Travel

My ancestors lived in Bessarabia 2. My father's family came from Gancheshty town, near Kishinev [36 km from Kishinev, 514 km from Kiev]. It was a small, green Moldovan town in which Jews made up quite a big part of the population. Life was like in any other provincial town. There were an old synagogue, a Jewish community headed by the wealthiest Jewish man and numerous Jewish stores selling inexpensive wine since there were many vineyards around.

My paternal grandfather, Boruch Dorfman, was born in the 1850s. He owned a big store where he sold goods and a storage facility in the center of town. He had a seat in the synagogue. Unfortunately, I don't know my grandmother's name or her date of birth. My grandmother and grandfather owned a big brick house with a steel roof in the center of the town. They had wooden floors, antique furniture and pictures in the house. There were a few rooms with beds in them. Six or seven of my grandparents' children lived there for some time. They only spoke Yiddish in the family.

They observed all Jewish traditions following all rules and requirements of the Jewish way of life. They baked challah for Sabbath and lit candles on Friday evenings. They observed all Jewish holidays. They usually invited poor Jews to their Sabbath and holiday dinners as was the custom at that time. Boys went to cheder at the age of 5 or 6. Girls had teachers that taught them at home. My grandparents died before I was born. My grandmother died in 1913 and my grandfather passed away in 1922. They were buried in white sheets and in accordance with all Jewish customs. There was a rabbi reciting a prayer and a cantor. Members of the family recited the Kaddish for a whole year after their death.

My grandparents' older daughter inherited the house. I've forgotten her name. I visited my aunt once or twice in my early childhood. I have very dim memories about her. I only remember that she had two daughters who were older than I and I had little interest in them. Some of the other sisters and brothers left for America in the 1920s, I don't even know their names and have no other information about them either.

My father, Mendel Dorfman, was born in 1888 and was my grandparents' youngest child. I think my father was an intelligent child. The only education he got was at cheder and he must have had good teachers there because he was quite well-educated. My grandfather couldn't afford to pay for any further education. My father's mother tongue was Yiddish. He also had fluent Hebrew, Russian, Romanian and German. My father was good at mathematics and accountancy. He was a tall, handsome young man. When World War I began in 1914 he was recruited to the tsarist army. He was a brave soldier fighting for the Russian tsar. I know that he was awarded a medal; I think it was a Georgian Cross [St. George Cross] 3. In 1916 he was held in German captivity. I remember him telling me of this hard time and how the captives suffered from hunger. In his parents' home he observed the kashrut, but when a captive he had to abandon it in order to survive.

My father was released in 1919. The Russian Empire had disappeared after the Revolution of 1917 4. My father returned to his hometown. He helped his father with his commercial business. He often traveled to Kishinev on business. Once he visited my mother's father on some business and saw my mother. He fell in love with her.

My maternal grandfather, Aaron Zinger, was related to Spanish Jews; his ancestors originated from Spain in the Middle Ages. He was born in Kiliya in 1860. This small town [230 km from Kishinev, 724 km from Kiev] was situated in the estuary of the Danube River, on the border with Romania. My grandfather studied at the Medical Faculty of Vienna University for a few years until his father asked him to follow into his footsteps and continue the family business. He took over his father's trading business. Grandfather Aaron was a very wealthy man. The Zinger family owned quite a few houses in Kishinev and other towns in Bessarabia; they also owned stores and storage facilities. They sold alcohol, tobacco and shoes. They owned land, horses and carriages.

The Zinger family was religious. They observed traditions and all Jewish holidays. However, if business required my grandfather's presence, he would miss a prayer service at the synagogue on Saturdays. In Kishinev [today the capital of the Moldavian Republic, 478 km from Kiev] the Jewish population constituted over 50,000 people. There were several Jewish communities and about 50 synagogues and prayer houses. My grandfather funded one synagogue. This was the synagogue of the Zinger family, or, that's how the family called it because my grandfather was one of its most generous donors. The Zingers spoke Russian in the family, although they knew Romanian, Russian and German. My grandfather was a decent and respected man. In the 1930s he left his business to his children due to his old age.

My grandfather's life ended tragically. When Soviet troops occupied Bessarabia in 1939 my grandfather and most of his children were declared kulaks 5. The Soviet regime dispossessed them of what they had earned by working hard. Simply speaking, they robbed them in favor of the state. When fascists came in 1941 my grandfather failed to evacuate and perished. I was told later that all Jews were taken away and exterminated. Nobody knows where my grandfather's grave is.

His wife, my grandmother Brucha Zinger [nee Rozenfeld], was born to the family of Rabbi Rozenfeld in Kishinev in the 1860s. After her marriage she became the observer of religious traditions in her family. My grandmother had many brothers and sisters who were very close to her. They often visited her. My grandparents had twelve children. All of them lived in their own houses. They observed Purim and Pesach and other holidays along with their parents. I remember a Simchat Torah celebration in my grandparents' garden where up to 200 guests got together for a festive meal. There was gefilte fish, chicken broth, goose liver paste and other delicious food especially made for the holiday. My grandmother had housemaids, cooks, a laundress, a gardener and a coachman. My grandmother's daughter Liya supervised their preparations for holidays.

During summer vacations my grandmother went to a resort. She and her relatives often went to the Romanian coast of the Black Sea or to Transcarpathia. I remember my grandmother when she was old. She was a short, big woman and wore a black dress. She didn't wear a wig or a kerchief. My grandmother died in 1937. She had a traditional Jewish funeral. There were many people at the funeral - almost the whole town came to pay last respect to her. She was carried all the way to the Jewish cemetery located on the outskirts of town. A mourning prayer was recited over her grave. This cemetery was destroyed after the war when Soviet authorities were trying to destroy the memory of the Jews who lived in this town. Now there is a park on the spot, which has almost become a center of Kishinev.

My grandparents had five sons - Iosif, Isaac, Srul, Shlomo and Shmil the youngest - and seven daughters: Liya, the oldest, Chiza, my mother Molka, Feiga, Polia, Rachil and Riva. They were born in Kagula on the outskirts of Kiliya [230 km from Kishinev, at the border with Romania]. In the late 1890s the family moved to Kishinev. I think my grandfather decided that it was going to be easier for his children to get education in a big town. My mother was born in 1888. As for the others, I don't remember their dates of birth. The boys finished cheder and the girls studied with a melamed at home. My mother's brothers and sisters later studied in grammar schools and in colleges. They lived in their own houses and kept livestock. Isaac, Srul, Shmil and my mother Molka inherited their father's business. They owned a company called Zinger-Dorfman. My grandparents' children received a very good education. They were involved in politics, some were journalists, others accountants and merchants. It's hard for me to remember exactly what each of them did for a living, but they were all decent people with a good income.

I remember Liya, my mother's older sister. I think she was born in 1880. She married a merchant and lived with him in Leovo town [90 km from Kishinev], on the bank of the Prut River. She had several children whom I don't remember. When her husband died they moved in with my grandmother and grandfather in Kishinev. Aunt Liya perished in Kishinev in 1941. The rest of my mother's brothers and sisters also perished there. The Soviet authorities arrested my mother's older brother Isaac on some political, bourgeois or Zionist charges. The children who stayed in Kishinev perished in 1941, and those, who managed to evacuate, moved all across the globe. Only my mother's sister Chiza survived. Her husband was a logistics employee in a frontier unit. At the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 6 they managed to evacuate and after the war they returned to Kishinev. They died of old age in the 1960s. I also met with Isaac's son after the war. He was an accountant in a company in Lvov. He died in the 1970s. This was the end of the Zinger family.

My mother was born in Kagula town near Kiliya in 1888. She studied at home with a melamed like her sisters when they were small children. She studied Hebrew, Yiddish, Jewish history and the Torah. Then my mother studied in a Russian grammar school. She was very well-educated.

My mother was one of the founders of a Zionist organization [Revisionist Zionism] 7 in Bessarabia. She took part in congresses and meetings. She held the position of a commissar of the Jewish National Fund. This fund collected money for buying land in Palestine [Israel] and planting trees. Doctor Berber was the chairman of this Zionist organization. They received books from England and Jerusalem and distributed them among the committees. When my mother met my father in 1920 she was already an activist in this Zionist organization. She liked Mendel Dorfman, my future father, and so did her family.

My parents had a large Jewish wedding celebration with a chuppah, rabbi and klezmer musicians in 1921. There were many guests. After their wedding my parents settled down in their own house. It wasn't a really big house, but there was nice furniture and pictures on the walls. I was born on 23rd May 1923.

My mother and father went to the Zinger synagogue founded by my grandfather on holidays. They had their own seats there. After the service we usually all visited my grandparents. My mother lit candles on Friday evenings and my father said prayers, but when my father had to work on Saturdays he skipped his religious duties. I remember that my mother often prayed. She had a prayer book. She did the cooking in our home and observed the kashrut. My mother also did her work with the Zionist organization, supported a Jewish school, a hospital and girls who wanted to step into some marital arrangements. She also traveled to other towns where she gave lectures. She was a very business-orientated woman.

We spoke Yiddish at home, but we were also fluent in Russian and Romanian, which was the state language. We had a large collection of Russian and Jewish books. They are all gone now, of course. We had Jewish books by the following writers: Chaim Chemirinskiy [1862-1917, author of fables in Yiddish], Shaul Chernikhovski [1875-1943, Yiddish poet], Elizar-David Finkel [1862-1943, translator, translated from classical and oriental, and modern European languages into Yiddish and Hebrew], Abraham Mapu [1808- 1867, creator of the modern Hebrew novel] and many others. We also had Russian classics by Dostoevskiy 8 and Pushkin 9 - expensive editions with imprinted bindings. We had many newspapers at home, too. We read the Bessarabian Word, Adevarul [Truth in Romanian] and the Jewish newspaper Unzere Tseyt [Our Time]. [Editor's note: daily newspapers that published political, cultural and business news of Kishinev.]

My sister Polia, Pesia in Jewish, was born in 1926. [Polia was her common name.] 10 My mother was always busy and my sister spent a lot of time with Grandfather Aaron and Aunt Liya. When my parents were arrested in 1939 my sister stayed with my grandfather and aunt. They all perished in 1941.

I was a sickly child and my parents took me to the Black Sea in summer. I had malaria, inflammation of the tonsils, but it didn't keep me from playing with other boys or climbing trees. I studied in a Jewish school, the Tarbut 11, for four years, from the age of 6 to 10. We studied religion there, Hebrew, prayers and Jewish history. After finishing Jewish elementary school in 1933, I entered a Romanian grammar school for boys where I studied for four years. There were German, Russian, Bulgarian and Jewish children in that school. There were six Jewish boys in my class. There was a period in 1938, when the Romanian fascists came to power, and we [Jews] had to sit separately from other children. However, it didn't last long. We got along well with our schoolmates. There were religious classes for Christians at our school, but Jewish boys studied Jewish religion and history with another teacher.

I had my bar mitzvah at the age of 13. It was a big event that took place on 30th May 1936. I recited a prayer at the synagogue. The celebration lasted three days. On the first day my relatives got together for a celebration, the second day was for my friends and on the third day there was a celebration at school.

During the war

As soon as I learned to read I began to read newspapers and showed an interest in politics. I remember when Hitler came to power and when the fascists occupied Austria. Our company boycotted Germans; we simply didn't buy German goods. Jewish refugees came from Germany and Austria. There were meetings in synagogues appealing to Jews to unite. Jabotinsky 12 visited us and I heard him speak at a meeting near our synagogue. Other Zionist leaders and Jewish writers came to our town as well. The Jewish Theater staged performances. When the Romanians closed Jewish schools in 1938 my mother went to Bucharest and managed to convince the authorities there to open the schools again. The Romanian fascists blamed my mother that she used people's contributions for Israel to support the Soviet power instead since she was a communist. This wasn't true, of course. The Romanian authorities viewed communists as a threat to their regime and the accusation of favoring communists was a very serious issue at the time. There was a strong anti-Soviet propaganda. Newspapers described the horrors of Stalin's camps and the arrests of millions of innocent victims in the USSR [during the so-called Great Terror] 13 and we believed them because we knew that there was no smoke without fire. We understood that communists were decent people, but the regime in the USSR was horrific. Romanians were more loyal to Zionists. In general, we had an interesting life. We communicated with interesting people that visited our home.

The majority of the poor Jewish population of Moldavia and Bessarabia supported communism. We believed that during socialism there would be an 8- hour working day, that workers would get their salaries and that there would be no unemployment. Jewish communists sincerely believed in the Soviet power. However, my family thought it mandatory to move to Palestine. Palestine was an English colony, and in 1938 the English forbade to issue entry permits to Palestine. I was supposed to leave back then, I couldn't imagine living elsewhere, but on the land of our ancestors.

When World War II began in Poland in 1939 large numbers of Jewish refugees arrived in our area. They had hope in the Soviet Union. The Soviet troops came to this territory in 1940 and many believed this was an escape from the horrors of fascism. In our family we didn't put all our trust into the Soviets, but we chose the less of the two evils - fascism or the Soviet Union - and turned to the latter, of course. We didn't know they were bandits and would kill, rob and put people into prison. On 7th July 1940 my parents and uncles, as well as many other people were arrested on charges of anti-Soviet behavior and Zionism.

In 1940 I was 17 and a student at the Assistant Engineer School. My parents wanted me to get a technical education. The Soviet authorities gave our school the status of a college. I was on vacation when my parents were arrested. Our neighbors sent me a message saying that I shouldn't show up at home since I might be arrested, too. I watched from a distance how they loaded money, gold, furniture and pictures onto trucks. They were communist officials who arrived in the area along with the Soviet army. They were traditionally called 'Easteners'. [Editor's note: the Soviet Union was east of Kishinev.] They moved into our houses. I was allowed to take my warm clothes when winter approached. When I returned in 1947 I found many houses, including ours, ruined.

There were many Jewish bosses that had just arrived from the East and many of the local communists also became big bosses. I stayed with my grandfather, Aunt Liya or Aunt Chiza, or at a friend's home. I didn't tell anyone at school that my parents had been arrested so that I could continue my studies. I only told a few of my closest friends.

I was allowed to bring some food to my parents, but I couldn't see them and they weren't allowed to have an attorney. Shortly before the Great Patriotic War, in late May 1941, eleven months after they had been arrested, I received a statement from a special meeting of the NKVD 14 about preventive punishment of particularly dangerous 'enemies' of the Soviet power. My parents were sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment and deprived of their right to correspond with their families. My mother was sentenced on the charges of being a Zionist and bourgeois chauvinist and my father was sentenced for being a capitalist. My father was sent to Karaganda camp [on the Gulag] 15, in Kazakhstan [2,800 km from Kiev] and my mother was sent to Solikamsk camp in the Ural. I wasn't allowed to visit my father and never saw him again. He died in 1942, but we only got to know this after we received his rehabilitation 16 papers some time after 1956. It was stated that he had cardiac insufficiency and tuberculosis and that he was buried in grave #31 at a certain location. We looked it up on a map, but couldn't find it. I was allowed to see my mother before her departure to Solikamsk. She looked exhausted, but she didn't lose her spirits. We promised each other to keep in touch.

I had finished three years of college when the war began on 22nd June 1941. Since I studied at the Construction Faculty I was summoned to the military registry office where they ordered me to take a construction group to the border to reinforce the borderline. This happened on 29th or 30th June 1941. We came to the border of Moldova and Romania in the vicinity of the Prut River. We didn't have any spades and there was a lot of mess and confusion around. There were about 500 construction workers in the area. We lived in barracks and had meals in canteens. We stayed on the border of Bessarabia for about a month. There were many Moldavian workers in my group. They fled to their homes. The rest of us had nowhere to go. We didn't get food and had no proper clothes. We were almost forgotten until Germans began to advance into the area where we were working. Then an order to retreat was given, but nobody knew where we were to go. There were about 50 of us left. We headed to Tiraspol from where we were sent to Odessa. From there we retreated with military troops and reached Rostov, which was about 1,000 kilometers from home. From there we were sent to Stalingrad where we were accommodated in a stadium. We sometimes got to places by freight trains and sometimes by trucks. We suffered from lack of food. Everything was a mess. On the way from Odessa to Stalingrad we had to do whatever kind of work to get some food. We got into air raids and many perished. I survived.

We were mobilized to construction units. We were called 'Westeners' [residents of the areas occupied by Soviet troops in 1939-1940] and weren't sent to the front for fear of betrayal. From Stalingrad we were sent to Saratov. We were divided into groups of 5. My group was sent to harvest in a kolkhoz 17. In late autumn 1941 we were sent to Siberia where we were to work in the coal industry. I came to Kiselyovsk, Kemerovo region [over 3,000 km from Kiev]. It was a town of miners. Siberian mines had to produce lots of coal since Ukrainian mines in the Donetsk Basin had been seized by the fascists. In the beginning I worked as a laborer constructing houses for arrivers in the town until I became a foreman and then the manager of this construction site. I received a sheepskin jacket. Winters were cold there. I received special food coupons and lived in a room in a hostel. We got orders to carry out different tasks.

There were many prisoners-of-war coming to town and Jews who evacuated from Western regions, Kiev and Minsk. The Mindyuk Jewish family became my friends. There were no local Jews in Kiselyovsk. I don't know any Jews who observed Jewish traditions in this town. I supported some old miserable Jews who were in evacuation here. I didn't tell anybody that my parents were in prison. People didn't ask questions about families during the war. I corresponded with my mother through an acquaintance in Moscow. My mother was allowed to write one letter every three months. She planted trees first, but then she was given work at a cultural department in the Solikamsk camp. She worked with letters and other documents and then she worked at the camp library and made arrangements for celebrations of Soviet holidays. She read out newspaper articles with news from the front to inmates of the camp. My mother's Zionist convictions didn't change. Life in the camp was very hard, particularly for my mother who was over 50, but she admired her new friends that were imprisoned for their political views. My mother supported Jewish inmates of the camp. Whenever I got a chance I sent her money. In 1943 we could write more letters to one another and I could even send her photographs.

I remember Victory Day 18 on 9th May 1945. Due to the time difference we heard about the capitulation of Germany at night. It was such great news. People shouted 'Hurrah!' in the streets and were hugging each other. There was a meeting and the secretary of the regional Party committee said that we had to continue working. However, the war continued in the East and Soviet troops were fighting the war with Japan 19.

Post-war

Kishinev was liberated in 1944 and I began to write letters to my college to continue my studies. In 1945 I received an invitation from the college to continue my studies in the 4th year. I got released from work in late 1946 and could leave for Kishinev. When I arrived in Kishinev I got lodging in the bathroom of the hostel of the college. I returned all my clothing that I received at work when I quit my position in Kiselyovsk and therefore didn't have any belongings. I bought a blanket at a market in Kishinev and this was my only belonging. I finished my studies at the extramural department of the college.

The town was ruined and there was a great demand for construction workers. I got a job at a cooperative [association of small business enterprises] where I was capital construction manager. I was responsible for the reconstruction of smaller plants. I worked there for a year hoping that they would give me an apartment, but it didn't happen. Many Jews returned from evacuation and many of them moved to bigger towns. I remember a party dedicated to the memory of Sholem Aleichem. The Jewish Theater began to give performances again. The synagogues were ruined.

My mother was released from Solikamsk camp in 1947 before the end of her term. She returned to Kishinev. I already had an apartment by that time. I paid some money to a family who moved out of their small two-bedroom apartment in an old house. I was happy that my mother was back. She remained a convinced Zionist. She communicated with other Jews who shared her ideas. My mother met writers, historians and actors of Jewish theaters. There was a stamp in my mother's passport forbidding her to reside in 24 bigger towns. She had a so-called 'passport 24' 20 and Kishinev was included on that list. My mother couldn't obtain a residential permit 21 for a long time, so we decided that she would 'lose' her old passport and buy a new one that cost a lot of money. We did so and she obtained a permit. We lived together.

I went to work and was an extramural student at the Faculty of Construction Materials of Moscow Construction College. My mother remained free until 1949 when our neighbors reported on us, stating that there were frequent Jewish gatherings in our apartment. After the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 22 was dismissed all Jewish activists, including my mother, were arrested. This period was called 'campaign against cosmopolitans' 23, though my mother was by no means a cosmopolitan. She was more likely a chauvinist. Some officers came to search our house at night, but they didn't find anything. My mother was ordered to pack her warm clothes and go with them in a black car. We understood that she was going to prison. She was accused of Zionism and chauvinism. She was sent into exile in Long Bridge camp in Krasnoyarsk region, Siberia, for eight years. I wasn't allowed to see her before her departure and she wasn't allowed to have a lawyer. My mother had many friends in the camp. She made friends easily. She was too old to do hard work and was therefore given minor chores: sewing and darning clothes, knitting and housekeeping. She rarely wrote to me.

I was chief of the housing department of the town and after my mother was arrested I could have easily been fired. I started having problems. I was responsible for setting priorities as to which facility was to be reconstructed first. My friend Gaisiner, a Jew, and I were working on the reconstruction of Chabatovskaya synagogue in Yakimovskiy Lane. People began to send letters complaining that instead of reconstructing houses we were working at the synagogue. My poor friend was even imprisoned for this. The reconstruction of this synagogue stopped and my friend was released, but I had to leave Kishinev as soon as possible.

I witnessed another tragic event in Kishinev. Many Moldavian and Ukrainian families were deported from their homes during this period [1947-1949]. They were wealthy families who worked hard to make a decent living. After the Great Patriotic War they recovered their wealth, but they didn't want to join collective farms. I don't think they really had much to give away at that time, but the state wanted to take away their grain stocks. I was to be the representative of my company responsible for collecting grain stocks. There were two NKVD officers to escort me and we were to go to the villagers, who were told that resisting to deliver food supplies made them enemies of the Soviet power. NKVD officers had the list of villagers and I was just supposed to attend these actions. If a family wasn't at home we went to another house. Families were taken by cattle transportation trains. They were given no time to get ready for the trip. I don't know exactly where they were taken - I believe, somewhere to the north. I never met anybody who returned home from there. It was the period of a horrific famine. People were starving to death. There were many dead people in towns and villages.

So, I decided to leave Kishinev in 1949. Itzhak Zinger, my cousin, the son of my mother's brother, lived in Lvov. He was a chief accountant there and began to look for an apartment that I could exchange for my apartment in Kishinev. I was lucky and soon moved to Lvov. [Editor's note: exchanging apartments was the only way one could get another apartment. They were not in private ownership, but belonged to the state, so they could not be sold.] I moved my sofa and other stuff into my new apartment. There was a bathroom and a kitchen in this apartment and this was more than I could dream of. I was lucky to get a job as the chief engineer of the Housing Department of Leninskiy [today Shevchenko] district in Lvov. I also became the chief of the Capital Construction of Pharmacies.

Married life

Soon afterwards I met Betia Rechister, a pretty Jewish girl, born in 1927. She had recently graduated from the Faculty of Foreign Philology of Lvov University. Her family came from Tulchin, Vinnitsa region. Her father owned some stores before the Revolution of 1917. During the Soviet regime he didn't have the right to vote and his children weren't allowed to study in higher educational institutions. He moved to Tashkent, Middle Asia, where nobody knew him in the 1920s. He became an apprentice to a locksmith and later brought his family there.

There were three children in the family: David, the oldest brother, my wife Betia and Chaim, her younger brother. They bought a house in Tashkent and had a good life, but due to the bad climate they returned to Vinnitsa region before the Great Patriotic War. Something didn't work out there and they moved to their relatives in Poltava. They bought a house in Poltava. Betia's older brother finished secondary school when the war began. Betia's father worked as a mechanic at a company. The company evacuated to Samarkand, Middle Asia. Betia's family stayed there during the war. My wife finished school with honors there.

After the war Betia moved to Kharkov where she entered the Foreign Languages College. Her parents went to Lvov where they received an apartment somehow. They weren't a religious family. They spoke Russian. They knew all traditions, but they didn't observe any. In 1950 Betia got a transfer to Lvov University. She graduated from it and stayed to work as a lecturer at the Linguistics Department. I was a bachelor and I was handsome. I met Betia's father at work. He liked me and invited me to dinner once. I met his daughter and liked her. Since I was 28 I had to think about my future. Betia was 24. We had much in common. We both loved music, theater, poetry and tourism. We got married in 1952. We had a civil ceremony in a registry office. We went to live in my apartment. We have been together for over 50 years now. We have a good marriage. We've traveled all across the globe together.

In 1952 the struggle of the Soviets against Jews entered a new phase. It was the so-called Doctors' Plot' 24. My wife lost her job at the university. Many Jews were fired at that time. Betia's parents, my wife and I understood the stupidity and tyranny of the situation, but this understanding didn't cross the threshold of our apartment. Betia managed to get a job at school. She worked as an English teacher at school until she retired.

I remember March 1953 when Stalin died. We were happy that the tyrant had passed away and were hoping that my mother would be returning home soon. I never joined the Communist Party or even had any desire to do so. Besides, being the son of an 'enemy of the people' I would have never been admitted. Perhaps, I would have made a different career if I had been a communist, but I can't complain. I worked as the manager of the Housing Department and was the chief engineer of the Lvov Opera Theater when the building was under reconstruction.

Our son Michael, named after my father, was born in Lvov in 1954 and our daughter Rita followed two years later. We named her after Betia's mother who had passed away by then. My mother returned in 1957. She was rehabilitated and released. She lived with us in Lvov. She helped us to look after our children. As usual there were Jews around her. They didn't observe any Jewish traditions, but they got together to discuss subjects that were of interest to them. My mother was quite a good storyteller. She read books to others and organized clubs. Her group was afraid of arrests, but they got together nonetheless. My mother corresponded with former inmates of the camps. She received dozens of letters. However, my mother's health condition got worse. She died of a stroke one day in 1962. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Her name and my father's name are engraved in Russian and Yiddish on her gravestone. I go to the graveyard, say a prayer four times a year and honor my parents' memory on commemoration days. I also commemorate my grandmother and grandfather. I have an obedient Jewish soul and I've always observed Jewish traditions and holidays. I went to the synagogue when I didn't have to work, and I prayed at home. I went to the synagogue at least once a week when I was busy, but when I had an opportunity I went there every day. I fast, go to the synagogue and say a prayer on Yom Kippur. My wife and I spend the whole day in the synagogue on Yom Kippur. In the past this was usually a working day, so we used to fast and pray at home.

I'm glad that my wife and children shared my convictions and faith. We always followed the kashrut when we had the opportunity. There were times when we couldn't get any kosher food, but now we observe the rules strictly. We've observed Jewish holidays and discussed all Jewish subjects in the family. Our children studied Jewish history and culture with us. They enjoyed observing holidays with us and I told them about Jewish traditions and culture and taught them the prayers. We didn't celebrate Soviet holidays. The only good thing about them was that they were days off. We liked traveling and traveled all over the Soviet Union. We've been to the Baltic Republics, on the Baikal, in the North and in the South.

I've always been involved in Jewish public activities. During the Soviet regime I distributed Jewish publications and books. An underground Jewish printing house published Zionist flyers and books from America and Israel that we translated into Russian. I delivered those publications to houses offering them to people. Some people bought them and others were even afraid of opening their doors to a stranger. I knew all Jews in town who weren't ashamed of revealing their Jewish identity and who attended the synagogue. My colleagues knew that I was religious and went to the synagogue. I delivered matzah to Jews who were afraid of being noticed by their neighbors. We received matzah from Odessa where it was delivered to from Moscow.

The New Hasidic Synagogue, the only operating synagogue in Lvov, was closed in 1963. The building was given to a sports club. It was a shock, of course. The main reason for this act was that the best hotel in Lvov was built in this part of town. Diplomats and journalists stayed there and the town authorities thought that Jews passing by would spoil the impression. They collected signatures against the synagogue. By the way, many 'decent' Jews signed this paper. Religious Jews began to get together for a prayer in private houses. There were gatherings of 10-15 Jewish men. We had a rabbi called Zilberfarb who conducted our gatherings. He was an old man then. He was allowed to move to Israel with his family in the late 1960s. He died in Israel. His children live there now.

I put pressure on the town authorities to return the synagogue to Jews, but they refused. I continued to pursue my Jewish activities and became the fund keeper of our small Jewish community. Every member of this community made a contribution and I put this money into my account. We distributed the only Jewish magazine published in the Soviet Union, Sovyetishe Heymland [Yiddish paper called Soviet Motherland]. A secretary of the Jewish Publishing House came to our meeting and said: 'If we have no readers the magazine will cease publication. Each of you must find five subscribers'. I decided to use my position. I was the chief engineer of the Regional Pharmacy Department, which was a big organization. Whenever a Jew came to my office with a request I said: 'Here is the subscription receipt for a Jewish magazine - if you subscribe to it I shall do as you want'. We managed to convince 140 Jews to subscribe to the magazine, while there were only 20 previously. Many Jews refused to read the magazine. All of those who didn't want to reveal their identity back then are in Israel today.

Our son Michael became a student at Lvov Medical College, but he quit when he was a 4th-year student. He had anti-Soviet convictions. He sticked to his Jewish identity and studied Hebrew and Jewish history. There was a group of young man who were like him. They observed Jewish holidays and attended the synagogue. They were persecuted by the militia. Michael moved to Israel in 1978. He publishes a few newspapers in Russian in Beer Sheva. He speaks fluent Hebrew [Ivrit]. He's a public activist in Israel. He has a wife and a daughter called Sarra.

Our daughter Rita finished Lvov Medical College. She's a pharmacist. She has two sons. Her older son, Sania, is a 3rd-year student at the Medical College. He finished a Jewish school, which is financed by a rabbi. Her younger son, Zhenia, also went to a Jewish school first, but the level of teaching there leaves much to be desired nowadays, and so he went to a Ukrainian school with advanced studies of mathematics. My grandsons attend the synagogue; they are religious. They had their bar mitzvah, and they spend their vacations in Jewish summer camps. My older grandson studied in Israel under a student exchange program.

I retired about 16 years ago. I was happy to resign. I have all my time for myself now and can spend more time promoting the Jewish movement. I was a member of the board of the Sholem Aleichem Society 25 for six years. I attended conferences in Kiev and studied at the Moscow affiliate of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. I attended a number of congresses as a Jewish representative from Ukraine. My wife became a teacher of Hebrew. She is the director of a Jewish Sunday school, which has been operating in Lvov for twelve years. Our family takes an active part in the work at this school. Of course, most of our students come from mixed marriages, but we have a curriculum and teach Hebrew, Jewish traditions, holidays, songs and dances.

I am grateful for perestroika. Of course, life is difficult now, but Jewish life has revived. We've come out of the underground. There are synagogues and Jewish organizations. My wife and I have traveled to England, Holland and Germany at the invitation of various Jewish organizations. We spent five days in London. I spoke at a meeting and gave interviews to radio and newspaper reporters. I understand that Yiddish is my main language. One can manage anywhere if there's a Jew who knows Yiddish.

I work as a guide on a 6-hour 'Jewish Lvov' bus tour. There's a lot to tell about Lvov. There were three religious movements here: the Hasidim 26, Orthodox and Neolog Jews. There used to be many synagogues: smaller and bigger ones, and every guild used to have its own synagogue. Pavel, an architect from Rome, built a synagogue in the center of town in 1582. People call this synagogue Golden Rose. It was a magnificent building and a popular place among Jews. In 1942 this synagogue was destroyed by the Germans. There were only ruins left. After the war local residents began to steal everything they could: wooden structures, bricks and decorations. There are only one and a half walls left, but still it's a world heritage site. It's included in the UNESCO list. It will probably be restored one day, but until then the Golden Rose only remains in the memory of many old residents of Lvov and in pictures by Lvov artists.

The New Hasidic Synagogue, built 200 years ago, was given back to Jews. It houses the Sholem Aleichem Society, the Lvov Hesed and our Sunday school. I avoid Hesed. I struggle against those that recently joined the Jewish community. They don't know Yiddish or Jewish traditions. They are guided by money.

I've traveled to Israel many times. I like it there. It's a beautiful country and its residents are wonderful people, but there is nothing for me there. I also spoke at a university in Israel, but I'm still treated as a second-class citizen there. Here, however, I can be of use. I tell visitors from other countries about our Jewish people and I give lectures at various Jewish organizations.

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

1 Sholem Aleichem (pen name of Shalom Rabinovich (1859-1916)

Yiddish author and humorist, a prolific writer of novels, stories, feuilletons, critical reviews, and poem in Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. He also contributed regularly to Yiddish dailies and weeklies. In his writings he described the life of Jews in Russia, creating a gallery of bright characters. His creative work is an alloy of humor and lyricism, accurate psychological and details of everyday life. He founded a literary Yiddish annual called Di Yidishe Folksbibliotek (The Popular Jewish Library), with which he wanted to raise the despised Yiddish literature from its mean status and at the same time to fight authors of trash literature, who dragged Yiddish literature to the lowest popular level. The first volume was a turning point in the history of modern Yiddish literature. Sholem Aleichem died in New York in 1916. His popularity increased beyond the Yiddish-speaking public after his death. Some of his writings have been translated into most European languages and his plays and dramatic versions of his stories have been performed in many countries. The dramatic version of Tevye the Dairyman became an international hit as a musical (Fiddler on the Roof) in the 1960s.

2 Bessarabia

Historical area between the Prut and Dnestr rivers, in the southern part of Odessa region. Bessarabia was part of Russia until the Revolution of 1917. In 1918 it declared itself an independent republic, and later it united with Romania. The Treaty of Paris (1920) recognized the union but the Soviet Union never accepted this. In 1940 Romania was forced to cede Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina to the USSR. The two provinces had almost 4 million inhabitants, mostly Romanians. Although Romania reoccupied part of the territory during World War II the Romanian peace treaty of 1947 confirmed their belonging to the Soviet Union. Today it is part of Moldavia.

3 St

George Cross: Established in Russia in 1769 for distinguished military merits of officers and generals, and, from 1807, of soldiers and corporals. Until 1913 it was officially referred to as Distinction Military Order, from 1913 as St. George Cross. Servicemen awarded with St. George Crosses of all four degrees were called St. George Cavaliers.

4 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

5 Kulaks

In the Soviet Union the majority of wealthy peasants that refused to join collective farms and give their grain and property to Soviet power were called kulaks, declared enemies of the people and exterminated in the 1930s.

6 Great Patriotic War

On 22nd June 1941 at 5 o'clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War. The German blitzkrieg, known as Operation Barbarossa, nearly succeeded in breaking the Soviet Union in the months that followed. Caught unprepared, the Soviet forces lost whole armies and vast quantities of equipment to the German onslaught in the first weeks of the war. By November 1941 the German army had seized the Ukrainian Republic, besieged Leningrad, the Soviet Union's second largest city, and threatened Moscow itself. The war ended for the Soviet Union on 9th May 1945.

7 Revisionist Zionism

The movement founded in 1925 and led by Vladimir Jabotinsky advocated the revision of the principles of Political Zionism developed by Theodor Herzl, the father of Zionism. The main goals of the Revisionists was to put pressure on Great Britain for a Jewish statehood on both banks of the Jordan River, a Jewish majority in Palestine, the reestablishment of the Jewish regiments, and military training for the youth. The Revisionist Zionists formed the core of what became the Herut (Freedom) Party after the Israeli independence. This party subsequently became the central component of the Likud Party, the largest right-wing Israeli party since the 1970s.

8 Dostoevsky, Fyodor (1821-1881)

Russian novelist, journalist and short- story writer whose psychological penetration into the human soul had a profound influence on the 20th century novel. His novels anticipated many of the ideas of Nietzsche and Freud. Dostoevsky's novels contain many autobiographical elements, but ultimately they deal with moral and philosophical issues. He presented interacting characters with contrasting views or ideas about freedom of choice, socialism, atheisms, good and evil, happiness and so forth.

9 Pushkin, Alexandr (1799-1837)

Russian poet and prose writer, among the foremost figures in Russian literature. Pushkin established the modern poetic language of Russia, using Russian history for the basis of many of his works. His masterpiece is Eugene Onegin, a novel in verse about mutually rejected love. The work also contains witty and perceptive descriptions of Russian society of the period. Pushkin died in a duel.

10 Common name

Russified or Russian first names used by Jews in everyday life and adopted in official documents. The Russification of first names was one of the manifestations of the assimilation of Russian Jews at the turn of the 19th and 20th century. In some cases only the spelling and pronunciation of Jewish names was russified (e.g. Isaac instead of Yitskhak; Boris instead of Borukh), while in other cases traditional Jewish names were replaced by similarly sounding Russian names (e.g. Eugenia instead of Ghita; Yury instead of Yuda). When state anti-Semitism intensified in the USSR at the end of the 1940s, most Jewish parents stopped giving their children traditional Jewish names to avoid discrimination.

11 Tarbut schools

Elementary, secondary and technical schools maintained by the Hebrew educational and cultural organization called Tarbut. Most Eastern European countries had such schools between the two world wars but there were especially many in Poland. The language of instruction was Hebrew and the education was Zionist oriented.

12 Jabotinsky, Vladimir (1880-1940)

Founder and leader of the Revisionist Zionist movement; soldier, orator and a prolific author writing in Hebrew, Russian, and English. During World War I he established and served as an officer in the Jewish Legion, which fought in the British army for the liberation of the Land of Israel from Turkish rule. He was a member of the Board of Directors of the Keren Hayesod, the financial arm of the World Zionist Organization, founded in London in 1920, and was later elected to the Zionist Executive. He resigned in 1923 in protest over Chaim Weizmann's pro-British policy and founded the Revisionist Zionist movement and the Betar youth movement two years later. Jabotinsky also founded the ETZEL (National Military Organization) during the 1936-39 Arab rebellion in Palestine.

13 Great Terror (1934-1938)

During the Great Terror, or Great Purges, which included the notorious show trials of Stalin's former Bolshevik opponents in 1936-1938 and reached its peak in 1937 and 1938, millions of innocent Soviet citizens were sent off to labor camps or killed in prison. The major targets of the Great Terror were communists. Over half of the people who were arrested were members of the party at the time of their arrest. The armed forces, the Communist Party, and the government in general were purged of all allegedly dissident persons; the victims were generally sentenced to death or to long terms of hard labor. Much of the purge was carried out in secret, and only a few cases were tried in public 'show trials'. By the time the terror subsided in 1939, Stalin had managed to bring both the party and the public to a state of complete submission to his rule. Soviet society was so atomized and the people so fearful of reprisals that mass arrests were no longer necessary. Stalin ruled as absolute dictator of the Soviet Union until his death in March 1953.

14 NKVD

People's Committee of Internal Affairs; it took over from the GPU, the state security agency, in 1934.

15 Gulag

The Soviet system of forced labor camps in the remote regions of Siberia and the Far North, which was first established in 1919. However, it was not until the early 1930s that there was a significant number of inmates in the camps. By 1934 the Gulag, or the Main Directorate for Corrective Labor Camps, then under the Cheka's successor organization the NKVD, had several million inmates. The prisoners included murderers, thieves, and other common criminals, along with political and religious dissenters. The Gulag camps made significant contributions to the Soviet economy during the rule of Stalin. Conditions in the camps were extremely harsh. After Stalin died in 1953, the population of the camps was reduced significantly, and conditions for the inmates improved somewhat.

16 Rehabilitation in the Soviet Union

Many people who had been arrested, disappeared or killed during the Stalinist era were rehabilitated after the 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956, where Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what had happened in the USSR during Stalin's leadership. It was only after the official rehabilitation that people learnt for the first time what had happened to their relatives as information on arrested people had not been disclosed before.

17 Kolkhoz

In the Soviet Union the policy of gradual and voluntary collectivization of agriculture was adopted in 1927 to encourage food production while freeing labor and capital for industrial development. In 1929, with only 4% of farms in kolkhozes, Stalin ordered the confiscation of peasants' land, tools, and animals; the kolkhoz replaced the family farm.

18 Victory Day in Russia

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

19 War with Japan

In 1945 the war in Europe was over, but in the Far East Japan was still fighting against the anti-fascist coalition countries and China. The USSR declared war on Japan on 8 August 1945 and Japan signed the act of capitulation in September 1945.

20 Passport 24

Such passports were issued to people that authorities didn't put full trust into: they were former political prisoners or those that had recently arrived in the USSR, etc. There was a note in such passports stating that the owner of that passport was not allowed to reside in the 24 biggest towns of the USSR.

21 Residence permit

The Soviet authorities restricted freedom of travel within the USSR through the residence permit and kept everybody's whereabouts under control. Every individual in the USSR needed residential registration; this was a stamp in the passport giving the permanent address of the individual. It was impossible to find a job, or even to travel within the country, without such a stamp. In order to register at somebody else's apartment one had to be a close relative and if each resident of the apartment had at least 8 square meters to themselves.

22 Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee (JAC)

formed in Kuibyshev in April 1942, the organization was meant to serve the interests of Soviet foreign policy and the Soviet military through media propaganda, as well as through personal contacts with Jews abroad, especially in Britain and the United States. The chairman of the JAC was Solomon Mikhoels, a famous actor and director of the Moscow Yiddish State Theater. A year after its establishment, the JAC was moved to Moscow and became one of the most important centers of Jewish culture and Yiddish literature until the German occupation. The JAC broadcast pro-Soviet propaganda to foreign audiences several times a week, telling them of the absence of anti-Semitism and of the great anti-Nazi efforts being made by the Soviet military. In 1948, Mikhoels was assassinated by Stalin's secret agents, and, as part of a newly-launched official anti-Semitic campaign, the JAC was disbanded in November and most of its members arrested.

23 Campaign against 'cosmopolitans'

The campaign against 'cosmopolitans', i.e. Jews, was initiated in articles in the central organs of the Communist Party in 1949. The campaign was directed primarily at the Jewish intelligentsia and it was the first public attack on Soviet Jews as Jews. 'Cosmopolitans' writers were accused of hating the Russian people, of supporting Zionism, etc. Many Yiddish writers as well as the leaders of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee were arrested in November 1948 on charges that they maintained ties with Zionism and with American 'imperialism'. They were executed secretly in 1952. The anti-Semitic Doctors' Plot was launched in January 1953. A wave of anti-Semitism spread through the USSR. Jews were removed from their positions, and rumors of an imminent mass deportation of Jews to the eastern part of the USSR began to spread. Stalin's death in March 1953 put an end to the campaign against 'cosmopolitans'.

24 Doctors' Plot

The Doctors' Plot was an alleged conspiracy of a group of Moscow doctors to murder leading government and party officials. In January 1953, the Soviet press reported that nine doctors, six of whom were Jewish, had been arrested and confessed their guilt. As Stalin died in March 1953, the trial never took place. The official paper of the Party, the Pravda, later announced that the charges against the doctors were false and their confessions obtained by torture. This case was one of the worst anti-Semitic incidents during Stalin's reign. In his secret speech at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956 Khrushchev stated that Stalin wanted to use the Plot to purge the top Soviet leadership.

25 Sholem Aleichem Society in Ukraine

The first Jewish associations were established in many towns of the country in the early 1990s. Many of them were called Sholem Aleichem Society. They had educational and cultural goals. Their purpose was to make assimilated Soviet Jews interested in the history and culture of their people, opening Jewish schools, kindergartens, libraries, literature and historical clubs.

26 Hasid

The follower of the Hasidic movement, a Jewish mystic movement founded in the 18th century that reacted against Talmudic learning and maintained that God's presence was in all of one's surroundings and that one should serve God in one's every deed and word. The movement provided spiritual hope and uplifted the common people. There were large branches of Hasidic movements and schools throughout Eastern Europe before World War II, each following the teachings of famous scholars and thinkers. Most had their own customs, rituals and life styles. Today there are substantial Hasidic communities in New York, London, Israel and Antwerp.

Emilia Ratz

Emilia Ratz
Vienna
Austria
Interviewer: Tanja Eckstein
Date of Interview: July 2004

Shortly after the beginning of our interview, Mrs. Emilia Ratz, called Mila by her friends, impresses me with her exceptional life-story and her humor, which overshadows the tragic of her experiences in the first moment. She has a strong personality and I’m almost convinced that she already had a great amount of self-confidence, courage of her own convictions and purposefulness when she saw the light of day. She shows great interest in politics, art and culture. There are also a lot of younger people that are drawn to her personality; her circle of friends consists of old and young alike.

My family background

My father’s whole family lived in Warsaw, in a house that belonged to my grandfather. My grandparents lived in the house facing the street while the other two families belonging to our family each had a two-bedroom apartment without bathroom in the annex forming the rear of the house. We had a bath-tub in the kitchen. During the day we used it as a table by putting a table-top on top of it. We had running water and electricity, but there was no garden. We didn’t have any pets either. We lived very modestly.

The house facing the street had three of four stories and in the rear there was a wing on both the left and the right side. The main house consisted of about 15 apartments, in which mostly Jewish families lived. The janitor, however, wasn’t Jewish.

My grandfather owned a soap factory which was housed in the cellar of the rear building. It consisted of three rooms: the office, the packing-table room and the boiler-room. There was a huge boiler in which the soap was produced as well as a machine for pressing and shaping the soap. By the way, my grandfather also manufactured toothpaste. It was called Milodont, after his daughter Mila. I think there was coconut oil, perfume and soapsuds in the boiler. There were up to four workers there; they were probably Jewish. My father didn’t have a shop of his own, he sold the products to shops and private people, and, before Christian holidays also to market stalls. The factory was closed on Jewish holidays.

My grandfather’s apartment was big – it consisted of three or four rooms – but I don’t remember it very clearly. What I do recall is the smell of the house, which was a mixture of velvet and spices.

I did know my grandfather Endler, but I don’t remember his first name. When I was a child the relations between grandparents and grandchildren were different from what they are today. I was just a small child of pre-school age and I don’t recall ever really talking to my grandfather. He was a respected authority.

The family mainly gathered at his place for meals on the high holidays. Anytime I saw my grandfather, he wore a black suit. He also always wore a kippah. In my memories, he was a tall and chubby man. He said the prayers and led the dinner. I remember a large table, at which all family members had their meals, and of course, there was also a cook. I don’t remember if there were any other servants. The children had to show good manners and the parents made sure that they behaved properly. After the meal, one was supposed to kiss my grandfather’s hand to express one’s gratitude.

On Sabbath my mother baked challot and lit the candles. My father, who was a heavy smoker, didn’t smoke on Sabbath. I remember that we had potato pancake on Chanukkah and hamantashen on Purim. I didn’t fast on Yom Kippur, but after people ended their fast there was always a lot of food; I don’t recall what exactly. On Sukkot we built huts [sukkah] in the yard and ate in there. There was a Chassidic family living in the house and they performed dances on all the holidays.

As for my grandmother Endler, I don’t remember her at all. Perhaps she just spoke Yiddish or perhaps she found it difficult to make friends, or perhaps she had already passed away – I really don’t know. I just know her from a photo. Unfortunately I can’t say anything about her and there’s no one left whom I could possibly ask.

There were two portraits in our apartment – one of my grandmother and one of my grandfather – and those are all I remember. I can’t recall anyone ever talking about them either. My grandfather died in the 1920s; I don’t know when my grandmother passed away.

My father was the oldest of my grandparent’s five children. His name was Israel Endler. My father’s siblings were Ignatz, who lived in South America, Adolf, Helena and a sister, who lived in a mental institution, and whose name I don’t remember.

The relationship between my father and his younger brother Adolf wasn’t particularly exemplary. They fought sometimes, but back then children weren’t involved in such kind affairs. Uncle Adolf was an office clerk in a company, or perhaps it was even a cartel. He was well off financially. I think they had fights because my father had inherited my grandfather’s soap factory. Allegedly it was my father who had got Uncle Adolf his good position in that office and thanks to him he had a good life, whereas my father was struggling quite a bit with the soap factory.

Uncle Adolf’s wife was named Felicia and they had a son, Mieczyslaw, born in 1921. He was the same age as I. He was a typical only child, spoiled and well off. Once he pushed me off a bicycle and caused me to hurt my knee. As a result I was sick for the whole summer and I still haven’t forgiven him for doing what he did. Maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but he just wasn’t my type.

Uncle Adolf died after an appendix operation in 1938. Aunt Felicia didn’t survive the Warsaw Ghetto 1, whereas Mieczyslav managed to flee from the ghetto. He got hold of some ,Aryan papers’, went to Southern Russia with the Todt 2 organization and joined the Polish army in exile [see Anders’ Army] 3 there in 1943. He marched into Poland with the Polish army in 1945, became a journalist and worked for a newspaper. At the beginning of the 1950s he was sent to Sweden by the newspaper and never returned. Later his family followed him to Sweden. He is divorced now, and spends his time between Germany and Sweden. His two sons live in Sweden.

Uncle Ignatz was the black sheep of the family. He left his family in his young days and immigrated to South America. I only met him once, in 1939. I remember that he came by ship and had a cabin trunk. He brought my father twelve shirts, all with a soft collar. Today all men wear such shirts, but my father only wore shirts with a stiff collar throughout his life. He said thanks to his brother, but once Uncle Ignatz had left, he told me, ‘Well, Mila, now you can make yourself twelve blouses out of these because I will never wear them.’ I did make myself a blouse out of one of them, and it survived throughout the war.

To me Uncle Ignatz was the personification of ‘being rich’ – that cabin trunk for example, or those twelve shirts. My father probably had many shirts, too, but going on a journey and bringing twelve shirts as a gift is a different story altogether. And never in my life had I seen such a cabin trunk! To me that was all pretty exotic. I don’t know if he really was rich. He was very likeable and I still remember the ring he gave to me as a gift. It was the first ring I ever got; I was 17 at the time. It was made of gold and my name was engraved on it. Uncle Ignatz was killed in a plane crash, but I don’t remember when.

Aunt Helena was a housewife. Her husband owned a textile store in the heart of Warsaw, in the Jewish quarter, on Nalewki Street, which was a very long and famous street with many Jewish stores. This street is mentioned in all the books on Jewish life in Warsaw before the Holocaust by the way.

My aunt’s family was doing quite well. They had a daughter named Friederike, who was two or three years older than I, but I didn’t really get along with her. First, because she was stupid, second, because she was a very bad student; and third because we studied in the same grammar school and any time I had to leave my classroom because of disturbing the class I had to go through her classroom and she always told my mother, ‘Mila has been thrown out of class again!’

I was a good student though and had excellent grades in my graduation certificate. Friederike was raised by her parents exclusively to be a good match. She spent most of her time in front of the mirror. I was in a completely different phase: I also liked to be dressed well, even though I had to do so with limited means, but I was always very annoyed if people only noticed my appearance. I always wanted people to investigate my intellectual side. All this left Friederike unmoved; she preferred to look out for a good match. And indeed, she married a lawyer, who was much older than her. A 4th-year student fancied me back then, which means he was four or five years older than I. And I though: ‘he must be out of his mind, such an old man, what does he want from me!’ And I thought the same thing when Friederike married this lawyer, Mr. Stützer, in 1938. I wasn’t the only one who thought that way. In my class – we were just Jewish teenagers – no more than 20 to 30 per cent of the students wanted to get married immediately after graduation. Most students wanted to continue their studies at university.

Back then it was customary in Poland, or at least I think it was, to go to some kind of school for corporals if you were a university graduate. This was also true for Jews. Friederike’s husband also had to join the army in 1939 and he either died on the frontlines or in some camp in Russia. But his younger brother survived. When I visited a friend in London after the war, she told me that she was friends with a certain Stützer and that he was the brother of my cousin Friederike’s husband. Friederike died in the Warsaw Ghetto.

My father’s third sister, the one whose name I don’t know, apparently went insane. Or so they said in the family, I don’t know for sure. During World War I the Russians blew up a bridge in Warsaw and allegedly my aunt was nearby when it happened. From that moment on she stopped speaking and lived in a mental institution. She was there as long as I can remember. Back then they put all people like her behind bars. I visited this institution near Warsaw with my father numerous times: it was called Tworki and it still exists today. I never saw this aunt of mine because they didn’t let children into the institution. I didn’t interrogate my father about her either; I simply accepted the way things were.

This sister of my father had a single daughter, Rosa, who also lived in one of the apartments of my grandfather’s house. I liked to visit her and she even taught me French for a little while. In the family’s opinion a stain clung to her because she had a child, back then still a baby, from her non-Jewish boyfriend, who was quite a bit older. The family didn’t really approve of me visiting her, but I found her interesting. She probably had rather unconventional views for the time when it came to children. She respected my views and we talked about things my parents would have never talked to me about. Rosa and her child were killed during the Holocaust.

After my grandfather’s death, , the sense of community in the family disintegrated. Each family began to celebrate the holidays in their own apartments; I don’t recall any family celebrations where we were all together.

My maternal grandparents’ surname was Katz. I don’t remember this grandmother either. As a child I never visited Narewka, the village where my grandparents lived and where my mother and her siblings were born. I did know my grandfather because every year up until his death, he visited us for a few days in Warsaw. I didn’t have any close contact with him either though. He died when I was in elementary school. My father was most likely informed about my grandfather’s death by telephone and in the beginning he kept it secret from my mother; he had a very hard time to tell her that her father had died. When I came home from school that day I knocked on the door of our apartment as I always did, and I could hear my mother crying bitterly. On the stairs leading to our apartment there was always a box with charcoal and I sat down on it and was afraid to enter the apartment because never before had I heard my mother cry so bitterly. I must have been seven back then because I remember that my sister was still very small.

I visited Narewka for the first time in 1969. My husband had already received permission by the Polish authorities to immigrate to Austria with our children by then. I asked him to travel to this village with me because I knew I would never see the place if he didn’t come with me.
In 1888 Narewka had approximately 860 residents, 780 of which were Jews. In 1908 they built the Hajnowka-Wolkowysk railway line running through Narewka. This little village wasn’t destroyed in World War II. In the interwar period the village had industrial companies, a turpentine factory, Hackiel’s glassworks and a windmill.

Of course the Jewish life was wiped out in Narewka after World War II, I’m sure that not a single Jew remained in town. There was no synagogue and no Jewish cemetery giving evidence that Jews had lived there before the Holocaust.

My mother’s name was Marija, nee Katz. She was born in Narewka in 1896. She attended a grammar school and spoke German, Russian and Polish. Before World War I my mother worked for the Post Office. After she got married and had children she became a housewife. She occasionally helped out in the soap factory, but mostly she stayed at home.

My mother had two older sisters and many brothers of whom I only knew one. One of her sisters was Bertha, who was married to a man who owned a wine-merchant’s in Grodno [today Belarus]. They didn’t have children. The other sister was Sonja; she wasn’t married. The only brother I knew was Joel Katz. He was a businessman and owned a timber trade in Bialystok [today Poland]; he was married and had a son, Josef. They were all killed in the Holocaust. Sometimes my mother’s brothers and sisters came to visit us but I don’t recall that my parents ever visited them. My mother was certainly happy to live in such a big city as Warsaw. They were all killed during the Holocaust.

My father, Israel Endler, was born in Warsaw in 1890. His mother tongue was Polish. He had a commercial education and was a soap manufacturer. He was a businessman. He was away a lot; his company was small and he tried to sell his goods by traveling from village to village.

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

I know that my father met my mother on a business trip. I assume that my mother was at her brother Joel’s in Bialystok when they met because I cannot image that my father would have even tried to sell his goods in such a small place as Narewka, but rather in bigger places such as Bialystok. I don’t know for sure though. They got acquainted before World War I and probably got married in 1919 or 1920 because I was born on 9th December 1921 in Warsaw.
My sister Halina was born in Warsaw in 1926.

When I was a child I had a nanny who even spoke German. Later we usually had peasant girls that helped my mother around the house. They had to put up with very modest conditions: they slept on a folding bed in the kitchen because our apartment only consisted of a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen and a small anteroom. Besides, the apartment was very dark because it was on the first floor.

I would assume that I slept in my parents’ bedroom when I was a child, but later I slept on a sofa in the living room and my sister stayed in my parents’ room. I did my homework at the dining table. There was a pretty wide windowsill in the living room and when it was warm I did my homework there. A very religious family lived opposite us. On weekdays there was no problem, but when I did my homework on the windowsill on Saturdays, my father used to say, ‘Why do you have to upset the people living opposite us?’

We spent our vacations with our mother somewhere near Vilnius, what is today Lithuania. She took us to the countryside where she was born. Sometimes we just went to small villages close to Warsaw or we hired a farmer and a cart and went on a summer holiday. It took about an hour to get there and the road was named ‘the line’. Along this ‘line’ there were a number of small villages, the last of which were a bit more We rented an apartment and our father came by train to join us on either Friday morning or before Sabbath and returned Saturday evening or Sunday morning. If we went away for longer, we took our own bed sheets and dishes with us. My mother cooked for us; sometimes a peasant girl helped her. We, children, usually spent our holiday playing. There were also lakes in the area, so we could also play in the water. My mother often joined us playing, otherwise she read the papers or books.

I attended a private elementary school for two years. I wasn’t extremely industrious but I had to do my homework; that was my duty. My parents must have been doing quite well at that time because otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to afford to send me to a private school. Afterwards they took me out of that school and I had to study in a public school, which was free, for four years. It was only when I entered grammar school that I went to a private school again. I could have attended a public grammar school, but due to anti-Semitism it wasn’t so easy for Jewish children to enter grammar school.

We had religious instruction at school and it was absolutely necessary to have a good mark because a bad mark in religious instruction – no matter if Jewish religion or any other – was regarded by the authorities as a sign for the person to belong to a communist organization. In addition it was difficult to enter university with a bad mark in religion.

At the grammar school I went to there were mainly Jewish teachers who would have had a hard time finding a job at a public school and who were very committed. I assume my parents sent me to this school on purpose because there was a strong anti-Semitism in Poland at the time, whereas I didn’t have to face anything of the like in this school. It wasn’t a Jewish school; all the students there were assimilated Jewish children who stood by their Jewishness and the fact that they were Polish citizen and regarded Poland as their homeland. There were even Jewish members in the Polish parliament back then. Hitler’s rise to power in the 1930s brought an end to that.

I had a cousin – I don’t remember from which side of the family – who went to school in Breslau. He was expelled from Germany in 1938 because he was a Polish Jew. Once he came to our place for lunch. He had very right-wing political views, but he told us in detail about the ‘Jewish Laws’ in Germany. I was hardly 16 at the time and loathed this cousin of mine. I said to my mother, ‘If you ever invite Henry – that’s what my cousin was called – for lunch again, let me know so that I can make sure I won’t be home then.’ Jozef Pilsudski 4 was a dictator, but he was well disposed towards Jews.

I did look Jewish enough, but it never happened that anyone abused me on the street; I never ever experienced anything the like. A gym teacher – she wasn’t Jewish - was said to be anti-Semitic. I met her again by accident after the war and she almost squashed me when she hugged me, out of joy that I had stayed alive. It has to be said though, that many Christians who were anti-Semitic before the Holocaust changed their minds after they realized what that meant. There was this familiar quote in Poland at the time: Away with Jewish men, Jewish women stay with us! Of course that was only because Jewish girls were very pretty. I took an interest in politics as early as 1935, at the age of 14. It was at the time when Polish fascism started to rise. I met leftwing students and developed a leftist attitude.

There was a drama theater at our school. I was a member and worked on plays under the direction of the teachers. We also created the sets ourselves. Each year a subject that we wanted to adapt for the stage was discussed and agreed on. I remember one of them, which was ‘My favorite book’. This way the reading matter for children was supposed to be influenced. We performed a fragment of a historical novel and a fragment of a thriller, and of course children were advised against the thriller. I was also part of a literary circle and very good at writing.

As a child I was interested in many different things. During my school years I also attended courses in biology and astronomy. I don’t mean to say that I was born an intellectual, but I was always a little bit more mature than many other children and I was interested in social issues from an early age on.

Theoretically, studying at the grammar school was very expensive. In practice it was different though because the teachers were very committed. So the families of the richer girls paid almost everything and most of the other children got a fairly good discount. However, after I finished the 10th grade and got my ‘small’ final exam [studies for the ‘small’ final exam lasted 10 instead of 12 years and it didn’t qualify students to enter university] my father said, ‘You have your small final exam. That will do. You aren’t crooked, you are quite pretty, you’re ready to get married.’ Well, I created an enormous scandal, and with success. I told my father, ‘I want to study and if you can’t afford to pay for it then I’ll give private classes and pay for it myself. If I can continue to live at home, I’ll make it.’ Had it been up to my father, things would have remained the way they were in the old times: my sister and I would have married a good match.

My mother silently rebelled against my father: she was a very smart woman and didn’t approve of what he had said, but she didn’t dare brew up a storm. However, she always succeeded in having it her way, also thinking of her other daughter, my younger sister, who was pretty lazy back then, but then again she was still a child. I had the feeling that my sister was the spoiled one. If I wanted to ask my father for money for something ‘unimportant’ – children didn’t get pocket money back then – I always sent my sister ahead because chances were higher that she would get some before I would.

Later my father allowed me to spend my summer vacations in a school camp that was neither kosher – the teachers weren’t religious – nor Zionist. On one of these occasions I met a student there, who had pitched his tent nearby, fell in love with me and wrote letters to me afterwards. I didn’t have the slightest idea that he was interested in me. I was hardly 17 years old, hadn’t finished school yet and a 20 or 22-year-old seemed an old man to me. My father learned through these letters that a Jewish man from a rich family was interested in his daughter. However, I told my mother, ‘If he phones, tell him I’m not at home.’ My father was outraged that I’d let the chance of such a good match slip through my fingers. That should give you somewhat of an idea what he thought of female emancipation.

I had friends from different classes of society and therefore I clearly saw the difference between my typical petit bourgeois home and other milieus. My father was conservative in every respect and therefore we almost always had different opinions. He was a typical small-scale businessman who wanted to support his family and make sure that his daughters behaved properly.

I met most of my friends at school, through drama classes and courses. We didn’t go to the cinema or coffee houses because we didn’t have enough money for that. Sometimes we met at the home of a more progressive friend, if his or her parents allowed it.

My father only owned the Talmud in Hebrew and some other religious books. I never saw him lying on the sofa and reading, like I do, but my mother did read novels and was more open-minded. I have an idea about how this came to happen: Sometime during World War I, before she got married, my mother probably worked somewhere. Back then women were also subject to work. I’m certain that she had a German friend back then because how else could she have known German if she didn’t? In that part of Poland it was rare to speak German. In Galicia 5 they only spoke Yiddish and German, but in the part where my mother lived, they spoke Russian and Polish. My mother owned and read many books in German, and I have been reading many books since my childhood, too.

If I look back at my parents’ cultural life and compare it to mine, I have to say that they had a very poor one. They rarely went to the theater and when they did they watched operettas or revues. They took me along to a revue twice.

All the Jews in our surrounding were kosher; there were many kosher stores. We lived on a very long street, one side of which was Jewish – apart from one non-Jew, Mr. Stanislaw, the janitor of our house – and the other was Christian. There was a Catholic church opposite our house; it was the only building in what later became the Warsaw Ghetto that survived the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising 6. The Great Synagogue was quite a bit away from our house, so my father and mother went to a prayer house close to our home, on the high holidays.

My father prayed daily, and on Friday afternoon, at the beginning of Sabbath, he stopped smoking. No lights were lit up any longer. He was deeply religious and followed all rules. There was no cooking on Saturday; the food was completely prepared beforehand. I remember the single time my father entered the kitchen. He had found a knife for meat among the cutlery for dairy products. My mother, in her despair, said that the nanny had probably mixed them up. My father immediately put the knife into a pot of earth. I had the impression that my mother was way less religious than my father. I can’t describe it exactly, it’s just that she was always very tolerant towards me. She never punished me either.

My father once overheard me talking on the phone about a sum of money, which I had collected for the International Brigades fighting in the Spanish Civil War 7. He was in the room next door and all of a sudden he asked, ‘What kind of money are you talking about? Where did you get that much money? I confessed upon which he said, ‘Why do you get involved there? It’s none of your business!’ He was definitely conservative, loyal to the regime and seriously believed that if you did what the government said, nothing bad could ever happen to you.

None of us was a Zionist. I never heard any conversations about emigrating to Palestine or anything the like. Maybe there were such talks among other adults, I don’t know. It was probably also a question of money because we were people who couldn’t afford to go abroad.

During the War

The war broke out on 1st September 1939 [see Invasion of Poland] 8. My friend and I went to the Technical University by tram to hand in our documents. I wanted to study chemistry; it was my dream to become a chemist. When we reached the center of town I noticed young boys crying out loud and distributing a special edition of a newspaper. I said to my friend that I would get off the tram to see what was printed in the paper. War was already in the air! When I read about the mobilization of men in the newspaper, I told my friend, ‘I’m not going to leave my documents with the university. It’s almost certain that there’s going to be a war.’ Six days later the Germans had advanced as far as Warsaw. Men and young people tried to flee. I wanted to leave too, because I had an idea that things could turn ugly. I was a hundred percent convinced that we had to flee. The Polish government said: ‘We are strong, we will fight and we will win!’ And in my ‘small brain’ – although back then I thought I was incredibly mature and knew everything – I secretly knew by then already that the war against the Germans would be lost. Three weeks later Warsaw fell into the hands of the Germans.

My father wouldn’t let me leave. It was a catastrophe. ‘You want to leave the family?’ he uttered indignantly. So I stayed. I was the only person to stand in line for water, because there was none left, and organize food because my sister was only twelve, my mother was chubby and not used to strenuous work and my father probably suffered from either heart or kidney disease because he was always sweating.

When the Germans marched into Warsaw I stood on the street with my fists clenched. They marched into town like heroes, dressed in black, with an arrogant expression on their faces, and with tanks. I ran home and had an argument with my parents. I wanted us to flee together. My father said, ‘What do you think you know? You’re just a child. That’s all exaggerated.’ And my mother said, ‘ You know, the Germans are a civilized people, just think of Schiller and Goethe!’ I realized that my attempts were hopeless. Two years before the war the economical situation had improved, people bought furniture and things like that and they clung to that. So I began to fight for my sister. And at that point my father burst out in a fit of rage: ‘What do you think you’re doing! You’re not even grown up yet!’

As a result of this I moved in with my friend Halina Altmann. Her parents were progressive. Her mother was in prison for her political convictions, or perhaps she had already been released at the time, I don’t remember exactly. They were all left wing and decided to flee. Halina escaped to Lwow [today Ukraine], where she studied at university. Her parents and her younger brother fled to Lutzk, a small village, which was under Russian rule back then, and which today belongs to Ukraine. Halina’s father happened to be on a business trip in Kiev when the Germans marched into Lutzk and killed her mother and brother. Halina and her father survived the Holocaust. I ‘terrorized’ my parents and said I’d only come back home if they would at least let me go. I hadn’t attained my majority yet but was only missing a few months.

Shortly after the Germans invaded Warsaw, I saw how they cut off a Jew’s beard at the market place. I said to my parents, ‘I know I don’t have a chance here. You don’t either but I can’t force you to come along.’ My father remained stubborn; for him it was out of the question to let me go. At that moment my mother said to my father, and it probably took her a lot of courage to do so, ‘You know, I can’t take responsibility for Mila [Emilia]’. Upon that my father agreed with her. He allowed me to go on the condition that I wouldn’t leave with all the ‘insane’ people, so he went to get a taxi for me. In that taxi he wanted me to go to my mother’s brother, Uncle Joel, in Bialystok, who would take care of me. My father put 100 zloty into my shoes, which made no sense at all because I couldn’t have done anything with that money.

I don’t have a single photograph of my parents or my sister because my father checked my backpack before I left and found an envelope with photos that I had put there. He took all photos out of the envelope, except the ones of me, and said, ‘If you want to put yourself in jeopardy, all right. But you won’t put the whole family in danger!’ That’s why I don’t have a single family photograph.

A woman and her baby were traveling with me; her husband was already on the Russian side. But we didn’t know then that a partition of Poland into German and Russian territory had taken place on 17th October 1939 as a result of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 9. The taxi had barely made it 20 kilometers when the Germans confiscated it. In this chaos, the woman with the baby said she would return home. I asked her to tell my parents that she had lost sight of me. Thereupon I joined some strangers and we continued on our way on foot. I think it was about 300 kilometers to Bialystok [today Belarus]. It felt like being in a flock of sheep a bit: everyone’s going so I’m going, too. Sometimes farmers gave us a lift in their carts; there were hardly cars around then and the Germans had requisitioned the ones that existed.

I don’t know how many days we were on the road. Half starved and thirsty, we sometimes got milk from farmers. Money wasn’t an issue any more. If you had a bar of soap – and I had a few bars because my father had foreseen that correctly - you could exchange it for food. Soap became kind of a ‘currency’. We arrived at the demarcation line, and I, in my low cast of mind back then, thought the Soviets would be standing at the border waiting for me. By chance there was no German guard there and we made a beeline for the Soviet side. The Russian border guard took his carbine, pointed it at us and said, ‘Stoi! Get back!’

We tried to cross over three times and fortunately the Russians didn’t hand us over to the Germans; it was a neutral piece of land. Afterwards we decided – I being the youngest – to go into the village and try finding a farmer who would bring us across the green line. We found a farmer who belonged to a minority of very poor German people and took us along in his boot for a short distance. ‘Just for security reason’, as he assured us, he took all our jewelry, including my watch and my ring, the one that Uncle Ignatz from South America had given to me. This attempt to escape failed but we finally did manage to cross the border illegally. It was October, the nights were cold and I caught a cold. I had a coat that I forgot to put on - at the age of 17 you just don’t think about sickness very much.

When I arrived at my relative’s place in Bialystok, my uncle Joel’s wife opened the door, looked at me and was reluctant to let me. I was in a horrible state and she didn’t recognize me. She thought I was a beggar. I had a fever the next day but once I had recovered a bit, my uncle Joel took over my father’s role. He said that his dear sister Marija had always been incredibly tolerant, that it wouldn’t be good for the children and now he would show me what discipline was. ‘You stay here. Work is out of the question for you. We will find you a good match’, he said. When I had recovered I told him, ‘You know what? I’m a human being and you are not my father and besides I’ve almost reached my maturity age.’ He just replied, ‘You’re a kid.’ I didn’t want to start an argument with him so I just went to the center of town a few days later, where I found a refugee organization. They gave me a free ticket to Lwow, so I went to my uncle and announced, ‘I’m going to Lwow tomorrow!’ Of course this caused a similar scandal as the one I had had at home. But I didn’t let them stop me. I wanted to study and there was no possibility to do so in Bialystok. My uncle said, ‘But you don’t even know anyone there’. Upon which I just murmured, ‘For goodness sake, I’m not going into the desert!’

When I got off the train in Lwow in the evening I stood at the railway station like a poor orphan. I had never been to this city before. I knew that Lwow was a cultural center, but that was about it. A woman approached me, saying, ‘Girl, you must be a refugee!’ ‘Yes’, I replied. ‘Do you have a place to stay?’ ‘No.’ ‘You can stay at my place. I only have a small apartment but I’ll put a mattress into the bathtub and you can sleep there.’ My benefactress turned out to be a teacher. I told her, ‘You know, I want to study at the university here. I have no money but I’ll probably meet many friends at university.’ I knew many people from Warsaw, also older students. The next day I wrote to my uncle: ‘I have arrived.’

And, indeed, I met a lot of old acquaintances at the university. I was the youngest and everyone felt obliged to help me. It was the beginning of November and exams were over already. However, there was a student committee because this was an unusual year: there were a lot of people who wouldn’t have been allowed to enter university, both Jews and communists. And this committee had fought for us to be allowed to take special entrance exams.

What turned out to be a little bit more complicated was the matter of accommodation. There was a so-called ‘commander’, an older student, in the student hostel. Much to my disadvantage I had this coat with a Persian lamb collar that my mother had made for me for my final exams. Now this ‘commander’ concluded that someone who owns a coat with a Persian lamb collar simply must be rich. I had no money whatsoever though and couldn’t possibly afford an apartment. And so I lived illegally for two months, spending the night here and there. Some of the people, who accommodated me, gave me some food. I had to study a lot and finish my exams quickly. I had done my finals in June and now I had to sit exams in maths, chemistry and physics.

All my friends helped me with my studies so that I would pass the exams with good results, and indeed, I succeeded. My dream had come true: I could start my chemistry studies. With a trick I also got a space in the student hostel after two months. When I had finished my exams I was granted a scholarship but it was hardly enough to keep body and soul together. I worked besides my studies: I cleaned floors and knitted pullovers for a shop. The owner of the store had hidden some wool, and I knitted the pullovers from that wool, which was forbidden. The third job I had was also the most daring: I drew boards to illustrate the vocabulary for the language classes of the English Faculty, and it was daring because I had no talent when it came to drawing. Drawing bodies I could cope with somewhat but when it came to heads a friend of mine, who studied architecture, came to my place in the evenings to help me out.

Anti-Semitism was particularly horrible at universities. Polish nationalists achieved that Jews and non-Jews had to be in separate classrooms – we called that ‘bench ghetto’ – and they constantly instigated fights.

I experienced the reality of this ‘socialism’ for two years. I had already read The Communist Manifesto back in Warsaw and I believed that Soviet Russia was paradise. The materialistic side of things was left out of account – no one thought about things like that. Once I watched a historical Soviet film on the tsarist era, against imperialism, in which they also trampled on Polish flags. I was upset: after all I was a Polish patriot. Sometimes I approached the older ones students to draw their attention to certain things, which, in my opinion, weren’t politically correct. They always had some kind of excuse: ‘Yes, there are mistakes, but it’s the right principle’, they would say.

I met my future husband, Martin Ratz, while at university in Lwow. He also had to sit the entrance exams for university because he had been put into prison as a ‘hostile alien’ - the Austrians regarded him as a Pole and the Poles regarded him as an Austrian - by the Polish in Lwow following the invasion of the Germans in 1939. He was released by the Russians when they occupied Lwow.

There was a shop on the university grounds where you could buy drawing paper, ink and things like that and I continually met this handsome young guy in the dean’s office, where you got vouchers for the learning material. Well, that handsome young guy was Martin and he became my boyfriend.

Martin was born on 14th April 1921 in Vienna. He had a sister called Hedwig Charlotte, born in Vienna in 1924. His father’s name was Alexander and his mother was called Sophie. They came to Vienna from Brody, Galicia, but I don’t remember when. I assume his father was a businessman. He worked in a company in Vienna that sold pencils and the like Two years later the family moved to Cracow. I suppose my husband’s father had relatives and better job opportunities there. Unfortunately he died of a heart attack in 1931 or 32.

Sophie Ratz stayed in Cracow and devoted herself to the children. I don’t know how they made a living, perhaps they had some income from some property or perhaps their relatives supported them. When my husband was in grammar school, his mother decided to send him to her sister in Vienna, probably because – but this is only my supposition – he had the chance of getting better final exams there than in Cracow. Martin moved to his aunt’s in Vienna – she lived on Rechte Wienzeile – in 1937. In 1938, a year before his final exams, he was expelled from Austria for being a Polish Jew.

On 23rd June 1941 I was supposed to sit an extremely difficult exam in mechanics. I was in the fourth term. At 6am on Sunday, 22nd June [the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War] 10, a colleague of mine, who I knew from school, came to my place and said, ‘War has begun!’ We all thought she was out of her mind, but the very moment she said it, firing started. A few minutes later we understood that this was no mere training.

We were supposed to flee the next day, but then they said that the Germans had been repressed. The university director gathered everyone, told us not to panic and to go in for our exams. Martin was a ‘Jecke’ [term for a very responsible and law-abiding German Jew], followed the instructions and, the good boy he was, went in for his exam; I think that was on 28th June.

I volunteered for the army along with two other girls; we wanted to fight against Hitler. They didn’t want to accept us though because we didn’t have the proper training. So we just told them that we had had a class on the subject in school, where they had trained us to be nurses in the war. Thereupon we were accepted as assistant nurses. A military hospital had been set up in the building of the university, but there were no wounded people at that stage yet.

Martin had an uncle and aunt, who had a daughter living in Lwow. He went there after his exams to have some good food. So while the Germans were invading Lwow, he was sitting in his aunt’s house and eating; she had made scrambled egg for him. All of a sudden his uncle walked in and said, ‘What are you doing here?’ And Martin proudly announced, ‘I’ve passed my exam!’ His uncle murmured, ‘You’re crazy. The whole town is on the run. Go to the student hostel right now, get your things and leave!’ His family in Lwow didn’t survive the Holocaust.

I felt very mobilized and my two friends and I were very industrious: We dragged beds and mattresses and they sent me to the hospital to collect medicine. I went through a city that was being evacuated and saw nothing. I was so engrossed in my mission that I didn’t notice what was happening around me. Proudly I brought back the medicine, and in the evening – the city was quiet and you could only hear artillery far away – I said to my two friends, ‘You know, I feel the same way I did when they gave up Warsaw.’ There was a girl among us, later a war heroine, who died during the battle for Warsaw, at the end of the war. She was two years my senior and more pontifical than the pope. She swore at me for being a defeatist: how could I possibly say a thing like that. I told her, ‘You know what. We are all grown-up but we are not related. As to me, I’ll flee!’

We went up to the first floor, where the university administration was located, and no one was there – not the director, nor anyone else. They had simply forgotten about us.
I hadn’t come all the way from Warsaw on foot, leaving my family behind, just to fall into the hands of the Germans here.

We went to the student hostel and it was almost empty. Bombs were being dropped already and they were firing from the roof of a barracks opposite the university building. Those were probably Ukrainian nationalists, but we didn’t know that back then. In the short time before the Germans seized Lwow, the power had been in the hands of Ukrainian nationalists, and I’ll never forget how afraid I was of my fellow Ukrainian students. Maybe it’s a sin to say so, but this Ukrainian nationalism was terrible. However, many were enthusiastic about it because this nationalism had freed Ukraine. There was a rather large number of Ukrainians in Lwow. They collaborated with the Germans from the very beginning and were very strong anti-Semites.

One person from that group came up to me once, patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well Mila, now that we have the Germans here everything will be good and we’ll at last get some order.’ I was very upset and replied, ‘We’ll see about that.’ And I said to the others, ‘I’m leaving right now! And I’ll use the window, not the door because our Ukrainian colleagues could be waiting there to kill us.’ The window led onto a meadow, but hardly anyone from our small group of girls knew her way around in Lwow. Two girls were from Warsaw and one was from a little town, close to what was then the border with Ukraine, but none of us was from Lwow. We went on foot along with Russian troops that were already fleeing. It was nighttime and I had no idea what had happened to Martin. The very next day the Germans already occupied Lwow.

We walked throughout the night. In the morning we arrived in a little town by the name of Pszemyslany [today Ukraine]. We wanted to rest a little there. I knocked on the door of the first little house. The owner was a shoemaker and his family was incredibly poor. It was a kind of poverty I hadn’t known before. We almost behaved like occupiers; we needed a place to sleep. A few hours later we walked into town and saw a bus around where an enormous number of Soviet Party officials with bag and baggage had gathered. Each of us had a backpack with almost nothing in it. You were only allowed to board the bus, if your name was on a list. The bus was supposed to go to Kiev and under normal circumstances we would have had no chance to get onto that bus. But we were young and strong and violence saved us. We pushed our way forward to the bus. In the course of the journey we didn’t hear any explosions; all was quiet. But when we reached a town near Tarnopol [today Ukraine] a horrible bomb attack took place. The Ukrainians were firing at the Russian troops from the shelter of the woods.

When the situation had calmed down we set out on our way to Tarnopol, where the bus stopped for a break. In the spur of the moment I decided to stay in Tarnopol and wait for Martin. My heart told me, it was only here where I could possibly meet him because Tarnopol was the last Polish city before the former Polish border.

They were bombing quite a bit at nighttime. We spent the night on the floor in the city hall and in the morning we discussed what we should do. We were fairly weak already. And then I met my husband, who arrived a few hours later. Martin was wearing his winter coat from Vienna and had blue underpants wrapped around his neck, which were tied into a knot at the end of the trouser legs. In these trouser legs was sugar, which Martin had found next to bombed military vehicles. My husband and I stayed together from that moment on.

