I didn’t have a nanny; my father had been strongly against it, he was a great patriot, and didn’t approve of his children learning a language other than the one of the country they lived in. So my mother took care of me, with the help of the servant.
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Displaying 47881 - 47910 of 50826 results
Felicia Menzel
When I was little, I never went to kindergarten, so I spent most of my time playing in the courtyard; I made friends quickly with the other kids, but especially with the boys; that's why my mother sent me to school when I was six, because I wanted to go out of the yard with the boys, strolling or finding other places to play, and that wasn’t proper for a little girl.
I only found out that he had died when I saw my mother and grandmother sitting shivah: they wanted to keep it from me for a while, because I was very close to my grandfather, he was like a father to me. So I didn’t go to his funeral, but I know he was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Iasi, in Pacurari, and a relative of his, I don’t know who exactly, recited the Kaddish.
My grandfather had a shop, which was nothing fancy, just three iron compartments with the merchandise in them. My grandmother used to sell at a counter in front, and she stood on some steps a bit above the ground, because it was very cold in autumn and winter. I remember they used to heat the shop with charcoal, and it was a bit dangerous, because the fumes could be toxic, although it never caused them any problems. My grandmother left the shop earlier than my grandfather, to come home and fix dinner.
My grandfather died in 1928, he had a heart attack while he was at work. After he died, my grandmother sold the shop.
My grandfather died in 1928, he had a heart attack while he was at work. After he died, my grandmother sold the shop.
There were rich and poor Jews in Iasi alike; the poor ones were mostly craftsmen, like tailors or shoe makers. I remember one shoemaker in particular, who came into the courtyards and called out that he fixed shoes. But he, like many other Jews, didn’t speak Romanian very well, so he called out, ‘Repar iefti!’ [in Romanian: ‘I fix chea!’] instead of ’Repar ieftin!’ [‘I fix cheap!’].
There were Jews who were better off, like Ehrlich; he worked across the street from our house. He was the director of the first weaving mill in Iasi; he had a Bohemian wife, I remember, and he owned a La Salle car, to the delight of all the boys in the street, because that wasn't something you saw every day back then. I liked to watch him come to work in the morning, he always pressed his horn!
There were Jews who were better off, like Ehrlich; he worked across the street from our house. He was the director of the first weaving mill in Iasi; he had a Bohemian wife, I remember, and he owned a La Salle car, to the delight of all the boys in the street, because that wasn't something you saw every day back then. I liked to watch him come to work in the morning, he always pressed his horn!
I went to parades on 10th May [commemoration of the crowning of the first Romanian King, and the creation of the Romanian Kingdom, which took place on 10th May 1883]. I was in High School already, and it was compulsory to go: we stood by the side of the road and watched the military parade. I remember the 13th infantry regiment, which was from Iasi, and the students from the boys' High Schools marching.
I think she also went to Zizin [Romanian spa located at the foot of the Ciucas Mountains in Brasov county, famous for its mineral springs]. I went on vacation with my mother and my sister as well, once to Techirghiol [town in Southeastern extremity of Romania in Constanta county, situated on the shore of Lake Techirghiol, an all-season resort], and twice to Vatra Dornei.
My mother went on vacation a couple of times while my grandfather was still alive. I remember she went to [the former] Czechoslovakia, where there were two famous spas: Karlsbad [famous spa in the Czech Republic], for the rich Jews, and Franzensbad, for the middle-class ones. My mother always went to Franzensbad, as she had to take care of her high blood pressure.
We sometimes visited some other relatives of my father, some cousins, the Bughici family. They were all musicians, my father also had a very good voice, and one of them, Dumitru Bughici, was a composer.
My mother mostly had Jewish friends; I know she had one Christian friend, a female doctor she got to know while she was at Vatra Dornei [spa region located in Bistritei Mountains, in Suceava county] for high blood pressure treatment; they made friends and they were on visiting terms.
I remember, when my grandfather came home from the synagogue on Saturdays, he took me by the hand and walked with me in the street until lunch was ready; we talked about all sorts of things: how was my day, how was his, and so on.
I remember a funny incident that was the topic of one of these Saturday conversations with my grandfather. Usually, our tenants in the spare room were Jewish girls, one or two, students in Iasi. Jewish students sought out my mother, because it was known that our house is a Jewish home that respects traditions.
