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Our house in Ploiesti was located on the street where the prison was, Rudului St. One day, in 1942, I received a letter, a postcard, from home. My mother had written to me: ‘I’m letting you know that Uncle Aron, the husband of my cousin, Sofica, has arrived to that place near you. See if you can help him in anyway.’ That letter puzzled me, as I couldn’t understand what was going on. We didn’t have TV’s or radio sets, so we couldn’t have learnt about my uncle’s arrest. This is what happened. The Jews who fought in World War I were decorated. The Romanians received 1st class decorations, and the Jews got 2nd class decorations. All those Jews were somewhat protected by certain laws and they enjoyed a number of rights. After Antonescu came to power, those decorations were withdrawn. They claimed they had forged them. But I didn’t know all this, so I wondered: ‘What is the meaning of this letter?’ I asked my husband: ‘Tell me, can you figure out what my mother is saying here, because I can’t.’ My husband either had no idea, or knew, but didn’t want to upset me. However, I doubt that he knew anything. Two days later, I took my little girl by the hand, and went to buy my ration of bread. And I saw a group of about 40 people marching in line. Among them, I spotted this cousin of my mother’s, the husband of her cousin, together with other two acquaintances from Bacau. I immediately figured out what my mother meant [by that postcard]. I took my daughter back home and left her and my ration card with a neighbor: ‘Madam, if you don’t mind, take care of my girl until I come back, and, in case you haven’t bought your bread yet, buy my ration too when you go over there.’ She said: ‘I haven’t bought it yet, I’ll go now.’ I said: ‘You see, I have something to do…’ I didn’t even tell her what it was all about. I wanted to follow the line. But I had to get dressed, get my purse and all that. The baker’s was very close [so I wasn’t ready for a long trip]. While I was getting prepared, the line passed. When I got to the street, they were out of sight. So I got on a carriage and asked to be taken to the Court-Martial. I immediately realized what was going on, because I had learnt from various people that Jews were being arrested. I didn’t know about the veterans though, but I found out that day. The authorities would make up the worst stories just to destroy the Jews.
When I got there, they were already in the courtyard. I tried to get near them. The sentry stopped me and said: ‘Madam, you are not allowed to go near [the prisoners].’ – ‘Let me go, an uncle of mine is there.’ – ‘Do you want to get me court-martialed, Madam?! Leave me alone, Miss!’ I told him a few things, but he was very confused and scared, and didn’t understand what I was saying. (Later, after he was discharged, he told me: ‘You kept talking, and I didn’t even realize you were talking to me!’) Meanwhile, lawyers were walking to and fro before the Court-Martial, hoping to get a case. There were two sentries: a soldier and a prison guard. The latter didn’t seem to mind if I approached the prisoners. So I walked forward, and a lawyer stopped me: ‘What’s the matter, lady?’ – ‘You see, two of my relatives are here; I want to get in touch with them, to hire a lawyer, to know what is going on.’ He took me with him and told the sentries: ‘Hey, she’s my niece, don’t bully her, let her speak!’ Then I got even closer and told the lawyer: ‘You know, I got news from home and…’ In a few days, he wrote down everything I had to say, he got their names and everything. After a week or two, Counsel Cristian came from Bacau. He and my family had lived on the same street and I had grown up with his boys. He had become a rather important man. He took over the entire group of 48 people from our county to prove they were innocent. Meanwhile, I had made friends with two guards, so I could send them books, letters from home, food and things like that. Those guards who were helping me were grown-ups, not kids. They did something for me, I did something for them. I didn’t give them money. But whenever I packed a parcel for the prisoners, I would pack one for the guards too. I made sure no one saw me giving them the parcels. We met in certain places – in stores, somewhere near my house –, at a certain hour. I would show up, give them the parcel, and tell them who it was for.