We escaped eastwards on board a freight train. We had no idea where we were, where the train stopped; we didn’t know anything. It was total chaos. We just wanted to get away from the Germans. We decided to head for Kiev when we learned that both Kiev and Odessa had already been encircled. Nonetheless we wanted to go to a big city with a university to continue our studies. I think we boarded ten different trains. We arrived in Dnepropetrowsk, a fairly big city, and planned to stay there. That very night the city was being bombed for the first time. We had no money and decided to work in a kolkhoz 11. The name of the village was Kotelnikowo [today Russia], later a location where pretty fierce fighting took place.

I gave myself an upset stomach by eating a fatty lamb soup; I had never eaten lamb before. Everyone thought I had typhoid. Martin decided to save me and drove me to a hospital because there was no doctor in the village. We went by cart to see a doctor and by the time we arrived there I was back to normal, a bit starved but healthy.

Since my husband had a good upbringing everything had to be done the proper way and so he sold his watch, the only valuable thing he had left. He probably would have got more for it on the black-market, but because he was such a civilized person, he sold it to a state-owned shop. He bought train tickets to Stalingrad with the money he got for it. We were the only people in the whole Soviet Union who boarded that train with tickets. Whenever I told my friends this little anecdote later, I always brought the house down.

My husband had a wound on his leg inflicted earlier by a scythe during work on a field. It got worse and he had to go to hospital in Stalingrad. Due to a false diagnosis he was put into quarantine. I stayed in a refugee camp in the meantime; theoretically you were only allowed to stay there for 24 hours.

Stalingrad was an industrial city. I came across ads by a university and made inquiries if there was a faculty of chemistry. We only had two choices: study or work. There were no people our age that didn’t work; they would have been sent to forced labor. Therefore we had to change faculties. I arranged for us - once Martin was released from hospital - to sit exams, get a place in the student hostel and study mechanical engineering, and that would be it.

We neither had money, nor a scholarship. In the beginning I studied and he worked. He had always been fond of cars and worked in a metalworking shop. During that time I sat two exams in Russian, which was one long torment.

My mother spoke Russian very well. She corresponded with her brother in Russian all the time and only spoke Russian with her friend. I remember this one incident very clearly – and this is a characteristic example for the pre-war period in Poland – when she came home with a tear-stained face after a meeting with her friend. Anti-Semitism was just one thing in Poland; the other was deep hatred of Russians and Bolsheviks. My mother and her friend had been to a coffeehouse and then on a tram, chatting away in Russian, whereupon one of the other passengers abused them of being Bolsheviks. My father said to her, ‘How many times do I have to tell you that they don’t love their neighbors in this country and that you shouldn’t speak Russian in public places.’

I couldn’t read these letters back then [Editor’s note: the interviewee is referring to the Cyrillic letters used in the Russian and Ukrainian language], and when I saw the Ukrainian language, which also consisted of such strange letters, I decided one can’t possibly study two such weird languages at the same time, so I decided to focus on Russian. In Lwow, lectures had still been held in Polish but when we came to Russia, the only language spoken was Russian. There were no textbooks so I put everything down in handwriting and also lent my notebooks to other students. In these notebooks you could have seen how my knowledge of the language improved. Unfortunately I have thrown away the one notebook that I took back to Poland with me after the war. My initial notes in there were still in Polish and then I changed to Russian. You could see how my Russian developed and that I gradually wrote more and more in Russian.

Mathematics wasn’t a problem for me, but when I went in for my exams I had to describe a high blast furnace. I did so by describing it partly with words, partly with gestures. To get a scholarship depended on how you did at the exam. If you had three ‘Excellent’ marks and ‘Good’ in all the other subjects, you got a scholarship. My professor, an elderly man, said to me, ‘I see that you know your subject very well but at some points I didn’t quite get what you meant.’

The scholarship wasn’t enough for both of us to survive on, so Martin went to look for a job and found one with a construction company. In October 1941 the Germans got awfully close and the company was about to be evacuated. Martin said that he had a wife, whereupon they demanded the marriage certificate, so we quickly got married on 21st October 1941, during our lunch-break. Our wedding clothes were patched up old clothes – I didn’t have proper shoes either – but that didn’t matter. The only bad thing was that I signed the part, which said that I agreed to take my husband’s name. I would have been allowed to keep my name because the documents I fought for in Lwow were in my maiden name. But to go to the military as a foreigner and have my passport changed to my husband’s name could have become dangerous. Fortunately things changed for the better, the evacuation didn’t take place and I just put my marriage certificate in a drawer.

In Stalingrad we suffered under the hardest winter and the most severe time of starving of the whole war. I remember that my colleagues gave me ten potatoes for my birthday on 9th December.

The biggest problem was shoes. I practically wore overshoes throughout the war, and made myself socks and a cap from remnants.

We were fairly blind to politics, but then again we were cut off from the outside world – there was no radio, only a public loudspeaker that broadcast the official news. We didn’t know anything about Europe, absolutely nothing! We were fighting to get a hold of newspapers only to use them to roll cigarettes and smoke Machorka [very strong tobacco] – both my husband and I were smokers then. We were always busy making money somehow so that we wouldn’t starve and be able to study. It was easier for men to get a job because of their physical advantage. If two wagonloads of salt arrived, I couldn’t possibly have gone to help out carry the sacks- I was too weak to carry a sack of salt.

There were two professors and the dean who looked after us. Everything was chaotic but at the same time there was a great solidarity among people. We received 300 grams of bread daily, but no fat, the oil you got back then was similar to lubricating oil. Two girls, who took evening classes at the university, worked in a bakery producing baked goods on a large scale, and they sometimes brought us a bit of extra bread. And the dean, who had noticed that my husband’s shoes were completely worn-out, discreetly got him another pair of shoes; they were also old but not that worn-out.

The pressure from above to finish our studies quickly was high because at the beginning of the war a lot of young people – intellectuals – had lost their lives. They had no idea about fighting in a war and fell in their first battle. And later it turned out that there weren’t any people to work in companies and therefore we had to hurry with our studies to fill these positions.

All student hostels were full of evacuated people. The Germans had advanced very close to the borders of Stalingrad, but they probably wanted to take the city at once and started to bomb. There was no bridge and the Volga is fairly wide at this point. There was only a single tram that went southwards towards the Caspian Sea. It was difficult to get supplies to the city.

After the German attack on the Soviet Union in 1941, the Volga-German Republic [see German ASSR] 12 was dissolved by a decree and the whole Volga-German population, out of fear it could collaborate with the Germans, was deported to Kazakhstan and Siberia. They had also sent ‘dangerous elements’ to Siberia back in Lwow in the winter of 1940. These ‘dangerous elements’ also included people like me, refugees. All that happened very quickly: soldiers came, arrested people and transported them to Siberia in cattle-trucks. Most of them died in the harsh conditions there.

We were sent to attend crash-courses, for example one for tractor-drivers, to bring in the harvest in the Volga-German Republic. We arrived in a country with painted houses; everything was completely different than in the rest Russia. It was a piece of Germany in the Soviet Union. A whole country without a single soul; it was very spooky. In the empty houses there were German sayings affixed to the walls, such as ‘Morgenstund’ hat Gold im Mund’[‘The early bird catches the worm’].

We were fairly poor craftsmen. Martin was good because he was a car fanatic and learned how to drive as early as in his childhood. The tractors were in miserable condition because the army had taken the good ones. The steering wheels were so wretched that you could hardly drive the tractors. We worked there for a few weeks but weren’t very successful. We were paid in crops for our work, but both Martin and my business skills were rather bad. Instead of selling the crops we tried to grind them with a chair-leg. Our hunger was so enormous; we simply ate anything.

In June 1942 all students in Stalingrad were mobilized and we had to build a defense line against the German troops. The supplies were pretty good at that stage. One day, early in the morning, bombing started. It wasn’t the Battle for Stalingrad, but they were the first fights. Two girls from my group that were very young started to cry because they hadn’t experienced war before.

The only railroad line leading southwards had been bombed terribly, but there was the harbor in the center of town. The only possibility to flee from Stalingrad was to cross the Volga in small boats. We, however, in our naivety – we were only 21 years old - thought we could build ourselves a raft.

Our destination was Dschimbek in Northern Kazakhstan, in the steppe, 200 kilometers from Stalingrad, and we reached it. In Northern Kazakhstan there are settlements every 50 kilometers. We mostly lived on fruit we stole. Our feet were sore because our shoes were completely worn-out. Allegedly Stalin had ordered the trucks that returned empty from the front to pick up refugees, but they ignored that. I sat down on the side of the road with a bottle of vodka and that had a better effect than Stalin’s order.

Dschimbek was an oriental city, a junction between North and South, and there – sometimes real life is more interesting than a film - I met a friend. I wanted to head further north because I thought the heat in the South would cause us difficulties. That’s why we came to Sverdlovsk [today Ekaterinburg], made enquiries about the university and learned that a professor was teaching there, who had been in Stalingrad with us. He was very concerned about us and even put us up in his place in the beginning.

There was a faculty of chemistry in Sverdlovsk, but we had already taken so many exams in mechanical engineering that we decided to stick with it. That was in fall 1942. We completed our period of practical training in a motorcycle factory in the small town of Irbit. We worked twelve hours a day, just like the laborers there. There were no real roads in this little town, just tracks like those we had in the poorest parts of Eastern Poland. We were accommodated by different families. We had hardly any food, or, to be more precise, we were starving.

Afterwards we returned to Sverdlovsk, took our exams and the next summer we were already given the subjects of our dissertations. We were supposed to finish our studies quickly in order to fill job positions. I completed my practical diploma training in a factory for aircraft equipment. I was satisfied with my work. Of course we were used, but at the same time we also learned a lot.

My husband always tried to make some extra money. I had an injury on my leg, which didn’t heal because we couldn’t get vitamins. We had practically finished our studies and were just missing our diploma examinations. But the prospect of going to work soon wasn’t exactly enticing. Students didn’t have much money and had little food but at least we had time and didn’t have to work twelve hours a day. I dawdled over my exams a bit. Most likely someone told on me because I was summoned to the administration of the university. Since female emancipation wasn’t exactly high on the list of priorities back then, I came up with the following argument: ‘It would make kind of a bad impression if I was an engineer already whereas my husband was still a student, wouldn’t it?’ I negotiated six more weeks for myself and we finished our studies on the same day.

I had decided that I wanted to wear ‘real’ shoes to my diploma examination and therefore Martin and I ate even less bread and sold the rest on the market so that I could get a new pair of shoes. Neither he nor I were good salesman. He left the job to me though, so I went to the market with two loaves of bread. I assume that some speculators had bribed the militia; in any case I was caught immediately. Luckily they also caught the wife of a ‘big wheel’, who was released again immediately and was kind enough to inform my husband on what had happened. Somehow he succeeded to rescue me from the clutches of the law, but the bread was gone of course, and so was the dream of my new shoes. In the end a Polish shoemaker made a pair of shoes for me, which I paid for in installments, but they were useless and I could only wear them once.

After I had passed my diploma examination, I was abused for being a Jew for the first time by a young man on the street in Sverdlovsk. I gave him a box on the ears. I was 23 years old and the crowd of people on the street, although not knowing what had happened, was on my side.

If you had a diploma, you were given a mandatory job assignment 13. That was in 1944, at the beginning of the offensive, and Moscow or Leningrad was out of the question as they were still evacuated. In Dschelabis, an industrial city in the Southern Urals, there was a pipe rolling mill and much to our horror we were assigned there. But we took advantage of the chaos everywhere and simply went to the factory in Sverdlovsk where we had done or diploma practice training. Again we worked twelve hours a day, and, I think, also every second Sunday. The food was poor: bread, bad oil and tea made of dried carrots. There was a variety of food available at the market, but we didn’t make enough money for that. The factory in which we worked had been evacuated as well and we lived in horrible barracks. Winters can get as cold as 30 degrees minus in Sverdlovsk and we didn’t have running water and only a Russian stove 14 to cook on and heat the place. Never before in my life had I seen such a thing! Once I bought some warm panties in a village store. They were red! They made it all the way back to Poland [after the war]; I didn’t own anything more exclusive. My sister-in-law, who had survived several camps in Poland, rolled up laughing when she saw my red panties.

I was a technician in a department that manufactured machinery equipment; my husband worked in a different department. And then - Russia already received help from the Americans at the time - the director of the factory learned that there were two casting machines sitting at the railway station and that nobody knew who they belonged to. I assume he pulled some strings; in any case he got those machines. There was a foundry in the factory but no one who spoke English. So my husband volunteered to translate the instructions that came with those two machines. From then on he was deputy head of his department.

In 1943, I think, a Polish organization and army was being formed. I wanted to volunteer for this army, but they didn’t take senior students. I asked the professor, who had already been my teacher at school in Warsaw and who liked me, for help, but the opposite happened! Although he was left wing he got very angry with me and said that they didn’t need soldiers like me. I’m sure all he wanted was save my life. Apart from the Polish army, the Polish-Soviet Society, which had its headquarters in Moscow, was founded. I worked as a social worker for this society in Russia.

Post-war

When the war was over we were working in Sverdlovsk. In 1946 we heard about an agreement according to which former Polish citizens were allowed to return to Poland.
Since I was sixth month pregnant and had worked for the Polish-Soviet Society, we, along with some Polish farmers who had been deported to Siberia, were among the first to return to Poland. They wanted us to be there in time for the harvest. We were transported to Poland in cattle-trucks, some of which had buckets that served as toilets. That was in April 1946; our destination was Warsaw.

After the end of the war in May 1945 we began to look for our relatives. We had no idea about what had happened in Europe. My letters remained unanswered. The last letters I received where from my father, written in the Warsaw Ghetto in 1941. Of course they had been censored. I couldn’t write about anything in particular either. I wrote about exams that I had passed and things like that. I couldn’t possibly have told him that I ate badly, and, besides, the situation really wasn’t that bad in Lwow.

An older student colleague of mine had arranged herself ‘Aryan papers’, was in the resistance and lived in Warsaw. She came across an ad in a newspaper in 1941 saying that my father was looking for me. She was very courageous and went to see him in the ghetto. She told him that he needn’t worry because she knew for sure that I had left Lwow before the Germans invaded it. My father was upset and said, ‘Yes, that’s the influence of the Bolsheviks.’ He still didn’t grasp what was happening.

My father probably lived in fairly good circumstances because he had his stock of soap, which was worth its weight in gold back then. Our apartment was situated in the ghetto, so he lived in his own place and was better off than people who had to move from their apartments to new apartments in the ghetto. Later other people moved in with my family. My mother, who wasn’t a very emancipated woman, wouldn’t have said, ‘Okay, I’ll go’. My father had already been in poor health when I still lived with them. But if the doctors ask me today, which illnesses there were in my family, I couldn’t possibly tell them; my parents were only 45 years old when I last saw them.

My husband received a letter from the city hall of Cracow stating that Mrs. Hedwig Charlotte Ratz lived in Cracow. First we thought it was a mistake because the address given in this letter wasn’t the same as the one where the family had lived before the war. The letter my husband wrote to his sister in Cracow remained unanswered. He wrote another one, and again there was no answer.

On the Russian-Polish border the Russian customs confiscated the only belongings we had: our books. They were mainly specialist books, which we had bought when we worked as engineers. ‘Books? Do you have any permission to bring them?’ the Russian customs officer asked. My husband had to carry two crates of books out of the train on his back. They were requisitioned.

Since the train had a rather long stop at the border – the Russians and the Poles had different railway lines and something had to be adjusted – my husband asked if he could phone Cracow. He found the following name registered in the directory: Ratz, Hedwig Charlotte. I couldn’t possibly say: No, we’ll go to Warsaw instead of Cracow. I probably didn’t have any family left in Warsaw anyway.

My husband’s sister had been to several concentration camps. I think she was in Plaszow, near Cracow, first. She was deported along with her mother who was killed in Plaszow. That was the camp where Amon Goeth 15 was commander and saved Oskar Schindler’s 16 Jews. One of my husband’s cousins was saved by Oskar Schindler and she can be seen in one of the last sequences of the film ‘Schindler’s List’ 17. This cousin and a friend of my husband’s, who were saved thanks to Schindler, helped him a lot after the war.

Hedy, as my husband’s sister was called, lived with her future husband, Heinrich Reissler, a Holocaust survivor, who came from a very Orthodox family. They shared a two-bedroom apartment with friends who had also survived.

Hedy and Heinrich immigrated to Palestine in 1946. We would have liked to put up Hedy because she was a typical war child, hadn’t been able to finish school and we believed that she still needed support in many respects. She grew up in Cracow, but she was only a child when she lived there and couldn’t really enjoy her teenage years. She never experienced this kind of world that was so important for my personal development. She is a typical example of how the war ruined the life of Jewish children. The aunt, with whom my husband had stayed when he was in grammar school, could flee from Vienna to Palestine in time, and that way Hedy at least had a relative in Palestine.

They reached Cyprus and Heinrich volunteered for and fought with the Haganah 18, while Hedy was interned on Cyprus. After they had arrived in Palestine, Heinrich became an engineer in Haifa, on the only railroad that exists in Israel. Hedy worked somewhere, but I forget what she did. Their daughter, Zofie, was born in 1957. It was a complicated pregnancy - Hedy had to lie down throughout the pregnancy - probably due to the many years that she had been locked up in concentration camps. Zofie has two wonderful children; her son is called Lior and her daughter Shiri. Lior and I communicate via email sometimes – he in his good English, I in my miserable English. Zofie is divorced. She works as a nurse. Hedy died in the year 2000. Heinrich is still alive and lives in Haifa, but he is very sick.

We first lived with Hedy in her apartment. I think the house belonged to her mother but Hedy sold it after the war for next to nothing. However, she succeeded in keeping a two-bedroom apartment for herself. And around ten people lived in this apartment then because my husband had many friends in Cracow. The first to leave were Hedy and Heinrich when they moved to Palestine in 1946.

My husband started to work in an enamel factory. Our son, Alexander, was born in Cracow on 11th June 1946. After giving birth, I had health problems, and so did my son. The food supplies were still very bad shortly after the war.

In 1947 I went to Warsaw. Everyone tried to talk me out of it, but I went nonetheless. The street where I used to live had been situated in the center of the Warsaw Ghetto, but all that was left was a wasteland. I had lived on that street for 17 years, but I almost got lost. The only thing that saved me was a church, which had stood opposite our house. That church had survived and I could use it as an aid to orientation. There was debris everywhere because during the Ghetto Uprising in 1943 all houses had been destroyed by flame-throwers. The houses that they later built there were built on a fundament of debris. And of course, there were no documents left.

When my son turned one, I started to work as chief engineer in a cannery. I was a young, 25-year-old woman and the rest of the employees were men. It was hard in the beginning. All the masters were older than me and not particularly happy that I, a young woman, should be their boss. When I started work there, the director of the factory said to me politely, ‘You’re a smart young woman. Why do you want to wrestle with all these …’ He used a pretty dirty word! About six weeks later I invited all my colleagues to a pub – I would never set foot into a pub like this today – for beer and vodka. After that they respected me. Not even three diplomas would have been able to do what that beer and vodka did.

This factory had been in Jewish ownership before the war. The family survived in Brazil. I didn’t walk around with a sign saying ‘I’m Jewish’, but my name is Jewish and Poles simply know when they are dealing with a Jew; they are very strong anti-Semites. They told me non-stop about how they had helped the Jewish owners of the factory with wrapping gold to send it to Brazil. They really got on my nerves! I would have preferred if they had told me that they had beaten them. This currying of favor really annoyed me. However, I wasn’t harassed for being a Jew. I think at that time they trusted Jews in Poland because they hadn’t collaborated with the Germans.

We considered the Kielce Pogrom 19 a ‘slip’. We thought it was ‘yesterday’s people’ who had done that. Cracow was a cultural center, a former capital of Poland. Many intellectuals lived there. In any case I wouldn’t say that there was a particular atmosphere for pogroms there. However, there was pressure from above, to assimilate, to adopt Polish surnames, but they only issued the documents in 1947 or 48. They summoned us to the militia and said we should change our name, Ratz, to something like Raczynski or Rakowski. Upon that my husband said, ‘The only thing left of my family is my name, and I won’t change it!’ Most Jews in Poland did change their Jewish surnames though.

Once a man called me on a business matter in Poland. First we talked business on the phone but then he started to tell me Jewish jokes. They weren’t bad and I did chuckle a bit, but I also told him, ‘You know, I’m not sure if you should tell someone whose father’s name was Israel, such an awful lot of such jokes in such a short time.’ He was completely shocked and uttered, ‘I’m really sorry. If your surname had been Rakoschka or Ratschenski or something like that, I would have guessed that you might be Jewish. But with a name like Ratz…!’

When I worked in Warsaw, I met an older former student colleague of mine and I knew that he had changed his surname. We were on the opposite sides of the negotiating table and he knew that I knew him, but still he shook my hand and introduced himself with his new Polish surname. It was doing my head in, so I also shook his hand and introduced myself by saying, ‘The name’s still Ratz.’

My husband was transferred to Warsaw in 1949 to work in a car factory. He was the head of a Polish group of engineers and they sent him to Italy for a half-year training at FIAT. Later my son Alexander and I also moved to Warsaw. My daughter, Margarete, was born in Warsaw on 19th May 1952. I got a position as an expert with the State Planning Commission. I would have preferred to work in a factory but they said they also needed good people with the Planning Commission, so I stayed there until they fired me in 1968.

After the Six-Day-War 20 in Israel, an anti-Semitic mood began to spread in Poland. It wasn’t public yet, but it was noticeable. A few people even dared to shout at meetings. But no one dared to say that the Jews should get out of Poland.

One day my boss summoned me to his office. He had always valued me highly but nonetheless he said that I couldn’t keep my position because my husband had a sister in Israel and they therefore couldn’t trust me any more. I would get an equivalent position though, he said. I didn’t, so I went to see the head boss because I thought he was an intelligent and politically correct person. In reality, he was a hopeless scaredy-cat though.

I finally got a job as technical advisor in a bank. There was probably some kind of instruction that wanted to make Jews feel that they weren’t welcome in Poland by paying those who had been fired from their previous jobs lower salaries. I can’t prove that though because at the place I worked, I still made good money in comparison to others. My husband had kept his position but as early as 1956, during the first anti-Semitic wave in Poland, he wanted to leave the country. Many people left back then. But then the situation became more relaxed and, at age 50, we had to admit, that we were wrong.

The authorities only issued Polish Jews documents for Israel. We didn’t want to go to Israel, and at the same we knew, from reading foreign newspapers, that no one in Vienna was exactly waiting for a 50-year-old engineer. But my husband chose Vienna nonetheless because German was his mother tongue and he said the most complicated thing that came with a move was the language barrier. He was certainly right there.

My husband was allowed to emigrate from Poland in 1969 but he could only take our children along; I, as ‘a person cleared for access to secret information’, wasn’t allowed to leave Poland. My son, who was 23 at the time, only had one more exam to pass for his diploma at the technical university, and my daughter, 17 at the time, was only missing one year for her final exams. She didn’t want to leave Warsaw at all. She wanted to stay with me. Besides she was in love for the first time. I had to sign a paper saying that I agreed that my husband left Poland for good.

We made enquiries at the Austrian Embassy in Warsaw about my husband’s Austrian citizenship. They told him that he would automatically get the Austrian citizenship once he was in Austria. When he arrived in Vienna though, it turned out that there had been a set date at which he would have needed to register. At that time, however, he was still in Poland. Then they told him in the city hall that he would get back his Austrian citizenship within three years. And so it was. Exactly three years later our family got the Austrian citizenship. I was in Vienna already at the time and this was very important to us.

Two weeks after he had settled in Vienna, my husband found a job as an engineer with a company that went bankrupt a year later. He was unemployed for half a year until he found a job with the German Festo company. Originally, that company manufactured equipment for timber processing and pneumatic systems; later it was pneumatic systems and steering for machines. My husband was responsible for the market in the GDR. He traveled to fairs, made good money and was valued by his company. When he got seriously ill they treated him very nicely.

After a great many rejections of my applications for the reuniting of my family, I finally got the permission to move to Vienna. That was in 1972. I was sick and exhausted after those two and a half years of waiting. I didn’t know anymore if I would make it out of Poland alive. My husband had told me beforehand that I should brush up my knowledge of German as well as my typing skills. I still knew Russian. I became a translator and worked freelance from home.

At the age of 50 it was difficult to make new friends. We didn’t have much time because we had to build a new life for ourselves. In Poland we had a large circle of friends and we could knock on their door anytime and would be welcome. I have friends like that in Paris, London, New York and God knows where, even in Israel. But they have become fewer and fewer for many of them have already died.

The first apartment we lived in had a stove that I couldn’t handle. I almost set the apartment on fire once. Then we found a co-operative apartment. I immediately fell in love with it. To me it is very important to live in a place I feel comfortable in.

My daughter didn’t have it easy in Vienna. She had reached puberty, missed her mother, had difficulties with the German language and therefore problems in school. Now she is an interpreter in the Polish and Russian language. Sometimes I help her out with technical translations for she is totally lost when it comes to technical things. She is divorced and has two daughters, Barbara and Julia, and a son, Nikolaus. My daughter isn’t religious and neither are her children.

My son didn’t stay in Vienna. Two weeks after his arrival he moved to Sweden. He’s an academically qualified engineer and holds the degree of a ‘Bachelor of Business Administration’. He lives in Goteborg, and is married to Tola, whose father was Jewish and died when she was a small girl. My son and his wife have three sons, Martin, Jakob and Benjamin. My son took a year off work and went to work for a Swedish firm in Danzig. He’s back in Goteborg by now though.

My oldest grandson, Martin, decided to have his circumcision at the age of 17 and became a Jew. His mother fulfilled his wishes and they also celebrated all the religious holidays at home. He was studying at Business University in Vienna for half a year, and Pesach was around that time. He wanted us to celebrate seder eve together. It was a catastrophe because none of us had any idea about it. He said he would take care of everything but then, at the last moment, he had to do something at university and was late. I had a Haggadah for children, and I was the ‘chief rabbi’. I don’t know if Martin still celebrates religious holidays; he’s very busy with the development of his company.

Martin lives in Stockholm. He started to work right after his diploma, with a Swedish company that sells know-how to language schools. Jakob studied medicine and did his doctorate in May. Benjamin, the youngest, did his final exams this spring and wants to study law.

My husband died of cancer in 1989 in Vienna. He was buried in the Israelite section of Vienna’s Zentralfriedhof.

People are surprised to hear that I don’t know a single word of Yiddish. I do understand a few words, but I’ve never used the language. There are no more Jews in Poland, but there’s a wonderful Yiddish theatre in Warsaw that has fantastic actors; they aren’t Jewish though. Because I know German, I understand almost everything in Yiddish.

Since there are no Jews anymore, Jewish culture has become somewhat of a new fashion. Take Cracow for instance: My daughter paid for my trip to Cracow because I very much wanted to go there. I didn’t go to the house where I used to live until 1949, but I knew from my son, who had been there before, that the janitor was still the same. They have restored the Jewish quarter and the synagogue there very nicely. Every year a festival of klezmer music takes place in Cracow. Unfortunately that’s in July and I always go to Sweden to visit my son’s family in July because there’s already a fall chill there in August.

I’ve never been religious; even back in Poland our friends were rather assimilated Jews. We never denied that we were Jews but we never practiced religion either. Sometimes I went to the temple in Vienna, when I was invited to a bar mitzvah or a concert, but I never prayed there.

When I went to Israel for the first time, I admired simply everything I saw there. I wasn’t superficially interested in the political side of things. Hedy and her family were there and my husband had a great many acquaintances in Israel. We saw a lot of places, including Eilat, which back then was still being constructed. I had a student colleague who was a building contractor and had an airplane and he flew us to Eilat. The country fascinated me and of course there were many discussions and some people tried to convince us to move to Israel. But I don’t know the language and since I’m a culturally orientated person, language is very important to me, and I would be somewhat of an illiterate person in Israel. There were quite a few interesting people, such as friends from my childhood, a director and a musician, with whom I was in touch.

I went to Israel for the third time in 1998. My friends, though they become less and less, decided to stay there; actually they don’t have a choice anymore. They are disappointed with the politics of the government. Some have children in America. A former student colleague of mine has a son in Israel who is a chemist and another one in America, who is a professor of economics. The son in Israel says, ‘ I was born here, my daughter was born here, this is my country.’ Many say that but still they aren’t happy with the whole politics and history of the country.

Today I live in Vienna and have lady-friends here: most of them are Jewish but there are also a few atheists. I go to the theater, exhibitions, concerts a lot and I also like hiking. My daughter lives in Vienna and so do my two granddaughters. I visit my son in Sweden every summer and usually stay for a month.

Glossary

1 Warsaw Ghetto

A separate residential district for Jews in Warsaw created over several months in 1940. On 16th November 1940 138,000 people were enclosed behind its walls. Over the following months the population of the ghetto increased as more people were relocated from the small towns surrounding the city. By March 1941 445,000 people were living in the ghetto. Subsequently, the number of the ghetto’s inhabitants began to fall sharply as a result of disease, hunger, deportation, persecution and liquidation. The ghetto was also systematically reduced in size. The internal administrative body was the Jewish Council (Judenrat). The Warsaw ghetto ceased to exist on 15th May 1943, when the Germans pronounced the failure of the uprising, staged by the Jewish soldiers, and razed the area to the ground.

2 Todt Organization

Named after its founder, Nazi minister for road construction Dr. Fritz Todt, this was an organization in Nazi Germany for large-scale construction work, especially the construction of strategic roads and defenses for the military. By 1944, it employed almost 1.4 million workers including thousands of concentration camp inmates and criminals.

3 Anders’ Army

The Polish Armed Forces in the USSR, subsequently the Polish Army in the East, known as Anders’ Army: an operations unit of the Polish Armed Forces formed pursuant to the Polish-Soviet Pact of 30 July 1941 and the military agreement of 14 July 1941. It comprised Polish citizens who had been deported into the heart of the USSR: soldiers imprisoned in 1939-41 and civilians amnestied in 1941 (some 1.25-1.6m people, including a recruitment base of 100,000-150,000). The commander-in-chief of the Polish Armed Forces in the USSR was General Wladyslaw Anders. The army never reached its full quota (in February 1942 it numbered 48,000, and in March 1942 around 66,000). In terms of operations it was answerable to the Supreme Command of the Red Army, and in terms of organization and personnel to the Supreme Commander, General Wladyslaw Sikorski and the Polish government in exile. In March-April 1942 part of the Army (with Stalin’s consent) was sent to Iran (33,000 soldiers and approx. 10,000 civilians). The final evacuation took place in August-September 1942 pursuant to Soviet-British agreements concluded in July 1942 (it was the aim of General Anders and the British powers to withdraw Polish forces from the USSR); some 114,000 people, including 25,000 civilians (over 13,000 children) left the Soviet Union. The units that had been evacuated were merged with the Polish Army in the Middle East to form the Polish Army in the East, commanded by Anders.

4 Pilsudski, Jozef (1867-1935)

Polish activist in the independence cause, politician, statesman, marshal. With regard to the cause of Polish independence he represented the pro-Austrian current, which believed that the Polish state would be reconstructed with the assistance of Austria-Hungary. When Poland regained its independence in January 1919, he was elected Head of State by the Legislative Sejm. In March 1920 he was nominated marshal, and until December 1922 he held the positions of Head of State and Commander-in-Chief of the Polish Army. After the murder of the president, Gabriel Narutowicz, he resigned from all his posts and withdrew from politics. He returned in 1926 in a political coup. He refused the presidency offered to him, and in the new government held the posts of war minister and general inspector of the armed forces. He was prime minister twice, from 1926-1928 and in 1930. He worked to create a system of national security by concluding bilateral non-aggression pacts with the USSR (1932) and Germany (1934). He sought opportunities to conclude firm alliances with France and Britain. In 1932 owing to his deteriorating health, Pilsudski resigned from his functions. He was buried in the Crypt of Honor in Wawel Cathedral in the Royal Castle in Cracow.

5 Galicia

Informal name for the lands of the former Polish Republic under Habsburg rule (1772–1918), derived from the official name bestowed on these lands by Austria: the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria. From 1815 the lands west of the river San (including Cracow) began by common consent to be called Western Galicia, and the remaining part (including Lwow), with its dominant Ukrainian population Eastern Galicia. Galicia was agricultural territory, an economically backward region. Its villages were poor and overcrowded (hence the term ‘Galician misery’), which, given the low level of industrial development (on the whole processing of agricultural and crude-oil based products) prompted mass economic emigration from the 1890s; mainly to the Americas. After 1918 the name Eastern Malopolska for Eastern Galicia was popularized in Poland, but Ukrainians called it Western Ukraine.

6 Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (or April Uprising)

On 19th April 1943 the Germans undertook their third deportation campaign to transport the last inhabitants of the ghetto, approximately 60,000 people, to labor camps. An armed resistance broke out in the ghetto, led by the Jewish Fighting Organization (ZOB) and the Jewish Military Union (ZZW) – all in all several hundred armed fighters. The Germans attacked with 2,000 men, tanks and artillery. The insurrectionists were on the attack for the first few days, and subsequently carried out their defense from bunkers and ruins, supported by the civilian population of the ghetto, who contributed with passive resistance. The Germans razed the Warsaw ghetto to the ground on 15th May 1943. Around 13,000 Jews perished in the Uprising, and around 50,000 were deported to Treblinka extermination camp. About 100 of the resistance fighters managed to escape from the ghetto via the sewers.

7 Spanish Civil War (1936-39)

A civil war in Spain, which lasted from July 1936 to April 1939, between rebels known as Nacionales and the Spanish Republican government and its supporters. The leftist government of the Spanish Republic was besieged by nationalist forces headed by General Franco, who was backed by Nazi Germany and fascist Italy. Though it had Spanish nationalist ideals as the central cause, the war was closely watched around the world mainly as the first major military contest between left-wing forces and the increasingly powerful and heavily armed fascists. The number of people killed in the war has been long disputed ranging between 500,000 and a million.

8 Invasion of Poland

The German attack of Poland on 1st September 1939 is widely considered the date in the West for the start of World War II. After having gained both Austria and the Bohemian and Moravian parts of Czechoslovakia, Hitler was confident that he could acquire Poland without having to fight Britain and France. (To eliminate the possibility of the Soviet Union fighting if Poland were attacked, Hitler made a pact with the Soviet Union, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.) On the morning of 1st September 1939, German troops entered Poland. The German air attack hit so quickly that most of Poland’s air force was destroyed while still on the ground. To hinder Polish mobilization, the Germans bombed bridges and roads. Groups of marching soldiers were machine-gunned from the air, and they also aimed at civilians. On 1st September, the beginning of the attack, Great Britain and France sent Hitler an ultimatum - withdraw German forces from Poland or Great Britain and France would go to war against Germany. On 3rd September, with Germany’s forces penetrating deeper into Poland, Great Britain and France both declared war on Germany.

9 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

Non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union, which became known under the name of Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Engaged in a border war with Japan in the Far East and fearing the German advance in the west, the Soviet government began secret negotiations for a non-aggression pact with Germany in 1939. In August 1939 it suddenly announced the conclusion of a Soviet-German agreement of friendship and non-aggression. The Pact contained a secret clause providing for the partition of Poland and for Soviet and German spheres of influence in Eastern Europe.

10 Great Patriotic War

On 22nd June 1941 at 5 o’clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War. The German blitzkrieg, known as Operation Barbarossa, nearly succeeded in breaking the Soviet Union in the months that followed. Caught unprepared, the Soviet forces lost whole armies and vast quantities of equipment to the German onslaught in the first weeks of the war. By November 1941 the German army had seized the Ukrainian Republic, besieged Leningrad, the Soviet Union's second largest city, and threatened Moscow itself. The war ended for the Soviet Union on 9th May 1945.

11 Kolkhoz

12 German ASSR

established as Labour Commune of Volga Germans or Volga German AO within the Russian SFSR on 19th October 1918. Transformed into Volga German ASSR on 19th December 1924, abolished on 28th August 1941. The official state name was Autonomous Socialist Soviet Republic of the Volga-Germans. The city of Engels is the former capital of the Volga-German Republic.

13 Mandatory job assignment in the USSR

Graduates of higher educational institutions had to complete a mandatory 2-year job assignment issued by the institution from which they graduated. After finishing this assignment young people were allowed to get employment at their discretion in any town or organization.

14 Russian stove

Big stone stove stoked with wood. They were usually built in a corner of the kitchen and served to heat the house and cook food. It had a bench that made a comfortable bed for children and adults in wintertime.

15 Goeth, Amon (1908-1946)

Born in Vienna, Austria, Amon Goeth joined the Austrian Nazi Party in 1930. In the same year he joined the SS. Goeth was a model officer, and his reward was a posting, in August 1942, with ‘Aktion Reinhard’, the SS operation to liquidate more than two million Polish Jews. At the trial at the Supreme National Tribunal of Poland, Cracow, in 1946, Goeth was found guilty, convicted of the murders of tens of thousands of people and hanged in the same year.

16 Schindler, Oskar (1908–1974)

one of the ‘Righteous Among the Nations’ who during the Nazi persecutions saved the lives of more than 1,200 Polish Jews. Schindler was born in Zwittau, Sudetenland, Czechoslovakia, and after the annexation of the Sudetenland by the Germans served as a member of Admiral Canaris’ anti-espionage service. He left the service after Germany’s conquest of Poland and established a factory in Cracow which was later converted into a munitions plant. Schindler took advantage of this plant to save Jews from the extermination camps. He arranged for his workers and those of three neighboring factories whose Jewish workers were about to be deported to be classified as prisoners doing essential work. He often had to bribe the SS and other functionaries to turn a blind eye. After the war, Schindler emigrated to Argentina where he bought a farm, but in 1956 returned to Frankfurt. In 1962 Schindler was honored by Israel as one of the ‘Righteous Among the Nations’ and in 1967 was awarded the peace prize of the International Buber Society in London. The following year the West German Government awarded him its highest civilian order, the ‘Verdienstkreuz Ersten Ranges’ and a small pension. Schindler, a Roman Catholic, died in Hildesheim and in accordance with his last wish, was buried in Jerusalem in the Latin cemetery on Mt. Zion.

17 Schindler’s List

Steven Spielberg’s 1992 film featuring the deeds of Oskar Schindler, who saved the lives of more than 1,200 Polish Jews during World War II. The film received awards for best film, best director and best script at the Golden Globes.

18 Haganah

(Hebrew: ‘Defense’), Zionist military organization representing the majority of the Jews in Palestine from 1920 to 1948. Although it was outlawed by the British Mandatory authorities and was poorly armed, it managed effectively to defend Jewish settlements. After the United Nations’ decision to partition Palestine (1947), the Haganah came into the open as the defense force of the Jewish state; it clashed openly with the British forces and successfully overcame the military forces of the Palestinian Arabs and their allies. By order of the provisional government of Israel (May 31, 1948) the Haganah as a private organization was dissolved and became the national army of the state.

19 Kielce Pogrom

On 4th July 1946 the alleged kidnapping of a Polish boy led to a pogrom in which 42 people were killed and over 40 wounded. The pogrom also prompted other anti-Jewish incidents in Kielce region. These events caused mass emigrations of Jews to Israel and other countries.

20 Six-Day-War

The first strikes of the Six-Day-War happened on 5th June 1967 by the Israeli Air Force. The entire war only lasted 132 hours and 30 minutes. The fighting on the Egyptian side only lasted four days, while fighting on the Jordanian side lasted three. Despite the short length of the war, this was one of the most dramatic and devastating wars ever fought between Israel and all of the Arab nations. This war resulted in a depression that lasted for many years after it ended. The Six-Day-War increased tension between the Arab nations and the Western World because of the change in mentalities and political orientations of the Arab nations.

Yankl Dovid Dudakas

Yankl Dudakas and his family

Yankl Dovid Dudakas
Kaunas
Lithuania
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: October 2005

Yankl Dudakas, a short, rather svelte and strong man, looks quite young for his age. He has gray wavy hair and black, bright and young eyes. Yankl and his wife, a sweet black-haired and large-eyed lady, live in a nice two-room apartment in a new residential development dating from the 1980s. Their apartment is nicely furnished. There is a new Japanese TV set and stereo equipment in their apartment. One can tell they are quite well-off. Yankl gives me a hospitable reception. When telling his story, he often addresses his wife. One can tell she is his good friend and that they’ve lived their life together in love and harmony.

I was born in the small Lithuanian town of Jonava [80 km from Vilnius]. There were only three parallel streets and lanes mostly inhabited by Jews in this town on the banks of the Neris and Vilija Rivers. Most Jews were poor, as a rule, and in their majority they were craftsmen. They were shoemakers, glass cutters, coopers making huge barrels, copper craftsmen making bowls for jam and nice lamps, and blacksmiths. There was even a Kuznechnyi Lane in the town, the name of which in Russian means ‘lane of blacksmiths.’ The Jewish intelligentsia was represented by a few doctors, a notary and an attorney. However, the most important business in Jonava, which made its residents well known all over Lithuania, was furniture production. There were highly skilled cabinet makers and joiners in Jonava. They made solid and beautiful furniture. They worked in private shops scattered all over the town. There was a small furniture factory in Jonava, too. By the mid-1930s it expanded its production capacities to become a rather solid enterprise. There were Jewish, Russian and Lithuanian workers in the factory.

Jonava was surrounded by a number of villages where Russian Old Believers 1 resided. There were considerably fewer Lithuanians in our surrounding. There was a Catholic cathedral where they came to pray. I can’t remember whether there was an Orthodox church in the town, while there were a few synagogues. Actually, there were two or three smaller synagogues in each street. There was also a large two-story wooden synagogue with the women’s quarters on the second floor. This synagogue looked huge and extremely beautiful to me. Nowadays, when I visit Jonava, all I see is a small wooden building. The second floor of the synagogue was removed after the war.

The furniture manufactured in Jonava was to be delivered to clients in the town, its suburbs and sometimes, all over Lithuania. Therefore, this service required a number of horse-drawn cabs and wagons. Later better-off cabmen managed to acquire trucks to serve this purpose of furniture delivery. Their services were highly competitive, and their trucks delivered furniture to Kaunas, Siauliai and Klaipeda. This company competed with similar carriers from Kaunas where the business was owned by Lithuanians. Jonava carriers reduced their delivery prices and won their clients. Gradually other carrier companies went bankrupt and Jonava truck owners gained a monopoly in their industry. Following capitalist practices they raised the price of their services. My ancestors and close relatives, both on the maternal and paternal side, were directly involved in this business. They were mainly cabmen, and those, who were doing better, managed to learn the furniture making skills.

Older people were saying that all Jews in Jonava were distantly related to one another due to marriages between relatives. At least, my family can serve as proof of this. My great-grandfathers, my paternal grandmother’s father and my maternal grandfather’s father were brothers. Their name was Kloz. My paternal great-grandfather Yankl Dovid was a cabman. He had passed away before I was born and I was named after him. His daughter, my grandmother Etah, born in the 1860s, married Meir Dudak, my grandfather, who was a few years older. Meir’s brother’s name was Simon. He had passed away before I was born. I only knew his children: Shmuel and Feiga. Shmuel was married to my mother’s friend Rasa. Meir was engaged in cobbler’s craft, which didn’t bring expected profits.

Though Grandfather Meir came from a rather poor family and his only education was cheder, he had a commercial streak, which was quite common in my people. My grandfather became a cabman and then took to the horse trading business. Meir purchased horses in villages to sell them. He sold stronger horses to cabmen, and old horses were sold to slaughter houses: from their skin leather was made, and their meat was used for sausage production. This was a more profitable business allowing Meir to support a rather large family. They were not so well-off, but they always had sufficient food. Meir and Etah had a house of their own. It was a small wooden house like many other in Jonava. This house was in the neighboring street and as a child I often went to see my grandfather. Grandmother Etah died in 1938, and Grandfather Meir’s course of life ended in Nizhniy Novgorod during evacuation in 1942.

When I was a child, Meir and Etah were left empty-nested. Their children had scattered around the world. Their older children moved to the US at the beginning of the 20th century. They either were looking for a better life, or, according to the family legend, they had ‘got involved in politics.’ Young Jewish people sympathized either with Communists or Zionists, and they happened to be involved. To avoid exile or prison my father’s older brothers Osher and Efraim, who were about 20 years old when my father was born, and their sister Esther left their motherland.

In the US, Osher married a young girl from Jonava. I don’t remember her name. Osher didn’t correspond with us, but his wife’s sister Martha and my mother were friends since they were young, and she wrote us letters telling my parents about our relatives. From her letters we knew that a few years after he came to America Efraim fell ill with tuberculosis and died. He never married. Osher had several children. One of them was Milia.

Martha continued corresponding with us during the Soviet period. My mother was very concerned about this. In those years corresponding with people from capitalist countries could have caused trouble 2. Once Martha sent us one dollar in her letter. My mother was horrified. She never touched the foreign banknote and she never responded to Martha’s letter. So this correspondence died out. We don’t know, when Osher died, but I believe this might have happened in the 1960s. My father’s sister Esther, who was about 15 or 16 by the time she left the country, married well and had seven daughters. After World War II Esther, her husband and children moved to Israel where she passed away in the 1970s.

During World War I, when the Tsarist government took to relocating Jews from border regions to the rear areas in Russia, Meir, Etah and their younger children happened to move to Nizhniy Novgorod where they stayed for a few years before moving back to Jonava. My father’s younger sister Doba was born in 1904. Doba got married late, when she was to turn 30 years old. Her husband, Genah Barel, a huge guy, was known for being very strong. He was a cabman. After their wedding, Doba and her husband moved to Kaunas where they settled in a small house. In 1935 their son Shmerl was born. He took after his father and looked old for his age.

When the Great Patriotic War 3 began, Genah, his wife and their son left Kaunas on the first day of the war. Fascists caught up with them on the way. They put Genah behind bars and let Doba and her son go. Genah managed to whisper to his wife, which road back home she should take. At night Genah pulled the bars apart and managed to escape. He caught up with his family, and they got back home. When the ghetto 4 was established in Kaunas, they didn’t have to move anywhere since their house happened to be located within the boundaries of the ghetto.

Doba and Genah survived the occupation and all the horrors of the ghetto, but their son Shmerl was killed during on of the actions against children in 1942. Actually he was killed almost by accident. Genah made a shelter for their child in the yard. It was a pit with a camouflaged lid. When the action began, their neighbor came with her baby begging to hide her in the pit. She threatened Genah that she would disclose the existence of the shelter to the Fascists, if he refused to let her hide in the pit. The bunker was only fit to hide a young boy, and the woman’s child was beginning to be short of breath. The woman shifted the lid just a little to let some air in. This happened at the very instant, when the Fascists and Polizei 5 were standing just by the pit. Doba’s son and the woman with her child were executed in a gas chamber on that same day.

After the war Doba and Genah lived in Kaunas. In the late 1950s they moved to Israel. They had no more children, and for the rest of their life they were blaming themselves for having lost their boy. Genah died in the 1970s, and Doba lived till she became very old, and had to spend several years in a wheelchair. She was eager to see me, but she passed away in 1989 before I visited the country [Israel].

My father, Itzhak Dudak, was born in 1902. I don’t know whether Grandfather Meir managed to give his older children higher education. My father actually had no education. He attended cheder, as a child, where he learned an everyday prayer, but he didn’t know the Saturday prayer. My father couldn’t read or write. Since his early age he was helping his father. He was used to handling horses, and became a cabman, when he grew old enough.

My father had a horse. It wasn’t big, but it was strong and sturdy. When trucks and buses appeared in Jonava, my father sold his horse and became a co-owner of this company. However, the company owners were smart and educated people. Some time later they paid my father his share and expelled him from the list of co-owners in order not to have to share the profits with him. My father bought a horse and took to his own business. In the late 1930s he obtained a driver’s license and went to work as a driver in that same company. My father drove all across Lithuania. He was familiar with all roads, farms and villages, as well as he was with his own home.

My mother was my father’s second cousin. When my father was 15, and my mother was 12 to 13 they had already developed a warm and far from cousinly feeling toward one another. Their parents didn’t discourage them since marriages between relatives were a common thing in the Jewish environment.

My maternal great-grandfather, Mende Kloz, was about 15 years younger than Yankl Dovid. Mende was also a cabman, but in the 1920s he quit his business due to his old age. I remember my great-grandfather very well. I have early memories of my childhood. My great-grandfather and my mother’s parents lived nearby, and my cousins and second cousin brothers and I came to their house to tease our great-grandfather. This was children’s unconscious cruelty. We were jumping around the old man, laughing at his long gray beard and his stick. Mende used to threaten us with his stick and yell at us. However, when Mende died in 1933, I felt real grief and repentance for the first time in my life. I was standing by his head. His body was on the floor. There were candles around his body. My feelings of compassion and fear were overwhelming. I didn’t understand what death was about, but I already knew that fear and still, my great-grandfather would never chase after me again yelling at me for my monkey tricks. I felt very sorry for him, and this compassion was no childish feeling. It helped me to mature.

My maternal grandfather, Girsh Kloz, was born in the 1870s. He was also a cabman and dealt with horses since his young age. My grandfather often recalled how he met and fell in love with my grandmother. Her name was Beyle Leya, and her maiden name was Cooper. She lived in a common Jewish family in Panevezys. My grandfather went to Panevezys on business and stayed overnight at the Cooper’s. Her parents did not quite like Girsh. They were likely to want their daughter to marry a wealthy and successful Jewish man, and didn’t believe a plain cabman to be her match. Girsh decided to kidnap his fiancée. It was a severe winter. He harnessed his horse, put a sheepskin coat onto the wagon, went to Panevezys and kidnapped Beyle Leya. She wasn’t opposed to this deal. Girsh and the girl rode back to Jonava, and her parents had nothing else to do, but recognize the fiancé and arrange a truly Jewish wedding.

Beyle Leya’s parents bought her a house where my grandmother and grandfather lived their life and raised their children. It was a two-story building, but it wasn’t large. There were many children in the family, and there was sufficient room in the house for all of them. All children attended cheder and went to elementary school. This was all the education they got. They were helping their parents. The girls were helping their mother about the house, and the boys were helping their father with his horses. The girls grew up and became housewives, and the boys became common laborers.

My mother Gitah, born in 1905, was the oldest. After her there came another child almost each year. Pesia, my mother’s sister, who was next after my mother, married an unreliable man. He had the nickname of ‘Avremele the rascal.’ His name was Avrum Begak. His nickname quite explained the kind of man he was. Shortly after his daughter Mina was born in 1932 he left his family. Pesia was left to raise her daughter alone, and my father and mother provided as much support as they could to her. On the day when the war began and our family was about to evacuate, Avrum Begak appeared as if out of nowhere. He evacuated with us, but he disappeared again during the wartime. I have no idea where his life ended. Pesia and Mina returned to Lithuania after the war and lived in Kaunas. Mina got married. In 1972 she, her husband and her mother moved to Israel. Pesia died in the 1980s.

My mother’s next sister Malka was born in 1908. She married Shulem Brezin, a timber rafter. He was a young and healthy man, and Malka was happy with him for several years. She had two daughters: Hanna, born in 1933, and Luba, born in 1934. This was all the luck she had in life. In 1937 Shulem caught a cold during timber rafting on the Neris River and died. Malka was to take care of herself alone. Girsh helped her to start a small business: she opened a small food store where Pesia was helping her. Malka and her daughters were in evacuation with us. After the war they moved to Kaunas. Her older daughter Hanna got married, and the younger one never married. In the 1970s Hanna and her family, Malka and Luba moved to Israel. Luba died in the early 1980s. Hanna and her family live in Israel. Malka is 97 years old now, as far as I know.

Joha, who came next after Malka, was born in 1910. She married Meishe Steingoff. Meishe was a cabman. He courted Joha for quite some time. She told him she only wanted to marry a cabinet maker. So, he had to learn this profession, and Joha gave her consent to stand under the chuppah with him. During evacuation they got lost, but shortly after we arrived at our destination my father found Joha, and she moved in with us. Joha was a skilled dressmaker. She worked in the evacuation. Her husband served in the Lithuanian division 6, came back from the front and found Joha. After the war they settled down in Vilnius. They had no children. She didn’t live a long life and died in the 1970s.

Following her four daughters, Beyle Leya started having sons. In 1911 Yosif Meishe was born, and then Zalman came next. Yosif Meishe was a rather sickly youngster before the war. He studied cabinet making and worked for a businessman. Yosif didn’t marry before the war. As for Zalman, who also became a cabinet maker, he married Esther, a Jewish woman, before the war. Their son Fayvel was born in the late 1930s. During the Great Patriotic War Esther, Yosif Meishe and Fayvel were in evacuation with us. Zalman was drafted into the army. He was killed in 1942.

After the war Yosif Meishe did his duty: he decided to raise his brother’s son and married Esther. It was a Jewish tradition: when one brother died, the remaining brother was to marry his widow. However, Yosif Meishe fell in love with Esther. They had a son and a daughter in their marriage. Their son’s name was Meir, and their daughter’s name was Zelda. Yosif Meishe was raising Fayvel no different from his own children, but Fayvel had mental problems. He couldn’t get over his father’s death. A few years after the Great Patriotic War, he fell off a balcony and died. It never became known whether this was his intention or a mere accident. Yosif Meishe and Esther were grieving about his death for many years.

Their son Meir got married and had two daughters. Zelda married a Jewish man from Vilnius, but her husband died young and she was left with two children. In the 1970s Yosif Meishe, Esther and their family moved to Israel. Yosif Meishe died at the age of 76, and Esther followed him shortly afterward. Meir, his family and Zelda live in Israel.

My mother’s youngest brother Efraim, born in 1913, wasn’t married before the war. After the war he married Yida, a Jewish woman. They had two girls: Esther El and Anna. They both live in Israel with their families. Efraim was often ill before the war. He died from heart disease in 1961. His grandson, Anna’s son has his grandfather’s name. His name is Efraim. This is all I know about this family.

Esther-Rochl, the youngest one in the family, was born in 1914. Her fiancé was a young handsome guy. His name was Efraim Schmidt. Esther-Rochl and Efraim dated for a few years delaying their wedding for an indefinite time. They were modern young people and had many friends. When the Great Patriotic War began, Efraim evacuated with us having the status of Esther-Rochl’s fiancé. On the way Esther-Rochl lost Efraim. When they were reunited again, they volunteered to the army. Esther-Rochl and her fiancé joined the front line during the first months of the war. Esther-Rochl was killed in early 1942, and Efraim served in the Lithuanian division. He was killed in 1943.

My mother had some education. I don’t know where she studied. I think she studied for a few years in a Jewish school. She knew Russian, could read in Russian and Hebrew and later she also learned Lithuanian. My mother and father grew up in traditional Jewish families, respecting Jewish traditions and religion. My parents were seeing each other for about ten years. They got married in 1929, when my father had firm ground under his feet and could provide for the family. They had a religious wedding and it couldn’t have been otherwise. My parents were married under the chuppah in the synagogue in Jonava.

After their wedding my parents rented a small apartment. I, Yankl Dovid, was born in this apartment on 30th March 1930. In 1933 my brother, who was given the name of not so long ago deceased great-grandfather Mende, was born. In 1935 our younger brother Simon was born. I still have memories of my early childhood. At home I was called Dodik and I got used to this name. I still respond, when they address me as Dovid, though I have the name Yankl in my passport.

I remember our apartment very well. It was in a small building in Jonava. Most of the population in Jonava lived in such buildings. The apartment owner was Dvoira, an older Jewish woman. She also lived in this house and had a small store. The front door to the owner’s quarters was on the side of the street, and we entered our apartment from the backyard. There was one big room and something like a pigeonhole of the bedroom in it. There was a curtain separating this pigeonhole from the rest of the room. We had plain and simple furniture, though it was very robust. My mother’s brothers made it a long time before. My parents slept on a huge wooden bed, and Mende and I slept on a special sofa. In Yiddish the word for this sofa meant ‘a sleeping bench.’ There was a mattress on this bench where my brother and I were sleeping. When Simon grew older, I started sleeping on a little mattress, and my younger brother took my place.

There was a big Russian stove 7, which served for heating purposes. Mama also cooked on it since we had no kitchen quarters. Our family led a rather modest life on the verge of poverty. However, we always had sufficient food. We were never hungry. Besides, I was a poor eater in my childhood, and hungry children aren’t picky with food. I didn’t like eating at home, and Mama was chasing after me with a plate and a spoon in her hands. I used to run to Grandfather Meir and Grandmother Etah’s place where I liked eating sour cream. I liked watching my grandmother Etah pouring sour cream into a saucer and how it rippled in circles. Well, as if sour cream we had at home was different!

When I grew a little older, my father bought me a couple of pigeons. Tumbler pigeons were popular with boys then. He bought these to me for my promise to eat better, but my fondness of pigeons didn’t last long, and my father gave them away. Perhaps, my dislike of eating is to blame for my poor memory of the everyday food we had. The only food I liked was chicken, and I shouted to Mother: ‘Just give me the white meat!’ She was concerned that our neighbors might hear me shouting and think that we, God forbid, might be eating pork, and she asked me to be quieter.

My parents strictly observed the kosher rules. We had separate dishes, boards, casseroles, knives, spoons and forks for meat and dairy products. My mother bought meat in Jewish kosher stores. She took poultry to the shochet. Later she assigned this errand to me, since the shechitah at the synagogue was near where we lived. I watched the shochet cutting up the birds’ necks and hanging them on special hooks over the trunk where blood was trickling down. After all blood was gone the meat became kosher and was allowed to be cooked.

I have dim memories of my younger brother Simon’s brit milah ritual. Our relatives got together in our room, and Mama made a celebration dinner, but I can’t remember the procedure itself.

One of my earliest memories is our family trip to a wedding in Kaunas. Yahne, a former resident of Jonava, lived in a little house in Kaunas, before the bridge across the Neris River. She accommodated all those going to Kaunas on visits, to weddings or on business. It was in Yahne’s house that the wedding of a Jewish girl from Jonava was arranged. I remember wearing warm clothing and how I kept falling having all these heavy clothes on. I was trying to see the bride and the groom, but all I could see were other people’s backs. I must have attended the ceremony in the synagogue, when the bride and the groom were under the chuppah, but I can’t remember the event. Later, in Jonava other boys and I often ran to the synagogue to watch the bride and the groom, glowing red from tension and excitement step under the chuppah. When we were children, we believed this ritual to be some sort of game.

My mother was a very good housewife. We had no vegetable garden or other husbandry, but there was a little vegetable garden in the backyard where Dvoira grew her vegetables. In the summer Mama made salted pickles in barrels, sauerkraut, bought vegetables to last through the winter and stored these in a cellar in a little shed in the yard. There was another shed to store wood and a horse stable. My father treated the horse, our bread winner, well and he fed it well, too. Mama bought bread in the bakery owned by a Jewish man, who was our neighbor.

As for Saturday, I knew it was coming by the smell. Each Friday the smell of the challah loaves my mother was making early in the morning woke me up. I can still remember the smell. Besides challah, she made little rolls with cinnamon and jam, and they decorated our Saturday dinner table. Sabbath was strictly observed in our household. My father liked telling a Jewish fable. He said there lived Mordke Habath, a poor Jewish man. Once, when he had no money to celebrate Saturday, he came to the synagogue crying. He told people that his wife had died and he had no money for the funeral. Compassionate Jews immediately collected some money for Mordke. He went home and gave this money to his wife to make a Saturday dinner. Very soon a funeral team came to Mordke’s house. They were to bury the deceased one on that same day. They were shocked seeing their client well alive standing by the stove. Mordke calmed them down: ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be yours one day. She isn’t going to live forever, is she?’ My father often told this fable to prove that even the poorest Jew was to celebrate Saturday and it is the law for a Jewish person.

Mama made many delicious things for Saturday. There was to be chicken on the table, she made stew, broth with kneydlakh, tsimes was a must. Mama made different types of tsimes: potatoes and prunes, beans, carrots, and all food she made was delicious. On Friday evening we went to the bakery where we left chulent, a big pot of stewed meat, potatoes and beans and bought bread. The baker accepted pots with Saturday chulent from his customers, who bought bread from him every day. On the way home from the synagogue my father picked up this pot with chulent and took it home. I liked the Saturday meal very much. I liked the warm, kind and loving atmosphere, which seemed to me to be filling our home on Saturday.

My parents grew up in religious families. Both my grandfathers put on tefillin and tallit to pray in the morning. My father wasn’t religious to this extent, but he did his best to observe traditions. Each Saturday he went to the synagogue and took me with him, when I grew older. I used to carry his prayer book. On his way to the synagogue a faithful Jew was supposed to do no work. We celebrated all Jewish holidays at home: this was mandatory. Even though our family had the most modest income, not to say we were poor, there were gifts for children prepared before the biggest holidays: new boots, suits or coats. They were not always new: my little brothers usually wore what I had grown out of. These gifts added to the spirit of the feast, which appeared in our family and across the town.

All I remember about Rosh Hashanah was plenty of delicious food that Mama made. There was gefilte fish with a big head and a bunch of parsley sticking out of its mouth on the table. As a rule, it was to be eaten by the head of the family, so my father ate it. There were lots of pastries, apples and honey on the table. My parents fasted on Yom Kippur, and even the children were not allowed any food before lunch time. Each of us was given a rooster, and the shochet from the synagogue conducted the kapores ritual.

Before Sukkot one of our relatives made a sukkah in my grandfather Meir’s yard. Our yard wasn’t big enough to have a sukkah. In my grandfather’s yard there was a suitable spot for a sukkah. The passage between two houses was roofed with fur-tree branches and there was a table installed on the ground. That was it: the sukkah was ready. My father had lunch and some wine in the tent for eight days in a row, and we were running in and out.

On Chanukkah we played the spinning top like all other children, ate Chanukkah potato dishes: latkes and puddings. I ran from one grandfather to another to get my Chanukkah gelt. My aunts and uncles also gave us some change, and before the end of the week I already had quite some amount for a boy. I can hardly remember Purim. There were numerous shelakhmones that we took to our relatives and we also received some from them. On this holiday Mama made little pies with poppy seeds: hamantashen.

The biggest holiday was Pesach. I always looked forward to it. One week before the holiday my father brought a large basket full of matzah from the synagogue. Mama cleaned the house and each corner, hung the fancy curtains, and covered the table with a starched snow-white tablecloth. We brought in special dishes and tableware from the shed. We had a fancy dinner set and tableware, and as for pots and pans, Mama koshered these in a big bowl in the yard, dropping a heated stone into the bowl.

We changed into new suits and boots. Mama also put on her fancy dress and changed her everyday dark shawl for a white lace shawl, which looked nice on her dark hair. Father also had a fancy dark suit on. On the first day he had his tallit on and sat at the head of the table. There were all the required dishes and all other delicacies that Mama had made on the table on this day. There was also wine on the table, they call it ‘honey’ in Lithuania, this was table wine from honey and raisins that my father made himself. We, the children, posed questions regarding the origin of the holiday, looked for and found the afikoman and looked forward to the Prophet Elijah, watching the level of wine left for him in a glass on the table. We did everything that a Jewish family is supposed to do on this holiday.

These holidays of my childhood merged into just one in my memory, but I remember well the Pesach, when we, the boys, having grown older, decided to stand up against ancient Jewish principles. This happened in spring 1941 after the Soviet rule 8 was established, when young people grew fond of Communist ideas. We, being quite young boys, bought some fresh white bread with our pocket money to eat it at home, demonstrating our disregard of the holiday. I also bought a roll, but I failed to take it out of my pocket at home, so strong was my respect for my parents, my grandfather and the traditions that they had taught me. So my parents never discovered my protest against religion, but in truth, I had no longer this blind belief in me.

When I turned seven, I was sent to the Jewish school. My parents chose this school for the simple reason that it provided education for free. We studied in Yiddish. Yiddish was my mother tongue. We spoke it at home, and this was the language of our surrounding. Before the end of the first year at school I could read and write some words in Yiddish. However, all of a sudden my grandfathers made a big deal of the fact that I had been sent to this school, as if they hadn’t known before. Jews say that the first son is for the God, and my grandfathers decided I had to learn to become a rabbi. I was sent to the Yavne religious school, in which they taught Hebrew and the basics for further religious education. I was doing well at school. Within two years I completed two preparatory and two general courses: the first and second one.

There were Jewish Zionist organizations 9 in the town, including ones for young people, and there were also underground Komsomol 10 members. We were too young to distinguish between these political inclinations. We followed the older guys, Komsomol members, to where they were secretly meeting in the forest out of town. This was funny and strange: all townsfolk were aware of these undergrounders, the time and the place of their meetings, but somehow the police ignored them.

My parents were far from politics, but being the poorest element of the Jewish society they were looking for changes for the better, and they expected this better to arrive from the East, namely, from the Soviet Union. My father sympathized with Communists and even did some of their errands. By that time he had obtained a driver’s license and worked as a truck driver. He drove across Lithuania and every now and then he took parcels with him: they were flyers and forbidden literature most of the time. Therefore, when in late June 1940 the Soviet forces entered Jonava and the Soviet rule was established in Lithuania, this was a desirable and expected event for our family. Many people, primarily the poor ones, were greeting the Soviet army 11 in the streets, welcoming it. The children, including myself, asked soldiers and officers for the stars to boast before each other for getting one.

During the war

The overall nationalization began. Larger property and little stores and businesses were taken away from people. Owners of large businesses and activists of the Zionist movement were sent to Siberia. My grandfather’s brother’s Simon’s son Shmuel became a Communist and actively participated in the nationalization and resettlement of people 12. His sister Feiga was begging that he stay out of it, but Shmuel didn’t listen to her. Feiga stopped talking to her brother and didn’t let him come to her house. When the Great Patriotic War began, Shmuel ran away with the Communists leaving his wife Rasa and their children behind. They perished during the occupation, and Shmuel held some important position in Vilnius after the war. Our family didn’t have any contact with him.

As for us, the changes were rather positive. There was a transport cooperative established in the town. My father got a job offer from them. He had a stable salary there. Since my father was classified as a member of the proletariat we received a state-provided apartment in a small two-story nationalized house. By the way, this house belonged to the baker from whom we used to buy bread and in whose stove we left our chulent. He and his family were deported, and what happened to them is unknown. We still had one room, but there was a hallway and a little kitchen there, and the WC and water were outside. They installed a large screen in the central square where they showed Soviet comedies and movies glorifying life in the USSR. As for my education, it was my bad luck again. The Yavne school was closed, and I had to go to a Soviet secondary school. We also studied in Yiddish, but the curriculum was different, and I had to go to the first grade again. So, this is how the last prewar year passed.

On 22nd June 1941 my father rode his horse to Kaunas. Kaunas was located to the west of Jonava. There were already bombs being dropped on Kaunas, and this was how my father found out about the war. He dropped the load off the wagon, turned the horse back and returned home. The horse was lathered and couldn’t go on walking. My father stirred up the whole family: us and Grandfather Meir, Grandfather Girsh and Grandmother Beyle Leya and all our relatives. Fortunately, my grandfather, who also worked in the cooperative, had a horse, which he kept in his stable. We loaded the wagon with whatever valuables we needed and took off. We walked beside the wagon since it was overloaded and there was no way we could sit on top.

We reached Ukmerge where the horse stopped, unable to move on. The men found an abandoned house and unloaded the baggage there. Everybody had no doubt that we were going to be back two weeks from then, when we could have our belongings back. We went on. I have patchy memories and a sense of horror thinking about this sorrowful trip. We were going along with other refugees, and the valorous and undefeatable Soviet army was surrendering. The road was continuously bombed, and the Fascist pilots seemed to enjoy taking low level flight to shoot at peaceful people. As soon as another bombing started we scattered around to hide in roadside bushes. My grandfather was shouting to us: ‘Pray, scream ‘Shma, Israel!’ I don’t know whether our prayers helped or it was the destiny that we all survived. There were many killed and wounded people. I remember a man on the roadside. He had his both legs torn off. He was crying, pulling the skin on the stumps asking somebody to pick him up. People were turning their heads away passing him. Each person was concerned about their family or their own life. We bought two other horses on the way, and it became easier for our horse to move on.

So we reached Bologoye, a large railway junction [350 km west of Moscow], Russia, where my father left the horses with the collective farm 13 obtaining a letter of confirmation for getting them back after the war. Unfortunately, this certificate got lost, and now I have no proof that I was in the evacuation. In Bologoye we caught a train to go farther. The adults decided to go to Nizhniy Novgorod where my grandfather had good friends from the times of World War I.

I must note that the process was well organized, and at larger railway stations the refugees were provided with soup or cooked cereals, or at least, we could get some boiling water. We tried to stay together, which made it easier to endure the hardships. We were supporting each other, each of us responsible for one or another thing. Grandfather Meir fell ill. It was the result of having had to walk quite a distance and the nervous tension. When the train stopped at stations, my father got off to bargain things for food.

Some time after we departed Bologoye the train was bombed. We scattered around, and at that moment we all forgot about Grandfather Meir. He stayed in the carriage. It became dark like at nighttime, and there was a lot of smoke in the air. I grabbed my younger brother Simon’s hand and was holding his hands, so that he didn’t get lost. My father was running toward us and he was bleeding. He said a shell had exploded near him. Another man was killed, and my father was slightly wounded. My father went on looking for the others. I didn’t know where to go. The bombing didn’t stop and I was scared. My brother and I were standing by the wall of a building.

When the explosions stopped, we went on knowing not where to go. Fortunately we bumped into our uncle Yosif Meishe and Esther’s fiancé. We stayed overnight on the bank of a lake and went back to the station in the morning. Yosif Meise spoke good Russian, and we managed to find the way back. Our train was on the track. We were the first to come into the carriage, and my father, mother and Mende joined us almost immediately. We were very happy to reunite. They thought we were dead and didn’t hope to see us again. However, our joy was overshadowed by the fact that Grandfather Meir was not there, and we knew nothing about him. The train started and we had to move on.

Our trip lasted ten more days, and our plans of reaching Nizhniy Novgorod were not to become true. The train arrived at Ufimka station, Ochik district, Sverdlovsk region [about 1700 km from Moscow] where all passengers got off. We were served a hot meal and sent to various collective and Soviet farms 14. Our family stayed in the Soviet farm at this same station. A few days later our aunt and uncle, who had been lost on the way, arrived and joined us.

People were accommodated either at local houses or in a dormitory. We stayed at a barrack before we were provided with a room in a small house. There was also a collective farm in Ufimka, and it was better to work there. In the collective farm people were paid by working days 15 and provided with food products, which was not the case at the Soviet farm where my father was working. At the beginning we were starving. We were given a plot of land of 15 hundred square meters, and we took to developing our farming skills. In summer 1942 we had our first vegetable harvesting experience with some local people helping us.

My mother could hardly do any work. During the last childbirth she had puerperal fever, which affected her psyche. She was quiet and calm most of the time, but at times she suffered from attacks, when she didn’t recognize people and was rather restless. She couldn’t do any physical work, and Mende and I had to work in our vegetable garden.

My father was worried about our missing grandfather. He kept inquiring about him, and at some time he met someone, who could tell him good news and details of what happened to my grandfather. When we got off the train, my grandfather was on his berth, when two young Jewish girls entered the carriage. They discovered Meir on his berth, and Meir told them that his family was heading to Nizhniy Novgorod. The girls happened to be heading there, too, and they took my grandfather with them. In Nizhniy Novgorod my grandfather was accommodated with a Jewish family. He got well and even took to some commerce, and, as they told us, even managed to get some food products for the family.

My father was planning to go and find Grandfather, when his call-up paper from the military commandant’s office was delivered to him. My father was recruited to the labor front 16. My father was assigned to a mine in the town of Revda in Sverdlovsk region. It wasn’t far from the place where we were. However, my father only visited us occasionally. The discipline in the labor army was as strict as in the army.

Our mother and we, our grandmother, grandfather and Mama’s brother Zalman’s wife Esther lived on together. In 1942 we were notified that Rochl, my mother’s younger sister, had perished at the front. This news of the loss of his younger daughter, his favorite, happened to be very hard on Grandfather Girsh. He no longer went to work. He was lying for hours on his bed staring at the ceiling. He often prayed. My grandfather never came back to normal and never went back to work till the end of his life.

I went to school and since I didn’t know Russian, I had to start from scratch and went to the first grade. During vacations my brother and I supplied wood to the glass factory. The logs were very heavy, one of us could not lift a log, and therefore, the effort required us both to cope. In the summer we picked herbs, and Mama made soup with them. There were also mushrooms and berries, but the main product was potato. My father stayed at the labor front till the end of the war. Grandfather Meir died in Nizhniy Novgorod, and we never visited him there. When my father came back, he started making arrangements for us to obtain a permit to return home to Lithuania almost immediately.

Post-war

In summer 1945 we arrived in Kaunas. Grandfather Girsh and Grandmother Beyle Leya were with us. We stayed with our relatives temporarily. Esther, my mother’s brother Zalman’s widow, who married their older brother Yosif Meishe, had returned from evacuation earlier, and she was living there. We went to Jonava. There were hardly any Jews left in the town. The ones, who had stayed in the town, perished during the occupation, and survivors didn’t rush back. We knew we would not be able to live on ashes where even stones seemed to have been saturated with the blood of our close ones. It was not for nothing that they said all Jews were interrelated in Jonava. We found our former room. There was nothing left there. Someone told us of almost a fight between two neighbors arguing about my mother’s Singer sewing machine. There was only an old wardrobe with wooden carving left in the room. My father rented a wagon to ship it to Kaunas. It was a memory of our past life.

My father found a vacant room in a damp basement in Kaunas. The water was almost flowing down the walls. We moved in there. My grandmother and grandfather lived nearby in similar conditions. In 1946 the Neris burst the banks and flooded the houses in the central part of Kaunas. However, our hovel was intact. It was located farther from the center on some elevated spot. So we managed to bargain it for a room in the center of the town. The owner of the room was frightened by the flood and wanted to move into our basement. There was a hairdresser’s next door to our new room. It hadn’t been used for a while, and my father obtained a permit to have it for us. So, we walled up the door opening, made a window and doors between the rooms, and it was a rather nice apartment that we got in the end. My parents helped our grandfather and grandmother to move in with us and since then we stayed together. Later they moved to Malka’s place. Malka was my mother’s younger sister. They stayed with her as long as they lived.

My father went to work shortly after we returned from evacuation. It was hard to get a job then, particularly for those who had no education. He was employed as a loader, and later he became a vendor. When he was old he trained in glass cutting, and had this job until he retired. The period of evacuation and postwar hardships affected my father’s health condition. He had heart problems. My father died of heart disease in 1963, one year after he retired. He was buried according to Jewish traditions. He was carried to the cemetery on a board across the town, and lowered into the grave. There was no coffin. This was frightful and my mother mentioned she would not wish to lie in damp ground without a coffin.

Mama lived many years longer. She died at the age of 76 in 1980. I remembered what she had said during my father’s funeral, and she was buried in a coffin. However, we observed all other Jewish traditions. An old Jewish man recited a prayer for the deceased, and after the funeral we sat shivah. In 1963, a few months after my father died, my grandmother Beyle Leya died. Grandfather Girsh outlived her and my father, he turned one hundred years old and died in 1967.

I went back to school. This time I went to the fifth grade in a Russian school. We didn’t have notebooks and had one textbook for five or six students. My friends convinced me to go to a Jewish school, and there I had to go to the third grade. My nine-year-old desk mate used to tease me continuously. I felt overage compared to my classmates, and this feeling didn’t add to my feeling comfortable in my class. At some point of time the school was closed. I was about to turn 16 and decided to quit my studies. I had to go to work to help my parents. All that my mother was capable of doing was some housework. So, basically it was because of the war that I failed to get a decent education. If it hadn’t been for the war, I would have done better in life.

I got tinsmith’s training. At first I started working for a distant relative before I got a job in a shop. There was a good team in this shop. I was given an opportunity to go to an evening school where I managed to finish the seventh grade. I joined the Komsomol and was quite an active Komsomol member. I was sincerely committed to Communist ideals. I remember what a hard blow Stalin’s death in 1953 was for me. I was secretary of a Komsomol unit then, and after the death of the leader I admitted almost all the young people in the shop to Komsomol. I myself joined the Communist Party. My father was amazed at my political activities. I remember literally his words in this regard: ‘Why are you laying your sound head into a sick bed?’ However, I was attracted by the Communist ideas. They are truly attractive and very humane.

In 1953, when I was drafted into the army, I was already a party member. I finished the training course in Vapniarka and served in an Air Force unit in the town of Stanislav [today Ivano-Frankovsk, 550 km from Kyiv]. I was an electric mechanic. I have only good memories of my service. I was surrounded by nice guys and faced no anti-Semitic incidents. I made good friends in the army. We corresponded and remained friends for many years. In the army I was actively involved in public activities as well. In 1956 the 20th Party Congress 17 denounced Stalin and his crimes, and it was a collapse of my ideals. I can say, I lost any interest in further active involvement in public activities, and from then on I was a Communist only nominally.

In 1963, after my father died, I observed the mourning after him for a whole year. I went to the synagogue every day. Once the secretary of my party organization summoned me to his office. By the way, he was a Jew. He said: ‘You, Dudakas, are leading a double life!’ When I asked what exactly this was about, he replied that ‘the party organization was aware of my attending the synagogue.’ I replied in a rather sharp manner: ‘I am following my father’s testament and our ancestors’ traditions. If it is incompatible with my party membership certificate, I can leave it right here, on the table!’ The secretary calmed me down and never again touched upon this issue.

By the early 1960s our shop developed into a small factory named the ‘Metallist.’ I had a very good reputation and worked as a shift foreman. Once I was requested to act as a shop superintendent through the period of his absence, and I managed very well. Since then I often filled in for the shop superintendent, when he was on vacation or business trips. Many times through my career I was offered key positions, but during the Soviet period workers and foremen were paid way better than the engineering staff. My position was more profitable and I worked until 1997 without changing my job.

Married life

My private life happened to be very successful. In 1964 I went to visit my distant relatives in Vilnius where I met a Jewish girl. She became my wife some short time later. Her name is Sophia. My wife’s maiden name is Gelzina. She was born in Gomel, Belarus, in 1939. When the Great Patriotic War began, my wife’s mother and Sophia were in evacuation in Chkalov region in the Ural. Sophia’s father, Itzhak Gelzin, was at the front. His wartime service was over in Vilnius. He liked the town and stayed there. He found a job and arranged for his family to join him there.

Sophia finished school in Vilnius and found a job as a storekeeper. We liked each other and got married soon. Our wedding took place in early 1965. We had our marriage registered in a district registry office, and then had a wedding party at our home where my mother and mother-in-law made a fancy dinner. The food was delicious. We had about 30 guests. They were our relatives and friends. They were eating, drinking and having fun almost until dawn.

In 1966 our elder daughter Inna was born. In 1968 Yelena, the younger one, was born. I worked a lot and provided well for the family. We had a good life. We spent vacations in Palanga, a Baltic Sea resort, and went to the Black Sea a few times. We went to the cinema and theaters. Mama lived with us until the last days of her life. She prayed and fasted on Yom Kippur. On Pesach we always had matzah. Well, we didn’t follow the kosher rules, and I had to work on Saturday, but we always celebrated Pesach and Rosh Hashanah, the biggest Jewish holidays, at home.

I always wanted to live in Israel, but each time there was something preventing my dream from coming true. When Jews were leaving Lithuania after the war, I was just a boy and was not in the position to make decisions for myself. I’ve always taken the situation in Israel close to my heart, particularly during the Six-Day-War 18 and the Judgment Day War 19. It was particularly hard considering the bluntly negative attitude of Soviet authorities and the Party to Israel, and sitting at meetings I had to listen to the flow of lies about the country that was my dream. My daughters must have taken in this love of Israel and implemented what I’ve failed to do. They both live in Israel.

