezdili do pionýrského tábora v Soběšíně na Sázavě, tam ta indoktrinace intenzivně pokračovala, jak jinak. Byla to nezpochybnitelná, nekriticky přijímaná víra, Svatou trojici nahradili Marx-Engels-Lenin, mesiáše Ježíše nahradil Stalin. Jinak si podlehnutí tomuto náboženství nebo spíš bludu neumím vysvětlit.

Nevěřím, že by v té době někdo vstupoval do strany s výhledem, že si tím vytváří předpoklady pro to, aby v budoucnu získal neomezenou, nekontrolovatelnou moc nad lidmi a zdroji bohatství společnosti, být rovnější mezi rovnými, ale možná někdo byl tak předvídavý. A stejně to nemůže ospravedlnit to co někteří z těchto původně idealistů a těch co k nim přidali později napáchali. Promiňte mi tu odbočku od tématu. Klidně ji vymažte.

Tak tedy táta se po návratu z Palestiny angažoval, pokud vím, hlavně v tak zvané Rote Hilfe, po česku Rudé pomoci 16, která pomáhala komunistickým, možná i sociálně-demokratickým utečencům z Německa a Rakouska u nás. Zůstala ve mně vzpomínka na to, jak jednou k nám přišel jeden pán, ve vaně se čvachtal jako pominutý, a tak jsem se mámy ptal, proč tam tak vyvádí. Vysvětlila mi, že utekl z koncentráku, a že se několik měsíců nekoupal a proto si to teď chce pořádně užít. Pak u nás ještě poobědval a odešel. Takové návštěvy chodívaly často.

Ovšem jako člen komunistické strany mohl mít táta v práci problémy. A tak na 1. máje šli do komunistického průvodu máma s Rubenem, mne vzal táta na Václavák na chodník a tam jsme jim mávali. Vzpomínám, že máma měla na hlavě červený šátek. Jednou se nás druhý den paní učitelka ptala, co jsme dělali o 1. máji. Jeden snaživý hoch se hned přihlásil a žaloval, že viděl mámu s bratrem v komunistickém průvodu. Ale paní učitelka ho za tuto informaci nepochválila, místo toho nám udělala přednášku o demokracii.

Po okupaci 17 ihned vypuklo zatýkání angažovaných antifašistů podle předem připravených seznamů, a tak v prvních dnech po okupaci táta doma nespal, občas zašel ve dne, ale na to jsme měli zvláštní znamení: kdyby byla na balkóně pověšena deka, tak by to znamenalo, že je u nás Gestapo. Nevím, zda bychom stačili deku pověsit, naštěstí táta v těch seznamech nebyl, a tak se po skončení vlny zatýkání vrátil domů. Ale pracoval i potom ilegálně, to vím, byl součástí organizace zajišťující ilegální přechody do Polska. Vlastně i já jsem, věřte nevěřte, ve svých jedenácti „ilegálně pracoval“. Několikrát mne táta někam poslal s ústním vzkazem. To byl vzrušující zážitek, ale taky to mohlo být nebezpečné, kdyby v tom bytě právě bylo Gestapo. Jak bych jim vysvětlil proč přicházím k neznámým lidem na návštěvu? Ale táta mne asi neposílal tam, kde by takové nebezpečí hrozilo. Detaily si už nepamatuju.

Doma jsme mluvili jenom česky, nevzpomínám si, že bych byl poznal, že to není tátova mateřská řeč. Perfektní ale asi nebyla, protože v dopisech, které nám rodiče psali do Anglie, byly k poznání máminy opravy tátových gramatických prohřešků. Ale dělala to tak, že to bylo téměř k nepoznání. A nebylo jich mnoho. Na výslovnosti to asi znát bylo. Jenže v tom věku jsem to nevnímal.

Tedy abych řekl pravdu a nic než pravdu. Chodil jsem asi dva roky jednou týdně na soukromou hodinu němčiny a máma dostala nápad, že budeme jeden den v týdnu mluvit německy, abych se procvičil. Nápad nepochybně dobrý, určitě bych se tak naučil víc a rychleji, toho je dokladem, jak jsem se pak rychle souběžně naučil anglicky a německy v Anglii. Tam ovšem nouze naučila Dalibora housti. Doma jsem to po delší či kratší době vždy vzdal a máma nebyla asi důsledná a trpělivá.

Nevím, co bych Vám ještě řekl k životu před válkou. V mých dětských očích to byla idylická doba, žili jsme dost skromným životem, zámožní jsme určitě nebyli, nepamatuji se, že by rodiče, když spolu mluvili někdy zvýšili hlas nebo se hádali, když jsem to později vídal u jiných manželů tak jsem z toho byl vyjevený, nemohl jsem to pochopit, protože jsem s tím předtím nepřišel do styku a nevěděl, že něco takového existuje. Něco jiného byly vztahy mezi mnou a bratrem, tam to jiskřilo pořád, jak už to tak mezi sourozenci bývá, zejména když jsou dva. Asi když je jich víc, tak už to tak není, to už se ta sourozenecká soutěživost a závist rozptýlí. Taky to v Anglii hned přestalo. Rodičovskou přízeň jsme si už závidět nemohli.

Bratr hodně sportoval, tak moc doma odpoledne nebýval, já byl zase domácký typ, nejraději jsem byl s mámou, pozoroval jak vaří a vyptával se na to i ono, pomáhal když mi to dovolila, po velkém prádle jsem s ní chodil dolů do prádelny a pomáhal dávat prádlo do odstředivky, věšet a sbírat prádlo, jezdil s ní pravidelně jednou týdně na Smíchov, někdy i na návštěvy jinam. Ale asi jsem taky zlobil, občas mne máma honila kolem jídelního stolu s vařečkou, asi se mi podařilo mnohé dobře mířené ráně přece jen uniknout. Že bych dostal někdy nabančeno od táty, tak to si opravdu nepamatuju. Možná taky tím, že pracoval mimo Prahu, byl účetním revizorem, kontroloval zda členové kartelu dodržují dohodnutá pravidla, a tak v pondělí ráno odjížděl a vracel se v pátek večer a v sobotu dopoledne pak odcházel do auditorské firmy, pro kterou pracoval a zřejmě podával zprávu o svých zjištěních. Pamatuji se jen na jeden nedokonaný výprask, utekl jsem před ním do koupelny a zamkl se, strašně jsem se bál bití, odolal jsem tátovým výhrůžkám, že to bude horší když neotevřu, táta to nakonec vzdal.

No a pak bylo najednou po idyle. Hitlerovy projevy přenášené rádiem, které rodiče poslouchali, já jim sice nerozuměl ale z jeho způsobu hysterického řvaní poznal, že to nebude nic příjemného, okupace Rakouska 18, Mnichov 19, protektorát. A jak už bylo nebezpečí cítit ve vzduchu, tak začínala cvičení leteckých poplachů, vřískaly sirény a my se museli jít schovat do nejbližšího domu a čekat až siréna oznámí konec poplachu. Máma vstoupila do dobrovolných zdravotních sester, koupila si uniformu a chodila po večerech na školení Červeného kříže. Vzpomínám jak jsme šli s mámou koupit plynové masky, prodávali je vedle Viktorky Žižkov, byl jsem na tu svou moc pyšný.

Ráno 15. března 1939, to už jsme z rádia věděli, že prezident Hácha 20 tak zvaně požádal Hitlera o ochranu ,–nevím před kým - jsem šel jako obvykle do školy, jako vždy procházel Heroldovými sady a tam se rozvalovali němečtí vojáci, náramně hluční a veselí, sami se sebou spokojení, topili pod vojenským kotlem a cosi si vařili k snídani. A taky si pamatuju, jak obléhali cukrárny a s odpuštěním se přežírali šlehačkou. Asi v Třetí říši nebyla. Nebo využívali pro ně velmi výhodný směnný kurz 10 Kč za marku, který zavedli hned první den po okupaci a obchodníci byli povinni přijímat platbu v markách.

Ještě jedna vzpomínka, nezdržuju? Klidně to pak vymažte. Jako školní dítka jsme jednoho dne místo vyučování šli povinně vítat našeho prvního protektora rytíře von Neuratha 21. Tuhle povinnou vítací činnost si po Němcích oblíbili i komunistické režimy. Ale to už chodili vítat i úředníci, vojáci, milicionáři a kdo ví kdo ještě. Učitelé nás odvedli na Smetanovo nábřeží, před námi na kopci Hradčany, kde se pan protektor hodlal usídlit, kolem špalírů školních dítek projížděly kabriolety a rozdávali papírové fangličky s hákovým křížem. Školní dítka je házela pod sebe, byli jsme přece čeští vlastenci a tehdy ještě nevěděli, jak moc se máme bát, a tak přivezli další várku, a to se několikrát opakovalo, pan protektor měl zpoždění, stáli jsme tam asi tři hodiny. A pak kolem nás projel dlouhatánský průvod a my ani nakonec nevěděli, který z těch mnohých uniformovaných pánů se spoustou pozlátka je ten pán, kterého jsme přišli přivítat. Stejně už jsme fangličky neměli, ležely v kalužích pod námi. Asi jsme si ve vlastních očích připadali jako nebojácní hrdinové.

Pobyt v Anglii

O chystaném odjezdu do Anglie jsme museli vědět brzo po 15. březnu, neboť jsem přestal chodit na němčinu a místo toho začal chodit na angličtinu. No a po skončení školního roku už jsme se začali připravovat na odjezd, měli jsme odjet 1. srpna. Před námi báječné dobrodružství, jak jinak bych se v tom věku podíval do Anglie. Stejně to bylo jen na pár měsíců, brzy buď padne Hitler, přece se ho Němci musí chtít zbavit, a my se vrátíme nebo rodiče přijedou za námi. Tak proč si dělat starosti? Začaly horečné přípravy, všelijaké nákupy, na každém kousku prádla muselo být našito jméno, aby to mohli po vyprání roztřídit. Teprve po letech jsem si všiml, že na mé prošívané dece je v jednom rohu paspulka s nápisem AUERBACH našita jen z části a do ní zapíchnuta jehla s nití; máma asi musela odejít od šití a pak na to zapomněla. I takové maličkosti dokázaly po letech vnést do duše hluboký smutek.

Jedno červencové nedělní ráno, právě jsme seděli v kuchyni u snídaně, zazvonil u dveří listonoš; přinesl telegram, ve kterém bylo napsáno, že odjíždíme už 18. července. Nevím proč tehdy z původního velkého transportu nás 70 vybrali k dřívějšímu odjezdu, ti zbývající pak ještě odjeli do Anglie 1. srpna, ale ten další, který měl odjet 1. září už nedojel. Podle fámy sice odjel, ale v Německu je vrátili. Ten den Němci napadli Polsko, vypukla světová válka. Když přišel ten telegram, tak jsem se rozbrečel, protože to znamenalo, že opustím rodiče dřív, než jsem to měl v hlavě zafixováno. A to už máma nevydržela a taky se rozplakala. Pak už jsme byli stateční, nebo jsme se alespoň, tedy hlavně rodiče, přemáhali. Vlak odjížděl o půlnoci z Wilsoňáku, tak nás rodiče ještě před tím vzali na večeři do nóbl restaurace na Václaváku. Pamatuju si to jako by to bylo dnes, protože jsem byl poprvé v restauraci. Byl to Vašatův rybí restaurant s úslužnými číšníky ve fracích, stříbrnými příbory, atd. Moc jsme toho asi tu první noc nespali, byly tam děti mnohem mladší než já, ty celou noc proplakaly. Ještě v noci jsme překročili hranice protektorátu, pozdě odpoledne druhého dne jsme opustili Německo a byli v Holandsku. Z vlaku jsme do té doby vystupovat nesměli, jídlo a pití na cestu jsme měli z domova. Sice jsme z toho asi pojem neměli, ale najednou se nám ulevilo, cítili se volní. Z Holandska si pamatuju, že tam snad nikdo nechodil pěšky, všude spousta kol, není divu, když je to samá rovina. Pozdě večer jsme dojeli do přístavu, tam nás naložili na loď, přidělili kajuty a konečně jsme se mohli natáhnout a vyspat. A ráno jsme se už vzbudili v anglickém přístavu v Harwichi. Takže jsme si tu plavbu lodí ani trochu neužili. Vlak do Londýna odjížděl až v poledne, tak nás vzali na hřiště, hráli jsme fotbal. No a odpoledne jsme už byli v Londýně, na nádraží nás odvedli do nějaké haly a tam si nás naši budoucí opatrovníci rozebrali. Pro mne, bratra a ještě dalších šest dětí si přijela paní Hanna Strasserová a odvezla nás do Stoke-on-Trent, čtvrtmiliónového zakouřeného průmyslového města ve střední Anglii. Těch šest dětí jsem do té doby neznal.

To bylo tak: Hanna byla přítelkyní rodičů, znali se z kibucu, i ona s manželem a synem se vrátili do Československa, žili v Teplicích odkud její manžel pocházel, asi dvakrát jsme s mámou byli u nich na návštěvě. Bratr byl u nich rok na výměně, aby se naučil německy, tomu se říkalo na tauši, jejich syn byl zase u nás, aby se naučil česky. Po Mnichově bydleli v Praze nedaleko od nás, taky v Bulharské ulici a do Anglie emigrovali už začátkem roku 1939. Asi se tam Hanna dozvěděla o akci Nicholase Wintona, a tak iniciovala vytvoření Czech Children Refugee Committee – North Staffordshire Branch neboli výbor na záchranu českých dětí, který dával dohromady lidi, kteří chtěli pomáhat, shánět finanční dary na kauci, kterou chtělo ministerstvo vnitra dřív, než dali Nicholasu Wintonovi pro nás povolení k pobytu, peníze na financování našeho pobytu a zajistili i ubytování, paj nás často navštěvovali, zvali k sobě domů, vozili na výlety a tak. Městské zastupitelstvo dalo k disposici jeden z domků v sirotčinci – nazývalo se to Children´s Homes neboli dětské domovy – nebyl to obvyklý sirotčinec, ale to čemu se dnes říká dětská vesnička: oplocený pozemek s vraty neustále otevřenými, od vstupu vedla slepá ulice, spíš alej se vzrostlými stromy, na konci velikánské hřiště, po obou stranách aleje dvojdomky, v každém domku opatrovnice, kterou děti oslovovaly mother, a s ní asi deset dětí obou pohlaví ve věku od tří do čtrnácti, takže to byla taková velká rodina, ale bez otce. Tak jako v rodině taky museli doma pomáhat: zametat a vytírat podlahu, mýt nádobí, škrábat brambory, nosit uhlí a tak.

No a jeden z těch domků byl tehdy prázdný a město ho dalo k disposici našemu výboru. A tak bydlení,vodu a elektřinu výbor pořídil zadarmo, jednou za rok nám tamní důlní společnost darovala fůru antracitu a na to ostatní potřeby už sháněl peníze výbor. Ze začátku to šlo, později už to bylo stále obtížnější, válka přinášela lidem jiné problémy, odborové organizace, náš hlavní sponzor, měly podstatně menší příjmy a asi i pomáhal rodinám členů, kteří narukovali. I my jsme pomáhali v domácnosti, to mi nevadilo, byl jsem z domova zvyklý, táta v neděli vařil oběd, uměl jen jedno jídlo, rizoto s uzeným masem, ale to nevadilo, vždy jsem se na to znovu těšil. No a my s bráchou po obědě myli a utírali nádobí. Postě máma měla v neděli den odpočinku. Už jsem zase odbočil.

Z těch domácích prací jsem měl strach jen když jsem přišel na řadu se zatápěním v krbu, jiné vytápění tam nebylo. Několikrát to zhaslo, kouř šel do pokoje místo do komínu, chvíli to vždy trvalo, než se oheň umoudřil. Ale zima tam byla stejně, pokud člověk nestál přímo u krbu, kde si nahřál půlku těla a po otočení o sto osmdesát stupňů tu druhou. Navíc jednoduchá okna a já rozmazlený z bytu s ústředním topením. A první dlouhé kalhoty mi koupili až v patnácti!

Ale první týden jsme byli rozmístěni po rodinách, neboť nás očekávali po 1. srpnu, a tak ještě nebyly dokončeny přípravy. Po nastěhování začala intenzivní výuka angličtiny, neboť ani ne za dva měsíce začínal školní rok. Učila nás Angličanka, učitelka angličtiny v penzi, předtím učila angličtinu v Palestině, ta ovšem česky neuměla, takže jsme se učili pomocí obrázků, ukazováním na věci a tak. Asi to měla vyzkoušené, něco nás naučit musela, takže jsme za šest týdnů nastoupili do školy. Mne nechali opakovat pátou třídu, po půl roce usoudili, že už umím dost anglicky a převeleli do šesté třídy, do které jsem věkem patřil. Tam jsem dokončil šestou a sedmou třídu, pak udělal zkoušku na dvouletou průmyslovku, tam mne to bavilo, učitelé nás dokázali zaujmout, bez problémů jsem jí absolvoval. Dokonce jako premiant. Poslední dva roky v Anglii jsem strávil v Československé státní střední škole, což bylo gymnasium financované československou vládou v exilu, tak tam už jsem problémy měl. Ne kvůli češtině, tu jsem nezapomněl na rozdíl od mnoha jiných, ale s biflováním nezáživného učiva, to mne nebavilo. A tak jsem procházel s odřenýma ušima.

S rodiči jsme si po nějakou dobu mohli dopisovat, jenom to dlouho trvalo, pošta procházela cenzurou v Anglii a Německu a navíc jsme ji posílali přes známé v USA, také to byli bývalí kibucim z Bet Alfy. V Praze jsme k nim s mámou chodívali na návštěvu. To šlo až do vypovězení války Spojenými sáty Německu, ale i pak jsme ještě měli nějakou dobu kontakt. Byla možnost dopisování zprostředkovávané Mezinárodním červeným křížem v Ženevě, to bylo vlastně určeno pro válečné zajatce na obou válčících stranách a nějak se stalo, že i nám to bylo umožněno. Bylo to velmi sporé psaní asi jako telegram, omezené na dvacet pět slov kromě adresy a psát jsme museli německy. Na druhou stranu se psala odpověď. Kam se to odnášelo k odeslání nevím. Několik jich mám schováno, všechny asi ne, tak nevím, kdy to přestalo. Nejspíš v roce 1942, když rodiče byli odtransportováni do Terezína. Ne, nepřišlo mi to divné, neboť i ostatní děti už tyto zprávy nedostávali a tak jsem si myslel, že to Němci zatrhli, nebyli jsme váleční zajatci.

Bombardování jsem nezažil, jen jedou spadla bomba do nedalekého domku a zcela ho zdemolovala, nejspíš nějaké německé letadlo bylo zasaženo a potřebovalo odlehčit zátěž. Přitom to bylo průmyslové město, uhelné doly, strojírenské podniky a tak. Ale nálety jsme v průběhu bitvy o Britanii užili ažaž, prakticky noc co noc přes Stoke létaly bombarďáky někam dál na sever. Začaly houkat sirény, vzbudili nás, my se rychle oblékli a běželi do nedalekého protileteckého krytu, který byl společný pro celý sirotčinec. No a když na zpáteční cestě přeletěli tak zahoukali konec náletu a my mohli zpátky do postele. Dost často se to opakovalo i víckrát za noc. Takže jsme se moc nevyspali. Ale ráno se šlo do školy, jakoby nic, s nezbytnou plynovou maskou, ta se nedala porovnat s tou, která mi zůstala doma nepoužitá. Tato byla uložena v papírové krabici ze které čouhal špagát, aby se dala nosit přes rameno a místo skleněných zornic tam byl ovál z celuloidu. Takže jsem tou maskou pohrdal, ale nosit jsem jí musel. Jako všichni, i dospělí. Jiné pro civilisty nebyly, zato byly zadarmo.

Opatrovala nás časem se měnící manželská dvojice, také z Československa. Bez výjimky to jim byla němčina mnohem bližší než čeština, případně čeština jazyk neznámý, a tak jsem se vlastně souběžně s angličtinou naučil i německy. Tak ale už tak dokonalá zdaleka nebyla, se slovníkovou zásobou jsem na tom byli dobře ale z gramatiky bych dostal pětku. Brzy jsme si na sebe zvykli, nevzpomínám, že by mezi námi dětmi byly nějaké animozity, hádky, rvačky. Samozřejmě mi byla část osazenstva sympatičtější, ale to nebránilo celkem pohodovému soužití. Taky z nás udělali pěvecký sbor, bratr hrál na pianovou harmoniku a Ralph, to byl jeden z nás na housle, a tak jsme chodili „koncertovat“ po městě, to nás ještě oblékli do čehosi strašného, co sami ušili a o čem si Angličané měli myslet, že to je československý kroj, ani vám to nechci popisovat. Nám říkali, že to má být propagace Československa, aby si nemysleli, že pocházíme z Afriky, ale nejspíš hlavním cílem byla sbírka na provoz domova. Ale na tu dobu stejně rád vzpomínám.

Horší to bylo s pobytem v Československé státní škole, kde jsem byl poslední dva roky. Něco jiného je soužití deseti dětí a soužití dvou set dětí. Vadila mi deprivatizace, nechápu proč Angličané si tolik potrpí na své boarding schools, tedy po česku internátní školy. Možná proto, že poslat dítě do takové školy není nijak laciné, že u bohatých to patří k bontonu, ale taky si asi myslí, že se v tom prostředí jejich dítko „zocelí“. Na sobě jsem to nepozoroval.

Čtvery letní prázdniny jsem prožil na severu Anglie na různých ovčích farmách, tak trochu jsem pomáhal, v posledních dvou letech dost pilně se senosečí. Byly to obrovské plochy luk s víceméně volně se pasoucími stády tak osmi set ovcí, noci trávily pod širým nebem a jelikož sníh je tam vzácností, tak se asi zčásti i v zimě napásly a nebyly závislé jen na senu. Ale bylo ho dost, sklízeli jsme ho celé léto. Tedy když nepršelo. A to bylo dost často.

Bratr byl z nás osmi nejstarší a v osmnácti, v létě roku 1943, vstoupil dobrovolně do československé armády. Po něm postupně i ostatní kluci, kromě mne, já byl nejmladší, osmnáct mi bylo až v roce 1946. Takže ke konci války jsme z původních osmi zůstali už jen, tři, kromě mne ještě dvě holky, ty byly mladší než já. Koncem května, možná začátkem června mi do školy přišel dopis od bratra, který mezitím dorazil s armádou do Prahy. V něm mi psal, že ve Vršovicích nikoho nenašel, tak zajel na Smíchov, tam našel tetu Oly a Mirjam a babičku, že děda zemřel a že o rodičích je známo jen to, že byli odvezeni kamsi z Terezína a od té doby nic. Asi si už uvědomoval, nejspíš z vyprávění tety Mirjam, jaký osud je postihl, to mi naplno napsat nedokázal a tak jsem dál žil v iluzi, nebo chcete-li v naději, že se ještě odněkud vynoří. Podobně na tom byli asi taky matky a manželky vojáků, jimž napsali vojenští páni, že jsou nezvěstní a taky dlouho doufali, že se vrátí, obzvlášť pokud byli na ruské frontě. Odtamtud se váleční zajatci vraceli ještě začátkem padesátých let.

Návrat zpátky organizovala naše vláda a tak nás, tedy mne a ty dvě dívky, jednoho dne koncem srpna 1945 naložili do vojenského letadla asi pro přepravu parašutistů, protože jsme seděli jsme podél trupu na dřevěných lavicích, pohodlné to zrovna nebylo. A bez občerstvení! V Ruzyni nás naložili do autobusu a odvezli do budovy YMCA v Žitné ulici, kterou předělali na provizorní ubytovnu a přidělili nám každému postel. Dal jsem kufr pod postel a rovnou šel na Karlovo náměstí, nasednul na šestnáctku, a jel na Smíchov. Neboť šestnáctkou jsem tam vždy jezdíval s mámou. Anděl byl v tu chvíli můj jediný pevný bod ve vesmíru. Zašel jsem do obchodu, neboť jsem nevěděl kde teta bydlí. Tam byl jen příručí, kterého jsem znal už před válkou a ten mne nasměroval.

Kolikrát jsem si v Anglii představoval jak přijedu do Vršovic, vzhlédnu nahoru k balkónu zda tam nezahlédnu mámu, pak zazvoním u dveří, otevře mi máma nebo táta, vykřikne radostí a tím přivolá druhého rodiče. Jak budeme nekonečně šťastní, vstoupíme po druhé do stejné řeky a pak už to bude jen nádherný, idylický život …

Po válce

Dopadlo to jinak. Zazvonil jsem u tetiných dveří, přišla mi otevřít drobounká stařenka, pozdravil jsem, zeptal se zda je paní Dvořáková doma, stařenka řekla, že šla nakoupit, že se brzy vrátí, a pak jsme se s babičkou ve stejném okamžiku poznali a objali. Babička mne vzala do pokoje, sedli jsme si a babička začala plakat současně radostí i bolestí. A pak jen opakovala, a to velmi často až do své smrti „Proč jsem raději nezemřela já?“ Od té doby vím, že pro ženu není větší bolest, než smrt dítěte. Ten den když babička umírala, tak jsem ji s tetami navštívil v nemocnici. Byla v morfiovém deliriu, nepoznávala nás a jen opakovala „Grétinko“. Tak oslovovala svou dceru, mou mámu.

Občas si půjčuji v místní knihovně anglickou knihu, abych úplně nezapomněl, co kdyby se to ještě někdy hodilo. Minule jsem si půjčil autobiografický román Sons and Lovers od D.H.Lawrence. Vypráví tam o smrti svého staršího bratra, o zármutku své matky, jak stále opakovala „If only it could have been me!“ Takže babiččina reakce nebyla výjimečná.

Asi za půl hodiny se tety vrátily z nákupu, zase velké vítání a objímání, Mirjam rozhodla, že okamžitě zajdeme do Žitné pro můj kufr a hned první noc v Praze jsem spal u tety na Smíchově. Bydlel jsem tam dva roky, až do maturity. Měl jsem postel v obývací hale, která byla zároveň jídelnou, halou se procházelo z předsíně do obývacího pokoje, ložnice i koupelny a tak o soukromí nemohla být řeč. Samozřejmě to bylo lepší než žít v sirotčinci, což se stalo mnohým, i těm dvěma dívkám, co byly se mnou v Anglii. Jednou jsem v tom židovském sirotčinci byl se spolužákem navštívit jeho bratra. Byla to otřesná zkušenost, která mi umožnila uvědomit si oč lépe na tom jsem a snad se i tolik nelitovat. Ale i tak návrat domů byl nesrovnatelně smutnější než odjezd do Anglie. Tehdy to byla doba velkých nadějí, spíš jistoty, že se brzy shledáme. Ale život musel pokračovat, tak jsem zašel do nejbližšího gymnasia a s odřenými uši přečkal zbývající dva roky do maturity. Po maturitě jsem spolu s několika spolužáky odejel na tříměsíční výpomoc zemědělství do vylidněného pohraničí. Tehdy to byla údajně podmínka pro přijetí na vysokou, mnozí se na ní vykašlali a stejně je do školy vzali. Ale nelituju, byla to taky životní zkušenost.

Manžel tety Oly tehdy už projevil zájem, abych se odstěhoval. V té době už byla teta Mirjam přestěhovaná do svého původního bytu, kupodivu nebyl obsazen. Bylo to v Bulharské ulici, tedy několik domů od mého předválečného bydlení. V tom domě mi našla podnájem a tak jsem se tam odstěhoval. S financemi to bylo špatné, měl jsem sirotčí penzi po tátovi necelých šest set korun a k tomu od americké židovské organizace JOINT jsem prostřednictvím pražské Židovské obce dostával tisíc korun měsíčně. To představovalo dnešních asi dva tisíce korun. Ale na oběd jsem v týdnu jezdil na Smíchov, večeřel většinou u tety Mirjam, takže takhle to šlo jakž takž zvládnout. Za čtyři roky jsem vystudoval na ČVUT statistiku a nastoupil do práce v energetice, v té jsem byl zaměstnán v různých ekonomických funkcích celý život.

To ne, problémy v zaměstnání s tím, že jsem žid, jsem neměl, i když to bylo všeobecně známo. Bodejť ne, když mám tak exotické jméno, nad kterým mnozí kroutili hlavou. To spíš s tím, že jsem nebyl v partaji, to samozřejmě mělo vliv na mou kariéru, v tom jsem nebyl výjimka. Občas mi někdo řekl že kdybych, tak bych, ale to pro mne nebyl dostatečný důvod k tomu, abych se o členství ucházel. Když mi to po vojně v roce 1954 přímo nabídli a dali mi do ruky přihlášku k vyplnění, tak jsem si ji sice odnesl domů, ale po několika dnech jsem to decentně odmítl, že je mi sice myšlenka socialismu velmi blízká, ale že do strany s projevy antisemitismu vstoupit přece jako žid nemůžu a nechci. Bylo to nedlouho po procesu se Slánským 22 a jeho bandou sionistických spiklenců, kupodivu můj postoj pochopili. S další nabídkou mne už nikdy neobtěžovali.

Na jaře 1950 jsem se oženil s dívkou, se kterou jsem chodil už od oktávy, ke konci roku se narodil první syn, Ivan, a v roce 1956 druhý, Pavel. Oba se slušně učili, vystudovali techniku, starší strojařinu, mladší elektrotechniku, oba jsou ženatí. Ivan má dvě děti, dcera nedávno ukončila vysokoškolské studium, stavařinu, syn zase loni na vysokou nastoupil, studuje architekturu. Mladší Pavel bohužel děti nemá. Chtěli je, ale nevyšlo to. Oba synové cítí sounáležitost se svým židovstvím, ale nijak ho nepěstují. Proč by taky měli, když ani jejich „čistokrevný“ otec se v tomu nevyžívá. Ivan jednou před námi prohlásil, ani už nevím v jaké souvislosti, že je víc hrdý na své poloviční židovství než na své poloviční češství, což mne u srdce zahřálo, manželku popudilo. Ale kupodivu na to nereagovala, přešla to, jakoby to přeslechla. To bylo dost neobvyklé.

Takže ještě zbývá něco povědět o dalších osudech mého bratra Rubena. Ty byly poněkud méně přímočaré, než ty moje. Po propuštění z armády se odstěhoval do Brna ke kamarádovi z vojny, který tam dostal byt, a tak tam s ním bydlel, dostudoval průmyslovku a v létě 1946 maturoval. Do zaměstnání nastoupil do Teplic, nevím proč si vybral Teplice, možná proto, že tam kdysi byl na tauši. Své komunistické přesvědčení z mládí nezapřel, vstoupil do strany, možná taky proto, že to pokládal za dědictví po rodičích, a byl velmi aktivní. Chtěl splynout s majoritní společností, a tak si změnil jméno na Pavel Potocký. Stejně jsme ho ale všichni jeho blízcí do konce jeho života oslovovali Rubene. Nenásledoval jsem ho, protože pro mne jediným dědictvím bylo mé jméno a mým úkolem bylo, aby ve mně pokračovali. Nenásledoval jsem ho ani ve vstupu do strany, ne proto, že bych myšlenkám socialismu nevěřil, ale spíš z pohodlnosti, nechuti k organizovanosti, ke spolkaření všeho druhu.

To, že si změnil jméno mě mrzelo, ale nic jsem mu neřekl, byl to starší brácha, tak jakým právem bych ho mohl kritizovat, jenom jsem si říkal, že když už, tak mohl zvolit mámino jméno za svobodna Fantl, to německy ani židovsky nezní. Prý je to jméno sefardských židů 23, to jsou ti, co přišli ze Španělska. Údajně odtud pochází dědečkovi předkové. Mirjam mi jednou vyprávěla, že nám máma chtěla po návratu z Palestiny nechat změnit rodná jména, a že já měl být Karel. Ale tehdy to nešlo, jenom změnit německá příjmení na česká. Tedy po vzniku Československé republiky 24 v roce 1918, kdy se to stalo „in“.

Zase odbočuju. Tak tedy jak už jsem řekl bratr byl velmi činný ve straně v Teplicích, a tak rozhodli, že je to, čemu se tehdy říkalo perspektivní kádr a že by se měl politicky dál vzdělávat. K tomu sloužil Lidový dům v Hybernské ulici, kdysi a teď znovu sídlo sociálních demokratů. Internátní škola, ve které strávil školní rok 1949/1950. Pak byl asi půl roku jakýmsi začínajícím referentem v partajním aparátu. Ale to už začaly čistky ve straně, podezřelí byli hlavně interbrigadisté, kteří bojovali proti generálu Frankovi ve španělské občanské válce 25, ti co byli za války v Anglii a jak už je zvykem po staletí, židé. Bratr vyhovoval dvěma kritériím, tak mu decentně řekli, že by měl odejít pracovat mezi dělnickou třídu, aby ji lépe poznal 26. No, mohl taky dopadnout hůř, mohli z něj taky udělat protistátního spiklence. Ale na to tam byl asi příliš krátkou dobu a se špičkami nepřišel do styku.

Odejel do Ostravy, fáral dva nebo tři roky pod zemí, žil s dalšími brigádníky v dřevěných barácích, tedy spíš s lumpenproletariátem než s proletariátem, nevím už kolik jich bylo na pokoji, měl tam postel, skříňku nic víc. V roce 1951 jsem byl služebně v Ostravě, tak jsem to využil a zajel do ubytovny, dost mne to šokovalo. Po několika letech se vrátil do Prahy, dojížděl do Vodochod, kde se vyráběly tryskové stíhačky, pracoval tam několik let jako zámečník. Když Sověti v roce 1956 vyslali armádu do Maďarska 27 k potlačení povstání tak to byla ta pověstná poslední kapka a vystoupil z partaje. Tehdy to nebyla žádná sranda, snad desetkrát si ho povolali na výbor a snažili se ho různými „argumenty“ přesvědčit, aby zůstal straně věren, byli peskováni, že dělník vystupuje z partaje, ale trval na tom, tak ho konečně pustili. Byl z toho ve velkém stresu. Po nějaké době si našel práci v Modřanech, denní dojíždění do Vodochod bylo časově hodně náročné. V Modřanech taky pracoval jako zámečník a pak nějaký čas jako technolog, takže konečně mohl uplatnit své vzdělání. Oženil se, narodily se mu dvě děti a v roce 1969 emigroval do Spojených států, zemřel před dvěma lety. Po roce 1989 byl jednou s dcerou, ta je taky Mirjam, na návštěvě v Praze, když jsem ovdověl tak jsem byl u nich, to bylo v roce 2000.