One of these tenants was Mita Iacobson, from Ivesti, near Galati; she was a teacher at a Jewish school in town. She came from a religious family as well and my mother was usually very friendly with her, and with all the Jewish students. She helped them sometimes with their homework, and they ate in our house, because the food was kosher and they didn’t have to go out into town to look for a Jewish restaurant. Actually, the kosher canteen for Jewish students only opened later.
I adored Mita, I was four or five years old, and she used to talk to me. One evening, when Mita was free because she didn’t have classes the next day, my mother was chatting with Mita in the living room, joking and so on. Now, Mita didn’t wear any make-up, and she wore her hair pulled up tight, in two plaits; my mother, on the other hand, did wear a bit of lipstick once in a while, and jokingly, my mother taught her how to wear lipstick and made her wear it for the evening. When I saw Miss Mita, I was a polite girl, I always called her Miss,, I said to her, ‘Oh, my goodness, Miss Mita, you look so beautiful, you look like a cocotte!’ And I must tell you, cocotte didn’t mean a coquettish woman, it meant a tramp, or a whore!
She went straight to my mother and told her, ‘Guess what Felica, that was my nickname, called me!’ My mother was stunned, she was a very decent woman and she couldn’t imagine where I had heard that word. But nobody scolded me, only on Saturday, while we were walking my grandfather told me, ‘You know, you called Miss Mita a word you are not supposed to use.’ and so on. I think he had pedagogical talent, like my mother.
The bottom line is, I had heard that word at one of my mother’s meetings, when she gathered with the Jewish ladies that were in school committees, like her. No matter how decent they were, and they were, the word slipped out during their gossiping. I must have overheard it and misunderstood its meaning. But my mother rarely had guests over, she only invited people when she had also been invited, because she was very busy with the household.
I remember a funny incident that was the topic of one of these Saturday conversations with my grandfather. Usually, our tenants in the spare room were Jewish girls, one or two, students in Iasi. Jewish students sought out my mother, because it was known that our house is a Jewish home that respects traditions.
One of these tenants was Mita Iacobson, from Ivesti, near Galati; she was a teacher at a Jewish school in town. She came from a religious family as well and my mother was usually very friendly with her, and with all the Jewish students. She helped them sometimes with their homework, and they ate in our house, because the food was kosher and they didn’t have to go out into town to look for a Jewish restaurant. Actually, the kosher canteen for Jewish students only opened later.
I adored Mita, I was four or five years old, and she used to talk to me. One evening, when Mita was free because she didn’t have classes the next day, my mother was chatting with Mita in the living room, joking and so on. Now, Mita didn’t wear any make-up, and she wore her hair pulled up tight, in two plaits; my mother, on the other hand, did wear a bit of lipstick once in a while, and jokingly, my mother taught her how to wear lipstick and made her wear it for the evening. When I saw Miss Mita, I was a polite girl, I always called her Miss,, I said to her, ‘Oh, my goodness, Miss Mita, you look so beautiful, you look like a cocotte!’ And I must tell you, cocotte didn’t mean a coquettish woman, it meant a tramp, or a whore!
She went straight to my mother and told her, ‘Guess what Felica, that was my nickname, called me!’ My mother was stunned, she was a very decent woman and she couldn’t imagine where I had heard that word. But nobody scolded me, only on Saturday, while we were walking my grandfather told me, ‘You know, you called Miss Mita a word you are not supposed to use.’ and so on. I think he had pedagogical talent, like my mother.
The bottom line is, I had heard that word at one of my mother’s meetings, when she gathered with the Jewish ladies that were in school committees, like her. No matter how decent they were, and they were, the word slipped out during their gossiping. I must have overheard it and misunderstood its meaning. But my mother rarely had guests over, she only invited people when she had also been invited, because she was very busy with the household.
We got married when the war was over, in 1944. I don’t know if it mattered so much to me that he was a Jew, but I didn’t like anybody else. We didn’t have a religious wedding, that cost money and we were broke, both unemployed.
During the war, Zoltan was drafted to forced labor, together with other young Jews from Brasov, and he had to go to work in construction, digging all over Brasov county.