Inna, the older one, finished a medical school in Vilnius and became a medical nurse. She got married. Her married name is Furmanovskaya. In 1989 her son Arthur was born. Inna’s marriage did not last. She divorced her husband. In 1996 she and her son moved to Israel. Her ex-husband moved to Canada. Inna lives in Beer Sheva where she also works as a medical nurse. She hasn’t remarried, but she has a boyfriend. My grandson Arthur goes to school.

Yelena, the younger one, finished a teachers’ training school. She worked as a tutor in a kindergarten in Kaunas. Her private life has not been successful either. Yelena’s husband Yuriy Kocherginskiy developed a severe disease of joints. He had to take lots of medications, which affected his liver. He died. Yelena moved to Israel in 1999. She also lives in Beer Sheva, not far from her sister. She works as a tutor and also hopes to improve her personal situation.

My family has always been close. I stood on my own feet and supported my brothers. My brother Mende finished a lower secondary school and obtained the specialty of a shoe material cutter. He married Valeriya, a Russian woman. Her life story is also very interesting. She didn’t remember her parents. They said her parents were Jewish and perished in the ghetto during an action. Some locals rescued Valeriya and raised her as a Christian. Mende and Valeriya have two children: daughter Yida, born in 1959 [her married name is Batvinski] and son Lev, born in 1967. Lev lived in Israel, but returned to Lithuania. Mende continues working in his field of specialization, and Lev became my apprentice. I trained him to become a tinsmith, and now we work together.

My younger brother Simon also became a tinsmith. He married Anna, a Jewish girl. Their daughter’s name is Ella. In 1972 my brother and his family decided to move to Israel. I supported him with some money. In those yeas one needed quite a lot of money to be able to get rid of the Soviet citizenship. Simon left taking my word that I would follow him some time later. Then the Judgment Day War began, and we delayed our trip. Each time there was something in the way, and I failed to have my dream come true. Simon died in 1986. His daughter lives in Israel. She has three grown up sons.

I’ve visited Israel three times. I went there to my grandson’s bar mitzvah for the first time. My daughter was in a pretty tough situation, and I stayed in Israel for almost a year helping her about the house and looking after her son. I admire Israel, its people, the atmosphere of freedom and independence, its nature, the sea and the sun. Each time, when coming to Israel, I am thinking of staying there for good, but when I come back to Lithuania, I know that this is my motherland, and it’s hard to leave it.

After Lithuania gained independence 20, my life became easier in the material and moral way. I work for a private company now. I’ve faced no anti-Semitism. I speak Lithuanian to Lithuanian people and Yiddish to Jewish people. I’ve become an active member of the Lithuanian Jewish community. I haven’t become a religious person, but I feel like supporting the community. There are fewer than 300 Jews left in Kaunas, and soon there will be hardly anybody left to attend the synagogue. I go to the synagogue for the morning prayer, and on Saturday my wife and I go there together. I keep telling my wife that we need to move to Israel and I believe she will give her consent one day, and then my dream to live in the Promised Land will come true.

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

1 Old Believers

As their name suggests, all of them rejected the reformed service books, which Patriarch Nikon introduced in the 1650s and preserved pre-Nikonian liturgical practices in as complete a form as canonical regulations permitted. For some Old Believers, the defense of the old liturgy and traditional culture was a matter of primary importance; for all, the old ritual was at least a badge of identification and a unifying slogan. The Old Believers were united in their hostility toward the Russian state, which supported the Nikonian reforms and persecuted those who, under the banner of the old faith, opposed the new order in the church and the secular administration. To be sure, the intensity of their hostility and the language and gestures with which they expressed it varied as widely as their social background and their devotional practices. Nevertheless, when the government applied pressure to one section of the movement, all of its adherents instinctively drew together and extended to their beleaguered brethren whatever help they could.

2 Keep in touch with relatives abroad

The authorities could arrest an individual corresponding with his/her relatives abroad and charge him/her with espionage, send them to concentration camp or even sentence them to death.

3 Great Patriotic War

4 Kaunas ghetto

On 24th June 1941 the Germans captured Kaunas. Two ghettoes were established in the city, a small and a big one, and 48,000 Jews were taken there. Within two and a half months the small ghetto was eliminated and during the 'Grossaktion' of 28th-29th October, thousands of the survivors were murdered, including children. The remaining 17,412 people in the big ghetto were mobilized to work. On 27th-28th March 1944 another 18,000 were killed and 4,000 were taken to different camps in July before the Soviet Army captured the city. The total number of people who perished in the Kaunas ghetto was 35,000.

5 Lithuanian Polizei

It refers to the local Lithuanian collaborators of the Nazi regime. Subordinated to the Germans they were organized as a police force and were responsible to establish Nazi control in the country. They played a major role in carrying out the destruction of the Lithuanian Jewry.

6 16th Lithuanian division

It was formed according to a Soviet resolution on 18th December 1941 and consisted of residents of the annexed former Lithuanian Republic. The Lithuanian division consisted of 10.000 people (34,2 percent of whom were Jewish), it was well equipped and was completed by 7th July 1942. In 1943 it took part in the Kursk battle, fought in Belarus and was a part of the Kalinin front. All together it liberated over 600 towns and villages and took 12.000 German soldiers as captives. In summer 1944 it took part in the liberation of Vilnius joining the 3rd Belarusian Front, fought in the Kurland and exterminated the besieged German troops in Memel (Klaipeda). After the victory its headquarters were relocated in Vilnius, in 1945-46 most veterans were demobilized but some officers stayed in the Soviet Army.

7 Russian stove

8 Occupation of the Baltic Republics (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania)

Although the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact regarded only Latvia and Estonia as parts of the Soviet sphere of influence in Eastern Europe, according to a supplementary protocol (signed in 28th September 1939) most of Lithuania was also transferred under the Soviets. The three states were forced to sign the 'Pact of Defense and Mutual Assistance' with the USSR allowing it to station troops in their territories. In June 1940 Moscow issued an ultimatum demanding the change of governments and the occupation of the Baltic Republics. The three states were incorporated into the Soviet Union as the Estonian, Latvian and Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republics.

9 Revisionist Zionism

10 Komsomol

Communist youth political organization created in 1918. The task of the Komsomol was to spread of the ideas of communism and involve the worker and peasant youth in building the Soviet Union. The Komsomol also aimed at giving a communist upbringing by involving the worker youth in the political struggle, supplemented by theoretical education. The Komsomol was more popular than the Communist Party because with its aim of education people could accept uninitiated young proletarians, whereas party members had to have at least a minimal political qualification.

11 Soviet Army

The armed forces of the Soviet Union, originally called Red Army and renamed Soviet Army in February 1946. After the Bolsheviks came to power, in November 1917, they commenced to organize the squads of worker’s army, called Red Guards, where workers and peasants were recruited on voluntary bases. The commanders were either selected from among the former tsarist officers and soldiers or appointed directly by the Military and Revolutionary Committee of the Communist Party. In early 1918 the Bolshevik government issued a decree on the establishment of the Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army and mandatory drafting was introduced for men between 18 and 40. In 1918 the total number of draftees was 100 thousand officers and 1.2 million soldiers. Military schools and academies training the officers were restored. In 1925 the law on compulsory military service was adopted and annual drafting was established. The term of service was established as follows: for the Red Guards - 2 years, for junior officers of aviation and fleet - 3 years, for medium and senior officers - 25 years. People of exploiter classes (former noblemen, merchants, officers of the tsarist army, priests, factory owners, etc. and their children) as well as kulaks (rich peasants) and cossacks were not drafted into the army. The law as of 1939 cancelled restriction on drafting of men belonging to certain classes, students were not drafted but went through military training in their educational institutions. On 22nd June 1941 the Great Patriotic War was unleashed and the drafting into the army became exclusively compulsory. First, in June-July 1941 general and complete mobilization of men was carried out as well as partial mobilization of women. Then annual drafting of men, who turned 18, was commenced. When WWII was over, the Red Army amounted to over 11 million people and the demobilization process commenced. By the beginning of 1948 the Soviet Army had been downsized to 2 million 874 thousand people. The youth of drafting age were sent to the restoration works in mines, heavy industrial enterprises, and construction sites. In 1949 a new law on general military duty was adopted, according to which service term in ground troops and aviation was 3 years and in the navy 4 years. Young people with secondary education, both civilian and military, from the age of 17-23, were admitted in military schools for officers. In 1968 the term of the army service was contracted to 2 years in ground troops and in the navy to 3 years. That system of army recruitment remained without considerable changes until the breakup of the Soviet Army (1991-93).

12 Deportations from the Baltics (1940-1953)

After the Soviet Union occupied the three Baltic states (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania) in June 1940 as a part of establishing the Soviet system, mass deportation of the local population began. The victims of these were mainly but not exclusively those unwanted by the regime: the local bourgeoisie and the previously politically active strata. Deportations to remote parts of the Soviet Union continued up until the death of Stalin. The first major wave of deportation took place between 11th and 14th June 1941, when 36,000, mostly politically active people were deported. Deportations were reintroduced after the Soviet Army recaptured the three countries from Nazi Germany in 1944. Partisan fights against the Soviet occupiers were going on all up to 1956, when the last squad was eliminated. Between June 1948 and January 1950, in accordance with a Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR under the pretext of 'grossly dodged from labor activity in the agricultural field and led anti-social and parasitic mode of life' from Latvia 52,541, from Lithuania 118,599 and from Estonai 32,450 people were deported. The total number of deportees from the three republics amounted to 203,590. Among them were entire Lithuanian families of different social strata (peasants, workers, intelligentsia), everybody who was able to reject or deemed capable to reject the regime. Most of the exiled died in the foreign land. Besides, about 100,000 people were killed in action and in fusillade for being members of partisan squads and some other 100,000 were sentenced to 25 years in camps.

13 Collective farm (in Russian kolkhoz)

14 Sovkhoz

State-run agricultural enterprise. The first sovkhoz yards were created in the USSR in 1918. According to the law the sovkhoz property was owned by the state, but it was assigned to the sovkhoz which handled it based on the right of business maintenance.

15 Trudodni

A measure of work used in Soviet collective farms until 1966. Working one day it was possible to earn from 0.5 up to 4 trudodni. In fall when the harvest was gathered the collective farm administration calculated the cost of 1 trudoden in money or food equivalent (based upon the profit).

16 Labor army

It was made up of men of call-up age not trusted to carry firearms by the Soviet authorities. Such people were those living on the territories annexed by the USSR in 1940 (Eastern Poland, the Baltic States, parts of Karelia, Bessarabia and northern Bukovina) as well as ethnic Germans living in the Soviet Union proper. The labor army was employed for carrying out tough work, in the woods or in mines. During the first winter of the war, 30 percent of those drafted into the labor army died of starvation and hard work. The number of people in the labor army decreased sharply when the larger part of its contingent was transferred to the national Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian Corps, created at the beginning of 1942. The remaining labor detachments were maintained up until the end of the war.

17 Twentieth Party Congress

At the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956 Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what had happened in the USSR during Stalin's leadership.

18 Six-Day-War

(Hebrew: Milhemet Sheshet Hayamim), also known as the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, Six Days War, or June War, was fought between Israel and its Arab neighbors Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. It began when Israel launched a preemptive war on its Arab neighbors; by its end Israel controlled the Gaza Strip, the Sinai Peninsula, the West Bank, and the Golan Heights. The results of the war affect the geopolitics of the region to this day.

19 Yom Kippur War (1973 Arab-Israeli War)

(Hebrew: Milchemet Yom HaKipurim), also known as the October War, the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, and the Ramadan War, was fought from 6th October (the day of Yom Kippur) to 24th October 1973, between Israel and a coalition of Egypt and Syria. The war began when Egypt and Syria launched a surprise joint attack in the Sinai and Golan Heights, respectively, both of which had been captured by Israel during the Six-Day-War six years earlier. The war had far-reaching implications for many nations. The Arab world, which had been humiliated by the lopsided defeat of the Egyptian-Syrian-Jordanian alliance during the Six-Day-War, felt psychologically vindicated by its string of victories early in the conflict. This vindication, in many ways, cleared the way for the peace process which followed the war. The Camp David Accords, which came soon after, led to normalized relations between Egypt and Israel - the first time any Arab country had recognized the Israeli state. Egypt, which had already been drifting away from the Soviet Union, then left the Soviet sphere of influence almost entirely.

20 Reestablishment of the Lithuanian Republic

On 11th March 1990 the Lithuanian State Assembly declared Lithuania an independent republic. The Soviet leadership in Moscow refused to acknowledge the independence of Lithuania and initiated an economic blockade on the country. At the referendum held in February 1991, over 90 percent of the participants (turn out was 84 percent) voted for independence. The western world finally recognized Lithuanian independence and so did the USSR on 6th September 1991. On 17th September 1991 Lithuania joined the United Nations.

Matilda Albuhaire

Матилда Албухайре

Най-далечните ми сродници са дядо ми и баба ми, нямам по-далечни познания за прадядовци. Дядо ми е дошъл от Цариград, където е роден. Идва в България с двегодишен син, без жена си. В Бургас живее със сина си и се оженва повторно за жена на име Мазал, родом от Добрич. Аз нося нейното име, но мен са ме нарекли модерно - Матилда. В България [дядо й] е бил амбулантен търговец. Казвали са ми, че носел стоката завита на гърба си и така е обикалял. Но след време той натрупва пари и става богат търговец в Бургас. Имат магазин на главната улица. Първият [му] син е моят баща, който е дошъл на две години от Цариград и се казва Соломон, а от втората си жена той [дядо й] има двама сина – единият се казва Аврам, а другият Исак.

Дядо ми се казва Яков Меркадо Албухайре. Роден е през 1853 и идва в България 1882. Баща ми е роден 1880, точната дата не мога да кажа. Майката на дядо ми преди него все е раждала деца, които умирали. И като се родил, за да не го последва съдбата на другите деца, родителите му го дали [на други хора]. Той се казва “меркадо”, което значи “купен от друго семейство”, за да не го намери “Ангела на смъртта” – затова има две имена: Яков Меркадо Албухайре. За фамилията Албухайре се смята, че е име на област в Испания: “Албухаре”. Но съм чувала и друго - че произлиза от турското “ал-бу-хаир”, което значи “вземи това хубаво”: “хаир” – добро, “ал” - вземи, “бу”- това. Дядо ми е говорел ладино. В къщи говорехме ладино, докато се роди малкият ми брат през 1924 година.

Дядо ми беше среден на ръст, пълничък, с израз на доброта [на лицето]. Много добър човек беше и всичките ми приятелки много го обичаха. Той винаги носеше бонбони в джоба си, и когато срещаше моите приятелки, децата от улицата и в синагогата, винаги им даваше. Когато почина внезапно, джобовете му бяха пълни с бонбони. Той се е ползвал с голямо уважение в синагогата в Бургас. Бил е религиозен, сутрин рано е ставал и е слагал тефилин. Аз го помня винаги обърнат на изток, където беше Йерушалаим, храмът. Както казах, той беше много уважаван - пред Тевата [подиум от, който се четат молитвите] в синагогата имаше сложен специален стол за него. Двама души стояха пред Тевата – [дядо й] и един сляп [човек] от Бургас, защото знаеха, че е искрен и вярващ евреин, спазващ всички традиции на Юдаизма. Дядо ми всъщност е живял само с първородния си син, моя баща, след като единият му син изчезва безследно, а другият се оженва във Франция. Той живя до 1932 г., над 80 години, и аз имам неговия ген, иначе всички в нашето семейство са починали много млади.

Баба ми не я помня здрава, тя беше много болна. Къщата на дядо ми беше на два етажа, където са били тенис-кортовете на улица “Славянска” и “Черноморска”. Имаше прислуга в къщата - баба Рахел. [Баба й и дядо й] я водеха като тяхна близка, но наистина имаха нужда [от нея], защото баба ми беше само на легло, откакто я помня. Тази баба Рахел готвеше. Не си спомням много, била съм в тази къща като много малка. Там имах една приятелка гъркиня, играехме в коридора с мраморни плочки на кокалчета. В тази къща сме ходили само на празниците. Те спазваха кашрут [традиционен еврейски начин на хранене]. Като умря баба ми, дядо дойде при нас да живее. Баба ми и дядо ми не живееха в еврейска махала, имаше при нас и гърци, и българи. Много добре си живееха и се уважаваха със съседите.

За бабата и дядото [от страна на майка й] мога да разкажа много. Майка ми е родена в Пловдив. Аз също съм родена в Пловдив. Дядо ми от страна на майка ми се казва Маир Буко Леви. Той е бил богат търговец на платове и на готови дрехи. В Пловдив имаха голям магазин, а имаха и къща в центъра, която си стои още там, на една улица, “Св. Марина” се казваше. Аз съм ходила там. Дядо ми е имал жена, Естер. Роднините му не познавам, обаче знам неговите деца. Той е имал 4 сина и 2 дъщери. Майка ми е втората. Първият се казва Буко, след това идва майка ми Ребека. Имат братя Витали, Елиезер и Марко, а леля ми се казваше Донна. Това е цялото семейство от страна на майка ми. Всичките ги познавам. Дядо ми е бил висок и хубав мъж, с каскет, и понеже е бил богат, имал възможност да ходи по чужбина да пазарува дрехи, платове и т.н. Ходел е редовно във Виена да се лекува. Той всъщност е умрял във Виена през 1923 г. А баба ми е някъде от Карлово. И тя е имала много сестри. Дядо ми и баба ми не живееха в еврейската махала.

Баба ми и дядо ми от Пловдив са говорили ладино, обаче всички други – вуйчовците, лелите – български. Нищо не знам за произхода на предците им. Той [дядо й] е роден някъде в Галиция, в Западна Европа, някъде между Унгария и Чехия, обаче е Сефарад [от испанските евреи], не е Ешкенази [от немските]. Били са сефарадски евреи, които са спазвали всички традиции. Един път ме взеха да ме водят на почивка. С тях съм ходила в Чепино, сега Велинград, където ходеха на минерални бани. Беше едно пътуване от Пловдив до Чепино с каруца, волски впряг. Нямаше почивни станции. Всичко трябваше да се носи от къщи – дюшеци, съдове, завивки.

В Бургас имаше махала, в която живееха само евреи. Недалеч от училището имаше една улица, където живееха много евреи. [Спомням си] семейство Хасон - голямо семейство, много богати бяха. Той беше търговец на платове, имаха голям магазин. Евреите се познаваха всички. Имаше еврейска община, аз бях учителка по иврит в еврейското училище и ми плащаха от еврейската община. Имаше секретар на общината и училищно настоятелство. Председател на общината беше Нисим Коен. Развиваха социална дейност и поддържаха трапезария за бедни. Спомням си, че всяко семейство се ангажираше един ден да носи храна за бедните ученици. Това беше само за учениците. Да речем, този ден е редът на еди коя си и тя се ангажира да нахрани децата. Сигурно е имало някаква социална комисия, която се грижеше за определянето на реда. И майка ми е била понякога ангажирана да носи храна, спомням си как веднъж приготви боб-фасул. Не се готви най-лесно, [но] най-много го обичат децата. В Бургас имаше и еврейска детска градина, и училище. Богатите хора даваха пари за училището [общността се е издържала от вноски]. В Бургас имаше доста евреи, не мога да кажа точно колко. Евреите се занимаваха главно с търговия. И мандраджии имаше, а бедните евреи бяха хамали и продавачи на семки. В Бургас имаше много хубава синагога - само една, сефарадска. Имаше само 2 ешкеназки семейства. Имало е и шохет [който коли животни], и равин.

Майка ми е родена в Пловдив, а баща ми в Цариград. У дома говореха ладино до 1925-26-та година, около раждането на малкия ми брат. Баща ми знаеше турски и гръцки, a понеже му трябваше в работата, знаеше и малко френски. Майка ми също беше грамотна. Тя никога не е работила. Била е домакиня, откакто се оженила. След това се ражда големият ми брат. Не мога да се сетя как са се запознали родителите ми. Някой ги е запознал, защото баща ми беше много затворен, много скромен човек. Някой ги е сватосал. Така си представям, защото майка ми е от Пловдив, и сигурно по търговия с дядото като са ходили… В Бургас май са се оженили, в синагогата сигурно. В ония години всички се женеха само в синагогата. Не е имало друг вид брак. Майка ми беше много елегантна, носеше шапка.

Ние живеехме в една къща на два етажа, на долния етаж бяха кухнята и стаята за гости, а на втория етаж бяха спалните – в едната спалня спяхме големият ми брат, аз и дядото, а в другата - баща ми и майка ми и малкото ми братче. Когато слизахме сутрин, за да отиваме на училище, дядо беше вече запалил печката, чайникът вреше и винаги беше топло. Иначе горе не се отоплявахме, тъй като в Бургас не е много студено. Къщата беше до турската баня, Джалиловата баня и всеки петък ходехме с майка ми да се къпем. До нас живееха българи и гърци, от дясно арменският поп със сина си, а пък самата баня беше на турчин. Къщата, която купихме, беше на турци, а преди да я купим, живяхме на отсрещната страна - в българска къща, при едно семейство, което се казваше Очидолови. На майката от тази къща й викахме “мамо”, защото там сме пораснали. По едно време моята майка беше много болна и все викахме “мамето” да дойде да я види, помагаха ни много. Течаща вода имахме – имахме една голяма чешма, където миехме съдовете, обаче баня - не. Пред къщата имахме малък двор. Баща ми беше посадил едно дърво от кайсия - от фиданка и ние, като деца, ходехме да го гледаме.

Спомням си, че в долната стая имаше шкафче, което се отваря така, както се отваря пиано. И аз си въобразявах, че това е моето пиано и се правех, че свиря. Имах приятелка-пианистка и ходех да я слушам. Нищо не разбирах, но чувствах, че музиката е нещо божествено. Този шкаф се отваряше отдолу. Беше от много хубаво дърво. И след това разбрах, че това е бил шкаф, в който чичо ми – адвокатът, е държал леген и стомна от порцелан, където се е миел, защото на втория етаж нямаше вода. За това шкафче, когато дойдоха да го вземат при изселването, ми беше най-мъчно.

Отначало имахме прислужница в тази къща, в която беше много трудно за шетане. Помня една Янка, от някакво горнооряховско село. Майка ми беше болна, а ние живеехме на двата етажа. Много добре се отнасяха съседите [към еврейския им живот]. Те ни носеха козунак, ние им давахме “бурмуликус” и “маца” [празнични ястия] и т.н. Приятелите на родителите ми бяха евреи и със съседите много добре си живеехме. Имахме едно приятелско семейство в Бургас – казваха се Беншушан. Те бяха най-близките ни приятели. Помагаха ни много.

Родителите ми живяха хубаво, много хубаво, докато бяхме добре материално, но като почнаха проблемите с парите - да не стигат, почнаха дрязги, нямаше спокойствие. След смъртта на дядо ми, майка ми и баща ми продължиха да спазват кашрут, а когато не бяхме добре материално, не спазвахме кашер.

Баща ми не е бил войник, не е служил, защото е бил турски поданик. Майка ми беше член и активист на “Вицо” [женска ционистка организация]. Баща ми, мисля, че беше в някаква ционистка организация “Общи ционисти”. Майка ми беше в Отечествения фронт след 9-ти септември 1944. Баща ми почина през 1948 в Бургас, а майка - 1959 в София.

Аз съм родена в Пловдив на 4 юли 1916 г. Майка ми отишла в Пловдив да ме роди, защото баба ми, на баща ми майката, била болна и нямало кой да й помага. От малка съм била голям инат. Учителката ми се скара веднъж като бях ученичка във второ отделение и аз казах, че повече в това училище няма да ходя да уча. И за известно време ме пратиха в Пловдив, обаче много малко време, защото в Бургас направиха еврейско училище и се върнах там да уча. Аз съм се родила година и половина след големия ми брат Жак. Той е роден в Бургас. Не си спомням за детските години. Само знам, че разказваха една история, че майка ми, за да може да ни гледа двамата, е вързвала големия ми брат на прозореца с някаква дреха и ме е оставяла мене в количката. Един ден като съм се прозявала, той пуснал едно ключе в устата ми. Едва са ме спасили.

Четях много. Най-добре си спомням една книга, на един от италианските революционери – Гарибалди. И си спомням, че цяла нощ четях и майка ми идваше да ми се кара: “Хайде, тока трябва да пестим.” Иначе четях и на студено – ръцете ми замръзнали, но четях. Чичо ми имаше книги - юридическа, политическа литература – на немски, френски, на много езици. Бях голям оратор - който дойде, почвам да държа речи. Пеех много хубаво в детската градина.

Имахме различни младежки организации, но не се карахме. Имахме “Ашомер Ацаир”, “Бетар” и т.н., но всички си живеехме общо, много се обичахме с останалите младежи. Тогава бяхме доста – двайсетина, двайсет и пет души. Един мъж от Варна (свиреше в Бургаския симфоничен оркестър) дойде в еврейските среди и се запозна с хората. Искаше да направи нещо общо с бургаските младежи и направи две оперетки. Аз играх главните роли. Едната се казваше “Деца и птички” и аз бях птичката, която затварят в едно кафезче и тя пее, горката: “Колко съм нещастна, че [съм] заключена”. А втората беше “Малката кибритопродавачка”. Тя е известна, по приказка на Андерсен и на един български композитор. В подготовката на тези две [представления] ние, младежите, се сближихме много. Той беше прекрасен човек, всички в прогимназията бяхме влюбени в него, защото беше много красив. Казваше се Нафтали Асса, помня го много добре. Това беше цяло събитие за Бургас, изнесохме го в най-големия театър. [За] “Малката кибритопродавачка” даже е написано в местния печат (все търся да го намеря) - отразено е във вестник “Бургаски фар”. Цяло събитие беше, защото участваха всички еврейски деца. Имаше хор, балет, трябваше декори да се правят. Обаче най-важното беше това, че трябваше да се приготви сняг - докато долу става действието, отгоре трябва да вали сняг. И децата, от най-малките до най-големите, режеха от стари тетрадки книжки и цели кошове бяха напълнили с такива хартийки за снега. И сега, срещнеш ли бургазлия в Израел, кажи му да ти изпее “Малката кибритопродавачка”, ще ти я изпее от край до край. Има тука една [жена] в “Дома на родителя”, която ме помни именно като малката кибритопродавачка. Мога да изпея една песен [пее].

От гимназията всички предмети ми бяха любими. По математика правех класни без нито една грешка. Това логаритмичните таблици - само подписът на учителката беше в червено. А по литература – аз четях много хубаво и изразително “Опълченците на Шипка” от Иван Вазов. И толкова хубаво четях, че учителката ме водеше в друг клас да им чета и на тях. Когато в нашето училище имаше часове по вероучение, ние ходехме в еврейското училище на часове по иврит.

Девическа гимназия [съм учила] – имах приятелки и еврейки, и българки. Най-добрата ми приятелка беше българка – Елена Събева се казваше. На един чин седяхме. И една – Жасмина. От еврейките също имах – Рашка Асса, Регина. Празнували сме рождени дни, а с българките празнувахме много, събирахме се, пеехме, играехме.

Аз имах една ученическа любов с момче, което беше в търговската гимназия ученик. С него се срещах. Той всъщност играеше в тази оперетка лошото момче. И оттам… Разхождахме се, усамотявахме се. [В Бургас] имаше кей и там отивахме, седяхме на фара, гледахме вълните и най-много да се целунем.

Никак нямахме свободно време. Ангажирани бяхме непрекъснато. Доста уроци имахме – математика и разказвателните предмети. И гимнастика играехме. През ваканцията не сме ходили с училището никъде, ходехме на плаж. Нали Бургас е край морето. Родителите ни не ни ограничаваха да ходим на плаж. Ходехме и в градината. Иначе ние, като ученички, имахме вечерен час от училище, но се промушвахме. Някой път ходехме на кино. Момичетата имахме много случаи да сме заедно в къщи и правехме “журове” [игра на карти]. Големите “журове” ставаха на Кипур, защото родителите ги няма – цял ден трябва да са в синагогата. Танит [пост] не правехме, кой ще прави танит.

Аз имам двама братя: единият е Жак, който е година и половина по-голям от мене. Завърши търговската гимназия и работи известно време в мелница (трябваше да ходя да го замествам там). След това работи в банка, после дойде в София, работи към “Балкантурист” известно време и на края - към профсъюза на търговията - това е трудовият му стаж. По-малкият беше активен ремсист и е признат за активен борец против фашизма. Спомням си, когато организираха някаква първомайска акция. Имахме вечерен час. Той се прибра много късно и вика: “Пръскахме позиви, може и да стане нещо с мен.” Току що беше завършил гимназия, когато отиде в трудовите еврейски лагери. Много се измъчваше, че не стигаха парите и през лятото като ученик какво [ли] не е работил – въглища караше в една шапкарска работилница, в дрогерия работи. Оттам даваше лекарства за партизаните - лекарства, които трябваха за ранени. След 9-ти септември [1944] го пратиха в школата за запасни офицери и стана офицер с чин полковник. Завърши висше образование по педагогика и Военна академия. Работи като кинорежисьор във Военната киностудия много години. Там се пенсионира.

Баща ми и дядо ми отиваха в навечерието на шабат в синагогата, връщаха се и правехме (спомням си по едно време нямаше даже и свещи) свещи. Палехме ги за ерев шабат. Казвахме молитва и си спомням, че майка ми почваше да готви от четвъртък, за да не готви петък и събота. Спазвахме кашрут, защото дядото беше много религиозен.

В къщата имаше мазе. В мазето освен големия шкаф, дето държахме книги, имаше и една голяма ракла. В нея се държаха пасхалните съдове. И на Песах ние слизахме долу и изваждахме всичките тези съдове, които се ползват само 8 дни, а прибирахме обикновените съдове, които ползвахме всеки ден.

Майка ми ни научи как да правим от салфетките бели пасхални рози, как да ги сгъваме така, че да се превръщат в рози. Така правехме пасхалната трапеза. Бяхме малки, но много добре си спомням, че в къщи викаха шивачка и ни шиеха нови дрехи за Песах.

Няколко седмици преди празника започваше подготовката - шиеха се долно бельо, горни дрехи и после почваше подготовката на съдовете. Свалят се всички съдове “хамец” [квас] и всичко се мие наново. Tрябва всичко, което е “хамец” да се свали долу, да се изчистят трохите - знаехме как се изхвърлят на двора и се горят там. Пасхалният обред беше нещо много тържествено. Ние се събирахме 5-6 души – баща ми, майка ми и дядо ми и ние, трите деца. Идваха и леля ми, мъжа й и двете й деца, значи 6 и 5 - 11 души.

Не се продаваше още “маца” [безквасен хляб], купувахме “болю”. “Болю”-то е само тесто, брашно и вода. Без нищо за бухване и никаква сол – нали [е] безсолен хляб. Купувахме го, не го правехме ние. Еврейската община гo поръчваше в някаква фурна и ние гo купувахме. Яденето беше подготвено за вечерта. Kаквото трябва – “харосет”, маруля, яйце – всичко беше подредено на масата. И съответно, когато се чете “агадата”, се правят всички ритуали. [Четенето на “агадата” се правеше] от дядото и баща ми, и двамата - на иврит.

Спомням си, едно време съм ходила с дядо на “селихот” – преди Рош аШана, където се иска прошка. С баща ми съм ходила и в синагогата. Отива се в 4 часа през нощта, по тъмното. И там имаше “шамаш” [пазач], който правеше кафе на един мангал. Вареше го отвън за след службата. Нашите момчета ходеха да крадат [смее се] дюли от махалата тогава. Никой нямаше по къщите по това време и те ставаха, (иначе нямаше да станат толкова рано) тръгваха и си събираха дюли. Пък за Кипур после ги набождаха с карамфили, за да им мирише хубаво, да не им става лошо, докато постят.
От празниците най-много обичах Фрутас, защото ядяхме много плодове и защото слагаха всички плодове на масата. Не един по един, а всичко каквото са накупили дядо ми и баща ми. Всеки яде каквото най-много му харесва и се казва една молитва. Например, ако се яде нещо, което расте на дърво, се казва “Барух ата адонай елоейну мелех аолам ашер кидшану бемицвотав ве цивану леехол при шел аец.” Правехме торбички с плодове, които си разменяхме на самия празник. Аз много обичах и Ханука, имахме си Ханукия. Дядото разказваше за празника, палехме свещ всяка вечер - първата вечер се пали една свещичка, която е “шамаш”, първата свещ, втората вечер – втората свещ и т.н. в продължение на 8 дни. Правехме една халва от грис, която също много обичах. Майка ми я правеше много хубаво, режехме я на парчета и ядяхме от нея.

“Бат мицва” не съм имала, но помня като правиха “брит мила” [обрязване] на по-малкия ми брат, а на по-големия ми брат “бар мицва” [религиозно пълнолетие]. В къщи правихме голямо тържество, не помня дали [имаше] в синагогата. Тогава баща ми или дядо му подари един джобен часовник (нямаше още ръчни часовници), и той го носи до края на живота си. Беше плосък, тъничък и той много го пази. “Брит мила” беше много интересно. Много хора бяха дошли в къщи. И “хазан” идва и помня как държаха на ръце детето, и как заплака и т.н. Много ядене имаше – “масапан”, почерпки и т.н.

След като завърших курса за учители след гимназията ‘36-37-ма година, две години бях в София и голям зор видях, защото все боледувах от гърло. Тук ме оперираха от сливици. Имаше един много добър лекар в еврейската болница (тогава имаше еврейска болница). После ме назначиха в Бургас учителка ‘38-43-та година. До ‘41-ва всъщност, но ‘43-та го водят, защото ми признаха за трудов стаж времето, през което не сме били на работа. Бях учителка в началното училище и децата много ме обичаха. И аз много ги обичах, нали бях младичка – на 21 години. Преподавах иврит и празнувахме всички празници. Закриха еврейското училище през войната – ‘41-ва година. Пратиха ни известно време в едно старо училище, [което] после стана жандармерия. Преди войната водехме много интензивен еврейски живот.

В Бургас не ни изселваха, но бяхме получили съобщение през март ‘43-та, че трябва да напуснем града в срок от 15 дни. Баща ми вече беше много болен, парализиран на легло. Казаха ни, че ще ни карат в Полша. Аз бях много пострадала, защото братята ми по това време бяха в еврейските трудови лагери. В Бургас затвориха училището ‘42 година и до 9-ти септември [1944] съм била без работа. Баща ми не можа да оздравее. Той почина през февруари 1948 г. Останах без работа като затвориха училището. Работех в една фабрика за бонбони, трябваше с нещо да се преживява. Тогава всичко [се правеше] на ръка – бонбоните се увиваха на ръка. Работих известно време в тази работилница, но като почнаха трудовите лагери (големият ми брат работеше в една мелница) отидох да му пазя мястото –абсолютно нелегално. Тази мелница снабдяваше жандармерията с жито и когато дойдеха да товарят жито, аз трябваше да се качвам горе, за да се скрия. Носила съм жълта звезда. От ‘41-ва ги носехме. Ако не носиш, и ако те хванат - затвор. Не можехме да излизаме след 21 часа, защото имахме вечерен час. В някои градове ги ограничаваха да не излизат и през деня на пазар. Ние нямахме такова нещо в Бургас.

Много тежки години бяха. Получихме съобщение, че ни изселват и да си приготвим багажа. Дадоха ни часове да напуснем къщата. По това време живеехме в една къща край гарата и много добре си спомням, че бяха наредени конските вагони, на които трябваше да ни натоварят. Това беше 1943 година. И тогава дойде заповедта за отменяне. Затова не бяхме изселени. Щяха да ни пращат като беломорските евреи в Полша. Ние не знаехме какво е това [в] Полша. Мислехме, че ще работим в селското стопанство. Само си спомням, че отидох на лекар да се прегледам, на леля ми беше комшия – д-р Фашнов се казваше – не евреин, а българин. Казваха, че той имал връзка с англичаните, понеже [давал] сведения какво става по фронтовете. Казах, че ме боли гърба, да ме прегледа (тогава се плащаше). А той казва: “Преглеждаш се, а не знаеш какво става с евреите. Чух, че не става дума за работа в Полша, а за камери.”

Имаше едни младежи в Бургас – ратници, които биеха нашите момчета. Много често са ги били. В прогимназията нямаше настроения против нас, но в гимназията – да. Имахме една учителка по физкултура. Ден на будителя ли е било, не помня, но тя разказваше нещо и между другото употребяваше някакви антисемитски изрази. Най-голямата ми грешка в живота е, че съм много чувствителна, не се владея много. Тогава не издържах да мълча, станах и й казах: “Не са ли воювали българските евреи, не са ли проявявали патриотизъм.” и се разплаках. Обаче си го казах. Това беше преди Хитлер да дойде на власт. Тъкмо бях завършила гимназия. През ‘33-34-та година легионерските момичета носеха лентички-трикольори на ревера. Група прогресивни в гимназията им ги сваляхме, [но] не съм участвала редовно в РМС [Работнически Младежки Съюз]. Имахме и една, за която казаха, че била сътрудник на полицията. Искахме да я бием.

В Бургас, още преди Холокоста, идваха много младежи да заминават за Израел – съществуваше такава нелегална емиграция. Имаше младежи от Унгария и понеже винаги търсеха еврейската общност, идваха в клуба. Познавахме се и ги изпращахме до парахода. По едно време пристигна една братовчедка на майка ми със семейството си – мъж и три деца, две момичета и едно момче. Те идваха от Франция през Бургас да заминат за Израел. Майка ми ме заведе да се запозная с това семейство. Те обаче заминаха с онази гемия, дето събра повече хора отколкото можеше, и там загинаха. Само бащата и едната дъщеря се спасиха. Гемията беше “Салвадор”. За нелегалната емиграция гледаха да съберат повече хора, [за да] вземат пари. Това беше толкова несигурна работа – беше не лодка, а параход, обаче не можа да издържи и се обърна. И повечето хора загинаха.

След войната майка ми остана в Бургас. Баща ми умря ‘48-ма година. Аз исках да уча и дойдох в София, записах се студентка и ми намериха работа в еврейското училище. Пред нас не стоеше въпросът да заминем за Израел. Баща ми беше вече болен. Две години преди това беше на легло. ‘48-ма година аз бях в София (след войната бях все в еврейска среда.) [Но не е продължила да празнува еврейските празници.] После дойде и майка ми. В еврейското училище ни плащаха много малки заплати. Уж отначало не беше държавно, след това стана държавно - малко по-сигурно за заплатите. Тогава много малко пари взимахме. С майка ми, докато беше жива - тя умря ‘59-та година, си правехме нещо като празник, но двенките само, не сме се събирали с другите. Синагогата [не функционираше] беше разрушена, бомбардирана. Запазих връзка с роднините си в Израел. След войната отначало не можехме да си пишем – току питахме за някой. Всичките ми вуйчовци, на майка ми сестрата, четиримата братя, заминаха със семействата си. Поддържахме връзки, пишехме си, имах снимки на братовчедките и братовчедите. Отидох в Израел ‘73-та година. Войните там ни влияеха, разбира се. Ние мислехме тогава, че арабите са прави, в смисъл, че информацията [която получавахме] беше такава, че те са пострадалите, а то едва сега става ясно какво е било.

След като завърших аспирантура, ме назначиха за известен период преподавател в Университета. Много проблеми имах, но за тях вече не искам да говоря. Отначало ми дадоха един предмет, който след това беше премахнат, после почнах да си търся работа и т.н. Работих най-дълго в 21-во училище, сега “Пенчо Славейков”.

След като почна тук да се съживява еврейският живот, аз се включих. Основател съм на клуб “Здраве”, защото известно време участвах в група на спортисти-ветерани към дружество “Левски-Спартак”. Направихме и Клуб на говорещите иврит, както и клуб “Златна възраст”, където пенсионерите се събираме в събота следобед и има много интересни прояви. Посещавам всички прояви на големия салон – тържествени събрания и пр. Слушали сме най-различни хора, коитo идват от Израел и ни разказват. Срещи с посланици, с бившите и сегашния. И в Синагогата ходя понякога, когато мога. На празниците ходя редовно, на сватби и на “бар мицва” съм ходила, получавам и помощ от “Джоинт”, получавам всичко.

Интервюиращ: Виктор Хаимов
Ноември 2001

Raissa Yasvoina

Raissa Yasvoina
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya

I was born in Kiev on 5 December 1934.
My maiden name is Napuh. My father’s name was Samuil Napuh. My mother Maria Lvovich had her 2nd husband’s name. My father was her 3rd husband. My mother’s maiden name is Minkovskaya.

My mother Maria is Kiev born and bred. She was born in Kiev in 1894. She was the 4th child in the family. Iosif Minkovskiy, her father, my grandfather, born in 1855, was a merchant. They lived a very good life. They had a house of their own in Podol1. Their entire family lived in this house and everybody had a room of his own.

The family got together in the dining room each evening after my grandfather closed his store, which was located on the ground floor of the building. He owned five or six stores in Kiev and sold fabric, footwear, clothing and haberdashery. There was beautiful furniture, a piano, a lot of china and crystal in the house. My grandfather had an equipage of his own (only well-to-do families could afford an equipage - a coach and horses). My grandmother was at home and managed the housekeeping and bringing up her children (she had housemaids to do the work and the cooking). I don’t know her name – my mother never mentioned it. My mother told me that my grandfather’s family was very religious. My grandfather went to the synagogue every day putting on his tales and tfillin. He had a seat of honor in the synagogue. He gave a lot of money to the synagogue to support poor Jews.

Every Friday before Sabbath my grandmother lit candles and the family celebrated Saturday. My grandmother didn’t do anything on this day. She only tried the food that the cook was making and fed the babies and of course, grandfather prayed before each meal. The family celebrated all religious Jewish holidays. As a child I already knew about Pesach, Purim, Hanukkah, etc. from what my mother told me. My mother told me that during these holidays they had lots of delicacies and sweets on the table besides traditional and mandatory dishes. My grandfather didn’t quite like it because he was a very religious man and he thought that holidays were to raise the children into real Jews, not for pleasure. But my grandmother was not so religious and she always tried to convince my grandfather to make a real holiday for the children and make food that the children liked besides what was supposed to be on the table during these days. For example, at Pesach my grandmother made sweet rolls (but made according to Pesach standards) for the children besides matzah.

There were 7 children in the family, including my mother. My mother’s older brother Isaak Minkovskiy was born in 1884. Isaak finished school and then my grandfather made him the manager of one of his stores. After my grandfather died Isaak got his jewelry shop. Isaak was a very successful businessman. His wife’s name was Rosa and they didn’t have any children. After the revolution and the Civil War Isaak decided to leave the country. The power in Kiev changed continuously and there were pogroms. Isaak understood that sooner or later he would have to part with his riches and he sold his shops and left for Canada in 1919. The family had no contact with him. Only in 1953, after Stalin’s death, my mother received a letter from him with a return address. But since people were afraid of arrests and repression my mother tore up the letter. She didn’t read it to the end and didn’t save her brother’s address. She only kept the picture of her brother with his wife Rosa and their daughter Shyfra. I have no information about my uncle Isaak’s family but I realize that neither my uncle nor his wife Rosa are among the living.

Isaak went to Canada with my mother’s sisters Rosa and Shyfra. They were older than my mother but younger than Isaak. I have no information about them. I only know that Isaak gave his daughter the name of Shyfra after his sister and the same name of his wife and his sister – Rosa – is merely a coincidence.

My mother’s sister Vera was born in 1891. Her Jewish name was Dvoira. After my grandmother died, Vera went to the family of some relatives that gave her a good education. She finished school, spoke and wrote in Russian well and knew French a little. Vera never worked. She married Moishe Golfeld. He owned an inn and was quite a rich man. They didn’t have any children. After the revolution Moishe was a cabman. He earned enough for a living. When the Patriotic war began in 1941 Moishe was called up to the army and was killed in the first months of the war. Aunt Vera was in the evacuation toTashkent and later she returned to Kiev. She died in 1975. My grandmother had two other daughters after my mother. One of them died when she was 2 and another girl died at birth. My mother had few memories of her childhood., because her childhood ended very early when her mother died after giving birth to the 7th baby. This happened around 1905.

After my grandmother died the two younger girls were taken to their relatives’ families. My grandfather Iosif sent the children to the relatives after my grandmother died. It was difficult for him to handle the children. He never remarried but he wasn’t interested in his children. He died shortly after my grandmother’s death – approximately in 1908. Vera went to a rich Jewish family but my mother wasn’t so lucky– she came into the family of Luba and Natan. I know neither their family name nor in what kind of relation they were with our family. I only remember my mother telling me that they were kind people and were nice to her. My grandfather probably gave them some money. My mother, when speaking about him, used a Ukrainian saying: “After the mother died the father went blind” (meaning that fathers do not take responsibility after something happens to the mother). Luba and Natan were not rich and my mother actually got no education. She studied at the primary Jewish school (4 years). My mother spoke Russian with an accent and at home she always spoke Yiddish.

I know very little about this period of my mother’s life. My mother and Aunt Vera told me about the horrible pogroms in Kiev in 1910. The two girls left Kiev and got to Chernobyl. Some Ukrainian acquaintances of Luba lived there and my mother and Aunt Vera waited there until the situation in Kiev calmed down.

After my grandfather died my mother inherited his shop and went to work at 16. It was a garment store. She also altered clothes, if necessary. She got married when she was 17. I don’t know her first husband’s first or last names, only that he was Jewish. When my mother was 18 in 1912 she gave birth to a girl. The cradles were tied to the ceiling then and the girl fell out of her cradle and died. She was only a few months old. When World War I began my mother’s husband was called up to the army. He fell ill with spotted fever there and died in 1914.

In 1915 my mother married a much older man. His name was Mikhail and his last name – Lvovich. They lived very well and loved each other dearly, but they didn’t have any children. This was Mikhail’s second marriage, his first wife died. Mikhail owned a bakery, located in their apartment. They lived in the basement in Yaroslavskaya Street in Podol. They had a big room and a kitchen. There was a big stove where Mikhail baked bread and rolls and bagels. They sold their products right from the window of their room. Besides, wholesale dealers came and bought huge trays filled with baked goods. Mikhail Lvovich was a religious Jew. He observed all traditions and rituals. At Pesach he had a permit to bake matzah and sell it. They did not bake bread during Pesach, of course.

After the revolution the authorities expropriated my mother’s shop. But the bread trade was very profitable and supported them very well. Mikhail adored my mother; he was buying her gold jewelry and jewelry with precious stones and was hiding them in her wardrobe. When my mother found them and asked where they were from he answered that if they were in her wardrobe it meant that they belonged to her.

In 1933 there was famine in Ukraine. Although they had a bakery it was a difficult time for them. The farmers didn’t have any grain so there wasn’t anything to make the bread from. My mother had to take some of her jewelry to the Torgsin [the store where one could buy food products for hard currency and gold].

In 1933 my mother’s husband Mikhail came down with spotted fever and died. My mother’s housemaid, a plain Russian woman, informed the NKVD (People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs) that my mother had plenty of gold. My mother did have quite a lot of golden jewelry. They took my mother to 15, Korolenko Street in Kiev where NKVD was located. Investigation officers threatened my mother and demanded that she give them her gold. They locked her in the basement with many rats. My mother yelled and cried, and in the morning when the officers came she promised to give them all gold that she had to get out of that basement. She went home and gave them everything. She only left her wedding ring. Therefore, after her second husband’s death she became instantly impoverished.

My mother was a very beautiful and sociable woman. Her future husband was one her father’s acquaintances. He proposed to her after my mother became a widow.

My father Samuil Lazarevich Napuh was 10 years younger than my mother. He was born in Ekaterinoslav (Dnepropetrovsk) in 1904. I have no information about his parents, and I know only their names. My grandfather’s name was Yakov Napuh, and my grandmother’s name was Freida. I knew little of my father. He perished during the Great Patriotic War and there was nobody else to tell me about his parents. I only know that they were very rich, like my mother’s parents. My mother always said that my father hated Soviet power, which had deprived him of everything he had and made him as poor as everybody else. But this was the main slogan of the Soviet power and my father had to keep his conviction a secret. My father had had a wife and two sons before he married my mother. I don’t know why he left his family, but at the time when he made a proposal to my mother he was a free man. When I grew up I asked my mother several times to help me find my stepbrothers. I needed someone to be close to so much. But my mother told me she didn’t know how to find them. Perhaps she just didn’t want to know. My parents didn’t have a wedding party, just a civil registration ceremony. After their wedding my father moved in my mother’s apartment in Yaroslavskaya street. I was born there.

My father was an intelligent man, but I don’t know what kind of education he had. He worked as a confectioner at the confectionery factory. He often brought me chocolate, cookies and sweets from the factory. We always had butter, milk and cocoa at home. My mother didn’t work any longer outside the house. She had me already. And then my younger brother Mishenka was born in 1937. My mother gave him the name of her deceased husband Mikhail. My father had no objections as he respected her memories. My mother sewed a little at home. Her clients visited her, but my mother kept her business a secret even from her friends. She was afraid of financial officers. At Pesach my mother and my father baked matzah in the oven at home. She had been taught by Mikhail Lvovich. People brought their flour to our flat, and my parents made matzah for them, charging them a little for the service. By the way, my mother baked matszah after we returned from evacuation in 1945 and continued her little business. She was doing this until 1955 when the authorities forbade making matzah for sale.

I have dim memories of my father. I remember him pulling my sled in the snow with me on it. He bought me a 3-wheel bicycle – how happy I was! My kindergarten was not far from where we lived. I was dressed up as a snowflake at the New Years party and I danced in my snow-white tutu. I was happy. My parents and Mishenka (my brother) came to take me home . These were the happiest moments in my life. But our happiness did not last long.

On 22 June 1941 the Great Patriotic War began. I don’t exactly remember this day, but I remember the bombing. The fascist planes were flying low over our houses – this was so frightful. My father was called up to the army practically on the first day of the war. My mother and I saw him off to the recruitment office. Uncle Moishe, Vera’s husband, was there, too. They both were sent to the military units that were to defend Kiev. My father was killed during Kiev defensive operations on 12 September 1941. We heard about it after we returned from the evacuation.

We went to evacuation in July. My father insisted that we go. He must have known already that the Germans were exterminating Jews on the occupied areas. My father and Uncle Moishe put us on the train. My mother, my brother Misha and my mother’s sister Vera and I were all together on this trip.

I remember a terrible bombing on our way. The train stopped suddenly. The bombers attacked. And Misenka and I were so scared that we ran to the fields and got lost. It took my mother a while to find us. I remember seeing dead people for the first time – they were killed during the bombing. They looked weird, with their bodies lying artificially like dolls. We arrived in Lugansk first in the Eastern Ukraine. We lived there for a month or two. We rented an apartment in a private house. All of a sudden Aunt Vera decided to go back to Kiev and made us go to the railway station. They told us at the railway station that we couldn’t go to Kiev because the Germans were near Kiev and that trains didn’t go in that direction. We got on the train and went further east in evacuation. I remember very little about our trip. I remember feeling hungry all the time. My mother got off at the stops to exchange clothes for food for Mishenka and me. I was older than Misha and I didn’t show that I was hungry, but Mishenka cried all the time. We arrived in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. My mother rented a room from the Uzbeks and went to work in the rice factory. Aunt Vera stayed home. She arranged a small vegetable garden near our house. There was very little food and there was this constant feeling of being hungry. I remember getting into the neighbor’s garden to pick some plums. Their dog attacked me and I’ve been afraid of dogs ever since. My little brother Mishenka died from hunger in 1942. I remember my mother crying and saying words of the Jewish prayers for the deceased. I didn’t understand them. Our life was very hard.

We didn’t receive letters from my father and Uncle Moishe and my mother understood that they were probably not alive. She didn’t say this to me; she tried to cheer me up. In the evenings she made plans for our happy life in the future, when the war was over and we would be back at home. The Uzbek family that gave us shelter was nice to us but they couldn’t be much support because they were starving, too. Later my mother learned to make some kind of toffees from flour and sugar. She went out to sell them. But unauthorized trade or commerce was not allowed in the country. The people that violated this order were called speculators (or profiteers). Once my mother was detained and taken to the militia (police) department. Later she sold fish that our Uzbek landlord was catching. Basically, my mother took each and every effort to support me. She was constantly worried about how she was going to tell her husband about Mishenka and that she had lost him.

We returned to Kiev in 1945 when the war was over. I remember my mother crying after she received the notification about my father’s death. I didn’t cry or grieve. I was probably too young and didn’t quite understand what living without the father was going to be like.

We lived in our apartment in Yaroslavskaya Street. It wasn’t occupied but there was a lot of garbage, dirt and rat excrement in it. We stayed with our friends (we were in the evacuation together) until our apartment was put in order. Later my mother bought some old furniture: a wardrobe, beds, a table and then we moved into our apartment.

My mother had to earn a living. Her acquaintances went to the villages to buy chicken, eggs and other products. They sold these at the market in Kiev. My mother accompanied them, helping them to carry these products to sell and they paid her for her services. I also received an allowance for my deceased father. This was all we had for a living.

In 1945 I started school. I was 9 years old and they took me to the 2nd grade. I had to study a lot to catch up with the class. There were Jewish, Ukrainian and Russian children there. I didn’t feel any difference in the attitude of schoolchildren or teachers. Vice versa. Many of them sympathized with me because I was an orphan. There were many such children. Many children lost their father to the war and many families lost their relatives that stayed in Kiev during the occupation. Lisa, my mother’s distant relative, and her family perished. They didn’t want to go to the evacuation. They believed that the Germans wouldn’t do any harm to the Jews. We would have suffered the same fate if my father hadn’t made us to evacuate.

I was no different from the other children while I was at school. I was a pioneer and I studied well. But my mother was constantly telling me that Soviets expropriated all our family’s property. She said if it hadn’t been for the revolution we would have been very rich and wouldn’t have to drag out this miserable existence. As a result, I didn’t enter the Komsomol when I turned 14.

My mother and I were leading a very modest if not entirely poor existence. However, my mother always found a way to celebrate Saturday with a festive dinner. There were always candles and dinner on Saturday. My mother followed the kashruth – she had kosher kitchenware. We never had pork in the house. My mother prayed every day, went to the synagogue, celebrated the main holidays (Pesah, Purim, etc.) at home. We fasted at Yom Kippur. This was all kept a big secret from friends, acquaintances and neighbors. We were afraid that somebody would report on us to the authorities. I never went to the synagogue with my mother. Religion wasn’t popular with the young people at that time. Atheist propaganda was very strong and influential. Only old and elderly people and those that were not afraid of persecution of the authorities went to the synagogue. Therefore, only very few people attended synagogue services. If somebody at school had found out that I went to a religious institution I would have had a problem. The synagogue was located at a remote neighborhood in the basement of a building.

I finished 8 years of school (lower secondary education) in 1953, just when Stalin died. I remember people crying. My mother said that he and all communists were to blame for all our troubles and he didn’t deserve to be mourned for. After studying 8 years at school I went to work. I continued my studies in the evening school or school for working young people as they called it. Simultaneously I finished a shorthand and typewriting course.

I got a job of a typist at the Town Council. I remember buying a pair of patent leather shoes when I received my first salary. This was my dream, as before I always wore somebody else’s hand-me-down shoes. But I worked there less than a year. They called me to the Human Resource Department and fired without an explanation. There was a single reason – that I was a Jew. After that I couldn’t find a permanent job for a long while. I worked at the house maintenance department and helped my mother with sewing. Then finally I found a job at the Institute of Folklore, USSR Academy of Sciences. Maxim Rylskiy, a Ukrainian writer, was Director of this Institute. He was a very intelligent person and treated the Jews as brothers of the Ukrainian people. He didn’t put any restrictions on hiring Jews and I got a job at this Institute. I was a typist at first and then was promoted to the position of Chief of the Typing Office. I worked there until I retired. We lived in our apartment in the basement until 1965 (the toilet and water were in the yard). Maxim Rylskiy helped me to receive an apartment. My mother died in 1972.

In 1958 I met Semyon Sholomovich Yasvoin. He was born in Kiev in October 1934 in a Jewish family of ordinary workers. My husband’s family wasn’t religious. As far as I know they didn’t observe any traditions. My husband didn’t even know the biggest Jewish holidays or how they were to be celebrated. His mother worked at a plant and his father had died before he was born. Semyon was in evacuation in Chimkent. He studied seven years at school and went to work as a laborer at a plant. Later he learned the trade of a butcher and got a job at the central market. He was earning more than at the plant. However, people often abused him, calling him “zhyd” (kike) and at the same time accusing Jews that they always fixed things for themselves in the best possible way for themselves but never for anyone else. Once Semyon lost his temper and threw himself onto the crowd of people holding his butcher’s knife. He didn’t injure anybody, of course. People called the police, but they hushed up the case.

In 1958 Semyon and I got married. We had a civil wedding ceremony. We didn’t have a big wedding party, just a festive dinner with close relatives. My mother was very sorry that we couldn’t arrange a real Jewish wedding. At this time even attending the synagogue was to be kept a secret. But frankly speaking, at that time I was not so religious as shortly after the war. I was responsible for typing the books and articles of writers, poets and literature critics. They were all atheists and this had its influence on me.

In 1959 our son was born. I called him Sasha to keep the first letter from my father’s name Samuil. Sasha finished secondary school and went to learn the profession of a cook. He grew up a typical Soviet boy, paying no special attention to his nationality. He faced anti-Semitism when he was in the army. He was in service in Moscow. The others called him “zhyd” all the time. He kept patient for some time, but then he lost his temper and fought back. He was beaten and was sent to hospital. The commanding officer of this military unit asked me to come to Moscow. I went and learned what happened. I talked with his offenders in such a manner that they stopped offending my son. I just threatened them – I don’t know how. My instinct as a mother helped me, I suppose. The commanding officer didn’t want the conflict to go further on and helped my son to terminate his service term in the army. My son returned home and worked in various companies for some time. Now he owns a store, selling spare parts for vehicles. My son is married for the second time. He has a son Maxim from his 1st marriage, born in 1983. Maxim works together with Sasha. My son doesn’t have children in his second marriage.

We often argued about emigration in our family. My son and I always dreamt about moving to Israel. But my husband Semyon had always been dead against it. My husband always liked Soviet power. He came from a poor family and he thought that the Soviets gave him and his family a lot. That is why my son and I remain here today. We couldn’t convince my husband to go, and who would have had the heart to leave him alone? Unfortunately, I’ve never been in Israel. I would love to visit this country, go to the historical Jewish and Christian places.

Sadly, my husband Semyon Yasvoin died in 1996. I would have a very hard time if it were not for my belief. When I was still working, religion attracted me. I wanted to read the Bible. In those years it wasn’t easy to get one. When I felt an urge to read the Bible I got it very simply – a passer-by just offered me to buy it. I started reading Bible and I couldn’t tear myself from it. I didn’t go to work for a week. I told them I was ill. Then I began to look for the religion that I would feel comfortable with – I wanted to remain Jewish on one hand and believe in Christ on the other. I found such religion – Judo-messianic. I know that the official Judaism is against my religion. I even met with Jacob Bleich, the rabbi of Ukraine. He listened to me and understood that I was a convinced believer and he neither argued with me nor tried to make me change my mind.

My son and his wife don’t understand my religion and this causes almost constant friction and conflict. But I think that my belief helps me in my life and helps me to be kind to the people. I identify myself as a Jew and I love my people. I think that Christ is the son of the Jewish people and it helps me to believe in him. I attend the Jewish Culture Community, the Hesed Jewish charity center and Jewish concerts. I read Jewish newspapers, but I believe that Christ is the Messiah. It doesn’t do any harm, does it?

[She needed a belief to find peace and consolation and reason in life. Her Jewish experiences played its part in it. She learned that a person could hold to religion when looking for some spiritual support and that religion could teach a person to love other people and to be more understanding and tolerant in everyday life]

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Anyám szülei Kulában éltek [Kula – nagyközség volt Bács-Bodrog vm.-ben (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság, adóhivatal, kir. közjegyzőség). Lakosainak száma 1891-ben 8500 (40% magyar, 33% német, 25% szerb, 2% rutén), 1910-ben 9100 fő (40% magyar, 27% német, 28% szerb, 5% rutén) volt. A 20. század első évtizedeiben állami fiú- ás leánypolgári iskolája volt. Trianon után a Szerb–Horvát–Szlovén Királysághoz került, ma Szerbiában van. – A szerk.]. Nagyanyám, Schwartz Salamonné a háztartást vezette, és nyolc gyereket nevelt, nagyapám, Schwartz Salamon tanár volt. Nagymama lánykori neve Siegel Johanna volt. Nagyanyám és nagyapám Kulából Belgrádba költöztek, miután a nagynéném házat épített. Ez még az előtt történt, hogy megszülettem [1910 körül. – A szerk.]. Háromemeletes ház volt. A második világháborúban elvették. Otthon magyarul és németül beszéltek, nem szerbül.

Nagyapám kántor volt, a Belgrád központjában lévő zsinagógában énekelt, ahol ma a Freskógaléria van. Nagyanyám háztartásbeli volt, hiszen rengeteg gyerekről kellett gondoskodnia. Nem volt háztartási segítsége. Amikor a legnagyobb lány felnőtt, ő segített neki, míg Belgrádba nem költözött, és varrónő nem lett.

A nagyszüleim vallásosak voltak, megtartottak minden ünnepet, és kóser volt a háztartásuk. Nagyapám szakállas volt, de csak kis szakálla volt, nem olyan nagy, mint apám apjának. Európai módra öltözködtek – nagyapám mindig nagyon elegáns volt, kalapot hordott és alatta kepelét [kipát]. Nagyanyám hosszú szoknyában, blúzban és nagy vállkendőkben járt.

Anyám és nagyanyám járt zsinagógába. Itt, Belgrádban kettő is volt, egy szefárdi [lásd: szefárdok] és egy askenázi [lásd: askenáziak] zsinagóga. Mi ebbe jártunk. Nagyapám nagyon szépen énekelt. Arra különösen jól emlékszem, ahogy a Kol Nidrét énekli. Amíg élt, mindenki megtartotta az ünnepeket a családban. Mindannyian egybegyűltünk, és mindent a szabályok szerint ünnepeltünk – Hanukakor gyertyát gyújtottunk, Jom Kipurkor, a hosszúnap után nagy vacsorát ettünk. Emlékszem, milyen finom sóletet főzött nagymama, amit mindig elvitt a pékségbe. A pék nem volt zsidó, de tudta, mi az.

Azokban az időkben senkit nem érdekelt, zsidó vagy-e vagy sem, hogy ki kicsoda és micsoda. Soha senki sem beszélt negatívan arról, hogy valaki zsidó. Ez így volt velünk is. Az ünnepek alatt eljöttek hozzánk a nem zsidók, és boldog ünnepeket kívántak. Hihetetlen tolerancia volt akkoriban.

Nagyapám 1927-ben halt meg Belgrádban, nagymama szintén Belgrádban halt meg, a Staro Sajmiste koncentrációs táborban 1941-ben.

Apám szülei a magyar határhoz közel, Romániában éltek, egy Nagyvárad nevű helyen. Kereskedők voltak, fűszerüzletük volt. A nevükre nem emlékszem már. Emlékszem, hogy apai nagyapámnak hatalmas szakálla volt. Nem öltöztek városiasan, de nem is úgy, mint a falusiak. Nagyapám kepelét [kipát] hordott. Nagyanyám mindig kendőt hordott. Magyarul beszéltek.

Anyám, Kornveis Kornélia [született Schwartz] 1892-ben született Muraszombaton, ami ma Szlovéniában van [Muraszombat – nagyközség volt Vas vm.-ben (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság, királyi közjegyzőség és adóhivatal), 1891-ben 2100 (vend, magyar és német), 1910-ben 2700 (47% magyar, 4% német, a többi legnagyobb része vend), 1920-ban 2900 főnyi lakossal. Trianont követően a Szerb–Horvát–Szlovén Királysághoz került, ma Szlovéniában van. – A szerk.]. Nagyapám egy ideig ott kántorkodott. Aztán Belgrádba jöttek. Anyám fiatal lányként jött Belgrádba, a nagynéném után, aki itt dolgozott varrónőként. Anyám anyanyelve magyar volt, akárcsak az enyém. Varrónőként dolgozott a nagynénémnél, a legidősebb nővérénél, nála tanulta ki a szakmát. Világi nő volt minden értelemben, de nagyon szerény ember.

Néha elmentek Párizsba a nagynénémmel, hogy szép, modern ruhákat vegyenek. Anyámnak saját keresete volt a nagynénémnél, de amikor férjhez ment, abbahagyta a munkát, és egy ideig csak a háztartást vezette. Aztán újra varrni kezdett. 1943-ban halt meg Staro Sajmistében, akárcsak nagyanyám.

Apám, Kornveis Ignác 1882-ben született Nagyváradon, ami akkor Magyarországhoz tartozott. Ugyanott született, ahol én. Évekkel később ellátogattam a szülővárosomba a férjemmel. Akkor már Romániához tartozott. Nagyon szép és érdekes kisváros volt sok emlékművel és parkkal. Nem tudom, milyen iskolába járt apám, csak azt tudom, hogy kereskedő volt, árukat adott el, és a szállítmányozásban is dolgozott. Külföldön is kereskedett.

A szüleim 1921-ben házasodtak össze. Apám magyar katonaként jött Belgrádba [az I. világháború alatt]. A harctéren meglőtték a karját, kórházba került, és amikor elengedték a kórházból, sétálni ment egy magyar barátjával egy parkba, arrafelé, amerre anyám lakott. Anyám a barátnőivel a parkban varrogatott, és magyarul beszélgettek. Apám odament hozzá, bemutatkozott, beszélgetni kezdtek, és hamarosan jó barátok lettek. Apám akkor már nős volt, de beleszeretett anyámba, megkérte a kezét, és visszament Nagyváradra, hogy elváljon a feleségétől, akitől két fia volt.

Összeházasodtak, és anyám befogadta apám két fiát – Lacit és Antalt. Tanoncok voltak, és az anyjuk nem haragudott meg, mert anyagi érdekből kötöttek házasságot apámmal. Elköltözött egy másik faluba, de kapcsolatban maradt a két fiával, és az anyámmal is. A fiúk még a második világháború előtt elmentek Izraelbe [akkor még: Palesztina. Izrael 1948-ban alakult meg. – A szerk.], és ott alapítottak családot.

Anyám Nagyváradra ment apámmal, aztán Belgrádba költöztünk. Apám dolgozni kezdett. Amennyire emlékszem, nem ment neki valami jól, aztán beteg lett a szívével. Nem sokkal azután meghalt. Kicsi voltam, amikor meghalt, 1929-ben.

Először egy kicsi, kényelmetlen lakásban laktunk a botanikus kert mellett. Aztán átköltöztünk a George Washington utcába. Ez a ház még ma is létezik, szép, kényelmes épület volt. Megvolt mindenünk a házban – villany, víz. Sok kutyánk volt. A George Washington utcában egy snaucerünk volt.

Anyámnak volt egy cselédje, Katica, amikor megnyitotta a műhelyét. Szüksége volt a segítségre, különben nem boldogult volna. Katica mosott ránk, takarította a házat, főzött, bevásárolt. Volt egy saját háza valahol Belgrádon kívül. Emlékszem, hogy anyám libát tömött a pincében, ahogyan a zsidó nők tömték. Amikor elég kövérek lettek, odaadta őket Katicának. Ő aztán levágta, megtisztította és megfüstölte őket.

Mindig anyám vigyázott rám. Nem volt senki más, aki gondoskodott volna rólam. Segítettem anyámnak a munkájában – amikor megvarrt valamit, én vittem el az ügyfélnek. Így kerestem egy kis pénzt. Anyám műhelye a lakásban volt, egy külön szobában. A kuncsaftok egymás után jöttek – ajánlották őket. Hozták a saját anyagukat, és anyám különböző ötletekkel segített nekik. Soha nem készített olyan ruhát az ügyfélnek, amiről azt gondolta, hogy nem fog jól állni neki.

Martin nagybátyám egy szefárdi zsidó nőt vett feleségül, egy igazi gyönyörű nőt. Anyám nem engedte, hogy a szülei házába menjek, mert úgy gondolta, a szefárdi zsidók nem olyan tiszták, mint mi vagyunk. Így hát anyám tudta nélkül jártam hozzájuk. Isteni ételeik voltak. Rendetlen, de nagyon érdekes emberek voltak. Más volt a mentalitásuk, mint nekünk, vajdasági zsidóknak. Jó emberek voltak, de elég primitívek – gondolom, ez az akkori társadalom miatt volt, de ezt akkor nem értettem, mert még nagyon kicsi voltam. A nagybátyámnak két gyereke volt, sajnos mindannyian meghaltak Staro Sajmistében 1943-ban.

Anyámnak voltak szerb és magyar könyvei is. Nagyanyámtól kaptam könyveket. Nagyon szerettem meséket olvasni, amikor kicsi voltam. Gyakorlatilag magamtól tanultam meg magyarul olvasni a könyvekből.

Anyám nagyon haragudott a zsidó hitközségre, mert amikor apám meghalt, nem gondoskodtak rólunk úgy, ahogy kellett volna. Mások gondoskodtak rólunk. Az ortodox egyház például. Tőlük kaptam télikabátot, cipőt meg ilyesmit, és nem a zsidó hitközségtől. A hitközségen csak üvöltöztek velem, amikor katolikus lettem, és egy katolikus férfihoz mentem hozzá. Mintha ez számított volna, mert én így is zsidó maradtam! Megtartottuk az ünnepeket otthon, az anyám és a nagynéném. Jom Kipurkor elmentünk a zsinagógába, a többi ünnepen otthon maradtunk, és magunkban ünnepeltünk. Megvacsoráztunk, megebédeltünk, nagymama főzött valamit. Nem hinném, hogy kóser volt, mindenesetre a háztartás nem volt kóser. És nem tartottuk a szombatot.

Nem emlékszem, hogy lettek volna zsidó szomszédaink. A szüleim barátainak a nagy része nem volt zsidó. A zsidók többsége a Dorcol nevű városrészben lakott. Az itt élő zsidók többsége a Staro Sajmiste koncentrációs táborban pusztult el.

1922. augusztus tizedikén születtem, Nagyváradon. Onnan csak arra emlékszem, hogy volt egy kis barátom, egy úgynevezett „szent zsidó”, annyi idős volt, mint én, három vagy négy éves. Volt egy kis pajesza, és a ház mögött szoktunk elbújni, ahol a budi volt. Mindig ott játszottunk, amíg a bátyja oda nem jött. Megtiltotta, hogy együtt játsszunk. Azt mondta, gój vagyok. Valószínűleg, mert nem voltam elég vallásos. Nekik én alsóbbrendű zsidó voltam.

1927-ben költöztünk Belgrádba a szüleimmel, amikor öt éves voltam. Belgrádban nem voltak zsidó iskolák, amikor kicsi voltam. A német iskolába jártam, a Nusiceva utcába. Ott tanultam meg németül. Mindannyian együtt jártunk hittanra. Nem volt ott külön hittan a zsidóknak, úgyhogy én is keresztény hittanra jártam, ahol nagyon sokat énekeltünk.

Aztán egy szerb iskolába jártam, a botanikus kerttel szemben. Három zsidó lány volt az osztályban. Emlékszem, az egyiket Kunick Gizellának hívták. A hittan miatt meg kellett mondanunk, hogy zsidók vagyunk. De nem jártunk oda. Egy nappal az iskolaév vége előtt bejött az osztályfőnök, és azt mondta nekünk, hármunknak, hogy álljunk fel. „Nem jártatok hittanra, így nem lehet leosztályozni titeket.” Azt feleltük: „Hogy járhatnánk hittanra, ahol nem is értünk semmit?” Volt egy tanárunk, aki hébert tanított nekünk. Meg kellett tanulnunk olvasni. Nagyon nehéz volt, és egyáltalán nem volt érdekes. Ezzel szemben az ortodox pap történeteket mesélt. Mi másra van szüksége a gyerekeknek, mint mesére? Az igazgató behívatta a szüleinket, megbeszélte velük a dolgot, és végül megegyeztek, hogy járhatunk a keresztény hittanra, és hallgathatjuk a papot. És aztán jegyet is kaptunk belőle.

Nagyon szerettem a földrajzot. A tanárunk jól tudott mesélni, és mindig volt valami érdekes története. Imádtam a történeteket, ezért volt annyi mesekönyvem, amiket még ma is szeretek.

Elmondok egy történetet az iskoláskoromból. Volt egy német lány az évfolyamon. Amikor a recesszió idején rossz idők jöttek a zsidókra, azt mondta nekem: „Tűnés innét, te szemét zsidó”, én pedig megragadtam, és megütöttem. Az osztályfőnök azonnal kézbe vette a dolgokat, és behívatta a szüleimet az iskolába. Azt mondta az anyámnak: „Kérem, ne büntesse meg a kislányt, teljesen igaza volt. Hogy lenne szemét zsidó, amikor ő is egy a mi gyermekeink közül?” Megvédett. Mi jogon nevezett engem így az a kislány, mikor még csak „nagy” zsidó sem voltam?!

Az elemi után középiskolába mentem, majd tizenhat évesen férjhez mentem, és már nem volt időm több iskolára. Nagyon sok barátom volt abban az iskolában a három zsidó lányon kívül is. Mindenkinek megvolt a maga baráti csoportja, azok pedig vegyesek voltak. Elmentünk minden szlavára, karácsonyra stb. [Szlava – a család védőszentjének ünnepe, amelyet minden pravoszláv családnak kötelessége megünnepelni. A védőszent hagyománya apáról fiúra száll: amint a fiú saját családot alapít, kötelessége új családjában is megünnepelni a családi védőszent ünnepét. (A védőszent napjának megünneplése mellett a legnehezebb időkben is kitartottak, még a több évszázados török uralom idején is, sőt Tito alatt is.) Egy családhoz szlavára csak egyszer hívnak meg valakit, a továbbiakban már illik észben tartani, hogy kinek mikor van a családi ünnepe, mert elvárják a megjelenést, s az „indokolatlan” távolmaradást sértésnek veszik. – A szerk.]. Egyszer tizünket, akik nem voltunk katolikusok, meghívtak karácsonyra, szerbeket [nyilván: a pravoszlávokat], zsidókat, mindenkit. Nagyon szép volt.

A legtöbb időmet azzal a három zsidó lánnyal töltöttem. Délelőtt az iskolában tanultunk. Az órák után hazamentünk, az anyámnak segítettem a háznál, vagy a piacra mentem. Esténként találkoztam a barátaimmal, és moziba mentünk. Volt egy kereskedelmi központ, aminek saját mozija volt. Külön helyünk volt abban a moziban, mert az egyik barátom anyja ott dolgozott. Magyarul és németül néztünk filmeket. Általában elvittem a nagymamámat is, ezért nem néztünk szerbül filmeket. A barátaim magyarul, szerbül és németül beszéltek, mint én. Általában szerbül beszéltünk egymással, néha meg magyarul. Látogatóba is jártunk egymáshoz.

A zsidó ünnepeken néhány zsidó barátom eljött hozzánk. Meghívtam néhány szerbet is, és minden nagyon érdekes volt nekik. Anyám ragaszkodott ehhez. A barátaimat elvittem a zsinagógába is.

Nem volt kóser a háztartásunk. Szombatonként nagyanyám elment anyámmal a zsinagógába, én soha nem mentem. Anyám mindig azt mondogatta: „Ha akarsz, gyere, ha nem, nem. Nem kötelező.” Korán reggel mentek el, ezért mondta azt nekem: „Te csak aludj, mi megyünk.”

Nagyanyám és anyám mondtak valamilyen imát szombatra, emlékszem rá, hogy volt egy ima, de már elfelejtettem. És még más imákat is. Jom Kipurra egy különleges gyümölcsöt vittem anyámnak és nagyanyámnak, mert ők böjtöltek, és az a gyümölcs segített nekik, hogy könnyebben elviseljék a napot. Én nem böjtöltem, anyám adott pénzt, hogy vegyek rajta szendvicset, és a házon kívül egyem meg. Jom Kipur után, este mindannyian összegyűltünk, és az egész család együtt vacsorázott. Nem számított, ki böjtölt és ki nem, a lényeg az volt, hogy egybegyűljünk Jom Kipurkor. Emlékszem egy imára, egy részére: „… Él melech neemán, Smá Jiszráél …” [’Isten hűséges király’ – a liturgia egyik legfontosabb, napjában többször is elmondott imádsága, a Sömá előtt szokták mondani, ha az ember egyedül imádkozik, nem közösségben. – A szerk.]. A nagyanyám tanított meg rá.

A kedvenc ünnepem a karácsony volt az ajándékok meg a karácsonyfa miatt. Azt minden gyerek szereti. Karácsonykor mindig meghívtak minket a barátainkhoz, akik keresztények voltak, ahogy ők is eljöttek mihozzánk, amikor mi ünnepeltünk. A Purimot szinte soha nem ünnepeltük, több ok miatt is, de főleg azért nem, mert nem volt férfi a háznál. Tudom, hogy az ortodoxok és a zsidók is azt mondják, ha egy férfi meghal, mindez eltűnik vele.

Nem voltak testvéreim, de volt egy rokonom, Levensohn Pál, aki olyan volt, mintha a fivérem lett volna. Zsófia nagynéném fia volt. Remek fickó. Ők megtartották az ünnepeket. A maceszt mindenki nagyon szerette. Róla csak az a ködös emlékem van, hogy volt valamijük Londonban, és hogy volt ott valamilyen zsidó alap azoknak, akik elmenekültek, de nem jutottak el Izraelbe. Csak annyit tudok, hogy ez egy alap volt a zsidóknak. Gondoskodtak azokról, akik odamentek, kaptak pénzt az odautazásra és a továbbutazásra Izraelbe [akkor még Palesztinába]. Pál nem tudott elmenni Izraelbe [Palesztinába], mert a nagynéném nem engedte el. Egy héttel az után, hogy a nagynéném nem eresztette el Londonba, meggyilkolták őket Staro Sajmistében.

Két férjem volt, mindkettő nagyon rendes ember volt. Az első Kapás Sándor fogorvos volt. Beszélt oroszul, magyarul, szerbül és angolul. Tőle tanultam meg oroszul. Több évig Oroszországban élt. Szobát bérelt a lakásunkban. A konyhán és a szobán kívül, amit anyám használt műhelynek, volt még egy szobánk, amit kiadtunk. 1935-36 körül költözött oda. Délelőttönként fogorvosként dolgozott valahol a városban, délután pedig a saját betegei jöttek hozzá a lakásunkba. Igazi sármos férfi volt. Aztán randevúzni kezdtünk. 1938-ban közölték velünk, hogy el kell hagynunk az országot, mivel nem ott születtünk. Így aztán, hogy Belgrádban maradhassak, és ne kelljen visszamennem Romániába, férjhez kellett mennem – és ezt is tettem. Mivel minden olyan kapkodva történt, még arra sem volt időm, hogy beszerezzek egy fehér esküvői ruhát.

Amikor hozzámentem egy nem zsidóhoz, anyám nem panaszkodott. Imádta a vejét. Csak az ellen tiltakozott, hogy olyan fiatalon mentem férjhez. Én tizenhat éves voltam, ő pedig harminc. Ez nagy korkülönbség volt. De nagyon kedves, jóképű és jó ember volt. Belgrádban azonban volt egy törvény, hogy mindenkinek templomban kell házasságot kötnie. Így lettem katolikus, de az esküvő után soha nem jártam templomba.