Ani tam to neměl lehké, zejména první roky. Z počátku žili v New Yorku, pak se přestěhovali do Denveru, našel si práci jako technolog, manželka pracovala v továrně na prádlo jako šička, dcera vystudovala vysokou a nyní je profesorkou na vysoké škole v Miami. Synovi se do studií nechtělo, v něčem se potatil, nechal si změnit jméno z Jana na Michaela a doma mu stejně říkají Honzo, je řidičem náklaďáku, svobodný a stále bydlí s mámou. Což je vlastně dobře, protože by jinak byla sama, její angličtina je i po tolika letech prachbídná, nikdy si v emigraci nezvykla ale zpátky taky nechtěla. Dospělí děti by se určitě nevrátily, tak proto asi. Mají tam pěkný domek se zahrádkou a hypotéku už splacenou.

Takže to by snad už o rodině bylo všechno. Říkal jsem Vám hned na začátku, že na nás nebylo nic zvlášť zajímavého, co by stálo za sepisování. Byly dramatičtější osudy, ty by se spíš měly uchovat v paměti. Jenže v mnohých rodinách nezůstal nikdo, kdo by jejich příběhy mohl vyprávět.

Takže chcete ještě abych řekl něco o vztahu naší rodiny k náboženství, k židovství v širším slova smyslu, k tradicím. Byli jsme téměř všichni bezvěrci. Dědeček z máminy strany byl hluboce věřící, denně chodil ráno i večer do synagogy se pomodlit, o šabatu tam pobýval téměř celý den, byl v představenstvu smíchovské synagogy a členem, snad dokonce předsedou pohřebního bratrstva, které v židovských obcích obstarává poslední věci člověka. Jeho členové se chodí modlit k umírajícímu, po smrti oblékají do rubáše, ukládají do rakve a A pokud byl nemajetný tak zajišťovali z darů souvěrců pohřební výdaje. Židovský pohřeb jsem zažil jen jednou, pohřeb smíchovské babičky v roce 1954. Tehdy mne zarazilo, že je pohřbívána v obyčejné bedně sbité z hrubých neopracovaných prken, zprvu jsem se v duchu pohoršoval, myslel jsem že tety chtěly ušetřit na rakvi. Pak mi teprve došlo, že to je židovský obyčej vyjadřující myšlenku, že při narození i ve smrti jsme si všichni rovni. O náhrobcích to ale neplatí. Těmi už se dávají najevo majetkové poměry zesnulého stejně jako na křesťanských hřbitovech.

Snad ještě dědův syn Rudolf byl věřící, ale určitě nebyl tak častým návštěvníkem synagogy. Ani nevím jak to bylo s babičkou. Za dědečkova života určitě dodržovala určité zvyky, ženy se však tradičně tolik nemodlí jako muži, nemají na to čas, když se musí starat o domácnost když muži někde mudrují a hádají se o význam toho či onoho biblického výroku, nemají ani přístup do modlitební síně, smí jenom do vyhrazených prostor. Zatímco muži od nepaměti se v útlém věku učili hebrejštinu, aby mohli číst svaté knihy a o nich disputovat, jejich ženy zůstávaly analfabety asi až do zavedení povinné školní docházky. Takže s babiččinou nábožností jsem se setkal až po válce. To jednou v roce, v Den smíření trávila čas od rána do pozdních odpoledních hodin v Jubilejní synagoze, to je ta v Jeruzalémské ulici, celý ten den se v souladu s náboženskými příkazy postila. To znamená u Židů nejen nejíst ale také nepít. Teta Oly měla obavy, aby v důsledku toho v jejím věku na cestě domů neomdlela a tak jsem pro ní před koncem bohoslužeb došel, čekal před synagogou a doprovodil ji domů. Jom Kipur a Roš Hašono tedy Nový Rok a Den smíření jsou tak zvané Velké svátky a v tyto dny mnozí Židé, kteří jinak synagogu nenavštíví po celý rok a ani doma se moc nemodlí a nejspíš i mnozí nevěřící zaplňují synagogy po celém světě. Asi to v nich posiluje vědomí sounáležitosti s židovstvem i když jinak se snaží asimilovat a splynout s většinovou společností.

Rodina se však přece jen scházela kompletní jeden den v roce a to na seder [seder: termín vyjadřující zejména domácí bohoslužbu a předepsaný rituál pro první noc svátku Pesach – pozn. red.], slavnostní večeři k uctění památky odchodu Židů z egyptského otroctví. Ta večeře má velmi přísný přesně stanovený rituál, nejmladší člen rodiny klade nejstaršímu členovi rodiny stanovené, vždy stejné otázky, a dostává na ně každý rok přesně stejné odpovědi. Tím nejmladším jsem byl já, vzpomínám, že dědeček seděl v čele prostřeného stolu, já vedle něj po pravé straně na delší straně stolu, a kladu mu v hebrejštině otázky, které mne v hodinách náboženství naučili, on mi hebrejsky odpovídá a já mu nerozumím ale vím o čem povídá, to nám v hodinách náboženství pan rabín vysvětlil. Všichni se usmívali, jak jsem to krásně přednesl, měl jsem před sebou knížku, ve které samozřejmě hebrejsky byly napsány otázky [Čtyři otázky, Ma ništana: tradične přednesené nejmladším účastníkem sederu o Pesachu – pozn. red.]a odpovědi, ale naučit jsem se je musel nazpaměť, jinak by to bylo hrozné koktání.

Do synagogy jsem jednou ročně chodil, ale ne na Den smíření, byl to svátek kdy děti pochodovali synagogou, každé v ruce propůjčený praporec s Davidovou hvězdou [byl to svátek Purim – pozn. red.]. Jak jsme procházeli kolem představenstva synagogy, které sedělo před schránkou na tóru, tak jsme byli jeho členy obdarováváni kornoutem cukroví. Děda tam taky sedával a já byl na něj pyšný.

Ještě jednou jsem byl v synagoze, vím přesně datum, bylo to 1. ledna 1938, bratr měl bar micvah, neboť den předtím mu bylo třináct, věk kdy hoch vstupuje mezi dospělé a četl z Tóry text stanovený pro tento týden. Bar micvah je moc slavná událost v židovské rodině. Zda to uměl přečíst nebo si to nabifloval to nevím. Já jsem už o bar micvah přišel, kdybych byl o to stál, tak jsem ho mohl mít v Anglii, v Československé státní škole jsme měli „svého“ českého katolického kněze i rabína a malou motlitebnu. Tuším, že se v ní střídaly katolické a židovské bohoslužby, určitě by mne rád připravil, ale já byl hrdý na své beznabožství. Dnes toho lituji, patří to neodmyslitelně k židovství tak jako obřízka, takže se cítím o to ochuzen.

Věřící, nevěřící, na náboženství jsem chodil, bylo to vždy jednou týdně odpoledne ve škole, chodili jsme tam z více tříd a učil nás kantor z nuselské synagogy, asi ve Vršovicích žádná nebyla. Byl to starší vysoký hubený pán, velmi tolerantní, přicházeli jsme skoro všichni bez jarmulky, neměli jsme žádnou, a tak jsme si při modlení na začátku a konci hodiny – „Šema jisrael adonaj elohejnu, adonaj echad.“ [hebrejsky: „Slyš Izraeli, Hospodin je náš Bůh, Hospodin je Jeden.“], dál už to nevím, jedna taky začínala „Boruch ato Adonaj“ [hebrejsky: „Požehnán jsi Pane“] - si dávali dlaň na temeno hlavy a tím ten handicap překonali. S úsměvem se nás ptal, zda jsme měli k obědu vepřo-knedlo-zelo, když ano, tak jsem mu to řekl, ani jsem asi v té době nevěděl, že bych to jíst neměl [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]. Ale on se jen usmíval a nekomentoval to. Pak nám vyprávěl biblické příběhy, před začátkem svátků proč je slavíme a taky se pokoušel nás naučit hebrejsky. Tak v tom jsme nevynikali, myslím, že jsme se nedostali dál než k přečtení slabikáře, z něhož si pamatuji jen první stránku, tedy po vašem tu poslední. Na ní byla namalovaná zahrada a pod ní hebrejsky GAN. Opravdu se zlobil, jen když jsme s námahou odslabikovali v textu slovo „jejo“, což nic neznamená, židé tím obcházejí napsání božího jména, Jáhve, to je zakázáno. Podezřívám se – a nejen sebe – že jsme se na to, jak se rozčílí těšili a nikdy nezapomněli říct jejo. Proč jsem, doma vychováván k bezvěrectví chodil do náboženství? Ze stejného důvodu, ze kterého brácha absolvoval bar micvah: kvůli dědečkovi. A mně to nevadilo ani neuškodilo.

Jinak jsme židovské tradice nepěstovali, ani košer stravu. Už jsem vám přece říkal, že táta v neděli pravidelně vařil rizoto z uzeného, miloval jsem chleba se sádlem posypaný škvarkama, to byla nějaká pochoutka [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]! Nevím, ale možná ani na Smíchově na to nebyli tak přísní, tedy kromě séderu a že po celou dobu svátků pesach jedli macesy místo chleba. Proč si to myslím? Když jsme s mámou byli na každotýdenní návštěvě tak jme tam byli až do večera a tak jsem večeřel na Smíchově. To mi dali dvě nebo tři koruny, to už nevím kolik, v létě mne poslali do vedlejšího krámu, mlíkárny, a tam mi mlíkařka nalila hrnek mléka, k tomu dvě housky a trojhránek možná dva ementálu, měla tam stolek, u kterého jsem to snědl. Ale v zimě mne posílali na roh do uzenářství na párek s hořčicí. A to zrovna kóšer není. Ale svíčkovou na smetaně jsem ochutnal až po válce. Takže tu máma asi neuměla, neboť to jí doma nenaučili, maso a mléko v jednom pokrmu být nesmí, dokonce má být oddělena sada nádobí na masové pokrmy a na mléčné pokrmy [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla zakazuje jest masitou a mléčnou stravu při tomtéž jídle. Podobně se striktně navzájem odděluje vše, co přichází do styku s mléčnými a masitými pokrmy – pozn. red.]. V biblických dobách nebyly chladničky a při těch teplotách na Středním východě toto pravidlo bylo rozumné, ne? Jinak jme asi jedli to co ostatní. Měl jsem rád plněné bramborové knedlíky se zelím, buchty, ty máma upekla den před velkým prádlem a my je pak měli k obědu, miloval jsem houskové knedlíky s vejci, to bývalo k večeři, ještě teď mám před očima, jak sedíme s bráchou u stolu a já mu je kradu z talíře a hned byl důvod k sváru.

Ne, ani vánoce jsme doma neměli. Nejspíš jsem se doma na to zeptal, když mi kamarádi vyprávěli o štědrovečerní večeři a nadílce. Ale doma mi zřejmě na to odpověděli, že křesťani mají křesťanské svátky a my židé zase židovské svátky. S tím jsem se zřejmě spokojil, neboť vím, že jsem svým spolužákům vánoce nezáviděl. S tímto logickým zdůvodněním jsem se spokojil.- I když později jsem ke svému údivu zjistil, že někteří židé vánoce dodržovali právě kvůli tomu, aby to jejich dětem nepřišlo líto.

Ale tak úplně jsem o vánoce nepřišel. Zaměstnanci firmy, ve které táta pracoval, dostávali od pana šéfa kapra. Živého. Ale táta ho domů přinést nemohl, protože byl v týdnu mimo Prahu. Sídlo firmy bylo v ulici Ve Smečkách a tak máma vzala síťovou tašku, starý ručník a mne a jeli jsme pro něj. Tam měli v kanceláři dřevěnou káď, takovou co se z nich loví kapři na ulici před vánoci, z ní jednoho vylovili, zabalili do mokrého ručníku, vložili do síťky a my ho odvezli domů. A pak už musel ve vaně počkat až přijede v pátek táta a vykoná nad ním ortel smrti. Ale určitě jsme s jeho snědením nečekali až do Štědrého večera. Asi jsme ho zbaštili hned v sobotu nebo neděli. Jak ho máma připravovala si nepamatuju.

A pak tu byla ještě jedna vazba k vánocům. Bratr měl o Silvestra narozeniny, ty se u nás slavily, a aby mi nepřišlo líto, že dostal dárek a já nic, tak mi darovali pytlík s prskavkami. Zapaloval jsem jednu od druhé dokud jsem všech deset vevyprskal. Na tento dárek jsem se vždy předem těšil a byl jsem s těmito svými vánocemi naprosto spokojený. Vlastně jsme těmito prskavkami přivítali i nový rok.

Takže chcete mermomocí vědět, v čem spočívá mé židovství, jak ho vnímám, co pro mne znamená. Nebyla by nějaká jednodušší otázka? Proč se klade zrovna nám, židům? Nebo nám tak často a jiným jen sporadicky? Co víc: proč si ji klademe sami? Když se zeptáte deseti Čechů co pro ně znamená češství, tak vám všichni dají přibližně stejnou odpověď. Podobně když se zeptáte deseti Němců, deseti Francouzů, a tak dále. Nikdo se nezamýšlí nad tím, že se Čech píše s velkým Č nebo Němec s velkým N. I když těsně po válce jsme psali němec, ne Němec, ale to proto, abychom dali najevo své hluboké a nesmiřitelné opovržení. Když jsme se naučili rozlišovat mezi hodnými a zlými Němci, tedy těmi, kteří žili na východě a těmi na západě, tak to už jsme je zase psali s velkým N. Vlastně se divím, mohli jsme nadále ty západní psát s malým a ty hodné s velkým a takhle jednoduše je rozlišit. Cikán se snad taky téměř vždy psal s malým c, Roma s malým r už nikdo nenapíše. Zase zbytečně odbočuju.

Ale tak úplně zase ne. Protože když se zeptáte deseti židů, v čem vidí svou židovskou identitu, tak asi dostanete řadu nesourodých odpovědí. Jsou židé s velkým Ž a židé s malým ž, ale to nesouvisí s jejich opovrhováním nebo neopovrhováním majoritní společností. Nejjednodušší to mají ti, co se už narodili v Izraeli a žijí tam, ti asi mají stejný vztah k židovství jako Češi k češství, tak to jsou Židé s velkým Ž. Což nevylučuje, že jsou zároveň židé s malým ž, tedy věřící. Tedy židovští židé. Vy jste to ještě nikdy neslyšela? To se nedivím, já taky ne, právě jsem si to vymyslel. Ale proč ne, když může být český katolík nebo pakistánský muslim.

Horší je to s námi v diaspoře. Pro věřící je to asi taky poměrně snazší na tuto otázku odpovědět. Prý když se v Brooklynu zeptám pejzatého žida v kaftanu, který vypadá jako jeho předkové, když se před sto lety přistěhovali z Haliče kým je tak mi hrdě odpoví, že je Američan. Pro něj je tedy vztah k židovství, alespoň si to myslím, především jeho vztah k židovskému náboženství, takže to je žid s malým ž. Je to tak jednoduché? Vždyť ten pejzatý židáček, hrdý na to, že je Američan se záměrně anachronicky svým zevnějškem odlišuje od většinové populace, stýká se téměř jen s jinými pejzatými židy, žije v jakémsi dobrovolném skoro ghettu, mnozí z nich ještě mluví, čtou a píší nejen anglicky, ale i jidiš, nejspíš pro mnohé z nich je jidiš mateřská řeč. S tím se tuším u třetí generace Italů či Irů či Čechů narozených ve Spojených státech sotva setkáte. Nejspíš si to své amerikánství ten pejzatý anachronismus osvojil v americké škole, kde se vlastenectví pěstuje ve velkém, vlajky jsou na všech možných místech. Ale lepší vlajky než neustále se měnící fotografie nejvyššího pantáty v rámečku ve školách a úřadech. Takže lituju, v tom amerikánství brooklynského žida se  nevyznám.

A co s námi neznabohy? Nedávno jsem o tom mluvil s jedním moudrým, vzdělaným pánem, vysokoškolským profesorem v penzi, taky nevěřícím. Když jsem mu řekl, že neznám odpověď na to co jsem víc, zda Čech nebo Žid, tak mi řekl, že on je především Čechem a pak teprve židem. A to prošel těmi nejhoršími lágry. Copak se to dá změřit? Je snad z 80 % Čech a z 20 % žid? Nebo to je 90 ku 10, nebo 70 ku 30? Když řeknu český katolík nebo americký mormon nebo francouzský jehovista tak všichni vědí co mám na mysli. Ale když řeknu český žid? To už nemusí být nutně věřící. Takže zase jsou s námi problémy, vybočujeme stále z řady.

A když řeknu židovský žid? To nelze napadnout ale je to pojem neznámý a na první pohled absurdní. Ale v tom je zase ta zvláštnost: všechna ostatní významná náboženství jsou náboženství bez hranic, na rozdíl od křesťany pěstují misionářství, nejraději by ze všech černochů nadělali křesťany, nechápu proč je k tomu někdy dost nevybíravě nutili, jindy zase mazaně jim nadbíhají prostřednictvím charitativní činnosti. Proč jim neponechají jejich víru? Jako by na tom záleželo v co věří, zda mají jednoho boha nebo deset bůžků. Hlavní je, aby alespoň v něco věřili, k něčemu měli úctu, v něčem nacházeli útěchu, něco vytvářelo základ etiky. Teď mne napadlo: nenahrazují křesťanům svatí bůžky? Taky má každý z nich nějakou funkci, ten ochraňuje před tím, ten druhý zas před něčím jiným, a tak dále. Misionářství se mi proto protiví. Že by to byl podvědomý vztah k antimisionářskému židovství?

Má v tom jasno alespoň židovská náboženská obec? Chcete-li vstoupit do obce, tak to musí schválit nejvyšší náboženská autorita v obci, rabín. Ale neřídí se tím, zda jste věřící nebo nevěřící. Řídí se halachou , tj. předpisem, který mimo jiné říká, že židem je ten kdo pochází z židovské matky. Na otci už nezáleží, neboť kdo ví kdo opravdu je otcem, dokažte to. Teď už by to šlo, umíme přečíst DNA, jenže co kdyby pak vyšlo najevo, že hlava rodiny není otcem? To by byl malér větší než to, že ho rabín nechce jen tak přijmout do obce.

Takže ten, kdo má jen židovského, s prominutím, nejistého otce, už židem tak říkajíc ze zákona není, musí konvertovat k židovství a to není snadné. Musí před rabínským soudem vykonat zkoušky ze znalosti hebrejštiny a svatých spisů, zejména příkazů a zákazů, dodržovat základní náboženská pravidla a nevím co ještě. Zatímco já můžu být analfabet a totální ignorant a nevěřící a přesto nikdo nemůže zpochybňovat mé židovství a tudíž i právo být členem náboženské obce. A tak nejvyšší náboženská autorita rozhoduje podle kritérií, která s příslušností k náboženskému společenství, řádně zaregistrovanému na ministerstvu kultury, nesouvisí. Samozřejmě to nevím, ale možná polovina členů této náboženské obce jsou nevěřící. Pokud vím, tak do synagogy z nich s tou pravidelností jako můj děda chodí hodně málo, možná deset, možná dvacet. Není to absurdní? Takže vidíte, že u židů nelze uplatňovat standardní postupy.

K něčemu se přiznám. Když jsem byl na vojně, to bylo začátkem padesátých let, tak na nás chtěli, abychom vystoupili z církve. Byl jsem nevěřící, a tak jsem si logicky řekl, že tam nemám co dělat. Tak jsem jim to lejstro vyplnil a odevzdal. Na štěstí jsou vojáci bordeláři, kde to lejstro skončilo nevím, z obce mi nadále před každým židovským Novým rokem posílali složenku na náboženský příspěvek s tím, že od počtu přispěvatelů závisí výše státního příspěvku. Tak jsem jim pravidelně posílal stovku nebo dvě a tak jsem členem obce nakonec zůstal. Taky mi posílali Židovskou ročenku, tu jsem koupil a poctivě celou přečetl. Ale to byla má jediná židovská aktivita. Žil jsem ve smíšeném manželství a necítil potřebu se s touto náboženskou komunitu stýkat. Je mi to líto, na stará kolena k tomu neumím najít cestu zpět.

Že se vyhýbám přímé odpovědi a na dotazy odpovídám dotazy, pochybuju o všem možném, zejména o sobě? Tak to asi opravdu jsem žid. Já se těmi otázkami nesnažím vyhnout odpovědi, já ji těmito otázkami hledám. Tak tedy jsem Čech i Žid a necítím potřebu nebo nutnost kvantifikovat poměr mezi mým češstvím a židovstvím. Proč taky, k čemu by to bylo. Čech jsem ze stejných důvodů jako ostatní Češi. Žiju tu téměř od narození, téměř celý život, čeština je téměř můj rodný jazyk a je to jazyk, který ovládám zdaleka nejlépe v porovnání s těmi ostatními, které také nějak ovládám. Chodil jsme téměř jen do českých škol, mí předkové tu už žijí nejméně dvě století a nejspíš mnohem déle – co když ten na starém hřbitově je jakýsi vzdálený příbuzný – takže mám s Čechy, ale nejen s Čechy společné dějiny. Česká kultura je mi nejbližší, je to prostředí, na které jsem zvyklý. Takže nemám důvod, proč bych se neměl cítit Čechem, i když mne někdy štvou. Zejména jejich časté projevy xenofobie. Ale to není české specifikum.

Tak proč jsem tedy taky Žid? A jsem s tím malým nebo velkým ž? Škoda, že není nějaké třetí, to by mi vyhovovalo nejlíp. Prostě mé židovství je něco ve mně, nezávisle na mé vůli, ať se mi to líbí nebo ne, i kdybych přestoupil k jiné církvi jako to udělal olomoucký arcibiskup Kohn [Kohn, Theodor (1845 – 1915): římskokatolický církevný hodnostář, částečne židovského původu – pozn. red.], protože mí rodiče byli židé, jejich rodiče byli židé, rodiče jejich rodičů a tak dále až do těch biblických dob, kdy ještě Češi nevěděli, že jednou budou Češi. Ale ani to není odpověď. Protože dejme tomu třetí generaci Holanďanů narozených ve Spojených státech už asi vůbec nic nepojí k jejich prapředkům v Nizozemí, k holandské kultuře. Neznají ani slovo holandsky. Na rozdíl od toho pejzatého anachronického brooklinského žida, který mluví a píše anglicky i jidiš a navíc hebrejsky, aby mohl předčítat v synagoze z Tóry, číst si v talmudu a porozumět čtenému. Holanďan třetí generace se nezajímá o to, která partaj tam je u moci a nejspíš ani neví jak se jmenuje holandská královna. Zase na rozdíl od Židů i židů, kteří dění v Izraeli vnímají velmi citlivě.

Někteří Holanďané ještě pěstují krajanské spolky, jednou dvakrát za rok se sejdou, vezmou si holandské kroje, na nohy dřeváky, ve kterých už neumějí chodit a zpívají holandské národní písně s americkým přízvukem. A možná ještě lamentují nad tím, že si New York nezachoval své původní jméno New Amsterdam, o to je připravili ti zatracení Angláni. Ale určitě už nemají pocit, že jsou američtí Holanďané a určitě se jich nikdo proto taky neptá, v čem spatřují své nizozemství.

Asi nic nevymyslím. Kdysi na tuto otázku odpověděl Ota Ornest [Ornest, Ota (1913 – 2002): vlastným jménem Ohrenstein. Divadelný režisér a překladatel – pozn. red.] slovy, že je to osud a úděl. Nevím zda to měl z vlastní hlavy ale nic lepšího nevymyslím. Asi opravdu je ve mně to židovství dáno především tím, že jsme byli po staletí nenáviděni, pronásledováni, zaháněni do ghett, zabíjeni při pogromech a nakonec systematicky vyvražďováni. To je asi to společné dědictví, to jsou asi ty naše společné dějiny, které se odvíjely společně s dějinami zemí, ve kterých jsme žili nebo nás přechodně tolerovali, které z nás dělá židy, ať chceme nebo nechceme. Samozřejmě kromě víry a svatých spisů, které měly rozhodující podíl na přežití židovstva. Proto i arcibiskup Kohn zůstal podle mého názoru židem, ať už si to přiznával nebo ne. Přinejmenším proto, že kdyby se dožil holocaustu, tak kdo ví, co by se s ním stalo, zda by ho katolická církev dokázala ochránit před Osvětimí. Asi by si to musel přinejmenším uvědomit, chtě nechtě. Tak jako mnozí konvertité, kteří nebyli arcibiskupy. Ale já jim tu konverzi nezazlívám, jenom mám pocit, že je od židovství neosvobozuje. Vždyť i pokřtěná Madelaine Albright [Albright, Madelaine (nar. 1937): americká politoložka, diplomatka a politička. Dcera československého diplomata židovského původu, Josefa Korbela – pozn. red.] si to na stará kolena uvědomila, a ta přitom nebyla ohrožena.

Na druhé straně si myslím, že by můj pocit sounáležitosti s židovstvím asi časem hodně vybledl, kdyby nedošlo k tomu, k čemu došlo a život uplýval po roce 1937 poklidně dál tak, jako před ním a s antisemitismem jsem se bezprostředně nesetkával. A to zejména po smrti dědečka, který byl mým nejsilnějším poutem k židovství, který by mne určitě ještě dovedl k bar micvah…

Pochybuju, že by mne byl nějak zvlášť zajímal osud Izraele, možná by to ještě dnes byl britský protektorát Palestina, ale asi bych ze zvědavosti svou rodnou zem navštívil. Snad by to ve mne už tehdy něco probudilo. Byl jsem tam v roce 2000 a uvědomil si až tam , že to je víc než standardní turistický poznávací zájezd s cestovní kanceláří, že tam jsou mé kořeny, že se tam kdysi rodili, žili a umírali mí dávní předkové. Ale už předtím jsem si uvědomil, že je domovem mnohých, kteří zázrakem unikli holocaustu, jejich dětí a dětí jejich dětí, proto je pro mne něčím jiným, než by byla kdyby…

Zase ten rozdíl mezi námi a většinovou společností. Znáte snad Čecha, který by měl nějaký vztah k místům odkud je před jeden a půl tisíciletím přivedl do této země oplývající medem a strdím praotec Čech? Vědí alespoň s jistotou odkud přivedl?

Napovídal jsem toho víc než dost, kdo asi najde trpělivost si to přečíst, nebo se nad tím dokonce zamyslet? Benjamin Franklin kdysi na konci dopisu své dceři napsal přibližně: „Promiň, že jsem neměl čas napsat ti kratší dopis.“ Moudrý to pán.

Glosář:

Faina Sandler
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: June 2002

According to the family legend our ancestors settled down in Kopyl during the Napoleonic War of 1812. My great-grandmother was a canteen keeper in Napoleon's army and came to Minsk with the army provision transport. Military life turned out to be hard for her. She quit the army and married a local merchant, a Jew. They moved to Kopyl. They opened a small store there and got their own house. They also had children. Since then our family lived in Kopyl.

Kopyl was a small town far away from the railroad. I remember that when my mother, Golda Sandler [nee Abramovich], wanted to visit my father's sister Elena in Minsk the only way of transport was a horse- driven cart. Jews constituted almost half of the population of this town; there were several thousand of them. There was a synagogue in the main square and a cheder right next to it. There was an Orthodox Christian church there as well. The closeness bothered neither the Jewish nor the Belarus population. There were several synagogues in Kopyl, but I can't remember how many exactly. The one in the central square was the biggest - it was a choir synagogue. There was also a city market in this same square. Kopyl was located within quite some distance from other settlements and people sold their products in exchange for other services.

My grandfather on my father's side, Avrom-Ber Sandler, was born in 1871. He was a carpenter. My grandmother was a housewife, which was a usual thing in Jewish families. I don't remember her name; she was just 'Granny' for me. I don't know what kind of family she came from. I only know that she came from Kopyl, too. There were many children in the family. They had two sons and a daughter besides my father. The oldest was Elena, born in 1894, then came Grigory in 1895, and my father, Semyon followed in 1897. Peisah, the last one, was born in 1899. The family wasn't wealthy. My grandmother could hardly get sufficient food and clothing for the family. Except for my grandfather, who was busy in his shop from morning till night, everybody else was helping my grandmother to grow vegetables in her vegetable garden. We mainly grew potatoes, and they saved the family from starving. My grandmother also had a few chickens and a goat.

They lived in a small, miserable house. It had a thatched roof and the goat often jumped onto the roof to eat some of it. They lived a very modest life. My grandmother and grandfather didn't go to the synagogue very often. My father said they prayed at home. They celebrated Jewish holidays in the family, and that's probably all they did. They didn't follow the kashrut. Their children studied in cheder and finished lower secondary school in town. They spoke Yiddish.

My father's brothers Grigory and Peisah moved to Minsk in the early 1930s. Both of them were apprentices to a carpenter at a plant. They married Jewish women. Grigory had two sons, and Peisah had a son and a daughter. Both brothers were on the front. Peisah's family was killed by the fascists in Kopyl on the first day of the war. He got married again after the war and had a son with his second wife. Both brothers were on the front After the war the two they brothers returned to Minsk and stayed there till the end of their lives. Grigory died in the late 1970s and Peisah died in 1984.

My father's sister Elena married a Russian man. She took her husband's last name, Ivleva. He was a high official in the NKVD 1. They lived in Minsk. Elena used to visit us with her husband. They came by car, which was rare at that time. They had a son and a daughter. Elena was a housewife. In 1937 Elena's husband was arrested and shot [during the so-called Great Terror] 2. Fortunately nothing happened to Elena and her children. She attended an accounting course and worked as an accountant at a plant. After Stalin's death in the 1950s Elena's husband was rehabilitated 3. During the war Elena was in the ghetto in Minsk. She managed to escape from there and got into the partisan unit where she stayed until the end of the war. After the war she lived in Minsk with her children. She died there in 1978.

The rules in my father's family weren't as strict as in other Jewish families. All the children were atheists. That's all I can remember. I was very young back then and my father didn't like to talk about his childhood.

I knew my mother's family much better. We lived in the same house with my mother's parents before the evacuation. My grandfather on my mother's side, Avrom-Yankev Abramovich, was born in Kopyl in 1869. He was a religious man, which wasn't surprising because he was a rabbi in Kopyl. He was a respectable man. People often addressed him to ask his advice. Visitors were very often waiting for him at the gate early in the morning.

My grandfather died when I was 4, but I know much about him from what my mother told me. In addition, I still have some memories of my own. My brother was often surprised to hear me talking about events from our childhood. He said that I was too young to remember such things.

My grandfather always wore a long black jacket and a black hat no matter what the weather was like. He had a nicely trimmed beard. My grandmother, grandfather and their children didn't look like Jews. They were tall, fair-haired and had gray eyes. My father and my brother Mihail were also gray-eyed blondes. I'm the only one in the family with black hair and dark eyes. I suffered much in my childhood because I thought I didn't belong to them.

My grandfather was the grandnephew of Mendele Moykher Sforim 4, a well-known Jewish writer. That was his pseudonym. His real name was Shalom Jacob Abramovits. Mendele was born in Kopyl in 1835. He was the brother of my grandfather's father. His family was poor. Mendele met somebody who helped him to learn languages, history, philosophy and literature. He moved to Berdichev and then to Odessa. He lived in Odessa from the 1880s until his death in 1917. My parents told me that all documents, photos and portraits - everything related to his biography - were kept in my grandfather's house. I also know that a Museum of Jewish Culture was opened in Minsk before the war. They addressed my grandfather with the request to give all these things to the museum, but he refused. During the war the family perished, and the house was destroyed along with all the relics.

I have dim memories of my grandfather but very clear memories of my grandmother, Genia Abramovich. She looked after me and was very nice and kind. My grandmother was only one year younger than my grandfather, but she looked much younger. She was born in Kopyl in 1870. She often told me about her childhood. Unfortunately, I can hardly remember those stories. I only remember one story about her mother, who was a well-known healer. She cured people with herbs. My grandmother told me that her mother was very upset that her daughters didn't want to follow into her footsteps. My great-grandmother died taking her secrets into the grave with her. I was very sorry that she didn't live until I was born. I would have listened to her every word. I don't know my grandmother's maiden name or anything about her meeting with my grandfather and their wedding. Only, knowing my grandfather, I'm sure that they had a traditional Jewish wedding. They spoke Yiddish in the family.

My grandparents lived in a big spacious house with five rooms and a big kitchen. There was a big yard and a flower garden, as well as a shed, where they kept a cow, and a vegetable garden. They were quite wealthy, I believe. My grandmother did all the housework herself.

They had many children. I only know the names of the two, who left for America in the 1920s: one of them was called Zelda and her family name was Diamant. Zelda's husband was a farmer. Their daughter, Mildred, was born in America. They were successful. The other one who left for America was called Meyer. He was an engineer. He got married. We received a letter from Zelda after the war. She told us about her life and her daughter and asked us if we needed any help. She also sent pictures of her and her brother Meyer. To keep in touch with relatives abroad was very dangerous at the time. My brother was working at the military plant at that time, had a special sensitive work permit and such facts could have ruined his career. My Mama wrote one single letter to Zelda asking her to stop writing us. Much later, in the 1990s, I was trying to find my cousin, Mildred, but I failed.