The trial went on for three or four months – it wasn’t that long. Counsel Cristian would come every other week to attend the trial. He came to me and put a heap of money on my table… He left me money and I kept a list of all my expenses. I had to take the carriage all the time, because I lived very far from the Court-Martial, so I couldn’t walk. Besides, it was summer and it was hot. So I had to pay for the ride, and then I had to buy them food and everything. I got receipts and kept track of it all. He used to tell me: ‘My dear, keep something for your trouble; you can’t go through all this trouble for nothing.’ – ‘I won’t do that, because this money comes from misery.’ People would sell things from their homes to pay for the trial. And don’t go thinking there weren’t people who got double-crossed and lost their money. There were crooks in those days too! So-called lawyers who came and assured you ‘Leave it all to me, I’ll help you, I’ll…’, and then nothing happened. I didn’t take one penny! I had acquired quite a reputation! They knew me both at the military prison and at the civilians’ one. I helped a lot of people, and that almost got me arrested, because I once helped some escapees. I was accused of facilitating their escape, but they didn’t have enough evidence. They [my uncle’s group] got away. It was proven that they hadn’t lied and so they were sent back home. But they weren’t young people, they were old men, veterans, grown-ups! One day this uncle came to me – I called him uncle, because my mother was his wife’s cousin. I lent him money to get home, because he didn’t have any and had to pay for the train ticket. They got away, but this cost them a lot, because they had spent three or four months in prison, and times weren’t easy at all!
When I got there, they were already in the courtyard. I tried to get near them. The sentry stopped me and said: ‘Madam, you are not allowed to go near [the prisoners].’ – ‘Let me go, an uncle of mine is there.’ – ‘Do you want to get me court-martialed, Madam?! Leave me alone, Miss!’ I told him a few things, but he was very confused and scared, and didn’t understand what I was saying. (Later, after he was discharged, he told me: ‘You kept talking, and I didn’t even realize you were talking to me!’) Meanwhile, lawyers were walking to and fro before the Court-Martial, hoping to get a case. There were two sentries: a soldier and a prison guard. The latter didn’t seem to mind if I approached the prisoners. So I walked forward, and a lawyer stopped me: ‘What’s the matter, lady?’ – ‘You see, two of my relatives are here; I want to get in touch with them, to hire a lawyer, to know what is going on.’ He took me with him and told the sentries: ‘Hey, she’s my niece, don’t bully her, let her speak!’ Then I got even closer and told the lawyer: ‘You know, I got news from home and…’ In a few days, he wrote down everything I had to say, he got their names and everything. After a week or two, Counsel Cristian came from Bacau. He and my family had lived on the same street and I had grown up with his boys. He had become a rather important man. He took over the entire group of 48 people from our county to prove they were innocent. Meanwhile, I had made friends with two guards, so I could send them books, letters from home, food and things like that. Those guards who were helping me were grown-ups, not kids. They did something for me, I did something for them. I didn’t give them money. But whenever I packed a parcel for the prisoners, I would pack one for the guards too. I made sure no one saw me giving them the parcels. We met in certain places – in stores, somewhere near my house –, at a certain hour. I would show up, give them the parcel, and tell them who it was for.
The trial went on for three or four months – it wasn’t that long. Counsel Cristian would come every other week to attend the trial. He came to me and put a heap of money on my table… He left me money and I kept a list of all my expenses. I had to take the carriage all the time, because I lived very far from the Court-Martial, so I couldn’t walk. Besides, it was summer and it was hot. So I had to pay for the ride, and then I had to buy them food and everything. I got receipts and kept track of it all. He used to tell me: ‘My dear, keep something for your trouble; you can’t go through all this trouble for nothing.’ – ‘I won’t do that, because this money comes from misery.’ People would sell things from their homes to pay for the trial. And don’t go thinking there weren’t people who got double-crossed and lost their money. There were crooks in those days too! So-called lawyers who came and assured you ‘Leave it all to me, I’ll help you, I’ll…’, and then nothing happened. I didn’t take one penny! I had acquired quite a reputation! They knew me both at the military prison and at the civilians’ one. I helped a lot of people, and that almost got me arrested, because I once helped some escapees. I was accused of facilitating their escape, but they didn’t have enough evidence. They [my uncle’s group] got away. It was proven that they hadn’t lied and so they were sent back home. But they weren’t young people, they were old men, veterans, grown-ups! One day this uncle came to me – I called him uncle, because my mother was his wife’s cousin. I lent him money to get home, because he didn’t have any and had to pay for the train ticket. They got away, but this cost them a lot, because they had spent three or four months in prison, and times weren’t easy at all!
Period
Location
Ploiesti
Romania
Interview
Estera Sava