Két gyerekünk született. A lányunk, Eszter [ma Ester] 1940-ben született, Belgrádban, Péter [ma Petar] pedig 1944-ben, Budapesten. A háború előtt Sándornak segítettem a munkájában. 1940-ben besorozták. Amikor már egy éve távol volt, kaptam tőle egy lapot, ebből tudtam, hogy életben van. Közben Eszterrel Zentára költöztem, Sándor szüleihez. Aztán, amikor Sándor visszajött, Budapestre költöztünk, egy kis budai házba, Esztert pedig Zentán hagytuk a nagyanyjával és a nagyapjával. A budai ház anyám nagynénjéé, Klein Arankáé volt. Amikor Budapestre jöttünk, Sándornak sikerült valahogy megvásárolnia a házat a nagynénémtől, mivel ő zsidó volt, Sándor pedig nem, és így megmentettük a házat abban az időszakban [Amikor a zsidóktól többek között a lakásaikat is elvették. – A szerk.]. A Szálasi érában Sándor egyik unokatestvére tagja volt Szálasi pártjának [a Nyilaskeresztes Pártnak]. Egyszer majdnem elvittek engem koncentrációs táborba, de Sándor unokatestvére senkinek nem engedte, hogy bejöjjön a házunkba. Nagyon jó ember volt.

Egy légiriadó alatt szültem. Mindenhonnan robbanások és csattanások hallatszottak, a fiam meg felsírt, és én olyan boldog voltam. Közvetlenül az előtt, hogy megszültem a fiamat, Sándor azt hallotta, hogy azokat a zsidó nőket is koncentrációs táborba viszik, akiknek a férje nem zsidó. Ezért azonnal elvitt egy budapesti kórház pincéjébe, ahol két hosszú hetet töltöttem. Ez után a két hét után leköltöztünk a saját házunk pincéjébe, és ott is maradtunk, amíg a szovjet csapatok be nem jöttek Budapestre, 1944-45 telén. Volt ennivalónk, mert Sándor mindenre időben gondolt. Csak néha ment ki egy fehér lepedőbe burkolva, és hozott kintről egy kis havat, hogy legyen vizünk. Így éltem túl a háborút annak a háznak a pincéjében rejtőzve. És közvetlenül budapesti tartózkodásunk vége előtt Esztert is sikerült magunkhoz venni.

Az utca túloldalán volt egy hely, ahol az oroszok összejöttek. Jól kijöttünk velük, le is fordítottuk, amit a magyaroknak mondtak. A férjem fogorvosként dolgozott akkoriban. Egyszer segített egy magas rangú orosz katonának a fogával. Az nagyon hálás volt Sándornak, és rengeteg ételt kaptunk az oroszoktól. Mielőtt ez a férfi elhagyta Budapestet, megkérdezte Sándort, van-e valami kívánsága. Sándor azt mondta, egyetlen kívánsága, hogy visszamehessen Zentára, ahol született. Adott mellénk két orosz katonát, hogy elkísérjenek Zentára, és így hagytuk el Budapestet, 1945-ben.

Visszaadtuk a házat a nagynénémnek, hogy lakjon ott, de továbbra is a férjem nevén volt. Néhány évvel később furcsa levelet kaptunk, amelyben az állt, hogy a katolikus férjem erőszakkal vette el a nagynéném budapesti házát, amit most visszaadnak neki. Nem akartam senkivel sem veszekedni, így a ház az unokatestvérem tulajdonába került.

Miután elhagytuk Budapestet, Belgrádba mentem megkeresni a családomat, de senkit nem találtam, és megtudtam, hogy mindenkit megöltek Staro Sajmistében. A németek eladták a George Washington utcában álló házunkat, de felfogadtam egy ügyvédet, és a házat visszakaptuk. Megboldogult férjemmel rengeteg pénzt fizettünk az átírásért.

A háború után először Zentán laktunk, aztán [Magyar]Kanizsán. Mikor berendezkedtünk ott, [Magyar]Kanizsán, tudták rólunk, hogy én zsidó vagyok, a férjem pedig nem, de soha nem tapasztaltam semmit. Hogy őszinte legyek, nem is nagyon jártam össze senkivel. Jóban voltam a cigány szomszédasszonnyal, nagyon kedveltem; nyolc gyereke volt. Átjöttek hozzánk, és az én gyerekeimmel játszottak. Nagyon szerettem őket. Istenem, ők aztán sírtak, amikor eljöttünk. Nagy zsidó vagyok, de nagy szerb is. A környéken sok nemzet és vallás volt, a gyerekeim pedig mindenkivel játszottak. Időnként elvittem őket a zsinagógába, de a karácsonyt is megünnepeltük a férjem miatt. A zsidó ünnepeken ebédet csináltunk. Az egyik unokám elment Izraelbe. Majdnem ott is maradt, most pedig bánja, hogy mégsem.

Magyarkanizsáról Sándor Belgrádba költözött 1948-ban dolgozni. Nagyon nehéz volt a megélhetés Belgrádban a háború után. Egy bérelt lakásban lakott, és két évvel később mi is odaköltöztünk, aztán lett saját lakásunk. A fiam iskolába ment, aztán egyetemre. A lányom varrni tanult. Sándor egy fogorvosiskolában dolgozott, én pedig otthon. Sándor 1953-ban halt meg.

Második férjemmel, Teleki Györggyel Sándor munkahelyén ismerkedtem meg. Betegként jött Sándorhoz. Összebarátkoztunk. 1956-ban házasodtunk össze. Csillagász volt, a csillagvizsgáló mellett lakott. Segítettem neki a csillagvizsgálóban – ő figyelte a csillagokat, én pedig valami számokat diktáltam a listáról. György meggyőződéses ateista volt, de minden vallást tiszteletben tartott. Járt templomba, zsinagógába, mecsetbe. Sokat utaztam vele. Minden vasárnap templomba ment az anyjával, aki katolikus volt. Megkeresztelték, amikor fiatal volt. Neki mindegy volt, zsidó vagyok-e vagy sem, ő hitetlen volt.

Csak a férjemen keresztül követtem a politikát – nem nagyon érdekelt a politika, de a férjem egyszerűen mindent tudni akart, mindig jól informált akart lenni. Nekem nem volt sem időm, sem erőm olvasni. Voltak vallásos könyveink, hála a férjemnek, aki ateista volt, de akit minden érdekelt. Sokféle könyvünk volt, még a buddhizmusról is voltak könyveink.

Voltunk Indiában, Japánban, beutaztuk Európát. Tényleg nagyon sokat utaztunk, míg az anyósom beteg nem lett. Aztán Belgrádban maradtunk miatta.

Amikor megtudtam, hogy megalakult Izrael, kitörő örömmel fogadtam. Megboldogult férjem, Sándor, aki katolikus volt és magyar, el akart menni Izraelbe, mert a nővére egy zsidóhoz ment feleségül, és elment vele Izraelbe. Ott született gyerekük. Mi nem mentünk, mert a [magyar]kanizsai zsidó hitközség elnöke azt mondta a férjemnek, hogy ő nem mehet, mert nem zsidó. Így végül nem mentünk. Sajnálom, mert nagyon szerettem volna elmenni, nagyon. A férjem pedig olyan volt, mint egy született zsidó.

Soha nem gondoltam arra, hogy jobb lenne Izraelben élni. Egyszerűen oda akartam menni, valami odahúzott, hogy menjek. Nagyon sokat hallottam róla. Követtem minden eseményt, ami ott történt, a Jom Kipur-i háborút, például [lásd: 1973-as arab–izraeli háború].

Most kapcsolatban állok a belgrádi zsidó hitközséggel. Először a lányommal voltam a hitközségben egy koncerten. A lányom gyakrabban jár, mint én. Háromszor kaptam segítséget a hitközségtől vagy a svájci alaptól, általában ünnepre.

Livia Teleki

Livia Teleki
Belgrade
Serbia
Interviewer: Julija Caran

Mother’s parents lived in Kula. Grandmother Johanna Shwartz was a housewife and she had eight children, grandfather Shalamon Shwartz was a teacher. Grandmother’s maiden name was Johanna Zigel. Grandmother and grandfather moved from Kula to Belgrade when my aunt built a house. This was before I was born. It was a house on three floors. The house was confiscated during WWII. They spoke Hungarian and German in their house, not Serbian.

Grandfather was a cantor and he sang in the synagogue in the center of Belgrade where now the Gallery of frescoes is. My grandmother was a housewife, and she had a lot of children to worry about. She didn’t have any help in the house. When her oldest daughter grew up, she started helping her, until she moved to Belgrade, and started working as a seamstress.

Grandfather and grandmother were religious, they celebrated all the holidays; they ate only kosher. Grandfather had a beard but a small one not a big one like father’s father. They were dressed in the European style -- grandfather was very elegant, with a hat, and kepele [kipa] underneath it. Grandmother wore long skirts, blouses, and big scarves.

My mother and grandmother went to synagogue. Here in Belgrade there were two, a Spanish one and another one for Ashkenazim -- we went to the other one. My grandfather sang very nicely. I remember especially how he sang Kol Nidre. Everyone celebrated the holidays in our house as long as he was alive. We would all get together, and celebrate everything according to the rules - for Hanukkah we would light the candles, for Yom Kippur we would have a big dinner after the “Long Day” [as it is called in Hungarian]. I remember that grandmother used to make good cholent, and she always took it to the bakery. The baker wasn’t Jewish, but he knew what it was. He kept it hot for us.

At that time no one paid attention to whether you were a Jew or who was who or what you were. No one ever mentioned in a negative context that they were Jews. And that is how it was with us. During the holidays they would come and wish us happy holidays. This was incredible tolerance.

Grandfather died in 1927, in Belgrade, and grandmother in Belgrade too, in the Staro Sajmiste concentration camp, in 1941.

My father’s parents lived in Romania near the Hungarian border, the place is called Veliki Varadin (Nagyvarad in Hungarian, Oradea in Romanian). They were merchants and they had a grocery store. I remember that my grandfather had a big beard. They dressed neither like town people nor like villagers. Grandfather wore a hat, a kepele. Grandmother always wore a kerchief on her head. They spoke Hungarian. And they died before I was born.

My mother Kornelia Kornveis [nee Shwartz] was born in 1892 in Murska Subota, that is, in Medjumurje, in Slovenia. Grandfather was a cantor there at some point. Then they came to Belgrade. My mother came to Belgrade as a young girl, right after my aunt, who was a seamstress there. My mother’s mother tongue was Hungarian as is mine. She was a seamstress at my aunt’s, her eldest sister, where she also learned the trade. She was a woman of the world in every respect, and a very modest type of person.

Sometimes she would go to Paris with my aunt. They would travel to Paris to buy stylish clothes. Mother was earning money at my aunt’s, but as soon as she got married, she stopped working, and became a housewife for a while. Then she began doing the same kind of work again. She was murdered in 1943 in Staro Sajmiste, like my grandmother.

Father Ignjat Kornveis was born in 1882 in Veliki Varadin, which was part of Hungary at that time. He was born in the same place that I was born. I went to visit my birthplace many years later with my husband. At that time it was already in Romania. It is a very nice and interesting small town with many monuments and parks. I do not know what kind of school he finished, I only know that he was a merchant and that he sold things and that he also worked in freight forwarding. He also traded abroad.

My parents met in 1921. My father came to Belgrade as a Hungarian soldier, and he was shot in the arm during some kind of fight. He went to hospital, and when he was released from hospital he went on a walk with a friend of his, a Hungarian, through a park near the place where my mother used to live. My mother was sitting there in the park, sewing with her friends, they were talking in Hungarian. My father came to her, introduced himself, they started talking, and soon became very good friends. My father was already married at that time, but he fell in love with my mother, he proposed her, and went back to Veliki Varadin to divorce her wife with whom he had two sons.

They got married, and my mother accepted father’s two sons – Laci and Antal. They were apprentices and their mother did not get angry as her marriage with my father had been a marriage for financial reasons. She went to live in another village, and stayed in contact with her sons, and with my mother, too. The sons moved to Israel before WWII, and they have their families there now.

My mother went to live in Veliki Varadin with my father, and then we moved to Belgrade. My father began working. As far as I can remember it did not go well and then he became ill with his heart. He died shortly after that. I was young when he died in 1929.

First we lived in a small uncomfortable apartment near the botanical garden. Later we moved to Dzordza Vasingtona Street. This house still exists today, it was a nice comfortable building. We had everything in the house -- electricity, water. We had a lot of dogs. In Dzordza Vasington Street we had a Schnauzer.

My mother had a domestic help, Katica, when she opened her workshop. She needed help because she could not manage any other way. She cleaned our clothes, and she cleaned the house, cooked and went shopping. She had her own house somewhere outside Belgrade. I remember that mother fattened geese in the basement in the way that Jewish women fattened them. Then when they were fat she gave them to Katica. She slaughtered, cleaned and smoked them.

My mother took care of me all the time. I didn’t have anybody else to take care of me. I was helping my mother with her work -- when she would finish sewing something, I would take it to the customer’s house. I earned some money that way. Mother’s workshop was inside our apartment, in a separate room. Clients were coming one after another - with a recommendation. They were bringing their own materials, and mother was helping them with ideas. She would never make clothes for a customer if she thought that it wouldn’t fit her or him.

My uncle Martin married a Spanish, or Sephardi, Jew, a really beautiful woman. My mother wouldn’t let me go to the house of her parents because she thought that Spanish Jews weren’t as clean as we were. So, I used to go to their house without my mother knowing about it. They had delicious food. But they were untidy but very interesting people. They had a different mentality then we, the Jews from Vojvodina. They were good people but rather primitive -- I guess that was because of the society of those days, but I didn’t understand that then, because I was very small. My uncle had two children, unfortunately they all died in Staro Sajmiste in 1943.

Mother had both Serbian and Hungarian books. I got books from my grandmother. I liked to read fairy tales when I was little. I practically learned to read Hungarian on my own from books.

My mother was very angry with the Jewish Community because when my father died they did not take care of us as they should have. Others took care of us. The Orthodox Church did. I received a winter coat, shoes and the like from them and not from the Jewish community. I only know that they yelled at me when I converted to Catholicism and married a Catholic man. As if this mattered since I was still a Jew. We celebrated holidays in our home, my mother and aunt. For Yom Kippur we went to the synagogue, on the other holidays we stayed at home and had celebrations of our own. We would have dinner, lunch, grandmother cooked something. I don’t think it was kosher, anyway we didn’t eat kosher in our house. And we didn’t keep Sabbath.

I do not remember if we had Jewish neighbors. The majority of my parent’s friends were not Jews. The majority of the Jews lived in Dorcol1. Most of these Jews were killed at Staro Sajmiste.

I was born on the 10th of August 1922, in Veliki Varadin. From there I remember just that I had one small friend, a so-called “holy Jew”, he was my age, something like three or four. He had small payot and we used to hide behind the house where the privy was. We used to play there until his older brother came. He forbade us to play together. He said that I was a Goy [non-Jew]. Probably because I was not religious enough. For them I was an inferior Jew.

I moved with my parents to Belgrade when I was five, in 1927. There were no Jewish schools in Belgrade when I was little. I went to the German school (on Nusiceva Street. I learned to speak German there. We all went together to the religion classes there. There weren’t special religion classes for Jews, so I went to Christian religion classes, where we used to sing a lot.

Then I went to a Serbian school across from the botanical gardens. There were three Jewish girls in the grade. I remember one of them was called Gizela Kunick. We had to say we were Jewish because of the religion classes. But we didn’t go there. One day before the end of the school year the principal came and told the three of us to stand up: “You do not go to religion studies, there are no passing grades for you.” We told him, “how can we go to religion studies where we do not understand anything?”

We had a professor who taught us Hebrew. We had to know how to read. And it was very hard for us, and not interesting at all. We wanted to hear interesting stories from our rabbi, but all he did was teach us Hebrew while the Orthodox priest told stories. What more do children need than stories? The principal called our parents, talked with them about the problem, and in the end they all agreed that we could stay in the Christian religion classes, and listen to the priest. And we got our grades from that class.

I liked geography very much. Our professor knew how to tell a story, he always had a special story. I loved stories, that is why I had a lot of books with stories and I still love them today.

I will tell you a story from when I was in school. We had a German girl in our grade. When the bad times came for the Jews during recess she said to me “Get out of here you Jewish trash” and I grabbed her and hit her. The principal immediately took control and he called my parents to the school. He told my mother “Please, do not punish the child she was entirely correct. What kind of Jewish trash she is, when she is one of our children?” He defended me. What right did that little girl have to call me that when I was not even a “great” Jew.

After elementary school I went to middle school, and then I got married when I was sixteen and I did not have time for more school. I had many friends in that school besides those three Jewish girls. Everyone had her own group, and they were mixed. We went to every slava [Serbian family’s feast for its patron saint], Christmas, etc. Once, ten of us who were not Catholics were invited to Christmas, Serbs, Jews, everybody. It was very nice.

Most of the time I spent time with those three Jewish girls. We were studying in the mornings in the school. After the classes, we would go home, and I would help my mother in the house, or I would go to the market. In the evenings I would meet my friends and we would go to the cinema. There was a trading center which had its own cinema. We had special places in that cinema, because the mother of one of my friends was working there. We saw films in Hungarian and German. Usually I took along my grandmother to see films with us, and that is why we didn’t see films in Serbian. My friends spoke Hungarian, Serbian and German, like me. We communicated mostly in Serbian and in Hungarian, sometimes. We also went to visit one another.

When there were Jewish holidays a few Jewish friends came to my place. I also invited some Serbs and it was all very interesting to them. My mother insisted on that. I used to take my friends to the synagogue, too.

We didn’t eat kosher. Saturdays my grandmother went to synagogue with my mother, I never went. Mother always said, “You want, you don’t want, you do not have to.” They went early in the morning, that is why she said to me “you sleep, we are going.”

My grandmother and my mother used to say some sort of prayers for Shabbat, I remember that there was some sort of prayer but I forgot. And some other prayers. For Yom Kippur I used to bring some special fruit for my mother and grandmother, because they were fasting, and that fruit used to help them to go through that day more easily. I didn’t fast, my mother would give me money to buy a sandwich to eat outside the house. After Yom Kippur, in the evening, we would all gather, the whole family to have dinner together. It didn’t matter if somebody fasted or not, the point was to get together for Yom Kippur. I remember a prayer, a part of it “… el melech haolam, shma Israel.…” My grandmother taught me that.

My favorite holiday was Christmas because of the presents and the Christmas tree. All children love that. For Christmas, we were always invited to friends’ houses who were Christians, as they were coming to our house too when we were celebrating our holidays. We hardly ever celebrated Purim, for many reasons but mostly because there was no man in the house. I know that both the Orthodox and the Jews say that when a man dies, all of that disappears, too.

I didn’t have brothers or sister, but I had a relative that was like a brother to me, Paul Levensohn. He was my auntie Sofija’s son. He was a great guy. They observed the holidays. Everyone liked matzot very much. When I think about him, I only remember, as if through a dream, that they had something in London and that there was a Jewish fund there for all of those who fled but did not make it to Israel. I only know that it was one fund for Jews. Those that went there were taken care of, they got money for the trip and further to Israel. Paul was unable to go to Israel because of my aunt-she didn’t let him to go. Only a week after she refused to let him go to London, they were killed in Staro Sajmiste.

I had two husbands, and they were both very good men. The first one, Sandor Kapas, was a dentist. He spoke Russian, Hungarian, Serbian and English. I learnt Russian from him. He lived many years in Russia. He was a tenant in our apartment. We had a third room beside the room that my mother used as her workshop and our kitchen, which we rented out. He came to live there around 1935-36. In the mornings he was working as a dentist somewhere in the city, and in the afternoon he had his own patients in our apartment. He was really a charming person. And we started dating. In 1938 we were told that we had to leave the country, since we weren't born there. So, if I wanted to stay in Belgrade and not go back to Romania, I had to get married -- and I did. As it was all in a rush, I didn't have time for a white wedding dress.

When I married a non-Jew, my mother didn’t complain. She adored her son-in-law. She was only opposed to the fact that I married so young. I was sixteen and he was thirty. This was a big age difference. But he was very nice and handsome and a good man. Only in Belgrade there was a law that everyone had to be married in the church. That is how I became a Catholic, but after the marriage I never went to church.

We had two children, a daughter Ester who was born in 1940 in Belgrade, and a son Petar, who was born in 1944 in Budapest. [Before the war] I helped Sandor with his work. In 1940 he was drafted. When he had already been away for a year, I received a postcard from him, with his signature, from which I understood that he was alive. He was in Libek2, and he stayed there for two years. In the meanwhile, I moved with Ester to Szenta, to Sandor’s parents’ house. Then, when Sandor came back, we moved to Budapest, to a small house in Buda, leaving Ester in Senta, with her grandmother and grandfather. When he came home, he brought a lot of people from Libek with him - mostly people from Vojvodina that spoke Hungarian. They were all helping him in Libek, because he was working there as a dentist. He got them all out by saying they were all Hungarians.

The house in Buda used to belong to my mother’s aunt, Aranka Klein. When we came to Budapest, my husband Sandor managed somehow to buy the house from my aunt, she was Jewish, and he wasn’t, so it was a good way to save that house in that period. During the Szalasi era3 Sandor had a cousin that was a member of the Szalasi party. Once it happened that I was almost taken to the concentration camp, but Sandor’s cousin didn’t let anyone go into our house. He was a great man.

I gave birth during a bombing raid. Everywhere there were booms, bangs, he screamed… and I was happy. Just before I was about to give birth to my son, Sandor heard that Jewish women who were married to non-Jews would also be taken to concentration camps. That is why he placed me immediately in the basement of a hospital in Budapest, where I spent two long weeks. After those two weeks we moved to the basement of our house, where we stayed until the Soviet troops entered Budapest in winter 1945. We had food, because Sandor had thought of everything in time. Just from time to time he would go out covered with a white sheet to take some snow from outside, so that we would have water. That is how I survived the war, in hiding, in the basement of that house. And just before the end of our staying in Budapest, we managed to bring Ester to us.

Across the street there was a place where the Russians4 were getting together. We got along well with them, we even translated what they said to Hungarians. My husband was working as a dentist at that time. Once he helped an important Russian soldier with his tooth. Because he was grateful to Sandor, our family got a lot of food from the Russians. When that man was leaving Budapest, he asked Sandor if he had any wish before he left. Sandor said that his only wish was to go back to Szenta, where he was born. So he gave us two Russian soldiers as an escort to Szenta, and that is how we left Budapest in 1945.

We gave back the house to my aunt, to live there, but it was still on my husband’s name. One day few years later a strange letter came to us which said that my husband, a Catholic, had taken by force the house in Budapest from my aunt, and that it would be returned to her. I just didn’t want to fight with anybody about it, so the house went into the possession of my cousin.

After leaving Budapest I went to Belgrade to find my family, however I did not find anyone and I learned that they had all been killed at Sajmiste. The Germans sold our house in Dzordza Vasingtona Street but I found a lawyer and the house was returned to us. My late husband and I paid a lot of money for the transfer.

[After the war], we first lived in Senta, then in Kanjiza5. When we fixed things up over there in Kanjiza they knew that I was a Jew and that my husband was not but I never experienced anything. To be honest, I did not socialize all that much with anyone. I socialized with my gypsy neighbor, I liked her a lot; she had eight children. They came to our place and they played with my children. I liked them very much. Lord, they sure did cry when we left. I am a great Jew but I am a great Serb as well. In the neighborhood there were many nations and religions, and my children played with all of them. I took them to synagogue from time to time, but we celebrated Christmas too, because of my husband. We made lunches for the Jewish holidays. My granddaughter was in Israel. She almost stayed and now she is sad that she did not.

[From Kanjiza] Sandor moved to Belgrade in 1948 to work there. It was very hard to live in Belgrade after the war. He lived in a rented apartment, and after two years I joined him and we had an apartment of our own. My son started going to school and then to the university. My daughter learned to sew. Sandor worked in a school for the dentists, and I was working in the house. Sandor died in 1953.

I met my second husband Djordje Teleki in Belgrade, in Sandor’s working place. He came as a patient to Sandor. We became friends. And later we got married, in 1956. He was an astronomer, he lived near the observatory. I used to help him in his observatory - he would watch the stars, and I would dictate some numbers from the lists.

Djordje loudly and clearly declared himself an atheist but he respected every religion. He went to church, synagogue, and mosque. I traveled with him a lot. He went to church every Sunday with his mother who was a Catholic. He was baptized when he was young. It was all the same to him whether I was a Jew or not, he was unbelievable.

I followed politics only through my husband - I wasn’t really very interested in politics, but my husband simply always wanted to know everything, always wanted to be well informed. I did not have a lot of time or strength to read. We had religious books thanks to my husband who was an atheist and everything interested him. There were many different books, we even had some books about Buddhism.

We went to India, Japan, and we traveled across Europe. We had traveled really a lot until my mother-in-law got ill. Then we stayed in Belgrade because of her.

When I found out about the creation of Israel, I was overjoyed. My late husband Sandor, a Catholic and a Hungarian, wanted to go to Israel because his sister married a Jew and went with him to Israel. There they had a child. We did not go because the president of the Jewish community in Kanjiza told my husband that he could not go because he was not a Jew. So, we did not go. I regret this, I wanted very much to go, very much. And my husband acted as though he was born Jewish.

I have never thought about it if it would be nicer to live in Israel. I just wanted to go there, something simply pulled me to go there. I heard a lot about it. I followed everything that was happening there, Yom Kippur War, for example.

I have contacts with the Jewish Community in Belgrade now. I was in the community for the first time with my daughter for a concert. My daughter goes more frequently than I do. Three times I received assistance from the Community or from the Swiss fund, usually for each holiday.

רוזה רוזנשטיין

The wedding picture of Rosa Rosenstein and Maximilian Weisz

Hochzeitfoto von Rosa Rosenstein und Maximilian Weisz

מראיינת: טניה אקשטיין

תאריך הראיון: יולי 2002

בקיץ 2002 הכרתי את רוזה רוזנשטיין. הייתי מאוד נרגשת שהותר לי לראיין אותה, שכן לא לעתים קרובות אני פוגשת מרואיינים כה מבוגרים – למרות הכול היא הייתה בת 94, כלומר כמעט בת מאה – ובנוסף לזה מברלין, עיר הולדתי. אי אפשר היה לטעות במבטא הברלינאי שלה ותוך זמן קצר נוצרו בינינו יחסי קרבה. משום שהתקשתה בהליכה והייתה כבדת ראייה, בכל פעם הבאתי לה לחדר המגורים את הסיגריות והמאפרה מן החדר הסמוך. לפעמים, לאחר שפתחה לי את דלת הכניסה לא הצליחה לחזור לחדר המגורים. ואז ישבנו בפרוזדור הארוך, לפני דלת הכניסה לדירה, דבוקות זו לזו על ספסל קטן, והיא סיפרה לי סיפורים מחייה, עליזים ועצובים. אני אהבתי את הסיפורים שסיפרה ולא עייפתי מביקורים חוזרים ונשנים בביתה. החיוניות המופלאה שליוותה את סיפוריה, יכולתה להפוך משפטים לתמונות היו ויהיו חוויה ייחודית במהלך עבודתי כמראיינת.

רוזה רוזנשטיין נפטרה בפברואר 2005

לפני המלחמה

את הורי הסבים שלי לא הכרתי. הסבים שלי והוריי נולדו בגליציה.

משפחת אבי נקראה בראב (Braw). הבראבים שעודם בחיים הם כולם בני משפחתי. יש בראף ב-V, ויש גם בראף ב-F, אבל אנחנו כותבים את שמנו ב-W. אחי ערך מחקר קטן והוא טוען שמקור השם בעברית, מן המילה בֵּרַב, כלומר בן הרב.

את הסבים שלי מצד אבא מעולם לא הכרתי, שכן סבתא, רבקה פינדר ((Finder לבית בראב נפטרה עוד לפני שבאתי לעולם. לי קראו על שמה, בגרמנית רוזה וביידיש רבקה. גם את הסבא, צבי פינדר, לא זכיתי להכיר. מספרים שלאחר שאשתו נפטרה מסרטן בגיל 54, הוא נישא לאשה צעירה ועזב את המקום, ולאבי לא היה כל קשר אתו. לפני מותה ביקשה סבתי מאבא שידאג לאחיו ואחיותיו הצעירים.

אבי יעקב בראב, נולד בגורליצה (Gorlice) שבפולין שבקרבת טרנוב (Tarnow) ב-6 ביוני 1881. היו לו שישה אחים ואחיות: גיטל, חנה, גוסטה, צילי, רייזל ונתן.

גיטל נפטרה לפני מלחמת העולם השנייה.

לחנה שנישאה למר פדרמן היו שלושה ילדים: כולם נרצחו בשואה.

לגוסטה שנישאה למר אברשטארק (Eberstark) היו שישה ילדים. כולם נרצחו בשואה.

צילי באה לברלין, הכירה מישהו בשם ויינהאוז (Weinhaus), וב-1914 נסעה יחד אתו לאמריקה. הם נישאו באניה. בניו יורק חלקו השניים חנות עוף עם אחותה רייזל ובעלה. צילי הייתה בת 104 במותה.

רייזל באה עם בעלה מגליציה לברלין. הוא היה אופה במקצועו ושמו היה וינד ((Wind . בברלין נולד בנה יוסף. ב-1915 דרך מקסיקו הגיעו לניו יורק. היא נפטרה בניו יורק.

נתן בא לברלין והיה איש מלא שמחת חיים. הוא נפטר מדלקת ריאות בגיל 26. הוא נקבר בבית הקברות בווייסנזה (Weißensee – רובע בברלין).

סבא מצד אמא, אנג'ל ארתור גולדשטיין ((Angel Arthur Goldstein, נולד בקרבת קרקוב. הוא ניהל חווה. אז היו ליהודים חוות. בעל החווה התגורר בקרקוב וסבי ניהל את החווה בסמוך לקרקוב. אני זוכרת שבבית היה לנו צילום של הסבא עם זקן ארוך ולבן וכיפה על ראשו. סבתי באשה (Bacze) גולדשטיין לבית שיף נולדה בשנת 1850. היו לה שתי פאות שאותן היה עלי להביא לסירוק בגרנדיר-שטראסה (Grenadirstrasse) בברלין.

אמי גולדה בראב, לבית גולדשטיין נולדה בטרנוב (פולין) ב-1 באוגוסט 1884. היא הייתה בת יחידה לשבעה אחים: יונאס, היינריך, אדולף, הרמן, איגנץ, יניק ונוחם [נחום]. האחים המבוגרים ממנה היו בברלין.

לדוד יונאס, ביידיש יוינה, הייתה בברלין חנות לממכר פסנתרים. אשתו הראשונה נפטרה במגפת השפעת הספרדית. בשנות השלושים, אחרי שעלה היטלר לשלטון עזב את ברלין עם אשתו השנייה ושני ילדיהם ראובן ודורית והיגר לפלשתינה. דורית חיה בתחילה בקיבוץ. אחיה ראובן עזב את הקיבוץ בשנות החמישים המאוחרות והשלים את לימודיו שנקטעו בעקבות ההגירה לפלשתינה. לימים היה לפרופסור לפילוסופיה מודרנית באוניברסיטת תל אביב. הוא נישא לנלי והיו לו שני ילדים.

דורית ובעלה דוד רוס שגם הוא יליד ברלין עברו יחד עם הדוד יוינה ודודה הלה למושב עטרות, צפונית לירושלים. הקיבוץ פונה במהלך מלחמת העצמאות [1948]. המתיישבים פונו ליישוב הטמפלרי וילהלמה [כ-20 ק"מ מזרחה מתל אביב]. לדורית ויעקב שלושה בנים: אילן, גד ואהוד שלהם ילדים ולכמה מהם גם נכדים. יוינה נפטר בשנות ה-50, הלה בשנות ה-80 של המאה הקודמת. יעקב נפטר לפני שנים אחדות ודורית לפני כמה שבועות.

לאדולף היה קיוסק לממכר עיתונים. אדולף ואחיו היינריך עזבו את ברלין עם נשותיהם ובנותיהם והיגרו לקנדה. לראשון הייתה בת יחידה ולשני שתי בנות.

הרמן היה איש יפה תואר. הוא עבד בברלין בבית המלאכה לחייטות של אבא ונישא למיצי, נוצריה שהתגיירה. ב-1926 עזבו לקנדה, שם נפטר בדמי ימיו.

איגנץ היה תחילה לשותף של אבא ואחר כך היה למנהל חווה בפולין. הוא היה נשוי לברשינסקה (Barczszinska) שאותה כינו ברונקה. לבני הזוג לא היו ילדים. ברונקה שרדה את המלחמה במחבוא במנזר. איגנץ נרצח במהלך ניסיון בריחה לבודפשט.

יניק נפל בשבי במהלך מלחמת העולם הראשונה והגיע לסיביר.

נוחם היה צעיר הבנים הוא התנדב לשירות של שנה אחת. הוא מיד זכה לדרגת רב-טוראי, אבל בהתקפת גזים של האויב נקבר תחתיו ונאלץ לשהות תקופה ארוכה בבית חולים. לימים נישא בגליציה.

לסבא ולסבתא מצד אמא התוודעתי כשהייתי בת חמש או שש. הם התגוררו באזור המערבי של גליציה שהשתייך באותם ימים לממלכה האוסטרו-הונגרית; רק ב-1922 הוכרזה גליציה כחלק מפולין. חלקים נרחבים של פולין נשלטו על ידי הקיסרות האוסטרו-הונגרית.

ב-1913 נסענו עם אמא מברלין לגליציה לבקר את הסבא וסבתא. קיבלנו מעילים מאוד יפים, מעילי פפיטה משובצים ומגבעות לבנות שבקצותיהן היו תלויים דובדבנים.

הסבא והסבתא מעולם לא באו לביקור בברלין. ב- 1913 הסבא יצא לשדה לפקח על הקציר ומת ממכת חום. הסבתא נשארה לבד ואמא הביאה אותה לברלין. הסבתא התגוררה אצלנו. אחיה של אמא באו לברלין לבקר את הסבתא. בהזדמנויות אלה קיבלנו מצרכי מזון מצוינים. האח האחד היה מוצב במהלך מלחמת העולם הראשונה ברומניה ושם עוד היה הכול. הוא הביא תרמילים מלאים בקמח ובאורז.

אבא היה חייט שעבד בבית. מאוחר יותר הייתה לנו קונפקציה לגברים, עסק סיטונאי וקמעונאי. אבא לא גויס, במהלך מלחמת העולם הראשונה ארבע פעמים זומן לבדיקות רפואיות ובכל פעם קיבל פטור בגלל דליות נוראיות שהיו לו. וזה היה מזלו. הוא היה בבית ויכול היה לדאוג לנו. הוא נסע אל האיכרים והביא לנו מצרכי מזון, כדי שלא נסבול חרפת רעב. הוא גם ידע להחליף בשבילנו את סוליות הנעליים. גם אמא ידעה לעשות כל דבר. לא סבלנו מרעב. בתקופה מסוימת היה פחות אוכל, ואז אכלנו קולרבי. כל הבית הסריח מזה. הריבה הייתה מקולרבי, וגם הלחם היה מקולרבי.

אמא הייתה מאורסת לאבא במשך תקופה ארוכה. השניים נישאו בשידוך. הם היו קרובי משפחה רחוקים. הורי נישאו בגליציה ב-7 בפברואר 1907. אני באתי לעולם כעבור עשרה חודשים. אני נולדתי ב-25 בדצמבר 1907 בברלין. בתעודת הלידה שלי רשום השם רוזה גולדשטיין, כשם משפחתה של אמא. הורי נישאו תחילה בחתונה יהודית. מתישהו נאלצו להינשא בשנית, אצל רשם הנישואים, שכן אחרת הנישואים לא היו תקפים. מאוחר יותר נרשם בתעודת הלידה שלי: 'יעקב בראב מכיר ברוזה גולדשטיין כבתו. והיא זכאית לשאת את שם האב'. תעודת הלידה עדיין ברשותי.

אחותי בטי הייתה השנייה והיא נולדה ב-1909, ארנה הייתה השלישית, היא נולדה ב-1911 וצילי הייתה הצעירה שבאחיות, היא נולדה ב-1913. אחי ארתור, או ביידיש אנשל היה הבנימין. הוא נולד ב-1915 במהלך מלחמת העולם הראשונה. אנחנו קראנו לו אנשי. בימים אלה הוא בא לבקר אותי עם רעייתו.

חמשת האחים והאחיות קשורים מאוד זה לזה. לכל אחד אופי משלו, אבל אף פעם לא כעסנו האחד על השני. נכון היו בינינו חילוקי דעות, אבל מעולם לא רבנו ממש. זה לא קורה בהרבה משפחות.

בגרמניה ההורים שלי היו זרים. גם אני אף פעם לא הייתי גרמניה. היו לי שלוש אזרחויות, אבל אף פעם לא אזרחות גרמנית. תחילה הייתי אוסטרית. כשנולדתי בברלין הייתי אוסטרית. נולדתי ב-1907, פולין זכתה לעצמאות רק ב-1922. ואז הייתי פולנייה, שכן רשמו אותי על פי ההורים, כי עוד הייתי קטינה. אחר כך נישאתי להונגרי, והייתי להונגרייה, ואחרי המלחמה נישאתי לאוסטרי ושוב הייתי אוסטרית.

אמא בישלה אוכל כשר. בברלין בגרנדיר-שטראסה היו אך ורק חנויות יהודיות. הייתה שם חנות הדגים הכשרה של זוסמן, היו חנויות לממכר עופות וכולם היו כשרות. שם קנו הורי. הכול אצלנו היה כשר. כחול היה חלבי, היו לנו מגבות מטבח עם משבצות כחולות. המגבות עם המשבצות האדומות היו בשריות. גם כלי האוכל סומנו בצורה דומה. את הכלים שטפו בנפרד. מפות השולחן האדומות היו לימי חול, בימים אחרים היו מפות שולחן לבנות. החיים בבית היו יפים מאוד.

כלי המטבח הפסחיים נארזו במזוודה ענקית שהייתה בבוידם. כשהורידו אותה הייתה אווירה מאוד חגיגית. אמא קנתה את האווזים וצלתה אותם בכלי הפסח. לכבד אווז של פסח היה טעם נפלא.

הורי ביקרו בבתי תפילה יהודיים, אחד נקרא 'אהבת צדק' והאחר 'אהבת חיים'. בתי התפילה היו באחת החצרות האחוריים.

בברלין התגוררנו בטמפלינר-שטראסה (Templiner Sraße). הייתה לנו דירת ארבעה חדרים גדולה. השירותים היו בתוך הבית והיה לנו חדר אמבטיה. חדר אמבטיה מאוד פרימיטיבי, אבל הייתה שם אמבטיה ותנור הסקה גדול שאותו הסקנו בעץ כדי לחמם את המים.

אנחנו, ארבע האחיות חלקנו חדר אחד. החדר היה צר ובקצהו חלון. בצד האחד עמדו שתי מיטות בצד השני גם עמדו שתי מיטות וליד הדלת ניצבה שידה גדלה עם מראה. לכל ילדה היה ארון מגרות ובו לבנים וכל מיני קשקושים אחרים. והיה לנו ארון שבו תלינו את השמלות. הבגדים החדשים הגיעו תמיד לחגים, לראש השנה ולפסח. לראש השנה קיבלנו בגדי חורף. מעילים בצבא ב'ז, מקונפקציה. כמובן שמיד קרעתי בצד קרע בצורת משולש. כמובן שתפרו או הטליאו אותו אבל במשך הזמן זה נראה בלוי. ואז שוב קבלנו מעילים חדשים, ואז כבר לבשתי את המעיל הישן של אחותי, כי שלי כבר לא היה נראה טוב. אמא כעסה עליי. אני בכלל לא התייחסתי לבגדים. ואז היא אמרה לי: רוזה, אם לכל הפחות היית עומדת עוד חמש דקות לפני המראה. אמא נהגה לומר לי: "את היית צריכה להיות בן, איך אפשר כך לקרוע את הבגדים?" אני תמיד קיבלתי אותם בגדים כמו אחותי. הבגדים שלה תלו בארון חצי שנה, בכל פעם הוציאה משהו ושאלה אותי: "מוצא חן בעינייך?" ואז שבה ותלתה את זה בארון. כשהחלה ללבוש את הדברים שלה, שלי כבר היו גמורים, פשוט סמרטוטים. אני לא הקפדתי על השיער, וגם לא על הלבוש. העיקר שהחצאית הייתה רחבה דיה, ושהנעליים לא לוחצות כדי שאוכל לרוץ. לספר הלכתי רק אחרי שסיפרו אותי קצר וגם זה רק בגלל העבודה בחנות של אבא. לפני כן היו לנו צמות ארוכות שקלעו לנו בבוקר לפני שהלכנו לבית הספר. אבא הכין את ארוחת הבוקר שלקחנו אתנו. אמא שעבדה יחד אתו בחנות הייתה צריכה לנוח. ואז ניגשנו למיטה של אמא והיא קלעה לנו את הצמות.

אחי ישן על ספה בחדר הקטן, חדר קדמי שפנה לרחוב. בחדר שלו היו גם שולחן כתיבה, וכורסה גדולה שניצבה ליד תנור הלבנים. באותם ימים לכולם היו תנורי לבנים. את התנור הסקנו בחורף בעצמנו.

משרתות [אומנות] היו לנו רק כשהיינו קטנים, כי אמא עזרה לאבא בבית המלאכה. לאחת המשרתות קראו אלזה ולאחרת אֶמָה. שתיהן היו מחבל פומרניה. המשרתת גרה אצלנו, אבל הייתה לה רק מיטה. אז זה היה פרימיטיבי למדי. הבחורות הגיעו מן הכפר ושמחו שביכולתן להתקיים. אמה השתייכה לכת שומרי השבת 1. היא הלכה לעבוד רק אצל יהודים. שבת היה יום המנוחה שלה, בימי ראשון עבדה. שומרי השבת גם אינם אוכלים בשר חזיר.

אני ביקרתי בבית ספר יהודי לבנות, היום היו קוראים לזה 'מכללה לבנות'. למדנו צרפתית כמקצוע חובה ואנגלית הייתה מקצוע בחירה. מובן שהייתי עצלה מדי כדי ללמוד אנגלית, ולכן למדתי רק צרפתית. אז עוד לא היו לימודי יסוד וחטיבת ביניים. הלימודים החלו בכיתה התשיעית והתקדמו לעבר הכיתה הראשונה. הכיתה התשיעית הייתה בעצם כיתה א', והכיתה הראשונה הייתה האחרונה. לכיתות העליונות קראנו ליצאום – גימנסיה.

לא היה לי כל קשר עם נוצרים, גם לא להוריי. כן היו קשרים עסקיים אבל לא במישור האישי. אבל הייתה לי חברת ילדות נוצרייה שהתגוררה באותו בית. ליוויתי אותה כשהלכה לכנסייה לווידוי.

שלוש שעות שבועיות למדנו אצל הד"ר זלביגר (Selbiger) תנ"ך וקריאת עברית. למדנו לקרוא אותיות דפוס לא אותיות כתב. ידעתי את כל התפילות. גם אני הייתי צריכה להתפלל. סבתא עמדה על המשמר. השכם בבוקר התפללנו תפילת מודים אנחנו לפניך ובערב תפילת אל מלא רחמים, זאת הייתה תפילת הערבית.

גם אחיותיי ביקרו באותו בית ספר. אחר כך נאלצתי לעזוב את בית הספר. הורי החליטו עבורי. הם הכתיבו כמה שנים אלמד בבית הספר ואחר כך עברתי לבית הספר למסחר, כי אבא נזקק לעזרתי בעסק. תחילה נשלחתי לחברה אחרת למעין תקופת התמחות. הייתה לנו מזכירה יהודייה, היא נישאה ואני הייתי צריכה למלא את מקומה. הייתה לנו גם חנות קמעונאית להלבשת גברים. אני הייתי במתפרה, ואחותי בטי, שביקרה גם היא בבית הספר למסחר שבו למדתי, עבדה אחר כך בחנות הקמעונאית.

בבית הספר למסחר צריך היה ללמוד הכול תוך שישה חודשים: הדפסה, קצרנות, ניהול ספרים, והכול במהירות עצומה. למדו אתי גם צעירים בני 20 ואני הייתי בת 15, והייתי טובה מהם. אמא מעולם לא באה לבית הספר כדי להתעניין או לשאול איך אני לומדת. לא היו תלונות.

עבור העבודה בעסק של אבא קיבלתי 100 מרק דמי כיס. אפילו לא היה לי ביטוח בריאות. אם היה לי אז ביטוח בריאות היום הייתי מקבלת קצבה אחרת מגרמניה. אחותי לעומת זאת עבדה בפרקליטות, היא מקבלת קצבה מכובדת מממשלת גרמניה.

תמיד היינו ציוניים. אחי, למשל היה כבר בגיל 14 חבר בתנועת נוער ציונית-סוציאליסטית ולבש את החולצות הכחולות של התנועה .

כל אחיותיי היו חברות בארגונים יהודיים בעלי נטיות ציוניות. היו גם יהודים גרמנים שאמרו: 'אלוהים אדירים, מה יש לנו לחפש שם, גרמניה היא מולדתנו'. אבל לא אנחנו. אנחנו הרי היינו פולנים. אני הייתי בבר כוכבא אגודת התעמלות יהודית. אגודה יהודית שחלקה ספורט ובידור. בקיץ התאמנו בגרינוואלד באתלטיקה קלה ובחורף עברה הפעילות לאולם התעמלות. אני לא העזתי לטפס על המקבילים או להלך בשיווי משקל על הקורה, אבל נהניתי ממחניים ומשחקי כדור אחרים.

בארגונים היהודיים רכשתי לי חברים והכרתי גם בנים. בשבועות למשל יצאנו לטבע. הייתה שם רכבת שנסעה עד לפרנקפורט על נהר אוֹדֶר, נסענו במחלקה השלישית או הרביעית ואפשר היה לשבת על הרצפה או על התרמיל, ולשכב על שמיכה. נסענו בלילה, זה היה מרגש. ישנו לשפת אגם, בנים ובנות. לילות אחדים ישנו באסמים אצל האיכרים. הייתה לי חברה קרובה בשם מרטה שתמיד הייתה לצדי. לברלין יש אגמים נהדרים. בכל יום רביעי יצאנו לשוט בסירות פדלים וגם חתרנו בסירות משוטים. לא ידעתי לשחות אבל חתרנו. שלוש פעמים התחלתי בלימודי שחיה; אחרי הפעם השלישית ויתרתי. בפעם הראשונה החזיק אותי המורה במוט, ואני הייתי צריכה לעשות את התנועות. בפעם השנייה קיבלתי קרש, והייתי צריכה לדחוף את הקשר קדימה. בסוף המורה אמר: 'עכשיו בלי קרש'. את זה לא עשיתי. הייתי פחדנית. אני מודה ומתוודה הייתי פחדנית. ככה זה בחיים.

בקיץ ההורים שלי שכרו דירת נופש. כשהיינו קטנות בילינו את חופשת הקיץ הראשונה בפיכטנאו (Fichtenau) שלחוף אחד האגמים. לקחנו אתנו את המיטות ואת כלי האוכל והבישול. אבא הגיע רק בסופי שבוע. הוא עבד ואנחנו היינו יחד עם אמא. אמא בישלה ואכלנו בדיוק כמו בבית, מרק עם אטריות.

היה לנו כל מה שצריך. האוכל היה מצוין, קנינו רק מן הסחורה הטובה והיפה ביותר; את האווזים צלו. לפעמים החלפתי כריכים עם חברי לספסל הלימודים. המרתי כריך חמאה וגבינה בכריך מרוח בשומן אווז. כלום לא חסר לנו.

אבא עשה הכול בשביל בנותיו. אחותי תמיד חוזרת ואומרת לי: מה את רוצה, את היית בת הטיפוחים של אבא. אבא היה אדם טוב. הוא עשה הכול רק בשביל אשתו וילדיו. הוא לא עישן והוא לא שתה. רק השכם בבוקר, לפני שהלך לבית המלאכה, שתה כוסית סליבוביץ [יי"ש משזיפים] כוסית סליבוביץ לארוחת בוקר. לפעמים כשאמא שאלה: "יעקב, מה להכין לארוחת הצהריים?" ענה: "את יודעת מה? בשבילי הכי טוב אורז בחלב עם סוכר וקינמון." כזה הוא היה. ואנחנו נאלצנו לאכול חזה בקר מעושן שנקנה אצל זוסמן בגרנדיר-שטראסה. וככה זה היה גם עם ביגוד. כשאמא אמרה לו: "יעקב אתה צריך נעליים חדשות. אתה צריך כבר חליפה אחרת", תמיד התנגד. אבל כשאני ביקשתי משהו, קיבלתי הכול.

אבא העריץ את אמא ונשא אותה על כפיים. אמא הייתה תולעת ספרים. היא ביקרה רק שנה אחת בבית הספר בגליציה. היו לה שבעה אחים וכולם למדו. סבא אמר שבת צריכה רק לדעת לכתוב את שמה, לדעת לאפות לחם, לבשל ולחבוץ חמאה. הם גדלו בכפר וזה הספיק. אמא סיפרה לי שהדבר הראשון שקנתה לעצמה בברלין היו ספרים של גרילפארצר (Grillparzer) [פרנץ גרילפארצר, סופר ומחזאי אוסטרי 1872-1791]. סדרה שלמה של ספרים מפרי עטו. לימים היא גם עבדה בברלין. קרוא וכתוב לימדה את עצמה. בבית הייתה לנו ממש ספריה. היה לנו עובד, איש מבוגר יותר ואנחנו היינו ארבע בנות בבית. ואותו עובד תמיד אמר לנו: בין חמשת הבנות בבית בראב האמא היא החכמה והיפה מכולן. כשנאלצנו לעזוב אחרי עליית היטלר לשלטון, נשבר לי הלב בגלל הספרים שנאלצנו להשאיר.

עד ליום נישואיי גרתי אצל ההורים. בדומה לאבא, גם בעלי הראשון היה חייט, אך בראש ובראשונה היה הונגרי. אני עבדתי בעסק של אבא שהיה בבניין תעשייה שבו היו חלונות גדולים. שולחן הכתיבה שלי עמד אצל החלון. ממול הייתה מתפרה לבגדי גברים. אצל מכונת התפירה ישב עלם צעיר ויפה תואר. לעתים קרובות החלפנו חיוכים. אני לא ידעתי מי הוא, והוא לא ידע מי אני. לפתע הגיע מישהו – באותם ימים נהגו הסוחרים לעבור מחנות לחנות – והביא לי חבילה, קילו דברי מתיקה: זה מהאיש הצעיר ממול. כך זה התחיל. אני כמובן קיבלתי את החבילה והודיתי.

אז עוד לא מלאו לי 18. שמחתי, למה לא, אבל תמיד עבדתי עד מאוחר. כשעובדים אצל אבא, אי אפשר לסיים את יום העבודה בחמש. אמא תמיד דיברה עם אבא בטלפון ואמרה לו: "מתי כבר תשלח את הילדה הביתה?" אני הייתי צריכה לתפור כפתורים, לעזור באריזה של המשלוחים; ללוות את העובדים לתחנת הרכבת כשצריך היה לשלוח את החבילות ברכבת. כן לעשות את כל זה.

אנחנו תפרנו בגדי גברים וגם מכרנו אותם. במשך תקופה מסוימת הייתה לנו שתי חנויות קמעונאיות. האחת הייתה בנוי-קלן (Neukölln) בהרמן-שטראסה (Hermanstraße) והאחרת בפינת נויה פרידריך שטראסה וקלוסטר-שטראסה. אז מכרו הרבה בהקפה ובתשלומים, כי האנשים היו עניים. לדוגמה, חליפה עלתה 35 מרקים. לקונה הונפק כרטיס שעליו היה רשום 10 מרק, זה היה הסכום שגבו. אחותי הנפיקה את הכרטיסים וגבתה את הכסף. בחנויות הקמעונאיות היו פחות לקוחות יהודיים, אבל בחנויות הסיטונאיות היה קהל לקוחות יהודי גדול שקנה חליפות בכמויות. אלה היו אנשים מחוץ לעיר. החבילות נשלחו לאסן, לדיסלדורף, לדיסבורג. היה לנו גם נציג שהחזיק דוגמאות בדים ובגדים.

פעם הקדמתי ללכת הביתה. הייתי בחנות בפינת נויה פרידריך שטראסה וקלוסטר שטראסה, וחציתי את ההאקישן מרקט ((Hackischen Markt בדרכי לחנות ספרים גדולה ברוזנטלר-שטראסה. התבוננתי בספרים. אני קניתי ספרים, שאלתי ספרים, קראתי בספריות השאלה... רק ספרים. כאמור עמדתי והסתכלתי בספרים ומאחורי שמעתי לפתע קול, מישהו דיבר באטיות: "זה יפפפה?"' הסתובבתי והאיש עמד למולי. גם הוא הלך באותה דרך. הוא התגורר אצל אחותו. הוא שאל אם הוא יכול ללוות אותי, כי זה גם הכיוון שלו. ואני אמרתי: "בבקשה". התברר שהוא האחיין של בעלי העסק שבו הוא עבד ואני בתו של בעל העסק שממול. הוא חשב שאני רק מועסקת במקום וגם אני חשבתי שהוא רק אחד מן העובדים. קראו לו מקסימילאן וייס ((Maximilian Weisz ואנחנו קראנו לו מיחי. הוא נולד ב-30 בנובמבר 1904 בניטרה ((Nitra. זאת הייתה ההתחלה.

הוא ליווה אותי פעמים אחדות ואחר כך הזמין אותי. זה היה תמיד במוצאי שבת, כי במהלך השבוע לא היה לנו זמן. נקודת המפגש הייתה בשדרות שנהאוזר (Schönhauser Allee ) בתחנת התחתית שבפינת שוודטר-שטראסה ((Schwedterstraße. התלבשתי יפה, התאפרתי וקודם לכן הלכתי לספר. מאז שהתחלתי לעבוד אצל אבא, בכל שבת הלכתי לספר. ההורים ידעו שאני יוצאת לפגישה עם בחור ואמא אמרה לי: "תזדרזי קצת, לכי כבר, את ממש מאחרת!". ואני אמרתי: "אם הוא רציני, הוא יחכה". ירדתי ואיש לא היה שם. חשבתי לעצמי, מה לעשות איחרתי. הסתכלתי סביבי, חלפו עוד חמש דקות ולפתע הגיע בריצה, כולו מתנשף. מה קרה? אני התנצלתי על האיחור, אבל הוא חשב שאני מחכה בתחנה אחרת, אז הוא רץ עוד תחנה ואחר כך חזר אל התחנה שבה חיכיתי.

בטירגארטן ((Tiergarten הייתה מסעדה שנקראה Schottenhamel. מקום מאוד אלגנטי והוא אמר שהוא עוד לא אכל ארוחת ערב. נדמה לי שנסענו עם התחתית עד לתחנת וילהלם-שטראסה, בחלק העליון של שדרות לינדן. נכנסנו. המקום היה מאוד אלגנטי, אבל אני אכלתי רק אוכל כשר. הוא הזמין צלחת בשרים ואני קפה ועוגה. אני לא אוכל שום טרפה. אמרתי לו שאני אוכלת כשר ולא ידעתי איפה יש מסעדה כשרה. הורי לא ביקרו במסעדות. וניגנו שם גם מוסיקה.

כשהתארסתי קיבלתי שלוש שמלות יפהפיות. שמלת סטן שחורה בשילוב סטן לבן. שמלת קרפ דה שין כחולה לבנה ושמלת כותנה בכחול כהה ובורדו. בסמרטוטים שלבשתי הרי לא יכולתי לצאת אתו. את השמלות תפרו לי בסלון תפירה אלגנטי.

את ארוסי קיבלו במשפחה כמו בן. הוא עבד בחריצות וגם אני עבדתי בחריצות. יצאנו רק בסופי שבוע. בינתיים חלפו שבעה או שמונה חודשים. הורי אמרו שזה לא רציני, שהם לא מרשים לי סתם להסתובב אתו, שזה עלול להוציא לי שם רע. זה היה בחגים. בראש השנה וביום כיפור ההורים הלכו לבית הכנסת וגם אני הייתי בבית הכנסת. מובן שבחגים לא עבדו אצלנו.

גם מקסימילאן לא עבד, משום שהדוד שלו היה יהודי ובחברה לא עבדו. הוא בא לבקר אותי בבית הכנסת. זה היה מקום המפגש של הצעירים שעמדו בחבורות בחוץ. הורי הזמינו אותו לקפה בראש השנה. באו גם שני אחים של אמא עם נשותיהם. ישבנו ופטפטנו ולפתע ביקש מאתנו אבא לצאת לחדר הסמוך. אבא והדודים ביקשו ממיחי להצטרף אליהם. אני לא הבנתי מה קרה. לא עבר זמן רב והם באו מחויכים וצוהלים ומיחי זרח כולו. ואז אמרו לי שהם שאלו אותו על רצינות כוונותיו, שכן אין זה נאה להסתובב זמן כה רב והדבר עלול להוציא לי שם רע. והוא אמר שבכוונתו להינשא לי. והכול בא על מקומו. ואני מאוד כעסתי על ההתנהגות שלהם.

היו לי לא מעט מחזרים. היה למשל קרוב משפחה מפולין שביקש את ידי. הוא היה מבוגר ממני בשמונה שנים. כשהגיע בפעם האחרונה לביקור בברלין אני הייתי ילדה בת ארבע עשרה. כשעזב הייתי בת חמש עשרה. לפעמים לקח אותי לקרקס ולפעמים לאופרטה, להצגת אחר הצהריים. לאביו היו אטליז ועסק לממכר סוסים ב-Oswieczim – אושוויץ שבפולין – אלה היו מקורות הפרנסה של היהודים בפרובינציה. הוא נאלץ לחזור הביתה משום שהיה הבן היחיד. וכשנפרדנו אמר לי : "רוזה כשימלאו לך 18 נינשא." ואני שלא ידעתי לסתום את הפה אמרתי: כמובן.

מתישהו הגיע מכתב שהיה מיועד אלי אבל נשא את מענו של אבא. והוא שאל האם אני זוכרת שהגיע המועד, שכן עתה כבר מלאו לי 18. הייתי מאוד גאה במכתב. ועניתי לו. כתבתי שאני מקבלת את ההצעה אבל דברים משתנים. שבינתיים חלפו שלוש שנים, אני השתניתי, הוא השתנה, ושנינו וודאי נראים אחרת לחלוטין ועד כהנה וכהנה. והוא שוב כתב לי וביקש שאשלח לו תמונה, והוא גם שלח לי תמונה שלו. שלחתי לו תמונת דרכון שבה שערותיי סומרות. הוא כתב שהתמונה לא מראה הרבה, ואני עניתי שאם יש לו כוונות רציניות שיבוא לברלין. הוא בכלל לא מצא חן בעיני. אבל זה החמיא לי ואני ראיתי את המציאות נכוחה. הוא היה שידוך טוב. באותם ימים הייתי מאוד מפוכחת, בכלל לא היה לי דמיון.

ואז הגיעה התשובה. הוא אינו יכול לבוא משום שאין לו דרכון, שאני אבוא. כבר הייתי בדרכי להוציא דרכון כשאמא התערבה. והיא אמרה לי: "רוזה, את שגדלת בברלין, את עם כל הידע שלך, את רוצה להינשא לפולני ולגור בפולין?" אז כבר הייתה פולניה. "את לא יודעת אף מילה פולנית. את רוצה לגור בעיירה קטנה ולשרת לקוחות באטליז?"

כבר לא עניתי לו. ואז כבר הייתי מאוהבת בחבר נעוריי סמי. גרנו באותו בית. הכרנו כשאני הייתי בת עשר או אחת עשרה והוא היה מבוגר ממני בארבע שנים. אז הוא תמיד חלף על פני ביוהרה ואני עוד שיחקתי עם בובות. כשהייתי כמעט בת שמונה עשרה גם הוא התאהב בי. הוא הרים אותי ונשק לי בכל מקום שבו יכול היה לתפוס אותי. פעם היינו בחופשת קיץ הוא היה עוד צעיר. סמי רצה לשכב אתי. אחותו הייתה חברה שלי, ילדה יפהפייה, בדיוק בגילי. ואני אמרתי לו: "סמי מה היית אומר אם אחותך נינה, הייתה עושה את זה?" והוא ענה: "היא לא עושה דברים כאלה." באותו רגע זה נגמר. אני אפילו לא הסתכלתי לעברו. הייתה לו אזרחות אמריקאית, הוא והאחים שלו נולדו בארצות הברית. הוריו היו באמריקה וחזרו לגרמניה. וכעבור חודשיים הוא נעלם. הוא נסע לאמריקה. אני לא יודעת אם הוא חי, הוא צריך להיות כבר בן 100. אני לא יודעת האם הוא ידע למה זה נגמר. אני הייתי נערה מאוד גאה.

בעיני זה לא מצא חן מה שאבא והדודים שלי עשו עם מיחי. אבל הוא זרח ואני הייתי מאוד נבוכה, אבל בהמשך הערב עוד הלכנו לקולנוע. זה הכול התרחש בחודש נובמבר וב-30 בנובמבר היה לו יום הולדת. אני עוד זוכרת שב-25 בדצמבר היה לי יום הולדת והוא נתן לי צלחת קריסטל מהממת. זו הייתה הצלחת הראשונה שקיבלתי וביני לבין עצמי חשבתי צלחת? צלחת קריסטל כמתנת יום הולדת? אבל הליטוש היה יפהפה. מיחי היה נדיב מאוד ואני זכיתי למתנות לעתים קרובות.

ואז הייתה חגיגת אירוסין על פי כל כללי הטקס היהודי. זה היה ב-8 במרץ 1928. לטקס האירוסין באו אמו ואחותו מבודפשט. היינו שמונים איש. אז הייתה לנו דירת ארבעה חדרים, שלושה חדרים פונו. אמא הכינה לבדה את ארוחת הערב. היו לי חברות וכולם הגיעו, קיבלתי המון מתנות. זו הייתה ממש חגיגה גדולה. בחדר האחרון תלו את המעילים. אחד החניכים מבית המלאכה עזר לתלות את המעילים. אני זוכרת שהיה דג ואחר כך מרק והיו גם פארפל [פתיתים אפויים] ונטיפי בצק מקמח מלא וביצים (Tarhonya) עם עוף ועוד כל מיני תוספות. שנים רבות קודם לכן אמא הכינה שימורי דובדבנים חמוצים ביי"ש שמהם התכוננה להכין ליקר. לרגל המאורע היא קנתה עוד אלכוהול ובו השרתה את הדובדבנים. והיא אמרה שבחגיגה המשפחתית הראשונה ישתו את הליקר. וזה לקח כמה שנים טובות.

במהלך תקופת הארוסין סרגתי כריות ספה מיוחדות במסרגה אחת ובשתי מסרגות ולארוסין קיבלתי מחברותי מתנות בעבודות יד.

ואז מיחי פתח עסק עצמאי. שכן קודם לכן עבד אצל דודו. הוא קנה וגם שכר מכונות. באותם ימים הייתה מצוקת דיור. הוא עבד יחד עם גיסו ואני אמרתי שזה אפשרי כל עוד אנחנו לא נשואים. אחר כך אני אהיה השותפה – וכך זה היה.

אני הייתי הראשונה שנישאה ואני גם הייתי הבכורה. ואפילו עוד לא הייתי בוגרת. בהונגריה אתה נחשב לבוגר רק כשאתה בן עשרים וארבע, וכשהוא הגיש את בקשת הנישואים עוד לא מלאו לו עשרים וארבע. הוא היה זר, וגם אני הייתי זרה ובגרמניה הקפידו הקפדה יתרה. אני לפי ארץ מוצאי הייתי פולנייה. ממני דרשו מסמך כשירות לנישואין מפולין. אנחנו מסרנו את העניין לעורכי דין והם טיפלו בכול. היה רצוי שיהיה לך כסף שאם לא כן לא היה סוף להתרוצצויות.

אחר כך נישאנו. אני התעקשתי על בית הכנסת הגדול באורניינבורגר-שטראסה. הלכנו ללייפציגר-שטראסה כדי לקנות את התחרה בשביל שמלת הכלולות. בלייפציגר-שטראסה הייתה גם החנות הנהדרת לבדי משי 'מיכלס'. שם קנינו את ההינומה שהייתה רקומה. צריך היה להזמין את הפרחים, את זר הכלה וענפי ההדס לקשירת הזר, את המסעדה ואת האוכל. באלכסנדר פלאץ היה בית הכלבו הגדול 'Tietz ' אבל לפני זה היה ה-Kupfergraben ושם הייתה מסעדה כשרה. ממול הייתה ה-גרנדיר-שטראסה והרובע היהודי, שם הייתה המסעדה שבה הזמנו את האוכל.

הנישואין האזרחיים אצל רשם הנישואין היו רק הליך רשמי שהתקיים שבעה שבועות לפני החתונה היהודית. ואני המשכתי לחתום בשם נעוריי. לא עלה בדעתי שאני בעצם כבר נשואה. העדים בטקס הנישואין האזרחיים היו אביו ודודו של מיחי. מיד לאחר הטקס הלכנו לעבודה. ואז הגיע יום החתונה האמיתית. הלכתי למקווה. בת הדודה של אמי סחבה אותי לשם. החתונה הייתה ביום ראשון ובמוצאי שבת הלכתי למקווה, בשבת אחר הצהריים ולפנות ערב באו אלי הביתה כל החברות שלי. היה שמח, ארוסי גם היה ואני נאלצתי ללכת למקווה. הבלנית בדקה לי את הציפורניים, לראות אם הן מלוכלכות ואני נאלצתי לטבול.

לפני טקס הנישואין נסענו לצלם שהיה בתחילת שדרות שנהאוזר. הצלם היה ממוצא רוסי, שמו היה פרגמנצ'יק והוא נחשב לאחד הצלמים הטובים ביותר. כשהיטלר עלה לשלטון פרגמנצ'יק נסע לפלשתינה וגם שם היה לו סטודיו לצילום.

בית הכנסת ברחוב אורניינבורג היה בית הכנסת היפה ביותר בברלין ואפילו היו שאמרו שהוא היפה שבבתי הכנסת בכל אירופה. היו אנשים שהוזמנו רק לחופה ואחרים שהיו מוזמנים רק לארוחה במסעדה. שני זוגות צריכים להוביל את הכלה אל חופתה, הם נקראים המובילים. מן הצד שלי היו הורי ומצדו של מיחי אחותו וגיסו שהתגוררו בברלין. שתי ילדות, בנותיה של חברה, פיזרו פרחים. כולם היו לבושים בהידור. ואז באנו אנחנו, שני ילדים נשאו את שובל השמלה ואחריהם צעדה חבורת החתונה. ארבע חברותי לבשו שמלות מהודרות בצבע ירקרק, תכלת, סגלגל וורוד.

הגיע תורו של הטקס, אבל קודם צריך היה להציג את תעודת הנישואין האזרחיים. זה היה החוק בגרמניה, שכן הגרמנים לא הכירו בטקסט הנישואין היהודי למרות שאוסטריה וצ'כוסלובקיה הכירו בטקס הנישואין היהודי כטקס נישואין לכל דבר. שם היהודים כבר לא נדרשו להינשא אצל רשם הנישואין. לכן זוגות רבים שחסרו להם כל מיני מסמכים נסעו להינשא ב'צכוסלובקיה.

את שובל השמלה נשאו שני בנים צעירים שהיו לבושים בבגדי מלחים ורבו ביניהם. הם היו בני חמש. האחד היה אחייני לעתיד והשני בן של חברתי. השניים משכו את השובל כל אחד לצד אחר. ואני ניסיתי להחזיק בשובל.

אחרי הטקס נסענו לארוחה. המסעדה הייתה בקופפרגראבן קרוב מאוד לאלכסנדר-שטראסה. הבית השכן הייתה חנות הכלבו 'טיץ'. אחד האורחים היה בעל בית דפוס לספרים וכמתנת חתונה העניק לנו את ההזמנות לחתונה וכרטיסי הישיבה למסעדה. כל שאר המתנות היו מתנות חתונה אופייניות לאותם ימים. היום עורכים רשימות. קיבלתי שמיכה לספה, שמיכה לכסא נוח שאותה יש לי עד היום. קיבלתי שטיחונים למיטה, שמיכות פוך וקריסטלים. האוכל היה טעים. את הדגים הכינה אמא, קרפיון בנוסח פולני עם קריש וחלות. בחוץ היה קר והמלצרים לא הראו כל חשק לשרת; צריך היה לדרבן אותם. היו רק שניים או שלושה מלצרים. אחרי האוכל אמורים היו לרקוד, היו לא מעט צעירים. אבל המוסיקה הייתה זוועתית. אחיה של חברתי היה פסנתרן מעולה והוא יכול היה לנגן הכול בע"פ, בלי תווים. אחר כך הוא התיישב ליד הפסנתר וניגן, ואז אפשר היה להתחיל לרקוד.

אחר כך נסענו לדירה שלנו שהייתה מסודרת ומרוהטת למשעי. מצאנו דירה באלטן שנהאוזר שטראסה, שהייתה פעם תחנת משטרה. המקום שימש לנו למגורים ולעבודה. הדירה הייתה גדולה, היה לנו חדר עבודה ענקי עם שלושה חלונות לחצר האחורית, והיה לי חדר שינה יפה גם הוא כמובן עם חלונות לחצר. אבא הלך אתי לקנות וכך יכולנו לבחור ריהוט יפה לחדר השינה במקום שמכר בסיטונות. בעל החנות סיפר לי שמוסיקאי אחד קנה בדיוק אותו חדר שינה. זה היה ממהגוני, מהגוני מאוד כהה בשיבוץ כסף. וקיבלתי גם ריהוט יפה לחדר האוכל. וגם בית המלאכה כבר היה מוכן. במקום כבר ניצבו מכונות הגזירה; בעלי כבר עבד בדירה. חלק ממתנות החתונה גם כבר ניצבו בדירה.

ולסיום ליל הכלולות. ובבוקר שמעתי רעש של מפתחות בדלת הכניסה. בעלי קפץ מן המיטה, לבש מכנסיים ורץ החוצה. זה היה אבי! הוא רצה להסיק את החדר כדי שיהיה חם ונעים כשאתעורר. ואפילו את חדר השינה הוא הסיק. ואמא שלי רתחה מכעס.

ב-10 בדצמבר 1929 נולדה בתנו בסי. היא באה לעולם עשרה חודשים אחרי החתונה. ב-10 בפברואר נישאתי וב-10 בדצמבר היא נולדה. שנינו היינו מאוד צעירים, אבל הורי תמכו ועמדו לצדי. בששת השבועות הראשונים הייתי אצל הורי. בעלי נשאר בדירה שלנו. הוא בא אלינו ואני נסעתי אליו. במשך היום נסעתי לשם ועזרתי לו קצת בעבודה. הילדה הייתה אצל הורי. ידעתי שעלי לחזור כעבור שלוש שעות כדי להאכיל את הילדה. הדרך לא ארכה יותר מעשר דקות.

אבא נאלץ לפנות את חדר השינה ואני אמא והילדה ישנו יחד בחדר. אצל ההורים לא הייתה לנו מיטת תינוק, והתינוקת ישנה בינינו. בבית הייתה לבסי מיטת תינוק לבנה ויפה ועגלה לבנה שאותה קיבלתי במתנה מאחותי. אבא לא הרשה לי לצאת עם התינוקת, היה קר מאוד. הוא הרשה לי לצאת רק כעבור שישה שבועות וגם אז רק כאשר הוא ליווה אותי. כשנולדה בתי השנייה לילי אבא אמר: "יש לי שש בנות".

כשמלאו לבסי שנתיים וחצי נסעתי אתה להונגריה כדי לבקר את המחותנים שלי ואת קרובי המשפחה של בעלי. בעלי נשאר בברלין. הוא לא יכול היה לעזוב את בית המלאכה.

לחמי הייתה מאפייה. המשפחה גרה באויפסט, פרבר של בודפשט. בין אויפסט ומרכז העיר מפרידות עשרים דקות נסיעה בחשמלית. בודפשט היא עיר נהדרת. בצד האחד שוכנת העיר העתיקה ובצד השני העיר המודרנית ורובעי המסחר. היו בעיר בתי קפה מצוינים. אפשר היה לשבת על גדות הדנובה, שטנו בספינת קיטור, ההרגשה הייתה טובה מאוד. ואז חזרתי לברלין; לדרך ארזו לי גם אווז יפה, כבד אווז וסלמי. אז עוד נסעו ברכבות והנסיעה מבודפשט לברלין נמשכה עשרים שעות. לברלין חזרתי ברכבת האוריינט אקספרס.

הגעתי וכמובן נתקבלתי בשמחה רבה, וכעבור תשעה חודשים, ב-6 במאי 1933 באה לעולם בתי השנייה לילי. בעצם לא רציתי, אני רציתי רק ילד אחד. באותם ימים ילד אחד, זה היה צו האופנה. כל חברותי, גיסתי, אחות בעלי לכולן היה רק ילד אחד. אחותו של בעלי רצתה לעזור לי. היא אמרה לי לשתות תה ולטבול באמבט חם ואחר כך לקפוץ מן השולחן, אבל זה לא עזר. ואז סיפרתי לאמי שאני בהריון והיא לא חסכה ממני את דעתה: "מה זה צריך להיות? את רוצה לאמלל את עצמך? אז מה ילד שני? למה את לא רוצה את התינוק? הפרש הגילים מושלם". אבל אם אין די בזה, היא סיפרה את זה לבת שלי כשזו הייתה גדולה. והיא שבה ואמרה לי: "אותי את לא רצית."

בעלי שבבית הוריו בבודפשט לא שמרו על כשרות התאים את עצמו אלי. לשמור על כשרות זה בעצם לא היה קשה, אפשר היה להשיג הכול. בגרנדיר-שטראסה, דרגונר-שטראסה ומולאק-שטראסה היו אך ורק חנויות יהודיות ויהודים דתיים. היה שם יהודי דתי אחד שעליו אמרו שהוא בעל תשובה משום שבנעוריו התהולל עם בחורות, הסתובב עם נערות נוצריות, פשוט נורא ואיום. ואחר כך הוא התחתן וחזר בתשובה, הוא רק לבש את המעיל השחור הארוך [קפוטה] וגרביים לבנים וגידל זקן. והוא גם היה ג'ינג'י. היו לו שישה ילדים והוא התגורר בגרנדיר-שטראסה שהייתה המרכז של יהודי מזרח אירופה בברלין. כאן דיברו יידיש ופולנית. כאן אפשר היה למצוא חנויות יד שנייה, אטליזים, חנויות דגים, חנויות ירקות, מאפיות ומסעדות יהודיות. אני ובעלי הרבינו לבקר במסעדות אהבנו לאכול קישקע ופארפל ושם זה היה טעים מאוד. פארפל זה כמו פסטה, טרהוניה אלה נטיפי בצק מקמח מלא וביצים, קישקע זה מעי ממולא, מעי בקר נקי שאותו מילאו בעיסה מקמח, שומן קצת סולת, מלח ופלפל וקמצוץ שום. את הקישקע בישלו או צלו יחד עם הטרהוניה. מכינים בצק, בצק קשה שאותו מגרדים בפומפייה. והפתיתים לא שווים בגודלם, יש קטנים ויש גדולים שאותם מטגנים בשמן. יש לזה טעם גן עדן, גם אני בישלתי את זה אינספור פעמים.

בגיפס-שטראסה היה גן ילדים יהודי, ובאוגוסטס- שטראסה היה בית ספר עממי יהודי. מנהלת בית הספר היהודי הייתה מורה שלי בחטיבת הביניים. הבאתי אליה את בתי בסי והיא אמרה לי: "את כבר מביאה לי את בתך?". היינו רק ארבע בנות בבית הספר ואת זה לא ממהרים לשכוח.

אחותי בטי שצעירה ממני רק בשנה היא ההפך הגמור ממני. היא לא פטפטנית כמוני, והיא לא משה ממני, היא באה אתי לכל מקום. שלושה חודשים אחרי החתונה נסעתי עם בעלי, כי לא יצאנו לירח דבש. בחג השבועות נסענו לחמישה ימים וכבר למחרת הגיעה אחותי. היא ישנה אתנו באותו חדר.

לאחי קראו אנשל, כמו לרוטשילד, ובגרמנית ארתור. שם החיבה שלו היה אנשי. הוא היה מקסים והוא מקסים עד היום. הוא היה ציוני מלידה. בברלין היה חבר בתנועת השומר הצעיר 2. אבא אמר שעליו ללמוד, אבל אנשי טען שפלשתינה אינה זקוקה לרופאים ולדוקטורים, את פלשתינה יש לבנות ולכן צריך איכרים. הוא עזב את התיכון אחרי שנתיים ועבר להתגורר עם אנשי התנועה, אני חושבת שזו הייתה תנועת הבונים, ואחר כך הם היגרו לפלשתינה. אני באתי לתחנת הרכבת כדי להיפרד ממנו. הקבוצה יצאה לעמק החולה, בגליל העליון. שם היו רק ביצות, יתושים וצרעות ואת אלה צריך היה לייבש ולמגר. שם הם עבדו וישנו באוהלים. הוא חלה במלריה ובטיפוס. הוא סבל מאוד. היום הוא מתגורר בחיפה. רעייתו רוזל הייתה יחד אתו בבוּנד 3, הם הכירו עוד בנעוריהם. הוא היה למסגר ועבד קשה, מבוקר עד ערב. לארתור שתי בנות רות דיקשטיין ויעל רפפורט. לשתי בנותיו העניק ארתור חינוך והכשרה מעולים.

ב-1933 פוטרה אחותי בטי מעבודתה מטעמי גזע; אמא זקרה אוזניים. בדצמבר 1933 יצאה בטי לפלשתינה. בברלין עבדה בטי בבית המשפט וזכתה לקביעות בעבודתה. אמא שניחנה בשיקול דעת וחכמה אמרה: "בטי אין טעם בדברים, כולנו צריכים לצאת לדרך, ואת תהייה הראשונה ללכת לפלשתינה." האנגלים דרשו באותם ימים סרטיפיקט שאותו אפשר היה לקבל אם היה לך מקצוע מבוקש כמו למשל, אם יכולת לעבוד בעבודה חקלאית, או לחלופין אם היה לך כסף, אז יכולת לקנות סרטיפיקט.

בטי יצאה להכשרה 4 והמשרד הארצישראלי שלח אותה לפולין. שם הצטרפה לקומונה והיא נאלצה לרחוץ את העורות המדממים שפשטו מן החיות. היא אמרה שזה היה מזעזע והיא נורא נגעלה מזה. את הבגדים שלבשה בשעות העבודה לא לקחה אתה הביתה, אותם השאירה שם. היא הייתה מאוד רגישה. כששאלתי אותה: "יש לך זוג גרביים שאת יכולה להשאיל לי?" היא אמרה: "לא להשאיל, את יכולה להשאיר אותם אצלך." ואם חלילה וחס מישהו לבש את החלוק שלה היא התחילה לצרוח.

אז כבר אי אפשר היה לשלוח כסף. אבל באמצעות הדרכונים השונים שהיו לנו יכולנו להעביר לה 10 מרקים בכל חודש. ההעברות האלה אפשרו לאבא לצבור בפלשתינה כמה מאות דולרים.

בטי ביקרה תחילה בבית הספר של ויצ"ו 5 על מנת ללמוד בישול. הקורס נמשך חצי שנה. בבית שבו עבדה, בית אמו של חיים וייצמן 6, הכירה את בעלה לעתיד, פרץ חיים. הוא היה מהנדס חשמל אצל רוטנברג, חברה גדולה לייצור חשמל בישראל. אביו היה תיאולוג ולבני הזוג לא היו ילדים.