Another one of my mother's brothers lived in Belostok, Poland. Mama said that he perished in Auschwitz during the occupation of Poland.

One of my mother's brother and two sisters lived in Kopyl. I can't remember their names. They had children and we used to play together. They visited us with their families. On Pesach the whole family got together. They didn't evacuate during the war and perished in the ghetto. The only date imprinted on my memory and related to my mother's family is their date of death: 1941.

My grandparents strictly observed Jewish traditions. On Friday my grandmother lit the candles and cooked dinner for Saturday. She baked deliciously smelling challah. My grandfather went to the synagogue every day; my grandmother went on Saturdays. They strictly followed the kashrut. They celebrated Jewish holidays. I remember preparations for Pesach. The house was always clean, but before Pesach it had to be all shiny. They took fancy dishes from the attic and washed them. I remember those dishes. I especially remember the bright turquoise salt- cellar. I was mesmerized by it. I remember big bags of matzah that were brought from the bakery at the synagogue. I also remember the big table covered with white cloth and family gatherings on Pesach. My grandmother and my mother spent a lot of time in the kitchen before Pesach to have all the required food on the table on Pesach. I can't remember all the dishes. We, kids, couldn't wait until they were over with chicken broth, stuffed fish, stuffed chicken neck, etc. to take to my grandmother's strudels with jam, nuts and raisins that melted in the mouth. We preferred these to all other Pesach dishes.

My grandfather was reading the prayer, but I don't remember it well. We, children, did not have to be present at this time. After my grandfather died there was no more praying in our house. I remember the very delicious hamantashen with poppy seeds that my grandmother and mother baked at Purim. Chanukkah was memorable for the Chanukkah gelt that we were given. My brother took away the bigger part of my money, but I loved to go to the store and buy two lollypops and some sunflower seeds with my own money - just like an adult. I loved shopping, and the shopping assistant didn't fail to play along with me. He asked me how I liked what I had bought the previous year and invited me to come again. On Yiom -Kippur all members of our family, except for my brother, my father and me, were fasting. According to the Jewish tradition children could avoid fasting, and my Papa didn't find it necessary to fast. As I've mentioned already, they weren't nearly as strict about observing traditions in my father's family, as they were in my mother's. Mama suffered a lot because she couldn't observe all Jewish laws and traditions. She never ate pork or sausage - it was the result of her upbringing. My father didn't care about such things. It was of no significance to him.

I was surprised that my father's and my mother's families were so close because they were so different. They had different standards of life, and the level of education and their attitude toward religion and traditions were also so different. Theirs wasn't just a relationship of two families whose children got married. It was true friendship. Many years later I found out the reason for it. Both my grandmothers had their children almost at the same time. They lived near one another. Grandmother Genia didn't have breast milk, and my father's mother was breastfeeding both babies. This means that my mother and father were in a way foster brother and sister. My mother's parents believed that my other grandmother saved their daughter's life. Their gratitude grew into a friendship that lasted a lifetime.

Since Kopyl was located far from the main roads it was safe from pogroms. The local people didn't take part in pogroms, and the gangs from other settlements didn't reach the town. The Revolution of 1917 5 had no impact on the town either. However, my father was on the front during the Civil War 6. My parents got married after he returned. I don't know whether they had a wedding party. They got married in 1925, and my brother Mihail was born in 1928. The newly weds lived with my mother's parents. Mama was a housewife and looked after my brother. My father took a course in accounting and got a job as an accountant at the peat-bog.

I was born in 1934. I got my name after some of my mother's relative who died when she was young. The name Faina is written in my birth certificate, but I was affectionately called Fania at home. My grandfather and grandmother spoke Yiddish. My mother and father spoke both Yiddish and Russian, and I knew both languages because they spoke to me in either one depending on their mood. My brother also spoke fluent Belarus. I found out that I was a Jew in the kindergarten. Although Mama didn't work I still went to the kindergarten. They believed at that time that a child should get used to getting along with other children. I remember that we sang patriotic songs in a choir and learned poems about Lenin and Stalin. Once a commission came and someone of the commission asked about me, and I remember that our teacher told him that I was a Jew. I came home and asked my mother what that meant. She explained it to me. For a long time my favorite stories were the stories from the Bible she was telling me.

There was no acute anti-Semitism before the war. Nationality wasn't even an issue, my parents told me. I don't remember my friends from kindergarten, and therefore I don't know if they were Jews.

My brother went to the 1st grade of a Russian school in 1935. He was a very smart boy and had no problems with his studies. There were Jewish, Russian and Belarus children in class, and the children communicated in three languages. They understood each other well, and there were no nationality issues between them.

1937 was a very hard year for our family. I've already mentioned that Elena's husband was arrested. But that wasn't all. In the same year Grandfather Avrom-Yankev died. He had prostate adenoma resulting in uremia. He died after suffering a lot in July 1937. We buried him in the Jewish part of the cemetery. We didn't observe any Jewish rituals. Nobody observed any traditions in those years - they weren't popular any more and not appreciated by the authorities. Only his closest friends were at the funeral.

My father told me that there was a time in 1937 when he was very afraid that he would be arrested. I don't know why he was afraid, but there was no way of asking 'why' at that time. It was a small town and some acquaintance from the NKVD mentioned to my father that it would be better for him to hide away for some time. Many of my father's friends were arrested, sentenced or disappeared in prison camps. My father was away from home for about a year. The repression affected even distant locations, although there was no industry apart from the peat shop.

I can't say anything about Hitler coming to power, but Mama told me after the war that it seemed to them an internal affair of Germany, like something that would never have anything to do with them. My parents were concerned when Germany attacked Poland because my mother's brother lived in Poland. After Western Belarus joined the USSR in 1938 my mother established contacts with her brother and his family. [Editor's note: Soviet troops moved into Western Belarus in September 1939, soon after the outbreak of WWII. Arrests started and masses of people were deported to Soviet labor camps.] They all hoped that it would be the beginning of a peaceful life. After the USSR entered into the Non-Aggression Agreement with Germany [the so-called Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 7 people stopped worrying.

I remember the beginning of the war. It wasn't the Sunday22nd June 1941 for Kopyl. The war for us began earlier, in the night of 21st June. Everybody was asleep, and it was dark when all of a sudden the silence was broken by cannon-balls and flashes and a horrible roar. The buildings were on fire at once. My father's younger brother, Peisah, ran into our house. He had come from Minsk with his family to visit his relatives. A bomb hit his parents' house killing everyone inside. Peisah was alive because he was sleeping in the garden because of the heat. He told us to get ready to leave. There was a cart in the yard. My parents were trying to convince Granny Genia to leave with us. Mama was crying and begging her to get ready. But my grandmother refused flatly. She was saying that it wouldn't be for long and that there was nothing to fear. She remembered the Germans from World War I and believed there was nothing to fear about them. Regretfully, many people who survived World War I were thinking that way. Nobody expected it would turn into such a calamity. My grandmother perished in Kopyl like all other Jews. They were shot and buried in a pit during the first days of the occupation.

We ran away. We were moving at nighttime and hiding in the woods. There were five of us: Mama, Papa, Peisah, my brother and I. We happened to be close to German capture twice. I remember we stopped to eat and rest, and I went to pick some flowers. I remember that all of a sudden a German soldier with an automatic gun rose from the grass in front of me. I screamed and don't remember what happened then. I also remember another night when we came to the road leading to the railway station. German motorcycles and cars were there. We were cut off but we managed to get through. We reached Blykhov railway station and got on a flatcar of a train - there was no other opportunity to leave. When we had just boarded the train the bombing began. All adults ran away leaving me behind in their panic, and I was sitting there alone throughout the raid.

I remember I was crying throughout our trip because I was hungry, but we didn't have any food with us. A military train was passing by and a soldier gave me some bread. There were many people on that flatcar. Nobody knew where we were going to. We stopped in Kirsanov, Tambov region. My father went to the recruitment office and left for the front. The front was moving closer, and we had to leave. We evacuated to Kazakhstan and then to Kyrgyzstan. In Kazakhstan we stayed in a village in the desert. Water was more precious than gold there. People shared their water and bread with us. In winter we arrived in Frunze, Kyrgyzstan. We met our acquaintances there, and they helped us to find a place to live. It was a clay shed for cattle. It had small windows right beneath the ceiling, and the roof was supported by tree trunks. There were many trunks, and Mama jokingly said that we were living in the Column Hall of the House of Unions. We slept on plank beds and stayed in this hut until the end of the war.

My father found us via the evacuation search agency in Buguruslan. He had been wounded in the battles near Stalingrad and sent to Kopeysk in the Ural. He developed gangrene in the hospital where he was staying and his leg had to be amputated. It's a miracle that my father survived. Later he had another surgery. Then he somehow managed to be transferred to the hospital in Frunze. There weren't enough nurses in the hospital. Mama went to the hospital to look after Papa. He was released in 1943 with his leg amputated up to his hip joint, and he walked with crutches for the rest of his life.

My brother and I went to school. I went to the 1st grade in Kazakhstan and then stopped my studies. So, in Frunze I went to the 1st grade again. I could read ever since I had turned 3, so I didn't have any problem. We didn't have any textbooks. We had notebooks made from newspapers and were writing between the lines. There were mainly evacuated children in the class as well as our teacher, Margarita Nikolaevna.

The local people treated us nicely and supported us. There were Koreans, Chechens and Tatars in our neighborhood. Many of them had been deported there. People were living in some kind of holes, but they got along well and had no conflicts.

Mama got a sewing machine at the market. I still have it. Mama could sew and saved us from starving to death that way. I don't know what she exchanged that sewing machine for. We didn't have anything. I remember the dress Mama had. Nurses in hospital where my father was were throwing away used bandages. Mama picked them up, washed and colored them with onion peel and made a dress out of them.

During the evacuation Mama and I fell ill with jaundice. The hospital was overcrowded, so we were taking the treatment at home. When I grew older I heard about the 'method' we used back then and was horrified: we had to swallow a few lice. There was no lack of that 'medication' back then. However strange it may sound, swallowing lice helped. Mama had liver problems for the rest of her life, though.

I remember people coming into our hut to beg for some food. They were so swollen up from hunger that they looked like balloons. Once a man wanted to change salt for some food - and there were lice in this salt. Many people starved to death or died of diseases.

When my father returned he received his invalidity pension. We managed somehow, but it was impossible to buy anything for money. Mama saved us with her sewing. Sometimes she made flat bread from black sticky flour. Since that time I hate melons by the way. I can't even stand their smell. Melon was the only thing there in sufficient quantity, and our basic food was dried apricots and melons. Now theses things are delicacies.

My brother and I grew out of our clothes. Mama was altering them and we managed to have clothing that way.

The climate in Frunze is continental, and winters are cold. We had a Burzhuika stove in the middle of the room. It served for cooking and heating. We, kids, were constantly looking for chips of wood for this stove. We weren't under the risk of violent death, and we weren't living behind barbed wire, but to call it life - oh, Lord, no. We were constantly facing starvation or diseases. There were also cases of violent death. My mother's friend was in evacuation in Frunze with her little daughters. One was a year old and the other one about 3. Well, their mother went to the market to get some food in exchange for a few clothes and was murdered on her way for these rags. A family from Moscow adopted her two girls. Another Jewish family we made good friends with and went to Chernovtsy with after the war, adopted a Jewish boy. I also remember another story: the mother of two boys died. A Russian family adopted the older one, Izia, who was the same age as I. At that time nobody cared about nationality; those kids were orphans that needed a family. The younger brother was a very sickly boy. My mother's friend, Polina, was looking after him. He began to call her Mama, and she couldn't part with him when he got better. He never knew that she wasn't his real mother.

We listened to the radio for news about the war. Sometimes we had newspapers. Newspapers were valuable to us, because we made notebooks from them by tearing them to individual pages and putting those together.

My brother finished school in Frunze in 1944 when he was 16. He passed his exams for the 10th grade. He wanted to learn a profession and go to work. At 16 he entered the Institute of Electric Engineering in Leningrad and finished his 1st year while we were in Frunze.

I remember the dawn of 9th May 1945. Our neighbor banged on our door shouting, 'The war is over! The war is over!' People were rejoicing, crying and kissing each other. I don't know who was the 1st to know, but we heard about it at dawn. That whole day people hugged each other and danced.

We knew what had happened to our relatives because Belarus was already liberated. We knew that none of them was alive. Mama firmly said firmly, 'I shall not return to the ashes of our home. I just can't'. We were thinking of where to go. Our neighbor lived in Chernovtsy before the war. He told us a lot about Bukovina. He said that his friends had told him that the town wasn't destroyed. He convinced us to go there. We arrived on 3rd September 1945.

The institute where my brother studied was to return to Leningrad. We were considering of letting him go there, but it was difficult. There was no money or clothes. We decided that he should be with us. In Chernovtsy he entered the chemical department of the university. Mama made him a jacket from Papa's uniform coat, and he wore that one until he finished university.

It was easy to find a place to live in Chernovtsy. There were many empty apartments. The town had been liberated in 1944, and many families were leaving for Romania. We moved into a large three-bedroom apartment along with another family. We thought it would be easier to maintain and heat the apartment. People weren't eager to have separate apartments then. The town was intact, except for three buildings. There had been Romanian units in this town, and they were careful to leave the town in good condition because they were hoping that once it would be given back to them. So, we didn't have a problem with getting a decent apartment. The problem was clothing, food and heating.

My father got a job as the chief accountant of the Social Provisions Department. Mama made him a jacket, and he wore it to work. Mama also made me a jacket from a blanket. Our first years after the war were difficult, but we were happy that the war was over. Mama fell ill with bronchitis which resulted in pneumonia, which again developed into bronchial asthma. My father was an invalid. His salary and little pension was all our income. Mama helped to provide for the family with her sewing. But we were glad we survived. We enjoyed having boiled potatoes, cucumbers, plums and apples.

I went to the 4th grade of the Russian school for girls in 1945. There were two schools for boys and two for girls. There were 30 girls in my class. We didn't have enough textbooks and used some Ukrainian textbooks. It was difficult at first because I didn't know Ukrainian. But I picked it up soon and managed.

There were many Jewish children at school. There was also a Jewish school, but it was too far away from our home. During the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 8 it was closed, and the girls from this school came to our class. My Russian classmate told me recently that she learned all Jewish traditions from another classmate from that Jewish school. There was no anti-Semitism at school or elsewhere. Chernovtsy had always been a very tolerant town. Yiddish was heard in the streets. Peasants or janitors could speak Yiddish, German and Romanian.

In the 4th grade I became a pioneer. It was a routinely procedure at school. We celebrated all Soviet holidays at school: 1st May and 7th November [October Revolution Day] 9. Nothing changed in my life. In the morning teachers and children went to the parade. At home we didn't celebrate Soviet holidays. In the evening there was a concert at school for the children and their parents. Firstly, we couldn't afford to celebrate and, secondly, my mother didn't acknowledge those holidays. My brother and I didn't mind having a celebration, but we understood that we couldn't ask Mama about it. MyY parents didn't go to the synagogue in Chernovtsy. My father didn't care about it, and my mother couldn't stay in a crowd of people because she had asthmatic fits. Mama only celebrated Pesach until her last days. She never had enough money and saved for a whole year to have us enjoy the food at Easter. We bought some matzah at the synagogue. We only ate matzah on the first and last day of the holidays and managed without bread on the rest of the days. Besides Pesach we also celebrated New Year's and birthdays.

We lived near the Jewish theater. The leading actors of this theater lived in our house and the neighboring buildings. My friend and I went to their performances. By the way, this was the Jewish theater from Kiev that moved to Chernovtsy because the building of the theater in Kiev had been destroyed by bombing. They moved temporarily, as they said, until the building in Kiev was restored. In the end they stayed in Chernovtsy for good. In 1948, during the campaign against 'cosmopolitans', the theater was closed. I went to see almost all their performances, although I could hardly afford it. Besides going to the theater I read a lot. Our whole family read a lot. We had a huge collection of books that had been left by the previous owners of the apartment. There were books in Yiddish, Russian and French. Reading has always been my hobby.

I became a Komsomol 10 member in the 10th grade. I have never been involved in politics or social activities. I didn't like meetings or social activities and avoided them as much as I could. In the 10th grade my teacher told me that I wouldn't receive a medal or be able to enter university if I didn't become a Komsomol member. I gave in and submitted my application to the Komsomol.

I remember how happy my parents were when they heard about the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. Even my father, who usually kept his emotions to himself, began to smile when he talked about it. It was a moral support for them to know that their 'drifting' people had finally found their motherland. I was too small to understand things back then.

I remember 1948, the campaign against 'cosmopolitans', very well. We had a book about Jews, published in Romania. I remember Papa saying that we had to burn it. I was hysterical about having to burn such a book, but he said I didn't understand things and insisted on our doing this. It was dangerous to have such books at home - it was a reason for being accused of chauvinism. My family and my friends' families didn't suffer, but it was a hard time. One couldn't even talk to his acquaintance because nobody knew the consequences. The Jewish school and theater were closed.

My brother graduated in 1949 and got a job assignment in Tashkent. Thanks to him I managed to finish school. My parents wanted me to go to technical school after the 7th grade, get a profession and go to work. They were very short of money. But my brother insisted that I continued my studies if I wanted. His salary was 800 rubles per month, and he sent us 500 rubles. Perhaps, this was one of the reasons why my brother stayed single. I finished ten years at school and studied at university with my brother's support.

I faced anti-Semitism at school for the first time. It didn't come from my classmates, but from their parents. The parents of two girls in our class worked at the NKVD. They were spoiled girls and didn't study well. The mother of one of them came to school and screamed that Jewish girls had the highest grades in the Russian language when her daughter only had a '2' or '3'. She was asking whether it was possible that Jewish girls knew Russian better than a Russian girl. Then I understood what anti-Semitism meant. I had excellent marks in all subjects, and nobody doubted that I was going to receive a gold medal. I passed all 12 final exams with the highest grades, but got a '4' in composition. When I demanded that they showed this composition to me they said that I made no mistakes, but got a lower grade for my handwriting. It was ridiculous. I finished school in 1952 and received a silver medal.

I couldn't go to study in another town. My parents were ill, and I had to be with them. Anti-Semitism on the state level was at its height in Chernovtsy. It was very hard for a Jew to enter a higher educational institution. My silver medal gave me the right to enter university without exams. I decided to study at the Chemistry Department. There were 25 applicants and only five were to be accepted. One of the university assistants was present at our final exams at school, and he helped me to get through. Also, my father went to the rector. He was a veteran and a war invalid. He didn't want to ask for me, but it was the only way out. I was admitted and I was the only Jew in my class.

The Doctors' Plot 11 began when I was a 1st year student. This was a disturbing period, very much like 1937. We were stunned. Everyone realized that it was all schemed. The majority of the population had a nice attitude towards Jews. It was mainly anti-Semitism on the state level. A few years later I had a discussion with a Ukrainian friend of mine. He studied at the Medical Institute. I asked him why Ukrainian people were loyal towards Jews, and he said that they have always been friendly with each other. However, the Russian people, who established the Soviet power in Bukovina and 'liberated' it, weren't appreciated so much.

In 1953 Stalin died. I must have been very naïve. There was something disastrous in his death. Although it was no secret that Stalin was a tyrant we had a weird feeling about how we were going to live without him. My father knew the truth about Stalin and told my brother and me about it. My father witnessed the arrests of 1937 [during the Great Terror] and understood the reason for it. But I couldn't understand what was to happen to us and how life was to continue without Stalin.

I graduated from university in 1957. I had excellent grades in all subjects except for Marxism-Leninism; they gave me a '4' at the exam. There was an assistant professor at the exam - she came from old nobility - and when she saw what grade they were giving me she blushed of indignation. The students I was helping right there at the exams got a '5'. I received a diploma but couldn't find a job.

Whatever vacancies I applied for the response was always that they had already employed someone else. I couldn't find a job for eight months until my brother's friend helped me to get one at the laboratory of a shop. I was paid 45 rubles per month. This seemed a fortune to me. I was happy to have this job, although it wasn't good enough considering I had a university degree. I worked there for 41 years. I faced anti- Semitism at work more than once. They appointed a young inexperienced girl for the position of the chief of the laboratory, although I was the only candidate for this position at that time. In the long run I got the position of an engineer and senior engineer, although I was the first female inventor in Ukraine. I could have been further promoted if I had become a party member, but I didn't want to be one.

I worked in a Jewish team. Our chief and about 90% of the employees were Jews, so my colleagues never expressed any anti-Semitic feelings towards me.

When I began to work in this laboratory I believed it wouldn't be for long. I imagined a different career. I was told by someone that the head of department at Chernovtsy University said once that he would have loved to enlist me for the post-graduate course, but he was afraid they wouldn't have let him do this. Now, after all these years, I think I was very lucky. I worked in a great team with a great erudite boss. I learned a lot from him. I've never liked chemistry though. I do my job appropriately and thoroughly. Speaking about my dream: I would like to work with animals. I love animals, and I know how to approach them. A couple of doves come to my windowsill. I have been friends with them for five years. They eat from my hand. I love cats and dogs, whatever animal it doesn't matter.

In the 1970s Jews began to emigrate to Israel. I remember buying something from a peasant woman at the time, and she asked me why I didn't leave. I said I felt okay where I was. And she said to me, 'Have you read the Bible? You are young and you just don't know that the time has come when God gets all his people together at one location'. Another time I was waiting for a bus. Two Ukrainian women were talking behind me. They were saying with regret that there would be no good doctor or teacher left after all Jews emigrated. People in Chernovtsy say that the town was different before the Jews left.

I never wanted to emigrate to Israel for different reasons. I'm all alone. I have some relatives abroad, but I wouldn't be able to find them. And here I have at least my friends, ex-colleagues and other people that I can socialize with. What would I find in a foreign land? Besides, the climate in Israel is unacceptable for me because I have heart problems. I have thought about it, and I understood that I was going to take my problems with me and have new ones there on top of it. When I was just beginning to think about it my brother was still alive. He worked at the Military Enterprise for many years. In his last years he was head of the shop at the Microelectronics Plant in Sevastopol and had access to sensitive information. Even if he had left his work he would have only been allowed to leave the country after 15-20 years. We were very close. I couldn't imagine leaving without him. My brother died in 1980 when he was still young. My mother died in 1962 and my father in 1978. It's impossible to live alone. I need somebody close. I'm not married, but that's the way things are. I was looking after my parents and lived in the same apartment with them for many years. I couldn't even imagine inviting a man to my home. But perhaps, I just didn't meet my Mr. Right. I would like to visit Israel, this wonderful country. But with my pension I can only dream about it.

Since Ukraine gained its independence the attitude towards Jews has changed dramatically. At first they started talking calmly about Jews on TV, radio and in newspapers. Previously they had even avoided to say the word 'Jew'. Jewish culture is in the process of being restored. Things have undoubtedly improved. Many Jewish newspapers and magazines are published. I don't know how sincere our government is but it tries to be tolerant towards Jews and shows an interest in them.

I read Jewish newspapers and learned about the spiritual heritage of the Jewish people at university. We celebrate Sabbath in the community. I have many friends there. I'm trying to light Sabbath candles at home. I celebrate Jewish holidays at home. What's going on around convinced me finally that there is God. He supports his people. He is there, I know he is.

Glossary

Liana Degtiar
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Nathalia Fomina
Date of interview: June 2004

Liana Degtiar is a sweet young-looking lady with her grayish hair cut short. She is 71 years old, but she doesn't look a day older than 65. She is energetic, active, her manners are a little cold, but she has a sense of humor. She seems to be imperious in her own way. She can't be bothered to concentrate on the ethnical and customary details that are so important for us, but surprisingly she gave us a colorful description of the life of her family in evacuation in Tajikistan with every little detail. Liana, her husband Ivan Barbul and their son Boris live in a spacious three-bedroom apartment on the tenth floor of an apartment building in Ryshkanovka, a green and comfortable district of Kishinev. This is a typical intelligent Soviet family whose members have broad outlooks and know about art and literature. They have a big collection of fiction and technical books. Their apartment is furnished to serve the purpose of convenience for its tenants. There is a desk by the window: a cozy ottoman in the corner with a lamp bracket over it. The husband and wife care about each other. The husband slightly teases his wife, but he clearly shows his affection for her. Liana offered me some tea and a piece of cake which she made before my visit.

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

My family background

My paternal grandfather, Borukh Degtiar, was born in 1877. He lived in Soroki, Bessarabia 1 [Editor's note: Soroki: a district town in Bessarabia province, today in Moldova. According to the census of 1897 there were 15,351 residents and 8,783 of them were Jews. In 1910 there was a synagogue and 16 prayer houses in Soroki]. I don't know where he was born. He owned a fabric store. My grandfather wasn't highly educated, but he could read, write and count well. He could read and write in Yiddish and spoke fluent Russian and Romanian. My father told me that my grandfather was extremely good in mathematics and could solve complicated problems in algebra just by using mathematical principles. My father, who had graduated from the Electromechanical Faculty of the University of Cannes, couldn't figure out how he managed to do this. Grandfather Borukh's grandsons must have inherited their grandfather's talent to exact sciences. My grandfather had a number of talents. He could sing well and was a cantor at the synagogue. My grandfather and grandmother spoke Yiddish to one another. They were religious, read the Yizkor and I'm sure they followed the kashrut.

Soroki was a Jewish town, but there were also Russian, Moldovan and Ukrainian inhabitants. They got along well and had no conflicts. My grandfather was a very decent man and was well respected by all in the town. I stayed with my grandparents in Soroki when I was seven years old, but I can't remember what my grandfather was like. I think he was tall. My aunts have his photos where he has a moustache, but no beard. He had a brick house with a shingle roof, in the center of Soroki. I don't know how many rooms there were in the house, but there were four families living there before the Great Patriotic War 2. It was a long house with a porch on each side. There was a smaller house in the yard. There was a square verandah in the center of the yard with grape vines twining around it. There was also a deep cellar under the verandah where my grandparents kept their food stocks in summer. My grandfather's store was somewhere else. However, my grandfather proved to be a poor businessman. He used to sell fabric on trust. Some customers never paid back their debts and my grandfather went bankrupt. Then he had to sell half of the house to a doctor or a lawyer. He also sold his little house in the yard.

My grandmother, Beila Degtiar, whose maiden name I don't know, was born in 1878. She was short and had a hunched back from her old age. I can hardly remember her. In a picture where she was probably photographed when she was younger, she wears no wig or shawl. She didn't have any education. She was a housewife and had to work hard having to take care of their six children: five daughters and a son, my father. My grandmother was hospitable, and the house was always full of visitors.

My father's sister Rachil was born in 1901. She finished a gymnasium in Soroki and graduated from the university in Iasi [today Romania]. I think she was a lawyer, but when I knew her she didn't work. Aunt Rachil married Naum Rozhnov. Their daughter Dina, born in 1934, and son Yuzik, Jewish name Iosif, born in 1935, and I were about the same age and we were childhood friends. Uncle Naum must have been a chemist. He worked at a sugar factory in a small town near Bucharest [today Romania]. I liked visiting them. In 1940, when Bessarabia was annexed to the Soviet Union [see Annexation of Bessarabia to the Soviet Union] 3, Aunt Rachil, her husband and children returned to Grandfather Borukh's house in Soroki. Uncle Naum went to work.

During the war they evacuated to Kazakhstan. They lived in the village of Zirabulak near Samarkand where Uncle Naum worked at a sugar factory. They returned in 1948 and moved to Chernovtsy [today Ukraine]. I think Uncle Naum went to work at the sugar factory again and Aunt Rachil was a housewife. Yuzik finished the Polytechnic College in Novocherkassk [today Russia] and worked in Kishinev. Later, he returned to Novocherkassk, and defended a doctor dissertation. He is a lecturer at the Polytechnic College. He is married. His son Ilia lives in Sochi [today Russia]. Dina studied at the Teachers' College in Soroki, but she never finished it. She got married. Dina's husband, Isaac, died a few years ago. Their son Alik moved to America and got married there. Uncle Naum died in 1973 and Aunt Rachil in 1987 in Chernovtsy.

My father's sister Gita, born in 1906, graduated from the Pharmaceutical Department of the university in Iasi and went to work as a pharmacist. Gita married my father's former group mate in the Realschule, Yakov Shtivelman. My father told me that Yakov wrote his diploma thesis on the October revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 4 before finishing the Realschule 5. Yakov was a talented man. He graduated from the Chemical Faculty of the university in Iasi. He and Aunt Gita lived in Bucharest and we visited them. In 1931 their son Carl was born. In 1940 they also returned to Bessarabia. Uncle Yakov worked as a chemistry teacher in the Jewish school in Soroki. He always recalled this school with a warm feeling; they had a great team of teachers there. During the war, Aunt Rachil and Uncle Yakov evacuated to the vicinity of Samarkand. They worked at a sugar factory. Yakov was a chemist and Gita worked at the laboratory, or perhaps, she was a pharmacist. In 1945 their second son Boris was born. They returned to Soroki in 1948.

Carl graduated from the Faculty of Physics of Chernovtsy University. He is a theoretical physicist. He tried to enter the postgraduate course at Moscow State University six times, but failed probably because of Item 5 6. He finally entered the postgraduate course at the Institute of Physics named after Ioffe in Leningrad [today Russia] in the late 1950s. Carl lived in the dormitory during his studies. His co-tenants were Chinese. At that time there were many students from China in the USSR. His friends jokingly called him the 'Chinese emperor.' When I went to Leningrad on business Carl took me to Ioffe's lectures. Carl married a Jewish girl from Chernovtsy, a daughter of his parents' acquaintances. Their daughter's name was Vita. Carl defended his doctor thesis, and worked in a scientific research institute in Kazan, a 'box' [this was the word for scientific organizations doing sensitive work in the USSR]. He was a theoretical physicist. Carl divorced his wife and remarried. His second wife Galia was Russian. Their daughter fell seriously ill and died.

Carl was offered a job at Ternopol University where he taught all theoretical disciplines in physics. Uncle Yakov died in 1984, and Aunt Gita moved in with Carl in Ternopol [today Ukraine]. Her younger son Boris graduated from the Faculty of Physics of Novosibirsk University and worked there at the Academic district. He defended a candidate's dissertation [see Soviet Doctoral degrees] 7. He married Dina, a Russian girl. Some time later they moved to Gelendjik [today Russia] and worked at the Scientific Research Institute of Oceanology. During perestroika 8 the institute was closed. Boris moved to Israel in 1991. Aunt Gita followed him in 1994. Carl also moved there in April 1995. He was 64 years old; he never managed to learn Ivrit and gave lessons in theoretical physics to university students in Israel. Aunt Gita is over 90 years old. I visited them in 1997 in Kfar Saba [today Israel], when Aunt Gita was full of energy. She welcomed her guests, did the cooking and served at the table. Carl convinced me to give a lecture to immigrants about the current situation in the former USSR. Aunt Gita also listened to me. Boris is involved in the organization of specialized schools for talented children in Israel.

My father's sister Dvoira was born in 1909. She married Abram Kogan. In 1931 their son Lyova [affectionate for Leonid] was born. Dvoira had a secondary education and gave private classes teaching German. My father liked telling the following funny story: on his way from France, where he studied, to Soroki, his companion in the compartment, a lady from Soroki, boasted to him of her fluent German. She said she thought Yiddish was very close to German. To prove this she started speaking 'German' which sounded similar to Yiddish. My father asked her, 'But how come you speak such good German?' and she replied, 'But of course I do! My teacher was Dvoira Degtiar!' My father often joked afterward about my aunt teaching German. During the war Dvoira and her family evacuated to Uzbekistan. I don't remember in which town they stayed. After the war they returned to Soroki.

Uncle Abram worked as an economist or accountant at a garment factory. In 1947 their daughter Nela was born. My aunt finished the Pedagogical College via correspondence and became a Moldovan teacher at school. Her son Lyonia [affectionate for Leonid] was a gifted boy, but not quite industrious. At one time he studied at the Mathematical Department of the Teacher's Training College in Soroki. Aunt Dvoira accompanied him to the lectures in social sciences: Lyonia fell asleep and Aunt Dvoira took notes of the lectures for him assiduously. Later, Lyonia graduated from the Moscow Technological College and worked at the 'Elektromashina' plant in Kishinev. He was the manager of the laboratory. Nela graduated from the Polytechnic College in Novocherkassk and got married. They were the first of our family to move to Israel in 1974. They lived in Be'er Sheva. Abram died in 1980, and Aunt Dvoira died in 1988. Nela and her family live in Be'er Sheva and Lyonia lives in Tel Aviv.

My father's sister Fenia was born in 1920. She was believed to be the prettiest and most talented one in the family. She loved music, sang and danced well. Fenia entered a college in Bucharest. When Soviet forces entered Bessarabia in 1940, she returned to Soroki. There was a military unit lodged in Soroki. Fenia met a young handsome officer. His name was Anatoliy Beliayev. He was a Russian from Moscow. They fell in love with each other. This caused a mess in the family: a traditional patriarchal Jewish family member and this Russian guy! They decided to get married and move to Moscow. Grandmother Beila locked Fenia in the house, but her children had more progressive views: they were in love. How could she oppose to their getting married? They convinced my grandmother to let her go, and they left for Moscow. Fenia spoke fluent Russian and Romanian. She worked at a radio station in Moscow. The war began in 1941. Tolia [Anatoliy] went to the front on the first days of the war and perished. Fenia lived with his parents and sister. In early 1941 she gave birth to a girl. Fenia got peritonitis in hospital. She died. Her daughter also died. Anatoliy's sister told me this story after the war. Anatoliy's sister never got married, so there was no continuation of their family.