My mother, on the other hand, gave money to help Jews in prisons, or for other Zionist purposes. It was called the Red Help, and she did it throughout the period between the two World Wars.
I met my husband, Zoltan Menzel, during the war, in 1940, in this very house I live in today, just upstairs, in a Jewish club called Ahava. I don’t know if it was a Zionist club or not: it had several rooms, in some the ladies drank tea, and in others the men played cards. They organized balls from time to time, but that's all I know about the club. Zoltan wasn’t a Zionist though, and neither was I.
We had no idea about the deportations of Jews, we were a bit stranded here, we didn’t know the Jews from the community very well; we found out only later. I remember we had a Saxon friend who told us later that even they, the Saxons, were amazed to find out about the deportations.
Romania
During the war, everything was considered normal, all the anti-Jewish laws. We had the right to buy milk and bread, for example, but only after 10 o’clock in the morning, so that the Romanians could be the first to buy what they needed. It was a common prejudice that Jews speculated with everything, food included. There was a ‘Molkerei’ [German for ‘dairy shop’] in town, where my mother used to go. It was owned by a Saxon woman, and every day at ten, she would close down the shop for a few hours, so that she didn’t have to sell milk to Jews. In the end, my mother made friends with some peasants from Stupini [a village 5 km from Brasov], and they gave us milk, so that problem was solved.
My mother also started to tutor elementary school girls at home in German and there was a German elementary school in Brasov, so there were plenty of pupils who needed her help. But one Saxon woman found out, I don’t know how, and she caused a row at the school, because a Jewish woman was teaching Saxons’ children; many of the Saxons were anti-Semites, so my mother had to stop.
We were lucky that we came to Brasov, we didn’t suffer much from anti-Semitism; there were anti-Jewish laws [in Romania] [5] of course, but no pogroms, like we found out there had been in Iasi: a distant relative of ours, a cousin’s husband, Gust, and their son, Saia, were murdered.
My mother found out about it in the following way: one day somebody came to tell her that there was a train with Jews from Iasi at the railway station, and my mother hurried there. She met some acquaintances who told her what had happened. Their story was that the legionaries [6] had climbed on the roof of Braustein’s elegant footwear shop, and fired at the Romanian army, which was marching through Iasi towards the Prut river. Then they blamed the Jews, because the shots allegedly came from a Jew-owned building. So that was what caused the pogrom in Iasi. Our relatives were among those shot in the prefecture’s courtyard. The ones in the train were the ones sent to forced labor camps in Campeni.
My mother found out about it in the following way: one day somebody came to tell her that there was a train with Jews from Iasi at the railway station, and my mother hurried there. She met some acquaintances who told her what had happened. Their story was that the legionaries [6] had climbed on the roof of Braustein’s elegant footwear shop, and fired at the Romanian army, which was marching through Iasi towards the Prut river. Then they blamed the Jews, because the shots allegedly came from a Jew-owned building. So that was what caused the pogrom in Iasi. Our relatives were among those shot in the prefecture’s courtyard. The ones in the train were the ones sent to forced labor camps in Campeni.
Angela found a job as a secretary at the Electrica plant; one of the two managers was Italian and he needed someone who could speak the language.
We had religious books as well, lots of them, from my great-grandfather and my grandfather. They were all written in Hebrew, they were about the Gemara, but I don’t remember the titles. I remember my grandfather always read by candle-light when it was one of his religious books, and that I loved to stay near him. The wax melted and fell on the paper, and I liked to scrape it from the leaves of the book.
I never went to the market with my mother, she wasn’t allowed to exert herself, she had high blood pressure after my father died; usually, the servant went shopping for groceries, or sometimes my grandmother. Also, I remember there was a poor old Jewish woman, named Malka. She never begged, but she always carried a big bulrush basket and my grandmother used to send her to the market to bring home what we needed, and she paid her for that.
I remember one time, it was the Easter holiday, it was warm outside, April I think, and Malka came into the kitchen, with her basket. We girls were educated of course to have clean hands and clean nails, and then I noticed that Malka’s nails were black from dirt and dust; so I went to fetch my scissors, and cut her nails. I was nine years old I think, and still in elementary school. Malka was stunned, she wasn’t used to being treated this way by kids; but I was a merciful child, I liked old people, and very young children as well: I remember, whenever one of my mother’s tenants gave birth, I wouldn't move from their bedside, I was fascinated by them, they were like dolls!