ארנה הייתה השנייה שיצאה לפלשתינה. היא הייתה צעירה ממני בארבע שנים. ארנה בלתה שעות רבות בבית, היא הייתה כבדת ראייה מיום שנולדה ואמא ריחמה עליה. היא הייתה צריכה להשגיח לא לאמץ את העיניים. אמא אמרה: "ארנה נשארת בבית, היא תבשל, היא תנהל את משק הבית. אנחנו יכולנו לעשות עבודות יד, אנחנו יכולנו לרקום, לסרוג ועוד כל מיני דברים, לארנה לא הרשו, היא הייתה צריכה לשמור על העיניים. בברלין היה מועדון נורדאו [ע"ש מקס נורדאו] 7, שם הכירה ארנה את בעלה לעתיד, את היינץ ורנר גולדשטיין. הוא היה גאה מאוד ב'גרמניות' שלו. תמיד נהג לומר 'אצלנו'. גם אחרי שהיגרו לפלשתינה נהג להשוות את הכול: "אצלנו זה היה ככה, אצלנו זה היה ככה..." אנחנו כבר קראנו לו "אצלנו". הוא רצה ללמוד מדעי המדינה, אבל אז עלה היטלר לשלטון, וזה כבר לא התאפשר לו. הוא נסע לצרפת כדי לקבל סרטיפיקט. בצרפת הוא עבד בכרמים.

לארנה הייתה אהבת נעורים, מקס זלינגר. הוא היטיב לנגן בכינור ואחותי נגנה בפסנתר. היה לנו פסנתר בבית והם תמיד ניגנו יחד. אנחנו ממש אהבנו אותו. אבל לאמו היו תכניות אחרות עבורו.

ארנה יצאה לפלשתינה עם היינץ ורנר, אבל הוא לא הצליח למצוא עבודה ועסק בחלוקת עיתונים. אחותי עבדה כעוזרת בית ולימים פתחה בדירתה גן ילדים. הוא עבד בכל עבודה שקיבל. לבני הזוג היו שני ילדים, עליזה ודוד. כשהיינץ ורנר נפטר, ארנה מכרה את הדירה בחיפה. בתה וחתנה הוסיפו לה עוד סכום כסף וקנו עבורה דירה ברעננה, כדי שיוכלו להיות בקרבתה יומיום. היא רק צריכה לחצות את הכביש. וכדי להקל עליה ריהטו את הדירה ברעננה בדיוק כמו שהייתה הדירה בחיפה.

צילי עלתה לפלשתינה יחד עם הורי בשנת 1939. בברלין עבדה צילי בשביל המשרד הארצישראלי (Palestina Amt). היא חרשה את גרמניה במטרה לאתר יהודים עשירים שיתרמו כספים לעליית הנוער. עם בעלה רודי אברהם היא רצתה להגר לפלשתינה אבל במשרד הארצישראלי אמרו: "אנחנו צריכים את הכוחות שלך, אנחנו צריכים את יכולת גיוס הכספים שלך". הייתה לה הופעה מיוחדת: אשה אלגנטית, וגם יפה. תמיד אמרו לה: כשאת תרצי לנסוע לפלשתינה לא תצטרכי להמתין". היא נסעה לכל מקום וגייסה כספים. היא היית מסוגלת לעשות הכול. היא יכלה לכתוב ספרים, לתרגם לארבע שפות והיא הייתה הדוברת של בן גוריון 8. בארצות הברית היא הייתה קונסולית בממשל אייזנהאואר.9 שנה וחצי הייתה בניו יורק.

היא הייתה הצעירה בארבע הבנות והיא זכתה להשכלה הטובה ביותר. אנחנו נדרשנו לעשות כל מה שאבא אמר, וצילי יכלה לעשות כל מה שחפצה. אני לא יודעת למה. וזאת למרות שאני הייתי בת הטיפוחים. היא ביקרה בגימנסיה וזכתה לתעודת הבגרות ב-1933, בדיוק כשהנאצים עלו לשלטון. אחר כך היא נסעה לשנה וחצי ללטביה, להכשרה בריגה שם הכירה את רודי אברהם, מי שהיה בעלה הראשון. הוא היה מברלין והיה מתמחה במשרד עורכי דין. היא נישאה לו והשניים יצאו לפלשתינה. הוא נאלץ להתחיל מחדש את לימודיו, שכן בפלשתינה של אותם ימים חל החוק התורכי. אבל קודם היה עליו ללמוד את השפה. צילי הייתה באמריקה והוא נשאר לבדו בפלשתינה. כל אחד חי את חייו, והם התרחקו זו מזה. היא נסעה לשנה וחצי, שנתיים. באמריקה פגשה את יהושע ברנדשטטר, בעלה השני. הוא היה מבוגר ממנה ב-23 שנים. טיפוס בוהמי. קולנוען. הוא הביא את חברי תיאטרון הבימה לארצות הברית, הוא ייצג שחקנים והוא גם צייר. השניים נשארו יחד. הוא נפטר מכשל כלייתי.

תקופת הנאצים

ב-1938, מיד לאחר ליל הבדולח 10 נעצר אבא וגורש לפולין. הוא הורשה לקחת אתו עשרה מרקים ומזוודה קטנה עם מסמכים. אני זוכרת שנתנו לו את שעון הזהב שלו והשרשרת. היו לנו עוד קרובי משפחה בפולין ואני תמיד הייתי אשת הקשר. אני הייתי נשואה להונגרי ולכן לא פחדתי. השגתי לעצמי אשרת כניסה לפולין. רציתי לנסוע לאבא ולהביא לו כסף. ובדיוק כשחזרתי מן המשרד שהנפיק את הדרכונים באה אמא לעומתי ואמרה לי: "את לא צריכה לנסוע לפולין, אבא קיבל היתר לחזור כדי לאסוף אותי ויחד ניסע לפלשתינה.

כשאבא חזר מפולין, החלו לארוז את הכול. זה היה בדיוק בתקופה שבה בתי הצעירה הייתה צריכה להתחיל לבקר בבית הספר, היא הייתה בת שש. אחיותיי לא הרפו וגם הן קבלו מן האנגלים היתר לעלות לפלשתינה. אבא עזב בלב כבד, כי אני ובני משפחתי נשארנו מאחור. אבא אמר: "אני עושה לכם עוול". הוא לא יכול היה להיפרד. "אני עושה לכם עוול, אני משאיר כאן את ילדתי ואני הולך. והוא הוסיף ואמר: "אני לא אנוח עד שאצליח להביא גם אתכם."

אבא הצליח לחסוך שלוש מאות דולרים. שלושה שטרות של מאה דולרים. ועכשיו היה עליו לארוז את מטלטליו. הארגזים כבר נשלחו. בארגזים היה אפילו הסכו"ם מכסף. החפצים נארזו בבית. הזמנתי ארגז בירה. פקידי המכס שתו לשכרה, והמוביל היהודי ארז, אפילו את פמוטי הכסף שלי, אותם מותר היה לקחת זה היה חוקי. אבל המזל לא האיר לנו פנים ובחצר המכס פתחו את הארגזים. הם ראו את כלי הכסף והוציאו אותם. אבל האורזים היהודיים, להזכירכם גם המוביל היה יהודי, הצליחו לזו לשוב ולארוז אותם. והכבודה יצאה לדרך.

אבל איפה אפשר להחביא את שלוש מאות הדולרים? היו לי לבנים ממשי, חלקים ומחליקים שאותם חיזקו בסרטים ורודים ללוחות עץ, כדי לתת להם צורה. לאמא היה רעיון. היא השיגה חתיכת קרטון, והיה לה בד צבעוני ועליו רקומים ורדים. מהקרטון והבד הצליחה להכין משהו דמוי לוח הלבנים ובתוכו החביאה את הכסף. הלוח לא היה יפה כמו הלוח המקורי, הוא היה קצת קטן יותר. רק הורי ואני ידענו על הכסף. הורי, צילי, הצעירה שבאחיותיי ואני הלכנו לאלכסנדר- פלאץ כדי למסור את המזוודות. אחותי עמדה בצד אחד ואני בצד האחר. פקיד המכס הוציא כל פריט והניח את הפריטים זה לצד זה, גם את לוחות הלבנים. שכן היו במזוודה כמה וכמה לוחות לבנים ולפתע אמר: "אפשר לדעת איפה החבאת את הדולרים שלך?" אבא לא יכול היה להירגע. פעם אחר פעם יצא החוצה לטייל. ואחותי אמרה בחוצפה: "אילו רציתי להבריח דולרים, הייתי מוצאת אפשרות טובה יותר." והוא החזיר את כל הפריטים למזוודה. באותה הזדמנות אמר אבא: "רוזי, מאייה אחת היא שלך." ואת השטר הזה הוא שמר עד שבאתי לביקור ראשון בישראל, אבל את אבא שוב לא זכיתי לראות. אבל עוד נודע לו שיש לי בן. הוא נפטר בשנת 1947; בני נולד ב-1945.

בעלי אמר: "אצלנו בהונגריה שום דבר לא יכול לקרות." שלושה שבועות מיום שפרצה המלחמה צריך היה להאפיל את הדירות, וחילקו כרטיסי מזון. מובן שהיהודים קיבלו פחות. ולנו הוקצבו רק שעות מסוימות ביום. לא יכולנו לקנות במשך כל שעות היום. ואז ארזנו את המזוודות ונסענו לבודפשט, כי כאמור, בעלי טעו שבבודפשט זה לא יקרה. ליתר ביטחון לקחתי אתי את מסמכי ההגירה לפלשתינה של הילדים.

מצאנו דירה קטנה, שני חדרים ומטבח באויפשט. הארגזים מברלין כבר הגיעו. את הרהיטים מכרנו. מכרנו בלית ברירה. חדר השינה שעלה 4,000.000 מרקים נמכר ב-400 מרקים. זה היה אחרי שכבר שלחתי כלי מיטה, וילונות, פמוטי כסף וסכו"ם כסף. לחתונה קיבלתי שמיכות נוצות אווז מתוצרת פולין. אמא הזמינה שם נוצות אווז אמתיות, ואני רציתי גודל מיוחד. המידה הבינונית הייתה מטר וארבעים לשמיכה ואני רציתי מטר וחצי לשמיכה. את השמיכות הכינו בפולין. אבל חלק מן הדברים שלי שלחתי עם אמא לישראל, למקרה שניסע לפלשתינה.

"חכו בהונגריה", כתבו הורי. לפלשתינה אפשר היה לנסוע רק עם סרטיפיקט של בעלי מקצוע נדרשים. אנחנו יכולנו לצאת רק בעזרת סרטיפיקט קפיטליסטים, זה עלה הון תועפות, אלפי לירות שטרלינג. הורי כתבו שהופקד עבורנו כסף בהולנד כדי שנוכל לצאת כקפיטליסטים. אבל לרוע מזלנו הגרמנים פלשו להולנד.

גיסתי נתנה לי את המטבח שלה [ציוד כלים]; היא הייתה אשה עשירה. אחר כך נתנה לי שולחן וכסאות. ובעלי אפילו יכול היה לעבוד. לשם כך נסע לבודפשט שהייתה במרחק עשרים דקות נסיעה בחשמלית. וממול היה בית ספר יהודי לבנות. בהונגריה של אותם ימים לא עונה ליהודים כל רע. הילדות החלו לבקר בבית הספר עוד בברלין. הגדולה כבר סיימה את כתה ד' והקטנה הייתה בכתה א'.

באותה תקופה התגוררו בבודפשט יהודים רבים, נדמה לי שכ-200.000.

חמתי לא קיבלה אותי בעין יפה, כי לא הייתי הונגרייה. בנה נישא לגרמניה, זה לא מצא חן בעיניה. אבל חמי גילה אלי חיבה רבה. בהתחלה לא ידעתי אף מילה הונגרית, אחר כך למדתי את השפה. אבל ההונגרים, כמעט כולם ידעו גרמנית. חמותי אפילו כתבה לי מכתבים בגרמנית. לבעלי היה אח שעבד יחד עם אביו במאפייה, גם הוא היה אופה. הוא היה הבן האהוב על אמו. הוא היחיד ששרד את המלחמה, כל האחרים גורשו למחנות ריכוז ונרצחו. אחרי המלחמה נפלה בחלקו ירושה גדולה. וכעבור שנה לא נותר לו דבר, הוא לא ידע לנהל את כספו. הוא אימץ לעצמו שם הונגרי. מהבית קראו להם וייס, גם לי בעצם קוראים וייס. אחרי המלחמה אמרו ילדי, ובייחוד בסי: "ניתן לדברים לנוח על משכבם. משפחה זה משפחה." הוא היה עני, זה היה בתקופת הקומוניזם. הבנות שלי קנו בגדי ילדים בשביל הנכד שלו. אני הרביתי לבקר בבודפשט, אבל לא גרתי אצל גיסי כי הם היו עניים מרודים.

היו לי בבודפשט זוג חברים עשירים. היינו יחד במחנה ושם התיידדנו. קראו לו פרי והוא הוא ייצרן נעליים. היה לו בית מלאכה והוא תפר נעליים אלגנטיות. אני אהבתי את הונגריה. הוא נפטר מסרטן בכבד.

בעלי יצא לעבודה, הבנות ביקרו בבית הספר, לא הייתה שום בעיה. אבל לא היו לי חברים, רק בני המשפחה. הייתה הבת העשירה, אחותו של בעלי שהיו לה שני בתים וחנות נהדרת. בחגים היא הזמינה אותנו לעתים קרובות לארוחות צהריים. ב-1938 היא המירה את דתה, היא וחברתה שגם היא הייתה עשירה מאוד. לגיסתי היה בן יחיד, שטפן או בהונגרית פִּישְטָה. לחברה הייתה בת. חמי כעס מאוד שבתו התנצרה. ועם ההומור היבש שהיה לו שאל פעם את שתי הנשים: "למה עשיתם את זה?" והחברה של גיסתי אמרה :"כדי שבתה תמצא שידוך טוב יותר." חמי לא נשאר חייב ואמר: "היא יכולה להינשא לגוי שתיין."

בחג המולד הציבה גיסתי עץ אשוח גדול. הייתה לה מבשלת, בחנות היה לה זבן, היא הייתה לבושה בהידור, היו לה מעילי פרווה. כולנו יצאנו לאכול ואנחנו היינו מוזמנים- אני וילדיי היהודיים. ולפתע נשכבה החברה מתחת לעץ האשוח ואמרה: "איזו הרגשה נהדרת לשכב מתחת לעץ האשוח." אני חשבתי שאני מתפוצצת. בתה והבן של גיסתי היו בבוקר עם האומנת בכנסייה. הילדים חזרו הביתה והראו את תמונות הקדושים שקיבלו בכנסייה. הילדים היו בני 10, בגילה של בתי בסי. והקטנה שלי אמרה, זה כל כך יפה להיות נוצרי, והראתה את התמונות לאחותה הקטנה לילי. לילי הייתה בת שש או שבע, ולא הרבתה לדבר. היא עמדה והסתכלה בתמונות. הגדולה ניהלה ויכוח עם האחרים מה טוב יותר להיות יהודי או נוצרי. ולפתע פרצה הקטנה ואמרה: "כן, אבל פה בפנים, הדם שלך יהודי."

בערבים ישבו בעלי וחמי בבית קפה והתבוננו באנשים ששיחקו קלפים. אני הייתי בבית עם הילדים. היה כבר חושך, חמי בא אלי וביקש ממני את המסמכים של מיחי. הוא סיפר שבבית הקפה שבו ישבו היו שוטרי חרש ולמיחי היה רק דרכון. הדרכון הונפק בברלין. זה היה דרכון הונגרי תקף לשנתיים נוספות. הוא הזדהה בעזרת הדרכון. הם טענו שייתכן שהדרכון מזויף ועצרו אותו.

התעודה המעידה על אזרחותו של מיחי נותרה בברלין בשעה שלקח את הדרכון. למחרת לא קרה דבר. זה היה בפורים. יומיים לאחר מכן לילי בתי שכבה במיטה ולא רצתה לקום, היא לא רצתה ללכת לחגיגת הפורים בבית הספר. בסי הייתה בבית הספר ואני גיהצתי במטבח. לפתע דפיקה בדלת ולדירה נכנסו שני גברים. הם שאלו אותי מי אני, הציגו את עצמם כנציגי מחלקת הזרים וביקשו ממני להצטרף אליהם. הם רצו לקחת אותי ואת הבנות. לילי הייתה בבית ושכנה הלכה להביא את בסי מבית הספר. הייתה לי שכנה יהודייה וביקשתי ממנה להודיע למחותני במאפייה מה קרה. לומר להם שעצרו אותנו.

נסענו לשם אבל לא הוצאתי את הדרכון מידי. שכן ידעתי שלבעלי לקחו את הדרכון. לא הצגתי את הדרכון, ולא התכוונתי להציג אותו. ואז הסיעו אותי ואת הילדים בחשמלית למחנה המעצר. שם ראה אותנו בעלי. כשהוא ראה אותי ואת הבנות הוא נתקף בבכי קורע לב. אני ניסיתי להרגיע אותו ואמרתי לו: "מיחי, העיקר שאנחנו ביחד."

גרנו בצריפים שהוקמו לצד בית הכנסת. בלוויית בלש יכולתי ללכת לדירה שלנו, להביא לבנים ואפילו שמיכת פוך בשביל הילדות, כדי שיוכלו לישון טוב יותר. בצריפים היו גם מיטות קומתיים. אני ישנתי למטה והבנות למעלה. הייתה הפרדה בין נשים וגברים. ביום שמרו עלינו בלשים, בלילה שוטרים. היינו שם כ-40 או 50 איש. שם היינו שלושה או ארבעה שבועות ואחר כך שלחו אותנו לפרובינציה, למחנות הסגורים שעל גבול צ'כיה. הבניינים היו פעם בתי מכס. אנשי הקהילה היהודית באו אלינו ודאגו לנו. השומרים היו הונגרים.

היתרי היציאה בשביל הבנות עוד היו אתי. באמצעות בן דודי בארגנטינה ובעזרת הצלב האדום שמרתי על קשר מכתבים עם משפחתי בפלשתינה. גיסי בפלשתינה כתב לי שאשלח את הבנות. הם ידאגו לבנות כאילו הן בנותיהן. הם צדקו כי בפלשתינה אפשר היה לדאוג לביטחונן.

הקהילה היהודית בבודפשט ארגנה את היציאה שלהן. גיסתי דאגה שהבנות תופענה ברשימה ותקבלנה את היתרי היציאה לפלשתינה. הבנות קיבלו דרכונים של חסרי נתינות. לילי לא רצתה. כשהן נסעו היא הייתה בת שמונה, בסי בת אחת עשרה. לבסוף שתיהן הסכימו. אבל הקטנה סיפרה לי שהגדולה הפליאה בה את מכותיה כדי שתומר כן. המכות הצילו את חייה. הרשו לי ללוות את הבנות עד בודפשט. בעלי שהיה במחנה הגברים הורשה ללוות אותן רק עד תחנת האוטובוס. שם נפרד מהן. הבנות ראו את אביהן בפעם האחרונה בחייהן, בפעם האחרונה.

התחנה הראשונה הייתה תחנת הרכבת. ברכבת נסענו לבודפשט. איש הבולשת בא לאסוף אותנו וליווה אותנו. לילי עמדה ליד החלון והדמעות זלגו מעיניה. ברכבת נסעו עד בולגריה, ומשם באנייה לתורכיה. את הדרך מתורכיה לפלשתינה עשו באוטובוס דרך סוריה. הורי קיבלו את פניהן בפלשתינה. להורים הייתה כבר דירה יפה והם קלטו את הבנות.

בתעודת הפטירה של בעלי כתוב: דום לב. מאוחר יותר סיפרו לי שהוא מת מטיפוס הבהרות. הוא נשלח לעבודה לרוסיה, לקייב. הם נאלצו לחפור ולגלות מוקשים. אותי שחררו ממחנה המעצר והדירה הקטנה עוד הייתה ברשותי. עבדתי אצל עורך דין ובכל שמונה ימים היה עלי להתייצב בתחנת המשטרה. הוכרתי כאלמנה של עובד מגויס וזכיתי לתעודת אלמנה.

המחותנים שלי כבר גרו בבית של גיסתי, שכאמור היו לה שני בתים. היא לקחה אליה את ההורים, אחות אחת עם ילדה ועוד אחות רווקה. הגיעה שנת 1944. אייכמן בא לבודפשט על מנת להשליט 'סדר'. עם תעודת האלמנה הירוקה שלי הייתי חופשיה, ורק נדרשתי להתייצב בכל שבוע. בעלי כאמור נפטר, והיו לזה גם יתרונות. רציתי לדעת מה שלום המשפחה של בעלי, לא רציתי להתנתק מהם. נסעתי לבקר אותם בחשמלית. זה היה ביום שבו אייכמן היה בבודפשט. ה-21 או ה-22 במרץ, את התאריך אני זוכרת עד עצם היום הזה. ירדתי מן החשמלית ועצרו אותי.

הובלתי לבית שבו היו 400 איש בקירוב, כולם יהודים. נעלו אותנו ואיש לא ידע מה עומד לקרות. דחסו אותנו לתוך משאיות, ואז נסענו ונסענו ונסענו. פתאום הורדנו ומצאנו את עצמנו בחצר גדולה. אני הסתכלתי סביבי ולפתע ראיתי חבורה של שבויים, גברים ואנחנו היינו כ-400 נשים. באמצע הייתה משאבת מים, שתינו קצת מים מכף היד. עמדנו ועמדנו וכבר החשיך. ואז קראו לנשים להיכנס לבניין. שם ישב קצין ורשם את שמותינו לפי סדר האלפבית. עם W אני הייתי בין האחרונות. אנחנו עוד עמדנו בחוץ ואיש לא ידע מה צפוי לנו.

לבסוף הגיע תורנו. נכנסו, בחדר ישב גבר, יפה תואר. אני לא יודעת האם הוא היה שוטר, היו לו מדים ירקרקים. הגיע תורי ואני הנחתי על השולחן את תעודת הפטירה של בעלי, ואמרתי לו: "אני לא דוברת הונגרית." הוא הסתכל עלי, הסתכל בתעודת הפטירה, שוב הסתכלי עלי ושאל בגרמנית: "את יהודייה?" עניתי שכן. משהו אחר לו יכולתי לומר והוא שוב בחן אותי. ואז הוא שאל אותי לאן היו מועדות פני. ואני אמרתי שהייתי בדרכי לבקר את המחותנים שלי, נעצרתי והובלתי לכאן. ועדיין לא הצגתי את הדרכון שלי. משם הובלנו לאולם ענק ושוב היינו 400 נשים בקירוב. זה היה בית המעצר של בודפשט, בסמוך לתחנת הרכבת קלטי. היה לילה ונעלו את הדלתות מאחורינו ובאותו לילה כבר הפציצו את בודפשט. ביום הפציצו האמריקאים והאנגלים ובלילה הרוסים; ישבנו וראינו את הכדורים הזוהרים שהרוסים המטירו לפני ההפצצה. הנשים התפללו שהפצצה הבאה תיפול עלינו. אנחנו פחדנו מן הגרוע מכול, הגרוע בכלל. ארבעה ימים היינו שם; הגענו ביום שלישי וביום שישי שוחררנו. הם לא ידעו מה לעשות בנו. הגברים גורשו, את זה ידענו. אבל הם לא ידעו מה לעשות ב-400 הנשים. לא היו להם רכבות, זה היה מזלנו.

פחדתי ללכת לחדר, שהרי כששוחררתי נדרשתי למסור את כתובתי. אבל הייתה לנו בבודפשט חברה וינאית, אלמנה שהייתה נשואה להונגרי. הוא היה נוצרי והייתה לה בת בת חמש עשרה, סוזי. הלכתי אליה ברגל. היא פתחה לי את הדלת ופקחה זוג עיניים: "רזי את בחיים?" מה היה עלי לומר. פתחתי את הדלת ובחדר ישב אלפרד רוזנשטיין, מי שלימים יהיה בעלי השני. הוא וחבר. הכרתי אותו ממחנה המעצר. עד לאותו רגע לא היה בינינו כל קשר, הוא ראה אותי, חיבק ואמר: "רזי אף אחד כבר לא מפריד בינינו!"

בעלי אלפרד רוזנשטיין נולד בווינה ב-17 באפריל 1898 כילד החמישי לזיסי (Süsie) וביילה רוזנשטיין לבית בינשטוק שנולדה ברוהטין (Rohatyn) שבגליציה. זיסי צאצא לשל"ה הקדוש – רבי ישעיהו הלוי הורביץ ממבשרי החסידות, היה חייט או סוחר טקסטיל שנפטר ב-1926. ביילה נפטרה בלונדון ב-1945.

ששה אחים ואחיות היו לאלפרד: מוריץ, פרנציסקה, סמואל, יוזף, צילי והדי.

מוריץ רוזנשטיין, או כפי שכונה מוּר, היה כימאי ושותף לבית זיקוק לנפט בווינה. בשעת מסע עסקים ללונדון הופתע על ידי האנשלוס ולפיכך נשאר בעיר. הוא נפטר בשנות ה-50 של המאה שעברה ומעולם לא שב לווינה. בתו חני מתגוררת בתל אביב, בנו נהרג במלחמת העולם ה-2. להני שתי בנות בוגרות.

פרנציסקה וֵסֶלִי לבית רוזנשטיין, נמלטה מווינה ליוגוסלביה. עם מסמכים מזויפים חיה בסלובניה. כאנשי מיליציית אוסטאשה (Ustascha) 13 דפקו על דלתה התאבדה. אלה בעצם רק ביקשו לשאול לגבי הדרך.

סמואל רוזנשטיין ורעייתו ברחו להולנד עם שתי בנותיהם.

הוא ובני משפחתו נרצחו על ידי הנאצים.

יוזף רוזנשטיין היה סוכן ביטוח. גם הוא ברח ליוגוסלביה ונרצח על ידי אנשי אוסטאשה.

צילי הצליחה להגר לאוסטרליה דרך לונדון. היא נפטרה בשנת 1962. בתה פרלי נסאו (Fairlie Nassau) ילידת 1945 חיה במלבורן ולה שתי בנות בוגרות.

הדי פאהמר (Hedi Pahmer) לבית רוזנשטיין נישאה להונגרי והלכה בעקבותיו לבודפשט. השניים גורשו למחנה הריכוז ברגן בלזן ושרדו. לאחר המלחמה הגרה גם היא לאוסטרליה.

בנה של רוזה, צבי בר דוד או בשמו הקודם גיאורג רוזנשטיין מספר על אביו: "משפחת אבי התגוררה ברובע השלישי בווינה, באונטרן וייסגרברלנדה (Untern Wießgerberlände) הוא ביקר בבית הספר העממי ובבית הספר התיכון. ב-1916 גויס לצבא הקיסרות האוסטרו-הונגרית 14 והיה תותחן בחזית איטליה. בתום מלחמת העולם הראשונה עבד אצל אחיו מוריץ, שיחק כדורגל בקבוצת הכח וינה 15 ובילה שעות רבות עם חברים בבתי קפה. עד לבריחה להונגריה התגורר עם אמו, ואומרים שהיה הבן האהוב והמפונק. בתחילת השהות בהונגריה היה במחנה מעצר ולאחר פלישת גרמניה חי במסתור. במחנה התיידד עם בעלה הראשון של אמא. לאחר מותו של זה התקרבו השניים וכך באתי אני לעולם.

ב-1948 חזר אלפרד עם אמא, שאותה נשא לאשה ב-1947, ואתי לווינה. תחילה קיבלנו חדר בדירה באזור שהיה תחת שלטון רוסי. טיפין טיפין השתלטנו על הדירה כולה. במידה מועטה של הצלחה ניסה אבא להתקיים כסוכן נוסע. המצב הכלכלי השתפר רק לאחר שהחלו לקבל שילומים. אלפרד נפטר ב-1961 מסרטן בכבד.

את מי שלימים יהיה בעלי השני הכרתי במחנה. הוא היה גבר שרמנטי והנשים השתגעו עליו. תחילה בעלי עבר להתגורר אתי. ולא רק הוא, אליו הצטרף חבר, ואחר כך הגיעה גם אחיינית שלי מהונגריה. חברה ציידה אותה בתעודת לידה של נערה נוצרייה ובעזרתה הצליחה לברוח. יולה הייתה בחורה יפהפייה. חבר נוצרי של מחותני ידע את כתובתי בבודפשט. והיא באה אליי. בעלי חלק את יצועו עם חברו, והיא ישנה אתי במיטה אחת.

לימים היגרה יולה לאמריקה. היא הכירה אלמן שאשתו ובנם הקטן נספו. הוא התאהב בה ויחד נסעו לאיטליה. מרומא שלחה לי גלויה ובה כתבה שהם התחתנו ויחד יהגרו לאמריקה. נולדו לה ארבעה ילדים שתי בנות ושני בנים.

היה לנו מכר משותף שהיה אתנו במחנה, יהודי מיוגוסלביה. חודשים אחדים קודם לכן קנה לעצמו מסמכים מזויפים. במראהו נראה כמו עשרה יהודים. הוא שיחד את אב הבית של אחת הווילות ואנחנו, תשעה אנשים בחדר אחד, יכולנו להסתתר מפני הגירושים ההמוניים. האיש קיבל כסף, אותו אפשר היה לשחד. בסוף כשהכול כבר הסתיים, כשכבר רקדנו ברחובות, יצאו מן הווילה הסמוכה כ-60 איש, שאב הבית הסתיר במרתף הפחמים ובכל מקום, תמורת כסף ותכשיטים. לכן אני טוענת שבבודפשט אפשר היה להשיג הכול תמורת כסף.

הבחנתי שאני בהיריון. ואמרתי לעצמי או שיבוא הקץ עליי ועל הילד או שעלי לעשות משהו. ובעלי אמר: "את לא עושה כלום. אם נשרוד גם הילד ישרוד." הוא לא הרשה לי ואני בכל זאת הלכתי לרופא שהיה בגטו והוא אמר לי: "אני לא עושה שום דבר. את רוצה למות מזיהום?" לא היו לא מכשירים, שום כלום. ובעלי אמר: "לא בא בחשבון שתעשי משהו, אנחנו נינשא." בננו גיאורג נולד בבודפשט ב-27 ביוני 1945. עד שהתחתנו זה לקח עוד די הרבה זמן, גיאורג היה כבר בן שנה וחצי.

שכבנו בחדר מכורבלים במעילים, בחלונות לא היו זגוגיות ולפתע שמעתי קול קורא במגפון: "כאן הצבא הרוסי. בודפשט מחכה. אנחנו נשחרר אתכם. בודפשט מכותרת בגבעות, הרוסים נדרשו לימים רבים עד שהצליחו לחצות את הגבעות. "היעזרו בסבלונות, אנחנו נשחרר אתכם." בשלוש שפות, בגרמנית, בהונגרית וברוסית. ואנחנו חיכינו. וביום בהיר אחד, יום ראשון, ניצבתי מאחורי החלון, במקום שלטה דממת מוות וראיתי רוסי עם כובע פרווה ומקלע חוצה את הגינה. הסתובבתי ואמרתי: "יש כאן רוסי" ומישהו רץ לגינה וחיבק את הרוסי. וכשהאיש חזר, קראו לו שטיינר, לא היה לו שעון. אבל הוא אמר: "אין דבר!"

חברתי הסתתרה במקום אחר. היא הייתה צ'כית והסתתרה במרתף פחם. היא תמיד אמרה: "לסוס הרוסי הראשון שיבוא לקראתי, אנשק את התחת.

אחרי המלחמה

אחרי השחרור שוטטתי ברחובות בודפשט, נעמדתי על ידי גדר בית הכנסת וראיתי איך הרוסים קוברים את האנשים שמתו בגטו. ניצולים הורשו להוציא את הגופות של יקיריהם ולקבור אותם באופן אישי. טוני קרטיס 16, שחקן הקולנוע שהוא יהודי ממוצא הונגרי, הציב במקום פסל של עץ ערבי נחל [עץ החיים] מבהיק ביופיו. על עלי העץ אפשר לחרוט את שמות הנספים בגטו.

אני נשארתי בהונגריה, אמרתי שאחזור לווינה רק אחרי שתהיה לנו דירה משלנו. ובעלי אמר שגם אין אוכל, אין בשר או להבדיל רק בשר חזיר. בהונגריה היה לי טוב. אמרתי: "אני אהיה מוכנה לעזוב, כשתהייה לי דירה משלי וכשיהיה מספיק אוכל." והוא נדד בין וינה לבודפשט ותמיד זה היה 'עוד לא, עוד לא'.

לאחיותיו הייתה לפני המלחמה מסעדה שנקראה גריל אָם פטר אבל זו נלקחה מהן בתהליך האריזציה. בעלי רצה להגיש בקשה לקבלת שילומים, ולקבל בחזרה את הרכוש. המקום היה למעשה של אחותו הבכורה שנספתה. היא הקימה את המקום בשביל האחים והאחיות שלה שהיגרו לאחר מכן לאוסטרליה. הם שמסרו את המקום לידי הנאצים. הם קיבלו אישור שעבור המסעדה קיבלו 5000 מרקים, אישור שבעזרתו יכלו לצאת באופן לגאלי לאנגליה. אחת האחיות נישאה למישהו שאתו הגרה לאוסטרליה. אחות אחרת גורשה למחנה הריכוז ברגן ברלזן, היא סבלה מפציעה קשה אך שרדה. אחרי המלחמה היה עליה ללמוד מחדש ללכת. גם היא הגרה לאוסטרליה.

בעלי הגיש תביעה בבית המשפט, אז היו בתי משפט לענייני שילומים. ובכל ישיבה של בית המשפט ישבו רק שני שופטים. האשה הארית שקבלה את המסעדה נפטרה. בנה המשיך לנהל את המקום. בישיבה הראשונה הציעו לבעלי פיצויים בסך 35.000 שילינגים. עו"ד פיק, מי שלימים היה נשיא הקהילה היהודית ייצג אותנו במשפט. הוא היה חבר ללימודים של בעלי. בישיבה השנייה הוצעו 65.000 שילינגים. אז אמר עורך הדין לבעלי: "אם הוא הסכים לתת 65.000 הוא ייתן יותר". בישיבה השלישית נכחו שלושה שופטים. שניים טענו שיש להחזיר את העסק. בעלי כלל לא רצה את הכסף, הוא רצה את העסק, הוא רצה בסיס קיום בשבילנו. השופט השלישי טען שאי אפשר לשלול את הפרנסה מן הצעיר שמפעיל את העסק שכן לא אין יד ורגל בתהליך האריזיציה. זאת הייתה אז הגישה השלטת. הצעיר קיבל לידיו את העסק, משום ששלושת השופטים לא היו תמימי דעים. בעלי לא קיבל אף פרוטה בתמורה למקום.

לבעלי היה אישור שהוא נרדף מטעמי גזע. וינה הייתה מחולקת בין בנות הברית. ראש העיר ברובע שבו התגוררנו היה קומוניסטי, ובעזרת האישור קיבל בעלי קיבל את הדירה. בעצם לא רציתי לנסוע לאוסטריה, רציתי לנסוע לילדי והורי בישראל. אבל בעלי אמר שבמקצועו לא יוכל להתקיים בישראל. הוא היה איש עסקים ועבד בשביל חברת דלק גדולה של אחיו. הוא היה נציג מסחרי לתחום זה, זה לא היה מקצוע שאתו אפשר היה להתקיים בישראל. כדי להיות עצמאי היה צריך כסף. ומה היה עליו לעשות בגילו? כאמור הוא היה גדול ממני בעשר שנים, לא ממש צעיר. הוא רצה לחזור לאוסטריה כדי להגיש בקשה לשילומים, לקבל כסף על מנת שנוכל להגר לישראל.

אני נשארתי בווינה כי לא רציתי שילדיי או קרובי משפחתי ייאלצו לפרנס אותי. ב-1949 יחד עם בני נסעתי בפעם הראשונה לישראל. אז עוד נסעו באניה. כשקיבל בעלי את תשלום הפיצויים הראשון, 16.000 שילינגים אמר: "סעי לראות את ילדייך." בשביל שנינו הכסף לא הספיק.

הפלגתי חמישה ימים באניה. זה היה יפה. אמי עוד הייתה בחיים. הייתה לה דירת שניים וחצי חדרים יפה בתל אביב. לאחותי הייתה דירה יפהפייה ליד הים, ברחוב הירקון. לימים בנו באזור בתי מלון שהסתירו את הים.

בתי בסי כבר הייתה נשואה למר אהרוני והיה לה תינוק בן חמישה חודשים. היא נישאה בגיל 18 במהלך שירותה הצבאי בצה"ל. מאוחר יותר עבדה עשר שנים בעירייה וטיפלה בזקנים.

לילי שנישאה למר דריל באה לווינה לשנה. היא הייתה בת 18, זה היה ב-1951. בישראל ביקרה בבית הספר, אבל היא כמובן ידעה גרמנית. אמי מעולם לא הצליחה ללמוד עברית. את אבא כבר לא הספקתי לראות, זה היה נורא. לילי רצתה להיות מורה לילדים מוגבלים, לשם כך ביקרה בבית ספר בווינה.

בני עלה לישראל אחרי שעמד בבחינות הבגרות. זה היה זמן קצר לאחר שבעלי נפטר [1961] הוא חי בקיבוץ ולמד פסיכולוגיה. בישראל שינה את שמו לצבי בר דוד. הוא נישא לאילנה שגם משפחת אמא הגיעה מברלין, מ'שוינן-פירטל' (Scheunenviertel ) ולבני הזוג נולדו שתי בנות ובן. בגלל מחלת שרירים שבה לקה הבן [הנכד], בני אשתו בתו הצעירה נעמי ואופיר בן השלוש העתיקו את מגוריהם לווינה. הבת הבכורה נגה חיה בישראל ועובדת כאחות. נכדי סיים השנה את בבחינות הבגרות וזכה לציונים גבוהים וכיום הוא לומד באוניברסיטה הטכנית של ווינה.

לא הייתה לי סימפטיה לאוסטרים. תמיד ראיתי בהם נאצים. מתישהו בתחילת שנות החמישים הייתי חודשיים בישראל. כשחזרתי לווינה והלכתי לקנות לחם במאפייה שלי, שאלה אותי אשתו של האופה: "גברת רוזנשטיין איפה הייתה כל כך הרבה זמן?" ואני כמובן אמרתי בישראל. והיא פקחה עליי זוג עיניים ואמרה: "את יהודייה?, אבל את לא נראית?" ואני לא נשארתי חייבת: "למה גברת שוברט? יש לי קרניים על הראש?" והיא כמובן המשיכה: "חלילה וחס, לא. לא אמרתי כלום. היה לנו ספק אחד יהודי-הקמח וגם הוא היה אדם הגון." זה היה בתחילת שנות החמישים. זה לא ממש השתנה במהלך השנים. היידר (Haider) 17 ושטדלר ( (Stadler[אוולד, חבר מפלגת ה- FPÖמספקים לנו לא מעט הזדמנויות לחשוב על זה. וגם אם רוצים לשכוח, אי אפשר. שוב ושוב אנחנו חוטפים.

בגרמניה לא חשתי באנטישמיות. בבית המלאכה של אבא התבדחתי והתלוצצתי עם העובדים הנוצרים. רבים ידעו את החגים שלנו. אחרי המלחמה בעדיפות ראשונה הייתי חוזרת לברלין. אני חושבת שבעלי היה שמח להצטרף אלי. אבל זה היה בלתי אפשרי. ואז הוא חלה ועולמנו חרב. הוא חלה בסרטן. הוא נפטר ב-1961, בן 63.

אני כבר לא רציתי להינשא מחדש. הציעו לי ומישהו אפילו התקשר, זה היה חבר של בעלי. זה היה בדיוק שנתיים אחרי שבעלי נפטר, לקראת חג המולד, בני משפחתי גרו כאן והילדים עוד היו קטנים. זה לא עניין אותי. היו לי רק שני גברים בחיי, ואני יודעת ששניהם אהבו אותי. לא שדכו לי אותם, פשוט הכרתי אותם, כמו שאני. בעלי הראשון חיזר אחרי במשך שנה שלמה.

הייתי עם אחותי בברלין, עוד כשהעיר הייתה מחולקת למזרח ולמערב. היה לנו מכר שהתגורר בחלק המערבי של העיר, מישהו שהכרנו מנעורינו, סאלי בנם של השכנים, ורצינו לנסוע למזרח, לחלק של העיר שבו נולדנו. צריך היה להמיר 25 מרקים למרקים של מזרח גרמניה. והוא אמר: "לא, חלילה וחס, מי יודע מה יקרה לכן, אולי יעשו לכם צרות." והוא הצליח להניא אותנו מרצוננו. לימים הייתי עם נכדתי בברלין המזרחית. לא הלכתי לבקר בבית שבו גרנו, את זה לא יכולתי.

מילון מונחים

1 שומרי שבת

מקורם בכת שומרי השבת שהשתייכה במאה ה-16 לכנסייה האוניטרית של טרנסילבניה ובמחצית הראשונה של המאה ה-17 אימצה לעצמה רבים ממנהגי היהדות. בתנ"ך ראו אנשיה את כתבי הקודש שלהם. את יום ראשון, היום המקודש לנוצרים המירו ביום השבת. המחאה נגד ה'דת החדשה' הייתה חריפה, בעיקר מחוגי הכנסייה הקאתולית.

2 השומר הצעיר

תנועת הנוער הציונית הראשונה, הוקמה ב-1916 בווינה על ידי איחוד שתי תנועות נוער יהודיות. ההגירה לפלשתינה והקמת קיבוצים היו היעדים המרכזיים שהציבה לעצמה התנועה. ב-1936 הקימו הקבוצות הפועלות בפלשתינה את מפלגת הליגה הסוציאליסטית שב-1948 הייתה יחד עם אחדות העבודה למפ"ם (מפלגת הפועלים המאוחדת).

3 הבוּנד

הבונד נוסד ב-1897 בכינוס בווילנה על ידי איחוד האגודות הסוציאליסטיות היהודיות, בסמיכות זמנים להתכנסות הקונגרס הציוני הראשון בבאזל. הודות לפעילות הנמרצת של חבריו, עד מהרה זכה הבונד לפרסום ולהצלחה בייחוד בליטא, בפולין וברוסיה. תחת שלטונו של סטאלין התפרקו קבוצות הבונדיסטים וחלק מן החברים הצטרפו לשורות המפלגה הקומוניסטית, המפלגה המותרת היחידה. לבונד הפולני שרשאי היה להמשיך בפעילותו הייתה השפעה ניכרת על האיגודים המקצועיים והפעילות התרבותית במדינה ואפילו רכש לעצמו תפקיד מרכזי בחיים הפוליטיים בפולין. הבונדיסטים תמכו בקיום אוטונומיה לאומית-תרבותית ולחמו להכרת שפת היידיש כשפה לאומית.

4 המשרד הארצישראלי

הזרוע המבצעת של הסוכנות היהודית בגרמניה שעסקה אך ורק בהגירה של האוכלוסייה היהודית לפלשתינה. המשרד דאג להשגת האשרות ולאמצעי התחבורה של המהגרים. אחרי ליל הבדולח בנובמבר 1938 הוחמרו אמצעי הפיקוח על פעילות המשרד, אבל הוא המשיך לעבוד באופן עצמאי עד 1941.

5 ויצ"ו

או WIZO קיצור Womens International Zionist Organization , ארגון בינלאומי של נשים יהודיות.

6 חיים וייצמן (1952-1874)

מדען נשיא ההסתדרות הציונית העולמית והנשיא הראשון של מדינת ישראל. נולד ברוסיה הלבנה; ב-1892 יצא לגרמניה ולמד כימיה באוניברסיטאות של דרמשטט וברלין; ב-1901 התמנה לפרופסור באוניברסיטת ג'נבה ושלוש שנים לאחר מכן זכה למשרת הוראה באוניברסיטת מנצ'סטר ועקר לבריטניה. הוא תמך ברעיונו של הרצל לשיתוף היהודים בקונגרס הציוני הראשון; בקונגרס השמיני שהתקיים ב-1907 התקבלה הצעתו בדבר 'ציונות סינתטית' – שילוב הפעילות פוליטית בהתיישבות המעשית בפלשתינה. ב-1920 נבחר לשמש כנשיא ההסתדרות הציונית העולמית משרה בה כיהן עד 1931. מ-1946-1935 שימש בתקופת נשיאות שנייה. כעבור שלוש שנים נבחר על ידי האסיפה המכוננת לנשיאה הראשון של מדינת ישראל. למרות שסבל ממחלה קשה נבחר ב-1951 לתקופת כהונה שנייה; שנה לאחר מכן נפטר בביתו ברחובות.

7 מקס נורדאו

(בשמו המקורי שמעון מקסימיליאן זידפלד) [1923-1849]: שותף לכינון ההסתדרות הציונית העולמית, הוגה דעות, סופר, נואם ורופא. ב-1895 התוודע נורדאו לרעיון הקמת המדינה היהודית שהגה תיאודור הרצל, אימץ אותו בהתלהבות ושימש כמשנה לנשיא ונשיא של קונגרסים ציוניים רבים. נורדאו היה חסיד הציונות המדינית וחשב שיש להביא לארץ ישראל רבים מיהודי הגולה, כדי לזכות- גם בדרך זו – בעצמאות פוליטית. רעיון שנדחה על ידי מנהיגים ציוניים אחרים בטענה שאינו מציאותי. מקס נורדאו נפטר בפריז בשנת 1923; עצמותיו הועלו ארצה ב-1926 והובאו לקבורה בבית הקברות טרומפלדור בתל-אביב.

8 דוד בן גוריון (בשמו המקורי דוד גרין) [1973-1886]

פוליטיקאי וראש הממשלה הראשון של מדינת ישראל. נולד בפלונסק שבפולין וב-1906 עלה לארץ ישראל. מ-1910 עבד יחד עם יצחק בן צבי [נשיאה השני של מדינת ישראל] כעורך העיתון של תא פועלי ציון, האחדות.
ב-1912 החל בלימודי משפטים באוניברסיטת קושטא, משם סולק במרץ 1915 ויצא לניו יורק. לאחר מלחמת העולם הראשונה היה שותף לייסוד ההסתדרות הכללית של העובדים והיה למזכירה הראשון. מ-1930עד 1963 היה יושב ראש מפלגת מפא"י [מפלגת פועלי ארץ ישראל]. ב-1948 הכריז על עצמאות ישראל ועמד בראש ממשלתה עד 1953. לאחר מכן שימש כשר הבטחון. היה לו חלק נכבד בנצחון ישראל על מדינות ערב בשתי המלחמות הראשונות שניהל צה"ל. בין השנים 1963-1955 שב לכהן כראש ממשלת ישראל. ב-1970 פרש מן הפוליטיקה וקבע את מגוריו בקיבוץ שדה בוקר שבנגב. בן גוריון נפטר ב-1 בדצמבר 1973.

9 דווייט, דיויד איזנהאואר [1969-1860]

גנרל אמריקאי, מדינאי והנשיא ה-34 של ארה"ב. במהלך מלחמת העולם השנייה היה מפקד אדריכל ומפקד פלישת בעלות הברית לאירופה והמפקד העליון של כוחות בעלות-הברית המערביות ביבשת. מלונדון ניהל ופיקד על הכוחות הפעילים באפריקה ובאירופה. ב-7 במאי 1945, במפקדה של איזנהאואר חתמה גרמניה על מכתב הכניעה. בתום המלחמה התמנה איזנהאואר לרמטכ"ל של צבא ארה"ב ובין השנים 1952-1950 שימש גם כמפקד העליון של כוחות נאט"ו. ב-1952 זכה בבחירות לנשיאות ארה"ב. ב-1953 הצליח להשיג הפסקת אש במלחמת קוריאה וב-1956, יחד עם ברית המועצות להביא לסיום מבצע סיני. באותה שנה נבחר לתקופת נשיאות נוספת בארה"ב וב-1961 העביר את השלטון לג'ון פ. קנדי ופרש לחווה שלו בגטיסבורג. איזנהאואר נפטר ב-28 במרץ 1969 בוושינגטון.

10 ליל הבדולח או פוגרום נובמבר

כינוי לפוגרום הספונטני שנערך ברחבי גרמניה ביוזמת ובהוראת גבלס בלילה שבין ה-8 ל-9 בנובמבר 1938. במהלך ליל הבדולח נרצחו 91 יהודים, כמעט כל בתי הכנסת בגרמניה ו-7000 חנויות יהודיות הועלו באש, ניזוקו ונבזזו, יהודים הותקפו בבתיהם, הושפלו, נעצרו ונרצחו.

11 אוטו אדולף אייכמן [1962-1906]

אס. אס. אובר-שטורמבנפיהרר (Obersturmbannführer), מי שעמד בראש ארגון גירוש היהודים מגרמניה והארצות הכבושות על ידה. אחרי האנשלוס של אוסטריה ב-1938, הקים בווינה את הלשכה המרכזית להגירת היהודית שבאמצעותה כפה את גירוש יהודי אוסטריה. ב-1941 היה אייכמן אחראי לארגון הגירוש של יהודי גרמניה וארצות הכיבוש ואחד האחראים לרצח ששת מיליון היהודים. ב-1960 נתפס על ידי סוכני המוסד הישראלי בארגנטינה והובא למשפט באשמת ביצוע פשעים נגד העם היהודי. נגזר עליו גזר דין מוות והוא הוצא להורג בלילה שבין ה-31 במאי ל-1 ביוני 1962.

12 אנשלוס

סיפוח אוסטריה לרייך הגרמני. זמן קצר לאחר התפטרות הקנצלר האוסטרי שושניג (Schuschnigg) ב-11 במרץ 1938 תפסו הנאצים את כל המשרדים החשובים. ב-12 במרץ פלשו גדודי גרמניה לאוסטריה. למחרת ב-13 אושר האנשלוס במשאל עם והאיחוד המחודש בין אוסטריה לגרמניה היה מהלכה למעשה.

13 אוסטאשה (Ustascha)

תנועה לאומנית קרואטית, שהוקמה ב-1929 על ידי אנטה איוון פאווליץ' (Ivan Pavelic) נגד הריכוזיות של סרביה ולמען עצמאות קרואטיה. באפריל 1941, לאחר הקמת המדינה הקרואטית העצמאית, בחסות גרמניה הנאצית ואיטליה הפשיסטית הפעילו חברי הארגון טרור עקוב מדם ברחבי המדינה. אחרי קריסת קרואטיה ב-1945 יצא פאווליץ' לגלות. השנאה האצורה לאוסטאשה הובילה למעשי נקם של הצ'טיניקים הסרבים עוד במהלך מלחמת האזרחים בשנות ה-90.

14 צבא K

U.K [הצבא הקיסרי והמלכותי]: קיצור שבא להצביע על פי רוב על הצבא האוסטרו-הונגרי, שהיה מורכב מלאומים שונים, ערב רב של כלי נשק ואינטרסים.

15 הכוח

הכוח וינה הייתה אגודת ספורט יהודית שנוסדה בשנת 1909. השם העברי בא לסמל את אופייה של האגודה. לפרסום רב זכתה קבוצת הכדורגל של האגודה שזכתה באליפות אוסטריה ב-1925. באגודה היו חברים גם מתאבקים, שחיינים, שחקני כדור-מים שזכו בתארים אולימפיים עבור אוסטריה.

אחרי האנשלוס ב-1938 הולאמו מגרשי האגודה ואולמות הספורט שלה ונאסר על קיומה.

16 טוני קרטיס (נולד כברנרד שוורץ)

שחקן קולנוע אמריקני ממוצא יהודי הונגרי.

17 ירג היידר

פוליטיקאי אוסטרי שבכינוס המפלגה בספטמבר 1986 באינסברוק הדיח את יושב הראש של מפלגת ה-FPÖ [המפלגה האוסטרית העצמאית] נורברט שטגר. ב-1989 יחד עם קולות ה-ÖVP היה למושל מדינת המחוז קורינתיה. כעבור שלוש שנים סולק מתפקידו בעקבות הצהרה בדבר מדיניות התעסוקה היסודית ברייך השלישי. ב-1993 ארגן משאל עם בנושא הזרים שנחל מפלה כבדה. בבחירות למועצה הלאומית של 1999, לראשונה מאז כינונה הייתה ה-FÖP למפלגה השנייה בגודלה באוסטריה.

Rosa Rosenstein

Hochzeitfoto von Rosa Rosenstein und Maximilian Weisz

Rosa Rosenstein
Vienna
Austria
Interviewer: Tanja Eckstein
Date of interview: July 2002

I met Rosa Rosenstein in the summer of 2002. I was very excited about interviewing her, as it doesn’t happen very often that I meet respondents of such an admirable age – after all, she was already 94 years old then, so almost a century old – and who, on top of that, came from Berlin, my hometown. Her Berlin dialect was unmistakable and after a short time we became close friends. Since she had trouble walking and had poor eyesight, I repeatedly went into the room adjoining the living-room to fetch her cigarettes and an ashtray. Sometimes, after she had opened the door for me, she wasn’t able to walk back into the living-room, and so we sat close together on a small bench in the long corridor, directly in front of the door to her apartment, and she would tell me stories of her life, funny ones and sad ones. I loved her stories and never grew tired of visiting her over and over again. Her incredibly lively way of story-telling, creating images out of sentences, will probably remain a unique experience in my activity as an interviewer.

Rosa Rosenstein passed away in February 2005.

I didn’t know my great-grandparents. My grandparents and my parents were born in Galicia 1.

My family on my father’s side was called Braw. The only Braws that exist, down to the present day, are part of my family. There is Brav with a ‘v’ and there is Braf with an ‘f,’ but we write our name with a ‘w.’ My brother has done some research and says that the name comes from the Hebrew expression ‘biraw,’ which means ‘son of the rabbi,’ ‘raw’ standing for rabbi.

I never met my paternal grandparents because my grandmother, Rivka Finder, nee Braw, died before I was born. I was named after her, Rosa in German and Rivka in Yiddish. I never met my grandfather, Zwi Finder, either. Allegedly, he married a young woman after the death of his first wife, who died of cancer at the age of 54, and moved away, so my father had no contact with his father at all. Before she died, my grandmother had my father promise to take care of his younger siblings.

My father, Jakob Braw, was born on 6th June 1881 in Gorlice, near Tarnow [both in Poland today]. He had six siblings: Gitl, Chana, Gusta, Zilli, Reisl and Nathan.

Gitl died before World War II.

Chana, whose married name was Federman, had three children. They were all killed during the Holocaust.

Gusta, whose married name was Eberstark, had six children. They were all killed, too.

Zilli went to Berlin where she met a certain Mr. Weinhaus, and in 1914 she moved to America with him. They got married on board the ship. In New York they owned a poultry store together with her sister Reisl and her husband. Zilli lived to the age of 104.

Reisl and her husband moved to Berlin from Galicia. He was a baker and his name was Wind. Their son, Josef, was born in Berlin. In 1915 they immigrated to New York via Mexico. She died in New York.

Nathan went to Berlin and was full of the joys of life. He caught a cold and died of pneumonia at the age of 26. He was buried in the cemetery in Weißensee [a district of Berlin].

My grandfather on my mother’s side, Angel Arthur Goldstein, was born in the vicinity of Cracow [today Poland]. He was the manager of an estate. Back then, Jews owned estates. The owner of this estate lived in Cracow and my grandfather managed his estate in the vicinity of Cracow. I remember that we had a picture of my grandfather at home, showing him with his long white beard and wearing a kippah.

My grandmother, Bacze Goldstein, nee Schiff, was born in 1850. She had two wigs, which I always had to take to Grenadierstrasse [in Berlin] for combing.

My mother, Golda Braw, nee Goldstein, was born in Tarnow on 1st August 1884. She was the only daughter and had seven brothers: Jonas, Heinrich, Adolf, Hermann, Ignatz, Janik and Nuchem. Her older brothers lived in Berlin.

Uncle Jonas, Joine in Yiddish, had a piano store in Berlin. His first wife died of the Spanish flu. He left Berlin with his second wife, Hella, and their children, Reuben and Dorit, after Hitler’s rise to power in the 1930s 2 and immigrated to Palestine. Dorit first lived in a kibbutz. Her brother Reuben left the kibbutz in the late 1950s and resumed his studies, which had been interrupted by their immigration to Palestine. He became a professor of modern philosophy at the University of Tel Aviv. He got married to Nelly; they didn’t have any children.

Dorit and her husband, Jakob Ross, who was also from Berlin, moved to the Moschaw Atarot kibbutz, north of Jerusalem, along with Uncle Joine and Aunt Hella. The kibbutz was vacated during the War of Independence [in 1948] and the members were resettled in the deserted Templar village Wilhelmina [ca. 20km east of Tel Aviv]. Dorit and Jakob have three sons, Ilan, Gad and Ehud, who have children, and partly grandchildren themselves. Joine died in the 1950s, Hella in the 1980s. Jakob passed away a few years ago, Dorit a couple of weeks ago.

Adolf owned a newspaper kiosk. Adolf, his brother Heinrich and their wives moved from Berlin to Canada. The former only had one daughter, the latter had two daughters.

Hermann was a very handsome man. He worked in Berlin in my father’s tailor’s shop and got married to Mizzi, who was a Catholic and converted to Judaism. In 1926 they immigrated to Canada, where he died young.

Ignatz was my father’s [business] partner at first and then became the manager of an estate in Poland. He was married to Barczszinska, whom they called Bronka. They didn’t have any children. Bronka survived the war by hiding in a monastery. Ignatz was killed during his escape to Budapest.

Jannik was taken prisoner during World War I and was sent to Siberia.

Nuchem was the youngest of the siblings. He was an ensign. He was a rank higher than a common soldier from the very beginning, but died during a gas attack instigated by the other side and spent a long time in hospital. He later got married in Galicia.

I only remember my maternal grandparents from the time I was approximately five or six years old. They lived in the western part of Galicia, which was part of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy then, and only became part of Poland in 1922. A large part of what is Poland today belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy.

In 1913 we went to visit our grandparents in Galicia with our mother from Berlin. We got these beautiful coats, shepherd’s check coats, and little white hats with cherries dangling from them.

Our grandparents never came to visit us in Berlin. My grandfather died of a heat stroke in 1913 – he was in the field to supervise the harvest. After that, my grandmother was on her own, so my mother took her to Berlin and she lived with us. My mother’s brothers came to Berlin when they wanted to see their mother. And in this way, we still got delicious food because one of them was stationed in Romania during World War I, where they still had everything. He brought us rucksacks full of flour and rice.

My father was a tailor and worked from home. In later years we had a men’s wear wholesale and retail store. My father wasn’t drafted into the army; he was given his medicals four times during World War I, but was deferred every single time because he had horrible varicose veins. And that made him fortunate. He was at home and could take care of us. He drove to the farmers and got food for us, so we wouldn’t starve. He also resoled our shoes. My mother was good at everything, too. We never went hungry. When food became more scarce we ate swedes. The whole house stank of it. The jam was also made from swedes and so was the bread.

My mother was engaged to my father for a very long time. It was an arranged marriage. They were distantly related. My parents got married in Galicia on 7th February 1907. I was born ten months later, on 25th December 1907, in Berlin. The name on my birth certificate is still Rosa Goldstein, after my mother. My parents first had a Jewish wedding. At some time, they had to get married again in a registry office, because otherwise the marriage wouldn’t have been acknowledged. Afterward, a note on my birth certificate said: ‘Jakob Braw acknowledges Rosa Goldstein as his daughter and she bears the name of the father.’ I still have this birth certificate.

My sister Betty came next; she was born in 1909. Erna, born in 1911, was the third, and Cilly, born in 1913, was the youngest sister. My brother Arthur, Anschel in Yiddish, was the youngest. He was born in 1915, during World War I. We still call him Anschi. He and his wife only recently came to visit me

All of us five siblings are very close. Every one of us has a different character, but we were never cross at one another. Sure, we all had different opinions, but we never really had a row with each other. And that only happens in few families.

My parents were foreigners in Germany. I was never German either. I’ve had three nationalities, but I was never German. First, I was Austrian. At the time I was born in Berlin, I was Austrian. I was born in 1907, but Poland was only founded in 1922. So then I was Polish, as a dependant of my parents, as I was still a minor. Then I married a Hungarian, so I became Hungarian, and after the war I married an Austrian, so I was Austrian again.

My mother cooked kosher. There were only Jewish shops on Grenadierstrasse in Berlin. There was the kosher butcher Sussmann; there were poultry stores, where everything was kosher. This was where you went shopping. In our home everything was kosher. Blue, for example, was for dairy products, for those we had blue-checkered tea-towels. And the red-checkered ones were for meat products. We also had separate dishes for meat and dairy products and they were also washed separately. The table-cloths were extra, red for everyday use, on other occasions white ones were used. That was a very beautiful thing in our home.

The Pesach dishes were stored away in a huge suitcase stored in the attic that had a drop-down ceiling. It was a festive act when we brought them down. Also, my mother bought geese and fried the fat out in the Pesach dishes, so we could have goose dripping. The goose liver at Pesach was delicious!

My parents went to Jewish prayer houses; one was called ‘Ahavat Zedek,’ the other one ‘Ahavat Chaim.’ The prayer houses were located in some large backyard.

In Berlin, we lived in a large four-room apartment on Templiner Strasse. The toilet was inside the apartment and we also had a bathroom. It was a very primitive bathroom, but it had a bath-tub and a large stove, which was heated with wood, so we could have hot water for a bath.

We four sisters shared a room. It was small and there was a window in the corner. There were two beds on each side and a large chest of drawers with a mirror stood next to the door. Each girl had her own drawer for underwear, another drawer for all kinds of stuff, and on top of that we had a cupboard for our clothes.

We always got new clothes for the high holidays, at Pesach and Rosh Hashanah. At the latter, we always got winter things. Those were beige coats, ready-made. Of course, I immediately tore the side. It was then sowed and darned, but nonetheless it looked shabby after a while. Then we got new coats again, but at that time I already wore my sister’s old one, as mine wasn’t in good shape any more. I didn’t care about clothes at all. My mother scolded me. She told me, ‘Rosa, couldn’t you stand in front of the mirror for at least five more minutes?’ My mother always said, ‘You ought to have been a boy. How can one tear one’s clothes like this?’

I always got clothes at the same time as my sister. Her things hung in the cupboard for half a year and any time she took something out, she asked me, ‘Well, how do you like this?’, and then hung it back. When she started wearing her things, mine were already gone – cleaning rags. I didn’t pay attention to what my hair looked like or to what I wore. The main thing was that the skirt was wide enough and the shoes didn’t pinch, so I could run around comfortably.

I only started going to the hairdresser when I had my hair bobbed, and did that only because of the work in my father’s store. Before that, we had long plaits; our hair was plaited early in the morning before we went to school. My father prepared our breakfast, which we took along to school. Since my mother helped my father in the store, he wanted her to rest. So we went to her bedside and she plaited our hair.

My brother slept on a divan in the little room facing the street. There was also a desk in his room and a large armchair stood next to the tiled stove. Back then everyone had a tiled stove. We heated it ourselves in winter.

We only had a maid when we were little, as my mother helped our father in his tailor’s shop. One of the maids was called Elsa, the other one Emma. Both were from Pomerania. The maid lived with us, but we only put up a bed for her. Back then things were primitive. The girls came from the country and were happy to make a living. Emma was a Sabbatarian 3, she only went to Jews. Sabbath was her holiday, she worked on Sundays. Sabbatarians – that was a sect – didn’t eat pork either.

I went to a Jewish girls’ school, today they call it Higher Education Facility for Girls. French was compulsory, while English was an optional subject. Of course, I was too lazy to study English, so I only learned French. Back then there was no nursery school. You started in the ninth grade and it went up to the first grade. The ninth grade was what is today’s first grade, and the first grade was what is today’s last. It was called lyceum.

I had no contact whatsoever with Christians. My parents didn’t either, only business-wise, but privately, they didn’t. However, I did have a Christian girlfriend when I was young; she lived in the same building, and I went along when she went to confession.

For three hours, three times a week, we studied Bible history and learned to read Hebrew with Dr. Selbiger – that was the name of the teacher. We only learned to print; we didn’t learn cursive writing. I knew all the prayers, as I had to pray. My grandmother kept an eye on me in that respect. In the early morning we said the ‘Modim anachnu lo,’ and in the evening the ‘El Male Rachamim,’ that was the evening prayer.

My sisters went to the same school. I then had to leave school, I was told what to do. It was decided how long I was allowed to go to school and then I had to switch to business academy because my father needed me in the shop. At first I had to do some kind of practical training in another company. We had a Jewish secretary, and when she got married I took over her job. We also had a men’s wear retail store. I was in the company where they did the sewing, while my sister Betty, who finished the same business academy as me, worked in the retail store.

At this business academy you had to learn everything in half a year: typewriting, stenography, accounting, and all that at a great speed. I had class-mates who were 20 years old, while I was only 15, but I was much better than the others. My mother never went to school to enquire about my studies. There weren’t any complaints.

I got 100 marks in pocket-money for the work in my father’s store. I wasn’t even registered with the health insurance scheme. If I had been, today I would get another pension from Germany. My sister Betty, on the other hand, worked in the public prosecutor’s office and gets a great pension from Germany.

We always had Zionist leanings 4. My brother, for example, was a member of a Zionist-socialist organization from the age of 14 and wore those blue shirts that they had.

All my siblings were in Jewish organizations with Zionist tendencies. There were German Jews who said, ‘For God’s sake, this is no place for us, our home is Germany.’ But for us, it was different, after all we were Poles. I was in the Jewish sports club Bar Kochba. It was a Jewish association, half sports, half entertainment. In the summer we trained in Grunewald, doing track and field athletics, in the winter we were in the gymnasium. I was afraid of climbing the pole or balancing on the parallel bars, but I enjoyed other games such as dodge ball and medicine ball.

I made friends through these Jewish organizations, including boys. For example, we made a trip to the countryside at Whitsun. There was a train to Frankfurt on the Oder; this was third or fourth class, and you’d sit on the floor on top of your rucksack and had a blanket to lie on. We took the night train, which was exciting. We then slept by a lakeside, both girls and boys. Some nights we spent in some farmers’ haylofts. I had this good friend, Martha, who was always by my side.

As you know, Berlin has wonderful lakes. On Wednesday we always went out in paddleboats, and we also went canoeing. I couldn’t swim, but we went rowing. I started learning swimming three times, but gave up after the third time. When I tried for the first time, the swimming instructor held me on a fishing-rod and I had to do the movements. The second time, I got a board and I had to push that board ahead of me. In the end, the instructor said, ‘And now without the board.’ That I didn’t do. I was a coward. I was afraid, I do admit, but such is life.

During the summer my parents rented a summer apartment. When we were still small, we spent our first summer vacation in Fichtenau by a lakeside. We took beds and dishes with us. My father came to join us on weekends. He was working while we spent the time with our mother. Mother cooked, and we – just like at home – ate noodle soup.

We had everything, you know. We had delicious food, bought the very best; we used to roast geese. Sometimes I swapped sandwiches with the children at school, so I could have bread with lard instead of my buttered bread with cheese. We didn’t lack anything.

My father did everything for his daughters. My sister always says, ‘Whatever do you want? You were always Dad’s darling.’ My father was a good person. He was there solely for his wife and children. My father didn’t smoke, my father didn’t drink. The only thing he did was: In the early morning, before he went to the workshop, he had a sip of slivovitz. A little glass of slivovitz for breakfast. Sometimes, when my mother asked, ‘Tell me, Jakob, what do you want for lunch,’ he said, ‘You know what, I’ll just have some rice pudding with sugar and cinnamon. That’s the best.’ That was my father. While we, of course, had to have smoked briskets of beef, bought at Sussman’s on Grenadierstrasse! It was the same story with clothes. When my mother told him, ‘Jakob, you desperately need new shoes, you desperately need a new suit,’ his reply was ‘No.’ But whatever I asked for, I always got.

My father adored my mother. She was a bookworm just like me. She only went to school for a year in Galicia, while her seven brothers all studied. Grandfather always said it was enough for a girl to be able to write her name and know how to bake bread and make butter. They were from the countryside after all, so that was enough. My mother taught herself how to read and write. She told me that the first thing she bought when she came to Berlin – later, she also worked in Berlin – was Grillparzer. A whole series of books by Grillparzer. [Grillparzer, Franz (1791-1872): Austrian dramatist, best known for his works ‘The Golden Fleece,’ ‘King Ottocar’s Success and Downfall,’ ‘The Jewess of Toledo’ and ‘A Fraternal Struggle in the House of Habsburg.’]

We had a real library at home. There were four daughters, and there was this one worker, an elderly man, who always said: ‘Of the five women in the Braw family, the mother is the brightest and most beautiful. When we immigrated after Hitler’s rise to power, my heart bled, because we had to leave all our books behind.

I lived at home until my wedding day. My first husband was also a tailor, but above all he was a Hungarian. Oh, he certainly was a handsome young man! I was working at my father’s, in a factory building with large windows. My desk stood at the window. On the opposite side there was a men’s ready-made clothes factory, and there was this good-looking man sitting at the sewing-machine. We kept smiling at each other. I didn’t know who he was; he didn’t know who I was. One day a messenger came up – back then traders went from shop to shop – with a big box filled with candies and said, ‘This is from the young man across the way.’ That’s how it all started. I accepted the gift, of course, and said thank you.

I was not yet 18, but I was happy, and why not? But I always worked long hours. If you work in your father’s shop you can’t just finish work at 5pm. My mother always phoned my father, asking, ‘When are you going to send the girl home?’ In the workshop, I had to sew on buttons, help prepare things for dispatch, accompany the domestic servant to the train station when parcels were being sent by train. I had to do all that.

We made and sold men’s ready-made clothes ourselves. For a while, we had our own retail stores: one was on Hermannstrasse in Neukölln, the other one on the corner of Neue Friedrichstrasse and Klosterstrasse. Back then many people bought on tick, paying in installments since they were poor. A suit, for example, cost 35 marks. So a file card was made showing an amount of 10 marks and this sum was cashed. My sister did that. There were only few Jews among the clientele in the retail store, but there were many Jews in the wholesale store, who bought entire suits. Those were people from the provinces. Parcels were sent to Essen, Düsseldorf, Duisburg. We also had a traveling salesman who had swatches and samples of material.

One day I went home earlier. I had been in the shop on the corner of Neue Friedrichstrasse and Klosterstrasse and walked via Hackische Markt to a large bookstore on Rosenthalerstrasse. I was looking at the books. I bought books, I borrowed books and I read books in libraries – only books. So I’m standing there, looking at the books and all of a sudden I hear a voice behind me, slowly saying, ‘Isn’t that beautiful?’ I turned around, and there he stood. He had the same route home as me; he was living with his sister. He asked if he could walk me home since he was going the same way. So I said, ‘If you please.’ On the way, it turned out that he was the nephew of the owner of the place where he worked, while I was the daughter of the owner of the place across the way. He had thought that I was an employee, and I had thought he was a simple worker. His name was Maximilian Weisz, we called him Michi. He was born on 30th November 1904 in Nitra. That’s how it started.

After that he sometimes accompanied me on my way, and then he started inviting me. That was always on a Saturday evening; one didn’t have time during the week, of course. Our meeting place was at the underground station on the corner of Schönhauser Allee and Schwedterstrasse. I dressed, got ready, and I also went to the hairdresser’s – I always went to the hairdresser’s on Saturday after I started working in my father’s store. My parents knew that I had a rendezvous and my mother told me, ‘Come on, hurry now, you’re going to be far too late.’ And I replied, ‘If he’s really interested, he will wait.’ So I went down to the underground station, and there was no one there. I thought, ‘Well, I’m late.’ Then, after five minutes or so, I saw him come running, completely out of breath. What happened? Well, I apologized for being late. He, however, thought that I was waiting at the other station, so he had run to the next station and back.

Next to the zoo, there was a restaurant called ‘Schottenhamel,’ a very elegant restaurant. He said he hadn’t had dinner yet, so we took the underground to Willhelmstrasse stop, I think it was, somewhere up there at the Linden. We went into the restaurant and it was very elegant, but I was kosher. He ordered a meat platter, while I had coffee and cake, as I didn’t eat treyf food. I had told him that I was kosher, but I didn’t know any kosher restaurants, as my parents never went to restaurants. Afterwards they played music in that restaurant.

I got three really beautiful dresses during my engagement: a black satin dress with white satin insets, a white-blue crêpe de Chine dress and a dark-blue and Bordeaux dress. After all, I couldn’t possibly go out with him in the rags I had. These three dresses were made in an elegant dressmaker’s store.

My family accepted my fiancé as a son. He was hard-working and so was I. We only went out on the weekends. Some seven or eight months passed. My parents didn’t approve of it and said that they wouldn’t allow me to hang out like this, that I would get a bad reputation. This was at the time of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and my parents were in the temple and so was I. Of course, we didn’t work on the holidays.

Maximilian didn’t work either, because his uncle was Jewish and no one in the company was working. He came to the temple to see me: The youth always gathered there, we were standing around chatting with friends. There, my parents invited him for tea at Rosh Hashanah. Two of my mother’s brothers and their wives were also there. So we were sitting there and suddenly my father said, ‘Let’s go to the room next-door.’ Then my uncles and father asked Michi to join them. I thought, ‘What’s going on here?’ After a while, they came out laughing; Michi was beaming, and then I was told that they had asked him what his intentions were because they didn’t agree with dragging things on, as I would only get a bad reputation. Well, he told them that he intended to marry me. And that was the end of the story. And I was very upset that they’d done this.

I had enough admirers. For example, there was this relative from Poland who wanted to marry me. He was eight years older than me. When he was in Berlin for the last time I was 14. When he left, I was 15. Sometimes he took me to a circus show, sometimes to an afternoon performance of an operetta. His father had a butcher’s and was a horse trader in Oswieczim [Auschwitz, Poland], as was usual for Jews in the province. He had to return home because he was the only son. When he said goodbye, he told me, ‘Rosa, when you are 18, I will marry you.’ And I, always having had a big mouth, replied, ‘Sure you will.’

One day, I received a letter, which, however, was addressed to my father. He asked me if I remembered, now was the time, I was 18 years old. I was so proud of this letter. I wrote back to him, saying that I had received his proposal, but that three years had passed, we both had changed, looked different, etc. He replied, asking me to send him my picture and he also sent me his. I sent him a passport picture on which my hair is standing in all directions. And he replied that one couldn’t see much on that picture, so I wrote to him, ‘If you are interested, why don’t you come to Berlin?’ I wasn’t attracted to him at all, but it made me proud and I was realistic: He was a good match. I was very sober back then, I had no fantasy whatsoever.

Then the reply came: He wouldn’t be able to come, he didn’t have a passport; I should come instead. I was about to organize myself a passport, when my mother interfered, ‘Rosa,’ she said to me, ‘Think about this. You, a girl from Berlin, with your intelligence. Do you seriously want to marry a Pole?’ At that time it was Poland already. ‘You don’t know a single word of Polish. Do you really want to live in a small town and work in a butcher’s?’

I didn’t write to him any more. Besides, I was in love with Sammy, a friend from my youth. We lived in the same building. I met him when I was ten or eleven and he was four years older. Back then he was always strutting past me, while I was still playing with dolls. When I was almost 18, he was in love with me, too. Whenever he got a chance, he grabbed and kissed me. Once we were on summer vacation. I was there with my brother, who was still little at the time. Sammy wanted to sleep with me. His sister was my friend, a stunningly beautiful girl, my age, and I said to him, ‘Sammy, what would you think, if your sister, Nina, did that?’ And he replied, ‘She doesn’t do things like that.’ That was the end of the story. I never saw him again.

Sammy was an American citizen, born in the States, and so were his siblings. His parents lived in America and then returned to Germany. Two months later he was gone. He went to America. I don’t know if he’s still alive; if so, he must be 100 now. I wonder whether he ever knew why we broke up. You see, that’s how proud I was.

I didn’t like what my father and uncles did to Michi, but never mind. Michi beamed, while I was very embarrassed, but we went to the cinema afterward. That all happened in November, and his birthday was on 30th November. I remember that for my birthday, which is on 25th December, I got a marvelous crystal plate. That was the first plate I got as a present and I was wondering, ‘A plate as a birthday present?’ But the cutting was extremely beautiful. Michi was very generous; I often got presents from him.

Then we had a real Jewish engagement party – that was on 8th March 1928. His mother and sister came from Budapest to attend the celebration. There were 80 people altogether. Back then we had a four-room apartment, and three rooms were cleared for the party. My mother made the whole dinner herself. I had girlfriends and they were all there and I got a lot of presents. It was a really big celebration. The last room was used as a checkroom. We had an apprentice in the shop, who came and helped out as a checkroom attendant.

I remember that there was fish, and there was soup, and there was also farfl, tarhonya, with poultry and all kinds of things. A few years earlier, my mother had pickled sour cherries in spirits, for liqueur. Back then she still bought spirits to pickle sour cherries. And she said, at the first family celebration, that bottle would be opened and drunk. Well, that took a few years.

During my engagement period I was crocheting sofa pillows, in a special manner, and I was also knitting sofa pillows. And for my engagement I got pieces of needlework from my girlfriends.

Then Michi set up on his own. Before that, he had worked with his uncle. He bought and hired machines. Back then there was serious housing shortage. He worked with his brother-in-law and I said, ‘That’s okay as long as we’re not married, but afterward I will be your partner.’ And so it happened.

I was the first of the siblings to marry; after all, I was also the oldest. The civil wedding was a year later. Michi wasn’t even of age at the time. In Hungary one only attained legal age at 24. He still needed his parents’ approval. When we got married, he was already 24, but when he handed in the papers for the wedding, he was still a minor. He was a foreigner and so was I. In Germany they were very strict about that back then. I was Polish by descent. I needed a certificate of no impediment to marriage from Poland. We handed the matter over to lawyers, who took care of everything. The thing you needed was money; otherwise you ended up running from one authority to the next.

Well, then we got married. I insisted on the temple on Oranienburger Strasse. We went to Leipziger Strasse to buy lace for the wedding dress. On Leipziger Strasse there was also ‘Michels,’ a silk store – and what a wonderful store! There we bought the embroidered bridal veil. Then flowers had to be ordered, the bridal bouquet and myrtle, the restaurant and the food. The large department store ‘Tietz’ was on Alexanderplatz, and before that was the Kupfergraben, and there was a kosher restaurant there. Opposite it was Grenadierstrasse and the Jewish neighborhood, including the restaurant where we ordered the food.

The civil wedding, which was only an act, took place seven weeks before the Jewish wedding. However, I still signed with my maiden name. I didn’t realize that I was actually already married. The witnesses at the civil wedding were my father and Michi’s uncle. We went straight back to work afterwards. I went to the mikveh; my mother’s cousin dragged me there. The wedding was on Sunday and I went to the mikveh on Saturday evening. On Saturday afternoon and evening all my girlfriends came to our place. They had a good time, my fiancé was also there, and I had to go to the mikveh. The woman there checked my fingernails to make sure they weren’t dirty and I was doused.

Before the wedding we drove to a photographer whose studio was at the beginning of Schönhauser Allee. He was Russian by birth, his name was Pergamentschik and he was one of the best photographers in town. Then Hitler came to power and Pergamentschik immigrated to Palestine and opened a studio there.

The temple on Oranienburger Strasse was the most beautiful temple in Berlin, and, it was even said, the most beautiful one in all Europe. We invited people only for the ceremony and others for the meal in the restaurant afterwards. According to tradition, two married couples have to accompany the bride to the chuppah; they are called ‘unterfirer’ [Yiddish for bridesmaid and groomsmaid]. In our case they were my parents and Michi’s sister and his brother-in-law, who also lived in Berlin. [Editor’s note: According to tradition, the bride’s and the groom’s mothers accompany them to the chuppah.] Two little girls, the daughters of a friend, were scattering flowers. Everyone was very elegant. We followed the girls, then came two young boys carrying the bridal train, and the wedding party followed. My four girlfriends wore elegant dresses: light green, light blue, the third was mauve and the fourth pink.

Then the wedding ceremony followed. However, before one is wed, they ask for the certificate from the registry office. In Germany that was law because a Jewish wedding wasn’t acknowledged here – in Austria and Czechoslovakia it was, though. People there didn’t have to go to the registry office at the time. Therefore, many couples went to Czechoslovakia to get married because they didn’t have the necessary papers.