My father's younger sister Riva was born in 1923. She finished a secondary school in Soroki. When the war began in 1941, Riva and my grandparents stayed in Soroki. They were taken to Pechora Camp 9 in Vinnitsa region [today Ukraine]. My grandparents died in the camp. Riva survived. When the Soviet forces liberated the camp, she returned to Grandfather Borukh's house in Soroki. Riva had two rooms in the house. We also returned to this house from evacuation. Riva got married and went to serve in the Soviet army. After the war she and her husband were demobilized and lived in the village of Kotyuzhany. Riva divorced her husband and moved to Uzbekistan in 1947 to live with Aunt Gita. Later, she and my aunt's family moved to Chernovtsy. Riva finished medical school and went to work as a medical nurse. She married a widower who had a twelve-year-old daughter. Her name was Rosa. Riva couldn't have children. Riva raised the girl, whose two children became her grandchildren. When her second husband died, Riva got married for the third time. Her third husband's name was Ox and Riva adopted another daughter. Her name was Ella. They moved to Israel. Riva lives in Lod. She is a great-grandmother now and is well cared for.

My father, Elih Degtiar, was born in Soroki in 1903. He was called El' Borisovich in the Russian manner [Russians use to call people with the second name - patronymic also, but they used the Russian name Boris instead of the Jewish one Boruch in this case], and at home he was called Elik. His sisters loved him dearly and his wish was their command: 'Whatever Elik says.' My father must have studied in a cheder. He also learned to play the violin for a short time. After finishing elementary school he entered a Realschule in Soroki. There was a five percent quota 10 in tsarist Realschule. My father passed the entrance exams with excellent marks and won the competition. His group mate Yakov Shtivelman from Rashkov later married his sister Gita. After finishing the Realschule, which happened when Bessarabia was annexed to the USSR, my father went to study in Iasi. One year later, he went to study at the Electromechanical Faculty of the university in Cannes, France. On summer vacations my father worked in France. In 1927, he graduated from the university and worked in France for some time. Since he was a Romanian citizen he went back home to serve his mandatory term in the army. He was a sergeant and served at the headquarters in Beltsy. He and his fellow comrade were lodged with the family of the Tsavalers, my mother's family.

My maternal grandfather, Solomon Tsavaler, lived in Beltsy. He must have been born there since his relatives lived there. Solomon was a railroad freight forwarder. He had a house in Beltsy. My grandmother Leya actually had two names, but I only remember one, and I don't know her maiden name. She was Solomon's second wife. His first wife died. My mother had a half- brother from my grandfather's first marriage. His name was Mosia: this must have been an affectionate of Moisey. Mosia Tsavaler lived in Istanbul, Turkey. He and his family perished during World War II. Grandmother Leya died in 1926.

My mother, Sophia Tsavaler, was born in Beltsy in 1908. She finished a gymnasium. She was 18 when her mother died. My mother lived with her brother and worked in Istanbul for a year. She also studied in an English college. Then she didn't like it there for some reason and returned to her father. She worked as a typist in a bank and then became a document operator. My mother was of average height and very pretty. She met my father and after his service was over, they moved to Bucharest where they got married in 1930.

Gowing up

I don't think they had a wedding party. They didn't have a marriage certificate issued by the synagogue [ketubbah], but they had one issued by a civil registry office. They rented an apartment in Bucharest. My father was an engineer in a company. I was born in 1933. Soon after, my father was arrested. He wasn't a communist, but he must have sympathized with communists and probably supported them somehow. He stayed in jail for about a year. My mother hired an attorney. There was a trial, but my father was finally released. In jail he contracted tuberculosis. He couldn't go to work for a while. Since I had never seen my father before I turned one year old, and when he came home, I didn't recognize him, and pointed my finger at a photo, 'This is my father.' Later, my father went to work as an engineer in an electric engineering company.

I have vague memories of our apartment in Bucharest. My nanny and I stayed in the biggest room. There was a dining room with a radio and a big table in it. My parents rearranged the fore-room for a bedroom. They had one big double bed in it. My parents must have spoken Russian at home since I started talking in this language. My parents didn't observe Jewish traditions or celebrate Jewish holidays at home. Perhaps, my mother baked something on Purim or Chanukkah. My mother was a typist at the railroad office. My nanny was Polish I think. She was a devoted Catholic and took me to the Roman Catholic Church regularly. At first I listened to the priest when he pronounced his prayers. Once, I started singing myself, when everybody else was quiet. After that my nanny stopped taking me with her. Later she left us. My mother was desperate as she had to go to work and needed a baby sitter. She told me, as she was wondering what to do about the situation, she saw a young nice-looking girl walking towards her. My mother asked her, 'Where can I find a nanny?' And the girl replied, 'But I can work for you!'

This was how Mariora came into our family. Mariora was an illegitimate daughter of a beautiful gipsy woman and a Romanian landlord. She grew up in his mansion. She could read and write in Romanian, but this was all the education she had. When she came to our house, she was already married. Her husband was a private in the Romanian army. Mariora took care of me and took me out to walk in the park. I picked up some Romanian from her, but I never learned to read or write. I think my Romanian was more beautifully spoken than the Romanian they speak in Moldova nowadays. Mariora stayed with us even when I went to kindergarten. I think this was a private kindergarten. They didn't teach us to read or write, but we learned embroidery and other handicrafts: we made carton toys and decorated them with applications. Mariora was so attached to our family that when we were leaving Bucharest she wanted to go to Bessarabia with us, but it wasn't possible. I often thought about her after the war and still remember her.

My parents' friends and relatives often visited us in Bucharest. My father's younger sisters, Fenia and Riva, often visited us, and Gita and Yakov and their son Carl, who also lived in Bucharest, often came to see us also. Carl was two years older than me. We were friends. Gita told me that she once overheard our small talk. I asked Carl, 'What will you do when you grow up?' He thought a little and said, 'I will be a philosopher.' 'What do philosophers do?' I asked. 'I will be sitting and thinking.' Then I said, 'Ha! What would you eat then?' My father's sister Rachil and my cousin brother Yuzik and cousin sister Dina lived near Bucharest and often came to see us as well. I shall never forget visiting them in their little town on Christmas Eve. It was like a fairy-tale. The trees were covered with snow, and the one-storied houses also had their roofs covered with snow. There were only dim lights in the dark town. People dressed up and sang carols and there were jingle bells ringing. I was four or five years old, but I can still remember how I was impressed by this fabulous beauty.

During the War

In 1939 World War II began. There were rumors spreading about how fascists persecuted Jews taking them to ghettos and concentration camps. When Bessarabia was annexed to the USSR, the residents were given one week to return to Moldova. My parents had no doubts about returning, and I understood from what the adults discussed that we were to go to Moldova because it was too dangerous to stay in Romania. My parents believed that we would only be safe in the USSR. Besides, they wanted to be close to their parents. My father's sisters Rachil and Gita and their families also returned to Bessarabia. We could only take our most necessary belongings with us. My parents had to borrow some money for the trip from their acquaintances. They also borrowed some money for my mother's colleague, my friend Lialia Burliy's father and his family, who were to go with us.

We arrived in Beltsy, where Grandfather Solomon lived, but we didn't stay there for long. I don't know where my parents worked, but I stayed at home with my grandfather and his new wife, a nice and kind woman. I don't know her name. I remember that a dog bit me in the yard and my mother took me to a hospital in Kishinev to inoculate me against rabies. We also had the dog's tests with us to identify whether it had rabies. My mother also obtained a permit for us to go to Kishinev to get medical treatment, if necessary. They prepared a series of injections for me at a clinic, which was located in the center of town. One morning an earthquake in Kishinev destroyed a few buildings, including the clinic. Fortunately, we weren't there at that moment. The dog turned out to be healthy, and I didn't need injections.

In summer I was sent to Grandmother Beila in Soroki. My cousins Carl, Yuzik, Dina and Lyonia, were there too. We played in the yard. We spoke Romanian to one another. My grandparents spoke Yiddish. I picked up some Yiddish, but I didn't mention it to anybody that I began to understand the language. Many wealthy families, including a number of Jews, were deported to Siberia from Soroki in summer. My future classmate Asia's father, a doctor, accompanied the train. Grandfather Borukh didn't suffer any persecution. He wasn't wealthy by that time, and besides, his children sympathized with the communist ideas. I went back to Beltsy. Soon Grandfather Solomon fell ill with pneumonia. He died in January 1941. My mother didn't want to stay in Beltsy. We moved to Grandfather Borukh's house in Soroki. My father went to work as an engineer in the town executive committee.

In June the war began. There were bombings of Kishinev. A bomb killed my parent's friend Marelskiy in the central square at 6am. I think my parents and I evacuated in early July. Nobody expected this war to last long. My grandparents stayed home: they were too old to travel. We took a folder with documents, silver spoons, forks, my grandmother's gold rings, necklace and a chain and locket. We also had a few suitcases with winter clothes. We had to cross the Dnestr on a boat. My father also helped other people to sail to the opposite bank. At this moment an air raid began. Germans were shooting their machine guns. It was a squall of lead. There were many victims, but my father continued helping people to cross the river. He finally picked us to take us to the other side, but we had to leave some of our luggage behind. We couldn't take the luggage while so many people were still waiting to cross the river. I think after we crossed the river, the crossing was closed. We moved to the railroad station in Vapnyarka [today Ukraine]. We walked across the fields, I also had to carry some luggage, and I kept moaning, but I didn't drop it. We seemed to be walking endlessly before we took a train to Vinnitsa.

In Vinnitsa we boarded a train heading east. I don't remember anything about this trip. We arrived at Shakhty in Rostov region [today Russia]. My father went to work as a teacher in a Mining College as he knew Russian well. He and his students descended into a shaft to study electrical equipment. It was time for me to go to school. I had my birth certificate issued in Romanian. Who would have known Romanian in Shakhty? My name was also indicated in my father's Soviet passport. Right before 1st September my father was mobilized to the army. My mother and I went to the recruitment office with my father, when it occurred to me that I had no documents whatsoever mentioning my name or any information about me. We went to the military commandant to convey this problem to him and request for some kind of a certificate with my name included in it. He looked at my father's passport and said, 'Ah, you are a Bessarabian. We don't recruit Bessarabians' [Soviet power didn't trust the former Romanian citizens]. He sent my father home.

On 1st September I went to school, but I don't remember the first day whatsoever. I remember my kind first teacher. She wasn't young. She told me that she had traveled to Finland and that nobody in Finland locked their doors: there were no thieves. Once she sent me home to pick something. On my way back I got lost and was very scared. I was crying when I finally got to school, and she comforted me tenderly: very much like my grandmother. I was sociable and made friends with many children in the yard. I remember two brothers. They were there with their mother. Their father, an officer, was at the front. By the way, another dog bit me in Shakhty, but this time there was no ado about it, there were other problems to deal with. Shakhty was an ordinary town. Children went to school, played in the yard, and people went to the cinema. The only sign of war was that there were many military men in the town. It all ended instantly, when one day, a few months later, the front line came close to the town.

We had to move forward. We took a train to Rostov. There was a big junction station where there were crowds of people. The Germans never stopped bombing, there were air raid alarms. What were we to do? We ran under some tents at the station. Their roofs were covered with some steel sheets. The bullets echoed hitting on them. It was so scary! People huddled up to one another. We finally managed to get on a train heading east. We arrived at Makhachkala [today Russia]. The front line was advancing to the east as well. In Makhachkala we boarded a freight boat. I don't remember how long it sailed for. The deck was full of old people, children, babies and their families who had left their homes. There were attacks on us from the air. I also remember that there were problems with the toilets. There were long lines to the toilets. We arrived in Krasnovodsk [today Russia] where we took a train to Stalinabad [today Tajikistan] where my father received an order to go to work at the Kurgan-Tubinskaya region, Oktiabrskiy district, site of Vahshstroy [Construction of a big irrigation system in the Vahshskaya Valley on the Vahsh River in Tajikistan]. This construction started before the war and there were American engineers involved. Bruno Jasienski wrote a novel about this construction. [Bruno Jasienski (1901- 1938): Polish and Russian Soviet writer, lived in the USSR since 1929. The novel the interviewee is referring to is called 'Man's slough'.]

Our family was accommodated in a barrack in Vahshstroy. These were barracks for eight families. Each family had a room, small fore room and porch. There was no heating but the winters were warm. There were primus stoves for cooking. We slept outside all year round as it was stuffy inside. We were given mosquito nets as there were lots of malaria mosquitoes. Every evening we spread those nets over the transom beams on both sides of the beds, tying them on top and at the bottom to protect us from the wind. However, we all fell ill with malaria. My mother had the most serious condition. Every autumn she was taken to hospital, having acute attacks of malaria. I had fever and was shivering. I went to bed and my parents covered me with all the available blankets for me to get warmer. My mother had quinine every day, and my father and I were given achrichine. Acclimatization was particularly hard with children. I fell ill with measles. Like many other children I had furuncles on my legs.

My mother worked at a sovkhoz 11 named Yakko-Din producing astrakhan fur. She was a typist and then chief of the planning department. She was given a horse which she rode to the mountains where sheep flocks were taken for the summer. She collected data for the district department. My father was a physics teacher at a school. Later, he taught mathematics, chemistry, drawing, astronomy and even German since there weren't enough teachers at the school. At one point he resigned from school to be recruited into the army. He went to the recruitment point in Stalinabad where the medical commission discovered that he had a closed form of tuberculosis. He was released from military service and returned to us. We were happy about it. I also went to this Russian school, the only school in the area.

I don't remember whether there were cards [see Card system] 12 or lists of people in order to get food and bread from a store by standing in a queue. Also, all the children in this village received half a liter of milk every day. It was my chore to stand in the queue for milk with a jar. Occasionally, we received horsemeat, but never any butter or oil. Very rarely were we given cotton-seed oil, which tasted bitter. All other products were supplied to the front. We also received a very small plot of land for a vegetable garden. We had two crops per year. The climate was warm and there was irrigation: all the plots had little aryl canals. Every morning and evening, people made clay dams on their plots to collect water for the plants. We grew carrots, potatoes, corns, lentils, beans, eggplants, paprika, and melons. We had lots of vegetables. I could eat to my heart's content. Each of us could have a water melon three times a day. We dried the water melons on the roof and had water melon marmalade which was delicious. There were also gardens in the village where I had dried apricots, grapes and raisins. There were pistachios growing in the steppe.

There were engineers and technicians, who had constructed the channel and stayed to operate it. There were doctors, and other people who might have been deported here for various reasons; maybe they were kulaks 13 brought here in the 1930s. Many of them were doing well here. There was a railroad 15 kilometers from the village, and its employees also lived in the village. There were mainly Russians living in the village. Jewish families arrived here during the war. My parents had an acquaintance Schreber, a former Polish Jew [see Annexation of Eastern Poland] 14, a husband and wife from Romania. The wife taught German at the school. She had a psychosis which had been caused by hunger before we developed our vegetable gardens: she used to run to the canteen grabbing any food she could reach and didn't pay for it. Later, her husband came in to pay for her. Then her husband went to the front and she stayed behind. Later she reevacuated. There was a Jewish family from Belarus: a mother, father and daughter. The daughter was about 25, when her parents died. There was no anti-Semitism. Life was hard, it was the wartime. Many people were dying. Muslims buried their dead with no coffins. Jackals dug up the graves.

There was some infrastructure in the village: a school, post office, polyclinic, some public catering companies, but they were miserable. People were very poor. Every week there was a Soviet movie shown at the club. We stowed inside and the adults had to pay, I guess. The children were very emotional: worrying and shouting. They got very excited and couldn't calm down for a while. There were other villages around. They had numbers: village one, two, three, etc. There was one German village. Germans were deported here before the war. This village was different from the others: everything was neat i.e. houses, gardens and everything else.

All year round I just ran around wearing my underpants. Only for a couple of winter months I wore some sandals which I had knitted myself. There were ground roads and a thick layer of dust which was knee high. There were many thorns. We ignored the small ones from our feet and took out the bigger ones. When we started bleeding after removing a big thorn we pasted the wound with dust and went on running around. It might have caused stupor, but we somehow were all right. There were canals alongside the roads. There were mulberry trees on the sides of these canals intending to grow silkworms. We, kids, ate plenty of mulberries and dried them for winter. There were fields of cotton around the village. And plenty of nightshade growing on them. We dried them for winter to cook. We did whatever we could to get some food. Our fathers were at the front and our mothers had their hands full trying to provide for the children. Life was hard. Everything was sent to the front.

The water in the aryl canals was brown from clay. We, kids, drank it, though it was unhealthy. I pretended it was 'cocoa.' There was a cemented open pool made in the village for potable water. It was called the 'house.' There were filters for cleaning the water. The director lived beside it. There was another 'house' for swimming. I learned to swim there. One day the younger daughter of the director of the house drowned in the pool of potable water. She was plump and didn't even sink to the bottom. Her body was taken out and the water was pumped out. It took them several days to fill the pool as the water had to be filtered.

In summer, schoolchildren were taken to the cotton fields to gather caterpillars. We had bottles hanging on our necks to put the caterpillars in. Of course, there was no payment for the work. In fall we gathered cotton. We had to bring a certain weight back. We also took some cotton home. My mother removed the seeds to spin it for threads to make some clothes. I remember little about school. I became a pioneer [see All-Union pioneer organization] 15. All the schoolchildren became pioneers in the third grade. I was sociable. My friends were mostly the children in our yard. There were children of different ages, but we ran around and played together. I even learnt some curse words, but my mother didn't know about it, of course. In September 1944 I went to the fourth grade. We had a young teacher. She had just graduated from college and had no experience. Once she started explaining something about mathematics and I argued with her about it. I went home and said that I wouldn't go to school again. I didn't go to school for about three weeks, but we were getting ready to leave anyway.

In 1944, when Soroki was liberated, my father must have written a letter and we received a permit to go back home. My parents resigned from work, received all the necessary documents for the trip, and their work paid for the trip. We also had some bread given to us for the road. I remember that we went back on a freight train. Our trip lasted more than a month, as we were waiting for the trains heading to the front to pass by. When we were passing the Aral Sea we bought some salt. People said that there was lack of salt in Moldova.

We arrived in Soroki in early November 1944. Aunt Riva returned from the camp in Vinnitsa region before us. She told us about Grandmother Beila and Grandfather Borukh. They had perished in the camp from hunger and hardships in 1941. My grandfather left a good memory in Soroki. People came to us after the war for a long time grieving after my grandfather, 'Borukh, oh, Borukh!' When later those Jews who had been deported from Soroki before the war, began to return home, my father used to say that they were lucky. Those, who had stayed here, had perished. Of course, it was hard for them, when they were forced to leave their homes, but they weren't killed on purpose, while those, who stayed at home, were killed. They had no right to live according to the Nazi laws. My father worked at the Agricultural College in Soroki. My mother worked as a planning operator at the Soroki district agency of the local industry where she worked till 1947, when she retired and stayed at home. We were accommodated in my grandfather's house where Riva had two rooms. When we returned she was still in the army. The three of us lived in this tiny apartment which was 27 square meters. There were four other families living in my grandfather's home. The first secretary of the district party committee and his big family lived in this house. We got along well with them. Many Jews returned from evacuation.

Post-war

I went to the fourth grade in Soroki. Our teacher, Yelena Fyodorovna, was very good to us. All the children liked her. I made friends with Ira Treiger. Before 1940 her family also lived in Bucharest. Ira's grandmother lived near Soroki. In 1940 her family went to Ira's grandmother on vacation. Ira's aunt and her adoptive daughter went with them. When the Soviet troops came to Bessarabia and closed the border, they stayed in Soroki. The aunt's husband, a Hungarian, stayed in Romania. Ira's aunt was a communist and had even been taken to camps for her underground activities. When the Great Patriotic War began, Ira's father was recruited to the front. Ira, her mother and grandmother evacuated to Russia, I've forgotten the place. Her mother had tuberculosis and died. Ira's father perished at the front. Ira was raised by her aunt. I had another friend: Lusia Sivolobchik, a Belarussian. We studied and played together. Ira and I went to a music school, when we were in the fourth grade. We attended piano classes. In the ninth grade I stopped going to the music school. I had to prepare for college.

When we returned, the situation with food products was very hard. In the beginning we could have meals in the canteen at my father's workplace or take away food. My father usually ordered take-away and I went to pick it. The college was on a hill. When the ground was ice crusted, I managed to ascend the hill, but going back with those containers of food was quite tricky. I just sat on the ice and slid down. We had to wear miserable clothes. My mother wore my father's railroad uniform overcoat for a few years. There were American parcels delivered to my mother's workplace. The local authorities distributed food and clothes from these parcels. My mother once brought home American tinned meat and a summer dress for me. I don't remember it, though. In 1945 the war was over. All the people went onto the streets in Soroki on Victory Day 16. Many people were crying. Many of my classmates had lost their fathers, and some their mothers. Life was difficult. After finishing the seventh grade, many children went to vocational schools: medical school, agricultural school. In the late 1940s life began to improve gradually.

There was a Jewish, Russian and Moldovan population in Soroki. There were no conflicts. There was no anti-Semitism at school. There were many Jewish schoolchildren. The Soroki of my youth was a small green town on the bank of the Dnestr. I grew up on the Dnestr. I could swim well, but I couldn't jump from the tower. There was a hill outside the town. Therefore, the streets parallel to the Dnestr were longer and the crossing ones were shorter, two to three blocks between the Dnestr and the hill. Odesskaya Street led to the hill. There was a highway on it. There was a Christian church at the bottom of the hill. I remember, when some schoolchildren went to watch the Christmas service, there was a Komsomol 17 meeting at school. How did Komsomol members dare to go to church? I don't think there was a synagogue there.

There were two schools: a Russian secondary school named after Pushkin 18, in the two-storied former gymnasium building, and a Moldovan school, also two-storied. It also housed an evening school. There was a club where they showed movies and had dancing parties. We liked going to the movies, of course. We had parties at school. Later, a cinema theater was built in the town. There was a park in the center, and another park near my school. We went to school across the park. In winter we went to skate on the Dnestr. We read a lot and shared our opinions. We celebrated birthdays together. We often did our homework together also. Successful students helped their school mates who weren't so good at their studies. I helped my two friends, both had the name of Tamara, with mathematics.

When I was in the seventh grade, I visited one Jewish family teaching an older woman Russian. A number of people in Soroki could only speak Romanian or Yiddish. Komsomol members were given Komsomol chores to teach them Russian. I taught her for a whole year till she passed her exam successfully. I also was the editor of our school newspaper: I was responsible for reviewing articles which had been written by others, and also wrote myself. My favorite subjects were physics and mathematics. I liked literature, but I hated history. I had problems with remembering dates, and chronological tables were my weakness. We were in the ninth grade, when our favorite teacher of mathematics died. We didn't like the new teacher and made noise in his lessons. We were fastidious. Our director wanted to offer my father to teach at our school part time. He was well known for his mathematical talents, though he taught technical subjects in his college, but I said, 'I don't want you to teach me. Let someone else do it.' They found a good teacher. His name was Nikolay Ivanovich Zadorozhniy. He had graduated from Moscow State University. He had done a postgraduate course in Moscow.

I finished school with a silver medal in 1951. I had a '4' [out of 5] in Russian composition. I entered the Faculty of Physics of Kishinev University. School graduates having medals didn't have to take the entrance exams. My friend Ira Treiger failed to enter the university. She entered the Faculty of Mathematics of the Teachers' Training College. When I moved to Kishinev, I rented a room from Anna Mikhailovna, the cousin sister of our old acquaintance Dosia Marelskaya. She was a soloist of the Kishinev Opera Theater. In 1919 Anna Mikhailovna's teacher was Lipkovskaya [Lipkovskaya, Lidia Yakovlevna (1882 - 1958): Russian singer, she had a coloratura soprano, sang in the Mariinskiy Theater, lived abroad since 1919, mainly in France]. Her husband died and she lived alone in a communal apartment 19 where she had a small room where only her bed, my bed and a small table could fit. There was no kitchen. She had an electric stove in her room. There was a common bathroom and corridor in the apartment.

Other tenants were a doctor and his family: his cousin brother, a librarian, and his wife from Moscow. They were Jews. They all had tiny rooms. When the period of the Doctors' Plot 20 began in 1953, I remember that our neighbors had many discussions on this subject. They were indignant at the fact that Jews were persecuted without any grounds. Two doctors from Leningrad moved to Soroki to escape from this persecution. One was an obstetrician and the other a venerologist. One came with his wife and the other with his mother. Both were at the front. One of them had even lost his leg due to the war. They went to work in Soroki and were accepted well. There were no demonstrations of anti-Semitism in our university. We had a real international student body there: Russian, Moldovan, Jewish and Ukrainian. We had friends and common interests, but nationality was never an issue. All were equal. When Stalin died [in 1953], we cried. There were mourning meetings at the university. Some crazy students even went to his funeral in Moscow. This was the kind of enthusiasm at that time.

We had four lectures every day and laboratory classes two or three times a week. We were even a little jealous about the philologists and historians: those 'chatter boxes' easily got '5' marks in their exams. However, we still managed to go to the cinema or theater. I liked classical music and attended all the concerts at the philharmonic. I never missed one premiere in the theaters in Kishinev. I also attended the performances where Anna Mikhailovna sang. There was a choir and theatrical group at the theater, but I didn't go there. Our boys were fond of football. They went to all the football games at the republican stadium near our dormitory. At times they stood in queues for nights to get tickets. If they failed to get tickets they came to our dormitory to watch the matches from the windows or sitting on the roof. We had parties at the university and often got together. When we were senior students we arranged parties with students from Odessa and Lvov Universities. I always spent my vacations in Soroki. I had friends there and we went to the Dnestr in summer.

I graduated from the university in 1956, and received a diploma with honors. I got a job assignment [see mandatory job assignment in the USSR] 21 to Soroki, as per my request. I worked at a school. I hated teaching, but there weren't many enterprises in Moldova. It was hard to get a job even in Kishinev. All our graduates went to work in schools. In the 1950s they started building factories and plants in Moldova. The ones they were constructing didn't require significant raw materials: they were garment factories and instrument manufacturing plants. I worked for the three required years at the school and when the Scientific Research Institute of Instrument Making opened in Kishinev in late 1959, I went to work there. Our laboratory dealt in scientific research in the domain of instrument making, and each employee developed his/her subject. We had a great team at the laboratory. We celebrated holidays: Soviet holidays, and birthdays, together. Anti-Semitism was just out of the question. I rented an apartment in Kishinev. There I met Ivan Barbul, my landlord's relative. He was my husband to be.

My husband was born into a religious Jewish family in Rezina in 1929. His name was Isaac Rybakov then. His father, Grigoriy Rybakov, was a teacher at a cheder, and his mother, Feiga Rybakova, was a housewife. There were seven children in the family: Abram, Anyuta, Moisey, Nehoma, Riva, Betia, Isaac, and Shmil. Anyuta joined a group of chalutzim to go to Palestine in 1935. During the war, Ivan's parents and four younger children were taken at first to Odessa [today Ukraine]. They couldn't evacuate from there. Ivan's parents, Betia, Riva and Shmil, perished in the camp in Bogdanovka [a village in Nikolaev region where during the war a camp for Jews with 54,000 inmates was. In Bogdanovka all the Jews were shot, by the Romanian gendarmerie, the Ukrainian police, and Sonderkommando R, made up of Volksdeutsche].

Isaac managed to escape from Bogdanovka and returned to the ghetto in Odessa. He escaped several times from the spots of mass shootings. He took hiding under various names, worked as a shepherd in the Ukrainian village of Gandrabury, Ananiev district, Odessa region. In 1943 Ivan Ilich Barbul, a local villager, and his wife Agafia adopted him. They gave him their family name and named him Ivan. In 1944, immediately after Odessa was liberated, Ivan's adoptive father was recruited to the Soviet army. He perished near Iasi. Ivan stayed in Gandrabury and finished secondary school. His older brother Abram perished at the front near Konigsberg [today Russia] in 1945. His sister Nehoma lived in Chernovtsy. His brother Moisey and his family live in Kishinev. Ivan graduated from the Faculty of Mathematics of Kishinev Pedagogical College. He worked as a mathematics teacher in the village of Raspopeny and later became director of a school.

We met and began to correspond. When Ivan visited Kishinev we spent time together. In summer 1961 we took a boat from Odessa to the Crimea. We arrived at Yalta and then traveled all over the Crimea. We stayed in Gurzuf, took two days climbing mountains, walked to Alushta and went to Yevpatoria. In May 1962 we got married. We had a civil ceremony in the registry office. My colleagues came to congratulate me. They gave us a vacuum cleaner for our wedding. They came to the registry office with this vacuum cleaner in a huge box. I didn't want a big wedding. Even my parents didn't come on this day. We went home from the registry office and made a 'bedlam' there: we laid the table, there was a lot of noise, it was fun. During the following week our relatives and older acquaintances came to congratulate us. Then we went to Soroki where my parents invited their acquaintances.

We rented an apartment. Before my baby's due date in May 1963 I went to my mother in Soroki. At this moment there was a distribution of apartments at my workplace. I received a one-bedroom 'Khrushchovka' 22 apartment on the fifth floor. My husband moved into this apartment. He took our folding bed, books and vacuum cleaner into the apartment: this was all we had. Then he went to Soroki. Later, our neighbors told us that before turning on the gas supply the gas agency employees were to come into each apartment to check the safety, and they were stunned, when they entered our apartment seeing heaps of books, a folding bed and vacuum cleaner. Our neighbors also told me that they were surprised. I arrived two months later with Alexandr. By that time Ivan had bought some furniture: a cot, table and chairs. He also bought a cupboard and a few chairs for the kitchen. At that time it was difficult to buy fridges. My mother gave me hers.

When Alexandr turned one year old, my maternity leave was over and I had to go back to work. I sent Alexandr to my mother and returned her fridge. Then Alexandr came back, and the fridge arrived also. So we sent him to and fro with his baby's basin and the fridge until we finally managed to buy a fridge. My parents helped me a lot. Alexandr went to the kindergarten, but he often had angina and had to stay home. Alexandr was very sociable and liked going to the kindergarten. Even on Saturdays, when he didn't have to go there, he still asked whether he could go. We often went to Soroki. Then my mother began to be ill, and I went to Soroki every Saturday. Ivan was studying at the postgraduate school at the Academy of Pedagogical Sciences in Moscow. He received a postgraduate student's salary and I received my salary and in this way we made our living.

I occasionally went to see Ivan in Moscow. In those few days we went to all the art exhibitions and theaters. In 1968, Ivan defended a candidate's dissertation and went to work as a senior scientific employee at the Scientific Research Institute of Pedagogic in Kishinev. I became chief of the laboratory at my institute and started working on my candidate's dissertation. In January 1969 I achieved my candidate's dissertation and was awarded my scientific degree of a candidate of technical sciences. In fall that year Alexandr needed a surgery on his tonsils. Two months later, in December, my second son Boris was born. My parents came to be with me at that time. There were six of us crowded in this room. Once, Alexandr contracted flu in his kindergarten. My mother was so worried that Boris and I might contract it and separated Alexandr with wet towels from us. However, we all got it. A few years later we received a two-bedroom apartment in Ryshkanovka, a new district in Kishinev.

I stayed for four months at home, and then my staff forced me back to work. We had some complicated order to complete urgently. My mother stayed with Boris until he turned three, and then I had to send him to a kindergarten. Boris hated going to the kindergarten. He was an individualist. On his way to the kindergarten he screamed so loudly that all the housewives looked out of their windows in Ryshkanovka, 'What's going on? Why is this child screaming?' Shortly before he had to go to school we took another try, so that the boy could adjust to the children's collectives. My husband's acquaintances, teachers, came to talk to him and convinced him to go to the kindergarten. My husband made an arrangement with the director of the kindergarten: they invited Boris to morning parties and gave him presents. He finally agreed, 'So you will go to the kindergarten?' 'I will', but on the next day he refused bluntly, 'I'm not going!' 'But you promised!' 'I promised, but I've changed my mind.' However, he had no problems with his academic performance. He studied well, was particularly good at mathematics, but not so good at the Russian language. Like our older son, Boris studied in a mathematical class. I'm a physicist and my husband is a mathematician, and both our sons had a talent to mathematics. Or, perhaps, Grandfather Borukh's genes worked.

We spent our summer vacations with our children at the shore of the Black Sea. We rented an apartment in Chernomorka in Odessa. It was convenient as the sea and town were close by. We usually rented an apartment from the same landlady, but if she had other tenants at that moment, she helped us get accommodation elsewhere. When the children grew older, we went to the Ministry of Education of Moldova camp in Karolino-Bugaz [today Ukraine]. There was a building of a boarding school in Kishinev for children to spend their summers in the camp, and there was a tented camp nearby. We all stayed in the tents for two weeks. Later, they built wooden houses. This was perfect for the boys: they swam and lay in the sun. We always tried to involve the boys in sports, went to contests, played volleyball, at one time I was fond of shooting and attended a shooting gallery. We got together with friends and went to the cinema and theaters. We have a big collection of books in Russian. We like reading. In 1978 my parents moved to Kishinev. They exchanged their apartment in Soroki for one in Kishinev. My mother died in late March 1988. We buried her in the Jewish section of the Doina [cemetery in Kishinev]. My father lived four years longer. He died in February 1992. He was also buried in the Doina.

After finishing school in 1979, Alexandr entered the Faculty of Biology of Moscow State University. When he was a fourth-year student he married his co-student Tatiana Yailenko in January 1983. She is from Donetsk [today Ukraine]. Her mother is Ukrainian and her father Greek. She is a very smart and gentle girl. They had their wedding in the dormitory of Moscow State University. Tatiana's parents, her sister, my husband, Boris and I attended their wedding. The wedding party lasted three days and three nights. It took place during the winter exams, so they also sat for their exams. In December their son Lyonia [affectionate for Leonid] was born. Tatiana was a fifth-year student. She took an academic leave and graduated from the university one year after Alexandr. Alexandr finished a postgraduate course in Moscow. In 1988 they moved to Kishinev. By that time, we had built a three-bedroom cooperative apartment, and our children moved into our former furnished two-bedroom apartment. Alexandr went to work at the Academy of Sciences of Moldova.