I remember one time, it was the Easter holiday, it was warm outside, April I think, and Malka came into the kitchen, with her basket. We girls were educated of course to have clean hands and clean nails, and then I noticed that Malka’s nails were black from dirt and dust; so I went to fetch my scissors, and cut her nails. I was nine years old I think, and still in elementary school. Malka was stunned, she wasn’t used to being treated this way by kids; but I was a merciful child, I liked old people, and very young children as well: I remember, whenever one of my mother’s tenants gave birth, I wouldn't move from their bedside, I was fascinated by them, they were like dolls!
On Yom Kippur, my grandparents fasted, and my mother fasted too for as long as they were alive; but after that, she didn’t. I think she did it for her parents’ sake, but she herself was a bit angry with the idea of religion, because her husband died so young. We kids never fasted, however.
On Rosh Hashanah, after my grandfather died, my mother read the prayers; she learned that from her grandfather, because my grandmother didn’t see that well anymore. She recited them very well. My mother had a good voice, she sang to us sometimes, when she was in the mood.
I remember, close to Rosh Hashanah time, my mother used to send me with the servant to the hakham [wise man/rabbi]: she was afraid that the servant girl would just kill the chicken herself and keep the money we gave her for the hakham, these things happened sometimes; so I was sent to supervise!
Iasi had a very big Jewish community, with all sorts of functionaries, and synagogues, and the big temple, and mikves and so on. I don’t know exactly how many mikves were there, but I remember my mother told me, that when she was a young woman, before she married my father, she used to go to the mikveh with her mother, after her period. [Editor’s note: Married women go to the mikveh for ritual immersion after each period, after which they can again be with their husbands.] My mother told me that for the Orthodox Jews, a woman having her period was considered dirty, and the man didn’t touch her. [Editor's note: It is understood that a period signifies the loss of a potential life. A woman is not considered dirty, rather she is in a state of spiritual impurity during her period, after which she immerses in a mikveh to become spiritually pure again]. That’s why in the couple’s bedroom there used to be two beds, because the woman had to sleep alone when she had her period.
We didn’t dress up for Purim at home, it wasn’t such a merry house because we were lacking a father. But I remember, one of our Jewish tenants, Miss Mita, organized some festivities at the Jewish school where she taught, and she invited us as well. My mother made me a beautiful domino suit, with white and blue, and a cap, but I fell ill and I couldn’t go in the end.
On Chanukkah, my grandfather would light the candles one by one, every day; we had a silver chanukkiyah. I never received presents on Chanukkah, only Chanukkah gelt. It was just a few coins, which my grandmother usually gave us, but we didn’t mind.
Our home was kosher over Pesach; my mother kept special tableware just for Pesach in the attic, in a trunk, and nobody was allowed to touch it except for my grandfather, who went up in the attic to get them on Pesach Eve; of course, there was a lot of cleaning beforehand. On Pesach we didn’t eat bread for eight days, only matzah; we were so desperate for bread after that!
We observed the Seder Eve, my grandfather sat in an armchair, on a cushion, and he read the mah nishtanah [Editor’s note: usually the four questions are asked by the youngest participants of the service], but I don’t remember ever having afikoman, maybe there was afikoman when my sister was younger.
We observed the Seder Eve, my grandfather sat in an armchair, on a cushion, and he read the mah nishtanah [Editor’s note: usually the four questions are asked by the youngest participants of the service], but I don’t remember ever having afikoman, maybe there was afikoman when my sister was younger.
My mother went to the synagogue only on the High Holidays, more for her father’s sake, as she didn’t want to upset him. When I was little, on the High Holidays, I went to the same synagogue as my grandparents, but my mother used to go to the big temple: the rabbi there was married to a former school friend of hers. My grandfather liked his synagogue, all his friends were there. The prayers stopped at 10am for a break, ‘osmenes’ in Yiddish, and he usually was invited to lunch or for refreshments at one of their friends, who lived close to the synagogue.