My wedding dress train was carried by two little boys in sailor suits who were quarrelling. They were five years old, one later became my nephew, the other one was the son of a girlfriend. One boy was pulling the train this way, the other one was pulling it the other way. I permanently had to hold on to it.

Afterward we went for the meal at the restaurant on Kupfergraben, directly on Alexanderstrasse. Next to it stood the large department store ‘Hermann Tietz.’ One of the wedding guests was a printer, a really lovely boy, who had printed the invitations and place cards for us as a wedding gift. As for the other wedding gifts, they were what people usually gave as gifts back then. Today they make lists. From one guest I got a sofa blanket, a chaise longue blanket, which I still have today. From others I got bedside rugs, eiderdown quilts and crystal.

The food was good; my mother had made the fish, real Polish carp, served cold with a jelly sauce and barkhes. It was cold outside and the waiters didn’t feel in the slightest like serving; we had to urge them to. There were only two or three waiters. The plan was to dance after the meal; after all there were a lot of young people there. But the music was horrible, too. My girlfriend’s brother was a wonderful pianist and could play anything by heart; he could play without music. So he sat down at the piano and started to play, and then we were able to dance properly.

Afterward we went to our apartment, which was already completely furnished. We had found an apartment on Alte Schönhauser Strasse, which formerly housed a police station. It became both our apartment and workshop. The apartment was big and there was a huge study with three windows facing the second courtyard. I also had a beautiful bedroom and, of course, the windows were also facing the courtyard. My father went shopping with me and so we could buy the most beautiful bedroom wholesale. The owner of the shop, a wholesaler, told me later that a musician had bought exactly the same bedroom. It was mahogany, very dark mahogany with inlaid work in silver. I also got a beautiful dining-room. The workshop was already set up, the cutting machines were already there; my husband had already worked in the apartment before the wedding. Some of the wedding presents had already been brought to the apartment, too.

Then the wedding night followed and in the morning I heard the key turn in the door. My husband jumped out of bed and into his trousers and ran outside. It was my father! He wanted to heat the room, so it would be warm by the time I woke up. He even heated the bedroom. You should have seen how upset my mother was!

Our daughter Bessy was born on 10th December 1929, exactly ten months after the wedding. I got married on 10th February and she was born on 10th December. My husband and I were both still very young, but fortunately I had my parents to help us. The first six weeks I stayed with my parents, while my husband stayed in our apartment. He came to see us and I went to see him. During the day I went there and worked a bit, while the child was with my parents. I knew I had to be back in three hours to feed the child, but I was only ten minutes away from my parent’s place.

My father was ‘dislodged’ and I slept in the room with my mother and the baby. We didn’t have a cot at my parents’, the baby slept between us in the bed. At home, Bessy had a beautiful white cot, of course, and also a white baby carriage, which my sister had given me as a present. My father didn’t allow me to go outside with the child, because it was terribly cold. He only allowed me to do so after six weeks, and then only when he came along. When my second daughter, Lilly, was born, my father said, ‘I have six daughters.’

When Bessy was two-and-a-half years old I took her to Hungary to visit the in-laws and my husband’s relatives. My husband stayed in Berlin, as we had the workshop and he couldn’t leave.

My father-in-law owned a bakery. The family lived in a suburb of Budapest, in Ujpest, which means New Pest. Ujpest is a twenty-minute tram-ride from Budapest, which is a beautiful city. On the one side, there is the Old Town; on the other side is the modern business city. There were wonderful coffee shops. You could sit on the quay at the Danube and you could go on a trip aboard a steamer – I felt at ease there. Then I returned to Berlin. They had packed a beautiful goose and goose liver and salami for me. In those days people still went by train, and from Berlin to Budapest the journey took 20 hours. I went back to Berlin onboard the Orient Express.

I arrived, everyone was very happy, and nine months later, on 6th May 1933, my second daughter, Lilly, came into the world. And I didn’t want that, I only wanted to have one child. Back then it was popular to only have one child. All my girlfriends and my sister-in-law, my husband’s sister, only had one child. My husband’s sister wanted to help me. She told me I should drink tea, sit in hot water and jump from the table, but nothing helped. Finally I told my mother that I was pregnant and she did not mince words: ‘What is that? Don’t do it! What’s another child? Why don’t you want to have it? The age difference is just right!’ But the worst thing was that she told my daughter about this once she had grown up. And from then on my daughter always told me, ‘You didn’t want to have me.’

My husband, who hadn’t been kosher at all when he lived with his parents in Budapest, conformed to my rules completely. It wasn’t difficult to live kosher anyways, you could get everything. In Grenadierstrasse, Dragonerstrasse and Mulackstrasse there were only kosher shops and devout people. There was this one devout Jew, who they said did penance, as he had been a lout in his youth, hanging around with girls, with Christians – so he was this impossible guy. Then he got married and did penance, only wore the long coat and white socks and grew a beard – and he was a redhead. He had six children and lived on Grenadierstrasse.

This street was the center of the Eastern Jewry in Berlin. They spoke Polish and Yiddish there. You could find second-hand dealers, butchers, fish stores, vegetable stores, bakeries and Jewish restaurants. My husband and I often went out for dinner; we loved kishke with farfl, which was really good there. Farfl is a kind of pasta, tarhonya is grated barley dough [egg barley]. Kishke is a dish made of stuffed beef casings. You make the dough from flour, fat, a little bit of semolina, salt, pepper, a bit of garlic and use that to stuff the beef casings. And that is cooked or fried along with the tarhonya. You make a hard dough and grate it on a grater and get smaller and bigger pieces, and those you fry in fat. That’s delicious, oh dear, I often cooked that myself, too.

There was a Jewish kindergarten on Gipsstrasse and a Jewish elementary school on Auguststrasse. The director of the Jewish elementary school had been one of my class teachers at the Jewish high school. When I took my daughter Bessy to her, she said, ‘What, you’re already bring me your daughter?’ You see, we four girls were in that same school. That’s something you don’t forget so easily.

My sister Betty, who is only one year younger than me, is the exact opposite of me. She doesn’t talk as much as I do, and she clung on to me wherever I was. My husband and I went away for three months after our wedding, since we hadn’t had a honeymoon. So we went on vacation for five days over Whitsun. The day after we left, my sister arrived. She slept in the same room as we did.

My brother’s name was Anschel like Rothschild, in German Arthur. We called him Anschi. My brother was and still is a wonderful person. He was a Zionist from the moment he was born. In Berlin he joined Hashomer Hatzair 5. My father told him to study, but Anschi said that they didn’t need any doctors and university graduates in Palestine, that what they needed for the building of Palestine were farmers. After two years of grammar school he moved out of home and in with his organization, I think it was Habonim 6, and then they left for Palestine. I went to the station to say goodbye.

They went to the Hule area up at Galil [Upper Galilee in northern Israel]. There was only marshland with mosquitoes and wasps there, and that had to be cleared. They worked there and slept in tents. He got malaria and typhoid. He went through a lot. My brother lives in Haifa today. He and his wife Rosel were in the Bund 7 together, so she’s a friend from his youth. He became a locksmith and worked hard from morning to evening. Arthur has two daughters: Ruth, whose married name is Dickstein and Jael, whose married name is Rappoport. He made it possible for both his daughters to get a very good education.

My sister Betty was dismissed in 1933 on racist grounds, and that’s when my mother pricked up her ears. In December 1933 Betty moved to Palestine. In Berlin, she had worked at the court and was given civil service status. My mother, who was very circumspect and wise, said, ‘Betty, it’s pointless, we all have to leave and you will be the first to go to Palestine.’ Back then the British asked for a certificate, which you got if you had a certain profession, for example in agriculture, and if you had enough money you could buy such a certificate.

Betty did hachshara 8 and the Palestine Office 9 sent her to Poland, where she lived in a commune. She had to wash the bloody skins of the animals they skinned there. She said she found it really disgusting, that it was horrible. She left behind the clothes she wore there; she didn’t bring them home. She was so sensitive. When I asked her, ‘Betty, do you have a pair of stockings I can borrow?’ she replied, ‘Not borrow, you can keep them.’ God forbid, she even made a fuss when someone put on her dressing-gown.

We weren’t allowed to send over any money by then. However, through all our passports we could send 10 marks a month. My father collected a few hundred dollars through these transfers in Palestine.

Betty first attended the WIZO 10 school in order to learn how to cook. WIZO was this women’s organization. That lasted for half a year. She worked in the house of Chaim Weizmann’s 11 mother, where she met her future husband, Perez Chaim. He was an electrical engineer and worked at Rutenberg, which was a large power company in Israel. His father was a theologian. They don’t have children.

The next one to immigrate to Palestine was Erna. She was four years younger than me. Erna spent a lot of time at home, as she had poor eyesight. She was operated on one eye, and couldn’t see very well with the other, either. She was born like this and my mother always felt sorry for her. Erna has to spare her eyes: she will stay at home, she will cook, run the household. We could do needlework, knit and all kinds of other things, but Erna wasn’t allowed to – she had to spare her eyes.

In Berlin there was a Jewish club called Nordau [named after Max Nordau] 12. Erna met her future husband, Heinz-Werner Goldstein, in this club. He was so proud of his ‘Germanness.’ We would permanently hear: ‘Back at home…’ Even when he lived in Israel, he still compared everything. ‘Back at home it was like this…’ We even started to jokingly call him ‘Back at home.’ He wanted to attend the High School for Politics, but then Hitler came to power and he couldn’t. So he went to France in order to get a certificate. He worked in the vineyards there.

My sister’s love of her youth was Max Selinger. He was a very good violinist; my sister was good at the piano, and they always played together in our apartment – we had a piano at home. We all really liked him. Well, his mother had other plans for him.

So Erna went to Palestine with Heinz-Werner, but he couldn’t get a job and ended up delivering newspapers. My sister worked as a cleaning lady, and later she ran a kindergarten in their apartment. He did any work he could get. They had two children, Aliza and Dan. After Heinz-Werner’s death my sister sold her apartment in Haifa. Her daughter and son-in-law contributed some money and bought her an apartment in Raanana, so they could be together every day. She only had to go across the street to see them. And they furnished her apartment in Raanana exactly like her old one in Haifa, so she wouldn’t miss anything.

Cilly moved to Palestine along with our parents in 1939. In Berlin, Cilly had worked for the Palestine Office. She traveled all over Germany to visit rich Jews and collect money for the Youth Aliyah 13. She was already married at the time and wanted to immigrate to Palestine with her husband, Rudi Abraham, but at the Palestine Office they said; ‘We need your help, we need your collecting skills.’ She had a very special appearance: she was an elegant woman and beautiful on top of that. She was always told, ‘If you want to go to Palestine, you won’t have to wait.’ She was traveling around, collecting money. She knows everything. She can write books, translate in four languages, and she was a press spokeswoman of Ben Gurion 14. In America, she was consul under Eisenhower 15 and lived in New York for one-and-a-half years.

She’s the youngest of us four girls and has the best education. We all had to do what our father said, while Cilly could do whatever she wanted, I don’t know why. And that, although I was his favorite daughter. She went to grammar school and did her finals just before the Nazis came to power in 1933. She then spent one-and-a-half years in Latvia, on hachshara in Riga, where she met her first husband, Rudi Abraham. He was from Berlin and had studied to become a lawyer. He was still an apprentice, and underwent in-service training back then. She married him and moved to Palestine with him. He had to start his studies from scratch, as Turkish law was in force in Palestine at the time. First, however, he had to learn the language. Cilly was in America at the time; he was in Palestine on his own and they grew apart. She was away for two-and-a-half years. The marriage fell apart.

While in America she met her second husband, Joshua Brandstetter. He was 23 years older than her. He was the bohemian type, and made films. He brought Israel’s Habima troupe 16 to America and got the actors engagements. He also painted. The two of them remained together until he died of kidney failure.

During the War

My father was arrested in 1938, immediately after Crystal Night 17, and deported to Poland 18. He was allowed to take 10 marks and a small briefcase along with him. I remember that we gave him his gold watch on a chain to take along. We still had relatives in Poland, and I always acted as intermediary. Since I was married to a Hungarian, I wasn’t afraid yet. I organized myself a visa for Poland. I wanted to see my father and bring him money. When I returned from the passport office, my mother was coming up to meet me and said, ‘You don’t have to travel to Poland, Papa has received permission to come back and pick me up and we will move to Palestine together.’

When my father returned from Poland we started to pack everything. My younger daughter was supposed to start school at the time, as she was six years old. My sisters didn’t give up and managed to get the entry permit from the British. My father left heavy-heartedly because I remained behind with my family. He said, ‘It’s a crying shame.’ He had a hard time to part. ‘It’s a crying shame. I go and leave my child behind.’ And he added, ‘I won’t rest until I manage to get you over there.’

My father had saved some 300 dollars: in three 100 dollar bills. Now he had to pack. The boxes were already gone. Our silver cutlery was in there, too. We packed them in the apartment. I had ordered a crate of beer. The customs officers were drinking, while the Jewish forwarding agent was packing, even my silver candlesticks – it was legal to take them. And we thought that the boxes would be shipped straight ahead, if the customs officers packed directly in the apartment. But as luck would have it, they were opened again at the customs post. They took out all the silver things. But the Jewish packers, as I told you we used a Jewish forwarding agent, repacked them; they succeeded in doing that. So in the end everything was shipped off just fine.

But where do you hide 300 dollars? I had my underwear, the silk one, for instance, which slipped easily, fixed to these clothes-boards you could buy ready-made. It was tied up with pink ribbons, so it would lie properly. My mother had the idea to make such a board – she organized a piece of carton and some colorful fabric embroidered with little roses – and slipped in the 300 dollars. It was not quite as beautiful as the original ones and it was also a bit smaller. Only my parents and I knew where the money was.

My parents, my youngest sister Cilly and I went to Alexanderplatz to check in the luggage. My sister was standing on one side; I was standing on the other. The customs officer took out every single piece and put it next to the suitcase, including the clothes-boards. And all of a sudden he said, ‘So, tell me, where are you hiding your dollars?’ My father was restless, he repeatedly went outside. And my sister said quite unashamedly to his face, ‘You know, if I wanted to smuggle dollars, I’d find a much better way of doing so.’ Upon that he put everything back into the suitcase. My father said, ‘Resi, one 100 dollar bill is yours.’ And he kept that 100 dollar bill until I went to Israel for the first time. However, I never saw my father again. He did learn about the birth of my son, who was born in 1945, but he passed away two years later, in 1947.

My husband said, ‘Nothing can happen to us in Hungary.’ Three weeks after the outbreak of war you had to black out your apartment, and food ration cards were introduced. Of course, Jews got less. Apart from that, we could only go shopping at certain hours and not during the whole day. So then we packed our suitcases and went to Budapest, because my husband claimed in Budapest nothing would ever happen. However, to be on the safe side, I had organized entry permits to Palestine for my children.

We found a small apartment, two rooms and a kitchen, in Ujpest. The boxes with my things from Berlin had already arrived. We had sold the furniture. Those were emergency sales. For my bedroom, which had cost 4,000 marks, I got 400. But I sent things ahead of our departure from Berlin: bed sheets, curtains, silver candlesticks and silver cutlery. For my wedding I had received stuffed quilts, made in Poland. My mother ordered the goose feathers, real ones, there. I wanted a certain size. The average size for a feather bed was 1.40 meters, but I wanted them to be 1.50 meters. So those were made in Poland. In Budapest they had white linings and mine were red. I had also sent some of my things to Israel [then Palestine] with my mother, in case we immigrated to Palestine.

‘Stay in Hungary,’ my parents wrote. Back then you could only enter Palestine if you had a certificate stating that your profession was needed in the country. It was said that we could only enter with capitalist certificates. And this certificate included a capital of so many thousand British pounds. My parents wrote to us, saying that the capital would be deposited for us in Holland so that we could enter as capitalists. Much to our misfortune, though, the Germans invaded Holland.

My sister-in-law gave me her kitchen; she was a rich woman. Then she gave me a table and chairs. And my husband was even able to work. In Berlin, he was self-employed. But he went to Budapest; it was only a 20-minute ride on the tram. Opposite our apartment was a Jewish girls’ school. The Jews in Hungary still lived a good life. My girls had already gone to school in Berlin. The older one had finished four grades of elementary school and the younger one was in first grade back then.

At that time many Jews lived in Budapest, I think around 200,000.

My mother-in-law didn’t approve of me because I wasn’t Hungarian. Her son had married a German and she didn’t like that. But my father-in-law was very nice to me. At the beginning I didn’t know a single word of Hungarian; later I learned the language. In any case, most Hungarians spoke German. My mother-in-law even wrote me letters in German. My husband had a brother, who worked in his father’s bakery; he was also a baker. That brother was my mother-in-law’s favorite. He was the only one who survived the Holocaust; all the others were deported to concentration camps and killed. He inherited an awful lot after the war. A year later he had lost everything because he couldn’t handle money. He maygarized his name. They were called Weisz; I was called Weisz, too. My children, and especially Bessy, said after the war, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet. Family is family.’ They were poor people; this was under communism. My daughters bought children’s clothes for his grandchild. I often visited Budapest, but I didn’t live with them, as they were very poor.

I had a rich friend and his wife there. He had been in the camp with us, that’s where the friendship started. He was wonderful. His name was Ferry and he was a shoemaker. He had his own workshop and made elegant shoes. He died of liver cancer.

My husband went to work, my children went to school, that wasn’t a problem. But I didn’t have any friends, just family. There was the rich daughter, my husband’s sister, who owned two houses and a beautiful store. She often invited us to lunch on the holidays. In 1938 she got baptized, along with a friend of hers, also a rich woman. My sister-in-law only had one son, Stefan – Pista was the short Hungarian version of his name. Her friend had one daughter. My father-in-law was terribly angry that his daughter had got baptized. He had this wry sense of humor, and once he asked the two women, ‘Why did you do this?’ And my sister-in-law’s friend said, in order for her daughter to make a better match. Upon which my father-in-law murmured, ‘Oh, so she can marry a boozy goy [non-Jew]?’

At Christmas, my sister-in-law had a big Christmas tree. She had a cook, she had a shop-assistant in the store; she was elegant; she had fur coats. We all went there for food; we were invited, my Jewish children and I. And all of a sudden this friend of hers lies down under the Christmas tree and says, ‘Oh, what a great feeling to lie underneath a Christmas tree.’ I thought I’d explode! Her daughter, my sister-in-law’s son and the maid had been to church in the morning. And the children came home and showed us the pictures of saints they had got at church. They were ten years old, just like my Bessy. And the little one said how wonderful it was to be a Christian and showed the pictures to my Lilly. Lilly was six or seven at the time. And she spoke very little. The older one was a chatterbox like me, but as for the younger one, what she said hit home. She was standing there, looking at the pictures of the saints. My older daughter was arguing about what was better: to be a Jew or to be a Christian. And the little one just listened and then all of a sudden blurted out: ‘Well, but deep inside there, your blood is Jewish.’

In the evening, my husband and father-in-law sat in the coffee shop and watched the other people play cards. I was at home with the children. It was already dark, when my father-in-law came up to me and said, ‘Resi, I need Michi’s papers. There were detectives in the coffee shop and Michi only had his passport.’ The passport was issued in Berlin. It was a Hungarian passport and still valid for another two years. He proved his identity with this passport and they said that it could’ve been forged and arrested him.

I didn’t have my husband’s certificate of family origin; it had remained in Berlin when he got the passport. The next day everything was quiet. It was Purim. On the second day – my daughter Lilly was in bed, as she didn’t want to go to the Purim celebration at school, and Bessy was at school – I was in the kitchen and was ironing. There was a knock at the door and two men came in. They asked me who I was, introduced themselves, saying they were from the immigration department, and would I be so kind to come with them. They wanted to take me and the children. Lilly was at home, and my neighbor went to fetch Bessy from school. I had a Jewish neighbor and told her to inform my in-laws at the bakery about what had happened, that we had been arrested.

So we went there, but I didn’t give them my passport. After all, they had taken my husband’s passport away. So I didn’t show them my passport. That was out of the question! Then they took my children and me to an internment camp by tram. There my husband saw us. When he saw us he had a crying fit. I tried to comfort him and said, ‘Michi, the main thing is that we are together.’

We lived in barracks built on to the temple. I was allowed to go to our apartment, accompanied by a detective, to fetch bedclothes; I was even allowed to take an eiderdown quilt for the children, so they’d be able to sleep better. There were bunk beds in the barracks. The girls were up top and I slept on the bottom. There were separate barracks for men and women. At daytime we were guarded by detectives, at night by policemen. There were approximately 40 to 50 people there. After some three or fours weeks, they sent us to the province, where they had closed camps at the Czech border. Those were former customs houses. People from the Jewish community came to see us and took care of us. The watchmen were Hungarians.

I still had the exit permits for my children. I always wrote Red Cross letters – via my cousin in Argentina, who forwarded them – and thus we were still in touch with my family in Palestine. My brother-in-law wrote from Palestine: ‘Send the children, please send the children. We will raise them as if they were our own.’ And they were right, in Palestine the children would be safe.

The Jewish community in Budapest organized it all. My sister-in-law had made sure that the children got onto a list and received the entry permit for Palestine. The children got passports that didn’t state a nationality. Lilly didn’t want to leave; she was eight, and Bessy was eleven when they left. In the end, they agreed, but the younger one told me that her sister had beaten her until she said ‘yes.’ This way, she saved her life. I was allowed to accompany the children to Budapest. My husband, who was in the men’s camp, was only allowed to take them to the bus stop. That’s where he said goodbye to them. And that was the last time, the very last time, they saw their father.

We first had to go to the station and take the train to Budapest. A detective fetched and accompanied us. Lilly was standing at the window with tears running down her face. They went to Bulgaria by train, then crossed over into Turkey by ship and from there, went by bus via Syria to Palestine. My parents welcomed them in Palestine. They already had a beautiful apartment there, and took in the children.

On my husband’s death notification it said: cardiac arrest. I was told later that he’d died of spotted fever. He was sent to Russia, to Kiev [today Ukraine], for labor service. They had to dig and search for mines. I was allowed to leave the internment camp and still had the small apartment. I worked for a lawyer, but had to register with the police every eighth day. I was the widow of a laborer. I received a widow’s certificate.

My parents-in-law already lived in my sister-in-law’s house – after all, she had two houses. She took in her parents as well as one sister with her child and another still unmarried sister. Then came the year 1944. Eichmann 19 arrived in Budapest to establish ‘order.’ Because of my green widow’s certificate I was free, and had to register. My husband was dead, so I had advantages. I wanted to see how my husband’s family was; I didn’t want to dissociate myself from them. I went to their place by tram. It was the day Eichmann arrived in Budapest, 21st or 22nd March, I remember that date to this day. When I got off the tram I was arrested.

I was taken to a house, which was filled with some 400 people, all Jews. We were locked up there and no one knew what would happen. We were then crammed into a transport vehicle and we drove and drove and drove. There were no windows, so we didn’t know where we were going. All of a sudden we were unloaded and found ourselves in a huge courtyard. I looked around and saw many captured men on the other side. And there were about 400 of us women. In the middle of the courtyard was a water pump, which we drank from with cupped hands. We were standing there and standing there and it gradually got dark. We were suddenly called into the building, the women separately. An officer sat there, writing down our names. That was arranged alphabetically, by group, starting with the letter ‘A.’ Well, I was one of the last, since my name, Weisz, starts with a ‘W.’ I was among those still standing and waiting outside; we didn’t know what was going to happen, but no one came back out.

In the end it was our turn. We, i.e. those whose name started with a ‘W,’ went inside and there sat this tall, handsome man. Whether he was a policeman, I don’t know, but he wore a light-green uniform. When it was my turn, I put my husband’s death notification on the table and said, ‘I don’t speak Hungarian.’ He looked at me, then looked at the death notification, then looked at me again and said in German, ‘You are an Israelite?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ What else could I say? And he looked at me again. Then he asked me where I was headed. And I said, ‘I wanted to go visit my parents-in-law and that’s when I was brought here.’ I never showed him my passport.

Then we were taken into a huge room and there we were some 400 women again. It was the remand prison of Budapest, close to the Keleti station. It was nighttime. We were locked up, and by that night Budapest had already been bombed: at daytime by the Americans and British, at nighttime by the Russians. We were sitting there and permanently saw the flares the Russians fired before they dropped bombs. The women prayed for the next bomb to hit us. For, you know, we expected the worst, the very worst. We were in there for four days: we had arrived on Tuesday and were released on Friday. They didn’t know where to take us. The men were deported, that we knew. But they didn’t know where to take the 400 women. They didn’t have trains. That was our great fortune.

When they released us we had to give them our addresses, and I was afraid to return to my room. But we had a Viennese friend in Budapest, a widow, who had been married to a Hungarian. The husband had been a Christian and they had a daughter, Susi, who was 15 back then. When she opened the door for me, she couldn’t believe her eyes: ‘Resi, you are alive?’ And what can I say, I opened the door to the room and there sat my future husband, Alfred Rosenstein, with a friend. I knew him from the internment camp. He saw me, and back then we didn’t have a relationship yet, nothing at all, and he came running towards me, hugged me and said, ‘Resi, no one will part us again!’

My [second] husband, Alfred Rosenstein, was born in Vienna on 17th April 1898, the fifth child of Süsie Rosenstein – born in Rohatyn, Galicia ‑ and Beile Rosenstein, nee Bienstock. Süsie, a descendant of ‘HaShalo hakadosh’ [famous rabbi and forerunner of Hasidism], was a tailor or textile dealer and died in 1929. Beile died in London in 1945.
Alfred’s siblings were: Moritz, Franziska, Samuel, Josef, Cilly and Hedi.
Moritz Rosenstein, whom they called Mur, was a chemist and partner of an oil refinery in Vienna. He was on a business trip in London at the time of the Anschluss 20 and remained there. He never returned to Vienna, and died in the 1950s. His daughter, Hanni, lives in Tel Aviv and has two grown-up daughters; his son fell in World War II.
Franziska Wessely, nee Rosenstein, fled from Vienna to Yugoslavia. She lived with false papers in Slovenia and committed suicide when the Ustasha 21 knocked on her door. They, however, only wanted to ask the way to some place they were headed.
Samuel Rosenstein fled to Holland with his wife and two children. He and his family were killed by the Nazis.
Josef Rosenstein was an insurance salesman. He also fled to Yugoslavia, where he was killed by the Ustasha.
Cilly managed to immigrate to Australia via England. She died in 1962. Her daughter, Fairlie Nassau, who was born in 1945, lives in Melbourne and has two grown-up children.
Hedi Pahmer [nee Rosenstein] married a Hungarian and moved to Budapest with him. She was deported to Bergen-Belsen 22 concentration camp, where she survived the war. Afterward she also immigrated to Australia.

Rosa’s son, Zwi Bar-David, nee Georg Rosenstein, shares some memories of his father:
My father’s family lived in Vienna’s third district, on Untere Weißgerberlände. He went to elementary and secondary modern school. In 1916 he was drafted into the k.u.k. army 23 and served as an artilleryman at the Italian front 24. After World War I, he worked with his brother Moritz, played football at Hakoah 25 and spent a lot of time with friends in coffee shops. Until his escape to Hungary he lived with his mother; allegedly he was her ‘spoiled darling.’ During immigration he was in an internment camp, and, following the German invasion, in hiding. He met my mother and her first husband at the camp. Following her husband’s death, they got closer and that’s how I came into the world.
In 1948 Alfred and my mother – they got married in 1947 – and I returned to Vienna. We first got a room in an apartment in the Russian-occupied part of the city. We gradually took over the whole apartment. My father tried to get by as a salesman as best he could. The economical situation, however, only improved somewhat with the beginning of the German reparation payments. Alfred died of stomach cancer in 1961.

I knew my future husband from the camp. He was so charming; the women were crazy about him. My husband first moved in with me. Not only him, a friend of his moved in, too, and then my niece from Hungary came to live with us as well. She had got a Christian birth certificate through a friend, and then fled. Jola was her name, and she was a stunningly beautiful girl. A Christian friend of my parents’-in-law knew my address in Budapest, and so she came to stay with me. My husband shared a bed with his friend and I shared one with her. Later she immigrated to America. She met a widower, whose wife didn’t survive [the Holocaust], and his little son. He fell in love with her and they went to Italy together. She sent me a postcard from Rome, saying that she had married and would go to America with him. She later had four children, two girls and two boys.

We had a mutual acquaintance, a Jew from Yugoslavia, who had been in the camp with us. He had bought false papers a few months earlier. But he looked like ten Jews. Well, he bribed the janitor of a villa and we, nine of us, were then hiding from the mass deportations in one room of that villa. The janitor took money to hide us, he was easy to bribe. In the end, when it was all over, when we were already dancing in the streets, 60 Jews suddenly appeared from the villa next door - the janitor had been hiding them in return for money and jewelry, in coal cellars and what not. This is why I said, in Budapest you could get anything, if you had money.

I knew I was pregnant and I said to myself: either the child will perish with me, or I do something. And my husband said, ‘You won’t do anything. If we survive, we will have a child.’ He didn’t allow me to do anything. But I went to see the doctor in the ghetto anyways. He told me, ‘I won’t do anything! Do you want to die of sepsis?’ You see, he didn’t have instruments, nothing at all. My husband immediately said, ‘There’s no way you are going to do this. We will get married.’ Our son, Georg, was born in Budapest on 27th June 1945. It took a bit longer until we married. At that time, our son was already one-and-a-half years old.

We were lying in the room wearing our coats – there were no windows any more – and all of a sudden I heard a voice speaking into a megaphone: ‘This is the Russian Army. People of Budapest, wait! We will liberate you.’ Budapest is surrounded by a hill. It took days for them to get across. ‘Hold on, we will liberate you.’ That’s what they said in German, Hungarian and Russian. And so we waited. One fine day, it was a Sunday, I was standing at the window, there was a deathly silence and I saw a Russian with a fur hat and machine-gun coming through the garden towards the house. I turned round and said, ‘There’s a Russian here.’ And one guy ran down into the garden and hugged the Russian. When he – his name was Steiner – returned, his watch was missing. But he said, ‘Never mind.’

My girlfriend was hiding somewhere else. She was Czech and was hidden in a coal cellar. She always said, ‘The first Russian horse I see – I will kiss its behind.’

Post-war

After the liberation, I walked through the city of Budapest, and I was standing at the fence of the temple, watching the Russians bury the dead from the ghetto there. Survivors were allowed to take their dead relatives and bury them privately. Tony Curtis 26, the film actor, who is Hungarian, a Jew from Budapest, had a tree planted there, a beautiful willow that shines like gold. One can have the names of the murdered written on its leaves.

I stayed in Hungary. I said, ‘I won’t go to Vienna until we have our own apartment there.’ And my husband always said that they didn’t have anything to eat there yet, no meat or, well, just pork. I felt fine in Hungary and said, ‘I’ll only leave once we have our own apartment and once there is enough food.’ And so he traveled back and forth, and always came back with the news: not yet, not yet.

Before the war, my husband’s sisters had a restaurant called ‘Grill am Peter,’ which, however, was Aranyzed. Then my husband wanted to put in a claim for reparation payment in order to get back the fortune. The restaurant actually belonged to his eldest sister, who was killed in the Holocaust. She had furnished it for the siblings. My husband’s siblings were in Australia and had handed the restaurant over to the Nazis back then. Upon that, they received a certificate stating that they had received 5,000 marks and could thus immigrate to England legally. One of the sisters married a man and went to Australia with him. The other sister was deported to Bergen-Belsen and survived with severe injuries. She had to learn to walk again and, after that, she also moved to Australia.

My husband filed a lawsuit – back then there were restitution courts. And there were always only two judges. The Aryan who took over the restaurant had died. Her son took it over. At the first hearing my husband was offered 35,000 schillings as reparation. Our lawyer was Dr. Pik, who would later become president of the Jewish community. He had gone to school with my husband. At the second hearing they offered him 65,000 schillings. Then, the lawyer said to my husband, ‘If they are already willing to pay 65,000, there will be more.’ At the third hearing three judges were present. Two said the restaurant had to be returned. You see, my husband didn’t want the money; he wanted the restaurant so that we would be able to build a life for ourselves. The third judge said it wasn’t fair to take away the young man’s livelihood since he didn’t have anything to do with the Aranysation. That was already the attitude back then. The young man got the restaurant because the three judges agreed. My husband didn’t get a cent for the restaurant.

My husband had a certificate stating that he had been persecuted on racist grounds and was in a camp. Back then the districts of Vienna were shared out among the victorious powers. The major of our district was a communist, and my husband was allocated an apartment thanks to this certificate.

Initially, I didn’t want to go to Austria; I wanted to move to my children and parents in Israel. But my husband said that he didn’t have a proper profession to go to Israel. He was a businessman and worked for his brother, who owned a large oil company. He worked as a salesman. That wasn’t the right profession for Israel. There, you had to have money, money to set up on your own. So what was he to do at his age? After all, he was ten years older than me, so not young any more. He wanted to go to Austria to put in a claim for reparation payment and get the money so we could immigrate to Israel.

I stayed in Vienna because I didn’t want my children or relatives to maintain me. I went to Israel for the first time in 1949 with my son. Back then you still went by ship. When my husband got his first reparation payment, which was 16,000 schillings, he said, ‘You go, to see your children.’ The money wasn’t enough for both of us to go.

The journey by ship took five days. It was beautiful. My mother was still alive then. She had a nice two-and-a-half room apartment in Tel Aviv. My sister had a beautiful apartment, directly by the sea, on Hayarkon [a street by the sea in Tel Aviv]. Later, they built hotels there and you couldn’t see the ocean from her apartment any more.

My daughter Bessy was already married to a certain Mr. Aharoni and had a five-month-old baby. She married at the age of 18 while she was in the army, the Israeli army. Later she worked for the city council, taking care of elderly people.

Lilly, who was called Drill after her wedding, came to live with me in Vienna for a year. She was exactly 18 then, that was in 1951. She had gone to school in Israel, but, of course, she could speak German. My mother never learned Hebrew. I never saw my father again, that was terrible. Lilly wanted to become a teacher for handicapped children from the very beginning and went to study for it at a school in Vienna.

My son moved to Israel after his final exams. That was shortly after my husband’s death [in 1961]. He lived in a kibbutz there and studied psychology. He changed his name to Zwi Bar-David. He married Ilana, whose family on the mother’s side is also from Berlin, from Scheunenviertel, and they had two daughters and a son. Because of his son’s muscle illness, he, his wife, my then three-year-old grandson Ofir and their younger daughter, Noemi, moved to Vienna. His older daughter, Noga, lives in Israel and works as a nurse. My grandson did his final exams with very good results this year and currently studies at the Technical University of Vienna.

I didn’t like the Austrians. I always regarded them as Nazis. Once, at the beginning of the 1950s, I spent two months in Israel. When I came back to Vienna and went to my local baker to buy bread, the baker’s wife asked me, ‘Mrs. Rosenstein, where have you been for so long?’ I said, ‘I was in Israel.’ And she looked at me and said, ‘You’re Jewish? You don’t look Jewish!’ Upon which I said, ‘Why, Mrs. Schubert? Because I don’t have horns on my head?’ And she said, ‘For Goodness sake, no, I didn’t mean it like that. We had a supplier, a Jew who supplied flour, and he was a decent person, too.’ That was at the beginning of the 1950s. Nothing much has changed over the years. Haider 27 and Stadler [Ewald, politician from the Austrian Freedom Party (FPÖ)], too, give us enough opportunity to think about it. Even if you want to forget, you can’t. We’re confronted with it again and again.

In Germany I didn’t feel any anti-Semitism. I was laughing and joking around with Christian laborers in my father’s workshop. Many of them also knew when our holidays were. I would have loved to go back to Berlin after the war. I think my husband would have liked to go, too. But it wasn’t possible. Then there was his unfortunate sickness: he had cancer and died in 1961 at the age of 63.

I didn’t want to remarry. I was advised to, and there was even this one man, a friend of my husband’s, who proposed to me. My husband had been dead for only two years, it was Christmas, my family lived here and my children were still young. I wasn’t interested. I only had two men in my life, and I know that both loved me. Neither was an arranged marriage; they both got to know me the way I was. My first husband ran after me for a whole year.

I went to Berlin with my sister; back then it was still divided into East and West Berlin. We had an acquaintance from our youth, a neighbor, Sali, who was already in the West, and we wanted to go to East Berlin, our home. You had to change 25 marks into East German marks. And he said, ‘For God’s sake, don’t go, who knows what’s going to happen to you there, you may get into trouble.’ And he talked us out of it. Later I was in East Berlin with my granddaughter. And I didn’t go to the house where we used to live; I simply couldn’t.

Meine Familiengeschichte
Meine Kindheit
Meine Schulzeit
Mein Mann
Meine Geschwister
Während des Krieges
Nach dem Krieg
Glossar

1 Galicia

The Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria, or simply Galicia, was the largest and northernmost province of Austria from 1772 until 1918, with Lemberg (Lwow) as its capital. It was created from territories taken during the partitions of Poland and lasted until the dissolution of Austria-Hungary. Its main activity was agriculture, with some processing industry and mining, and the standard of living was proverbially low. Today it is a historical region split between Poland and the Ukraine. Its population in 1910 was 8,0258,700 of which 58% was Polish, 40% Ruthenian, 1% German and 10% other, or according to religion: Roman Catholic 46%, Eastern Orthodox 42%, Jewish 11%, the remaining 1% Protestant and other. Galicia was the center of the branch of Orthodox Judaism known as Hasidism. Nearly all the Jews in Galicia perished during WWII.

2 The short name of the General Jewish Union of Working People in Lithuania, Poland and Russia, Bund means Union in Yiddish

The Bund was a social democratic organization representing Jewish craftsmen from the Western areas of the Russian Empire. It was founded in Vilnius in 1897. In 1906 it joined the autonomous fraction of the Russian Social Democratic Working Party and took up a Menshevist position. After the Revolution of 1917 the organization split: one part was anti-Soviet power, while the other remained in the Bolsheviks' Russian Communist Party. In 1921 the Bund dissolved itself in the USSR, but continued to exist in other countries.

3 Sabbatarians

A Judaist sect. It was founded in the Principality of Transylvania in the late 16th century by Andras Eossi, a Szekler aristocrat. The doctrine of Sabbatarianism was worked out mainly by his adopted son, Simon Pechi. Sabbatarians were persecuted in the late 16th to early 17th century when the earlier practice of religious freedom was abandoned in Transylvania, yet nevertheless the sect increased in popularity. Sabbatarian preachers limited their preaching to the five books of Moses and followed a strict observance of Sabbath. They wrote their theology in Hungarian and made the first complete Hungarian translation of the Psalms. Their last community in Bozodujfalu (Bezidu Nou in Romanian) was destroyed in the 1980s when a water reservoir was built in its place and the remnants of the Sabbatarians were moved to block apartments. The Bozodujfalu community was founded in 1869 by 105 Szekler-Sabbatarian converts, who built their synagogue in 1874. By 1930 the community merged with Orthodox Jews; they maintained strictly Jewish households, had payes and tzitzit, while much of their clothing was identical to that of the Hungarian peasants. In 1944 they were deported with the rest of the Hungarian Jews to death camps.

4 Zionism

A movement defending and supporting the idea of a sovereign and independent Jewish state, and the return of the Jewish nation to the home of their ancestors, Eretz Israel - the Israeli homeland. The final impetus towards a modern return to Zion was given by the show trial of Alfred Dreyfuss, who in 1894 was unjustly sentenced for espionage during a wave of anti-Jewish feeling that had gripped France. The events prompted Dr. Theodor Herzl (1860-1904) to draft a plan of political Zionism in the tract 'Der Judenstaat' ('The Jewish State', 1896), which led to the holding of the first Zionist congress in Basel (1897) and the founding of the World Zionist Organization (WZO). The WZO accepted the Zionist emblem and flag (Magen David), hymn (Hatikvah) and an action program.

5 Hashomer Hatzair ('The Young Watchman')

Left-wing Zionist youth organization, which started in Poland in 1912 and managed to gather supporters from all over Europe. Their goal was to educate the youth in the Zionist mentality and to prepare them to immigrate to Palestine. To achieve this goal they paid special attention to the so-called shomer-movement (boy scout education) and supported the re-stratification of the Jewish society. They operated several agricultural and industrial training grounds (the so-called chalutz grounds) to train those who wanted to immigrate. In Transylvania the first Hashomer Hatzair groups were established in the 1920s. During World War II, members of the Hashomer Hatzair were leading active resistance against German forces, in ghettoes and concentration camps. After the war, Hashomer Hatzair was active in 'illegal' immigration to Palestine.

6 Habonim

Zionist youth organization in several European countries. Habonim groups in Erdely (Transylvania) had agricultural centers where young people were trained to make aliyah. In the second half of the 1930s, chalutzim of the Transylvanian Habonim also took part in establishing the Kfar Sold Jewish colony in Southern Palestine. The Habonim had two agricultural estates in Erdely in 1940.

7 Bund

The short name of the General Jewish Union of Working People in Lithuania, Poland and Russia, Bund means Union in Yiddish. The Bund was a social democratic organization representing Jewish craftsmen from the Western areas of the Russian Empire. It was founded in Vilnius in 1897. In 1906 it joined the autonomous fraction of the Russian Social Democratic Working Party and took up a Menshevist position. After the Revolution of 1917 the organization split: one part was anti-Soviet power, while the other remained in the Bolsheviks' Russian Communist Party. In 1921 the Bund dissolved itself in the USSR, but continued to exist in other countries.

8 Hachshara

Vocational training (either agricultural or industrial) for young Jews anticipating emigration to Palestine. Education took place in preparation centers, so-called hachsharas. (Migration to Palestine was possible on condition of preliminary education before WWII.)

9 Palestine Office

Immigration organization of the Jewish Agency in Germany, which dealt solely with the immigration of the Jewish population to Palestine. The Palestine Office organized the necessary visas and transport of the emigrants. Following the November pogrom of 1938, the office was put under stronger supervision, but still managed to work more or less independently until spring 1941.

10 WIZO

Women's International Zionist Organization, founded in London in 1920 with humanitarian purposes aiming at supporting Jewish women all over the world in the field of education, economics, science and culture. A network of health, social and educational institutions was created in Palestine between 1921 and 1933, along with numerous local groups worldwide. After WWII its office was moved to Tel Aviv. WIZO became an advisory organ to the UN after WWII (similar to UNICEF or ECOSOC). Today it operates on a voluntary basis, as a party-neutral, non-profit organization, with about 250,000 members in 50 countries (2003).

11 Weizmann, Chaim Azriel (1874-1952)

a Zionist leader, President of the World Zionist Organization, and the first President of the State of Israel. He was elected on 1st February, 1949, and served until 1952. Weizmann also founded the Weizmann Institute of Science in Rehovot, Israel. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaim_Weizmann)

12 Nordau, Max (1849-1923)

born Simon Maximilian Südfeld in Pest, Hungary, he was a Zionist leader, physician, author, and social critic. He was a co-founder of the World Zionist Organization together with Theodor Herzl, and president or vice president of several Zionist congresses. As a social critic, he wrote a number of controversial books, including ‘The Conventional Lies of Our Civilisation’ (1883), ‘Degeneration’ (1892), and ‘Paradoxes’ (1896). Although not his most popular or successful work whilst alive, the book most often remembered and cited today is ‘Degeneration.’ (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Nordau)

13 Aliyah Noar (Youth Aliyah)

Organization founded in 1933 in Berlin by Recha Freier, whose original aim was to help Jewish children and youth to emigrate from Nazi Germany to Palestine. The immigrants were settled in the Ben Shemen kibbutz, where over a period of 2 years they were taught to work on the land and Hebrew. In the period 1934-1945 the organization was run by Henrietta Szold, the founder of the USA women's Zionist organization Hadassa. From that time, Aliyyat Noar was incorporated into the Jewish Agency. After WWII it took 20,000 orphans who had survived the Holocaust in Europe to Israel. Nowadays Aliyyat Noar is an educational organization that runs 7 schools and cares for child immigrants from all over the world as well as young Israelis from families in distress. It has cared for a total of more than 300,000 children.

14 Ben Gurion, David (real name Dawid Grin) (1886-1973)

Zionist leader, Israeli politician, and the first Prime Minister of the state. He was born in Poland. From 1906 he lived in Palestine. He was the leader of the Poalei Zion party, co-founder of the He-Chalutz youth organization, founder of the Achdut ha-Awoda party and the Histadrut trade union congress. From 1933 he was a member of the Jewish Agency executive committee (in the British mandate Palestine), and from 1935-1948 its chairman. He opposed the Revisionist movement within Zionists. After the 1939 announcement of the so-called White Book by the British authorities, limiting the Jewish immigration to Palestine, he supported the development of the Jewish self-defense forces Haganah and illegal immigration. He fought in the 1948 war. On May 14, 1948 he proclaimed the creation of the state Israel. He was Prime Minister and Defense Minister until 1953. After a two-year withdrawal from politics he returned and became Prime Minister once more. In 1965 he became the leader of the new party Rafi (Israeli Labor List) but lost the elections. In 1969 he retired from politics.

15 Eisenhower, Dwight David (1890-1969)

a General of the Army (five star general) in the United States Army and U.S. politician, who served as the thirty-fourth President of the United States (1953–1961). During World War II, he served as Supreme Commander of the Allied forces in Europe, with responsibility for planning and supervising the successful invasion of France and Germany in 1944-45. In 1951, he became the first supreme commander of NATO. Eisenhower was elected the 34th President as a Republican, serving for two terms. As President, he oversaw the cease-fire of the Korean War, kept up the pressure on the Soviet Union during the Cold War, made nuclear weapons a higher defense priority, launched the Space Race, enlarged the Social Security program, and began the Interstate Highway System. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dwight_D._Eisenhower)

16 Habima

Hebrew theater founded in 1914, initially a touring troupe. From 1917 it was based in Moscow; later it made grand tours of Europe, and from 1926 it was based in Palestine.

17 Kristallnacht

Nazi anti-Jewish outrage on the night of 10th November 1938. It was officially provoked by the assassination of Ernst vom Rath, third secretary of the German embassy in Paris two days earlier by a Polish Jew named Herschel Grynszpan. Following the Germans' engineered atmosphere of tension, widespread attacks on Jews, Jewish property and synagogues took place throughout Germany and Austria. Shops were destroyed; warehouses, dwellings and synagogues were set on fire or otherwise destroyed. Many windows were broken and the action therefore became known as Kristallnacht (Crystal Night). At least 30,000 Jews were arrested and sent to concentration camps in Sachsenhausen, Buchenwald and Dachau. Though the German government attempted to present it as a spontaneous protest and punishment on the part of the Aryan, i.e. non-Jewish population, it was, in fact, carried out by order of the Nazi leaders.

18 "Polenaktion" - First mass deportations of Polish Jews from the German Reich 1938

Rosa Rosenstein is presumably referring here to the so-called 'Polenaktion', the deportation of around 17,000 Jews of Polish nationality from the German Reich to the Polish border at the end of October 1938. Among the deportees was the Grynszpan family from Hannover, whose son Herschel lived in Paris. When Herschel learned of his family's fate, he carried out an attack at the German embassy in Paris on November 7, 1938 in protest against the deportation, which resulted in the death of embassy secretary Ernst vom Rath. The National Socialists used this as a pretext for the subsequent November pogroms. After the November pogroms - the date Rosa names for her father's deportation - thousands of Jewish men were deported from Berlin to Sachsenhausen, but not to Poland. However, it is likely that Rosa is confusing the date of the 'Polenaktion'.

19 Eichmann, Adolf (1906-1962)

Nazi war criminal, one of the organizers of mass genocide of Jews. Since 1932 member of the Nazi party and SS, since 1934 an employee of the race and resettlement departments of the RSHA (Main Security Office of the Reich), after the "Anschluss" of Austria headed the Headquarters for the Emigration of Jews in Vienna, later organized the emigration of Jews in Czechoslovakia and, since 1939, in Berlin. Since December 1939 he was the head of the Departments for the Resettlement of Poles and Jews from lands incorporated into the Reich. Since mid-1941, as the Head of the Branch IV B 4 Gestapo RSHA, he coordinated the plan of the extermination of Jews, organized and carried out the deportations of millions of Jews to death camps. After the war he was imprisoned in an American camp, he managed to escape and hid in Germany, Italy and Argentina. In 1960 he was captured by the Israeli secret service in Buenos Aires. After a process which took several months, he was sentenced to death and executed. Eichmann's trial initiated a great discussion about the causes and the carrying out of the Shoah.

20 Anschluss

The German term "Anschluss" (literally: connection) refers to the inclusion of Austria in a "Greater Germany" in 1938. In February 1938, Austrian Chancellor Schuschnigg had been invited to visit Hitler at his mountain retreat at Berchtesgaden. A two-hour tirade against Schuschnigg and his government followed, ending with an ultimatum, which Schuschnigg signed. On his return to Vienna, Schuschnigg proved both courageous and foolhardy. He decided to reaffirm Austria's independence, and scheduled a plebiscite for Sunday, 13th March, to determine whether Austrians wanted a "free, independent, social, Christian and united Austria." Hitler' protégé, Seyss-Inquart, presented Schuschnigg with another ultimatum: Postpone the plebiscite or face a German invasion. On 11th March Schuschnigg gave in and canceled the plebiscite. On 12th March 1938 Hitler announced the annexation of Austria. When German troops crossed into Austria, they were welcomed with flowers and Nazi flags. Hitler arrived later that day to a rapturous reception in his hometown of Linz. Less well disposed Austrians soon learned what the "Anschluss" held in store for them. Known Socialists and Communists were stripped to the waist and flogged. Jews were forced to scrub streets and public latrines. Schuschnigg ended up in a concentration camp and was only freed in 1945 by American troops.

21 Ustasha Movement

Extreme-right Croatian separatist movement, founded by Ante Pavelic in Zagreb in 1929. In 1934 he issued the pamphlet Order, in which he openly called for the secession from the Yugoslav federal state and the creation of an independent Croatian state. After the assassination of the king of Yugoslavia on a state visit in Marseilles, France, the Ustasha movement was outlawed, and Pavelic and his colleague Eugen Kvaternik were arrested in Italy. After the occupation of Yugoslavia by the German, Hungarian, Italian and Bulgarian armies in April 1941 the Independent State of Croatia was proclaimed with German backing. The new state was nominally run by the Ustasha movement with Pavelic as head of state. He created a fascist regime repressing all opposition. Ethnic and religious minorities, especially Serbs and Jews, were ruthlessly persecuted. Serbs were massacred or forcibly converted to Catholicism. Under his rule 35,000 Jews were exterminated in local concentration camps.

22 Bergen-Belsen

Concentration camp located in northern Germany. Bergen-Belsen was established in April 1943 as a detention camp for prisoners who were to be exchanged with Germans imprisoned in Allied countries. Bergen-Belsen was liberated by the British army on 15th April, 1945. The soldiers were shocked at what they found, including 60,000 prisoners in the camp, many on the brink of death, and thousands of unburied bodies lying about. (Source: Rozett R. - Spector S.: Encyclopedia of the Holocaust, Facts on File, G.G. The Jerusalem Publishing House Ltd. 2000, pg. 139 -141)

23 KuK (Kaiserlich und Königlich) army

The name 'Imperial and Royal' was used for the army of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, as well as for other state institutions of the Monarchy originated from the dual political system. Following the Compromise of 1867, which established the Dual Monarchy, Austrian emperor and Hungarian King Franz Joseph was the head of the state and also commander-in-chief of the army. Hence the name 'Imperial and Royal'.

24 Italian front, 1915-1918

Also known as Isonzo front. Isonzo (Soca) is an alpine river today in Slovenia, which ran parallel with the pre-World War I Austro-Hungarian and Italian border. During World War I Italy was primarily interested in capturing the ethnic Italian parts of Austria-Hungary (Trieste, Fiume, Istria and some of the islands) as well as the Adriatic littoral. The Italian army tried to enter Austria-Hungary via the Isonzo Rriver, but the Austro-Hungarian army was dug in alongside the river. After 18 months of continuous fighting without any territorial gain, the Austro-Hungarian army finally succeeded to enter Italian territory in October 1917.

25 Hakoah

Max Nordau's call for the creation of a 'new Jew' and for 'muscular Judaism' at the second World Zionist Congress in 1898 that marked the beginning of a new awareness of physical culture among Jews, particularly in Europe. At the turn of the century, Jewish gymnastics clubs were established, both encouraging the Jewish youth to engage in physical exercise and serving as a framework for nationalistic activity. Beginning in 1906, broader-based sports clubs were also established. Most prominent in the interwar period were the Hakoah Club of Vienna and Hagibor Club of Prague, whose notable achievements in national and international track and field and swimming competitions aroused pride and a shared sense of identity among the European Jewry. The greatest of them all was the Hakoah soccer team, which won the Austrian championship in 1925. The best Jewish soccer players in Central Europe joined its ranks, bringing the team worldwide acclaim. Today Hakoah clubs exist all over the world and mainly represent the community as a social club. However, the original pursuit of soccer remains high on the list of the clubs' activities.

26 Curtis, Tony (born 1925)

born Bernhard Schwartz, American film actor of Hungarian-Jewish descent.

27 Haider, Jörg (born 1950)

Austrian politician, currently Governor of Carinthia. Haider was a long-time leader of the Austrian Freedom Party (FPÖ). When he stepped down as that party's chairman in 2000, he remained a major figure until 2005. In April 2005 he founded a new party, the "Alliance for the Future of Austria" (BZÖ-Bündnis Zukunft Österreich), and was subsequently expelled from the FPÖ by its interim leader Hilmar Kabas. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6rg_Haider)

Rosa Rosenstein

Hochzeitfoto von Rosa Rosenstein und Maximilian Weisz

Rosa Rosenstein
Wien
Österreich
Interviewer: Tanja Eckstein
Datum des Interviews: Juli 2002

Im Sommer 2002 lernte ich Rosa Rosenstein kennen. Ich war sehr aufgeregt, sie interviewen zu dürfen, denn es passiert nicht oft, dass ich Interviewpartnern dieses Alters - sie war immerhin schon 94 Jahre, also fast ein Jahrhundert alt - und noch dazu aus Berlin, meiner Heimatstadt, begegne. Unverkennbar war ihr Berliner Dialekt und nach kurzer Zeit stellte sich Vertrautheit her. Weil sie nicht mehr gut zu Fuß war und auch nicht mehr gut sehen konnte, holte ich ihr jedes Mal ihre Zigaretten und den Aschenbecher aus dem Nebenzimmer ins Wohnzimmer. Manchmal schaffte sie es, nachdem sie mir die Tür geöffnet hatte, nicht ins Wohnzimmer zurück. Dann saßen wir auf dem langen Flur, direkt vor der Wohnungstür, dicht gedrängt auf einer kleinen Bank, und sie erzählte mir Geschichten aus ihrem Leben, lustige und traurige. Ich liebte ihre Geschichten und wurde nicht müde, sie immer wieder zu besuchen. Ihre wunderbar lebendige Art zu erzählen, die Sätze zu Bildern werden zu lassen, das ist und bleibt vermutlich ein einmaliges Erlebnis in meiner Interviewertätigkeit.
Rosa Rosenstein starb im Februar 2005.

Meine Familiengeschichte

Meine Urgroßeltern kannte ich nicht. Meine Großeltern und meine Eltern sind in Galizien geboren.

Meine Familie väterlicherseits heißt Braw. Die einzigen Braws, die existieren, bis heute noch, gehören zu meiner Familie. Es gibt Brav mit ‚v’ geschrieben, es gibt Braf mit ‚f’ geschrieben, aber wir schreiben uns mit ‚w’. Mein Bruder hat ein bisschen nachgeforscht und sagt, der Name kommt aus dem Hebräischen, nämlich von Biraw und das heißt ‚Sohn des Rabbiners’, Raw steht für Rabbiner.

Die Großeltern väterlicherseits habe ich nie kennen gelernt, denn meine Großmutter, Rivka Finder, geborene Braw, ist gestorben, da war ich noch nicht auf der Welt. Nach ihr wurde ich benannt, auf Deutsch Rosa, auf Jüdisch Rivka. Und den Großvater, Zwi Finder, habe ich auch nicht kennen gelernt. Der hatte angeblich nach dem Tode seiner Frau ‑ sie starb mit 54 Jahren an Krebs ‑ eine Junge geheiratet und ist weggezogen, so dass mein Vater überhaupt keinen Kontakt zu seinem Vater hatte. Meine Großmutter hatte meinem Vater vor ihrem Tod das Versprechen abgenommen, für seine jüngeren Geschwister zu sorgen.

Mein Vater, Jakob Braw, wurde am 6. Juni 1881 in Gorlice [Polen], in der Nähe von Tarnow [Polen] geboren. Er hatte sechs Geschwister: Gitl, Chana, Gusta, Zilli, Reisl und Nathan.

Gitl starb vor dem 2. Weltkrieg.

Chana, verheiratete Federman, hatte drei Kinder. Alle wurden im Holocaust ermordet.

Gusta, verheiratete Eberstark, hatte sechs Kinder. Alle wurden ermordet.

Zilli kam nach Berlin, lernte einen Herrn Weinhaus kennen, und 1914 fuhr sie mit ihm nach Amerika. Auf dem Schiff heirateten sie. In New York besaßen sie zusammen mit ihrer Schwester Reisl und dessen Mann ein Geflügelgeschäft. Zilli wurde 104 Jahre alt.

Reisl kam mit ihrem Mann von Galizien nach Berlin. Er war Bäcker und sein Name war Wind. In Berlin wurde ihr Sohn Josef geboren. Sie sind 1915 über Mexiko nach New York eingereist. Sie starb in New York.

Nathan kam nach Berlin und war sehr lebenslustig. Er hat sich erkältet und starb mit 26 Jahren an einer Lungenentzündung. Er wurde auf dem Friedhof in Weißensee [Anm.: Stadtteil von Berlin] beerdigt.

Mein Großvater mütterlicherseits, Angel Arthur Goldstein, wurde in der Nähe von Krakau geboren. Er war Verwalter eines Gutes. Damals haben Juden Güter gehabt. Der Gutsbesitzer hat in Krakau [Polen] gelebt, und mein Großvater war Verwalter dieses Gutes in der Nähe von Krakau. Ich kann mich erinnern, dass wir zu Hause ein Bild von dem Großvater mit dem langen weißen Bart und mit dem Käppi hatten.

Meine Großmutter, Bacze Goldstein, geborene Schiff, wurde 1850 geboren. Sie hatte zwei Perücken, die musste ich immer in die Grenadierstrasse [Anm.: Strasse in Berlin] zum Aufkämmen tragen.

Meine Mutter, Golda Braw, geborene Goldstein, wurde am 1. August 1884 in Tarnow geboren. Sie war die einzige Tochter. Sie hatte sieben Brüder: Jonas, Heinrich, Adolf, Hermann, Ignatz, Janik und Nuchem. Ihre älteren Brüder lebten auch in Berlin.

Onkel Jonas, jüdisch Joine, hatte in Berlin ein Klaviergeschäft. Seine erste Frau starb ungefähr 1918 an der Spanischen Grippe. Mit seiner zweiten Frau Hella und den Kindern Reuben und Dorit flüchtete er nach der Machtübernahme Hitlers in den 1930er-Jahren und emigrierte nach Palästina. Dorit und Reuben lebten zuerst im Kibbutz. Reuben verließ den Kibbutz in den späten 1950er-Jahren und nahm sein, durch die Emigration nach Palästina unterbrochenes Studium, wieder auf. Er wurde Professor für moderne Philosophie an der Universität Tel Aviv. Er heiratete Nelly, hatte aber keine Kinder.
Dorit und ihr ebenfalls aus Berlin stammender Mann David Ross übersiedelten gemeinsam mit Onkel Joine und Tante Hella in den Moschaw Atarot, nördlich von Jerusalem. Der Kibbutz wurde im Unabhängigkeitskrieg 1948 geräumt. Die Mitglieder wurden in dem
verlassenen Templer-Dorf Wilhelmina, etwa 20km östlich von Tel Aviv, angesiedelt. Dorit und Jakob haben 3 Söhne: Ilan, Gad und Ehud, die selbst Kinder und, zum Teil, Enkelkinder haben. Joine ist in den 1950er-Jahren gestorben, Hella in den 1980er-Jahren. Jakob ist
vor ein paar Jahren gestorben, Dorit vor einigen Wochen.

Adolf besaß einen Zeitungskiosk. Adolf und sein Bruder Heinrich sind von Berlin aus mit ihren Frauen und ihren Töchtern nach Kanada gegangen. Der eine hatte eine Tochter, der andere zwei Töchter.

Hermann war ein sehr schöner Mann. Er arbeitete in Berlin in der Schneiderei meines Vaters und heiratete Mizzi, die eine Christin war und zum jüdischen Glauben übergetreten ist. 1926 gingen sie nach Kanada, wo er jung gestorben ist.

Ignatz wurde zuerst der Kompagnon meines Vaters, dann wurde er Gutsverwalter in Polen. Er war mit Barczszinska, Bronka genannt, verheiratet. Sie hatten keine Kinder. Bronka überlebte den Krieg versteckt in einem Kloster. Ignatz wurde auf der Flucht nach Budapest ermordet.

Jannik geriet im 1. Weltkrieg in Gefangenschaft und kam nach Sibirien.

Nuchem war der Jüngste. Er war Fähnrich im 1. Weltkrieg, so nannte man Einjährig-Freiwillige. Dadurch war er gleich ein Rang höher als ein einfacher Soldat, ist aber bei einem Gasangriff der anderen Seite verschüttet worden und war lange im Spital. Er hat nachher in Galizien geheiratet.

Meine Großeltern mütterlicherseits habe ich erst richtig wahrgenommen, da war ich ungefähr fünf oder sechs Jahre alt. Sie haben im westlichen Teil von Galizien gelebt. Damals gehörte das zu Österreich-Ungarn; Polen wurde es erst 1922. Ein großer Teil von Polen hat zur Österreich-Ungarischen Monarchie gehört.

Wir sind mit unserer Mutter von Berlin aus im Jahre 1913 die Großeltern in Galizien besuchen gefahren. Wir hatten so schöne Mäntel bekommen, karierte Pepitamäntel und weiße Hütchen mit herunterhängenden Kirschen.

Die Großeltern kamen nie nach Berlin zu Besuch. Mein Großvater ist 1913 ‑ er war auf dem Feld, um die Ernte zu beaufsichtigen ‑ an einem Hitzschlag gestorben. Jetzt war meine Großmutter allein, und meine Mutter hat sie zu sich nach Berlin geholt. Die Großmutter hat dann bei uns gelebt. Die Brüder meiner Mutter kamen nach Berlin, wenn sie ihre Mutter sehen wollten. Und dadurch bekamen wir immer noch wunderbare Lebensmittel, denn der eine war im 1. Weltkrieg in Rumänien stationiert, dort gab es noch alles. Da brachte er uns Rucksäcke voll Mehl und Reis.

Meine Kindheit

Mein Vater war Schneider - Heimschneider. In späteren Jahren hatten wir eine Herrenkonfektion en gros und ein Detailgeschäft. Mein Vater wurde nicht eingezogen, er wurde im 1. Weltkrieg vier Mal gemustert, aber immer wieder zurückgestellt, weil er furchtbare Krampfadern hatte. Und das war sein Glück! Er war zu Hause und konnte für uns sorgen. Er ist zu den Bauern gefahren und hat Lebensmittel für uns besorgt, damit wir nicht verhungern. Er hat uns auch die Schuhe besohlt. Meine Mutter konnte auch alles. Wir haben keinen Hunger gehabt. Irgendwann war das Essen schon knapper, da hat man Kohlrüben gegessen. Das ganze Haus hat danach gestunken. Die Marmelade war aus Kohlrüben, und das Brot war auch aus Kohlrüben.

Meine Mutter war mit meinem Vater sehr lange verlobt. Das war eine Ehe, die noch bestimmt wurde. Sie waren entfernt verwandt miteinander. Meine Eltern haben am 7. Februar 1907 in Galizien geheiratet. Ich bin nach zehn Monaten gekommen. Ich wurde am 25. Dezember 1907 in Berlin geboren. Auf meinem Geburtsschein ist mein Name noch Rosa Goldstein, nach meiner Mutter. Meine Eltern hatten zuerst eine jüdische Hochzeit. Irgendwann mussten meine Eltern noch einmal heiraten, standesamtlich, weil die Ehe sonst nicht anerkannt worden wäre. Nachher wurde auf meinem Geburtsschein angemerkt: ‚Jakob Braw erkennt Rosa Goldstein als seine Tochter an. Und sie führt den Namen des Vaters.’ Ich habe diesen Geburtsschein noch.

Meine Schwester Betty war die zweite und wurde 1909 geboren, Erna war die dritte, sie wurde 1911 geboren, und Cilly war die jüngste Schwester, sie wurde 1913 geboren. Mein Bruder Arthur, jüdisch Anschel, war der Jüngste. Er wurde 1915, während des 1. Weltkrieges, geboren. Wir rufen ihn immer noch Anschi. Er war jetzt mit seiner Frau zu Besuch hier bei mir.

Alle fünf Geschwister sind miteinander sehr verbunden. Jeder hat einen anderen Charakter, aber wir waren nie böse aufeinander. Gut, wir haben jeder eine andere Meinung gehabt, aber wir haben uns nie richtig gezankt. Das kommt in wenigen Familien vor.

Meine Eltern waren in Deutschland Ausländer. Ich war auch nie eine Deutsche. Ich habe drei Staatsbürgerschaften gehabt, aber ich war nie Deutsche. Ich war zuerst Österreicherin. Seinerzeit, als ich in Berlin zur Welt kam, war ich Österreicherin. Ich bin 1907 geboren, aber erst 1922 war Polen entstanden. Ab 1922 war ich Polin, denn ich galt noch nach den Eltern, ich war ja noch nicht volljährig. Dann habe ich einen Ungarn geheiratet, da war ich Ungarin, und nach dem Krieg habe ich einen Österreicher geheiratet, da war ich wieder Österreicherin.

Meine Mutter hat koscher gekocht. In Berlin, in der Grenadierstrasse, waren nur jüdische Geschäfte. Da war das koschere Fleischgeschäft von Sussmann, da waren Hühnergeschäfte, das war alles koscher. Dort hat man eingekauft. Alles war bei uns koscher. Blau zum Beispiel war für milchig, dafür hatten wir blaukarierte Handtücher. Und die rotkarierten waren für fleischig. Das Geschirr war genauso extra, abgewaschen wurde auch separat. Die Tischtücher waren extra, rot für täglich, sonst hat man weiß gedeckt. Das war sehr schön zu Hause. Das Pessach-Geschirr [Pessach: Fest, das an den Auszug der Juden aus Ägypten erinnert] stand in einem riesengroßen Koffer auf dem Hängeboden. Es war sehr feierlich, wenn es dann heruntergenommen wurde. Und meine Mutter hat Gänse gekauft und im Pessach-Geschirr ausgebraten, damit wir Schmalz hatten. Die Gänseleber zu Pessach war wunderbar.

Meine Eltern sind in jüdische Bethäuser gegangen, das eine hieß ‚Ahavat Zedek’ und das andere ‚Ahavat Chaim’. Die Betstuben waren auf irgendeinem großen Hinterhof.

Wir haben in Berlin in der Templiner Straße gewohnt. Wir hatten eine große Berliner Vier-Zimmer-Wohnung. Die Toilette war in der Wohnung, und wir hatten ein Badezimmer. Es war ein sehr primitives Badezimmer, aber es war eine Badewanne drin, und ein großer Ofen, der mit Holz zum Heizen war, damit man heißes Wasser zum Baden hatte.

Wir vier Schwestern waren zusammen in einem Zimmer. Es war schmal und hatte im Eck ein Fenster. Auf der einen Seite standen zwei Betten, und auf der anderen Seite standen auch zwei Betten, und eine große Kommode mit Spiegel stand neben der Tür. Jedes Mädchen hatte einen eigenen Schubkasten - in dem hatten wir unsere Wäsche - und andere Schubkästen mit allem möglichen Krimskrams. Dann hatten wir einen Schrank, in dem die Kleider hingen.

Die neuen Sachen kamen immer zu den Feiertagen, zu Pessach und zu Rosch Haschana [Jüdisches Neujahr]. Zu Rosch Haschana kamen immer die Wintersachen. Das waren beige Mäntel, fertig gekauft. Natürlich habe ich mir gleich an der Seite ein Dreieck eingerissen. Das wurde dann genäht, gestopft, aber trotzdem mit der Zeit sah es schäbig aus. Dann haben wir wieder neue Mäntel bekommen, da trug ich schon den alten von meiner Schwester, weil meiner nicht mehr in Ordnung war. Meine Mutter hat mit mir geschimpft. Ich habe überhaupt nichts auf Kleidung gegeben. Da hat sie zu mir gesagt: ‚Rosa, wenn du wenigstens fünf Minuten länger vor dem Spiegel stehen würdest.’ Meine Mutter sagte immer: ‚An dir ist ein Junge verloren gegangen. Wie kann man so seine Sachen zerreißen?’ Ich habe immer alle Sachen genau wie meine Schwester bekommen. Ihre Sachen hingen ein halbes Jahr im Schrank, jedes Mal hat sie etwas herausgenommen und hat gefragt: ‚Na, gefällt dir das?’ Dann hat sie es zurückgehängt. Wenn sie begonnen hat ihre Sachen zu tragen, waren meine schon längst begraben, waren schon Putzlappen. Ich habe nicht aufgepasst, was ich anziehe und wie meine Haare aussehen. Die Hauptsache war, dass der Rock weit genug war, und die Schuhe sollten nicht drücken, damit ich gut laufen konnte. Zum Friseur ging ich erst, nachdem ich einen Bubikopf-Haarschnitt hatte, aber auch nur wegen der Arbeit im Geschäft meines Vaters. Zuerst hatten wir lange Zöpfe, die wurden frühmorgens, wenn wir in die Schule gegangen sind, geflochten. Mein Vater hat immer das Frühstück zum Mitnehmen gemacht. Meine Mutter hat ja mitgearbeitet; sie sollte sich ausruhen. Und dann sind wir an Mutters Bett gegangen, und sie hat die Zöpfe geflochten.

Mein Bruder schlief im kleinen Zimmer auf einem Diwan. Das Zimmer war zur Strasse. Es stand noch ein Schreibtisch in seinem Zimmer, und ein großer Fauteuil stand neben dem Kachelofen. Damals haben ja alle Kachelöfen gehabt. Den Kachelofen haben wir im Winter allein geheizt.

Dienstmädchen hatten wir nur als wir klein waren, weil meine Mutter unserem Vater in der Schneiderwerkstatt geholfen hat. Ein Dienstmädchen hieß Elsa, das andere Emma. Die beiden waren aus Pommern. Das Dienstmädchen wohnte bei uns, aber für sie wurde nur ein Bett aufgestellt. Das war früher primitiv. Die Mädels kamen alle vom Land und waren froh, dass sie sich erhalten konnten. Die Emma war eine Sabbatistin 1, die ist nur zu Juden gegangen. Am Schabbat war ihr Feiertag, am Sonntag hat sie gearbeitet. Die Sabbatisten ‑ das war eine Sekte ‑ die haben auch kein Schweinefleisch gegessen.

Meine Schulzeit

Ich habe eine jüdische Mädchenschule besucht, heute würde man sagen eine ‚Höhere Töchter Schule’. Wir mussten Französisch lernen, und Englisch war Wahlfach. Natürlich war ich zu faul für Englisch, da habe ich nur Französisch gelernt. Damals gab es keine Vorschule. Es fing in der neunten Klasse an, und es ging hinauf bis zur ersten. Die neunte Klasse war wie heute die erste Klasse, und die erste war die letzte. Die nannte man Lyzeum.

Ich habe überhaupt keinen Kontakt gehabt mit Christen. Meine Eltern auch nicht, nur geschäftlich, aber privat nicht. Aber eine christliche Jugendfreundin hatte ich, die wohnte im selben Haus. Mit der bin ich mitgegangen, wenn sie beichten ging.

Für drei Stunden, drei Mal in der Woche, haben wir bei Dr. Selbiger, das war der Lehrer, biblische Geschichte und Hebräisch lesen gelernt. Die Schreibschrift haben wir nicht gelernt, die Druckschrift haben wir gelernt. Ich konnte alle Gebete. Ich musste ja auch beten. Meine Großmutter hat da aufgepasst. Früh morgens hat man gebetet ‚Modim anachnu lo’, und abends hat man das ‚El Male Rachamim’, das Abendgebet, gesagt.

Meine Schwestern gingen auch in diese Schule. Ich musste dann aus der Schule; über mich wurde verfügt. Mir wurde vorgeschrieben, wie lange ich in die Schule gehen darf, dann musste ich die Handelsschule machen, weil mein Vater mich im Geschäft gebraucht hat. Ich musste erst einmal so eine Art Praktikum in einer fremden Firma machen. Wir hatten eine jüdische Sekretärin, die heiratete, und ich musste ihre Arbeit übernehmen. Wir hatten auch ein Detailgeschäft, Herrenkonfektion. Ich war in dem Betrieb, wo genäht wurde, und meine Schwester Betty, die dieselbe Handelsschule besuchte wie ich, hat dann in dem Detailgeschäft gearbeitet.

In der Handelsschule hat man in einem halben Jahr alles lernen müssen: Maschine schreiben, Stenographie, Buchführung, und alles in großem Tempo. Ich habe Mitschüler gehabt, die 20 Jahre alt waren, und ich war 15 Jahre alt, aber ich war besser als die anderen. Meine Mutter war nie in der Schule, um sich zu erkundigen, wie ich studiere. Es gab keine Klagen.

Ich habe dann für meine Arbeit im väterlichen Geschäft 100 Mark Taschengeld gekriegt. Ich war nicht einmal bei der Krankenkasse angemeldet. Wenn ich das gehabt hätte, würde ich heute von Deutschland eine andere Pension kriegen. Meine Schwester Betty dagegen hat beim Staatsanwalt gearbeitet, die kriegt eine herrliche Pension aus Deutschland.

Wir waren immer zionistisch eingestellt. Mein Bruder zum Beispiel war schon als 14jähriger in einem zionistisch-sozialistischen Bund und trug die blauen Hemden, die die getragen haben.

Alle meine Geschwister waren in jüdischen Vereinen mit zionistischem Einschlag. Es gab ja deutsche Juden, die gesagt haben: ‚Um Gottes willen, was haben wir dort zu suchen, Deutschland ist unsere Heimat.’ Aber das war es nicht für uns, wir waren ja Polen. Ich war im jüdischen Turnverein ‚Bar Kochba’. Das war ein jüdischer Verein, halb Sport, halb Unterhaltung. Im Sommer haben wir im Grunewald trainiert, Leichtathletik gemacht, und im Winter waren wir in der Turnhalle. Ich habe mich nicht getraut, auf die Stangen zu klettern oder auf dem Barren zu balancieren, aber andere Spiele, Völkerball und Medizinball, haben mir Spaß gemacht.

Durch die jüdischen Vereine habe ich Freunde gehabt, auch Burschen. Wir sind zum Beispiel Pfingsten ins Grüne rausgefahren. Da gab es eine Eisenbahn bis Frankfurt an der Oder, das war dritter oder vierter Klasse, da konnte man auf dem Boden auf dem Rucksack sitzen, und eine Decke hatte man zum Liegen. Wir sind in der Nacht gefahren, das war aufregend! An einem See haben wir dann geschlafen - Burschen und Mädchen. Einige Nächte haben wir in Heuhaufen bei Bauern geschlafen. Ich hatte Martha, eine gute Freundin, die immer neben mir war. Berlin hat doch wunderschöne Seen. Tretboot fahren zum Beispiel, das war immer mittwochs, und gepaddelt sind wir auch. Ich konnte nicht schwimmen, aber wir sind gerudert. Ich habe drei Mal angefangen das Schwimmen zu lernen; beim dritten Mal habe ich es aufgegeben. Das erste Mal, als ich versucht habe, schwimmen zu lernen, da hat mich der Schwimmlehrer an der Angel gehabt, und ich musste die Bewegungen machen. Und das zweite Mal habe ich ein Brett bekommen und musste das Brett vor mich herschieben. Zum Schluss hat der Lehrer gesagt: ‚Jetzt ohne Brett!’ Das habe ich nicht gemacht. Ich war feige. Ich habe Angst gehabt, ich gebe es zu. So ist das Leben.

Den Sommer haben meine Eltern eine Sommerwohnung gemietet. Als wir noch klein waren, war die erste Sommerfrische in Fichtenau, an einem See. Da haben wir die Betten und das Geschirr mitgenommen. Mein Vater ist zum Wochenende rausgekommen. Er hat gearbeitet, und wir waren mit der Mutter zusammen. Mutter hat gekocht, und wir haben ‑ genauso wie zu Hause ‑ Suppe mit Nudeln gegessen.

Wir haben alles gehabt. Wir haben wunderbar gegessen, wir haben das Beste und das Schönste eingekauft; Gänse hat man gebraten. Ich hab in der Schule manches Mal mit den Kindern Brote getauscht, damit ich ein Schmalzbrot kriege, und habe dafür mein belegtes Butterbrot mit Käse gegeben. Es hat uns an nichts gefehlt.

Mein Vater hat meine Mutter vergöttert. Er hat alles für sie und für seine Töchter getan. Meine Schwester sagt immer: ‚Was willst du denn, du warst doch der Liebling vom Papa.’ Mein Vater war ein guter Mensch. Er war nur für seine Frau und seine Kinder da. Mein Vater hat nicht geraucht, mein Vater hat nicht getrunken. Das Einzige, was er tat, war: Früh morgens, bevor er in die Werkstatt ging, hat er einen Schluck Slibowitz getrunken - ein Gläschen Slibowitz zum Frühstück. Manches Mal, wenn meine Mutter gefragt hat: ‚Sag, Jakob, was soll ich zum Mittagessen machen?’ Hat er gesagt: ‚Weißt du was? Für mich einen Milchreis mit Zucker und Zimt, das ist das Beste.’ So war er! Und wir mussten geräucherte Rinderbrust haben, bei Sussmann, in der Grenadierstrasse eingekauft. Und genau so war es mit der Kleidung: Wenn meine Mutter zu ihm gesagt hat: ‚Jakob, du musst schon neue Schuhe haben. Du musst schon endlich einen anderen Anzug haben,’ nein, er wollte nicht. Aber wenn ich etwas verlangt habe, habe ich alles bekommen.

Meine Mutter war eine Leseratte wie ich. Sie hat nur ein Jahr in Galizien die Schule besucht. Sie hatte sieben Brüder, die haben alle studiert. Der Großvater hat immer gesagt, es ist genug, wenn ein Mädchen seinen Namen schreiben kann und Brot backen, braten und buttern kann. Sie kamen doch vom Lande, und das war genug. Meine Mutter hat mir erzählt, das erste, was sie sich in Berlin gekauft hat ‑ sie hat nachher ja auch gearbeitet in Berlin ‑ war Grillparzer [Anm.: Österr. Schriftsteller 1791-1872], eine ganze Reihe Bücher von Grillparzer. Lesen und Schreiben hatte sie sich selber beigebracht. Wir hatten zu Hause eine richtige Bibliothek. Wir hatten einen Arbeiter, der war ein älterer Herr, und wir waren doch vier Mädchen zu Hause. Und der hat immer gesagt: bei den fünf Frauen im Hause Braw ist die Mutter die Klügste und die Schönste. Als wir ausgewandert sind, als Hitler kam, hat mir das Herz wehgetan, weil wir alle Bücher zurücklassen mussten.