My younger son Boris graduated from the Faculty of Physics of Kishinev University. He worked at the Scientific Research Institute of instrument making. He became a senior scientific employee at my institute. He still works there. He is single.

In 1992 my husband and I went to visit his brother Moisey Rybakov in Israel. I've always sympathized with Israel. I'm certain that Jews must have their own state. I agree with Solzhenitsyn 23 that Jews had so many problems, because they didn't have a land of their own. Now they have it. My husband and I kept listening to the radio during the Six-Day-War 24 and the War of Judgment Day [see Yom Kippur War] 25. I think they should look for a peaceful way of resolving the conflict with the Arabs. I've always respected Yitzhak Rabin: as a politician, he was a wise man and made a great contribution into the establishment of peace in Israel. His death was a tragedy for the whole of Israel. This was a wonderfully interesting trip. We traveled all over the country. In Jerusalem we were sure to visit Yad Vashem 26. We both lost our dear ones during World War II. We visited all our relatives in Israel. Stores in Israel had plenty of goods while here in Moldova there was such desolation after the breakup of the USSR: empty stores; if they had eggs for sale, there were queues and people bought large quantities to fill up their stock of eggs at home. There were cards to buy clothes. There were anti-Russian demonstrations in Moldova: young fascist-oriented people tore off awards from the clothes of veterans of the Great Patriotic War, and people were afraid of speaking Russian in the streets.

In 1993, Alexandr moved to Leningrad to work at the biophysical laboratory at the Academic Institute. He divorced Tatiana and left her their apartment. We keep in touch with Tatiana. She is a wonderful person. Lyonia often visits us. He is a student of the Faculty of Mathematics of Kishinev University. Alexandr remarried in Leningrad. His second wife, Olga Ivanova, is Russian. Their salaries are hardly enough to make ends meet. It's just enough to commute by metro to and from work. During that time, representatives of Israel went for a scientific conference to Leningrad. They offered Alexandr a job by his specialty at the university in Tel Aviv. Olga followed him. In 1997, their son Ilia was born. At that time I was bedridden with my leg fractured. I broke it in early 1997. Olga had to go to work and I went to Israel to look after my grandson. I retired in 1993, at the age of 60. I stayed there for three months. I walked with a stick, but I visited all my relatives: my father's sisters and nephews had moved to Israel by then.

There is a booming Jewish life in Kishinev now, but I'm not actively involved in it. I occasionally go to the Jewish library, but actually I have many books at home. Hesed 27 Jehudah supports us. Once a month we receive food parcels. We turned them down at the beginning. We thought there were poorer Jews than us, but we are growing older and life isn't getting any easier. Sometimes we receive medications from Hesed and have a free medical check up. We keep thinking about moving to our dear ones in Israel.

Glossary

Piroska Hamos
Matyasfold, Budapest,
Hungary
Interviewer: Eszter Andor
Date of Interview: April 2004

I visited Piroska Hamos not only in her own flat, but at her younger granddaughter's place, where she spends half of the week. She plays with her great-grandchildren a lot; she always manages to be on the same wavelength, even with the younger one, although there are almost ninety years between them. Although Piroska has difficulties getting around and is quite sick, she is mentally very fresh. She reads a great deal; as she says, she can't even fall asleep without reading, and she reads everything: whatever her grandchildren give her to read, even books which she dislikes as too modern for her tastes. She watches the news regularly and, by and large, follows politics even today. She likes nature programs and general knowledge quiz shows. During the interview, she enjoyed telling stories, and told them in great detail, and she has an incredibly good memory; she can remember every name, place and date, some of which are after a period of 80 years.

Family background
Growing up
Married life
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

Unfortunately, my Mother committed suicide, and she was not the only one in the family. Both my grandfather, grandfather and my uncle on mother's side committed suicide as well. Others from the And from the OblatOblath family, others committed suicide as well, but they were not such close relatives.

My grandfather was Gerson Oblath [1850-1910s]; he also committed suicide sometime around the second half of the 1910s. He was born in 1850, but I don't know where. I don't know whether he was from Ovar, or if he arrived there from somewhere else. He worked in a pub in Ovar. I suppose, he had his own pub, but I am not sure. He was a bearded old man. His beard was not that long, if I remember correctly. I only remember meeting him on one occasion. I must have been about five or six years old, it was in Balassagyarmat, and he had probably come to visit us. He had come from Ovar, and was on the way to Dregelypalank. His oldest son was on holiday in Dregelypalank, and he went there to visit, but he never came back. He was pulled out of the Danube in Szod. I have no idea if he is buried in a Jewish cemetery.

My grandmother's name was Antonia Kohn [1856-1950s]. I learned from documents, that she was born in Nagypeszek in 1856. As a child, I met her many times, because, after we moved to Budapest in 1920, we spent our Christmas, Easter and Summer Holidays in Balassagyarmat. Grandma used to live with my mother's twin sister. She lived with them until the end, first in Balassagyarmat, and later, when they moved to Budapest, then there, too. She was in Budapest during the war, but I don't know where. She must have been in the ghetto. She was old when she died- she was over 80, I know that. She had breathing problems, I remember; by that great age, she was lying down almost all the time. She is buried in the Jewish cemetery in Budapest.
My mother had many siblings. Ignac was the oldest one. We called Ignac Uncle Naci. After him came Ferenc. Then, there was my mom, Jozefin Oblath- within the family, she was known as Pepka- and her twin sister, Aunty Netka. It is interesting, that neither I, nor Aunty Netka's only remaining daughter, ever knew that they were twins. We only found it out completely by accident, based on the birth certificate from the Jewish community. They did look very similar, though. I don't know why they never talked about it. Sometimes I think to myself that it's not certain that they were twins, maybe they were only registered at the Jewish community at the same time, but they were a year apart. This is only an assumption, though. And then there were Jozsef and Miksa, whom we called Uncle Miska, and Aunty Linka. I have no idea when they were born. I don't even know whether they were born in Ovar, but yes, they probably were.
Uncle Naci lived in Budapest; he worked as a chief accountant for Nepszava, or something like that. He was a socialist. One of my mother-in-law's sisters, Aunty Lina became his wife. He had three sons. Uncle Naci became ill long before the war; he had heart problems. Aunty Lina must have been in the ghetto. But I don't know, because, at the time of the ghetto, I wasn't at home.
His eldest son, Andor [1901-1945] was born in 1901. He was a clerk, but I don't even know where, but he was already married. He must have gotten married around 1933 or 1934; their son, Peter, was born in 1935, and lives in Australia too. They used to live in Budapest, I think in Tuzolto Street, but by the time the house was built, they had moved to Matyasfold as well. There was an attic room there, the youngsters and the small boys lived up there. Andor died in 1945 of typhus, supposedly due to the typhus injection. When I arrived home, he was already dead.
His middle son, Jeno [1903-1930s] was born in 1903, and at the age of 33, he got blood poisoning, and there were no penicillin yet at that time, so it killed him. He finished high school; he was a clerk, but he was unemployed for a long time. And in 1930 or 1931, when they were building the house in Matyasfold he managed the construction work. He was unmarried and lived at home.
His youngest son, Pali still lives in Australia. Pali got married here, and his wife had some sort of a dressmaker's shop, and also a clothes shop. Pali worked at BESZKART. And then, something happened; she didn't pay the insurance, and she was supposed to pay some penalty, and I don't know how, but, she escaped from Hungary and left for Israel. Later, Pali went after her somehow, I think he could already go officially. He was a driver in Israel. This happened before the war. Later, they left Israel for Australia. I don't know exactly when it happened, but it was already after 1957, because my sister went there, and at that time Pali and his wife were still in Israel. In Australia, Pali didn't work anymore. He'll be 95 in 2003. His wife died a long time ago.
Ferenc had a grocery shop in Bela Bartok Road, but it was called Miklos Horthy 1 Road back then. Later he didn't work, and Miska took over the shop. Ferenc only had a wife, they didn't have children. When I came back from the deportation, they were already dead. I don't know what happened to them.
About Aunty Netka I know the most, because we spent every summer at their place. Her husband, Sandor Weinberger was a merchant. They lived in Balassagyarmat for a long time, and they owned a textile shop there: a draperers and haberdashery. Sometimes Aunty Netka was in the shop, if she had to help something, or because Uncle Sandor had to go somewhere, but mostly, her husband was there. It was not a big shop, they didn't have any employees.
In Balassagyarmat, they had their own house, but before that they lived in a rented flat. There were three rooms in the house: grandmother lived in one room, the parents in another one, and in the third one, the five children. When we went there in my childhood, this was how it was. They had a beautiful dining room, very nicely furnished; it had a really dark color, maybe even black, with a glass show-case. They didn't have a garden, just a little courtyard.
Aunty Netka had help, Mari. She was a many-skirted peasant woman. She cleaned the house, and did the laundry. But Aunty Netka cooked. I don't remember, where she lived in their old flat, but when they moved to their house, then in the back, there was a room, or maybe it was a room with a kitchen, and Mari lived there. She was with them for decades. Even, when they already lived in Budapest, she used to visit them frequently.
They were well-off, for a while. I think, they moved to Budapest because the shop went bankrupt. In Budapest they made men's shirts at home, Aunty Netka, and the two girls. Her husband dealt with the transportation and administration. When Aunty Netka and her family were already living in Budapest, I was already married, and had children, I got out of this close family circle, so I don't know so much about these things.
As far as I remember the husband of this aunty was a son of a rabbi. They kept a fully kosher household. I don't remember exactly when, but there were milky days, when there were only meals without any meat, I remember that much. For what occasion, I don't recall. And Esther's fasting, they kept everything. They were religious. They were not orthodox, although they are buried in the orthodox cemetery, so they didn't have payes.[Editor's note: thus they were orthodox, but not Hasid]. My mother's sister wore a wig. When they moved to Budapest in the 1930s, she didn't wear it anymore, because of her children. After the war, Aunty Netka didn't wear a wig anymore. She let her hair grow long, she had beautiful snow-white hair. When she went out, she wore a hat. Even with a wig she used to wear a hat.
Aunty Netka had five children: three girls and two boys. Her eldest daughter, Magda, was ten months younger than me, the youngest one, Agi, is 75 now, I think. We loved each other very much. Magda was a friend to both my sister and me. All five stayed alive after the war. Aunty Netka was in the ghetto, I believe. Her husband probably was too. When I came home, he had already died. Aunty Netka lived with her children. She died in 1965. She is buried in the orthodox cemetery, just the two of them, she and her husband, all the other relatives are already buried in the Israelite cemetery in Budapest, because her children were not at all religious, but let's say, even the children observed the high holidays.
Magda lived in America after the war, somewhere near Los Angeles. Her husband had relatives in America. In 1941, there was a world expo in America. Her husband was a jeweler, and he went to this world exhibition, and never came back. Their daughter was a year old when he left, and next time he saw the child was in 1946, because in 1943 or 1944, when they were supposed to leave Hungary with the last airplane, my cousin, Magda got scarlet-fever, and the airplane left without her. Their belongings were going to be shipped there and were already on the way to Lisbon, because they could go with a normal emigrant visa. She was in hiding here, in Budapest with her daughter. The eldest son of Aunty Netka, Gyuri, was a Zionist, if I remember correctly, he later became a communist. But he died at a very young age. The next one was Ella. After the war, she married a policeman. He was also a communist, I think, and a Zionist before the war. Lacika was the fourth child. He worked as a goldsmith, and later he was an international purchaser at Artex (gold and antiques.) He used to go abroad, and he also dealt with the national mint. I know it for sure, that he had some connection with the mint. Agi, the youngest one, used to be a teacher. She lives here in Budapest. Now she's retired.
Jozsef, or Joska, was a doctor. He graduated from university. Before the war, he was the local doctor for Szentendre and its neighborhood. He married a Goldberger girl. She was a very rich, but really ugly woman. He had two sons. They were younger than me. Uncle Joska didn't marry very young. His wife was also much older than me. They lived in Szentendre, in their own house. They had lots of nice pieces of furniture, pictures, they had everything. They were not show-off people. Let's just say his wife wasn't a very nice lady, and Uncle Joska was very busy -he had a big practice. They visited us once in Matyasfold; they had a very good time there, and we also visited them once. They were all deported; nobody from that family came back. After his wife, there were some houses we could have requested, but in the meantime they had been nationalized and renovated and we would have had to pay so much in exchange for the renovation, that nobody in the family could afford it. After the war, we were happy to be alive at all. One of the houses was turned into a maternity home after the war.
A hardly know anything about Uncle Miska. I don't even know, what sort of school he finished, I only know, that he took over Uncle Feri's shop. This was a small grocery shop, its name was Zsigmond Kertesz and co. grocery and spice shop, Zsigmond Kertesz was Aunty Linka's husband, who died at an early age. I don't think they had any employees. They sold cheese, cold cuts, and some spices. If I remember rightly, when you entered the shop, the counter was on the left hand side. But what sort of cash register they had – I don't remember at all. The shop had a back area; my uncle kept the cheese there. In 1929, they still had this shop, I used to go to the Trade High School in Miklos Horthy Road, not far from it. But I went to school in the morning, and when school was over, I went home. I only went to the shop a few times, maybe just once or twice. I think, they must have had it until about the middle of 1930s. Uncle Miska married very late, around 1940, and I think he must have married a well-off woman, because when he was already married, he wasn't in the shop anymore, but in their candy shop on Erzsebet Avenue, next to the Hirado cinema. And very late in life, he had a little boy. He committed suicide before the war, sometime around 1943 or ‘44. And then his wife stayed in the shop. She was from Kisvarda, she had many siblings, and her son, Jancsika stayed in Kisvarda, I think. He was deported from there, with his grandparents and his aunties. He was a little boy, He wasn't even at school yet, I think. And after the war Uncle Miska's wife left for Australia, and died there.
Aunty Linka lived in Budapest. They were also involved in the grocery shop. I don't know, if she had a share as well, but she was in the shop quite a lot. She married Zsigmond Kertesz, one of the brothers of my mother-in-law. I only saw her husband once, he died very early of tuberculosis. They had a daughter. Her husband's sister, Jeta, also became a widow very early, and she lived with them in Buda. She didn't work. She took care of Aunty Linka's daughter, and spoiled her, she didn't raise her very well. Aunty Linka was still alive at the outset of the war. During the war; she was in the ghetto with her daughter. She remarried, but by the time I came back from the deportation, both she and her husband were dead. She died during the war. Exactly how and when, I don't know. But she died in Budapest.
Their daughter is still alive, she is around 80 now. It was a mixed family, because their daughter married a Pole I think, and in 1943 or 1944 he was expelled from Hungary and sent to Russia, I don't know where. They were still here, when her husband died. But she came back after the war, with a child. We meet very rarely, at funerals, and occasions like that. We met quite recently, at the funeral of my sister-in-law, who died at the age of 101.
My grandfather on my father's side was Gabor Schultz [1841-1928]. He was born in 1841 in Szemered. He was a watchmaker and umbrella-repairer. He worked at home. He was a very tall bearded old man. He had a very long beard. I can't say anymore, whether he had payes, or it grew together with his beard. He wore a hat, but I don't know what he wore at home. He usually wore a suit. So, he dressed in an urban style.
I really can't tell you my grandmother's name. I can't even remember her first name. [Editor's note: Based on a document found among family papers, her name was Pepi Kohn, 1850-1928] Grandmother was a housewife. She was as short and shriveled as my grandfather was tall. I don't know how religious they were. I don't know if they went to synagogue. Grandmother didn't wear a wig, at least I can't remember her wearing one. They lived in poor conditions. I know that my dad used to send money to them. We didn't spend too much time with my grandparents. I don't know why, but we rarely visited them. We only went there, when we were there, in Balassagyarmat for holidays, but never other than that.
Grandfather was around ninety, when he died. I wasn't even 16, when grandfather died. Grandmother was a couple of years younger than he was, and there people told us that my grandfather fell over, and his lungs got inflamed when because of lying down, and he died, and a month later grandmother died. She couldn't even attend the funeral, she was sick.
Uncle Samu was the eldest one. He lived in Besztercebanya. I don't remember ever meeting him. I have no idea what his profession was. As far as I know, he had lots of children, but how many, I don't know. I knew one of them, his daughter, Malvin, who came to Budapest, and lived at my father's place, and even worked in the tailor's workshop for a while. After the war she emigrated to Israel. Uncle Samu was, I think, deported together with his family, when the Slovaks were deported.
His eldest sister was Aunty Milka, she is the one I know about, but he may have had more siblings. She lived in Budapest. Her husband was called Adolf Spitzer. He was a tradesman of some sort, I think. She had three daughters and a son, Miklos. We lived at their place, too, when we moved to Budapest in 1920. They lived in Adam Vay Street, on the fourth floor. It was a two-room-and-kitchen flat; it didn't have the modern conveniences. I don't know more, although we even lived there for a while. I met them later too, but not very often. During the war they were probably also in the ghetto. Aunty Milka died after the war. I don't even know, what happened to her. Miklos died in forced labor. One of her daughters, Janka, emigrated to Israel.
Dad's other elder sister was Aunty Giza; we lived at her place, too. Back then, it was called Szerecsen Street, now Ede Paulay Street, where they lived. They also had a two-room-and-kitchen, flat without modern conveniences, but I think they had a toilet inside. I remember, once I slept on my father's tailor's desk, I don't know, why it was there. Aunty Giza's husband, Gyula Spitzer was the brother of Uncle Adolf. Uncle Gyula was a hat maker. She had two daughters, Tera and Manci, and a son, Tibor. The two daughters of Aunty Giza left for Australia after the war. Her elder daughter died five years ago, at 91 years of age. Her younger daughter still lives there, she is about 90 now. The son died in forced labor. I know nothing about the others. Somehow, due to my early marriage, I kind of lost touch with my family, apart from my parents and their brothers and sisters.
Then, the next one was dad, and there was his younger brother, Ignac, who emigrated to America. He was a tailor too. When we lived in Balassagyarmat, they had a tailor's workshop together, which was a shop as well. He was married, and had a son. He had a Christian wife, Aunty Bozske. I heard something about him having to escape after the Commune [Hungarian Soviet Republic] 2, and this is why he left for America. I remember, it must have been just before my mom died, when they came there to say good-bye. It must have been around the End of 1919. We never wrote letters, I don't know why. I know, when we came back from the deportation, Etel [1913-2003] found out their address in America from someone in the family, and wrote to Ignac, and he sent a single package. They sent material for clothes, very nice material, a couple of meters, so, it was enough for the children, for my sister, and for me, for coats and dresses, and everything. But no letter was attached. And my sister wrote and thanked them for it, but there was no further reply. We heard from someone, that his son became a doctor, and they were very well off.
Dad, Armin Schultz [1888-1944] was born in 1888, in Balassagyarmat. Dad, I think, graduated from elementary school. He learnt his trade from some tailor in Balassagyarmat. He was a gentleman's tailor.

Growing up
My mom was called Jozefin Oblath [1887-1920]. She was born in 1887 in Ovar. I don't know what sort of school she finished. She was a housewife. I heard, that she was very good at sewing, and she used to sew bodices and shirts for peasant women, but she didn't work. I have no idea how she meet my dad. I don't even know where they got married either. I suppose, they must have married in 1910 or 1911, since I was born in 1912. My maiden name is Piroska Schultz. My sister, Etel, who is only 15 months younger than me, was born in 1913, and we had little brother, Pistike [1920-1920], who was eight years younger.
I was born in Balassagyarmat, Etel in Ovar, which now belongs to Slovakia, because, my dad, - I just heard this, because I was very little at that time - I don't know how it came about, but he worked in Berlin for a while. But I don't know how long for. And when my sister was born in October, the rumblings of war had already started. And then, dad came home. But mom came home to her parent's house in Ovar, to give birth. I know it for sure, that when dad came home, we came back to Balassagyarmat, because I know, that we lived in Balassagyarmat, in Ipoly Street during the war.
My mom was pretty, very pretty, and her twin sister was also very pretty. And very kind, too. She had a bun. She had nice, brown hair, and she wasn't too tall. At home, she never had her hair tied up. Only, when she worked on something like cleaning, or something like that, but not for religious reasons. She wore a long skirt, I know that, and she wore apron on top of it. I don't remember her face so much anymore. It was such a long time ago.
Mom kept a kosher household. When I was a child, there were separate milky and meaty dishes at our place in Balassagyarmat. We didn't go to the synagogue every Friday, only on holidays. At Pesach, I know for sure that we didn't have any bread. I don't remember, whether we cleared away any breadcrumbs beforehand at home. I only remember, that at her sister, Aunty Netka's place, it was observed carefully. There were separate Pesach dishes, and there were separate milky and meaty dishes, anyway. And I also know, that Etel and I spent the seder at Aunty Netka's. Only we children went there. Mom and dad didn't come. I remember that Mom used to make kneydl for Chanukkah, but there was no celebration. I don't remember if we lit candles, I don't really remember all these things, but one thing is sure, that she didn't attend mikveh, and she didn't wear a wig.
I only have very vague memories of the time in Balassagyarmat, only one or two things are very vivid in my memory: for example once, Etel was sick; on Friday evening the candles were lit and Dad lit a cigarette, which is forbidden, among other things, for Jews at holidays. And mom got angry with him. And Dad suddenly threw the candle holder onto the floor in his anger. My other memory is that when my dad was a soldier, and he came home for a holiday, he took me and Etel, holding our hands to my mom's sister , because he said that Ipoly Street, where we lived, led straight towards the Ipoly river, and the Czechs were shooting from the other bank whereas Zichy Street was zig-zagged. And I remember that in our courtyard there was the Jewish community's matzah bakery, and there was some sort of black, steam engine-like machine, and this steam engine-like thing was bombed and made an awful lot of noise.
Once, when I was already eight, there was a big commotion, and lots of whispering, but we could still hear that Mom had died. Our brother was a five-month old breast-fed baby at the time, and people said all kinds of things, of course, not to us children, but we heard that they could see my dad carrying my Mom on his back and throwing her into the Ipoly. The police questioned him too. Of course, there wasn't a word of truth in it, because Mom committed suicide. I don't remember my poor mother's funeral, but I seem to recall a long wooden box standing on something and there were a lot of people.
I know that she didn't get along with my father. She was unsatisfied with her life, and with my Dad not being religious. She died in 1920. I was only eight at the time, and then we never asked about it. Later, when I had grown up, I was more curious, but then there was no longer anybody to ask what had happened.
The period after that has completely faded, I don't remember anything that happened. I only remember that we were in Budapest. I don't remember the packing, nor the traveling. I have a hazy recollection of sometimes living with one of my father's sister's in Vay Adam Street, and sometimes at my Dad's other sister's, in Szerecsen Street. So I lost a year from school, and so did my sister, because we were sometimes here and sometimes there. We started school here, but we couldn't take exams anywhere, so we had to retake the year. Dad wasn't with us, only our little brother, with a nanny. He died at a very early age, of diphtheria. He was buried somewhere here in Budapest. I saw our little dead brother, when he was buried. He was buried properly, in a Jewish cemetery, but where, I have no idea. It was in 1920.
After that I only remember living in Dob Street, and we had a new Mom and a little sister, who was exactly the same age as Pistike would have been, had he lived. From there on, we lived in normal circumstances. Dad married my step-mother in 1921. My step-mother, Margit Adam [1890s-1956], was also from Balassagyarmat; she was born sometime in the 1890's. I think they had known each other when they were young, but how they got together in Budapest, I don't know. I called her Mom too. We had a very good step-mother. She was trained as a seamstress, doing work to-order, and she had a one-room-plus-kitchen flat, without all the modern conveniences and we moved to her place, when they got married. They were married properly, but I don't remember the wedding at all. My step-mother was a widow when she married my Dad. She was young, around 30. To me, she was old of course, at an ‘aunty' age, because I was around eight or nine years old, at that time. She wore normal, modern dresses. She dressed fashionably. Her hair was heat-curled on both sides, and together in a bun. On the street, she wore a hat, not a scarf.
I don't really remember elementary school. I went to elementary school in such a scattered way: I started in Balassagyarmat, then I went to the school in Erdelyi Street, and Homoki Street, and only the third and fourth years, I attended at Kazinczy Street, when Dad had already remarried, and we lived there in Dob Street. We went to middle school 3 in Dohany Street. In middle school, only the religion teacher was male, all the others were female. I always got ‘excellent' grades and studying was easy for me, Etel had great difficulties with studying, but she also had almost all ‘excellent' grades most of the time. She always tried very hard to keep up with me, but for her, it took a lot of effort, whereas for me it didn't. When I got into this middle school, I think there was only one subject, writing, in which I merely received a ‘good', rather than an ‘excellent' grade, and our class teacher was a bit suspicious that I was such a good student.
She was called Gezane Ban. She taught many classes: Hungarian, history, and needlework. I liked her classes very much. I learned all sorts of needlework from her, starting from tapestry, to sewing with a sewing machine. Then I became her favorite. I was so much of an example, that it even happened, that I was called into a 4th year Hungarian grammar class, to answer some questions, when I was only in the 1st year, to demonstrate that I knew the answer when the 4th year students didn't. Gezane Ban was a very well-educated, very good person. Originally I was going to be a doctor, but in order to do that, one had to take a supplementary exam in Latin after middle school, and my parents had no money to pay for a tutor, but Gezane Ban wrote a letter to the teacher at the secondary school in Prater Street, to ask whether she could perhaps take me. Mom was curious about what the teacher had written; she opened the letter and she stuck it back as it was, so no-one would notice. Gezane Ban recommended me very highly, to this teacher, but then it was added: 'it's a pity that she's a Jew.'
Then there was an old maid, our German teacher, Auguszta Bitto. Back then, German language was obligatory in Middle school, and I did quite well in it, but somehow we didn't like each other. Neither of these teachers were Jewish. I don't remember any of the other teachers, even in Middle school.
There were a couple of Jews in the class, but I don't even remember the names any more really. There were many Jewish girls in the Middle school, but I don't recall any ugly comments at all. Not a single one. Not even in the commercial college. There were not many Jews in the commercial college, where I attended for four years.
I was very friendly with the Salzer girls. They had some sort of a clothes shop in Kiraly Street; they were well-off. I was invited to their place for afternoon tea-parties.
I think they lived in Kiraly Street, they had a nice big flat. They learned to play the piano. There were three girls; the two younger ones were schoolmates of mine, the older one wasn't. Dorottya Kohan, was a poor Jewish girl, and very thin. Then there was Marta Komor, a pretty, red-haired Jewish girl. Girlfriends didn't visit our place very much because our flat was small, and the workshop was there too.
We were often taken to matinees and the theatre on Sundays. We also went to the theatre with Mom. We attended the national theatre a lot. One of my step-mother's sisters, used to live in Akacfa Street, close to the old National Theatre, so in the winter time, we used to leave our coats at her place, so we didn't have to pay the cloakroom fee- we were poor- and we ran all along Akacfa Street, with just scarves around our necks, all the way up to the gods, and we saw many wonderul plays. Dad never went to the theatre. He did go to the cinema though, and he also took us there. But I have no idea what we saw.
We used to swim; our step-mother laid great emphasis on us learning to swim, from the swimming coach in the Rudas Baths. We usually went to the pool with one of old Aunty Milka's daughters. We also learned to ice skate; back then there was no such thing as figure skating and all that, but at school, they often iced over the courtyard and we used to skate around in there.
My step-mother wasn't very religious. She kept high holidays, but there was no lighting of candles on Fridays. We didn't keep Chanukkah either. There was no seder and matzah. At Yom Kippur, she fasted, and when we got older we did too. I don't remember whether Dad fasted at all. At Yom Kippur, we went to the synagogue, but we didn't spend the whole day there, just for the Kol Nidre. I think she baked barkhes on Fridays, but there was no special food on Friday evening, but she didn't cook on Saturdays. We often ate cholent and we liked it. She made the cholent on Friday and heated it up on Saturday. I remember that in the summer, she always cooked something on Friday which didn't have to be heated up on Saturday if not absolutely necessary. My Mom didn't keep a very strict kosher household, but by and large, that's what it was. This meant that the milky and meaty dishes weren't mixed; they were also kept separately in the cupboard. We didn't eat meaty and milky foods together. We never had, for example meaty soups and then Pasta with cottage cheese. We never put meat and butter on the same table together. We had a separate milk jug, because in every normal place- I think, even the Christians do it this way- it's kept separately. The dishes weren't washed up separately though, and Pork was never prepared. She often cooked with chicken and goose-fat. Mom used to buy cuts of goose and chicken at the market. She bought them from a Jew, but whether they were kosher or not, I don't know. A woman used to come and do the laundry, Mom didn't wash clothes. She did cook and clean, though. She was at home. Etel was at home too.
I attended many seders, because in school we had Easter holidays then, and then we kids went to Balassagyarmat, to my natural Mom's twin sister, Aunty Netka, and we attended the full, religious seder there. The seder was led by Uncle Sandor. Gyuri or Laci asked the Mah Nishtanah, I don't remember which one of them. I don't remember either, who had to find the Afikoman. I remember it was meat soup, dumpling soup. What else there was, I don't know. We really liked being there; it was great.
We also spent the summer in Balassagyarmat and always the Easter holidays and Christmas holidays. In the beginning, we only stayed with my Natural Mom's twin sister, Etel and I. My step-sister was much younger than us and she stayed at my step-mother's sister's also in Balassagyarmat. Later, we also stayed at my step mother's sisters', there was more space there. But from morning to night, we were together with my aunty's children. We used to go to the park together. We used to go to the River Ipoly together to swim, so we really stuck together.
For quite a large period of my childhood, we were poor because Dad had no work. There were times when we only had bread and lard for lunch. In Furdo Street- now it's called Attila Jozsef Street- there was a famous gentleman's outfitters, and at the beginning, he used to do work for them. He got work from them and he did it at home. In the beginning, Dad only worked on made-to-measure clothes, and later he stated to do ready-to-wear clothes, he did orders for large companies. Dad worked a lot. He made off-the-peg items. He worked for many companies, but he got the material from them; suits, coats, trousers.
When we lived in Dob Street, Dad only did to-order work, his workshop was at home, and he even had a helper, called Mr Wittmann. My sister Magdi, when she could talk, called him ‘Uncle Boy.' It was a one-room-plus-kitchen flat, next to the back stairs of the first floor of a two-storey building. It was terrible to go to the toilet: it had no light. It was in front of the back staircase, and I was scared to go there. The room was a workshop too. There was bed in there; we slept there and there was a sewing machine and a table and things you needed for sewing. There was a wardrobe too. By the time Mr Wittmann arrived in the morning, the bed had to be done, and we had to be dressed up etc. We could only study in the kitchen, because of the workshop, and that wasn't very good because the kitchen was always dark. It had no windows, and opened onto a closed corridor. Later we rented a room in a flat opposite, and we children slept there and studied there, and then the original one-room flat became the workshop. The kitchen stayed as a kitchen, and they slept in the kitchen, on a convertible iron bed. It was folded up in the morning and opened out in the evening.
Then at sometime we moved to Karoly Avenue. Exactly when, I don't remember anymore, but when I got married, we already living there. There were three rooms there. We lived in one room and the workshop had two rooms. In 1929, Dad already had a big workshop in the flat. He had several sewing machines, and tailoring machines. He did the real tailoring work. Many people worked for him: relatives and strangers too. Not all of them were Jewish. I think they didn't work on Saturdays. I don't know why they didn't move to a bigger flat when things were going better; I wasn't at home any more by then.
We lived well by that time. In 1928 or 1929 Dad even bought a car, which wasn't an everyday thing back then, as it is now. Nobody in the family had a car. Dad didn't get a driving license, because it turned out that he was color-blind. For a while, the car was driven by the son of one of my father's sisters, Miklos. Later, it was driven by the husband of my step-mother's sister, Uncle Rudi, who was unemployed at the time. They used the car for leisure, not for work. They went to Balassagyarmat in it. Then they would call for this uncle. They were on really good terms.
There was a memorable trip once. The car was a big, open one but you could pull a canvas roof over it. Back then, there were no limitations on how many people could sit in the car, it was just as many as could fit in. In the spring of 1928, Dad and the others were leaving for Balassagyarmat, to visit relatives. Uncle Rudi was driving. His wife, Mom and Dad and Dad's two sisters, Aunty Milka and Aunty Giza, came along. They were all sitting in the car already, when Aunty Giza's husband said, ‘Of course, you never take the poor relatives!' Dad replied, ‘Come along, if you want to,' and so he sat in as the seventh passenger. Unfortunately, this was fateful. The car blew a tire, and it turned over and poor Uncle Gyula fell out in such a way, that he was just half out of the car and the side of the car came to rest on his chest. He was still alive, when he was taken to the hospital in Balassagyarmat. He died on the operating table. He was buried in Balassagyarmat.
Later, I don't know exactly when, because I wasn't at home any more- I was married- Dad entered a partnership with Arnold, the husband of Iren, Aunty Milka's daughter, who was also a tailor. They had a big workshop on the corner of Nepszinhaz Street and Kalman Tisza Square; they worked with many helpers, because they got work from wholesalers.
Mom and Dad had already moved away from Karoly Avenue by then. First, they moved to Kertesz Street. This was a two-room flat with basic conveniences, so there was a toilet. In the flat in Karoly Avenue, there hadn't been a bathroom either, just a toilet. We had to wash ourselves properly everyday though; wash our feet, in the kitchen, in a washbasin. We used to go to the baths every week, the Rudas baths. There was a swimming pool, showers, basins and I don't know what else. In the swimming pool, one could also swim, because the water there wasn't too warm. After that, they moved to Dohany Street. I don't know exactly why they moved, but I think it was a question of money; I think it was cheaper. But in this flat already, they had a bathroom. From here, they moved to Almassy Square.
That was a three-room flat; two rooms were quite large, and the third one was also big enough for a complete bedroom. There was a bathroom and separate toilet and a big hallway. There was an alcove, a servant's room. There was also a workshop too. I don't know what happened to the joint workshop. That partnership fell through. The biggest room was six meters by seven meters [18ft by 21 ft] and the workshop was there. There were many workers there.
My sister, Etel, did one year at a commercial college and it included a course on typing and shorthand; before that, she did four years of middle school. Before the war, she worked in an office, in a big joiner's workshop. She married Jozsef Schneller, not long after I got married, It must have been in 1934 or 1935. Her husband was a tailor and became Dad's partner. He was related to my step-mother somehow. In 1936, Agi [1936-] was born, they only had that one child.
My step-sister was called Magda Daimant [1920-1982], but she magyarised later. She became Maria Desi. She was a very interesting child. She was only obedient to her mother, and to nobody else. When Mom wasn't at home, she could be incredibly naughty and impertinent. Basically, we were on very good terms, though. Magda attended the same elementary and middle schools we did. She wasn't a good student and she didn't finish any other schooling after the four years of middle school, but she was a clever woman. She educated herself; she read a lot. I don't really know what she did before the war. They lived together, because my sister Etel used to live with my parents, and Magda lived there as well. They lived in several places in Budapest. The last flat was in Almassy Square. After the war, Magda worked as a clerk in the town hall, and later she also worked as a caretaker at resort by Lake Balaton. But in the end she worked in a cake shop, as a coffee-maid. I think she met her husband at one of those resorts. They married around the end of the 1950s. His name was Dr Imre Horvath, and he was five years her junior. He became a mental specialist, a psychiatrist. But basically Magda supported her husband and he had her to thank for the fact that he was able to finish medical school at all. He died in 1982 and Magda in 1984. They had no children.