Mein Mann

Bis zum Tage meiner Hochzeit habe ich zu Hause gewohnt. Mein erster Mann war auch ein Schneider, ein Ungar vor allen Dingen. Ein fescher, junger Bursche war er. Ich habe bei meinem Vater gearbeitet, und das war in einem Fabrikgebäude mit großen Fenstern. Mein Schreibtisch stand am Fenster. Und gegenüber war auch ein Betrieb, eine Herrenkonfektion. Da saß an der Nähmaschine immer ein gut aussehender, junger Mann. Wir haben oft so hin gelächelt, her gelächelt. Ich wusste nicht, wer er ist, und er wusste nicht, wer ich bin. Mit einem Mal kommt ein Mann rauf ‑ früher sind die Händler von Geschäft zu Geschäft gegangen ‑ und bringt mir eine Kiste, ein Kilo Konfekt: ‚Der junge Mann von drüben schickt Ihnen das.’ So fing es an. Ich nahm das natürlich an und bedankte mich.

Ich war damals noch nicht 18. Ich habe mich gefreut, warum auch nicht, aber ich habe immer lange gearbeitet. Wenn man im Geschäft beim Vater ist, dann kann man nicht um fünf Uhr Schluss machen. Meine Mutter hat immer mit meinem Vater telefoniert: ‚Wann schickst du endlich das Mädchen nach Hause?’ In der Werkstatt Knöpfe annähen; helfen, wenn Sachen gepackt wurden, um sie zu verschicken; mit den Hausdienern zur Bahn gehen, wenn die Pakete mit der Bahn weggeschickt wurden ‑ das alles musste ich machen.

Wir haben Herrenkonfektion selbst gemacht und verkauft. Wir hatten eine Zeit lang eigene Detailgeschäfte. Das eine war in Neukölln, in der Hermannstrasse, und das andere Neue Friedrichstrasse, Ecke Klosterstrasse. Damals hat man viel auf Pump verkauft, auf Teilzahlung, weil die Leute arm waren. Ein Anzug hat zum Beispiel 35 Mark gekostet, dann hatte man eine Karte angefertigt, die hat 10 Mark angezeigt, und der Betrag wurde kassiert. Das hat meine Schwester gemacht. Die Kundschaft im Detailverkauf waren weniger Juden, aber die Kundschaft im en gros waren Juden, die ganze Anzüge gekauft haben. Das waren die Leute in der Provinz. Die Pakete gingen nach Essen, nach Düsseldorf, nach Duisburg. Wir hatten auch einen Vertreter, der hatte Stoffmodelle und Stoffe dabei.

Einmal bin ich früher nach Hause gegangen. Ich war in dem Geschäft Neue Friedrichstrasse, Ecke Klosterstrasse, ging über den Hackeschen Markt in die Rosenthaler Straße in ein großes Buchgeschäft. Ich habe mir die Bücher angesehen. Ich habe Bücher gekauft, ich habe Bücher geborgt, ich habe gelesen in Verleihen ‑ nur Bücher. Also, ich stand da und habe geschaut, und hinter mir höre ich plötzlich eine Stimme langsam reden: ‚Ist das schööön?’ Ich drehe mich um, und da stand er. Er hatte auch denselben Weg wie ich, er wohnte bei seiner Schwester. Er hat gefragt, ob er mich begleiten darf, er ginge denselben Weg. Habe ich gesagt: ‚Bitte schön!’ Dabei hat sich herausgestellt, dass er der Neffe von dem Inhaber ist, bei dem er gearbeitet hat, und dass ich die Tochter von dem Inhaber von gegenüber bin. Er hat geglaubt, ich sei eine Angestellte, und ich hatte auch geglaubt, er sei nur ein Arbeiter. Er hieß Maximilian Weisz, und wir nannten ihn Michi. Er wurde am 30. November 1904 in Nitra [heute Slowakei] geboren. So hat es begonnen!

Und dann hat er mich manchmal begleitet, dann hat er mich eingeladen. Das war an einem Samstagabend, wochentags hat man ja keine Zeit gehabt. Treffpunkt war Schönhauser Allee, an der U-Bahn Ecke Schwedter Straße. Ich habe mich angezogen, habe mich zurecht gemacht, war noch beim Friseur, denn ich bin, seit ich im Geschäft meines Vaters gearbeitet hatte, immer Samstags zum Friseur gegangen. Meine Eltern haben gewusst, dass ich ein Rendezvous habe, und meine Mutter hat gesagt: ‚Nun mach doch schon, nun geh schon, du kommst doch viel zu spät!’ Habe ich gesagt: ‚Wenn er Interesse hat, wird er warten.’ Also, jedenfalls ich bin runter, kein Mensch da. Na gut, habe ich mir gedacht, ich habe mich verspätet. Also, ich gucke, fünf Minuten sind vergangen, mit einmal kommt er angelaufen, außer Atem. Was ist passiert? Ich habe mich entschuldigt, weil ich zu spät gekommen bin. Aber er dachte, ich warte an der anderen Station, also ist er eine Station weiter gelaufen und wieder zurückgelaufen.

Am Tiergarten ist das Restaurant ‚Schottenhamel’ gewesen. Ein sehr elegantes Lokal, und er sagte, er hätte noch kein Nachtmahl gegessen. Wir sind mit der U-Bahn bis zur Station Willhelmstraße gefahren, glaube ich, oben an den Linden irgendwo. Wir sind hineingegangen, und es war sehr elegant, aber ich war koscher [nach jüdischen Speisevorschriften rituell; rein]. Er hat sich eine Fleischplatte bestellt und ich Kaffee und Kuchen. Ich habe doch kein trefenes [unrein, nicht koscher] gegessen. Ich habe gesagt, dass ich koscher bin. Ich wusste nicht, wo ein koscheres Restaurant war; meine Eltern gingen nicht in Restaurants. Anschließend gab es noch Musik dort.

Ich habe drei sehr schöne Kleider bekommen, als ich verlobt war. Ein schwarzes Satin-Kleid mit weißem Satin-Einsatz, ein weißblaues Crepe de Chine-Kleid, und das dritte, das war ein dunkelblaues Stoffkleid mit Bordeaux. Ich konnte ja nicht so mit ihm ausgehen, mit den Lumpen, die ich hatte. Diese Kleider wurden von einer eleganten Schneiderei genäht.

Mein Verlobter wurde wie ein Sohn in unsere Familie aufgenommen. Er hat fleißig gearbeitet, und ich habe fleißig gearbeitet. Wir sind nur an Wochenenden ausgegangen. Und dann vergingen ungefähr sieben, acht Monate. Meine Eltern haben gesagt, das hätte keinen Sinn, sie erlauben nicht, dass ich mich herumtreibe, ich bekäme einen schlechten Ruf. Es war gerade Rosch Haschana und Jom Kippur [jüdische Versöhnungstag; wichtigste Feiertag der Juden], und meine Eltern waren im Tempel. Ich war auch im Tempel. Natürlich wurde bei uns nicht gearbeitet.

Maximilian hat auch nicht gearbeitet, weil sein Onkel auch Jude war und in der Firma nicht gearbeitet wurde. Er kam in den Tempel mich besuchen: Die Jugend hat sich da immer angesammelt, man stand da mit Freunden herum. Meine Eltern haben ihn dort zum Kaffee zu Rosch Haschana eingeladen. Es kamen auch zwei Brüder von meiner Mutter mit ihren Frauen. Und wir sitzen so, und mit einem Mal sagt mein Vater: ‚Gehen wir bitte ins Nebenzimmer!’ Meine Onkeln und mein Vater riefen dann Michi zu sich rein. Ich dachte mir, was ist denn da los? Nach einer Weile kamen sie lachend heraus, Michi strahlte, und dann wurde mir gesagt, sie hätten ihn gefragt, was für Absichten er hätte, denn sie sähen nicht ein, dass man sich so lange herumschleppt, ich käme in einen schlechten Ruf. Und er hat gesagt, er hätte die Absicht, mich zu heiraten. Damit war die Sache erledigt. Und ich habe mich sehr geärgert, dass sie das gemacht haben.

Ich habe genug Verehrer gehabt. Zum Beispiel hat mich ein Verwandter aus Polen heiraten wollen. Er war acht Jahre älter als ich. Als er das letzte Mal in Berlin war, war ich ein Mädel von 14 Jahren. Als er weggefahren ist, war ich 15. Manchmal hatte er mich mitgenommen in einen Zirkus, manchmal in eine Nachmittagsvorstellung einer Operette. Sein Vater hatte in Oswieczim [poln. Stadt Auschwitz] eine Fleischerei und einen Pferdehandel, wie die Juden das so in der Provinz gehabt haben. Er musste zurück nach Hause, weil er der einzige Sohn war. Und wie er sich verabschiedet hat, da sagte er zu mir: ‚Rosa, wenn du 18 bist, heirate ich dich.’ Und ich mit meiner großen Klappe sagte zu ihm: ‚Natürlich!’

Irgendwann kam ein Brief an mich, aber an meinen Vater adressiert. Und er fragte, ob ich mich erinnere, jetzt wäre die Zeit, ich sei 18 Jahre alt. Ich war so stolz auf diesen Brief! Ich habe ihm zurückgeschrieben, ich hätte das Angebot bekommen, aber es seien drei Jahre vergangen, ich hätte mich verändert, er hätte sich verändert, man sähe ganz anders aus und so weiter. Und da hat er zurückgeschrieben, ich solle ihm ein Bild schicken von mir, und er hat mir auch ein Bild von sich geschickt. Ich habe ein Passbild geschickt, auf dem meine Haare zu Berge standen. Da hat er zurückgeschrieben, auf dem Bild könne man nicht viel sehen, und da habe ich ihm geschrieben: ‚Wenn du Interesse hast, bitte komm nach Berlin.’ Er hat mir gar nicht gefallen, es hat mich nur stolz gemacht, und ich habe die Realität gesehen: Er war eine gute Partie. Ich war sehr nüchtern damals, ich hatte überhaupt keine Phantasie.

Dann kam die Antwort, er könne nicht kommen, er hätte keinen Pass, ich solle kommen. Ich war schon auf dem Weg, mir einen Pass zu besorgen, da hat sich meine Mutter eingemischt. Sagt sie zu mir: ‚Rosa, überleg! Du, ein Berliner Mädchen mit deinem Wissen, du willst nach Polen heiraten?’ Das war schon Polen damals. ‚Du kannst kein Wort polnisch. Willst du in einer Kleinstadt leben, in einem Fleischerladen bedienen?’

Ich habe überhaupt nicht mehr geantwortet. Damals war ich außerdem verliebt in meinen Jugendfreund Samy. Wir wohnten im selben Haus. Kennen gelernt habe ich ihn, da war ich zehn, elf Jahre alt, und er war vier Jahre älter. Damals ist er immer stolz an mir vorbeigegangen, und ich habe noch mit Puppen gespielt. Als ich dann schon fast 18 war, war auch er in mich verliebt. Wo er mich hat fassen können, hat er mich gehabt und geküsst. Einmal waren wir auf Sommerfrische. Ich war mit meinem Bruder dort, der war damals noch klein. Samy wollte mit mir schlafen. Seine Schwester war meine Freundin, ein bildschönes Mädel, genauso alt wie ich, und ich sage zu ihm: ‚Samy was würdest du sagen, wenn das deine Schwester, die Nina, machen würde?’ Und er sagt mir: ‚Die tut so was nicht.’ Von dem Augenblick war es aus, ich habe ihn nicht mehr angesehen. So stolz war ich! Er war amerikanischer Staatsbürger, in Amerika geboren, auch seine Geschwister. Seine Eltern waren in Amerika und sind nach Deutschland zurückgekommen. In zwei Monaten war er weg. Er ist nach Amerika gegangen. Ich weiß nicht, ob er noch lebt ‑ er muss ja schon 100 Jahre alt sein ‑ aber ob er je gewusst hat, warum es zu Ende war?

Mir hatte das ja nicht gefallen, was mein Vater und meine Onkeln da mit Michi gemacht hatten, aber bitte! Michi hat gestrahlt, und ich war sehr verlegen, aber wir sind noch anschließend ins Kino gegangen. Das geschah alles im November, und am 30. November hatte er Geburtstag. Ich weiß noch, ich habe doch am 25. Dezember Geburtstag, da habe ich als Geburtstagsgeschenk von ihm einen herrlichen Kristallteller bekommen. Das war der erste Teller, den ich geschenkt bekam, und ich habe mir noch gedacht: ‚Ein Teller als Geburtstagsgeschenk? Ein Kristallteller?’ Aber der Schliff war außergewöhnlich schön. Michi war sehr spendabel, ich habe oft Geschenke bekommen.

Dann hatten wir eine richtig jüdische Verlobung, das war am 8. März 1928. Zur Verlobung sind seine Mutter und seine Schwester aus Budapest gekommen. Wir waren 80 Personen. Wir hatten damals eine Vier-Zimmer-Wohnung, drei Zimmer wurden ausgeräumt. Meine Mutter hat selbst das ganze Abendessen gekocht. Ich habe doch Freundinnen gehabt, und die Mädels waren alle da; ich habe sehr viele Geschenke bekommen. Es war eine richtig große Feier. Im letzten Zimmer wurde die Garderobe aufgehängt. Wir hatten vom Geschäft einen Lehrjungen, der kam und hat bei der Garderobe geholfen. Ich weiß noch, es gab Fische, und dann gab es Suppe, und dann gab es Fervel, Tarhonya, mit Geflügel, mit allem Möglichen. Und meine Mutter hatte Jahre vorher saure Kirschen in Weingeist eingelegt, für Likör. Da hatte sie Spiritus gekauft und die Kirschen reingelegt. Und sie hatte gesagt: Bei der ersten Familienfeier wird das aufgemacht und getrunken. Und das hat ein paar Jahre gedauert.

Ich habe während der Verlobungszeit Sofakissen gehäkelt, auf besondere Art, und Sofakissen gestrickt, und zur Verlobung hatte ich ach von Freundinnen Handarbeiten bekommen.

Michi hat sich dann selbständig gemacht, bis dahin hatte er bei seinem Onkel gearbeitet. Er hat Maschinen gekauft und gemietet. Er hat mit seinem Schwager zusammengearbeitet, und ich habe gesagt: ‚Das geht nur, solange wir nicht verheiratet sind, danach bin ich der Kompagnon.’ Und so geschah es.

Ich war die Erste, die geheiratet hat, ich war ja auch die Älteste. Die standesamtliche Hochzeit war ein Jahr später. Michi war ja damals auch noch gar nicht volljährig. In Ungarn war man erst mit 24 volljährig. Er musste noch die Bewilligung von den Eltern haben. Wie wir geheiratet haben, war er schon 24, aber als er die Papiere für die Hochzeit eingereicht hat, war er noch keine 24 Jahre alt. Er war Ausländer, und ich war Ausländerin. In Deutschland war man doch sehr genau. Ich war der Abstammung nach Polin und musste ein Ehefähigkeitszeugnis aus Polen haben. Wir haben die Angelegenheit Rechtsanwälten übergeben, die haben alles erledigt. Nur Geld musste man haben, sonst hätte man ja laufen und laufen und laufen müssen.

Dann haben wir geheiratet. Ich bestand auf dem Tempel in der Oranienburger Strasse. Wir sind in die Leipziger Strasse gegangen, die Brautspitze für das Brautkleid kaufen. In der Leipziger Strasse war auch ‚Michels’, das Seidengeschäft ‑ ein herrliches Geschäft! Da haben wir den Schleier gekauft, der war bestickt. Dann mussten die Blumen bestellt werden, der Strauss und die Myrthe, das Restaurant und das Essen. Am Alexanderplatz war das große Warenhaus ‚Tietz’, aber vorher war der Kupfergraben, und da war ein koscheres Restaurant. Gegenüber war die Grenadierstrasse, das ganze jüdische Viertel, da war das Restaurant, in dem wir das Essen bestellt haben.

Die standesamtliche Trauung ‑ das war nur ein Akt ‑ war schon sieben Wochen vor der jüdischen Trauung. Aber ich habe immer noch mit meinem Mädchennamen unterschrieben. Es ist mir gar nicht eingefallen, dass ich ja schon verheiratet bin. Die Trauzeugen bei der standesamtlichen Trauung waren mein Vater und Michis Onkel. Wir sind anschließend gleich wieder arbeiten gegangen. Und dann kam die eigentliche Trauung. Ich bin in die Mikwe [rituelles Tauchbad] gegangen. Die Cousine meiner Mutter hat mich dahin geschleppt. Samstagnachmittag- und Abend waren alle meine Freundinnen bei uns zu Hause. Es war lustig, mein Verlobter war da, und ich musste in die Mikwe gehen. Die hat mir dort die Fingernägel angeschaut, ob da eh kein Schmutz drunter ist, und ich musste untertauchen.

Sonntag war die Hochzeit. Vor der Trauung sind wir erst einmal zum Photographen gefahren. Der war am Anfang der Schönhauser Allee. Der Photograph war ein gebürtiger Russe, hieß Pergamentschik und war einer der besten Photographen. Dann kam Hitler, Pergamentschik ist nach Palästina gegangen und hatte dann dort ein Atelier.

Der Oranienburger Tempel war der schönste Tempel überhaupt in Berlin, und man sagte sogar, in ganz Europa. Es waren Leute geladen nur für die Trauung und Leute zum anschließenden Essen im Restaurant. Zwei Ehepaare müssen die Braut unter die Chuppa [Der Traubaldachin bei einer jüdischen Hochzeit – bedeutet das ‚Dach über dem Kopf’ und besagt, dass ein Haus gegründet wird] führen, die nennt man die Unterführer. Und bei uns waren das meine Eltern von meiner Seite, und von Michis Seite seine Schwester und sein Schwager, die auch in Berlin gelebt haben. Zwei kleine Mädchen, Töchter von einer Freundin, haben Blumen gestreut. Alle waren sehr elegant. Dann kamen wir, dann kamen die zwei Jungen, die die Schleppe getragen haben. Und dann kam die Hochzeitsgesellschaft. Meine vier Freundinnen trugen elegante Kleider in hellgrün, in hellblau, die dritte in malvenfarben, die vierte war in rosa gekleidet.

Dann wurden wir getraut. Aber bevor man getraut wird, wurde die standesamtliche Bescheinigung verlangt. In Deutschland war das Gesetz, denn die jüdische Hochzeit wurde ja nicht anerkannt ‑ obwohl das in Österreich damals anerkannt wurde und auch in der Tschechoslowakei. Die brauchten zu dieser Zeit nicht mehr zum Standesamt gehen. Darum sind damals viele Paare in die Tschechoslowakei gefahren, um sich trauen zu lassen, weil ihnen verschiedene Papiere gefehlt haben.

Die Schleppe meines Brautkleides wurde von zwei kleinen Jungen in Matrosenanzügen getragen, die sich gestritten haben, die waren fünf Jahre alt, der eine war mein späterer Neffe, und der andere war der Sohn von einer Freundin. Der eine Bub hat die Schleppe hingezogen, der andere hat sie hergezogen, und ich habe immer versucht, die Schleppe festzuhalten.

Nach der Trauung sind wir zum Essen gefahren. Das Restaurant war am Kupfergraben, direkt an der Alexanderstrasse. Nebenan stand das große Warenhaus Hermann Tietz. Ein Hochzeitsgast war Buchdrucker, ein bildschöner Junge, der hat die Einladungen und Tischkarten als Hochzeitsgeschenk gedruckt. Und die anderen Hochzeitsgeschenke waren, was man damals eben alles geschenkt hat. Heute macht man Listen. Von einem habe ich eine Couchdecke bekommen, eine Chaiselongue-Decke, die habe ich heute noch. Und von anderen Bettvorleger, Daunendecken und Kristalle.

Das Essen war gut, die Fische hatte meine Mutter gemacht, richtig polnische Karpfen, kalt und mit Geleesauce und Barches [jüdische Festbrot in Zopfform] dazu. Draußen war es kalt, und die Kellner hatten gar keine Lust zu bedienen; man musste sie antreiben. Es waren nur zwei oder drei Kellner. Nach dem Essen sollte man tanzen, es war doch genug Jugend da. Aber die Musik war auch schrecklich. Der Bruder meiner Freundin war ein wunderbarer Klavierspieler, der hat alles spielen können ‑ aus dem Kopf, ohne Noten. Der hat sich dann ans Klavier gesetzt und gespielt, da konnten wir dann richtig tanzen.

Dann sind wir in unsere Wohnung gegangen. Die war schon fix und fertig eingerichtet. Es war Wohnungsnot damals, und wir hatten eine Wohnung in der Alten Schönhauser Strasse gefunden, da war früher ein Polizeirevier drin. Das war Wohnung und Werkstatt zusammen. Die Wohnung war groß, da war ein riesengroßes Arbeitszimmer mit drei Fenstern zum zweiten Hof hinaus, dann hatte ich ein schönes Schlafzimmer, natürlich waren die Fenster auch zum Hof hinaus. Mein Vater ist mit mir einkaufen gegangen, und so konnten wir das schönste Schlafzimmer, en gros, aussuchen. Der Inhaber des Geschäftes, ein Großhändler, hat mir dann erzählt, dass ein Musiker dasselbe Schlafzimmer hatte. Das war Mahagoni, ganz dunkles Mahagoni mit Silber eingelegt. Und ein schönes Speisezimmer habe ich bekommen. Die Werkstatt war sogar schon hergerichtet, da standen schon die Zuschneidemaschinen; mein Mann hatte schon in der Wohnung gearbeitet. Die Hochzeitsgeschenke waren auch schon zum Teil in der Wohnung aufgestellt.

Dann kam die Hochzeitsnacht, und in der Früh höre ich Schließen an unserer Wohnungstür. Mein Mann springt aus dem Bett, zieht sich die Hosen an, rennt raus. Es war mein Vater! Er wollte das Zimmer einheizen, damit es warm ist, wenn ich aufwache. Und sogar im Schlafzimmer hat er eingeheizt. Na, meine Mutter war vielleicht wütend!

Am 10. Dezember 1929 wurde unsere Tochter Bessy geboren. Sie kam zehn Monate nach der Hochzeit. Am 10. Februar habe ich geheiratet, und am 10. Dezember ist sie geboren. Wir waren doch noch beide sehr jung, aber ich hatte meine Eltern. Die ersten sechs Wochen war ich zu Hause bei meinen Eltern. Mein Mann ist in unserer Wohnung geblieben. Er ist zu uns gekommen, und ich bin zu ihm gefahren. Tagsüber bin ich hingefahren und habe ein bisschen gearbeitet. Das Kind war ja bei meinen Eltern. Ich wusste, nach drei Stunden musste ich zurück sein, um das Kind zu nähren. Das ganze war ein Weg von nicht einmal zehn Minuten.

Mein Vater wurde ausquartiert, und ich habe mit meiner Mutter und dem Baby im Zimmer geschlafen. Wir hatten kein Kinderbett bei den Eltern, das Baby schlief in unserer Mitte. Dann hatte Bessy natürlich ein schönes, weißes Kinderbett zu Hause und einen weißen Kinderwagen, den mir meine Schwester geschenkt hat. Mein Vater hat nicht erlaubt, dass ich mit dem Kind rausgehe, es war ja schrecklich kalt. Er erlaubte es erst nach sechs Wochen und dann auch nur, wenn er mitging. Mein Vater hat immer, als meine zweite Tochter Lilly geboren wurde, gesagt: ‚Ich habe sechs Töchter!’

Als Bessy zweieinhalb Jahre alt war, bin ich mit ihr nach Ungarn gefahren, um die Schwiegereltern und die Verwandtschaft meines Mannes zu besuchen. Mein Mann ist in Berlin geblieben. Wir hatten ja die Werkstatt, und er konnte nicht weg.

Mein Schwiegervater besaß eine Bäckerei. Die Familie wohnte in der Vorstadt von Budapest, in Ujpest, das heißt Neupest. Ujpest ist zwanzig Minuten mit der Straßenbahn von Budapest entfernt. Budapest ist eine herrliche Stadt! Auf der einen Seite ist die Altstadt, auf der anderen Seite ist die moderne Geschäftsstadt. Es gab wunderbare Kaffeehäuser. Man konnte an der Donau am Kai sitzen, man hat Dampferfahrten gemacht ‑ ich habe mich sehr gut gefühlt. Und dann bin ich zurückgekommen nach Berlin - damals ist man doch noch mit der Bahn gefahren, und von Berlin nach Budapest, das waren 20 Stunden. Im Orient-Express bin ich nach Berlin zurückgefahren. Man hatte mir auch noch eine schöne Gans und Gänseleber und Salami eingepackt.

Ich bin angekommen, natürlich große Freude, und neun Monate später, am 6. Mai 1933, war meine zweite Tochter Lilly da. Und ich wollte doch nicht, ich wollte nur ein Kind haben, denn damals war es modern, nur ein Kind zu haben. Alle meine Freundinnen, die Schwägerin, die Schwester von meinem Mann, die hatten nur ein Kind. Die Schwester von meinem Mann wollte mir helfen. Die hat gesagt, ich soll Tee trinken und im heißen Wasser sitzen und vom Tisch springen - aber es hat nicht geholfen. Bis ich meiner Mutter erzählt habe, dass ich schwanger bin, und die hat kein Blatt vor den Mund genommen: ‚Was ist das? Willst du dich unglücklich machen? Was ist ein zweites Kind? Warum willst du das nicht haben? Der Altersunterschied ist gerade gut!’ Aber das Schlimmste war, sie hat das nachher meiner Tochter erzählt, als sie groß war. Und die hat mir dann immer gesagt: ‚Mich wolltest du ja nicht haben.’

Mein Mann, der zu Hause in Budapest bei seinen Eltern überhaupt nicht koscher war, hat sich mir ganz angepasst. Koscher zu leben war ja auch nicht schwierig, man hat ja alles bekommen. In der Grenadierstrasse, in der Dragonerstrasse, in der Mulackstrasse, da waren doch alles nur jüdische Geschäfte und fromme Leute. Da war ein frommer Jude, von dem hat man gesagt, der tut Buße, denn in seiner Jugend war er ein Lümmel und hat sich rumgetrieben mit den Mädels, mit den Christen ‑ also furchtbar! Und dann hat er geheiratet und hat Buße getan, er hat nur den langen Mantel und die weißen Socken getragen, und einen Bart hat er sich wachsen lassen. Rothaarig war er auch noch. Er hatte sechs Kinder. Der wohnte in der Grenadierstrasse. Die Strasse war das Zentrum des Ostjudentums in Berlin. Da sprach man polnisch und jiddisch. Es gab dort Händler mit Altwaren, Fleischgeschäfte, Fischgeschäfte, Geschäfte mit Grünzeug, Bäckereien und jüdische Restaurants. Mein Mann und ich sind sehr oft Essen gegangen, wir aßen so gern Kischke mit Fervel, und dort war das so gut. Fervel, das ist Teigware, Tarhonya ist Reibgerste aus Teig. Kischke, das ist gefüllter Darm, sauberer Rinderdarm, und der wurde gefüllt. Da wurde eine Masse gemacht aus Mehl, Fett, ein bisschen Grieß, Salz, Pfeffer, ein bisschen Knoblauch, und damit wurde der Darm gefüllt. Und der wurde mitgekocht oder mitgebraten mit dieser Tarhonya. Es wird ein Teig gemacht, ein harter Teig, und auf einer Reibe gerieben. Und da kommen kleine und größere Stücke raus, und das wird in Fett gebrutzelt. Das schmeckt wunderbar, ach Gott, ich hab das auch oft gekocht.

Es war ein jüdischer Kindergarten in der Gipsstrasse, und in der Auguststrasse war die jüdische Volksschule. Die Direktorin der jüdischen Volksschule war eine Klassenlehrerin von mir in der jüdischen Mittelschule. Ich bringe ihr meine Tochter Bessy, da sagt sie zu mir: ‚Du bringst mir schon deine Tochter?’ Ja, wir waren vier Mädchen in einer Schule. Das vergisst man nicht so schnell.

Meine Geschwister

Meine Schwester Betty, die nur ein Jahr jünger ist als ich, die ist das ganze Gegenteil von mir. Sie redet nicht so viel wie ich, und sie hing an meinem Rockschoß, wo immer ich war. Ich bin mit meinem Mann weggefahren, das war drei Monate nach unserer Hochzeit, denn wir hatten keine Hochzeitsreise gemacht, also sind wir auf fünf Tage über Pfingsten weggefahren. Nächsten Tag war meine Schwester schon da. Sie schlief mit uns im selben Zimmer.

Mein Bruder hieß Anschel wie Rotschild, zu Deutsch Arthur. Er wurde Anschi gerufen. Mein Bruder war wundervoll und ist heute noch wundervoll. Arthur war von Geburt an Zionist. In Berlin war er im Verein Haschomer Hatzair 2. Mein Vater hat gesagt, er soll studieren, aber Anschi meinte, Palästina braucht keine Ärzte und keine Doktoren, Palästina muss aufgebaut werden, da braucht man Bauern. Und nachdem er zwei Jahre im Gymnasium war, ist er weggezogen von zu Hause in seinen Verein, ich glaube es war Habonim, und dann sie sind nach Palästina gefahren. Ich war noch auf dem Bahnhof und hab ihn verabschiedet. Sie gingen ins Hule Gebiet, das war oben im Galil [Galiläa; im Norden Israels]. Da waren nur Sümpfe mit Mücken und Wespen, und die mussten gerodet werden. Dort haben sie gearbeitet, und geschlafen haben sie in Zelten. Er bekam Malaria und Typhus. Er hat viel mitgemacht. Mein Bruder lebt heute in Haifa. Seine Frau, die Rosel, war mit ihm zusammen im Bund 3, sie ist also eine Jugendfreundin. Er wurde Schlosser, hat schwer gearbeitet, von morgens bis abends. Arthur hat zwei Töchter Ruth, verheiratete Dickstein und Jael, verheiratete Rappoport. Beiden Töchtern hat er eine sehr gute Ausbildung ermöglicht.

Meiner Schwester Betty wurde 1933 aus rassischen Gründen gekündigt, und da hat meine Mutter aufgehorcht. Im Dezember 1933 ging Betty nach Palästina. Betty hatte in Berlin beim Gericht gearbeitet und war pragmatisiert. Meine Mutter, die sehr umsichtig und klug war, hat gesagt: ‚Es hat keinen Sinn, Betty, wir müssen uns alle auf den Weg machen, und du wirst die erste sein, die nach Palästina geht!’ Damals verlangten die Engländer ein Zertifikat, das bekam man, wenn man einen bestimmten Beruf ausüben konnte, zum Beispiel einen landwirtschaftlichen oder man hatte viel Geld, dann konnte man ein Zertifikat kaufen.

Betty ging auf Hachschara [‚Tauglichmachung’ für ein Leben in Palästina/Israel]. Sie wurde vom Palästina-Amt 4 nach Polen vermittelt. Dort hat sie in einer Kommune gelebt. Und sie selbst musste die blutigen Häute waschen, die man den Tieren abgezogen hatte. Sie sagte, sie hat sich so geekelt, dass es schrecklich war. Was sie dort anhatte, das hat sie nicht mehr mit nach Hause genommen, das hat sie alles dort gelassen. Sie war so empfindlich: Wenn ich gesagt habe: ,Betty, hast du ein Paar Strümpfe, kannst du sie mir borgen?’, hat sie gesagt: ,Nicht borgen, kannst sie schon behalten.’ Gott behüte, wenn jemand ihren Morgenrock angezogen hat, dann hat sie schon geschrieen.

Damals durfte man schon kein Geld mehr nach Palästina schicken. Aber auf sämtliche Pässe, die wir hatten, durfte man jeden Monat je zehn Mark schicken. Mein Vater hat durch diese Überweisungen in Palästina ein paar hundert Dollar angesammelt.

Betty hat in Palästina zuerst die WIZO 5 Schule besucht, um kochen zu lernen. Die WIZO, das war diese Frauenorganisation. Das dauerte ein halbes Jahr. Sie hat im Haus, in dem sie gearbeitet hat, nämlich bei der Mutter von Chaim Weizmann 6 ihren zukünftigen Mann, Perez Chaim, kennen gelernt. Er war Elektroingenieur bei Rutenberg. Das war eine große Stromfirma in Israel. Sein Vater war ein Theologe. Betty und ihr Mann haben keine Kinder.

Als nächste ging Erna nach Palästina. Sie war vier Jahre jünger als ich. Erna war viel zu Hause, sie hatte schlechte Augen. Auf einem Auge ist sie operiert worden, und auf dem anderen Auge konnte sie auch schlecht sehen. Sie wurde so geboren, und meine Mutter hat immer mit ihr Mitleid gehabt. Die Augen schonen: Erna bleibt zu Hause, sie wird kochen, sie wird die Hauswirtschaft führen. Wir konnten Handarbeiten machen, wir konnten stricken, wir konnten alles Mögliche machen, aber Erna durfte nicht, sie musste ihre Augen schonen. Erna hatte eine Jugendliebe, den Max Selinger. Er konnte sehr gut Geige spielen, meine Schwester hat sehr gut Klavier gespielt, und sie haben immer bei uns in der Wohnung ‑ wir hatten ja ein Klavier ‑ zusammen gespielt. Wir hatten ihn wirklich gern. Bloß seine Mutter hatte andere Pläne mit ihm. Es gab in Berlin den jüdischen Klub Nordau [benannt nach Max Nordau] 7. Erna hat in diesem Klub ihren zukünftigen Mann, Heinz-Werner Goldstein, kennen gelernt. Er war so stolz auf sein ‚Deutschtum’, immer hieß es: ‚bei uns’. Noch in Israel hat er immer alles verglichen: ‚Bei uns war es so, bei uns war es so...’ Wir nannten ihn auch schon ‚bei uns’. Er wollte in Berlin die Hochschule für Politik besuchen. Na, dann ist doch Hitler gekommen, also konnte er nicht. Da ist er nach Frankreich gegangen, um ein Zertifikat zu bekommen. Er hat dort in den Weinbergen gearbeitet.

Erna ist mit Heinz-Werner nach Palästina gegangen, aber er hat keinen Posten gekriegt, und da hat er Zeitungen ausgetragen. Meine Schwester ist putzen gegangen, und später hat sie in ihrer Wohnung einen Kindergarten aufgemacht. Er hat gearbeitet, was er gerade bekommen konnte. Sie haben zwei Kinder bekommen, Aliza und David. Als Heinz-Werner starb, hat meine Schwester ihre Wohnung in Haifa verkauft. Die Tochter und der Schwiegersohn haben noch Geld dazu gelegt und ihr eine Wohnung in Raanana gekauft, damit sie täglich mit ihr zusammen sein können. Sie braucht nur über die Strasse zu gehen. Und sie haben die Wohnung in Raanana genau so eingerichtet, wie sie es in Haifa hatte, damit sie es gut hat.

Cilly ist 1939 zusammen mit meinen Eltern nach Palästina gegangen. Cilly hat in Berlin für das Palästina-Amt gearbeitet. Sie ist in ganz Deutschland zu reichen Juden gereist, um Gelder für die Jugend-Alija [jüdische Einwanderung nach Palästina/Israel der Jugend] zu sammeln. Sie wollte mit ihrem Mann, Rudi Abraham, damals war sie schon verheiratet, nach Palästina fahren, aber das Palästina-Amt hat gesagt: ‚Wir brauchen deine Kraft, deine Sammeltätigkeit!’ Sie hat ein besonderes Auftreten gehabt: Eine elegante Frau war sie, und schön war sie auch. Man hat immer zu ihr gesagt: ‚Wenn du nach Palästina fahren willst, du musst dann nicht warten.’ Sie ist herumgefahren und hat Geld eingesammelt. Sie kann alles. Sie kann Bücher schreiben, in vier Sprachen übersetzen, und sie war Pressesprecherin von Ben Gurion 8. In Amerika war sie Konsulin unter Eisenhower 9. Eineinhalb Jahre war sie in New York.

Sie ist die jüngste von uns vier Mädchen, und sie hat die beste Schulausbildung. Wir mussten alle das machen, was unser Vater gesagt hat, und Cilly konnte machen, was sie wollte; ich weiß nicht, warum? Und das, obwohl ich die Lieblingstochter war! Sie hat das Gymnasium besucht, und gerade als die Nazis 1933 kamen, hatte sie ihr Abitur. Sie fuhr dann eineinhalb Jahre nach Lettland, nach Riga auf Hachschara. Dort hat sie ihren ersten Mann, Rudi Abraham, kennen gelernt. Er war aus Berlin, ein noch nicht fertiger Rechtsanwalt. Er war damals noch Referendar. Sie hat ihn geheiratet und ist mit ihm nach Palästina gegangen. Er musste sein Studium noch einmal beginnen, denn in Palästina galt zu dieser Zeit das türkische Recht. Er musste aber erst einmal die Sprache lernen, und Cilly war damals in Amerika, und er war alleine in Palästina. Sie haben sich auseinander gelebt. Sie war damals eineinhalb, zwei Jahre weg. Die Ehe ging auseinander. In Amerika hat sie ihren zweiten Mann, Joshua Brandstetter, kennen gelernt. Er war 23 Jahre älter als sie. Er war ein Boheme Typ. Er hat Filme gemacht und die israelische Habimah-Truppe [israelisches Nationaltheater] nach Amerika gebracht, die Schauspieler vermittelt, und er hat gemalt. Die beiden sind zusammen geblieben. Er ist an Nierenversagen gestorben.

Während des Krieges

Mein Vater wurde 1938, sofort nach der Reichspogromnacht 10, verhaftet und nach Polen deportiert 11. Er durfte zehn Mark mitnehmen und einen kleinen Aktenkoffer. Ich weiß noch, dass wir ihm seine goldene Uhr mit der Kette mitgegeben haben. Wir hatten auch noch Verwandtschaft in Polen, und ich war immer Verbindungsmann. Ich war ja mit einem Ungarn verheiratet, und ich hatte noch keine Angst. Ich hatte mir ein Visum nach Polen besorgt. Ich wollte zu meinem Vater und ihm Geld bringen. Und wie ich gerade vom Passamt komme, kommt mir meine Mutter entgegen und sagt: ‚Du musst nicht nach Polen, der Papa hat die Erlaubnis bekommen zurückzufahren und mich abzuholen, und wir fahren zusammen nach Palästina.’

Als mein Vater aus Polen zurückkam, wurde alles gepackt. Gerade damals sollte meine jüngere Tochter eingeschult werden, sie war sechs Jahre alt. Meine Schwestern hatten nicht locker gelassen und die Einreise von den Engländern bekommen. Mein Vater ist damals so schweren Herzens weggefahren, denn ich bin noch geblieben mit meiner Familie. Mein Vater hat gesagt: ‚Ich versündige mich!’ Er konnte sich nicht trennen. ‚Ich versündige mich, ich lasse mein Kind hier, und ich gehe!’ Und er hat gesagt: ‚Ich gebe keine Ruhe, bis ich euch rüberhole.’

Mein Vater hatte sich 300 Dollar gespart - in 100 Dollar-Scheinen, drei Stück. Jetzt musste er doch seine Sachen packen. Die Kisten waren schon weg. In den Kisten war sogar das Silberbesteck. Sie wurden in der Wohnung gepackt. Ich habe eine Kiste Bier bestellt. Die Zollbeamten haben gesoffen, und der jüdische Spediteur hat gepackt, sogar meine silbernen Leuchter, die durfte man ja mitnehmen, das war legal. Und wir haben gedacht, dass die Kisten, wenn die Zollbeamten in der Wohnung packen, gleich weggehen. Aber zu unserem Unglück wurden die Kisten am Zollhof noch einmal aufgemacht. Und da haben sie die Silbersachen gesehen und rausgenommen. Aber die jüdischen Packer, es war ja ein jüdischer Spediteur, die haben sie doch wieder eingepackt, die haben das geschafft. Na, also das ist dann weggegangen.

Aber wo versteckt man 300 Dollar? Ich hatte meine Wäsche zum Beispiel, die leicht rutscht, die seidene, auf solchen Wäschebrettern. Die konnte man fertig kaufen, mit so rosa Bändern wurde es dann zugebunden, damit es schön liegt. Meine Mutter kam auf die Idee ‑ sie hat sich ein Stück Pappe besorgt, sie hatte auch einen bunten Stoff, so mit Röschen bestickt ‑ ein Brett nachzumachen und die 300 Dollar hineinzuschieben. Es war nicht so schön wie die richtigen, es war etwas kleiner. Nur meine Eltern und ich wussten von dem Geld. Meine Eltern, meine jüngste Schwester Cilly und ich gingen zum Alexanderplatz, um die Koffer aufzugeben. Meine Schwester stand auf der einen Seite, ich stand auf der anderen Seite. Der Zollbeamte nahm jedes Stück raus und legte es daneben, auch die Wäschebretter. Es waren ja noch viel mehr Wäschebretter drinnen. Und er sagte plötzlich: ‚Na, wo haben Sie denn Ihre Dollar versteckt?’ Mein Vater hatte keine Ruhe, der ist immer wieder rausgegangen, spazieren. Und meine Schwester sagte frech: ‚Wissen Sie was, wenn ich Dollar hätte schmuggeln wollen, hätte ich eine bessere Möglichkeit gefunden.’ Da legte er alles wieder zurück. Mein Vater sagte damals: ‚Resi, ein Hunderter gehört dir!’ Und den Hunderter hat er aufbewahrt, bis ich das erste Mal nach Israel kam, aber ich habe meinen Vater nie mehr wiedergesehen. Er hat aber noch erfahren, dass ich einen Sohn habe. Er ist 1947 gestorben; mein Sohn wurde 1945 geboren.

Mein Mann hat gesagt: ‚Bei uns in Ungarn kann nichts passieren.’ 1939, nach drei Wochen Krieg, musste man die Wohnungen verdunkeln, und es gab Lebensmittelkarten. Die Juden haben natürlich weniger bekommen. Und außerdem hatten wir nur bestimmte Stunden am Tag zum einkaufen; wir konnten nicht während des ganzen Tages einkaufen. Da haben wir die Koffer gepackt und sind nach Budapest, weil mein Mann ja behauptet hat, in Budapest kann das nicht passieren. Ich hatte aber zur Sicherheit die Einreisedokumente für meine Kinder nach Palästina dabei.

Wir fanden eine kleine Wohnung, zwei Zimmer und eine Küche, in Ujpest. Ich hatte schon die Kisten mit meinen Sachen aus Berlin. Die Möbel hatten wir damals schon verkauft. Das waren Notverkäufe. Für mein Schlafzimmer, das 4.000 Mark gekostet hatte, habe ich 400 Mark gekriegt. Aber ich hatte andere Sachen geschickt: Bettwäsche, Gardinen, die Silberleuchter, Silberbesteck. Zu meiner Hochzeit hatte ich Federbetten bekommen, die in Polen hergestellt wurden. Meine Mutter hatte dort die Gänsefedern, die echten, bestellt. Und ich wollte damals eine besondere Größe haben. Das Mittelmaß war ja nur 1 Meter 40 breit für eine Tuchent, und ich wollte sie einen Meter 50 haben. Die wurden dann in Polen angefertigt. In Budapest hatte man weiße Inletts, und meine waren mit roten Inletts. Aber einen Teil meiner Sachen habe ich auch nach Israel geschickt, mit meiner Mutter, falls wir nach Palästina fahren würden.

‚Wartet in Ungarn’, haben meine Eltern geschrieben. Damals konnte man nach Palästina nur einreisen, wenn man ein Zertifikat darüber hatte, dass der Beruf für das Land notwendig ist. Es hieß, wir könnten nur auf Kapitalistenzertifikaten einreisen. Und zu diesem Zertifikat gehörte ein Vermögen von tausend englischen Pfund, die man den Engländern bezahlen musste. Meine Eltern haben uns geschrieben, es wird für uns Kapital in Holland hinterlegt, damit wir als Kapitalisten einreisen können. Aber zu unserem Unglück sind die Deutschen in Holland einmarschiert.

Meine Schwägerin hat mir ihre Küche gegeben; sie war eine reiche Frau. Dann hat sie mir Tisch und Stühle gegeben. Und mein Mann konnte sogar arbeiten. Er war ja selbständig in Berlin. Aber da fuhr er nach Budapest, man fuhr ja nur 20 Minuten mit der Straßenbahn. Und vis-à-vis unserer Wohnung war eine jüdische Mädchenschule. Den Juden ging es noch wunderbar damals in Ungarn. Meine Mädchen waren schon in Berlin in der Schule. Die Ältere hatte schon vier Volksschulklassen, und die Kleine hat damals die erste Klasse besucht.

Es haben zu dieser Zeit sehr viele Juden in Budapest gelebt, ich glaube 200.000.

Meine Schwiegermutter war mit mir nicht einverstanden, weil ich keine Ungarin war. Der Sohn hatte eine Deutsche geheiratet, das hat ihr nicht gefallen. Aber mein Schwiegervater war sehr nett zu mir. Zuerst konnte ich kein Wort Ungarisch, ich habe es später gelernt. Aber die Ungarn, die konnten fast alle Deutsch. Meine Schwiegermutter hatte mir sogar deutsche Briefe geschrieben. Mein Mann hatte einen Bruder, der beim Vater in der Bäckerei gearbeitet hat, der war auch Bäcker. Der war der Liebling meiner Schwiegermutter. Er hat als Einziger überlebt, die anderen sind alle ins KZ gekommen und wurden ermordet. Er hat wahnsinnig viel geerbt nach dem Krieg. Nach einem Jahr hat er nichts mehr gehabt, weil er mit Geld nicht umgehen konnte. Er hat seinen Namen magyarisiert. Sie hießen Weisz, ich hieß ja auch Weisz. Meine Kinder, vor allem die Bessy, haben nach dem Krieg gesagt: ‚Lassen wir das alles begraben sein, was da war. Familie ist Familie!’ Die Familie in Budapest war arm, das war im Kommunismus. Meine Töchter haben Kindersachen gekauft für sein Enkelkind. Ich war oft in Budapest zu Besuch. Ich habe aber nicht bei ihnen gewohnt, denn sie waren sehr arm. Ich hatte dort einen reichen Freund mit seiner Frau. Er war mit uns im Lager gewesen, von da kam die Freundschaft. Er war wunderbar. Er hieß Ferry und war Schuhmacher. Er hatte eine Werkstatt und hat elegante Schuhe gemacht. Ich habe Ungarn geliebt. Ferry ist an Leberkrebs gestorben

Mein Mann ist arbeiten gegangen, die Kinder sind in die Schule gegangen, das war kein Problem. Aber Freunde habe ich nicht gehabt, nur die Familie. Da war die reiche Tochter, die Schwester meines Mannes, die zwei Häuser und ein herrliches Geschäft gehabt hat. Sie hat uns öfter eingeladen, zum Mittagessen, zu den Feiertagen. Sie hat sich 1938 taufen lassen, sie und ihre Freundin, die auch eine sehr reiche Frau war. Meine Schwägerin hatte nur einen Sohn, Stefan ‑ Pista ist die ungarische Abkürzung. Die Freundin hatte eine Tochter. Mein Schwiegervater hat sich wahnsinnig darüber geärgert, dass seine Tochter sich hat taufen lassen. Und er hatte so einen trockenen Humor, er hat den zwei Frauen einmal die Frage gestellt: ‚Warum habt ihr das gemacht?’ Und da hat die Freundin von meiner Schwägerin gesagt, ihre Tochter würde dann eine bessere Partie machen können. Hat mein Schwiegervater zu ihr gesagt: ‚Sie kann einen versoffenen Goi [Nichtjuden] heiraten?’

Es war Weihnachten, und meine Schwägerin hatte einen großen Weihnachtsbaum. Sie hatte eine Köchin, sie hatte im Geschäft einen Verkäufer, sie war elegant, sie hatte Pelzmäntel. Wir sind alle essen gegangen, und wir waren eingeladen: ich mit meinen jüdischen Kindern. Und plötzlich legt sich die Freundin unter den Weihnachtsbaum auf die Erde und sagt: ‚Was für ein herrliches Gefühl unter dem Weihnachtsbaum zu liegen!’ Ich habe geglaubt, ich platze! Ihre Tochter und der Sohn meiner Schwägerin waren mit dem Dienstmädchen vormittags in der Kirche. Und die Kinder kamen nach Hause und zeigten die Heiligenbilder, die sie in der Kirche bekommen hatten. Die Kinder waren zehn Jahre alt, wie meine Bessy. Und die Kleine sagte, wie schön es sei, ein Christ zu sein und zeigte die Heiligenbilder meiner Lilly. Lilly war sechs oder sieben Jahre. Und meine Lilly hat immer wenig gesprochen. Die Große hat geplappert, so wie ich, aber die Kleine, was sie gesagt hat, hat gesessen. Und sie stand da und schaute auf die Heiligenbilder. Meine Große stritt, was besser ist, Jude oder Christ. Und die Kleine hörte sich das an, und mit einem Mal platzte sie heraus: ‚Ja, aber da drinnen ist dein Blut jüdisch.’

Mein Mann ist abends mit meinem Schwiegervater im Kaffeehaus gesessen, und sie haben zugeguckt, wie die Leute dort Karten gespielt haben. Ich war zu Hause mit den Kindern. Es war schon dunkel, und da kam mein Schwiegervater zu mir und sagte: ‚Resi, ich brauche die Papiere vom Michi. Es waren Kriminalbeamte in dem Kaffee, wo wir beide saßen, und Michi hatte nur seinen Pass bei sich.’ Der Pass war in Berlin ausgestellt. Es war ein ungarischer Pass, und der war noch zwei Jahre gültig. Er hatte sich ausgewiesen mit dem Pass, und die haben gesagt, der Pass könnte gefälscht sein, und man hatte ihn verhaftet.

Ich hatte keinen Heimatschein von meinem Mann, der war in Berlin geblieben, als er den Pass genommen hatte. Am nächsten Tag hat sich nichts gerührt. Es war Purim [Anm.: Freudenfest, das an die Errettung des jüdischen Volkes aus drohender Gefahr in der persischen Diaspora erinnert]. Am zweiten Tag ‑ meine Lilly ist im Bett gelegen, sie hatte keine Lust, in die Schule zu gehen, zur Purimfeier, und die Bessy ist in der Schule gewesen ‑ war ich gerade in der Küche und habe gebügelt. Es klopft, und es kommen zwei Herren rein. Sie fragen mich, wer ich bin, stellen sich vor, sie kämen von der Fremdenabteilung, und ich möchte bitte mitkommen. Sie wollten mich und die Kinder mitnehmen. Lilly war zu Hause, und meine Nachbarin hat die Bessy aus der Schule geholt. Ich hatte eine jüdische Nachbarin und habe sie gebeten, meinen Schwiegereltern in der Bäckerei mitzuteilen, was geschehen ist; dass wir verhaftet worden sind.

Meinen Pass habe ich nicht aus der Hand gegeben. Meinem Mann hatten sie den Pass abgenommen. Ich habe meinen Pass also nicht hergezeigt. Das kam gar nicht in Frage. Und dann hat man mich und meine Kinder mit der Straßenbahn ins Internierungslager gefahren. Da hat mein Mann uns gesehen. Als er uns gesehen hat, die Kinder und mich, hat er einen Weinkrampf bekommen. Ich habe ihn getröstet und gesagt: ,Michi, Hauptsache, wir sind zusammen!’

Gewohnt haben wir in Baracken, die an den Tempel angebaut waren. Mit einem Detektiv konnte ich in meine Wohnung gehen, konnte die Wäsche nehmen, konnte sogar eine Daunendecke nehmen für die Kinder, damit sie besser schlafen können. In diesen Baracken waren auch Doppelbetten. Ich war unten, die zwei Mädels waren oben. Männer und Frauen waren getrennt. Am Tage wurden wir von Detektiven bewacht und nachts von einem Polizisten. Wir waren dort vielleicht 40 bis 50 Leute. Da waren wir drei, vier Wochen, dann wurden wir in die Provinz geschickt, da waren die geschlossenen Lager an der tschechischen Grenze. Das waren ehemalige Zollhäuser. Zu uns kamen Leute von der Kultusgemeinde, die haben sich gekümmert. Die Bewacher waren Ungarn.

Ich hatte noch immer die Ausreisepapiere für meine Kinder. Und ich habe immer Rot-Kreuz-Briefe geschrieben ‑ über meinen Cousin in Argentinien, der hat das weiter geleitet ‑ und so war die Verbindung nach Palästina zu meiner Familie da. Mein Schwager schrieb aus Palästina: ‚Schick die Kinder, schick bitte die Kinder, wir werden die Kinder so erziehen, als wenn es unsere eigenen Kinder wären!’ Sie hatten ja Recht, weil die Kinder in Palästina in Sicherheit waren.

Die jüdische Gemeinde in Budapest hat das organisiert. Meine Schwägerin hatte dafür gesorgt, dass meine Kinder auf die Liste kamen und die Einreisebewilligung nach Palästina erhielten. Die Kinder haben staatenlose Pässe bekommen. Unsere Lilly wollte nicht. Sie war, als sie wegfuhren, acht Jahre alt. Bessy war elf. Sie waren dann beide einverstanden, aber die Kleine hat mir gesagt, die Große hat sie so geschlagen, damit sie ‚ja’ sagt. Damit hat sie ihr das Leben gerettet. Ich bekam die Erlaubnis, die Kinder bis Budapest zu begleiten. Mein Mann, der im Männerlager war, durfte die Kinder nur bis zur Station vom Autobus bringen. Er hat sich von den Kindern dort verabschiedet. Das letzte Mal im Leben haben die Kinder ihren Vater gesehen, das letzte Mal!

Wir mussten erst zur Eisenbahn und mit der Eisenbahn nach Budapest. Ein Detektiv hat uns abgeholt und zum Bahnhof begleitet. Lilly stand am Fenster des Zuges, und die Tränen sind ihr gelaufen. Sie sind dann mit der Bahn bis nach Bulgarien gefahren, von dort mit dem Schiff rüber in die Türkei, und von da mit dem Autobus über Syrien nach Palästina. Sie wurden von meinen Eltern in Palästina in Empfang genommen. In Palästina hatten sie schon eine schöne Wohnung und haben die Kinder aufgenommen.

Auf dem Totenschein meines Mannes hat es geheißen: Herzstillstand. Er ist an Flecktyphus gestorben, wurde mir später erzählt. Er war nach Russland geschickt worden, nach Kiew, zum Arbeitsdienst. Die mussten graben und Minen suchen.

Ich bekam dann Urlaub aus dem Internierungslager, und ich hatte noch die kleine Wohnung. Ich habe bei einem Anwalt gearbeitet, musste mich aber alle acht Tage bei der Polizei melden. Ich war die Witwe eines Arbeitsdienstlers. Ich besaß nun eine Witwenbescheinigung.

Meine Schwiegereltern wohnten damals schon in dem Haus meiner Schwägerin ‑ sie hatte doch zwei Häuser. Sie hatte die Eltern zu sich genommen, auch eine Schwester mit Kind und noch eine ledige Schwester. Dann war das Jahr 1944. Da kam Eichmann 12 nach Budapest, um ‚Ordnung’ zu machen. Ich war mit meinem grünen Witwenschein frei und musste mich melden. Mein Mann war ja tot, also hatte ich Vorteile. Ich wollte sehen, wie es der Familie meines Mannes geht, ich wollte mich ja nicht abkoppeln von denen. Ich fuhr mit der Straßenbahn hinaus, um sie zu besuchen. Es war der Tag, an dem Eichmann nach Budapest kam, am 21. oder 22. März, ich weiß das Datum bis heute. Ich stieg aus der Straßenbahn und wurde verhaftet.

Ich wurde zu einem Haus geführt, in dem cirka 400 Menschen waren, alles Juden. Und dort wurden wir eingesperrt, und kein Mensch wusste, wie es weitergeht. Wir wurden in einen Transportwagen gequetscht, und da sind wir gefahren und gefahren und gefahren. Es gab keine Fenster, also wusste man nicht, wohin man fährt. Plötzlich wurden wir ausgeladen und befanden uns auf einem großen Hof. Ich sehe mich um, und sehe, auf der anderen Seite stehen viele gefangene Männer, und wir waren ungefähr 400 Frauen. In der Mitte war eine Wasserpumpe, da hat man ein bisschen Wasser getrunken aus der Hand, und wir stehen und stehen, und es wird dunkel. Mit einem Mal werden wir in das Gebäude gerufen, die Frauen extra. Da saß ein Offizier, der schrieb die Namen auf. Und zwar ging das nach dem ABC, gruppenweise, bei ‚A’ angefangen. Und ich war doch eine der letzten, mit ‚W’, Weisz. Wir standen noch draußen und wussten nicht, was wird, aber niemand kam zurück.

Endlich kamen wir mit ‚W’ dran. Wir gingen hinein, da saß ein Herr, groß, fesch aussehend. Ob er Polizist war, das weiß ich nicht, er hatte eine hellgrüne Uniform an. Also, dann kam ich dran, und ich legte ihm den Totenschein von meinem Mann auf den Tisch, und ich habe gesagt: ‚Ich kann nicht ungarisch sprechen.’ Er schaute mich an und schaute den Schein an, dann schaute er wieder mich an, und dann sagte er auf Deutsch: ‚Sie sind Israelitin?’ Ich sagte: ‚Ja!’ Ich konnte ja nichts anderes sagen, und er guckte mich wieder an. Dann fragte er mich, wo ich hin wollte. Habe ich gesagt: ‚Ich wollte zu meinen Schwiegereltern, ich wollte sie besuchen, und da hat man mich hierher gebracht.’ Ich habe aber immer noch nicht meinen Pass gezeigt. Dann wurden wir in ein Riesenzimmer geführt, und da waren wir wieder ungefähr 400 Frauen. Es war das Untersuchungsgefängnis von Budapest, in der Nähe des Keleti-Bahnhofes. Es war Nacht, wir wurden eingeschlossen, und in dieser Nacht wurde Budapest schon bombardiert: am Tage von den Amerikanern und Engländern, nachts von den Russen. Wir saßen und haben immer die Kugeln gesehen, die leuchtenden Kugeln, die die Russen geworfen haben, bevor sie die Bomben warfen. Die Frauen haben gebetet, die nächste Bombe soll doch auf uns fallen. Denn wir haben ja das Schlimmste befürchtet, das Schlimmste überhaupt. Wir waren vier Tage drinnen: Wir kamen am Dienstag, und am Freitag wurden wir entlassen. Die wussten nicht, wohin mit uns. Die Männer wurden deportiert, das wussten wir. Aber sie wussten nicht, wohin mit den 400 Frauen. Sie hatten keine Züge. Das war unser Glück.

Ich hatte Angst, in mein Zimmer zu gehen, denn man musste ja seine Adresse angeben bei der Entlassung. Aber wir hatten eine Wiener Freundin, die in Budapest mit einem Ungarn verheiratet gewesen war, eine Witwe. Er war Christ, sie hatten eine 15jährige Tochter damals, die Susi. Ich bin zu Fuß zu ihr hingegangen. Und wie sie mir die Tür aufmachte, machte sie plötzlich solche Augen. ‚Resi, du lebst?’ Und was soll ich sagen, ich öffnete die Tür vom Zimmer, und da saß mein zukünftiger Mann, Alfred Rosenstein, mit einem Freund. Ich kannte ihn aus dem Internierungslager. Er sah mich, wir hatten noch kein Verhältnis, gar nichts, er stürzte auf mich zu, umarmte mich und sagte: ‚Resi, uns trennt niemand mehr!’

Mein Mann Alfred Rosenstein wurde am 17. April 1898 in Wien als fünftes Kind von Süsie Rosenstein ‑ geboren in Rohatyn, Galizien ‑ und Beile Rosenstein, geb. Bienstock, geboren. Süsie, ein Nachkomme des ‚HaSchalo hakadosch’ [berühmter Rabbiner, Vorläufer des Chassidissmus], war Schneider oder Textilhändler und starb 1926. Beile starb 1945 in London.
Mein Mann hatte sechs Geschwister: Moritz, Franziska, Samuel, Josef, Cilly und Hedi.
Moritz Rosenstein, Mur genannt, war Chemiker, Teilhaber an einer Erdölraffinerie in Wien und wurde vom Anschluss 13 während einer Geschäftsreise in London überrascht, wo er dann auch blieb. Er starb in den 1950er-Jahren und kam nie mehr nach Wien zurück. Seine Tochter Hanni lebt in Tel-Aviv; sein Sohn fiel im 2. Weltkrieg. Hanni hat zwei erwachsene Töchter.
Franziska Wessely, geb. Rosenstein, flüchtete aus Wien nach Jugoslawien. Sie lebte mit falschen Papieren in Slowenien und beging Selbstmord, als Ustascha-Milizionäre 14 an die Tür klopften. Die Ustascha-Milizionäre wollten sich eigentlich nur nach dem Weg irgendwohin erkundigen.
Samuel Rosenstein flüchtete mit Frau und zwei Kindern nach Holland. Er und seine Familie wurden von den Nazis ermordet.
Josef Rosenstein war Versicherungsvertreter. Auch er flüchtete nach Jugoslawien und wurde von der Ustascha ermordet.
Cilly gelang es, über England nach Australien zu emigrieren. Sie starb 1962. Ihre Tochter Fairlie Nassau, geboren 1945, lebt in Melbourne und hat zwei erwachsene Kinder.
Hedi Pahmer [geb. Rosenstein] heiratete einen Ungarn, mit dem sie nach Budapest ging. Sie wurden in das KZ Bergen-Belsen [Deutschland] deportiert, wo sie den Krieg überlebte. Nachher emigrierte auch sie nach Australien.
Die Familie Rosenstein lebte im 3. Wiener Bezirk, in der Unteren Weißgerberlände. Mein Mann besuchte die Volks- und Hauptschule. 1916 wurde er zum k. u. k Militär 15 eingezogen und war Artillerist an der italienischen Front. Nach dem 1. Weltkrieg arbeitete er bei seinem Bruder Moritz, spielte Fußball bei Hakoah 16 Wien und verbrachte viel Zeit mit Freunden im Kaffeehaus. Er wohnte bis zu seiner Flucht nach Ungarn bei seiner Mutter, deren ‚verwöhnter Liebling’ er gewesen sein soll. Während der Emigration war er zuerst im Internierungslager und, nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen, in einem Versteck.
Ich kannte meinen zukünftigen Mann aus dem Lager. Er war so charmant, die Frauen waren verrückt nach ihm. Mein Mann ist dann erst einmal zu mir gezogen. Nicht nur er, da kam noch ein Freund von ihm dazu, und dann kam eine Nichte von mir aus Ungarn. Sie hatte von einer Freundin einen Geburtsschein bekommen, von einer Christin, und ist dann geflüchtet. Ein bildschönes Mädchen, die Jola. Ein christlicher Freund von meinen Schwiegereltern wusste meine Adresse in Budapest. Und sie kam zu mir. Mein Mann schlief in einem Bett mit dem Freund, und sie schlief mit mir in einem Bett. Später ist sie nach Amerika ausgewandert. Sie hat einen Witwer, dessen Frau umgekommen ist, mit einem kleinen Sohn kennen gelernt. Der hat sich in sie verliebt, und mit dem ist sie nach Italien. Von Rom hat sie mir noch eine Karte geschrieben, dass sie geheiratet hat und mit ihm nach Amerika geht. Sie hat noch vier Kinder bekommen, zwei Töchter und zwei Söhne.

Wir hatten einen gemeinsamen Bekannten, der war mit uns im Lager, der war ein jugoslawischer Jude. Er hatte sich ein paar Monate vorher falsche Papiere gekauft. Ausgesehen hat er wie zehn Juden. Der hat den Hausmeister einer Villa bestochen, und wir haben uns dann zu neunt in einem Zimmer vor den Massendeportationen versteckt. Der Hausmeister hat Geld dafür genommen, den konnte man bestechen. Am Ende, als schon alles aus war, als wir schon getanzt haben auf der Strasse, kamen aus der Nebenvilla plötzlich 60 Juden, die der Hausmeister für Geld und Schmuck versteckt hatte; in Kohlenkellern und überall. Deswegen sage ich, in Budapest konnte man alles für Geld bekommen.

Ich hatte gemerkt, dass ich schwanger bin. Und ich habe gesagt, entweder das Kind geht mit mir zu Grunde, oder ich tue etwas. Und mein Mann hat gesagt: ‚Du tust gar nichts. Wenn wir überleben, werden wir das Kind haben.’ Er hat es nicht erlaubt. Aber ich bin trotzdem gegangen. Der Arzt, der im Ghetto war, hat gesagt: ‚Ich tue nichts, wollen Sie an Sepsis sterben?’ Er hatte ja keine Instrumente, gar nichts. Und mein Mann hat gleich gesagt: ‚Kommt nicht in Frage, dass du was tust. Wir werden heiraten!’ Unser Sohn Georg wurde am 27. Juni 1945 in Budapest geboren. Na gut, das hat noch gedauert, bis wir geheiratet haben, das war 1947, da war unser Sohn eineinhalb Jahre alt.

Wir lagen mit Mänteln in dem Zimmer ‑ es waren keine Fenster mehr da ‑ plötzlich höre ich eine Stimme durch ein Megaphon: ‚Hier spricht die Russische Armee. Budapester wartet, wir werden euch befreien!’ Um Budapest herum ist ein Hügel. Es hat Tage gedauert, bis die rüber kommen konnten. ‚Harrt aus, wir befreien euch!’ In deutscher Sprache, in ungarischer, in russischer Sprache. Und so haben wir gewartet. Und eines schönen Tages, es war Sonntag, stehe ich so hinter dem Fenster, es war eine Totenstille, und ich sehe, wie durch den Garten ein Russe mit Pelzmütze und Maschinengewehr kommt. Ich drehe mich um und sage: ‚Ein Russe ist da!’ Und einer rennt hinunter in den Garten und umarmt den Russen. Und als er wieder zurückkommt, Steiner hieß er, hat ihm die Uhr gefehlt. Aber er hat gesagt: ‚Macht nichts!’

Meine Freundin war woanders versteckt. Das war eine Tschechin, die war versteckt in einem Kohlenkeller. Die hat immer gesagt: ‚Dem ersten russischen Pferd, dass mir begegnet, dem küsse ich den Hintern!’

Nach dem Krieg

Ich bin nach der Befreiung in Budapest durch die Stadt gegangen, und ich stand am Zaun des Tempels und habe zugeschaut, wie die Russen die Toten aus dem Ghetto dort beerdigt haben. Überlebende konnten ihre Toten herausnehmen und privat beerdigen. Tony Curtis 17, der Filmschauspieler, der ist doch ein Ungar, ein Budapester Jude, der hat dann dort einen Baum aufstellen lassen, eine herrliche Weide, die glänzt wie Gold. Auf die Blätter kann man die Namen der Ermordeten schreiben lassen.

Ich bin in Ungarn geblieben, ich habe gesagt, ich gehe nicht nach Wien, bis wir eine eigene Wohnung haben. Und mein Mann hat immer gesagt, es gibt noch nichts zu essen, kein Fleisch beziehungsweise nur Schwein. Ich habe mich in Ungarn sehr wohl gefühlt. Ich habe gesagt: Ich gehe erst weg, wenn ich eine eigene Wohnung habe, und wenn genug zu Essen da ist. Und so ist er immer hin- und hergefahren, und immer hat es geheißen: noch nicht, noch nicht.

Seine Schwestern hatten vor dem Krieg ein Restaurant – ‚Grill am Peter’ hieß das ‑ aber das war arisiert worden. Und dann wollte mein Mann Wiedergutmachung beantragen, das Vermögen zurückbekommen. Das Lokal gehörte eigentlich seiner ältesten Schwester, die umgekommen ist. Die hatte es für die Geschwister eingerichtet. Die Geschwister meines Mannes waren in Australien. Die haben damals das Lokal den Nazis übergeben. Sie haben eine Bescheinigung erhalten, dass sie 5.000 Mark bekommen haben, daraufhin konnten Sie legal nach England. Eine Schwester hat einen Mann geheiratet, mit dem sie nach Australien ging. Die andere Schwester wurde nach Bergen-Belsen deportiert, die hat mit einer schweren Verletzung überlebt. Sie musste erst wieder laufen lernen, und sie ging dann auch nach Australien.

Mein Mann hat einen Prozess angestrebt ‑ damals gab es Rückgabe-Gerichte. Und da waren immer nur zwei Richter da. Die Arierin, die das Lokal übernommen hatte, war tot. Ihr Sohn hatte es übernommen. Beim ersten Prozess hat mein Mann ein Angebot erhalten, als Entschädigung 35.000 Schilling zu bekommen. Unser Rechtsanwalt war der Doktor Pik, der spätere Präsident der Kultusgemeinde. Er war ein Schulkollege meines Mannes. Beim zweiten Termin wurden 65.000 Schilling geboten. Da hat der Anwalt zu meinem Mann gesagt: ‚Wenn er schon 65.000 gibt, dann wird er noch mehr geben.’ Beim dritten Mal waren drei Richter anwesend. Zwei haben gesagt, man muss es zurückgeben. Mein Mann wollte gar nicht das Geld, er wollte das Lokal zurück haben, damit wir eine Existenz haben. Der dritte Richter hat gesagt, man kann dem jungen Mann, der es jetzt besaß, nicht die Existenz wegnehmen, da er mit der Arisierung nichts zu tun hatte. Das war schon damals die Einstellung. Der junge Mann hat das Lokal gekriegt, weil sich nicht alle drei Richter einig waren. Mein Mann hat nichts für das Lokal bekommen.

Mein Mann hatte eine Bescheinigung, dass er rassisch verfolgt und im Lager gewesen war. Damals waren die Bezirke Wiens unter den Siegermächten aufgeteilt. Unser Bezirk hatte einen kommunistischen Bürgermeister, und mein Mann hat durch diese Bescheinigung die Wohnung zugewiesen bekommen.

Ursprünglich wollte ich nicht nach Österreich, ich wollte zu meinen Kindern und meinen Eltern nach Israel. Aber da hat mein Mann gesagt, er habe keinen Beruf für Israel. Er war Geschäftsmann und hatte für seinen Bruder, der eine große Ölfirma hatte, gearbeitet. Er war Vertreter für diese Sachen. Das war kein Beruf für Israel. Da musste man Geld haben, Geld, um sich selbständig zu machen. Was hätte er machen sollen in dem Alter? Er war ja zehn Jahre älter als ich, auch nicht mehr so ein Jüngling. Er wollte nach Österreich, um Wiedergutmachung zu beantragen, das Geld zu bekommen, damit wir nach Israel gehen könnten.

Ich bin hier in Wien geblieben, weil ich nicht wollte, dass mich meine Kinder oder meine Verwandten aushalten. Das erste Mal fuhr ich mit meinem Sohn 1949 nach Israel. Damals ist man noch mit dem Schiff gefahren. Und das erste Geld, das mein Mann damals bekommen hat, war eine Wiedergutmachung, das waren 16.000 Schilling. Er hat gesagt: ‚Fahr du, um deine Kinder zu sehen.’ Für uns zwei hätte das Geld nicht gereicht.

Damals bin ich fünf Tage mit dem Schiff hingefahren. Es war schön. Da hat noch meine Mutter gelebt. Sie hatte eine hübsche Zweieinhalb-Zimmer-Wohnung in Tel Aviv. Meine Schwester hatte eine wunderschöne Wohnung direkt am Meer in der Hayarkon [Straße am Meer in Tel Aviv]. Nachher hat man da Hotels hingebaut, da konnte man das Meer von der Wohnung aus nicht mehr sehen.

Meine Tochter Bessy war schon mit Herrn Aharoni verheiratet und hat schon ein Baby von fünf Monaten gehabt. Sie hat mit 18 Jahren im Militär geheiratet, im israelischen Militär. Sie hat dann später zehn Jahre in der Stadtverwaltung gearbeitet und sich um alte Leute gekümmert.

Lilly, verheiratete Drill, ist ein Jahr zu mir nach Wien gekommen. Sie war damals genau 18, das war 1951. Sie hatte in Israel die Schule besucht, aber sie konnte natürlich Deutsch sprechen. Meine Mutter hat nie hebräisch gelernt. Meinen Vater habe ich nie wieder gesehen, das war furchtbar. Lilly wollte von Anfang an Lehrerin für behinderte Kinder werden, sie ist dafür in Wien in eine Schule gegangen.

Mein Sohn ging nach der Matura nach Israel. Das war kurz nach dem Tod meines Mannes [1961]. Er lebte im Kibbuz und studierte Psychologie. Er nahm dort den Namen Zwi Bar-David an. Er heiratete Ilana, deren Familie mütterlicherseits auch aus Berlin kommt, aus dem Scheunenviertel, und bekam zwei Töchter und einen Sohn. Wegen einer Muskelerkrankung seines Sohnes zog er mit seiner Frau, meinem damals dreijährigen Enkel Ofir, und Noemi, seiner jüngeren Tochter, nach Wien. Seine ältere Tochter Noga lebt in Israel und arbeitet als Krankenschwester. Mein Enkel absolvierte dieses Jahr mit sehr guten Leistungen die Matura und studiert an der Technischen Universität in Wien.

Die Österreicher waren mir unsympathisch. Ich habe sie immer als Nazis gesehen. Einmal, Anfang der 1950er-Jahre, war ich zwei Monate in Israel. Als ich wieder in Wien war und zu meinem Bäcker ging und Brot kaufte, fragte mich die Bäckersfrau: ‚Sagen Sie Frau Rosenstein, wo waren Sie so lange?’ Sagte ich: ‚Ich war in Israel!’ Guckte sie mich an und sagte: ‚Sie sind eine Jüdin? Sie sehen aber nicht so aus!’ Darauf habe ich ihr geantwortet: ‚Warum Frau Schubert? Ich habe keine Hörner auf dem Kopf?’ Sagte sie: ‚Nein, um Gottes Willen, ich will nichts sagen. Wir haben einen Lieferanten gehabt, den Mehljud, und das war auch ein anständiger Mensch.’ Das war Anfang der 1950er-Jahre. Im Laufe der Jahre hat sich das nicht so sehr verändert. Es geben uns doch hier der Haider 18 oder der Stadler [Ewald, FPÖ-Politiker] genug Gelegenheit, daran zu denken. Wenn man auch vergessen will, man kann nicht. Wir kriegen immer wieder eins auf den Kopf.

Ich hatte keinen Antisemitismus in Deutschland empfunden. Ich hatte in der Werkstatt meines Vaters mit unseren christlichen Arbeitern gelacht und gescherzt. Viele haben auch gewusst, wann unsere Feiertage waren. Am liebsten wäre ich nach dem Krieg wieder nach Berlin gegangen. Ich glaube, mein Mann wäre auch gern mitgegangen. Das war aber nicht möglich. Dann kam dieses Unglück mit der Krankheit: Er bekam Krebs. 1961 starb mein Mann, da war er 63 Jahre.

Ich wollte nicht mehr heiraten. Man hat es mir angetragen, und es hat sich sogar einer gemeldet, ein Freund meines Mannes. Da war mein Mann gerade zwei Jahre tot, es war Weihnachten, meine Familie hat hier gewohnt, und die Kinder waren noch jung. Ich habe kein Interesse gehabt. Ich habe nur zwei Männer in meinem Leben gehabt, und ich weiß, dass beide mich geliebt haben. Die wurden nicht vermittelt, die haben mich so kennen gelernt, wie ich bin. Mein erster Mann ist mir ein ganzes Jahr hinterher gelaufen.

Ich war mit meiner Schwester in Berlin, aber damals war noch Ost und West. Und wir hatten einen Bekannten, der auch schon im Westen war, noch von der Jugend, ein Nachbarskind, der Sali, und wir wollten rüber in den Osten, in unsere Heimat, fahren. Man musste 25 Mark wechseln, in Ostmark. Und er hat gesagt: ‚Nein, um Gottes Willen, wer weiß was passiert, vielleicht werdet ihr Unannehmlichkeiten haben.’ Und er hat es uns ausgeredet. Später war ich mit meiner Enkeltochter in Ost-Berlin. Ich bin nicht da hingegangen, wo wir gewohnt haben, ich konnte das nicht.

Glossar

1 Sabbatisten

Die Sabbatisten leiteten sich aus einer der anerkannten Konfessionen Siebenbürgens des 16. Jahrhunderts her und näherten sich in der ersten Hälfte des 17. Jahrhunderts immer mehr dem Judentum. Die Heilige Schrift war für sie einzig das Alte Testament. Der christliche Sonntag wurde durch den jüdischen Sabbat ersetzt. Der Widerstand gegen diese ‚neue’ Religion war heftig, besonders von Seiten der katholischen Kirche.

2 Haschomer Hatzair [hebräisch - ‚Der junge Wächter‘]

Erste Zionistische Jugendorganisation, entstand 1916 in Wien durch den Zusammenschluß von zwei jüdischen Jugendverbänden. Hauptziel war die Auswanderung nach Palästina und die Gründung von Kibutzim. Aus den in Palästina aktiven Gruppen entstand 1936 die Sozialistische Liga, die sich 1948 mit der Achdut Haawoda zur Mapam [Vereinigte Arbeiterpartei] Zusammenschloss.

3 Bund

Ungefähr zeitgleich mit dem ersten Zionisten-Kongress in Basel entstand 1897 auf der Konferenz in Wilna aus der Vereinigung der jüdisch-sozialistischen Gruppen die einheitliche Partei der Bund. Dank ihrer energischen Tätigkeit gelang ihnen rasch der Aufstieg und Erfolg, vor allem in Russland und Polen. Durch die Machtzunahme Stalins in der Sowjetunion wurden die Bundisten alsbald aufgelöst oder gingen in andere bzw. in die einzig zugelassene Kommunistischen-Partei über. Der polnische Bund hingegen, der kontinuierlich weiter arbeiten konnte, beeinflusste in starkem Ausmaß sowohl die gewerkschaftliche als auch kulturelle Arbeit und stellte selbst im politischen Leben einen bedeutenden Faktor dar. Die Bundisten waren Anhänger des Gedankens einer national-kulturellen Autonomie und damit Vorkämpfer der Jiddischen Sprache als Nationalsprache.

4 Palästina-Amt

Auswanderungs-Organisation der Jewish Agency in Deutschland, die ausschließlich die Auswanderung der jüdischen Bevölkerung nach Palästina durchführte. Das Palästina-Amt kümmerte sich um die nötigen Visa und den Transport der EmigrantInnen. Nach dem Novemberpogrom 1938 wurde das Amt unter stärkere Kontrolle gestellt, konnte aber noch bis Frühjahr 1941 weitgehend eigenständig arbeiten.

5 Wizo

Akronym für Womens International Zionist Organisation. International tätige zionistische Frauenorganisation.

6 Weizmann, Chaim [1874-1952]

Wissenschaftler, Präsident der Zionistischen Weltorganisation und erster Präsident Israels. Weizmann wurde in Weißrussland geboren, ging 1892 nach Deutschland, wo er in Darmstadt und Berlin Chemie studierte, wurde 1901 Professor and der Universität in Genf und drei Jahre später in Manchester. Er begrüßte Theodor Herzls Aufruf zur Teilnahme der Juden am ersten Zionistischen Kongress; beim achten Kongress 1907 wurde Weizmanns Einstellung eines Synthetischen Zionismus – politische Aktivität in Verbindung mit praktischer Arbeit ‑ übernommen. 1920 wurde er zum Präsidenten der Zionistischen Weltorganisation gewählt, hielt das Amt bis 1931 sowie von 1935 bis 1946. Drei Jahre später wurde er von der Konstituierenden Versammlung zum ersten Präsidenten des Staates Israel gewählt. Trotz seiner schweren Krankheit wurde er 1951 für eine zweite Amtsperiode wiedergewählt; Weizmann starb jedoch ein Jahr später in seinem Haus in Rechovot.