Married life
My husband, Imre Hamos [1899-1945] and I were related. We were second cousins; my husband's grandfather, and my grandmother on my mother's side Antonia Kohn, were brother and sister, and we met at an afternoon get-together, at my Aunty Linka's place. I wasn't even seventeen and he asked me to go to skating with him. My parents let me go alone, because he was a relative. Imre's younger sister lived at number 29, Wesselenyi Street, with Imre and his Mom, and I was invited there. He liked me. I had never had a boy courting me before. He was 30 and he wanted to get married. He couldn't find anyone suitable. And then he courted me. He asked for my hand in marriage and I had to decide. I had just finished the 2nd year of commercial college, when I was asked; he wanted to get married as soon as possible. He didn't want to wait. I was a really good student and I really loved going to school. Back then, there was no opportunity for a married woman to go to school. I didn't even graduate from this school, because I decided to get married. But it's not good to marry at such a young age. It was a good marriage, but I left many things out of my life. For example, I would have loved to dance, but my husband hated dancing, so this was completely missing from my life. I still think it was wrong, that my parents let a 17 year old girl decide alone.
My husband was Imre Hahn. Our name was changed to Hamos in 1934. My husband did this; it was around the time when we converted to Christianity, but maybe even earlier. I think Imre's grandparents came from Kiskunhalas. his father was Mor Hahn, I think he was born near to Szeged, in Szentivanpuszta, in 1873. His wife, Eva Kohn, was born in 1872 in Nagypeszek. Before she got married, she worked as a diamond polisher, but that's just what I heard; I don't know any more about her. Imre's father was a printer and a socialist. My husband was born in Budapest in 1899. He was much older than me. His father died in 1914. His mother never remarried. When I became his fiancée, his grandmother on his father's side was still alive. She was a small, wizened old lady; I don't even know her name. I was introduced to her and to one of his uncles. In 1929, when we got married, I was 17 and he was 30.
The wedding took place in December 1929. it took place in the synagogue in Dohany Street. We used to live there in the seventh district. At that time we didn't live in Dob Street any more, but at Karoly Avenue number nine. First we went to the registrar's office in the morning and afterwards to the synagogue. I had nice wedding, a big one. I can't say how many people were there, but it was the closest relatives, many of them. From Imre's side, his mother came, all his Aunties, his sisters and their children; there were many people. My class teacher, from the middle school, Gezane Ban, really liked me and she was very unhappy that I got married. She took the whole middle school class along with her. I got many pieces of needlework as wedding presents. We had a big lunch up in our flat. There were at least 20 or 30 people in the flat after our wedding. There were two long tables in the living room, but what the food was, I don't recall.
I had a really beautiful dress. It was embroidered silk, mid-blue, long sleeved and the collar and the cuffs were sewed with pearls. The fashion at that time was that the dress was shorter at the front and longer at the back, not all the way down to the floor, but long. My step-mother's brother and his wife had a ladies' clothes salon, but it was an elegant outfitter's, not an off-the-peg store; so it was an elegant salon and they made it. But we did have to pay for it.
There wasn't a real honeymoon, as such. We spent the first night in The Royal Hotel. We left the wedding lunch, and the Royal Hotel had a so-called ‘palm garden' at that time, and we met three of my cousins there, who were also Imre's cousins and his best friends. We met there and chatted and spent the night there. Then we came out to Matyasfold, because we had bought the house before, and it was almost completely furnished.
We had a big suitcase and it was full of porcelain and glass and my bride's bouquet was in there too. I can't say any more what else it had in it. I went to the wedding in my father's car and we packed everything into this car a few days after the wedding. Karoly Avenue number nine, had a through-courtyard, leading from Karoly Avenue on one side to Rumbach Street on the other side, by the synagogue. The car was standing at the Rumbach Street gate, and the carpet, along with a lot of other things, was put on the roof. We left for Matyasfold. When we got there, the suitcase was gone. We had left it at the gate. Our Dob Street address was written inside the case. Because we, and also my parents, used to travel with this case when we went to Balassagyarmat, so the name and address was in it. But that's not all; the lucky thing was that Dad's younger sister, Aunty Giza had moved into our old flat in Dob Street, and the honest people who found the case, opened it and saw that these must be wedding presents because of the bride's bouquet, and they took it all there. That's how everything that we had thought lost, was recovered.
The house in Matyasfold was originally in the name of my husband and my mother-in-law, because they shared the deposit and they were going to pay it together. My mother-in-law had a coal cellar. She sold coal and wood, as a retailer. But then she became sick and she closed the cellar and then it wasn't just that she couldn't pay, we supported her completely. And then she wanted to have the house on her son's name. It was in 1939, and for a Jew they wouldn't write it over.
We found a house together before the wedding already. We wanted to go to the outskirts of Budapest, because we bought it together with my mother-in-law and she wanted to live in the countryside. She really liked me. She preferred to stay at my place, rather than her own daughter's. She went to her daughter's for a day or two every month, but then she would call my husband, after no time at all, ‘Come and pick me up, I'm coming home!' She was an old gossipmonger. Her sister, Aunty Lina, also lived there in Matyasfold, and they sat together and gossiped about the family. She was a kind woman. She loved the children dearly. She took them to the cinema when she was still well enough. My mother-in-law wasn't at all religious; she didn't go to the synagogue. She fasted at Yom Kippur.
Originally the house had two rooms, with all the modern conveniences. It was a brand new house, built in 1928. The former-owner of Pesti Hirlap, [a well-known newspaper of the time,] Karoly Legradi bought this land from some wood merchant, and portioned it off, and he built these houses to sell. The builder was a rascal, because he skimped on materials for the house wherever possible. These houses looked really good; they had white french doors, and the rooms had parquet flooring, but he put the parquet on the bare ground, so six or seven years later it all had to be thrown out, because the wood was rotten and the parquet floor had to be re-laid in both rooms.
I didn't receive any money as a dowry, but the whole house was furnished by my parents. I received bedroom and dining room furniture, and kitchen furniture and an oven, two beds for the bedroom, two bedside cabinets, two big wardrobes one of them was for underwear and the other for hanging clothes, and a big mirror. The mirror had two little cabinets in it, made from a nice, light wood, in line with the style of the times, and there was a couch, this was the bedroom furniture. The dining room had a long, simple serving cabinet, with three doors. It wasn't an expensive piece of furniture, it had a sideboard which you could serve food from. There was a showcase and a big convertible oval table, which had two armchairs and six inlaid chairs that went with it. They bought ready made furniture and for wedding presents, I got cooking pots, tea sets, many sets of glasses, a carpet, and a chandelier, I got all sorts of things. So, it was all in this kind of lower middle-class way.
Now the house has three rooms because we built an additional room in 1939. Originally we built it because my the husband of my sister-in-law, Klari, was put on a B-list, and they moved to his other sister's place, and they brought their furniture to Matyasfold. My mother in law who used to live with us, had her bed in the dining room first, and later she lived in the third room. The children slept with us then. There was no children's room; it was a different world back then.
My husband had two sisters, Iren [1901-2002] and Klari [1903-1973]. Iren's married name was Markne Rosner, and Klari's was Lajosne Weiner. Iren was born in 1901 and Klari in 1903.They also married quite early. They must have gotten married at around the same time, in 1921 or 1922, because in 1923, Ibi [1923-1940s] and Tibi [1923-1940s] were born in the same year. Before they were married, both of my sisters-in-law used to work in the offices of the former OTI, The National Social Security Institute. I think they finished four years of middle school. My sisters-in-law were not religious whatsoever. They only kept the fasts, but there was no lighting of candles or anything like that.
Klari didn't work; at that time, if women got married, they didn't work really. Her husband, as far as I remember, worked for General Biztosito. Her husband was put on a B-list. He was made redundant. He got some severance pay. It was around 1938 or 1939, so it might have been because he was a Jew 4. He had no income because he couldn't find another job. They couldn't pay the rent, so they moved to my husband's other sister's place for a while, and they brought the furniture to Matyasfold. Klari's son, Tibi, we don't even know where he ended up. He was taken away for forced labor. Klari was in the ghetto. And my children were with her in the ghetto. And after the war, Klari's work was mending stockings. At the end, she worked as a cashier in a pharmacy until her retirement. She died in 1973.
The Rosners had a shoe accessory shop in Baross Street. They also sold leather. This was a crummy, poky den. It was almost opposite their house. They had a two room flat, but the house itself wasn't very elegant. Just my brother-in law and Iren worked in the shop. Iren had a daughter, Ibi, and a son, Endre [1927-1940s]. Her son was born in 1927; I don't know what he did. Ibi worked in an office somewhere, but I don't know who for. She was deported from the KISOK field- she was buried in Germany. Somebody sent Iren a picture of her grave. Her grave was taken care of for a while. Her son escaped from forced labor somewhere, and the Russians caught him and took him to Russia. We know nothing about him – where and when he died. Iren was in hiding with her husband. After the war, she worked in a food store, later she worked in an office for a long time, until she was about 90. She was 101 years old, when she died in 2002. In the retirement home, there was a big celebration on her 100th birthday. Both of my sisters-in -law were buried in the Jewish cemetery in a common grave.
It was the custom before, to clean every day and every Friday, to do a big clean and wash the kitchen furniture. I didn't do too much cooking, because my mother-in-law lived with us at that time already and she cooked. When I got married, I couldn't cook at all. The first meal I made was inedible. I cooked tomato soup, and no matter what I put in it, it didn't taste good; I added some more sugar, some more roux, but I didn't put in any salt! I did shopping, I took the kids for walks, I did needlework, I sewed, so I wasn't the kind of person who rested a lot. I did read, especially in the evenings in bed. Even now, the book I am reading at the moment is right here. I'm not able to fall asleep without reading.
When I was a young woman, we played cards every Sunday. Many people came: my sisters-in-law, Klari and Iren, my step-mother's relatives, and my cousins, Uncle Naci's sons. Although when we got married, my husband said, ‘There are no close connections with the relatives,' it wasn't like that at all. We moved there in 1929 and in 1930, my natural mother's eldest brother, Uncle Naci, built a house in Matyasfold, and they lived there with their three sons. The two houses were close by, five minutes apart. My cousins were friends with my husband - relatives and friends as well. I liked them very much, they were intelligent, well-educated, well-read people. They graduated from secondary school. Back then, it was a big thing if someone graduated from secondary school.
We also went over to Uncle Naci's place a lot. They liked us – especially Uncle Naci.
Aunty Lina was a strange woman. She liked to put on airs, although she was uneducated. We'd go over after dinner, especially before we had children, and later our children and Andor's son were very close.
We were a very hospitable household. People like to be at our place very much. Many times people came already for lunch, many times they brought lunch with them, and many times we cooked together. The card games continued even after we had the children. The family of my sister-in-law, Klari, also came, although their children were a good few years older than mine. They really enjoyed being here. My sister-in-law's family even spent the summer holiday in Matyasfold. Not at our place, but they rented a flat and my mother-in-law cooked for them.
Klari and I met up almost every week. My children really like her children; it was a very strong relationship. When I was 24, I had an operation to remove kidney stones and while I was recovering, Klari took care of my two children. My husband lived at their place with the children, while I was in Hospital.
Before the war, we used to go to the theatre and the cinema, but not very often. I went to the opera house for the first time as a young married woman; I went to the opera with my husband. In Matyasfold, the IKARUSZ company had a gym and once a week they showed movies in there. We also went to Budapest many times; we went to large cinemas. In Lajos Kossuth Street, there is a cinema that used to be called The Forum; that's where I saw the first talking movie. Many times we took up a whole row, because Uncle Naci and his family, and my sister-in-law's family all came along with us. I think we usually went to later shows. Of course all this was before I had children. But it happened that we asked Klari to come over and mind our young kids, but this didn't happen very often.
My cousins and my husband owned a boat together, and they rented a space for the boat at the first boathouse, next to the Ujpesti Osszekoto bridge. As soon as the weather started to be good they went to lacquer it and put it in order. When I joined their group, then I also went along to tidy up the boat and every weekend, we went rowing on the Danube, in two boats. It wasn't the done thing at the time, to sleep in the same tent with one's fiancée, so they went to Vac or to Horany on Saturday, and I went to join them on Sunday morning and then came home in the evening. That was the program every weekend, when the weather was good. How they settled on this sport, I don't know, but Jeno was a member of the Workers' Sports Association. My husband was also a member. He liked rowing and was very good at it. When we were rowing in a cox-less double scull, if he didn't want someone to overtake us, they couldn't. Later, we gave up rowing.
In the wintertime we went skiing. While my husband was still a bachelor, he even went abroad to Mariazell and to other Austrian resorts. At that time, there wasn't too much snow in the Buda hills, but there was some and the Workers' Sports Association had a cabin up in Nagyszenas and we used to go there. I didn't like skiing so much, because I found myself in a group of people who had been skiing for years and I wasn't very adventurous. I did like going there though, and learnt to ski very quickly.
My husband worked for MEFTER, the Hungarian Royal River and Sea Shipping Stock Company. He had free tickets for boat travel. We went to Vienna with the ship. My mother-in-law was with us too; we had to take this poor soul everywhere. My husband insisted on it. I didn't have anything against her, we got along quite well.
When I was a young married woman, my parents spent many summer holidays at the Danube's Romai-bank, but I never spent any holidays with them. Both of my sisters-in-law had summer holidays every year, with their three children at Lake Balaton, or Nagymaros, by the Danube. I also went there for a week or two, but it was at the time when I had Marika [1933-1999] already. And then the bad times came and these holidays stopped.
My husband only had a secondary school education. Back then a secondary school final exam was worth a university degree now. He had a commercial secondary school final exam I think, because he worked in business, he dealt with salaries and stock-taking, sometimes he had to go to the countryside, to do auditing. He worked for MEFTER, the Hungarian Royal River and Sea Shipping Stock Company; I don't know what position he had exactly, some sort of a clerk. He worked from 9am to 3pm. He came home at three o'clock and we always had lunch then. He didn't go back in the afternoon after that. Sometimes, there was some work related to payroll, which he took home, and I did it. I was at home, I didn't work.
We converted to Christianity because of my husband's office, because he worked for the Hungarian Royal River and Sea Shipping Stock Company. This was a state-owned company and he was picked on at work. A colleague of his, who wanted to the best for him, pushed him to convert to Christianity, so that we would have no problems. In 1934, the Jews were unwanted already. And he liked his workplace. To be honest, I don't know if he was promoted after this. Back then, I didn't really care about rankings and suchlike. He always got a bit more money.
We were christened in the Rozsak Square church in Budapest. My elder daughter, Marika was ten months old then. She was born in 1933. She was also christened. My daughter Judit [1935-2002], was born as a Christian in 1935. Only our godfather was there. We didn't even have a godmother. This colleague of my husband was an older, very religious man. He was our godfather. I don't think we had to go to religious classes. I got some book and I read it; Catechisms or I don't know what. The conversion wasn't too much of an issue. We didn't get together with Christians, so when Judit was born, we didn't even know who the godparents should be. Back then, there were green-cross district nurses, who dealt with children and pregnant women. I asked ours to become the godmother and she accepted. I don't even remember the christening. There was no celebration.
I didn't even want it, my natural mother was not very, but quite religious. She didn't wear a wig, like her twin sister did, but she did keep the Friday evening candle-lighting. I was raised in this religion; I went to these kinds of religious classes. I knew it better than the Christian religion. And my husband wanted us all to be assimilated. I didn't want it and we argued about it for a very long time and then I said that I'd agree to the children being Christian, but I didn't want to myself. But my husband said we couldn't raise two types of children in the family – because at that time, it worked that the girl would have been Jewish and the boy Christian [Editor's note: according to the Hungarian regulations of the time, children born in a mixed marriage, were registered such that boys were registered according to their father's religion, and the girl's according to their mother's.] This colleague pressed my husband very hard. And in the end, I was taken in.
Of course I did everything I could, to provide the girls with the appropriate religious upbringing, especially when they went to school; I went to church with them and they were confirmed etc. But I don't know too much about the Christian religion, even now. During the war, I moaned about what sort of a pope it was who allowed that the Holy water that washes away all sins, didn't wash away our past Jewishness. The Jews, who converted to Christianity, were persecuted as much as those who didn't. I think, the conversion was also just a formality for my husband. He didn't even go to church. He never went to church. My husband's mother was not at all religious. For her, it was all the same. From the catholic religion, we just kept what all the other Jews do: Christmas and Easter, the Christmas tree and presents.
There were two married couples with whom we used to get together, but not very often. They were Jewish. Actually the wife of one of them was Christian. But we didn't even talk about the conversion.
My natural mother was already dead. I lost her when I was little. I had a stepmother, who raised me as if she was my natural mother. They weren't happy about it. It‘s very interesting, that actually the whole family wasn't religious, but they were Jewish, and we kept the Jewish high holidays. My father was the least religious one, but it was he who was most upset when he heard that we converted to Christianity.

During the war
Then the real troubles began: special Jewish regulations, from which we were not exempt. My husband was very bitter, as was I. On the 26th May 1944, we moved to my parent's place in Almassy Square. We didn't have to, but we had the opportunity, because we would have had to go to the ghetto in Pestujhely. But out of those Jews from Matyasfold who went there, nobody came back. Actually, we were lucky, my daughters and I. In Matyasfold, a police officer lived just in front of us, who was the chief officer of the camp in Kistarcsa, which was a holding camp.
They had moved there not long before. They were a young married couple with a little baby. We weren't even on nodding terms. This police officer was completely stunned when he first saw us with the yellow star, because we'd converted to Christianity and my daughters were in school and church was obligatory for them, and I went with them. Until then, we had had no contact at all with him, and after that he approached me, and when it was announced that the Jews and those of Jewish origin from Matyasfold had to go to the ghetto in Pestujhely, he offered to have a look and see what sort of a place it was. A couple of days later, though, he asked if we had any relatives in Budapest, because it would be easier to hide in a big city. He talked us out of going to the ghetto. He even gave us an official document which allowed us to move to my parents' place with all our belongings.
I don't know what happened to him after the war. I do know that they moved to Debrecen, because his wife was the daughter of some factory owner, and they left for Debrecen after the war. By the way, he was also denounced by somebody who he'd sent to Kistarcsa, because he'd had to. He was acquitted. I was there as a witness, but my testimony was not needed.
When Almassy Square number 15, became a yellow-star-house 5, there were 18 of us living in those three rooms. My father was there, my step-mother and step-sister, my sister, with her husband and little daughter. They had lived in this flat originally. There was my also husband and I with our two children. And then another five people arrived there, because my mother-in-law came, and my two sisters-in-law, Iren and Klari, their husbands and their three kids. All three were deported and they all died. My sister-in-laws daughter was deported from the KISOK field. My dad was taken away, we don't even know where he went, because we never received so much as a line from him. In 1944, men had to go to forced labor. He wasn't very old, but he was over 50 already, but he also had to go. After the war, my sister had them search for him, but no information could be found about him at all.
When we moved to Almassy Square in 1944, they weren't working any more. I think they worked before that, but I don't know that for sure. Sewing work could still be done for a long while. The workshop still existed in 1944, but my father didn't get any work any more orders. The workshop was standing empty. We sewed trousers. Etel arranged it, and she dealt with them. We sewed for a company, we didn't make individual trousers. I did the ironing. It wasn't easy because a tailor's iron is heavy and it had to be heated in a little oven. Etel worked by hand, and she arranged things. And there was a machine operator. He was despicable, because when the Germans were already here and we were still working, there was a raid; the Jews were being collected and he informed on us, telling them that we were at home. We had gone down to the cellar by then – at this time my sisters-in-law and my mother-in-law were already living there, because it was a yellow-star house- and we spent a night on top of a coal pile, in the coal cellar, my mother-in-law, the children and I. We heard the Arrow Cross 6 men shouting in front of the cellar window, but they couldn't find us.
The next day we came up from the cellar; we couldn't stay there for ever. Then all along Wesselenyi Street, came a long, long line of people, escorted by Arrow Cross men. They were Jews, who had been dragged out of their houses, all sorts of people: the old, the sick, everyone. We also got into this chain of people- we had to come out of the house. They took us to Tattersall. In the daytime, we lay on the floor, on blankets or coats, whatever one had. Some people even died there. Mom took a bag of food, and that's what we had. Tattersall had some sort of a gate and towards the evening time, it was opened and we were driven into the racecourse. This is right next to the cemetery in Fiumei Road and when they opened the gates, we just saw all those crosses and we thought, ‘This is the end; they've brought us to the cemetery!' It was a terrible sight – the cemetery, all those crosses, but then they let us go up to the grandstand, in case it rained or something. We were there with three children, without anything to eat or drink, because the stuff Mom had thrown into the bag was already gone. We were in our coats. It must have been around October, when the Arrow Cross was in power. Then we sat there and waited for whatever was to happen next. And sometime - late in the evening or in the night, I think it was policemen in army uniforms that appeared, and they announced through the loudspeakers - at least that's how I remember, because we were sitting high up on the grandstand, and we could still hear it - that we could go home. Then the line of people, in their yellow stars, started off again, through the streets at night. It wasn't pleasant to walk, we were also very scared, and that's how we went home.
My husband was taken into forced labor many times; he was in Budapest for a while, but he died in Balf. What they did in Balf, I don't know. He didn't write from there, and I wasn't at home either, anyway. He wrote one time, from somewhere on the way there, and I heard that he was sick from a fellow laborer who came to visit me. They were next to each other, on plank-beds or on the floor, I don't know. He probably found out from my husband, that we lived in Almassy Square, because when we moved away from Matyasfold, we moved away from my parents. He told me that my husband had become sick, and the sick ones, those who couldn't go on, had been shot dead. So my husband was also shot, into a big hole. This, according to his fellow laborer, was on the 31st March 1945, a day before the Russians' arrival. I heard this in 1945 or 1946. Beforehand, I had made enquiries through the newspapers. I think it appeared in Nepszava or Nepszabadsag. [which was called Szabad Nep, at that time,] because my step-mother's relative had some connection, through which I could make an announcement there.
We never received any official message that he had died. I had his death registered. This was because of the house in Matyasfold. It was in two names: that of my husband and his mother. It had to be cleared up because of my daughters. That's when I had his death registered. My mother-in-law had two daughters who could also have inherited it, but they declined, so it was put in the names of my two daughters, but I was the legal beneficiary.
There is a memorial in the Jewish cemetery here in Kozma Street, and who those are buried here, were identified. There is a big long grave, but everybody has their own little plaque. There are nine of them in one grave, and my husband is named there. I didn't know about this exhumation in Balf, I only heard about it when the coffins were already being buried here.
We don't know where my mother-in-law is buried either. She was in a ghetto, with her daughter Klari, during the war. She was liberated there. Right afterwards, in 1945, she died of typhus. When I got back home, she was dead already. Many died of typhus. My sister-in-law told me that her husband dragged her into the cemetery in a trunk, I wasn't at home yet. There was probably no name or anything written on it. When I came home, we tried to find out about her, but no luck. Probably she was buried in a common grave.
Etel's husband was also taken to do forced labor. He died in Fertorakos.
When the Germans came in 7, I was deported. By the time there was a ghetto in Budapest, I wasn't there anymore. It was on posters, that every women under the age of 35, should appear on the KISOK field, complete with food for three days and I don't know what else. So I went to the KISOK field with my sister, but in the evening of the first day, those whose husbands were in forced labor, were allowed to go home, but next day they had to come back and then we didn't go home anymore. It happened some time around the end of November 1944. Both of us went on foot as far as Zundorf- which is somewhere close to Hegyeshalom, on the Austrian border. There, we were driven into railway cattle cars, men and women together, and the doors were closed on us. It was terrible. I can't even describe this trip. We weren't given any food or drink, we couldn't go to the toilet; one of the corners was the toilet. I don't remember anymore how long this journey, this nightmare, lasted.
We traveled as far as Hamburg, there they kicked out all the men, and this freight train pushed on with the women, actually going back. Of course we didn't know anything, because we couldn't see out, so only when the train stopped again, we saw the name of the station: Furstenberg. Actually, it was through this nice, friendly-looking little place, that we arrived to a concentration camp, surrounded by barbed wire, where we were received by dogs and SS soldiers. This was Ravensbruck.
We only stayed here for two weeks. It was horrible. There were four or five of us on a narrow plank-bed. That's where I saw women with shaved heads for the first time, and here Etel cut my beautiful, almost waist-length hair, which was worn plaited around my head, with her nails scissors, which she still had at that time. This was because I was scared of lice, and of being shaved bald. After two weeks, we were put into train carriages again, and we were taken to a different camp. This was Leipzig, as we heard later. Luckily, my sister and I were taken to the same place, but they never knew that we were sisters, because she was called Schneller, and I was called Hamos.
Compared to the circumstances in Ravensbruck, it was much better here. In Ravensbruck, two people lay on one plank-bed, and five people shared one spoon to eat the inedible food. Then I had still been quite particular and I preferred not to eat that slop with a well-licked spoon.
The camp in Leipzig, was actually a labor camp, from which we were taken to work in the factory in shifts, one week at night, one week during the day. The name of the factory wasn't written there, but on the so-called ‘money' we received, the name HASAG was printed. [Editor's note: HASAG was a privately-owned German company, which was the third largest employer of slave labor. From the summer of 1944, labor camps were established next to each HASAG plant in Germany, all of which, were satellite camps of Buchenwald. Mostly women were employed in HASAG plants.]
When we went to the factory, we crossed tramlines, but I don't remember the number of the tram. I think it was a cannon round and bullet factory, because we were sorting little metal cartridge-cases into boxes. We had to check them very carefully. No scratches could be on them.
In the lager, many things happened, which seemed important back then. For example, in the barrack's corridor, was a big tank of sand and a big barrel of water, so that in case of fire, there would be something to put it out with. Once, somebody spilt some water into the sand and the Aufseherin [female overseer] said that she must've urinated there, and she demanded a Strafappell [punishment-line-up.] Every morning at five o'clock, there was an Appell [line-up,] which meant that we had to stand in lines of five people, in the corridor, until they had counted that we were all present. When the Strafappell was ordered, it was freezing cold and snowing outside. Etel and I were washing our hair, and we also washed our stockings, shirts and underwear, and we had to put them all on while they were still wet, and to stand in the snow, with our wet hair, for an hour.
There was a large stone building in the camp – Poles lived in there and there were a great many wooden barracks. Etel and I got into a wooden barracks block for 20 people. There were bunk beds and on them, mattresses stuffed with straw, and a blanket. There was an iron heater in the room, on top of which we could toast the bread we received. Many such rooms opened onto one corridor. In the barracks, the toilet was a long room and along one wall, similar to village latrines, there was a wooden board with five holes in it, so one could do one's business in company, if it so happened.
One could wash in the main building, because there was always nice, hot water in there, a shower and there were hot pipes where one could dry one's washed underwear and wet hair. We had no change of clothes, just the ones we had on us. Three times a day, we received food, such as it was. There were women from a great many different nations there, but mainly Polish, not only Jewish. There were even people saying ‘stinke jude!' [stinking Jew.] The main supervisors were German SS women [Aufseherin] and in the barracks, polish prisoners, Blokovas, who had been there for a longer period, as supervisors. Blokova Hanna always wished us 'Gute Fliegealarm,' [good air-raid] because then we were taken down to the shelter in the factory and we could have a little nap, sitting on the benches.
Once we lived in the main building for a while- I don't remember why they moved us over there- and there were 4-storey bunk beds. Etel and I took the top bunk, to avoid having straw or other rubbish falling onto us. As soon as the lights were switched off, the cockroaches fell like rain, from the ceiling onto the top bunk, so we couldn't sleep the whole night. As it turned out later, the situation wasn't any better in the lower bunks, either. After two or three days, we were almost dizzy at work- we kept falling asleep- and then we were asked what our problem was. I count it as a good point, that the Germans put out cyanide in the room, while we were working. That was a respectable action for these thugs. Later, we also didn't know why, we were moved back to the barracks.
On the day after moving back, when we were returning from the day's shift, Etel slipped away from the line and went into the main building, because she wanted to get a plank for our bed, as one was missing. Meanwhile, there was an air-raid and we had to go down to the shelter, and Etel wasn't there. I was really worried. When the raid was over, we could see that smoke was pouring out of the main building and it was falling down. I was in utter despair, thinking that she had died there, but suddenly she appeared with the plank of wood and told me happily, that the walls had been moving, but she didn't know that the building had actually been hit by a bomb, only when she came out. Many Polish women died in that raid. This happened quite near the end of the war.
We didn't know anything concrete about the situation on the outside. We suspected that things were not going very well for the Germans, even though they wrote on the toilet walls ‘Deutschland soll leben' [Germany shall live] We also assumed something based on the fact that for days, the same faulty cartridge cases always came back on the production line, so they had no material supplies. Sometimes, when we went to the toilet, we could see train carriages with MAV signs on them standing there, and we used to daydream that we could get into one of them maybe it would take us back. But there was no chance of that, because we were escorted, even to the toilets, and we could only go when we were taken there. Then, one day, we weren't taken to the factory any more. We were taken there twice. We were told that we were going to work in the Stadtgartnerei, the city gardening company. I was even looking forward to it, because then at least we would be in the fresh air. But the Stadtgartnerei wasn't that at all, it was just filling-in bomb craters. There were such intense air raids that we were hiding under bushes. Even our guard was scared, not just us.
On 13th April 1945, we were rudely awoken by the Aufseherin supervisor women, in the barracks of the Leipzig camp, shouting, ‘Schnell, schnell!' [quickly, quickly!] we had to line up with all our blankets and belongings -which was hardly anything at all- because this camp was to be evacuated. The invading troops were coming.
That night, the march started in a long, snaking line; We just walked and walked, as we realized later, completely without aim, almost around the clock, for ten days. We were staggering half-asleep, they hardly gave these weak, emaciated, shells-of-people any breaks. On just a couple of nights, they let us lie down, of course, under the open sky, on the bare ground. During the night we could see the flames rising, and we could hear the bombs exploding. As a matter of fact we realized that we were going nowhere, because all the signposts were pointing towards Pirna. Being dragged along non stop, for ten days underneath the open sky, every road led to Pirna. According to German precision, we had to march in orderly rows of five. For ten days, we didn't receive any food or drink, apart from the little piece of bread we got when we started off. We chewed on grass that grew by the roadside. It was in the middle of April. The German peasants were just planting potatoes in the fields, which were in big piles at the edges of the fields, by the road in many places; those who were suffering from starvation so much that they risked digging potatoes out of the piles, were shot dead and their bodies were dragged to the edge of the road, so that the whole line of people after them could see what happened to those who ‘stole' potatoes.
On the night of the tenth day, we were driven into a huge wooden barn, which was full of straw, and we crawled into it to get warm. We had a wonderful sleep, because finally we had a roof over our heads. By the morning, our entire escort had disappeared. Slowly, we struggled up and dared to come out of the barn. When we came out, we could see that hundreds of people, were passing with bundles tied to their bicycles, with packages on their backs, with prams fully packed with buckets, pots and other household items; like a huge exodus, they were just going and going in the same direction- now I know- towards the West. This exodus lasted all day, and we, who were still together from the lager, were just standing around, and waiting for somebody to arrange whatever should happen to us, because based on our clothes, anybody who was interested would have known who we were, but nobody cared about us.
In the meantime, it got dark. We were at the end of a village. The sign said Lorenzkirch, there were a couple of houses there. We tried to get them to let us in, but they'd only let us into the garden. We tried to sleep again, under the open sky, but at least leaning against the wall of the house. We woke up at dawn; in the twilight, it was very quiet. There were only six of us left there. One of the girls said she'd look around. She crawled down the embankment and saw that every sort of smaller and larger vehicles were standing there, fully packed but unclaimed. Apparently, when it got dark, the Germans had only wanted to save their lives, and they left their belongings there on the road. She came back, and brought the plunder; after ten days our first meal was a raw egg each, and some sugar lumps, stuffed into our mouths with our hands. This was the day we got free of the Germans and we were freed.
The second phase of our German travels started. Soviet soldiers appeared and they got us started us off towards the east. After a long march, we arrived at some wooden barracks. We received some good, hot food with rice there. There were basins and a lot of hot water there. Finally, after ten days, we could have a wash, we could wash our hair and after long months, we could lay in a bed, which had bed sheets and covers too. All of a sudden, we were awakened by lots of shouting, that we had to start quickly, because the Germans would arrive soon. Our belongings hadn't dried yet. We threw them on and rushed off with the others – we didn't even know where.
Next morning, the wandering carried on. From there on, there were really just six of us. We went without any escort, through many places. Wherever we went, we were looking for the Red Cross. Where our road led us, we met the soldiers of the Soviet Army everywhere. This was a bit of a barbarian army. Although in the daytime, apart from some exceptions, we had no problems with them, at night, they got drunk and went crazy. They always told us that we should go this way or that way. Finally, we got to a Red Cross camp in Spremberg, where we were put up in houses. We also had lots of experiences on this journey, because we met some Italian boys, and one of them even wanted to marry me. We spent six weeks in this camp. Here we got some food every day: mainly bread and potatoes, sometimes some sugar or flour, and very rarely, some meat. In the lager, I lost weight until I was 38 kilograms, and in those six weeks we spent in Spremberg, I got my weight up to 53 kilograms.
The way we came home was that on the 17th June 1945, they lined us up and started us off, saying that we would be put into train carriages and taken home to Hungary. We had been walking for hours, when a man came on a motorbike and went to our escorts, saying, ‘Turn around! The train's already left!' So we went back. We spent two more days in the camp, and then we were started off once again, but this time we really reached the train. We were in open carriages, and we got some very bad seats, right behind the engine, so when it started, the sparks fell on us, so we had to hide underneath some blankets to avoid being burnt. Then the engine started, and we went across many broken bridges, so if you looked down, you'd have kittens that the bridge might really crumble underneath the train. Then later, we got into covered carriages. I don't remember the stations we stopped at. Here and there we received some soup and some bread. I remember that we were also in Prague. There we were told that we would have to wait a long while, so we were allowed out of the carriages. Then we went out, and I agreed with Etel, that we would beg for food at random, and from one family, we got some very delicious pudding dessert. After the bad soup we'd received at the station, it was wonderfully tasty. Then we went back to the carriages. The train was ordered to one side many times, because the soldiers were still going all over the place. In Bratislava, we received some money. I think we even received some papers from a Jewish organization. It was kind of a repatriation document, to prove where we had been. Whatever we declared, they wrote in. Just once, when we'd been working at the factory, we'd received some payment, and it had this name HASAG written on it. I still had this, and based on these two documents, I received my German pension money.
By the time the train started, it was 18th June, and we arrived home on the 29th June, just a day before my 33rd birthday. The train arrived at Nyugati Station; the tram on the Korut, [the inner city ring road] was already working, I know that. We got on it. People could see how we looked, so nobody checked our tickets – but I think, at that time, no-one was asked for their ticket yet– and we went as far as Wesselenyi Street, and we walked up the Street. A woman who Etel knew came towards us and she was shouting from a long way away already, that Mom, my step-mother, and the children were alive. This was a great experience. We went up to the third floor and into the flat; my children weren't there, because meanwhile, my sister-in-law, Iren had moved back to the flat in Baross Street, Klari moved with her too, and they took the two children as well. Klari and Iren carried on living together until Klari's death. Then we went there. I lived in Almassy Square with the children, as all our belongings were there, until we moved back to Matyasfold.
During the war, many of our belongings had been lost. My most beautiful things and those of my husband and the children were in two suitcases; I was no longer in Budapest at the time, but my husband was still in the city in forced labor, somewhere in Hungaria Avenue, in a school. There was this pig-trader who had been willing to look after everything for us. He took the two suitcases and we never saw him again. My husband took my favorite books to the wholesalers where he used to work, they were hidden there, but I never got to see them again either. I had a Persian lambskin coat that was gone too. I had silver cutlery, which was also taken away. Everybody had an explanation for it. Some said the Romanians took them away, some sold the stuff and lived off the money. But I said, I'm not going to sue anybody, I don't want to take revenge on anybody.

Post-war
After the war, I was left alone with two children. I had to earn money to feed us, and I had no profession. But afterwards I made up for it and did a two-year course. In the end, I became a chartered accountant and certified auditor.
We arrived home on the 29th June 1945, and on the 9th August, I got into the Rokus hospital, to work. I managed to get in there through a friend of one of my cousins, who died. It was called the Institution Supervision. I got into the department where they dealt with the payroll and did other administration for the hospital employees. I did payroll and later, I became an internal auditor. It was terrible at the beginning, because although I had attended commercial college and learned to type, this had back been in 1929, and I was completely out of practice. The first day, I was sat down in front of the machine, and the nurses came along one after the other, and a huge sheet had to be filled out with all sorts of data. It went dreadfully, so I overheard many comments, like: ‘Why would they employ someone like that who's only plucking at the keys?' I wasn't sent away, and I quickly got into the swing of it. I worked there for seven years, and from there I went to the health ministry, where I worked for a very long time. I worked as a chief clerk and I carried out auditing work for a while, and then I became a deputy head of department. When I retired, I was a deputy head of department. So, I only did business-related work, but I never liked it.
Right after the war, I think everybody who couldn't obtain food in any other way, gave away all their clothes and everything, in order to ensure food for their family. So, there was kind of a barter-trade system working. Mom dealt with these things. We were busy because we entered work quickly, both my sister and I. My sister's husband came from Vanyarc, in Nograd county, and his parents were merchants and he had two brothers. One was taken away to forced labor and the other one escaped somehow, and he hid at the home of a many-skirted peasant woman who he later married. He was a good Jewish merchant- he could get hold of anything.
After the war, they provided food for us. And then there was the opportunity to give him our bread coupons and we received white flour in exchange, and Mom baked bread and we were provided with everything from Vanyarc. Mom even traveled on the top of a train. She took not only coupons, but also clothes and whatever was left, to Vanyarc.
We had moved away from Matyasfold on the 26th May 1944. The house stayed there vacant. It was completely derelict. I don't know who had lived there, but when I came back, the view that welcomed me was one of fallen plaster, and no doors, because the doors had been used as a ramp for horses. Later the Christian neighbors told me that the Russians had used it as a stable; it was full of manure – it was in a terrible condition. The front door had been taken away. It was probably chopped up for firewood. The parquet floor in our original bedroom had been taken up, and also probably used as firewood; even the bathroom doorframe had been taken away. So we couldn't move back there. At that time we were still waiting for our men to come home, but unfortunately, none returned: neither the husband of my sister, nor mine, nor did my father, or my sister-in-law's children. The husbands of my sisters-in-law survived. Iren was in hiding with her husband, somehow they could get Christian papers. Klari's husband was in the Ghetto. After the war, he worked at the OMZSA, the Hungarian Jewish Aid Organization. They handed out clothes and food. We also received clothes both for the children and ourselves, we received winter coats and all sorts of things. This was in Bethlen Square. There was also a centre there, where announcements were posted showing who had returned from forced labor. My poor brother-in-law got lice from clothes or I-don't-know-what, and he died of typhus.
Once, a married couple appeared at my workplace in 1946 and told me that they had been to Matyasfold; they needed somewhere to live, and they offered to move there. They weren't going to pay rent, but they offered to put the house back in order. I had two conditions: one, that we should wall up the door into the third room and open a door into the courtyard, and two, that I could go out there with my children in the summertime. We signed a contract and they moved in. They didn't make an ordinary door to the third room, but they put a wooden board there, which could only be closed from inside. And instead of the parquet flooring which had been taken up, they laid down cruddy boat-deck flooring, but one could live there. In 1947, I moved into that one room with two pieces of furniture, but we didn't live there during the wintertime, because it wasn't well suited to it. In the summer, I was there with children, so they could get some fresh air. The tenant worked for BKV and he lost his job. He showed up at the hospital again, saying that he couldn't keep this contract and they could move into a friend's place for free. So then we moved in again, into the whole flat. We've carried out a lot of reconstruction in the house since then, as the children grew up.
In the 1950s, in my family, nobody had anything to fear. Nobody did anything, about which, he needed to be frightened. In fact, I was quite far from the detentions and from the dawn raids made by AVH. I heard about this sort of thing, but it didn't happen near me. At the party members meetings, it was read aloud, if things like that went on. I mainly read about this in the newspaper, but we were far from it. I only knew what was officially announced. We had party members meetings every month. There were many meeting rooms in the ministry, where such things could be held. In the course of these meetings, they related by and large, the political events, those they were allowed to, as well as about ministerial issues. Apart from that, there was nothing special; they didn't mean anything to me. When I was young, not only could I care less about politics, but I didn't even look at the newspapers, I was so uninterested. Indeed, I've never been interested in politics. When I was a party member, I wasn't interested either. One could stay out of it.
I was a party member. I hadn't been back home yet from the deportations, when my step-sister signed me up for the communist party in 1945. In 1956, I didn't want to rejoin the party, because by then so much had come out about what they'd done. In the ministry, one of the communist heads of department – we were on good terms, she had been in Auschwitz- tried to convince me to rejoin. Then I said, 'Look, I'm not rejoining because my sister lives in Australia and I will never denounce her. I also have relatives in America, and I'm not going to denounce them either.' I didn't want to rejoin, but the I went to the cemetery many times, to my step-mother's grave, and I also have many relatives in the Jewish cemetery in Kozma Street. So I went out there, and walked among those big gravestones, the common grave of the forced laborers of Balf and Sopronkohida, and then I thought I would rejoin the party in case , god forbid, something terrible like this were to happen again. I rejoined the party at the last party meeting. My party membership was acknowledged without any special vetting, or difficulties. I was a member of the party until the change of regime, I think.
There were times when I was a party branch leader in the ministry. The party members in the department were my responsibility, we had meetings and for a while, when I had already retired, they entrusted me with the writing of a short piece about what they were discussing in the party organization in Matyasfold.
The 23rd October 1956 8, was the day of my last exam at the ministry of finance. At the ministry of health, my room on the third floor had windows looking onto the banks of the Danube, and I could see students and soldiers and everybody, marching all day, below my window. We were to go to the ministry of finance for our exam at four or five o'clock and we did. There was an army guard at the ministry of finance already. We went in, and after I took my exam, I said that I'd go down to call my sister, so that she could call home. I didn't have a phone at that time yet. They had an acquaintance in Matyasfold, who had one. I went down, and the ministry gate was closed, and they didn't want to let me out, saying there was an alert and we couldn't leave the building individually. I begged so much that they let me out. When I got outside, there was a great din in the streets. They were shouting in the streets, ‘Down with Gero!' 9 and things like that. I was a bit scared, but I went to the phone box.
When the announcement of the exam results was complete, I came out together with a man, with whom I was in the same study group. We wanted to take bus number 45. At that time, the end station of number 45, which goes to Matyasfold, was at Jegbufe. There was no bus, though just chaos and shooting on the street, it could be heard everywhere. The big scene at the radio station was already happening. At the corner of Semmelweis Street, there was a presso- it's still there today- we went in and I made a phone call to my sister to ask her what to do. She said, 'What can you do? Do you want to walk home to Matyasfold? Come here, instead!' So then I slept there. My sister's family had a telephone already and we called my sister's acquaintance from there. It was already midnight, then. We asked him to go over and have a look if they are at home. He called back to say that I could calm down, as they were there. The next day, I still couldn't get home, only on the third day; I got a lift part of the way, and I also walked a bit. When we could go out- because the curfew wasn't always on- we had to go into the ministry to work. Many times, I was picked up by a police car on the Kerepesi road, on the way to Matyasfold, and they took me home. It also happened that I was walking all the way from Matyasfold to work, and back home again. These were the hard times for me.
It was terrible- all those shootings. The first evening for example, we walked along Wesselenyi Street and there was a dead body lying on the corner. My sister's window opened onto Almassy Square, and the whole day, tanks and armed men were moving around. Once for example, we were at the ministry and we were walking, many of us; at the Klauzal Square market, near to Akacfa Street, a truck drove through the street with people shooting from the top of it, and we clung to each other, by the closed market gate.
I never wanted to leave the country. Judit and her husband thought about it. If she hadn't been pregnant at that time, they probably would have left. My sister Etel left on 5th January 1957, she escaped over the border with her daughter and her boyfriend. After the war, Etel worked as a stocking mender or did manicures, but later she just did office work. She worked in the builder's trade union, and in SZOT. When they left, she was a chief accountant in a branch of Patyolat.
From March 1957, we had a telephone. When the 1956 revolution was on, I told myself that come what may, I must have a telephone, because many times we were out of touch. On the day of the revolution, I took my last chartered accountant's exam. I couldn't go home that night, so we called a neighbor, to ask him to check whether the two boys, my sons-in-law were at home- because the students marched out of the university with the teachers- so I could relax. Judit was pregnant, and Marika was there with a small child, so I was worried. In order to receive a telephone, strings needed to be pulled. The ministry helped me. They stated that I was in a field of work in which I might need to be contacted in urgent cases; the minister and the party secretary certified this. I handed in my request in February 1957 and by March, the telephone was installed in the house already.
In the 1950s I hadn't been on officially organized holidays. After that I went many times, though. These were trade union workers' holidays. It wasn't free, but it was very cheap, even considering the wages back then. Everybody could apply for them, but usually there were more applicants than places. The trade union committee decided who could go. They considered work performance and social circumstances. But most people did get these holidays.
I've been to almost all of the most beautiful holiday camps in the country: Galyateto, Kekes, Matrafured, Matrahaza, Sopron, Koszeg. I never applied for summer holidays, because when I was already working at the ministry, I always said that since I had no school-age children who would need to have holidays in the summertime, autumn holidays would do for me. They were always easier to get. I went a great many times. At the beginning, I used to go for two weeks, but after a while, two weeks were too much, and usually after ten days, I just got myself together and came home.
After the war, I used to go the theatre a lot, two or three times a month, because when I was working already, there was usually a cultural organizer. The children were already bigger, so I also took them with me sometimes. We had a season ticket for the opera too; I used to go to concerts a lot. I went to all of the school concerts which were in the mornings, at the music academy, and with all three of my grandchildren, it was I who took them to concerts. Later, Marika and I had a season ticket for the music academy.
I didn't encounter any Anti-Semitism during the revolution. In 1957, when it was already quite peaceful, I received a referral one of these holiday camps, at Karoly Castle in the summertime and there was a getting-to-know-you party. The Jews always find each other in places like that. I found myself in the same room with a Jewish woman, and I think she knew another Jewish man. There were comments, Jewish slurs, so I said that I'd go home, and then that Jewish man did too. So we came home together, well before the holiday was over. Things like that did happen. At my workplace, some knew it openly, others knew it in secret, where I had been during the war. We didn't really talk about things like that. Even with those who had been deported themselves, we didn't really discuss it. We didn't really know, who was Jewish. Nobody showed off about that, about being Jewish, or having been deported. We didn't even talk about it in the family, and now I regret that. We didn't talk about these things so much, not even about the deportation. I think we wanted to bury it, but unfortunately, you can't bury it, not completely anyway. My sister also really regretted that we didn't talk about it.
My daughter graduated from the University of Agriculture, and she had a Candidate of Sciences degree. It never would have occurred to her to attend that university, but one of her secondary school friends went to horticultural college, and somehow she liked it and she took the entrance exam for the agricultural university, and passed it. She attended the same year as her husband, Laszlo Sz… Laci, and they met there.
My daughter's husband's grandparents lived in Slovakia, my son-in-law was born in 1929 in Him, near Kosice and he went to school in Kosice. When the Hungarian resettlement was going on, his parents declared themselves Hungarian and came over to Hungary after the Second World War, and they got a house in Vertesacsa. When my daughter married him, his parents still lived in Vertesacsa. He still lived in a dormitory somewhere, because they were both students. They are not Jewish. Originally, I think they were peasants, but the father worked in the Hangya cooperative farm. The mother didn't work there, but they had a cow and they took butter to market in Kosice, that's what my son-in-law used to tell me. They did farm work here. I think it was some sort of farming cooperative.
They married in 1954, and later in Vertesacsa, where Laci's parent lived, they got married in a catholic church as well. I wasn't there; I don't even know why. Maybe they wanted to do it in secret. They went to Siofok for their honeymoon; my sister was at the builder's trade union, or already in SZOT, and I think she arranged this referral for a one week holiday for them. Later, my son-in-law moved to our place too. They graduated in 1955. They were agricultural engineers- that's what's written in their diplomas. Laci worked at the University of Economics- I don't know what position he had exactly- and in Keszthely, at some sort of Agricultural institution, and also as a professor of agriculture in Godollo.
When Marika graduated from University, she didn't work in her profession, because Marti was still a small child. Marti, my granddaughter, was born in 1955. At that time, maternity leave was very short; then she started working and she worked in many different places: in the Central Statistics Office, and in some research institute in Godollo, and at the end, in the Agricultural Economics Research Institute. She even had a book published about the food industry.
Then a year later in 1955, Judit got married. Her husband was called Ferenc. He was born in 1931 in Tat. His mother was very well-known- they also had some land- but he was a mailman; he carried the mail for the whole of Tat. I didn't know his father; he died at an early age. He may have worked at a mine in Dorog. Ferenc graduated from a technical secondary school. You could attend university after that. Ferenc was accepted at the Technical University in Budapest.
Due to financial reasons, I never managed to become a doctor. I tried to plant this seed in Judit, to become one. After graduating from secondary school, she did take an entrance exam, but not for medical school, but for the technical university, which was absolutely not her thing. She didn't do very well there either. She met Ferenc there. They both dropped out of university. Ferenc took different sorts of jobs. I told Judit, when she dropped out, that she had to study; it just wouldn't do for her to have no profession at all. The Dental Technical Company used to belong to the ministry of health, which had many branches, both in Budapest and in the countryside, and lots of trainees. I was able to arrange for Judit to be accepted as a trainee dental technician. She was also very good at it. At the Dental Technical Company she did dental technician work. Much later, Ferenc received an engineering diploma at the Kando Technical College. In the end, he worked for BKV. He was a works manager, he was in charge of repair works.
At the beginning, Judit and her husband also lived in the house in Matyasfold; the two couples lived there for almost two years, the brothers-in-law used to quarrel a lot, because men always like vying for position, saying, ‘I do this, not you!' Then they were on good terms for years. At the beginning of 1957, Judit was pregnant. My husband's two sisters were both widows, and they lived in Baross Street, in a two room flat with modern conveniences and one of the rooms was rented out to a woman who left them, so they invited Judit and her husband over. Then they moved there. Their daughter, Katika [1957-], was born there already. They started building a house in Matyasfold. They began building it in 1964, when I went to Australia for the first time, and by the time I arrived back, they had divorced. They divorced in October, and in December they moved together again. Then they lived together, in a common-law-marriage for another 20 years. If I remember correctly, they married again in 1995. Ferenc became really sick, and I think that was the reason. He died in 1997, or in 1998 and Judit died in 2002.
Marika's family lived there the whole time; my son-in-law, Laci, still lives there. Once he was offered a job in Kaposvar, where he would have been provided with a flat for the whole family. Marika said that she wouldn't go without me, but I told them I wouldn't go to Kaposvar.
Their elder daughter, Marti [1955-], was born in 1955, Kriszti [1966-] in 1966. They didn't really care about this, but later they thought, it's either now or never- Marika was 34 at the time- otherwise there wouldn't be any more children. It worked and Kriszti was born after eleven years. I was working the whole time, but I spent a lot of time with the children. Marika and her husband took the children with them when they were smaller, and when they were bigger, they left them with me, and they could go on holidays, go out to the theatre, have evenings out, or celebrate New Year's Eve. I looked after my three grandchildren every New Year's Eve.
I very rarely got together with the relatives on my son-in-law's side. Only if they came. I didn't even have time, I had to study and work, I had to keep the household, and I was left here, with the house in Matyasfold, and there was a lot to do in the garden too. I only grew flowers, and there was a lawn, but when my son-in-law married my daughter, he made a little kitchen garden. He works in it even now; he is already 74, but he still works in it. He produces vegetables: tomatoes, corn, sorrel- things like that. It's a small kitchen garden. In fact, that would be my home if my daughter were alive. I had been living there in that house, since 1929.
I retired in 1971, but I worked for another 20 years after retirement, there where I worked before, but only twice a week. When I had retired, I sewed a lot for the children. There were times when almost everything they wore was something I had made- for my daughters and my grandchildren too, and I also knitted a lot. And I worked in the garden.
When I was still working actively, I sometime invited a couple of colleagues to Matyasfold. I also visited one or two, but there were no close friendships. I have a friend with whom I keep in touch only by phone now. She used to be a colleague of mine; we worked in the same department in the ministry. She is also sick; she's 80 years old and I‘m 91. And I have my friend Mari, who's just turned 60, but I met her when I was already retired. She's young, and visits me. Neither of them are Jewish. I had a friend from the Rokus hospital, who was 70 years old when she was hit by an army car. She was my Jewish friend. My other Jewish friend was the widow of my cousin, Andor Oblath. But she also died. Everybody has left me already.
My sister Etel left Hungary on 5th January 1957. She fled across the border with her daughter and her boyfriend. My sister's boyfriend was married. Then he completely disappeared in Australia. Supposedly, he came back to Hungary. Originally, they wanted to go to America. They were in a refugee camp in Vienna. They had a letter of invitation to America already. Aunty Netka's elder daughter already lived there. The official invitation was from them, saying they would receive them. America closed the quota though, so they couldn't go. Then somebody in the camp drew their attention to the fact that a boat was preparing to leave for Australia, and they applied for it.
Somebody was waiting for them in Australia. A worker picked them up, who was already living there. I don't know when he went there – I didn't even know these people. They received them. I think Etel received some aid and she was able to buy a flat in Sydney with it. She never worked in Sydney. Occasionally she sewed, but later she just managed the household. She always used to say that she loved Australia, because she never paid a penny in taxes, but she receives retirement anyway. She learnt English; they needed to speak English in order to obtain citizenship. She did speak English, but not very well. She had many English-speaking acquaintances and card-partners and she could arrange anything she had to in English. She had been reading English-language books for many years. I sent her Nok Lapja, and Fules, because she really liked to solve the crosswords, and I also sent books. Every year, I sent her at least two packages of books. I always wrote to her. Less frequently first of all, but from the 1960's, regularly. A letter would come from there and I ‘d answer straight away.
In 1958, Etel's daughter, Agi, got married to Laci, who is 14 years older then her- he is 80 years old now. Laci left Hungary in 1947 or 1949. Agi didn't work when they arrived in Australia. She sewed enough to cover my travel costs. She worked in order to get me over there. This was in 1964. The next time I was out there, around 1970, she was already working for a large company, and she stayed there until her retirement. She worked in an office. She was the manager of the children's clothing section. She kept stock and she ordered whatever was needed.
I‘ve been to Australia six times. The first time, I went with a ship, and I flew there five times. I think, three or four times, I was there for six months, and twice for two or three months. The last time I was there, was in 1997. Once my children paid for the trip and once or twice, I saved up myself. I received compensation, and it was out of that money. Agi and Etel came home for the first time in 1971. They came many times since then. Etel always stayed, sometimes even as long as three months. She lived there with me in Matyasfold.
She has just died. In October 2003, she would have turned 90. She was buried in a Jewish ceremony in Sydney. In December 2002, it was three years since my daughter Marika died. My daughter Judit died in July 2002.
The foundation of the state of Israel didn't mean anything to me at all. I know nothing about the Anti-Zionist court cases. I didn't know that it happened. I know what is happening in Israel, though. We have many relatives out there, with whom it was mainly Etel who corresponded- it was Etel who did the long-distance correspondence- and there were visitors from Israel too. I've never been there. My daughter Judit went to Israel with her husband, who wasn't a Jew. He was game for anything like that, for example he went to the seder with Judit, which was organized by the Jewish community in the eighth district.
It really upsets me if I hear unfair things about Israel here at home. And it's not just about Israel, but if I hear the word ‘Jew' with a sharp intonation, I could go up the wall; it annoys me a lot. Although I'm not religious, I only trust in god.
Concerning where I belong, I still feel Jewish. Not in terms of religion; everybody I love is Jewish. Unfortunately, I must say that to be Christian for a Jewish woman, is somehow not good. My daughters weren't Jewish, but emotionally, they were Jewish, as I am.

Glossary

Eva Meislova
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Pavla Neuner
Date of interview: March 2003

Eva Meislova lives in a small apartment in a Jewish pension full of original paintings collected by her father. Her apartment is gracious and full of flowers. In addition to the paintings she has big wooden trunk from her mother. Although she spent most of her life under the communist regime and suffered under the Nazi persecution, she is a very kind and open-minded person and interested in public events. She was keen on all different kinds of sports in her youth and is still in good shape, both physically and mentally. She goes for a walk daily.

Family background">Family background

My paternal grandfather, Jakub Bohm, was born in Batelov, Moravia, in 1861. His father had a drapery factory and died when my grandfather was a kid. When my grandfather grew up he managed the drapery factory with his brother, but they went bankrupt. Later he was a coachman and had a buggy pulled by a horse. He liked to play cards and enjoy life. My paternal grandmother, Veronika Bohmova, [nee Redererova], was born in Celkovice, near Tabor, sometime in the 1860s, but I don't remember when exactly,. Her father was a shammash in Tabor. She had a brother, Ignac Rederer, who gave lectures at the university in Prague. I didn't know him very well; they weren't in touch that often.

When my grandfather got married to my grandmother he moved from Moravia to Celkovice where she lived. Celkovice was a suburb of Tabor at that time. He opened a drapery shop in Tabor. He employed one shop assistant and a few tailors and a foreman in the workshop, which was next to the shop. They sewed clothes for man, mainly uniforms for the garrison in Tabor. My grandparents lived about 15 minutes walk from our place. It was a nice house with a garden, situated next to the river. They didn't have electricity so they used oil lamps, and the toilet was in the yard. My grandfather used to sleep in our house, except for the weekends, because it turned out to be too far for him to go back to Celkovice every day. He stayed in the shop until evening and then he arrived and read the Prager Tagblatt. [This was a German-language daily newspaper.] My grandmother had her own friends but they weren't Jewish because there were no Jewish people in Celkovice. They met and talked but in general they didn't have very much spare time.

My grandmother was a housewife all her life. She had a maid at home for help. She was breeding hens as a hobby. My grandfather wasn't religious at all, he only went to the synagogue on Yom Kippur. He came from an ordinary Czech-speaking family, but he was a big fan of Austria-Hungary. My grandmother was religious but not extremely so; she kept a kosher kitchen, observed Sabbath and went to the synagogue on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. Celkovice was a small village, and my grandparents were living in the same way as the other Czechs. They were concerned about their family, house, garden and business.

Shortly before World War II my grandparents moved to an apartment in Tabor because my grandfather was already too old to work. At the beginning of the war they moved to our big apartment following the order that Jews could only live in certain parts of town. My grandparents went to the concentration camp Terezin 1 with us and died there. My grandfather died in 1942 when he was about 80 years old. My grandmother died a month later because she was old but, I think, also because she was used to him and suffered from his loss.

My father, Alois Bohm, was born in Celkovice in 1885, but he lived in Tabor all his life. Tabor was a calm countrified town without industry, there was only a malt-house and a tobacco factory. Before World War II about 15,000 people lived there. It was surrounded by a beautiful hilly landscape with lots of woods. There was a lake called Jordan, in which we used to swim in the summer. The Jewish cemetery was on the outskirts of town. Due to the mayor of the town there was quite a big Czechoslovak garrison [after WWI]. Barracks were built for the soldiers, and later they served for the Gestapo. There were about 800 Jews in Tabor, but none of them was really religious. The Jews in Tabor were mostly middle-class, not very rich but not very poor either. There was one Jewish factory-owner but most of the other Jews were just small businessmen.

I don't remember if my father studied anywhere. He was a businessman. He got his business license and became my grandfather's partner in the drapery shop. He wasn't religious. He didn't go to the synagogue except for Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. My mother said that he actually withdrew from the Jewish community because they asked him for too much community tax. He smoked a lot and drank a lot of coffee, but he didn't drink alcohol. My dad was this kind of sociable Jew, his 'sport activity' was limited to visiting the coffee shop and meeting people there. I used to go for a walk on a very beautiful, long pathway through the wood on Sundays with my mum. My dad always said to my mum that he would go to the coffee shop to meet people instead and asked her to join him later. So we were walking until four o'clock in the afternoon, and afterwards she met him in the coffee shop.

My dad had one sister. Her name was Julie, and she was a bit younger, two or three years, than him. She married a Christian man named Belohlavek. He was a very religious Christian and went to church very often. He was the director of the Sporitelna Bank in Prague. They lived in a beautiful three- bedroom basement apartment in a noble district of Prague. Their apartment was next to a large garden. We always walked through the gardens when we wanted to get to the center of the city. Uncle Belohlavek and Julie didn't have any children together. My uncle had a son from a previous marriage.

When my uncle was already retired he became quite a strange person. He underwent some rejuvenation cure when he was already over 60 years old. He put on high heels, painted his nails red and wore a corset. He also underwent prostate surgery which wasn't successful and, along with the treatment, caused his death at the beginning of World War II. Aunt Julie turned crazy because of it, walked the streets without the Jewish star attached, and someone reported her. She was in Terezin but I don't know where exactly she was killed. My mum thought that Belohlavek junior reported Aunt Julie because of the property. Belohlavek junior got married to some girl who wasn't good for him, according to his father. They didn't communicate with him and disinherited him. At the beginning of the war their son started to visit them from time to time. After the war he lived in Tabor and worked in a bank, but I wasn't in contact with him, and he didn't show any interest in communicating with me either.

My maternal grandfather, Josef Kraus, came from a Czech family. He was born in Cechtice in central Bohemia, and he also died there before World War II. He had a heart failure, was paralyzed as a result and spent the last ten years of his life bound to bed. I didn't know him very well. He had a small shop selling various products, and I know he tried to work in agriculture because he also owned some fields. My mum said that no seeds ever grew and that each pig they bought died shortly afterwards. So that part of business didn't get them anywhere.

My grandparents had a small village house, which included the shop, situated in the village center. My grandfather wasn't religious at all, and neither was his wife, my grandmother, Pavlina Krausova [nee Fischerova]. She came from Mlada Boleslav and moved to Cechtice after she married my grandfather. She was quite a smart woman with a good knowledge of cultural and historical events. My grandfather and her weren't a good match at all; I don't know where and how she wound up with him. After his death she moved to her sons in Prague. She didn't survive the Holocaust.

My grandparents had six children. The oldest, Rudolf, died as a soldier in World War I. Emil was a dentist. He lived in Karlovy Vary with his wife Eva and their two children. He died in 1933 of blood cancer. Bedrich was a clerk with the Union Bank. His wife's name was Dorotea, and they had two children. Bedrich was murdered in Auschwitz. Then there was my mother, Stepanka Bohmova [nee Krausova]. Next was Frantisek, who lived in Prague and ran a business manufacturing hand-embroidered clothes and evening clothes in the center of the city. The name of the company was Makra and it was successful. They made very beautiful things, and they even sold their products to the Castle [the seat of the government]. The youngest of my grandparents' children was Anna. She lived in Kralupy, near Prague, and was my favorite aunt. Anna ran a shop selling paints and varnishes. None of the siblings was religious.

My mum was born in Cechtice in 1895. Although she came from a Czech family she received German elementary school education. She was a young girl from a good family so she stayed in a girl's boarding school in Teplice, where she lived and studied and was preparing for family duties. It was a German secondary school.

My mother met my father on the train, and it was love at first sight. They had a Jewish wedding, and she moved to Tabor with him afterwards. She was a housewife, and in the afternoons she went to help my dad in the shop. She wasn't very religious. She only went to the synagogue on major holidays and much more to show off a new dress than for religious reasons. There was a big beautiful two-storied synagogue in Tabor, where women had places on the balcony. Praying women were sitting on the left side, and the right side was full of women who just came there to meet and talk. The praying women were rebuking them for disturbing them.

On Yom Kippur we went to the synagogue. When we returned my paternal grandmother arrived. My mum prepared dinner: It used to be barkhes and some chicken. My mother and grandmother fasted but we, the children and my father, didn't. My mum always said to my father, 'You only observe the holidays because of the food.' We didn't go to school on Yom Kippur but the drapery shop was open.

Growing up">Growing up

Our family belonged to the middle class; we were neither rich nor poor. My dad was officially the head of the family, but it was my mum who managed the house and family matters. She got a monthly salary from my dad and organized everything at home and everything concerning us, children. She was very joyful, loved to talk and was very popular in Tabor. People in Tabor were still remembering her a long time after her death. She liked to dress nicely and even had a personal tailor in Prague. She didn't have too much hair so she was wearing hairpieces. She was always very elegant but above all a very happy person. My dad, on the other hand, was a serious person. They loved each other a lot.

I had an older brother, Rudolf Bohm, who was born in Tabor in 1921. He finished a Czech gymnasium but wasn't allowed to continue the studies then because of his Jewish origin [because of the exclusion of Jews from schools in the Protectorate] 2. He was a boy scout when he was small. We had an average relationship, just like an older brother and younger sister tend to have. I remember I was crying when he refused to dance with me at dancing courses. My mum said to me, 'Don't cry and be glad that you have enough other suitors.' Rudolf was a very handsome and smart boy. He was the educational type and wanted to become a psychiatrist. Rudolf was the member of a hakhsharah 3. He spent two summers with them training in agriculture work. They lived there together and shared the money they earned. It was kind of a kibbutz life. The next year, that was either in 1940 or in 1941, my brother was already sent to forced labor. He worked on the river regulation in Sezimovo Usti. He was also working as a manual laborer when Bata 4 started to build houses in our region.

We lived on the first floor in an old house. We had a large apartment, three big rooms and a small one for the maid. We had a living room and a dining room with black furniture. My parents slept in the bedroom, and my brother and I in the living room. We had electricity at home and cold running water. We warmed the water in a high-tile stove, which we used for heating. There was a coal stove for cooking in the kitchen. My dad was always cold, and I recall him reading the Prager Tagblatt leaning against the stove and warming up. During the winter we only heated one room. The apartment was rented because my mum never wanted her own apartment. She always said that you only have to pay the rent and have no other troubles. I never wanted to own a house either. Later someone bought our house, and he planned some reconstruction that my mum wasn't fond off. So she found another modern apartment but in the meantime the Germans arrived, and we had to stay. The owner then made the reconstruction in our apartment and transformed our hall into a small room, into which the Germans moved a Jewish family.

We had a maid who lived with us and helped my mother with the housekeeping, but she wasn't taking care of us. Maids were usually young girls from villages who wanted to earn some money. So they went to work, and then they often got married and left. We liked them but my parents kept some distance. We didn't have Jewish maids or any other Jewish girls for help. Whenever Jewish girls worked for a family, they were only looking after the children. We had a few Jewish friends who were visiting us from time to time but not because of their origin. We knew a few more religious families in Tabor but most of the Jews didn't even observe Sabbath. Jews in Tabor for the most part only observed the high holidays. In those small towns Jews usually lived like the other Czech people. We celebrated Christmas and New Year's Eve like most of the people in town.

A girl from a good family was supposed to play the piano, so my mum bought a piano for me. It stood in the corner of the living room. I wasn't talented at all but I had to play. I also took classes with piano virtuoso Mrs. Marketa Koprova but I was never good. Each day after lunch I played the piano, my brother was fiddling, and when the windows were open we heard my future husband, Jiri Meisl, play the piano too, so in a way we were making music together.

I finished the Czech school in Tabor, where we learned German from the 3rd grade. I think that the school-leaving exam was also in German. We also had religion classes. Then I attended gymnasium but I had to leave after the 5th grade, when we started to learn French, due to the fact that I was Jewish. I was the only Jew in our class. There were a few more Jews at school but not in my class. We had three elementary schools and two secondary schools in Tabor but no special Jewish school. Pupils attended the schools depending on their place of residence. I still visit our gymnasium class meetings today although I hadn't passed the school-leaving exam with my former classmates. They say it doesn't matter because they consider me one of them. Our class was a girls' class and all of them always behaved well towards me. I cannot complain about anything concerning anti-Semitism. My schoolmates didn't regard me as a Jew, and I never experienced any anti-Semitic acts from their side.

When I had to leave the gymnasium, my mum put me into a home economics school, which I fortunately only attended for one year. We were learning how to handle our future family duties, which I really wasn't fond off. My mum apprenticed me to a seamstress and was paying her 30 crowns a month. I liked school, and I always had good marks. I wanted to become a pharmacist. I had private lessons in English, German and French before the war. I was pretty good at sports. I used to go to Rytmika, where we were dancing to music. In winter I went skating and skiing. I also went to Sokol 5 for exercising. I was also a member of the scout group. I went to a summer camp with them two or three times, but I stopped before they could exclude me for being Jewish. I've never felt too much anti-Semitism. I just remember one incident: I was waiting at the doctor's and when it was my turn to go inside, I heard a fascist, a member of the Vlajka 6, screaming that as a Jew I should be waiting and be the last in the queue. After World War II this man was caught and put on trial. I know that because my husband went to see the trial. Later this man had serious health problems, and in the end he was visiting Jewish doctor!

We had a car, a Cabriolet Tatra. [Editor's note: Before 1939 many car factories existed in the Czech lands, the best-known were Laurin & Klement, Tatra, Jawa, Praga and Aero. Cabriolet Tatra was a car for the higher middle class.] We went on trips very often. My most favorite places were Orlik and Zvikov, where we could swim in the summer. [Orlik and Zvikov are resorts situated on the river Vltava, about 50 kilometers from Tabor.] Although my dad was born near the river he couldn't swim, and he was always running along the shore warning us to be careful not to drown. I didn't like car rides because I was always carsick. Even after I got married I couldn't stand traveling by car or train. Once a year my dad and his friend Svehla, who was the director of a school in Borotin, went on a longer trip, for instance to Slovakia, about 400 kilometers from Tabor. They spent a week hiking in the mountains. They had canes on which they put stickers of the places they had visited. Usually we didn't go that far away; not even during the winter because we had enough snow in Tabor to ski there.

We also had a dog, a foxhound, whose name was Maxel, and, after his death a canary. Maxel learned to go to our neighbor butcher, and she always gave him something to eat.

We didn't celebrate Jewish holidays. Uncle Belohlavek was a very religious Catholic, and his family always came for Christmas, which we celebrated. He was rich so he brought candies to hang onto the tree and presents. We ate fish and potato salad. We didn't even know about Chanukkah. We didn't stick to kosher food, we ate pork and everything else. My mum bred geese in the cellar for meat and fat. As to Jewish meals, we only ate cholent and challah on Yom Kippur.

We ate together, the dinner was at 7 pm, and my parents strictly kept this rule. My brother once asked if he could be late. He had a girlfriend and wanted to accompany her home. There was a promenade in the center of town, and my mum told him: 'Take her to the corner at Kubes, and apologize to her that you have to be home for dinner.' We also had lunch together every day. I only had school classes in the mornings, and even when I was in gymnasium and had afternoon lessons, everyone went home for lunch. My dad also closed the shop and went home for lunch and to have a short nap.

We had a rabbi, a cantor, a shochet and a shammash in Tabor. They lived in the former Jewish school. The rabbi taught religion and the cantor assisted in the synagogue. There was a Jewish school before World War I but not in my time. We didn't have a mikveh or yeshivah. Most of the Jews in Tabor were assimilated businessmen. Jews didn't live in any special part of the town. It was only later, during the war, when Jews weren't allowed to live in the center of town.

Neither my dad nor my granddad cared much about politics, and they weren't politically involved at all. My father voted for the Zivnostenska Party 7, but he used to say that the best 'party' is the relationship between a man and a woman. My mum joined a kind of friends club that we used to call 'club of old virgins'. About ten Jewish and Christian women used to gather. They either met in the coffee shop or at their homes and prepared some food and chatted. They also got together on New Year's Eve for a little afternoon party. After World War II my mum was the only Jewish woman from this club who had survived and it wasn't the same as before, so they stopped their meetings.

It didn't matter to us whether our friends were Jewish or not. I had two very good Christian friends, one isn't alive any more, the other one I still visit in Tabor once in three months for four days. Her name is Jaroslava Teclova, and she is my oldest friend. We have known each other from our childhood. Jaroslava was a kindergarten teacher and her husband was a doctor. We went for long walks in the woods very often. She says that since I have moved to Prague, she is getting fat because she doesn't have anyone to go for a walk with. She lives with her son now.

My husband was born in Cerveny Ujezd, near Benesov, in 1921. In 1930 his parents bought a house with a shop in Tabor and moved there. Jiri celebrated his bar mitzvah with his relatives, and I remember that he got his first watch. That was in July 1934. He lived with his parents and his brother Richard. We started dating when I was 15. Jiri was also very good friends with my brother Rudolf. They were in the hakhsharah together, as well as in forced labor and in the concentration camps. Our parents were also friends. He also came from a Czech family. He finished his studies in a two-year trade academy before World War II and worked for a while in the office of the Velim confectionary factory. Then he stayed at home because he wasn't allowed to work anymore.

I had a lot of Christian friends and didn't feel very Jewish, so I didn't notice the growing anti-Semitism. I was entertaining myself in the same way as the others, even some of my suitors were Christians. Step by step we were excluded from our previously normal life, and the Jewish youth began to mingle with people of their own only. First, I think that was in 1940, Jews had to hand in their wireless sets. The next step was that Jews had to move out of the town center; we weren't allowed to use the sidewalks and had to walk on the road instead. [The interviewee is referring to the introduction of the various anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia- Moravia.] 8 We didn't tamper with the rules because we were afraid to be reported to the Gestapo by Czech Vlajka fascists. We weren't sure who was who any longer; first we thought about someone of being well-disposed, and finally this person turned out to be an anti-Semite. We stuck to the rules and stayed away from the town center.

During the war">During the war

My mum sold the goods from our drapery shop when my father was arrested at the beginning of World War II. Jews had to hand in all their gold. I don't remember exactly when it happened but once in the evening German soldiers came to check our place. We were threatened because my mum had hidden some fabrics from the shop at home. We used to have cushions between the glasses of the windows, it was stylish at that time, and my mum had made those cushions from fabrics from the drapery shop. The soldiers didn't find anything and were quite decent. Actually we didn't know much about what was going on, regarding the deportations because we were far from Prague. When we were taken to Terezin we didn't have any idea about that place. We found out how terrible it was pretty soon though.

In 1939 the rumor was circulating that the Russians were already coming to liberate Tabor. The Germans then organized raids and arrested a lot of Czech people, mainly Jews, including my dad. At first he was a prisoner in Dresden and then he was sent to Oranienburg. [Editor's note: There was a concentration camp in both Dresden and Oranienburg, the first was a subcamp of the Flossenburg concentration camp, and the second a subcamp of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp.] He was used to smoke, drink good coffee and have a good meal, so he just couldn't bear it. They were also torturing people. My dad died in Oranienburg in 1940. What was interesting was that they sent us his urn from Oranienburg along with his clothes and all his other things including his denture with a gold palate. We also got the death certificate. There was still a Jewish cemetery in Tabor so we took his remains there. Then the cemetery was liquidated and since the urn hadn't been there for a long time we were allowed to remove it and take it to a Catholic cemetery. They had made a space for Jews near the cemetery wall there, and my dad's has remained there ever since.

At the beginning of the war I fell sick and couldn't do as much as before. The pain started in 1939. The doctors said that it was the appendix and sent me for surgery. But the pain remained, and in 1940 I was diagnosed with a tumor on the ovary. I had my last period in Terezin. But we got food with quinine in it there, and it stopped the menstruation of most of the women in the camp.

It was terrible when we were deported to Terezin in November 1942. All the Jews from Tabor and the surroundings received summons for the transport to the ghetto from the Jewish community in Prague. We were put into the school building. There were about a thousand people crowded there. We arrived there in the evening, didn't get anything to eat and slept on straw mattresses for one night. Early in the morning we were taken to the train so that no one would see us. It was bitter cold. We knew we would go to Terezin but had no information about the place. Until then we hadn't suffered physically because my mother had sold all the goods from the shop, so we had had assets to live on.

I lived in L-309, a kind of youth hostel for girls. It was a single-storied house, and I shared a room with twelve girls there. I remember that the cembalist Zuzana Ruzickova stayed in the room next door. This house originally belonged to a woman who was also kept in Terezin. I worked in a laundry situated outside the ghetto. My mum took care of a 5-year-old boy called Kaja. Kaja was there with his father only. They somehow became our relatives. My brother worked in agriculture first, and then in the Kinderheim [children's home]. My grandfather died a month after our deportation to Terezin, and my grandmother died a month after him. The burials in Terezin were the same for all people. The corpses were burnt, and the ash was thrown into the water. We were allowed to take part at the funeral. We said a prayer and received my grandparents' clothes.

In the evening we got a piece of bread for dinner, for lunch we usually had lentil soup. Sometimes we also had millet pudding, which I have been cooking ever since our liberation. It's kind of a piety for me. I say that this is a memory of Terezin I keep. I like millet pudding, but I prepare it better because I cook it with milk, and in Terezin it was only cooked with water. Another time we had a yeast dumpling with special black sauce, which was very tasty. It was sweet and made from black coffee residue mixed with bread and some margarine. I was trying to prepare it after the liberation, but it was never as tasty as it was in Terezin. Sometimes we also had stuffed cake. My mum didn't like the dumplings so I swapped it with her for the cake. We drank water.

Once we were listed for a transport to an extermination camp, and Viktor Kende, a friend of us, helped us to get crossed off the list of people to be transported. In December 1943 we were listed again, just my mum and I, but Viktor couldn't help us this time. My brother and Jiri weren't on the list for this transport but they enlisted themselves voluntarily, so they went with us. Jiri's parents had already gone, but he had been sick at the time so he hadn't gone with them.

We didn't know where we were going to. It turned out to be Auschwitz. We spent about two days in cattle-trucks. In the end the doors were opened, and we saw the notice 'Arbeit macht frei'. [German for 'Work make you free', the words inscribed on the infamous gateway to the Auschwitz concentration camp.] Germans were shouting, and we had no idea what was going on. We had expected that we would be going to a place similar to Terezin. In Auschwitz we were in the so-called Family Camp. [The so-called Family Camp established in September 1943 was an area reserved within Auschwitz for Czech Jews deported from Terezin.] I was carrying barrels with soap, Mum still took care of the small boy who was gassed along with his father later. My brother worked with children in the Kinderblock [children's block] with Freddy Hirsch. [Freddy Hirsch, originally from Austria, emigrated to the Czech Republic before World War II, and was known as a great Zionist and sportsman. In Terezin he took care of children and was very popular among them.]

After half a year I was moved with my mum to forced labor in a Frauenlager [women's camp] near Hamburg. We stayed there for four days, and it was very bad. Once they left us kneeling down the whole day. Then we went to Harburg, which was a suburb of Hamburg, where we stayed in some barns and went to Morburg, a huge oil factory, by boat. We were rebuilding the factory. When the factory was supposed to be reopened air raids started and it was destroyed again. After that we worked in Neugraben [a subcamp of the Neuengamme concentration camp], where we were scavenging through debris; and in Tiefstack [another subcamp of the Neuengamme concentration camp] we worked in a brickyard. There wasn't enough food. In the evening we got a quarter of bread and my mum said to me, 'You must not eat it all, you have to save half of it.' So we were saving part of the bread but our co- prisoners stole it. From then on we were eating everything at once.

Post-war">Post-war

In 1945 we were taken to Bergen-Belsen, which was a terrible place. I remember tents full of corpses. We were liberated from there by English troops on 16th April 1945. Some women from Czechoslovakia paid for the bus to get their men back home. But their men weren't in this camp. I remember my mum telling me that there was a bus going home and that we had to take it. It took us about two days to get back. The bus was old and just about to fall apart. At night we slept in the open air. I don't remember this personally because I was sleeping but my mum said that our two drivers attacked some Germans at night, killed them and stole tires. Then we came to Prague where we stayed at some first-aid place for prisoners in the beginning. Afterwards we decided to return to Tabor.

We had friends in Tabor called Macaks, and my mum sent them a letter saying that we were alive and asking if they knew anything about Jiri and my brother. She also wrote that she was looking forward to stuffed cakes. When we arrived in Tabor we met our friend Mr. Kratochvil, who had a furniture factory, and he offered that we could stay with him for a while. I didn't know that Jiri was already in Tabor. He didn't know that I was alive either. There was a bakery in Tabor, owned by a family called Lapacka, and Jiri went there to buy bread. Mrs. Macakova was in the shop at the same time, and she told Mrs. Lapackova that she had received a letter from my mum. That's how Jiri found out that I was alive. He didn't know anything about my brother. They had both been transported to Schwarzheide concentration camp in June 1944. Jiri said that Rudolf had been too weak to join the first death march and that he stayed in the camp. He then joined the second march but he was too weak. Jirka Frankl wrote to us that he was with him and that Rudolf had some cigarettes and wanted to change them for some food but without success. All the prisoners were weak and Rudolf didn't want to hold them up, so he sat down on the side of a ditch and was shot.

Back in Tabor we received a large four-bedroom apartment in town from a Jewish family called Mendl. Jiri and his brother Richard received an apartment, too, and Jiri's cousin, Marta Navratilova, was staying there with them for a while. Our belongings had been hidden at different people's places, and we got some parts of it back. We had troubles with one furrier. He had a concave stairway in the house, and my mum had hidden a lot of things there, including carpets and original paintings that my dad was collecting. My mum had made a list of all the things she had actually put there. When we wanted these things back he made difficulties and, for example, just gave us the frames without the paintings. He kept saying that the Russians had confiscated everything, and my mum got upset about his lies and brought him to trial. She won, and he had to pay us 30,000 crowns. He robbed a lot of Jews and made money on them. Except for this we had a very warm welcome after coming back. We also had belongings at some of my friends' who returned everything to us.

Jiri and Richard decided to rebuild the confectionary warehouse. We didn't have very much money but the Orion confectionary factory gave them a credit in the name of their father, and so we got started. I worked with them, and my mum was at home cooking for us and doing the housework.

In April 1946 we had a double wedding, me and Jiri, and Richard and Marta, who was Jewish and had lost her husband during the Holocaust. The wedding was on the same day a year after I had been liberated. I didn't realize until I received a telegram with congratulations from my former co- prisoners.

We shared a house with Richard, his wife and their two daughters, Marcela and Zuzana. was religious and often went to the synagogue. He came to Prague on Jewish holidays. His girls didn't feel Jewish. We had the warehouse and sold goods to small businessmen. We had a Tatra and an assistant driver. We were successful, but we worked really hard for it. I was in the shop or in the office every single day. When communists nationalized the warehouse in 1948, I was actually glad that I got rid of it.

My mum had an apartment in Tabor and lived there with her nephew, who had returned from the camp alone. His name was Harry Kraus, and he was born in 1933. He was the son of my mother's brother Frantisek. Due to the war, Harry had lost several years of compulsory education. My mum sent him to the gymnasium in Tabor after the war, so that he could complete his studies. However, he cared more for girls then for his studies, so she organized an apprenticeship for him in some weaving factory in Ceska Trebova in 1948. He didn't feel comfortable there either, and in the end some friends persuaded him to go to Israel.

It was legal emigration, organized by a man, whose name I can't remember. A group of young people, who had survived the war and stayed alone, went to a kibbutz called Hachotrim. The kibbutz was near Tel Aviv and close to a Czech kibbutz named Masaryk. Hachotrim was mainly an agricultural kibbutz; they were breeding hens there. Well, Harry was kind of a wild person and wasn't able to keep up with the discipline there, so he left. He spent some time in Haifa and then moved to Tel Aviv, where he worked in some laundry.

Harry got married soon after he arrived in Israel at the age of 19. His wife, Lilly Kleinova, was two years older than him. Lilly originally came from Slovakia, her family ran a quarry there. She couldn't have children, so they adopted a three-month-old boy. My husband and I visited them in 1969 for a month, and Harry tried to persuade us to stay for good. But firstly I didn't really like it that much, and secondly we didn't want to emigrate because of my mum, who was already severely sick. We could neither take her along nor leave her. My husband loved my mother, and they had a very nice relationship. We made a deal that we would come back to Prague, and after that we could eventually try to figure out how to manage the aliya. When we returned, the borders were closed, and I'm glad we didn't stay there. My mum died in Tabor in 1962. She had a civil burial. We stayed in the old house but were only three people, so in the end we sold the house and moved to two apartments.

We had a few friends in Tabor, but we were mostly in touch with our own families. Richard and his wife were older, so their daughters spent most of the time with us, and we also took them on vacations with us. We often went to Bulgaria for vacations and later to Slovakia. We also spent some holidays in Zelezna Ruda at a cottage, which belonged to the company I worked for. After the events of 1968 [Prague Spring] 9, Marcela moved to Prague, and Zuzana emigrated to Switzerland.

My husband began to work in a textile factory in Ceske Budejovice in 1948. He was diligent, worked his way up and soon held a distinguished post. However, some communists didn't like it because he used to be a businessman, and they fired him during the program '77.000 persons to manufacture' [the program was actually called 'Action 77,000'] 10 so he had to start all over. There was a silicone fiber production factory in Tabor, so he went to work there with a friend of his. He started as a manual laborer, it was nonstop work, including Saturdays and Sundays. In the end he worked his way up, but again he was told that as a former businessman he could be no more than a foreman. Jiri said to the director, 'Comrade director, you say I cannot be production planner but you let me be a foreman who can influence hundreds of people?' He did become a foreman but slowly worked his way up again, and then he was in a really good position until his retirement in 1981.

I started to work with Jednota, which was a collective consumer co- operative, in 1950. In the beginning I was an assistant in the administrative department, but I worked my way up to the head of the financial department. I worked there for 30 years. I was never voted to become a member of the company union, although I worked there for ages and had a leading position. I was Jewish and my husband a former businessman, and that wasn't the best 'qualification' under the communist regime. But we cared little about it. I continued working there for two years after I retired at the age of 54.

We celebrated Christmas. We knew that there was Pesach and Chanukkah and so on but we didn't celebrate it. We ate matzah on Pesach, but I didn't do any special cleaning at home. We didn't observe the high holidays. Most Jews from Tabor, who had survived the war, had moved away afterwards. We used to go to Prague but only for memorial services to remember relatives who didn't survive.

When the Russians came in 1968 we were both surprised and disappointed, just like everyone else. Their tanks drove into Tabor, and Jiri wanted to go to the square but I was scared. However, I was more afraid to let him go on his own, so I joined him. The streets were full of people but nothing happened. The tanks must have come to Tabor by mistake because people had moved the road-signs giving directions to Prague, so the Russians sometimes ended up somewhere else than they planned. At that time we had visitors, young relatives of Jiri staying with us, the children of his cousin Marta Navratilova: Jirka and Vera Navratil and their partners were spending their vacation in our region. Vera was canoeing with her boyfriend, and when the tanks were on the bridge they did a very stupid thing: They started to throw potatoes from the canoe towards the tanks. Fortunately nothing happened, and there was no shooting. In Tabor the situation wasn't as tough as in Prague. Well, we were checked at our workplaces, so that they could see if we were loyal enough and if we agreed with the invasion of the Soviet army, but that happened everywhere.

I helped at the local organization of the Union of Anti-Fascist Fighters. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism after World War II. We have been registered with the Jewish community in Prague since 1945. There was no Jewish community in Tabor, so we were living there as the almost only Jews and didn't bother anyone. I had a simple and nice life with my husband. We didn't have any children. We were neither rich nor poor, and we weren't involved in politics. We have always lived modestly and what we had was enough for us. We weren't persecuted in any way.

I wasn't very excited about the Velvet Revolution 11 in 1989 and the time after. I'm not a fan of Vaclav Klaus 12 or Vaclav Havel 13. I lived under capitalism before so I know that those who don't work won't eat. And that's what people couldn't understand. They thought that if they jingle their keys on a square everything would just easily fall into their arms. [Editor's note: During the Velvet Revolution people went out on the street and jingled their keys, in imitation of the last school bell before school is over, as if to say that the days of the communist regime were numbered.] And Mr. Klaus was supporting them in this idea. My husband died in Tabor in 1999 and had a civil burial.

I moved to a Jewish pension in Prague a year and a half ago, and I like it very much. No one is really religious here but we get together on Jewish holidays. I have a nice pension so I am not really dependent on the assets I receive from different funds for Holocaust victims. It's nice to get that money, but I'm not upset if the payment is delayed unlike some other people.

I was and I am a believer. I believe that there's someone who directs our life. I think God is 'human', and he's not only there for Jews or Christians but for everyone. However, I cannot imagine that I would ever pray. I believe that when someone is born his destiny is already written. What happened to us probably had to happen. Our fate is to be Jewish.

Glossary">Glossary

Eva Meislová

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

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

Kazeta č. 1:

A: Jak se jmenoval tvůj tatínek?

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

A: A kde byly Čelkovice?

B: U Tábora, takový předměstí, tenkrát.

A: A v Táboře pak žil celý život?

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

A: A co prodávali konkrétně?

B: Látky na kabáty a tak podobně.

A: Pocházel z české rodiny?

B: Ano, mluvili doma česky.

A: A jaké bylo jeho vzdělání?

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

A: A kdy tatínek zemřel?

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

A: Byl Tatínek pobožný?

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

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

B: Ne, nemyslím.

A: Měl tatínek nějaké sourozence?

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

A: Měli spolu nějaké děti?

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

A: Strýc Bělohlávek zemřel kdy?

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

A: A víš, co s ním bylo po válce?

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

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

B: Děda z otcovy strany se jmenoval Jakub Böhm.

A: A kdy se narodil?

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

A: A kde ještě žil?

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

A: Kdy zemřel?

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

A: Byl pobožný?

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

A: A jaký jsi k němu měla vztah?

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

A: Jak daleko to bylo od vás do Celkovic?

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

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

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

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

B: To ne, alespoň o tom teda nevím.

A: A jak se jmenovala babička?

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

A: A bydlela ještě někde jinde?

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

A: A kdy zemřela ?

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

A: Měla nějakou profesi?

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

A: A pamatuješ si, jestli měla nějakou školu?

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

A: Byla babička pobožná?

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

A: A kde šámesoval?

B: V Táboře.

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

B: Dědeček z matčiny strany se jmenoval Josef Kraus.

A: A kdy a kde se narodil?

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

A: A čím se živil?

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

A: Byl pobožný?

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

A: A kdy a kde se narodila?

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

A: A žila ještě kde?

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

A: Víš něco o jejím vzdělání?

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

A: Jak se tedy jmenovala tvoje maminka?

B: Maminka se jmenovala Štěpánka Böhmová, rozená Krausová.

A: Kdy se narodila?

B: Narodila se 10.5.1895 v Čechticích ve Středních Čechách.

A: A zemřela?

B: Zemřela 6.2.1962 v Táboře.

A: měla nějaké školy?

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

A : A tam se seznámila s tatínkem?

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

A: Byla maminka pobožná?

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

A: A jaký byl její rodný jazyk?

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

A: Měla nějaké sourozence?

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

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

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

A: A jaká byla maminka osobnost?

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

A. Ty jsi měla bratra, je to tak?

B: Měla jsem ještě staršího bratra Rudolfa.

A: A kdy se narodil?

B: Narodil se  v Táboře 23.6.1921.

A: A jaké měl školy?

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

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

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

A: A jaký jste měli s bratrem vztah?

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

A: A jaký byl tvůj bratr člověk?

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

A: A on šel s Vámi do Terezína?

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

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

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

A: A jak se dostal do Tábora?

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

A: Byl pobožný, měl třeba bar micka?

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

A: Jaká byla jeho rodina?

B: Pocházel také ze zcela židovské české rodiny.

A: A jaké měl školy?

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

A: Jirka zemřel nedávno, že?

B: Ano v roce 1999.

A: V Táboře?

B: Ano.

A: Teď
tady máme informace o dětech.

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

A: Měli jste doma služku?

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

A: A Jaký byl váš byt?

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

A: A co elektrika a tekoucí voda?

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

A: A to byl váš vlastní byt?

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

A: A jaký jste k nim měli vztah?

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

A: Služky byly i židovky?

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

A: Židi v Táboře byli chudší nebo spíš bohatší?

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

A: Stýkali jste se s nimi?

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

A: A bylo tam hodně pobožných?

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

A: Chodila jsi do školky nebo jsi byla doma?

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

A: Vybavuješ si nějaký antisemitismus ve škole?

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

A: Co se dělalo v rodinné škole?

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

A: Byla jsi dobrá žákyně?

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

A: Chodila jsi do nějakých kroužků?

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

A: A jak jsi se vyrovnávala s antisemitismem?

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

A: Co jste dělali ve volném čase?

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

A:  Jezdila jste ráda v autě?

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

A: A podnikali jste i delší výlety?

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

A: Slavili jste nějaké židovské svátky?

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

A: To byl manžel od otcovy sestry?

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

A: Měli jste nějaké domácí zvÍřectvo?

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

A: A co jedl?

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

A: Měli jste nějaké jídelní zvyky?

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

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

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

A: Jedli jste nějaká specielně židovská jídla?

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

A: Byli rodiče nebo prarodiče členy nějaké politické strany?

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

A: A maminka měla nějaké zájmy?

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

A: A tatínek měl nějaké kamarády?

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

A: Kolik asi žilo židů v Táboře?

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

A: A mikve nebo ješivu?

B: Ani mikve nebo ješivu jsme neměli.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A: V kterém patře jste bydleli?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A: Vy jste šli všichni dohromady a kdy?

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

A: Jak jsi tam bydlela?

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

A: A bratr?

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

A: A prarodiče taky pracovali?

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

A: A jak to s vámi pokračovalo?

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

A: Jak jste žili v Osvětimi?

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

A: Jak dlouho jste tam byli?

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

A: Co jste dostávali k jídlu?

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

A: Jak to tam vypadalo?

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

A: A tam vás osvobodili?

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

A: A jak dlouho jste jeli domů?

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

A: A kde jste cestou spali?

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

A: A věděli jste o Jirkovi a ostatních?

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

A: A bratr?

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

A: Kde jste tedy po válce bydleli?

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

A: Měli jste schovaný nějaký majetek?

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

A: A jakto dopadlo?

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

A: Jak se k vám lidé chovali po návratu?

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

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

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

A: A kdy byla svatba?

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

A: Jak velký byl ten obchod?

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

A: Měli jste nějaké zaměstnance?

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

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

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

A: A jak žil v Izraeli?

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

A: A nenapadla vás v té době emigrace?

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

A: A kdy jste tam vlastně byli?

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

A: Pamatuješ si na události v roce 1968?

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

A: Jak to?

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

A: Měli jste po válce nějaké židovské přátele?

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

A: A Richard byl pobožný?

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

A: Kam jste s holkama jezdili?

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

A: Kde Jirka pracoval po znárodnění?

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

A: A ty?

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

A: Cítila jsi nějaký antisemitismus?

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

A: Kdy jsi šla do důchodu ty?

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

A: Byli jste členy obce?

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

A: A jak se díváš na Sametovou revoluci?

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

A: Jirka zemřel kdy?

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

A: A jak dlouho bydlíš tady?

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

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

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

A: Věříš a věřila jsi v Boha?

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

A: Myslíš, že je bůh žena nebo muž?

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

Kazeta 2   Eva Meislová

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

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

A: A co to má za kalhoty?

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

A: Pamatuješ si, kdo to fotil a kdy?

B: To si bohužel nepamatuju.

A: Tak fotka číslo 2.

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

A: A ta chalupa v Železné rudě?

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

A: Fotka 3.

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

A: To bylo v roce 1946?

B: Jo.

A: A kde,měli jste třeba židovskou svatbu?

B: Ne to bylo v Táboře na okrese.

A: Fotka číslo 4.

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

A: A jaký byl Rudolf?

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

A: Fotka číslo 5.

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

A: Víš kdo a kde to fotil?

B: To fakt nevím.

A: Fotka číslo 6.

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

A: A kde a kdy to bylo?

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

A: To vedle je maminka?

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

A: Vy jste spali ve stanech?

B: Jo, s podsadou.

A: A co jste tam dělali?

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

A: Fotka číslo 7.

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

A: Švehla byl řídící školy?

B: Ano, v Borotíně.

A: A co to má za hůlku?

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

A: Fotka číslo 8.

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

A: Fotka číslo 9.

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

A: Jste tak elegantně oblečené.

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

A: Fotka číslo 10.

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

A: To je v Celkovicích?

B: Jo, na zahradě.

A: Rudolf je tu trochu tlouštík, že jo?

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

A: A to vzadu je váš dům?

B: Ne, to je sousedů.

A: Fotka číslo 11.

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

A: Fotka číslo 12.

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

A: To vypadá jako jeho bar micka.

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

A: A kdo je Lilly a jak se poznali?

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

A: A on je syn Františka?

B: Jo.

A: A ze kdy je ta forka?

B: Asi z roku 1980.

A: A tohle, fotka číslo 13.

B: To je Jirka o Vánocích.

A: A fotka číslo 14?

B: To je naše svatba.

A: A co jsi měla za kytky?

B: Jo, to bylykonvalinky.

A: A co je to za lidi.

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

A: A kdo to fotil?

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

A: Fotka číslo 15.

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

A: A to jste tam byly jen samé holky?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A: Co dělala babička?

B: Babička byla v domácnosti.

A: A děda teda nebyl doma přes týden?

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

A: A co dělala babička ve volném čase?

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

A: Říkala jsi, že babička byla pobožná?

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

A: Takže táta byl taky pobožný?

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

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

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

A: A Bělohlávek byl hodně pobožném, že?

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

A: On zemřel před válkou a jak vlastně?

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

A: On byl homosexuál?

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

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

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

A: Pamatuješ si jací byli?

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

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

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

A: A sestra byla Ana?

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

A: Takže nejstarší byl kdo?

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

A: A Rudolf byl čím?

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

A: Navštěvovali jste se ?

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

A: A koho jsi mělanejraději?

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

A: Byl někdo z nich pobožný?

B: Nikdo z nich nebyl pobožný.

A: Scházeli jste se při nějaké příležitosti všichni najednou?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A: A to je sladký?

B: Není to sladký.

A: A postili jste se?

B: Maminka se postila, my děti ne.

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

B: Do školy jsme nechodili tenhle den.

A: A Jirkovi rodiče?

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

A: Kolik židů si měla ve třídě?

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

A: To byly soukromé školy?

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

A: Dodržovala jsi nějaké zvyky po válce sama?

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

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

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

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

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

A: Jak bys hodnotila židy v Táboře před válkou?

B: Skoro všichni židi v Táboře byli asimilovaní.

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

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

A: A nezkusili jste to vzdorovat?

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

A: A kdy tam přišli?

B: Přišli večer.

A: Odkud jste dostali předvolání do Terezína?

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

A: Kolik vás vy té škole bylo?

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

A: Kde si pak žila v Terzíně?

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

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

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

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

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

A: Co jste tamjedli?

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

A: A co jste pili?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A: Marta, Richardova žena, byla taky židovka?

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

A: A jak se s Richardem seznámili?

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

A: Kterého sourozence maminky byl Harry syn?

B: Harry byl syn Františka.

A: Takže přežil jen on?

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

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

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

A: Kde je Hachotrim?

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

A: Ta chalupa v Železné Rudě byla podniková?

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

A: Co jste s Jirkou slavili?

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

A: Zuzana emigrovala kam?

B: Zuzana emigrovala do Švýcarska.

A: V 68 byl v Táboře nějakej větší bugr?

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

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

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

A: Kolik tak žilo lidí?

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

A: Jezdíš tam někdy se podívat?

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