7 Nordau, Max [geboren Simon Maximilian Suedfeld] [1849-1923]

Mitbegründer der Zionistischen Weltorganisation, Philosoph, Schriftsteller, Redner und Arzt. Nordau wurde 1895 mit Theodor Herzls Idee eines jüdischen Staates vertraut, nahm diese begeistert auf und fungierte als Vizepräsident und Präsident auf zahlreichen Zionistischen Kongressen. Nordau war ein Anhänger des Politischen Zionismus und glaubte, dass eine große Zahl von Diasporajuden nach Israel geführt werden sollte, um so auch politische Unabhängigkeit zu erreichen. Diese Ansicht wurde von anderen zionistischen Führern als unrealistisch zurückgewiesen. Max Nordau starb 1923 in Paris; seine sterblichen Überreste wurden 1926 nach Tel Aviv überführt.

8 Ben Gurion, David [geboren David Grün] [1886-1973]

Politiker und erster israelischer Ministerpräsident. Ben Gurion wurde in Plonsk, Polen, geboren und ging 1906 nach Israel, wo er ab 1910 in Jerusalem gemeinsam mit Jitzchak Ben Zwi für die Zeitung der Palei Zion, „Ahdut”, arbeitete. Ab 1912 studierte er Jura an der Universität in Istanbul, wurde im März 1915 allerdings ausgewiesen und ging nach New York. Ben Gurion wurde nach dem 1. Weltkrieg Mitbegründer der Gewerkschaft Histadruth und war von 1930 bis 1965 Vorsitzender der Arbeiterpartei Mapai. 1948 proklamierte er den unabhängigen Staat Israel, war bis 1953 Ministerpräsident, danach Verteidigungsminister, als welcher er entscheidenden Anteil an den Siegen Israels in den beiden ersten Israelisch-Arabischen Kriegen hatte, und von 1955 bis 1963 erneut Ministerpräsident. Im Jahr 1970 zog sich Ben Gurion endgültig aus der Politik zurück und lebte im Kibbuz Sde Boker, wo er am 1. Dezember 1973 starb.

9 Eisenhower, Dwight David [1890-1969]

Amerikanischer General, Politiker und 34. Präsident der Vereinigten Staaten. Während des 2. Weltkriegs war er Chef der Operationsabteilung des Generalstabs, Oberbefehlshaber der amerikanischen Truppen in Europa und koordinierte von London aus die Streitkräfte für den Krieg in Afrika und Europa. Am 7. Mai 1945 kam es im Hauptquartier Eisenhowers zur Unterzeichnung der deutschen Kapitulation. Eisenhower wurde in Folge Generalstabschef der US-Armee und NATO-Oberbefehlshaber von 1950-52. Im November 1952 gewann er die US-Präsidentschaftswahl. 1953 erlangte er das Waffenstillstandsabkommen im Koreakrieg, 1956 konnte er gemeinsam mit der Sowjetunion die Suezkrise beilegen, im selben Jahr wurde er als Präsident der USA wiedergewählt. 1961 übergab er die Regierungsgeschäfte an John F. Kennedy und zog sich auf seine Farm bei Gettysburg zurück. Eisenhower starb am 28. März 1969 in Washington D.C.

10 Reichspogromnacht; Novemberpogrom

‚Kristallnacht’ ist die Bezeichnung für das [von Goebbels organisierte] ‚spontane‘ deutschlandweite Pogrom der Nacht vom 9. zum 10. November 1938. Im Laufe der ,Kristallnacht’ wurden 91 Juden ermordet, fast alle Synagogen sowie über 7000 jüdische Geschäfte im Deutschen Reich zerstört und geplündert, Juden in ihren Wohnungen überfallen, gedemütigt, verhaftet und ermordet.

11 Polenaktion 1938

Rosa Rosenstein bezieht sich hier vermutlich auf die sogenannte "Polenaktion", die Deportation von etwa 17.000 Jüdinnen und Juden polnischer Staatsbürgerschaft aus dem Deutschen Reich zur polnischen Grenze Ende Oktober 1938. Zu den Ausgewiesenen zählte die Familie Grynszpan aus Hannover, deren Sohn Herschel in Paris lebte. Als Herschel vom Schicksal seiner Familie erfuhr, verübte er aus Protest gegen die Deportation am 7. November 1938 ein Attentat an der deutschen Botschaft in Paris, das den Tod des Botschaftssekretärs Ernst vom Rath zur Folge hatte. Dies nutzten die Nationalsozialist*innen als Vorwand für die darauffolgenden Novemberpogrome. Nach den Novemberpogromen - der Zeitpunkt, den Rosa für die Deportation ihres Vaters benennt - wurden tausende jüdische Männer aus Berlin nach Sachsenhausen deportiert, nicht jedoch nach Polen. Es ist jedoch wahrscheinlich, dass Rosa den Zeitpunkt der "Polenaktion" durcheinanderbringt.

12 Eichmann, Otto Adolf [1906-1962]

SS-Obersturmbannführer, organisierte die Vertreibung und Deportation der Juden aus Deutschland und den von Deutschland besetzten Gebieten. Nach dem Anschluss im Jahre 1938 baute er in Wien die Zentralstelle für jüdische Auswanderung auf, welche die zwangsweise Ausreise der jüdischen Bevölkerung aus Österreich betrieb. Ab 1941 war Eichmann für die Organisation der Deportation der Juden aus Deutschland und den besetzen europäischen Ländern zuständig und mitverantwortlich für die Ermordung von sechs Millionen Juden. 1960 wurde Eichmann von Mossad-Agenten in Argentinien gefasst und nach Israel gebracht, wo er wegen Verbrechen gegen das jüdische Volk vor Gericht gestellt, zum Tode verurteilt und hingerichtet werde.

12 Anschluss

Der Anschluss Österreichs an das Deutsche Reich. Nach dem Rücktritt von Bundeskanzler Schuschnigg am 11. März 1938 besetzten in ganz Österreich binnen kurzem Nationalsozialisten alle wichtigen Ämter. Am 12. März marschierten deutsche Truppen in Österreich ein. Mit dem am 13. März 1938 verlautbarten ‚Verfassungsgesetz über die Wiedervereinigung Österreichs mit dem Deutschen Reich‘ war der ‚Anschluss‘ de facto vollzogen.

13 Ustascha

Rechtsradikale kroatische Bewegung, die 1929 von Ante Pavelic gegen den großserbischen Zentralismus und für eine kroatische Unabhängigkeit gegründet wurde. Die Ustascha stellte 1941, nach der Unabhängigkeit Kroatiens, Truppen auf, die sich unter dem Schutz des nationalsozialistischen Deutschlands und des faschistischen Italiens mit blutigem Terror durchsetzten. Nach dem Zusammenbruch Kroatiens im Jahr 1945 ging Pavelic ins Exil. Der damals aufgestaute Hass führte noch im Bürgerkrieg in den 90er-Jahren zu Racheakten serbischer Tschetniks.

14 Kaiserlich und königliche Armee

Die Abkürzung k.u.k steht für ‚kaiserlich und königlich’ und ist die allgemein übliche Bezeichnung der Armee Österreich-Ungarns, die ein Konglomerat aus verschiedenen Nationen, Waffengattungen und Interessen war.

15 Hakoah

Hakoah Wien ist ein 1909 gegründeter jüdischer Sportverein. Der Name ist hebräisch und bedeutet ‚Kraft‘. Bekannt wurde vor allem die Fußballmannschaft [gewann 1925 die österreichischer Meisterschaft]; der Verein brachte auch Ringer, Schwimmer und Wasserballer hervor, die internationale und olympische Titel für Österreich errangen.
Nach dem Anschluss Österreichs 1938 an das Deutsche Reich wurden die Spielstätten beschlagnahmt und der Verein 1941 verboten.

16 Curtis, Tony (geboren Bernhard Schwartz)

Amerikanischer Filmschauspieler ungarisch-jüdischer Abstammung.

17 Haider, Jörg

Österreichischer Politiker, 1986 stürzte er am Innsbrucker Parteitag den damaligen FPÖ-Chef Norbert Steger. 1989 wurde Haider mit Stimmen der ÖVP zum Kärntner Landeshauptmann gewählt, drei Jahre später jedoch aufgrund seiner Aussage zur ‚ordentlichen Beschäftigungspolitik im Dritten Reich’ abgesetzt. 1993 organisierte er das sogenannte ‚Ausländer-Volksbegehren’, das ein Misserfolg wurde. Bei den Nationalratswahlen 1999 wurde die FPÖ erstmals seit ihrer Gründung zur zweitstärksten Partei Österreichs.

Istvan Domonkos

The engagement photo of Katalin Schwarz and Istvan Domonkos

Istvan Domonkos
Budapest
Hungary
Interviewer: Mihaly Andor
Date of interview: December 2004 – January 2005

Istvan Domonkos is a skinny, strong-minded, accurate gentleman, who lives in his inherited house in Rakospalota. The house is in need of a little reparation both on the inside and outside; it can be seen that its owner has never considered money the most important, but principles.

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
War memories
Married life
Post-war events
Political activities
My children
Glossary

My paternal grandparents, Mor Fleischmann and Rozalia Kalisch, got married on 2nd April 1889. The wedding was in Vagvecse [today Slovakia] where my great-grandfather Gyorgy Kalisch and his family lived. I don’t know when my grandmother was born; I only know that she died in 1942. The Fleischmann family lived in Zsambek at that time, where my other great-grandfather, Joachim Fleischmann was a rabbi. Mor was born in Abony in 1858, and he was a child when the family moved to Zsambek. His marriage to Rozalia Kalisch was his second marriage, because earlier he had married Kati Rosenberg with whom he had a son, Miklos. He divorced her, and Miklos stayed with his mother. Then sometime, I don’t know when, Miklos magyarized from Fleischmann to Meszaros. I don’t know anything else about my father’s stepbrother.

Mor Fleischmann was a merchant, but they lived among really modest circumstances in Budapest. One year after the marriage, in 1890 my father Miksa was born. The marriage of my grandfather and grandmother only lasted for eight years, because my grandfather died at the age of 39 in 1897.

I barely know anything about the maternal branch, because after the three children were born our parents divorced. The two boys [i.e. the interviewee and his brother] stayed with Father, and my sister stayed with our mother. As far as I know my mother didn’t remarry. She lived with my younger sister at her parents’, with the Rozsa family. They had a tin-wear factory, which prospered quite well. The Rozsa family was wealthy. So I didn’t even know my maternal grandparents, I don’t know when my mother was born either. After they divorced I never met my mother. I did meet my sister. We started getting together with my sister when I was a teenager. But she never told us anything about that family, and we didn’t ask either. I only know that my sister felt good at home. As far as I know my father didn’t have to pay alimony, probably because they split the burden, since the two boys remained with him.

My father went to a Jewish elementary school, and then he graduated from middle school, and then the Commercial Academy. The Commercial Academy was a school of high standard, it gave a high school diploma, they taught several languages, and they put the emphasis on practice. So the smart Jewish parents sent their children to study there with pleasure. My grandmother already raised him alone at that time; I don’t know what they lived off. I know that they lived among moderate means, and that my grandmother managed a kosher household. She was religious, too. My father wasn’t religious at all.

I think my father got a scholarship from some kind of a Jewish organization. I suspect this from the fact that he got very valuable books on Jewish topics and an 11-volume Goethe series in Gothic type. Besides that he also got a 5-6 volume Heine in Gothic type. After my father graduated from the Commercial Academy he spent two years in Germany at a technical college. That’s how he became entitled to be an artificer officer and to get a civil job.

He spoke German perfectly, he was absolutely fluent and he was handsome, perhaps this also played a role in the fact that the Caterpillar made an arrangement with him to introduce the caterpillar tractors in Middle Europe, which was a great novelty at that time. And my father played an important role in the entire Middle European propagation. He magyarized his name to Domonkos at this time, sometime around 1910, because the name Fleischmann bothered him. [Editor’s note: The Caterpillar Company was established in 1925, but the Holt caterpillars were already used by the Entente forces during World War I.]

In the meantime, in 1911 he had to join the forces for the one-year volunteer service as an officer. He was assigned to a technical formation, to the ‘Kraftfahrtruppe’ [German for ‘motorized unit’], even though there weren’t any caterpillars, those were only introduced during World War I by the British. But he wasn’t only a specialist in caterpillars, he was specialized in motor-cars, too, and he spoke fluent German, which counted very much in the army of the Monarchy, so they entrusted a formation to him.

From 1912 he was at the Caterpillar company again, he had his own office and he got a good salary. When World War I broke out they called him up immediately with the stock of cars and other means of transportation that he had been responsible for, i.e. with the unsold caterpillars and motor-cars he had. The authorities collected the available means of transportation and gave them to the body of troops he belonged to. The Caterpillar company couldn’t do anything, it was wartime. It didn’t matter that the USA wasn’t at war yet. They entrusted to him a supplier mechanized troop. He joined the forces as an officer, but he soon became an ensign, and he demobilized as first lieutenant at the end of the war.

He was at the Italian battlefront 1, too, and his troops mainly dealt with transportation on the battlefront. Since they had to work on a very difficult mountain ground and they were shot at, many got killed. My father was injured several times, and he demobilized at the end of the war with a lot of decorations.

He already played sports before the war. He learned with a fencing master called Lovas, and he became an excellent fencer. He played at smaller competitions, and he dueled several times. Once when we were going somewhere with my father he showed me a man on the street who held his left arm in a funny way. He told me that he had cut it. He learned the elbow cut from Master Lovas. During the war he wanted to remain in training, so he exercised fencing steps and fencing there, too. I have a picture of this, too.

My father got married for the first time right after World War I. When the front folded up at Piave, in Italy in 1918, my father managed to escape from being taken as a prisoner. He came home and married my mother, Gabriella Rozsa, immediately. She must have been around 18 years old at that time. She was a beautiful woman. The first child, Peter, was born in 1919, I was born in 1921, and my little sister, Anna, was born in 1923. By that time the marriage had gotten bad, and they divorced. I sometimes heard my father saying that my grandmother always set the heather on fire between him and the young woman. That’s why their marriage might have got ruined.

They pulled through the revolutions, even though my father was called in once to the Hungarian Red Army, too. [Editor’s note: The establishment of the Hungarian Red Army, the armed force of the Soviet Republic was ordered on 22nd March 1919 and it was dissolved on 6th August.] He didn’t want to go, and then two red soldiers with bayonets came for him and took him to Godollo, to the headquarters. There they set him in front of a committee saying that he was a specialist and that he had to serve at technical formations. He backtracked by saying that he couldn’t be there permanently because of the little child, and he asked them to allow his wife and child to be there with him. They gave him their permission, and he got an officer’s room in the Godollo royal castle.

As he told me, he served and did his duty, because he couldn’t do anything else, but he never wore the uniform of the Hungarian Red Army. After the revolutions he got honorable mention from the War Office, from Horthy’s 2 bureau, and he was admitted to the reservist officer force, which was sometimes called in for practice. I remember that he was called in several times. In 1935 he obtained his captaincy from Miklos Horthy. So by the time anti-Semitism broke out he was relieved of all kinds of measures, because he had such prestigious decorations, and had this promotion from Horthy. So he was on the list, which was called Horthy exemption 3 at that time. But this didn’t apply to his children. So regardless of that we had to go in for forced labor.

After they divorced, my mother worked at the factory owned by the family, she did the paperwork. I don’t know whether she continued her education or not. My sister Anna finished the four years of middle school, but as far as I know after that it wasn’t possible for her to study. The family wasn’t that well off anymore because of the restrictions of the anti-Jewish laws 4.

My sister Anna worked at some paper factory, where she glued bags or did some kind of primitive work like this. She was there until in 1944 they started to gather the Jewish women from Budapest, too 5. Then she was deported together with my mother. But maybe it was her luck that they were separated. As far as I know my mother wasn’t appointed to the death march 6, but she was put on a barge, which was going to take them up the Danube. Allegedly this barge sank. I don’t know whether that was on purpose or it was hit. All the women on it perished. [Editor’s note: In literature there is no mention of any sunken barges. The Arrow Cross men drove about 30,000 Jews from Budapest and about 50,000 forced laborers to the western border from 6th November until the end of November, mainly on foot. According to the report of one of the leaders of the International Red Cross some of those deportees who were driven from Budapest to Hegyeshalom were lodged in four barges anchored in Gonyu. Many fell in the icy water of the Danube because of complete exhaustion, and others were pushed into the water by the Arrow Cross men. (Source: Jeno Levai: Zsidosors Magyarorszagon. Budapest, 1948)]

In 1925 my father remarried. The name of his second wife was Stefania Szabo. I don’t know when she was born, because she kept that in secret. As far as I know they met through a newspaper ad. My stepmother was a widow at that time. Stefania Szabo didn’t have any children from her first marriage, and in the second, they didn’t want to have any. Her first husband was an offspring of the Herzl family, if I remember correctly, he was called Fulop Herzl. [Editor’s note: Tivadar Herzl, the famous member of the Herzl family was the founder of Hungarian Zionism.] He got very rich on the stock market, and when the stock market in Budapest failed he committed suicide because of his losses.

When they got married my stepmother still had some assets, she had an apartment house on O Street. Most likely it was her who put an ad in the paper, and that attracted the attention of my father, they got to know each other, and my father saw her wealth. The first story of the house on O Street was my stepmother’s, she rented out the rest. This was a four or five-bedroom apartment with beautiful chandeliers. I remember the chandeliers, because my father took the two of us by the hand to introduce us to our mother-to-be, to see what her opinion was. We had to be very orderly.

We got along with our stepmother very well, we never had any conflicts. She was a provider, she could care for the sick children superbly, and she took good care of us. We called her ‘mother.’ My father cared for us much less, his work called him off, too. I don’t know what kind of education my stepmother had, but she was a housewife throughout. My grandmother lived with us at that time, too, but with the second wife she didn’t set the heather on fire. By the time the second wife arrived my grandmother had probably learned from the previous case. Because when the first marriage fell apart, she saw that partly she had caused it.

At the beginning everything was nice and good. Then worse times came, the world economic crisis 7 started, and the house had to be sold. At that time my father hadn’t gotten another commission from the Caterpillar company, but he worked at an oil trader company as an engineer, for quite a small salary. The contact with the Caterpillar company had stopped during World War I. Then the Americans were mistrustful, and they only returned at the beginning of the 1930s, but only so that they needed a company with capital. This was the Steyr Works from Austria. So my father’s employer was the Austrian Steyr Works. Until that time, in the period between 1918 and 1930, so at the beginning of the second marriage, he had a very small income. And moreover we, the two growing boys were also there; we were sick quite often, and that cost a lot of money.

My father started to deal with Caterpillar from 1930 on behalf of the Steyr Works. He held tractor presentations on large estates and agricultural fares. There is a picture in which he is presenting one of the machines with big capacity, the ‘Twenty,’ at the Budapest Cattle-Show. He always had a big public and he was always brilliant in front of them: he made a small hill, went up on it, turned around. Basically the machine had the same capabilities as a combat car only on a smaller scale. At that time he was doing a lot better financially, too, he could buy a small summer cottage in Rakoscsaba.

They bought the summer cottage in 1933 or in 1934 on hire purchase. A baron family parceled out nice big plots of 320 square feet. The construction of the small house cost 1000 pengoes. There was a bigger room, of about 4 by 4 meters. My father made a bunk- bed for us, two boys, and they slept on a normal bed. In front of the cottage there was a porch with a roof and open on the sides. We could eat there. Behind the house there was a small home-made bathroom, there was only a basin there of course. There wasn’t any water conduit, but a well, from which we pumped the water by hand. It’s interesting that in all of our apartments we had a bidet. Here in Rakoscsaba we also had a mobile one.

My father could afford to buy a car, too, and he could send us to school. That wasn’t a piece of cake at that time either, because tuition had to be paid. My father had a passion for motoring, he bought used cars and he and his mechanics repaired them beautifully. He had some kind of an English car, a strong jeep, he drove that. He used it on weekdays, too, he went to work with it or he went on his work related trips in the country or abroad. This gave some kind of a prestige to someone, and that was a big thing at that time. Perhaps it would have been more reasonable to go abroad by train, but he liked to drive very much. We went to many places with the family, too, but I can’t think of any of these trips right now.

In the meantime there were always some kinds of short marches, time by time there was some festivity, inauguration or things like that. At these occasions my father always put on his officer’s uniform, he pinned on all his decorations, and sometimes he took us along, too. I remember a case like this well. He took us to the inauguration of the Rakoczi statue on Kossuth Square. [Editor’s note: The Rakoczis were a noble family in the Kingdom of Hungary between the 13th century and 18th century. The most famous member of the family was probably Francis II Rákóczi (1676-1735), who was elected prince sovereign of Hungary and as Prince of Transylvania from 1703-1711 was the leader of the Hungarian uprising against the Habsburg during that time.] We stuck a crane feather in our scholar cap, and so we stood next to our father, and he stood there in his dress uniform. He introduced us there to a general for the first time in my life. I don’t know who he was; I only saw that there was a red stripe on both sides of his trousers.

My father had his connections. There is a picture of him talking with Archduke Frigyes [Archduke Frigyes Habsburg (1856–1936): serviceman, marshal, member of the upper house from 1927 until 1936.] But he was in such a relationship with Istvan Bethlen, too. [Count Istvan Bethlen de Bethlen (1874–1946?) was a Hungarian aristocrat and statesman and served as Prime Minister from 1921 to 1931. Bethlen stood out as one of the few voices in Hungary actively opposed to an alliance with Nazi Germany. As it became apparent that Germany was going to lose World War II, Bethlen attempted, unsuccessfully, to negotiate a separate peace with the Allied powers. When Budapest fell to the advancing Soviet troops in April 1945, Bethlen was captured and taken to Moscow, where he was murdered with other Hungarian patriots on or around 5th October 1946.] This was a business contact, because only the bigger farms could buy this expensive machine, but these grand seigneurs valued Miksa Domonkos, even if they knew at all that he was a man of Jewish origin, because his bearing and his behavior was just like any Hungarian army officer’s.

In the meantime we grew up. We didn’t go to nursery school. The first child community was the school; it was the Szent Istvan Square public elementary school, right next to the Basilica. I have very good memories of that school. The beginning was already very pleasant. In first grade there was a schoolmistress, who was very nice and started us well. In third and fourth grade a schoolmaster took us over, who was also very nice and fair. I had all excellent grades in elementary school; there weren’t any problems with me. I studied easily.

This school was in Lipotvaros, so approximately one third of the class was Jewish. But there weren’t any conflicts between Jewish and Christian children. The education at school was pronouncedly of Catholic spirit. For example, around Christmas the entire class learned the Christmas songs, the Jewish children sang them the same way. Most of the families in Lipotvaros didn’t celebrate Chanukkah, but they put up a Christmas tree. I must add we didn’t. My father didn’t allow that, we didn’t have a Christmas tree.

Anyhow, my father’s principle was that one doesn’t only have to give gifts when there is a holiday, but when he can afford it. If we took fancy of something, let’s say a toy-railway, he bought it. Close to us there was a toy-dealer, Uncle Liebermann’s toy-shop. We always looked at the toys in the display window and asked our parents to buy this or that for us. We got Märklin, too, we had a very nice kit. [Editor’s note: Märklin is a metal construction toy known all around the world, manufactured in Göppingen since the end of the 19th century]. First there was the MATADOR, that was a do-it-yourself wooden toy, and we got the Märklin later. I used this for a long time, until the age of 12-13.

After the four classes of elementary school both of us went to an eight-grade science secondary school 8, to the Kemeny Zsigmond Science Secondary School. My brother, Peter was always one class ahead of me. But only one class, because he was born in November, and he lost a year. He was a very diligent student; he was a much better student than I was. This was a big advantage for me, because I got his used books, and moreover I could get a lot of help. He was an excellent mathematician, and I wasn’t that good at that subject. Though later, owing to my technical studies at the university I learned many things.

Sometime in fourth or fifth grade I got out of hand a little bit, I even had to take a make-up exam in mathematics. Somehow I didn’t get a good start with trigonometry. In my opinion our teacher did well when he said, ‘I will flunk this boy, because he is able to learn. Let him learn it in the vacation.’ In that vacation I did have to study hard to pass the re-take exam. But I passed with no problems.

At the science secondary school there wasn’t any Greek or Latin, the foreign languages were French and German, German from first grade throughout, French from third grade throughout. When we were older, I might have been around 16-17, my father employed a young Swabian boy, so that he would refine our German. From this tutor we mainly learned intonation. It lasted for two or three years, then the world with anti-Jewish laws came, and we couldn’t afford it financially either. But I did learn, I could read literature well, and when I got to Germany on an official trip when I was around 50, I could get by fine. Even now if I turn on a German channel on television, I understand most of it, but I have forgotten a lot. I’m not as good at French, though I was very interested in it and I liked French very much. There are poems which I still know.

At the science secondary school the Jewish and non-Jewish children were on good terms at the beginning. Even though everyone knew who was Jewish and who wasn’t. They strictly enjoined us to go to the Friday evening worship service, and the Christian children to go to church on Sundays. But around 1938 or maybe a little bit earlier, when this instigation went on, a small group of anti-Semite boys was formed. We didn’t come to blows, at most they found fault with us. By graduation the thing deteriorated. So when we had to go to have our picture taken for the class photograph, I was shocked to see a Hungarian jacket on the sofa at the photographer’s, which the Jewish children weren’t allowed to put on. This was an astounding shock. This happened in 1939, by that time they had already enacted the first anti-Jewish law.

There is a bad photocopy of the graduation class picture, but one can see in it, that the children in the first row are wearing normal jackets, and the others are in Hungarian jacket. There are 12 children in jacket and there are 19 in Hungarian jacket, but there was a Christian child who didn’t want to wear the Hungarian jacket. There was one such Christian child, so in the class of 31 there were 11 of us Jews. They put the Jews in the lower row, and our religion teacher is in this row in the middle. This perfidy first affected me personally at the age of 18. So when our class teacher who had been appointed to Leva, which was reannexed to Hungary together with the Felvidek [Upper Northern Hungary], as a school principal 9, invited the entire class to Leva to a banquet, everyone went happily, but me. I said and made common that I wouldn’t sit at a white table with a company like this where there is such parting. This was my first collision like this.

My father was always very busy. There were a few occasions for him to educate us. But he did consider one thing important: to give us a good start in literature suitable to our age. So when we were small we had to read story-books, later Jules Verne. He felt some kind of aversion to Karl May, and he didn’t let us read his books, but he let us read Jokai 10 early. He brought the Jokai books one after the other. As a matter of fact I got my grounding in literature through Jokai and Mikszath. [Kalman Mikszath (1847-1910) was a great Hungarian novelist and politician. Many of his novels contained social commentary and satire, and towards the end of his life they became increasingly critical of the aristocracy and the burden that he believed it placed on Hungarian society.] About Ady 11, for example, I didn’t hear much at home, but I heard a lot about Janos Arany 12 and Petofi 13, I got these in due time. And this led to the fact that in high school I was very interested in Hungarian literature.

My father always read, too. There was always some kind of book on his night-stand. And he read very much in German. I don’t remember what. Really strange names come to my mind. I’m sure that he liked Rilke. He had Thomas Mann as well as Hansheinz Eberts, who wrote horror stories. My father had a big library. He only subscribed to Pesti Hirlap [Pest Journal, daily].

We went on a holiday every summer. Before having the summer cottage in Rakoscsaba we went to Pomaz, to Torokbalint, so to the environs of Pest. Somehow we never got to the Balaton or abroad. When we had the summer cottage in Rakoscsaba already, we moved out there before the school vacation started and moved back after school started, so when we were at the science secondary school both my brother and I had commutation ticket.

We didn’t go to the theater with the family, but at high school we could buy a cheap season ticket, and I used to go to the National Theater. I remember one occasion when we went together. Mihaly Erdelyi had a theater at the edge of the City Park where they played light opera. [Erdelyi, Mihaly (1895–1979): actor, actor-manager, light opera composer, he organized an independent company in 1934, and he managed several small theaters]. I think he got a ticket from someone for the light opera ‘Erzsebet.’ I don’t remember them taking us to a recital and we didn’t learn music. This was somehow left out from our life.

My father’s days passed so that he went to work in the morning and came home late. He was at home at weekends, but…it’s interesting, I don’t actually know what he did at weekends.

My father had very few friends, mainly people who survived World War I, officers as well. But they got together mostly at official places, so when there was some kind of a ceremony, some commemoration. These weren’t friends who would get together all the time and play cards. My father didn’t play cards and didn’t drink. He never got together with anyone as a family. My stepmother had old Jewish friends, not many, two or three. Sometimes they visited each other, they went somewhere. For example, I remember, that usually during the summer vacation, which we spent at our small estate in Rakoscsaba, one or the other of her old friends came there for one or two days. One was called Aunt Paula. She was a Jewish woman. But my father didn’t really chime in these women conversations, and he didn’t go out with my mother either.

My father was a tough man, but he never beat me. When we were small it happened that my stepmother spanked us, but otherwise she didn’t. They were exceptionally progressive. Of course we were quite obedient. What also contributed to this was that the Zsigmond Kemeny science secondary school was a very good school. Schools at that time competed with one another. Each of them had their own uniform cap. That meant very much, because they told us already there at school ‘look out, because even if you mess about on the streets, they can see it on you…’ This was just as if we had been marked.

I remember a case when we shot out one of the windows of a house vis-à-vis and we hid the sling-shot behind a cupboard. But the aggrieved party was a detective and he found out where the shot must have come from, and went to my father and told him what his sons had done. ‘My sons don’t do such things,’ my father said. The man left, and years later the sling-shot was found at a housecleaning. Otherwise my father was permissive; he bought us an air-gun already when we were teenagers.

During the years at the science secondary school a group of friends was formed, we visited each other, but one of them attracted attention, Miklos Hajdu. I knew that his father was of Jewish origin, he just got baptized in time. He married a very nice, honest Christian maid in 1916. She was a simple woman, but very nice, honest and kind. Miklos Hajdu and I were really good friends all our lives, until four or five years ago, when he died. I went to their place regularly; I ate lunch there several times, not because I was hungry, but because his mother loved me very much. He also used to come to our place; they treated him as if he were my brother. We were best friends through fire and water.

Besides this there was the circle of friends, but its members changed, they were never as stable as this one was. This friendship never took a break. When I was in the forced labor camp he helped me countless times, either by sending me some kind of a package or in another way. He was a regular soldier, at a lucky place, because he was an anti-aircraft artillerist, which meant that he didn’t have to go to the front, but they were here in Budapest. He didn’t only help me, but the extended circle of friends, too. He saved one of our friends from being deported to the West, because they recognized each other by accident. That poor thing crept about totally ragged and broken, and my friend Hajdu, risking his life took him from the line and to his commandant, telling him that this was his old friend and that he wanted to save him. The commandant permitted him to dress in soldier uniform, they fed him up, fixed him and he was saved.

During the war

When my brother Peter graduated from high school in 1938 the first anti-Jewish law was enforced immediately. As a consequence, however talented he was, university was out of the question. First they wanted to get him some kind of paperwork, but in that world with the anti-Jewish laws one couldn’t get a decent job, and then they devised, not only our parents, but the other Jewish parents, too, that one should learn some kind of industrial trade. He became an apprentice at an electrical company, at the Neumann Company. One year later I got to Baumgartner and Co., where the Co. was the old Neumann’s son, through the Neumann Company. I also went there as an electrician. In these industries they acknowledged the previous studies of these young graduates, and one only had to spend one year as an apprentice.

In 1940 Peter was called up, and then they reassigned him as forced laborer 14. He joined up in 1940 as an officer, but in 1941, if I remember correctly, they took off their uniforms. [Editor’s note: The War Department issued an order in March 1942 according to which the Jewish forced laborers had to wear their own civil clothes, and they had to sew a yellow armband on it. However, at many formations they already took the uniform from the Jews at the end of 1941. The wearing of the yellow armband wasn’t general until the spring of 1942, but depending on the commandant they introduced it at many formations. (Source: R. L. Braham: A nepirtas politikaja. A holokauszt Magyarorszagon, Budapest, Uj Mandatum Publishing House, 2003, p. 31)].

In the summer of 1942 he announced to us that they were being put on trains and taken to the front. They took them directly into the perdition at the Don. I could speak with him for the last time in 1942, before the journey. From the border he sent us a postcard, saying that they were doing well. We never got any more letters from him, only my father got a notification of a couple lines: ‘We inform you that Peter Domonkos, forced laborer, who was born in 1919 in Budapest, mother’s name Gabriella Rozsa, died in January 1943 at Marki [today Ukraine] and was buried on the site.’

It never occurred to my father to convert to Catholicism, on the contrary. During conversations he said countless times, that he wasn’t willing to compromise, just because there was anti-Semitism. If there wasn’t anti-Semitism, then perhaps it would have been considered. That was my opinion, too. He counted the anti-Semitism from the White Terror 15, the numerus clausus 16, the beating of the Jews at university 17.

He told me several times about the battle at the so-called Klub café. There was a very nice old café on Szent Istvan Avenue, very close to the theater. Many people from among the Jews in Lipotvaros and Ujlipotvaros used to go there, my father, too. During the White Terror once he was sitting at the Klub café and a press-gang burst in with black-jacks and sticks and they started to beat the people sitting there, saying that they were only Jews. My father told me this several times. He said that from then on he never went to public places; he never sat with his back to the entrance, only facing the entrance. It was also known that after the numerus clausus there were still some young Jewish people at the universities, and atrocities were regular. They thrust them down the stairs.

When my father got married for the second time, we moved to O Street, to my stepmother’s nice big apartment. I don’t remember this apartment exactly, but that there was everything, and that there were many rooms. My grandmother didn’t come with us. In the meantime the financial situation of the family slowly deteriorated. At the beginning of the 1930s we had to sell that apartment, and they rented another quite nice apartment overlooking the street at the corner of Kazar Street and Paulay Ede Street, on the third floor. There wasn’t a lift there. This was a three-bedroom apartment, and grandmother came here with us. There was a kitchen, a bathroom and a maid’s room in it. There was a maid, too.

From there we moved to a worse apartment, to Hernad Street. This must have been around 1934, because in the meantime the job at the Caterpillar discontinued. It didn’t prosper for a long time, among the bad economical circumstances in Hungary there weren’t buyers for these machines. My father tried everything. I remember that he canvassed with a heater which functioned with kerosene and heated cars. At that time cars didn’t have internal heating. He took those over from some kind of a western company on commission. He canvassed with this, but it didn’t work. So we had to give up luxury things and got among worse and worse living conditions. We didn’t have a car for a long time either.

From Kazar Street we moved to Hernad Street and spent a couple years here. It was a two-bedroom apartment with an alcove, and my grandmother lived in the alcove. The next apartment was on Lovolde Square, a worse one, on the ground floor overlooking the courtyard. The courtyard was shared with a movie theater on Rottenbiller Street, so when they showed the ‘Meseautó’ we listened to it several times a day. [Editor’s note: Director Béla Gaál’s film, which premiered in 1934, the love story of a general manager and a shorthand typist, was the cinema hit of the year]. This was a two-bedroom apartment and there wasn’t a maid, and there wasn’t room for Grandmother either, so she moved to a related family to Sziv Street. She died there. At that time I was already a forced laborer, so I couldn’t go to the funeral.

The maid and my stepmother were usually on good terms. At cooking and I think at shopping, too, my stepmother played the decisive role. The maids usually cleaned, washed, ironed or did tasks related to heating. Almost everywhere there was a stove heated with coal or wood, and to every apartment belonged a tray [in the cellar], and the fuel was in it. But by 1943 we almost ran out of fuel. I remember that my stepmother wrote me that they were cold many times.

At the forced labor camp I regularly got packages and money. Even though they were among very bad conditions, my father didn’t have a secure job, canvassing sometimes paid, and sometimes it didn’t. Besides the car heater there was another thing, a medical heater, which emitted reddish-purplish color, it was made by a company called George Sun. It was difficult for my father to send me the 20 pengoes each month, that was the amount allowed to be sent to forced labor camps.

They were living in such circumstances, when in 1942 my father met an old schoolmate, Sandor Eppler, who was an official of the Jewish community. Eppler discussed with the leaders of the Jewish community to employ this officer Domonkos, who was one of the prominent figures among the old, Jewish officers, ex-servicemen, with a modest salary. Namely the Jewish community had to care for the clothing, the provision with shoes, boots, clothes, underwear etc. of the Jewish forced laborers. The ex-servicemen Jewish officers set up a committee, whose task was to supply officially the Jewish forced laborer companies. The War Department greeted this initiative, because it wasn’t their aim to have those children freeze there. So they employed my father at the Jewish community with a modest salary. He became one of the leaders of this action. He gave up canvassing, because the two things weren’t compatible.

Through my father’s connections at the War Department they found a pensioner officer, Laszlo Ocskay 18, he was a handsome reserve officer, crippled in World War I, he walked with a limp, and he organized a forced laborer company which was officially called Clothes-Collecting Company 19 in 1944. Those who were in this company, got a paper, which allowed them to move around quite freely. This was in June, July and August. This possibility immediately ceased after the Szalasi takeover 20.

The Jewish community provided the company with place in the rooms of the Jewish Museum. It was furnished with bunk beds, so if they came on control from the War Department, they found a regular thing. There were some very decent soldiers, whom officer Ocskay had mustered, so if they needed to go and collect clothes they always went with a military escort. In this company there weren’t young people, but serious, elderly man, whom their good connections helped to go where they were safe.

Of course, in order to be able to provide for a company of 150-200 military supply was needed. Through the bureau the company got regular military supply, but we had to maintain a canteen. Two of our experienced old men managed the kitchen. One of them was Zoltan Strausz, he was a wholesale butcher, and the other one was a catering specialist. The wholesale butchers were the richest people of Budapest, they ran the abattoir. Not the kosher, but the regular abattoir. My friend Zoli Strausz, whom I called Uncle Zoli at that time, told me sometime in August, ‘Come, help us, we need a young man here, too, at least we will teach you how to make a good goulash.’ I learned how to chop onions there.

From 1942 I was in the forced labor camp, and the first thing I did was that I got in touch with my father through letters, telling him what we needed. And we made this regular, so in my company we formed a Care Committee. There was such a thing at other places, too, but ours was so official that we had a stamp made ‘Care Committee 12/3.’ In the beginning I was the president of this. Later on I handed it over to another boy. The point is that we sent an application, which was sealed and signed by the commander, to the Committee of Ex-Servicemen of the Jewish community, and then after a while we got what we had asked for.

The committee raised the money for these supplies from the wealthy Jews. It wasn’t easy. But there were wealthy Jews at that time, too, and later they made this a country-wide organization. The wealthy Jews raised money for all kinds of things anyway, for example for aid for the poor, the unemployed Jewish families, and children. Otherwise the Jewish religion has this great advantage that a Jewish man is not allowed to beg. This directly follows from the regulations of the Holy Scriptures. And it was also from this biblical viewpoint that the poor Jewish children who were forced into forced labor camps had to be aided.

From then on my father was at the Jewish community throughout, only they changed his function time by time. After 19th March 1944 21 they immediately put him into a position where he had to make use of his command of German in the communication with the German authorities, and he could hold his ground especially in economical and technical matters. Namely on 19th March 1944 these hordes came in, and the first thing they did was that they collected all the Jewish fortune they could. But this wasn’t enough, they also raised a demand. For example they wrote that they needed 100 blankets within 24 hours and that General X needed a piano within 24 hours, or that they needed 50 typewriters within 24 hours. It was important for my father to be there, because if an arrogant Nazi leader came in personally and saw that my father spoke German and was a Hungarian lieutenant, he’d behave differently. They didn’t even know that he was Jewish, he wore a lieutenant uniform, and he never wore a yellow star.

He had a serious crew among whom there were mostly people with experience in the economic sphere. Because when the task was, for example, to gather 100 blankets, or beds, these people knew where these were to be found in the warehouse, or where some Jews who had these things were and these things could be confiscated from them; because practically this is what they did. It wasn’t a pleasant situation, because they had to confiscate things for the Germans. But someone had to do it.

I know that Eichmann 22 tried to step up with threats, with aggression time by time. They summoned one or the other leader of the Jewish Council to their place, to Svabhegy, and they threatened them by saying that they would deport them, if they didn’t get this or that. It was before Szalasi 23 that Eichmann wanted to deport the Jews from Budapest, and Horthy stopped him. Eichmann started it, and tried to deport Jews in secret from where he could. He managed to set off a transport, and they noticed it too late. But they hadn’t left the Hungarian border when they went after them and took the transport back to the internment camp.

It happened so that Wallenberg 24 got information from the Jewish Council 25 in Budapest that this and this many Jewish people had been deported from the internment camp. After this, Eichmann summoned three of the Jewish leaders, I don’t remember who, to Svabhegy, they kept them there without food or soup, and while he kept the Jewish leaders in detention, he then deported a couple hundred people 26. Probably my father was also among these three, but I don’t know. One didn’t have to speak about everything, in fact it was best to not know about everything.

Then 15th October came. The Szalasi takeover was on a Sunday and the Jewry in Budapest already knew in the afternoon that there was big trouble, because tanks were going along the streets, and on the radio they had announced that Colonel-general Beregffy should go home immediately. My father managed to enter Sip Street, in a uniform, of course. Besides him nobody, not even Stockler 27, the president or the other members of the Jewish Council could. They didn’t dare to go out on the street.

My father sat there alone by the phone and called Lieutenant-colonel Ferenczy 28. Ferenczy was the highest level leader of Jewish matters in the Hungarian government, he was an insincere man. Earlier he had a key position in the deportation of the Jews from the country. He oversaw the gendarmes, but when Horthy took his measures, and when despite the presence of the Germans the attitude against the Jews eased, Ferenczy felt that he should watch out, and he started to make approaches. He always told the Jewish leaders that they would look out and they wouldn’t let any more people to be deported and they wouldn’t be Eichmann’s servants. But when my father called him after the putsch and told him that he was alone and that they were in very serious trouble, Ferenczy said that the Jews got what they deserved and hung up. My father told this in front of the People’s Court, too.

So he sat there alone on Sip Street and the caretaker, who was a very honest, good Christian man, called him and told him, ‘Sir Captain, a German sergeant is here, please receive him.’ ‘Ok, have him come up.’ A young man went up, he had a submachine gun. ‘Where are the Jewish leaders?’ he asked. ‘See that they come forward.’ My father suddenly took the submachine gun out of his hands and snapped at him, ‘Stand at salute! You are standing in front of a Hungarian Royal Captain. You can only report to me.’ And he threw him out. The caretaker just stood there trembling.

Then in a couple days the situation was stabilized, and the relationship with the Germans was also stabilized somehow. Next to Lieutenant-colonel Ferenczy they appointed a man called Leo Lullay, because Ferenczy didn’t speak German. [Editor’s note: Captain Leo Lullay led the delegation of the gendarmerie at the counsel held in Vienna at the beginning of May 1944, where they finalized the schedule and route of the deportations. After Szalasi’s takeover he was Ferenczy’s helper in the Hungarian aryanizing detachment.] He had been a clerk at the city hall, otherwise he was a reservist officer, I think a first lieutenant. As a matter of fact he didn’t have any other job, but to interpret for the lieutenant colonel of the gendarmerie. He was reactivated and unluckily he got a commission. I say unluckily, because he was a very honest, good man. After the liberation he was caught, of course, and proceedings were taken against him, and he could not be saved.

My father had an office on Sip Street where he worked as the administrator of the Jewish Council. Then, when they decreed the setting up of the ghetto, he was the security officer of the ghetto, too. Because in the ghetto there was a ghetto police made up of Jews. There were many things to do. It was a small country that had to be organized. There were districts, medical offices, and institutional food. They had to organize some kind of administration. They appointed leaders for every block or part, possibly intelligent men, teachers or someone like that, whose task was to draw up a list of names. They had to provide medical care, so that a doctor would get everywhere as fast as possible.

They also had to deal with the deceased. These weren’t handled by my father personally, but he had his men. In the beginning they took the dead to the cemetery, but they had to stop this, because once the Arrow Cross men caught a group together with the rabbi, who were arranging a funeral, and I think they even killed them. From then on the funerals were in the courtyard of the Dohany Street Synagogue 29. And later there were so many dead that the poor things were piled up in a room of the bath on Kazinczy Street. There were funerals on Kaluzal Square, too.

Then the water supply had to be started, which was quite a big problem, because after a while there wasn’t enough water-pressure. They had to find the old wells. Fortunately, in these old houses of the Jewish district the old wells could be reopened at many places. The task of the doctors was to control the purity of the water. These were all, so to speak, the decrees of the local authority.

My father and his men had to come up with the system of decrees related to these issues, and besides that they had to activate a security team, into which they had to recruit, as far as possible, men that weren’t too old. As far as I remember, they wanted to equip them with batons, but it didn’t work out. But by the end of the ghetto times they managed to move in an armed group from the 7th district police to the basement of the Sip Street hall, which provided certain protection. [Editor’s note: This happened because the Arrow Cross men broke into the ghetto and committed massacres several times. Then on 12th January 1945 they sent 100 policemen and a unit of 15 Arrow Cross men.]

As a matter of fact my father was like a mayor. The Jewish Council could be compared to the general assembly, which takes decisions, which the secretary general, who can be compared to the mayor, enforces. My father was an engineer, and he was knowledgeable about public health, administration and security issues, so they could safely rely on him. Housing wasn’t in his hands, a lawyer, Dr. Kurzweil, was in charge of this. [Editor’s note: Dr. Istvan Kurzweil was only the administrator of the housing department of the Central Jewish Council.] A jurist was needed to administer justice among the people, to work out how to accommodate 20 people in an old two-bedroom apartment. There were often complaints, especially in these kinds of issues. The task of the housing department was extremely difficult; they had to manage the house-rooms in the yellow star houses 30. And their situation became even more difficult in the ghetto.

My father’s office – because he had a hall and a secretary – was assaulted by the complainers and those who requested help. There were some who asked help for finding their siblings or similar things. Or: With Captain Ocskay’s help they managed to accommodate almost 3000 people in the Jewish high school, outside the ghetto. Once the Arrow Cross men tried to go in, but Captain Ocskay was in contact with the German officers and told them, and the Germans drove away the Arrow Cross men. It was such a strange world.

Actually the ghetto was only set up by December, because they had agglomerated the people there, but we kept putting off the closing of the ghetto, the building of the planking and gates. At the main entrance of the ghetto, this was on Wesselenyi Street, there always sat an Arrow Cross man with a submachine-gun, whose main task was to not let anyone escape. And if someone came from the outside, he had to check that person.

In his officer’s uniform my father could move about freely, he never put on the yellow star. A captain of the Hungarian royal army could go wherever he wanted. The authorities or Arrow Cross men, who came from the outside, didn’t even know who he was. Otherwise many other people came to the ghetto, too, for example Friar Kohler came regularly, and he tried to help. The Arrow Cross men couldn’t interfere. [Editor’s note: Lazarist monk Ferenc Kohler followed the death march to Hegyeshalom many times with the safe-conducts of the papal nunciature to save people from the group.]

The next story is connected to this Arrow Cross bastard. In January, when the Soviet Army had already encircled Budapest, the leaders of the Arrow Cross Party from Pest escaped to Buda before the bridges were blown up. One morning we went into the ghetto. We arrived at the gate, and the Arrow Cross man was sitting there and greeted us. ‘Your most obedient servant, Captain.’ ‘So what’s up, my son?’ ‘Well, Captain, I would like to humbly report to you that there is a very big problem. Imagine, last night the entire district leadership escaped to Buda.’ ‘At least they are safe,’ my father replied. ‘But this is not the only problem,’ said the Arrow Cross man. ‘Look, here is my submachine gun, but they didn’t give me any cartridges.’ ‘It’s okay my son, we’ll look after you.’

In the meantime, we saved my sister, too. When they put my mother on the barge, which sank, they assigned my sister to a death march, and sent them off to the West. This was already at the beginning of the cruelest Szalasi regime. Somehow my father managed to find out that the death march stopped in Borgondpuszta for a while. [Borgondpuszta is on the outskirts of Szekesfehervar.] My father had a couple of skillful men, and one of them, he was also a Jew, had very good contacts with the police from before. This young man was called Ronai. [Editor’s note: Zoltan Ronai was active as a ’police communicant.’ His firm and confident behavior (he wasn’t willing to wear his yellow star either) made the police officers and Arrow Cross clerks believe that he was their man. (Source: Braham. A magyar holokauszt, volume II., page 203.).] My father entrusted him with going to Borgond as a detective and arrest her. He went there and brought her out.

My sister was in an awful shape, famished and lethargic. Ronai took her into the ghetto. What could we do with her? My father and I took her in the middle, I was also wearing a military uniform as a simple soldier, and we walked out the ghetto with her. We had an apartment on Katona Jozsef Street, which we had got from the Swedish embassy, and we took her there. We handed her over to my stepmother, who fed her with bean soup. My stepmother wasn’t in the ghetto; she was in the protected house 31.

My father was on good terms with Wallenberg, so the entire family got a Schutzpass 32. The Schutzpass was a document with a photograph, issued in our name, with the following text:

‘The Swedish Royal Embassy from Budapest certifies that the afore-named is going to travel to Sweden with the approval of the Swedish Royal State Department. Until his departure the apartment of the afore-named is under the protection of the Swedish Royal Embassy. It will expire on the 14th day after his arrival in Sweden. Budapest, 26th September 1944.’

My father never mentioned his relationship with Wallenberg; I only know that in Wallenberg’s short directory, which the Russians gave back a couple years ago, and a copy of which I got from Maria Ember, Miksa Domonkos’s phone number is mentioned. I know this much, but nobody ever said anything about this. Wallenberg handled his affairs quite discreetly. He bought many houses in Ujlipotvaros. He bought warehouses. He had a lot of money on him, and this was his task.

In one of the houses on Katona Jozsef Street, which was under the protection of the Swedish Embassy, there was a sign on the entrance; my father got an apartment, too. This was before the Arrow Cross times. Immediately next to it and above it lived the leaders of the Jewish Council. This meant that they didn’t have to go to a yellow star house. As far as I remember, this was a regular two-bedroom apartment where only my father, my stepmother, and later my sister Anna and I lived. We even managed to take furniture there from the old apartment on Lovolde Square. We had special alimentation, too. The Stocklers had Swedish connections that brought good quality food from the cannery. I explicitly remember when a man gave us big tin cans.

I have to mention Pal Szalai here, who was the communications officer between the Arrow Cross Party and the Budapest Police Department. He was originally a bookseller by profession, he was an intelligent young man, who got crazy sometime in the 1930s and joined the Arrow Cross Party. As a consequence of this when Szalasi was imprisoned he also got caught and was sent to prison in Szeged.

The point is that after getting out of prison this Szalai didn’t go back to the Szalasi party, he was smart enough to be through with it. But Szalasi and his party didn’t know that in the meantime his mentality had changed, so after 15th October they summoned him and told him that he was going to be the communicant between the Arrow Cross party and the Budapest Police Department. Because of this he entered into relations ‘ex officio’ with the Jewish Council, with my father, and told him openly that he was going to use his communicant position to help.

For example it frequently happened that an Arrow Cross company attacked a house. They informed Pal Szalai, and he arranged with his friends at the police to send a police van, and the Hungarian policemen drove away the Arrow Cross men who worked there absolutely illegally. They usually operated illegally, those for example, who pushed the Jews into the Danube 33. They didn’t do it based on some kind of a sentence, but only for amusement. So Szalai helped a lot.

Post-war

After the war they tried to take proceedings against him twice, but he could be defended. There were documents which proved that he had helped, and the People’s Court didn’t condemn him. [Editor’s note: Pal Szalai ordered the assignment of 100 policemen to the ghetto, and he undertook to control them; as a matter of fact he was the one who interfered so that the Germans and Arrow Cross units wouldn’t annihilate the inhabitants of the ghetto two days before the liberation of the ghetto.]

My father mainly had to keep in touch with officials who dealt with provisioning from the mayor’s office and military leaders. There were two field-officers at the War Department, one of them was a colonel, and it could be arranged with them that the Jews were turned into a unit to deal with the defense of Budapest, and the digging of entrenchments. They took the women, too. This was very important, because they worked under Hungarian military supervision, so basically they were safe. My father could discuss things with these field-officers, and they were very nice.

In January 1945 we were running out of food, and once my father told me, ‘Come, we are going to go over to the city hall, where one of the counselors can apportion some oil and some food, beans, flour etc. to us.’ We went over to the city hall, which was already in a very ruinous state. Next to it the Adria Palace was ablaze. We got in the city hall, which has a two-story cellar. There was the German headquarters, the Hungarian headquarters, there were the offices of the mayor’s office, and there was the counselor, who gave my father a paper: he apportioned this and that from the stocks of the Kobanya Brewery to us.

I couldn’t go in to join the talk, but I patiently waited in the hallway of the cellar. When my father came out, three men were coming from the opposite direction, two armed Arrow Cross men with armband, and between them first lieutenant Leo Lullay, bereft of all his insignia. My father stopped them, ‘Stop, please! I must speak with this man.’ The two soldiers stood aside, and the two captains spoke with each other. Lullay told him, that the Arrow Cross men had noticed that he tried to get away from the Ferenczy matters, they caught him and degraded him. He didn’t know what was going to happen with him, and asked my father to inform his wife, if we survived. Later he escaped during a bombing, he survived the war, was taken prisoner of war, the Russians took him, and when he returned from there he was unjustly tried and imprisoned. He died in the prison.

After the liberation my father remained at the Jewish community and he became the secretary general of the Jewish community. The general assembly elected him correctly. Jewish life started to revive, the provision and aid of the people who returned from the deportation had to be organized, they had to keep in touch with Joint 34, the Hungarian Red Cross, and the National Committee for the Treatment of Hungarian Jewish Deportees 35. These were all important organizational tasks. Besides these there were representative functions, where he had to be present. So he was the secretary general and above him was the president, Lajos Stockler. They were already on good terms in the ghetto. Stockler also got an apartment from Wallenberg in the same Swedish protected house on Katona Jozsef Street.

I was against my father’s involvement in Jewish life after 1945. Partly because in denominational life there was always envy and conflicts, and when the war ended my father was lauded by the officials, but some from the religious side didn’t like the fact that a Hungarian officer was leading them. They brought up against my father – from their viewpoint with good reason – that he didn’t go to the synagogue and that our entire life was Hungarian civil life, we children were expressly brought up in a nationalist way. They didn’t like this at all. And they were right.

In fact he got in the Jewish community by accident. During the war he was needed, because since he had a rank and an officer’s demeanor he could help very much in the ghetto, but he didn’t behave like a Jew at all. Really, he never went to the synagogue, not even on the High Holidays, we didn’t observe the kashrut, neither Chanukkah, nor seder, or anything. My stepmother was religious in her own way, she always lit the two candles on Friday evening, but she didn’t go to the synagogue either, not even on the High Holidays, and she didn’t have a kosher kitchen, because my father was absolutely against it. But I don’t remember seeing a mezuzah in her apartment on O Street either.

I also objected to my father’s involvement because in a Palestinian Hungarian newspaper they attacked my father, saying that he had shown favor towards the persons close to him, and, as they said, the Jewish aristocracy. But even the president, Lajos Stockler, was a big business man [lace-maker]. Then they also brought up that the Jewish leaders must have known about Auschwitz, and that they didn’t act on time, to save at least the Jews from the countryside from going there like cattle to the abattoir. This isn’t true of course, since nobody could know in advance about the appearance of Eichmann’s crew and about the actions of the authorities, because they deported the Jewry from the countryside so quickly, that it was astonishing in Europe. Even Westerners were surprised that this could be done in such a manner in Hungary.

In 1947 my father was decorated. It can be read in the 183rd issue of the Magyar Kozlony [Hungarian Bulletin] published on 13th August 1947:

On the recommendation of the premier, I award Lajos Stockler, the president of the National Bureau of Hungarian Israelites, and Miksa Domonkos, the managing director thereof, the silver grade of the Hungarian Freedom Order for their work in saving the Budapest Ghetto.
Date: Budapest, 5 August 1947
Zoltán Tildy Lajos Dinnyés

In 1950 my father retired. He got a nice dismissal wage, he bought this house in Rakospalota from that. This is a three-bedroom apartment with a hall, a big kitchen, a big pantry, and two bathrooms. There is an attic story, too, there is a bathroom there, too, and a small room. The house has 90 square meters; the plot is 100 square feet.

From then on he held off from public life. He did gardening. Despite of this on 7th April 1953, so after Stalin’s death, the AVO 36 caught him. They kept him in for more than half a year, and on 13th November 1953 they took him to the Istvan Hospital. When they took him, he was a well-built man, weighing some 100 kilograms, and they took him to the hospital a wreck of 45 kilograms. They took him to the hospital during the night, and they didn’t want to tell them who it was. When the physician in attendance told them that he would not take him over, they phoned their headquarters, and finally they told him his name. But they interdicted them to notify the family, and they called us on the next morning from the AVO.

My father was unconscious for days. He was in the hospital for two months, and then he could walk again. Later he told us, that they had taken him to the prison on Fo Street, stripped him to the skin and he had to make a confession. He lay on a concrete bed, they flashed reflectors in his face day and night, took blood from him after each interrogation, to weaken his resistance. He got to the hospital so that his erythro count was 800,000. With transfusion they raised it to 1.5 million in six days, and according to his final report when he came out it was 3.490.000. He died soon after he came out of hospital, on 25th February 1954.

Then I tried to find out what had happened and why. When I asked the answer was, ‘You will never find out what happened here.’ But I did find out by accident.

Pal Szalai was taken to the AVO in the summer of 1952 from in front of his house. With all kinds of tortures they made him confess that he had seen that the Jewish leaders, Miksa Domonkos among them, killed Raul Wallenberg for his money. When they had this confession they arrested the Jewish leaders, Stockler, too, who came out just as miserable. This happened after Stalin’s death, so it didn’t have to do anything with the Zionist matters which had been stopped in the meantime. It turned out that this wasn’t a Hungarian initiative, but a Russian crew was controlling the entire action. They could not account for Wallenberg towards the West, and they devised to blame it on the Jews.

Then they gave it up after all. Poor Szalai was also released. They threatened him saying that if he would ever tell anyone, anywhere, anything about what had happened, they would find him. To be sure, he immigrated to South America in 1956 and changed his name. He dared to come home after the change of the regime, and he told me the story at that time. Then I introduced him to Maria Ember, and he told it to her, too, and it was published. [Editor’s note: Maria Ember (1931-2001): Hungarian writer, journalist and editor. In her most famous book, the documentary novel entitled ‘Hairpin bend’ she describes the fate of Hungarian Jewry in 1944 through her own experiences but in an objective way.]

Back to my life…So in 1939 I got to the Baumgartners as an electrician apprentice. It was a one-year apprenticeship, because the high school graduation made this possible. But I worked independently quite a lot even in the first year, because I learned the profession very fast. I mainly had to learn the professional tricks: how to carve a wall to the wall-tube, how to position the boxes, how to plaster, how to make a chandelier work with two circuits, how to wire a subalternate switch. At that time there were several kinds of bells in a better house, a door bell, and a bell for the maid. When I had served this one year, there was an end of the apprenticeship exam in front of a committee. I passed this exam with excellent result, and in October 1940 I got my assistant certificate. The master’s examination in 1946 was a little bit more difficult; I had to take it in front of the leaders of the trade-corporation.

I remained at Baumgartner’s as an electrician for quite a while. As far as I remember, when I started to work as an assistant my salary was 20 pengoes a week. Before that, as an apprentice I earned 10 pengoes a week. But the salary was supplemented nicely with tips. When I worked at houses there I regularly got tips from the milords and miladies. I worked there until 1941, because Baumgartner couldn’t give me any work in the winter. In winter the entire building trade is on hold a bit. He told me to try to find some other job.

I found a Christian company called Galambos, I worked there until October 1942. I got along very well with Galambos, too. That was a different world, because I had to work in Buda and its environs. He could give me work during the winter, too, probably because he had better connections. There were a couple buildings in course of construction, some villas in the Buda Mountains, which I remember because at that time I rode a bicycle. All the wires were hung on the side, and at the back there were the tools. Up on Budakeszi Street I pushed the bicycle, and on the way back I didn’t even need to pedal, I just flew along. At that time there weren’t many cars, and there weren’t any buses at all.

Besides there were smaller or bigger jobs close to the workshop, too. If there is an electrician nearby, people usually call him if the lamp doesn’t work, if the fuse melts or if the iron breaks down. Galambos also had a small workshop where these small reparations could be done.

I gave my income to my parents, and if I needed money for something, my mother gave me some. I also had pocket money when I was at the science secondary school, I don’t remember how much, but I went to the movies and bought sweets for it.

War memories

Then, in October 1942 I had to go in for forced labor. First they took me to Bereck [today Romania], it is in Transylvania 37, in Haromszek county, near Sepsiszentgyorgy [today Romania] and Kezdivasarhely [today Romania], close to the Ojtoz defile [today Romania]. They were waiting at the Ojtoz defile for the country to be attacked by the Romanians. Things like this always happened at the defiles. We had to fortify there. We had to dig and cut wood. Besides digging there were finer jobs, too, for example the completion of a machine-gun emplacement, which meant that one had to dig a round hole, so that on one side of it, which looked in the direction of the enemy there was a tongue-like part, on which the machine-gun could be hung, and next to it, to the right and left the helpers could stand. One gave the ammunition, the other one took it, and the one in the middle shot.
When I joined up they gave us neither equipment nor clothes anymore, one had to go with his own equipment and clothes. They only gave us a cap. We were especially short on shoes. Very many poor children joined up in simple shoes. I joined up with good equipment. My father and my brother gave me advice. My brother had been there since 1940. We had to bring two blankets, a backpack, a foot-locker, boots, and at least one change of warm underwear. It couldn’t be seen from the outside that those boots were of a very bad quality and because of over-use they broke very soon. Then my father got hold of a pair of ski boots, which were used but were in a very good shape. They had a thick, strong sole, and that lasted throughout.

This Bereck was only our station, we went from here to the places in Haromszek County where an attack of the enemy was expected, so where trenches had to be dug or machine-gun emplacements had to be built. We left Bereck quite soon and moved to Kilyen [today Romania], next to Sepsiszentgyorgy. We stayed there for a long time. Here was the so-called infantry basic training. Right turn, left turn, instead of rifle exercise we did shovel exercise: shovel on the shoulders, salutation with shovel. Besides this there were physical condition exercises: creeping, duck walk, running up the hill etc. I endured all this very well.

I never did any sports, once I tried ice-skating, but I fell and said that I wasn’t going to do this. I must have been around ten when they took me to the bathing attendant at the pools in Rakoscsaba. He dangled me into the water on a pole, I learned quickly. I learned to ride a bike when I was at high school; there was a bicycle rental close to us. I didn’t own a bicycle. Anyway, I got used to physical labor, while working as an electrician I had to climb ladders very much and carve, and that made me strong, too. Otherwise I was good at physical education at high school.

Besides the basic training we still had to dig and cut wood, and the norm was quite demanding. It wasn’t a simple ditching, but we had to dig quite big and deep trenches, into which the supposed enemy tank would fall and not be able to come out. It was a difficult job, because we had to throw the earth upwards from within. Luckily there weren’t many roots or stones where I worked. Food was still quite good and quite generous at that time. We got meat, too.

From Kilyen we had to go to the post office in Sepsiszentgyorgy. Originally a buck sergeant went to the post office to pick up the letters and packages. And there was a farmer with a carriage who helped with the packages. The captaincy wasn’t really satisfied with the buck sergeant’s intelligence, and they wanted someone to go with him, who could read what had to be read and could count the remittance. I became this attendant. This is how the thing started up, but after a while the captain realized that I didn’t need any attendant. So he issued me a clearance pass for these places.

This was a very good deal, because among the Jewish families in Sepsiszentgyorgy I found myself a suitable place. There were even one or two girls I could court. Then they were deported, too. This job was also important for me, because there was a typewriter there, and I liked to type my letters. I had learned to typewrite at home, we always had a typewriter at home.

In the summer of 1943 they took us from Haromszek County to the environs of Voloc [today Ukraine] by train. Voloc is a bigger town in Carpatho-Rus, they took us off the trains there, and our abiding place was in Podoboc [today Ukraine], which is a couple kilometers away from there in the mountains. This was an isolated, small, scabby village, which was inhabited by Ruthenians and Jews, all lived in terrible poverty and filth. It was very difficult to find a quarter that wasn’t full with lice. The old Jews had made a mikvah in Podoboc, but we found it in such a bad shape, even the stove-pipe was missing. And the cleanliness… Allegedly there had been a doctor there, who examined it, and said that it wasn’t healthy and that is shouldn’t be used. But some used it. I never went into that dishwater, but as soon as snow fell, I could have a wash with snow.

The ground was really bad in Podoboc, and as a result of the hard work the axes and the hackers became jagged. Then I came up with the idea that these tools should be repaired time by time. There weren’t any new tools, we couldn’t throw them away. A couple kilometers away from Podoboc there was another small village, Pilipec. Ruthenians and Jews lived there, too. They liked my idea, and the captaincy sent a sergeant over there to take a look at the place, because they had heard that there was a Ruthenian smith there. And really the smith had quite a nice little workshop. They agreed that the treasury would pay something to this smith, who could barely speak any Hungarian. They allowed us to go there.

I had a comrade, a real Jewish peasant, his name was Andor Polak Klein, who couldn’t write or read, which is very rare among Jews. He was a stoutly built, strong man. He became my helper. We collected the broken tools every week, as many as we could hold, walked over to Pilipec, and went to the master who showed us how to repair the tools. He gave us the proper equipment for that, and showed us how to handle the bellows. And what is the most important: we could warm up next to the fire. That winter of 1943-1944 was very harsh. Many froze or got chilblain, and there were many accidents during the work. But thanks to this smith job we were warm twice a week. The smith brought bacon; he took out the flat lever-grip, heated it up, put the bacon in it and pressed the fat on bread for us.

In 1943 my father was notified that his son Peter had died. At the morning briefing the company commander, Dezso Vertan, told me to step forward and told the others, that Istvan Domonkos’s brother had died a heroic death, even though the official notification avoided the word heroic in case of Jews. From then on, after Peter’s death, I kept begging my father to do something, because we knew that the front was going to reach us sooner or later. He wrote an official plea, which didn’t really have any result.

My father had connections at the War Department and in April 1944 the order came that I was reassigned to Budapest, to the Hungarian Royal Military Railway and Bridgework Depot, which was on Timot Street. Timot Street was right next to the arsenal, and not far off was the oil-refinery. So that my reassignment wouldn’t be conspicuous they reassigned five persons, saying that they all had some kind of trade. There were other forced laborers there besides us as well. It was known that Timot Street was a good deal, because it was in Budapest.

Our first job was to clean the sewer of that huge territory. There was quite a strict military order, we couldn’t really move around, and they didn’t like us very much either. The thing is, that in the first days of April, perhaps on the 5th was the first big air-attack on Budapest. [Editor’s note: The first (British) air-raid hit Budapest on 3rd April 1944. From then on the air-raids became regular.] Besides the attack was especially on the arsenal and the oil-refinery nearby. When we arrived there we saw already on the first day, that the Jewish forced laborers were making ditches, but not the kind we had made in Transylvania, but saps. These were so deep that they could be covered with sleepers, pieces of rail, with all kinds of things which were at hand.

The order was that in case of an air-attack Jews should hide wherever they could. The real air-raid shelters could only be used by the soldiers and the officers. There was a huge hall, in which a sawing-machine functioned, and the best shelter for soldiers was under its concrete base. A couple days passed and other air-attacks came, and we squat in that lousy trench and we survived. But almost all the officers and the soldiers died at the big shelter, because the sawing-machine was hit and it fell on them.

The situation got worse and worse, there weren’t any conduits, there weren’t any sewers anymore. Then they allowed those who were from Budapest to go home to take a bath. After a while they realized that this was such an important target, that the situation was unmaintainable. The army occupied a textile mill in Budakalasz, this might have been in May, and we had to take all the equipment that remained from the military plant there. There were turning-mills, drills among these.

In Budakalasz we had to build a new factory. We had to make a huge wire system, make a base for the machine-tools, so it was like starting up a new factory. This factory repaired and made bridge pieces, and moreover it had to repair train cars, too. We had to work very hard, and once the liberators appeared. They knew very well that the new factory, which was very close to the Danube, was there, and they started to bomb it. There wasn’t any shelter, everyone hid wherever he could. I discovered a monitor on the river bank, and I always hid in that. I even hid my food supply there. At that time the alimentation was very bad, and my friend Miklos Hajdu smuggled in sausage and bacon for me.

Then the revered captaincy realized that the factory couldn’t operate in Budakalasz either. Then on a nice day they pushed in a train on the side-track and the orders came that we were going to start to load the equipment on the next day. To go where? To the West. I said that I wouldn’t do it, and some agreed and we left. I went home to Lovolde Square.

They established that certain clothes-collecting company at that time. There were only a few young forced laborers in it beside me, the majority were elderly, wealthy civil Jews from Pest. I got to the kitchen, but I did many things. I was young, so I was the one they always asked to run here and there, do this and that. I didn’t really take part in collecting clothes; I mainly did jobs for which I needed to use outside connections.

Since I had a uniform, I could move around safely. The uniform was my poor brother’s, because when he left with the 2nd Hungarian army in 1942 he had to go in civilian clothes. He left a worn military uniform at home and I put that on and I wore it until the end. Under the cloak I wore a drabbet summer uniform, it was quite worn out. The cloak was also quite shabby, which was good because the Arrow Cross men didn’t check soldiers like this, they weren’t interested. They thought the ones like this were probably coming from the front. They were more interested in those who were dressed well.

So I was never checked by any Arrow Cross men. And that was good, because I didn’t have the appropriate paper. The Swedish and Swiss safe conduct didn’t go with the worn uniform. I had an old mercenary book, which I had got as a forced laborer, but there was a ZS on it. [Editor’s note: On the mercenary book they wrote a ZS (The Hungarian term for a Jew is zsido, hence the letters ZS) with big red capitals, so that they would know at once who the person was.] If anyone had looked at it carefully, I could have been caught.

I met my future wife, Katalin Schwartz here. She was from Miskolc and she ran away from the ghetto in Miskolc with young Zionists. She went through many things, she ran away several times. For the last time she hid at the Technological University with Zionist kids. It was in the summer, it might have been July or August. There was a very nice assistant and he made room for them in the attic. There weren’t many of them, there were five to ten young people, and they hid there. But the darkness, the deprivation, and the fact of being locked up was very nerve-wrecking, and she ran away from there.

At that time she still had some fake papers; she got hold of a room and lived there under the name of Maria Toth. The police was looking for a child kidnapper with the same name. She was registered, and the policemen thought that it was her. Luckily she wasn’t at home when the detectives went there, and her resettler, who suspected who she was, waited for her at the entrance and warned her that the cops were there. So she cleared off from there only with the clothes she had on her. An elderly cook, Uncle Zoli Strausz, saw her browsing about, took her in and gave her room in a closet. Since there weren’t other young people there, it was my task to take care of her a little bit.

It also occurred that they summoned me to the offices on Sip Street to keep order. Sometimes very many petitioners and complainers appeared. For example people went there to complain that the Arrow Cross men had broken into their apartment. They already played the wild at that time. They caught someone, they hurt or robbed someone. Such things happened. But there were also many housing problems because they had agglomerated the Jews into yellow star houses. My main task was to stand in the hall and let people in gradually. At another time I had to escort a young woman with a baby to the Red Cross station on Amerika Street 38. We went by streetcar, and we had to be very careful so that the baby wouldn’t cry, because it didn’t wear a yellow star either. And I escorted them as a soldier.

This clothes-collecting company functioned until the Szalasi putsch. At that time I already had the Wallenberg Schutzpass and I lived in the apartment on Katona Jozsef Street. We managed to lodge Katalin [the interviewee’s wife-to-be] at the Jewish high school on Abonyi Street. Then we lost touch with each other.

Right on the day after the putsch they enacted many orders. A ghetto had to be built. They agglomerated there the people from the yellow star houses, too. The alimentation of the ghetto had to be organized. We had to protect ourselves from possible robberies, and the affray of the Arrow Cross men. We had to keep in touch with the authorities. We went in and out the ghetto freely during the Arrow Cross times, too, and we lived on Katona Jozsef Street. I never slept in the ghetto.

I mainly did physical labor, I had to pick up sacks, take them into the warehouse, take them home. The heaviest bag of flour weighed around 80 kilos, which I could carry at that time. But it also happened that I accompanied my father to meetings at the city hall, or I got a special task. For example: This young Jewish man came; he was desperate, saying that the caretaker kept threatening his mother and father to give them away to the Arrow Cross men. This was already after the Szalasi putsch, but the ghetto wasn’t established yet. These two old people had to be taken from there, because they didn’t dare to set off on their own. I went there by bicycle. I was wearing a uniform. I went in to the caretaker: ‘Long live Szalasi! I have orders from the army corps headquarters to arrest these two people. Please bring them downstairs.’ He brought them down and I took them to another yellow star house. Of course they didn’t know anything about all this. They came down trembling, and not until we got out on the street could I tell them that their son had told me about them. They kept trembling until then.

There was another case. I had to take a letter to Jozsef Cavallier and bring an answer from him. Jozsef Cavallier was a Christian journalist, whom the primate had appointed as the secular leader of the Hungarian Holy Cross Association. The main task of the association was the protection of baptized Jewish people. Their office was on Muzeum Street and I went there unseeingly. I went in and the janitress greeted me saying: ‘Oh, oh, Sir, it’s very good that you didn’t come earlier. The Arrow Cross men were here an hour ago and they shot the president.’ ‘Did he die?’ ‘Fortunately not, luckily the ambulance saved him and took him home.’

His apartment was in Buda, I went there and rang the doorbell. They were scared to death when they saw someone wearing a uniform again. His wife took me inside, Cavallier lay in bed, I don’t remember where he was wounded, where he was bandaged, but he could speak. I gave him the letter, and as far as I remember he told me that there was no need for a reply and that I only had to tell them that he was doing better and that there wouldn’t be any problem. But afterwards, before letting me go he made a little speech: ‘Good job, my son, an honest, kind, Hungarian Christian soldier has to behave the way you do.’ He asked me where I served. I told him that I served in a Jewish forced laborer battalion, because I was familiar with that.

There was a terrible incident when the Arrow Cross men herded the people gathered from the yellow star houses into the big synagogue on Dohany Street. They kept several hundred people there without food or soup. We couldn’t go in to see them. Practically I was the only one who could communicate with them, but I didn’t go in there as a soldier, or as a Jew, but as an employee of the Electric Works. I went to the switchboard, I fussed about, and in the meantime I could talk with the people, I calmed them and told them that it was going to be over soon. It came to an end so that on the second day a group of ten to fifteen Arrow Cross men came in. They put up a big table in front of the altar, and the Jews had to pass by the table all in row and leave all their money and property there.

Then one day at dawn the guard at the entrance of the house on Katona Jozsef Street, because we always had a guard, reported that the Russians were coming. They came house by house. We hid the military uniforms and a man who had learned some Russian in World War I and in captivity met them and greeted them with great joy. The first thing the Russians did was to take his gold watch. Then they looked all over the house, they were looking for Germans and weapons. They didn’t hurt any of us. They took what they could, they especially liked watches. This was our liberation.

My wife-to-be went to the ghetto after the liberation, at that time everyone was looking for someone, and in the commotion of the ghetto she reunited with her father. Her father survived the forced labor, her mother and siblings were deported to Auschwitz and died.

Two days after the liberation, my father and I went into the ghetto. We saw that awful chaos. My task was to protect a food storehouse, because they had broken into a storehouse where oil was kept. They started to scoop out the oil with bowls, and in the end in the big tumult all the oil wasted away. And then they sent me to guard another storehouse. I was in civilian clothes then of course, because the Russians would have caught me in uniform. They deported all the young men. They caught me twice, but I ran away both times 39.

At that time the Jewish community still supported the alimentation system of the ghetto. I had to help with carrying the food apportioned from the Red Cross or other places. We had a man with a carriage with a garron, which suddenly fell and died. I found a four-wheeler handbarrow somewhere in the snow. I simply took it and I could carry food with that handbarrow. Several times we had to take bags of beans or peas from the food distribution center, which was at the outer tracks of the Nyugati railway station. Two or three people came with me. With my handbarrow I could take on smaller transports, too, for which I mainly got food in exchange. I didn’t go back to my parent’s apartment, who lived on Katona Jozsef Street for a while with Anna, then they went back to the apartment on Lovolde Square.

Married life

In the ghetto I met Katalin and her father. With the marriage we had to wait for me to attain my majority, that was the age of 24 at that time, and my parents weren’t happy at all about me wanting to get married, because they wanted me to continue my studies. At that time I still had university ahead of me. I couldn’t go to university before, because of the anti-Jewish laws, I was a simple electrician, and my father thought, of course, that I would go and study right after the war. He simply told me that he didn’t agree with this marriage, and as long as he was the head of the family, he wouldn’t give his consent.

We didn’t quarrel, we had already been living separately; we lived in rented rooms. After August 1945 we got married, we did it then because I turned 24 in August. We went to the local board, we addressed two servants or deliverers in the hallway and asked them to be our witnesses, and that was the marriage procedure. There wasn’t any celebration; there were no relatives, nothing.

My wife’s name is Katalin Schwartz. She was born in 1925 in Miskolc. She was in Palestine as a child with her parents sometime in the 1930s. They were there for a couple years, but her mother was in a very bad health and the circumstances were adverse. They lived in a kibbutz where her father did earthwork. He was a qualified locksmith, but that wasn’t needed there. After a couple years they came home at the doctor’s advice who said that it would be better for the mother to go back to her former environment. My wife’s mother is a Groszman girl and that family had an ironworks in Miskolc. Her father worked there. They were poor. My wife finished four classes of middle school, after that she learned the seamstress trade. She started to work in Miskolc at a quite young age.

In 1947 the first child, our daughter Judit, was born. Then we had to work hard to get a normal apartment as soon as possible. I got hold of an apartment, because I met an elderly house owner on Gyarmat Street, who had a small storied villa, which had been destroyed by the war. I made a deal with her that I would contribute to the reparation. I helped the way I could, with my own hands, too. And as far as I remember I had 1000 pengoes, too, since I had a job. We could only move in in 1948. This was a rental, a small one-bedroom apartment with a hall, a bathroom and a kitchen. It had one disadvantage: it was half-basement. If one looked out the window the ground was right there. Regardless of this it wasn’t unhealthy, it had normal windows and there was a good tile stove in it. I remember that I carried home the fuel in 50 kilogram bags on my back many times.

We lived plainly, but we had everything we needed. My wife helped in our financial life very skillfully. She was a trained seamstress, but she had a specialty, knitting. And at that time, when we got married, the nice hand-knit pullovers were highly popular in Hungary. I had a circle of friends from the forced labor times, and one of those had a shop. They took over the things my wife knit. She couldn’t only knit, but she could also assemble the pullovers.

She didn’t get a job for a long time. She sewed and knit at home. Then, in the 1950s they employed her at the Ration Card Office, because she had nice handwriting. Later she worked at the Hungarian Advertement Company. My sister Anna got her that job. Besides this she always did this and that, not only knitting. She learned leather-work very well, too.

After 1956 40, when many people left Hungary, an engineer colleague of mine emigrated with his family and because they wanted to sell everything they had, I bought a very good sewing machine. This was such a strong machine that one could sew leather with it, too. My wife made purses, belts, and that also brought money. But we were never that well off to buy a car. We never had a car. We didn’t go on holiday either; the summer cottage in Rakoscsaba wasn’t ours anymore. Some people moved into it during the Arrow Cross times and we couldn’t make them leave, so at the beginning of the 1950s my parents sold it inhabited for 10,000 forints. We never went abroad together either. I was in the GDR a couple times in the 1970s on business, but never in the West.

At the age of 54, after her second heart attack, my wife was pensioned off, and she got disability pension. She smoked very much. But as a pensioner she was very active, and here in the 15th district the district organization of the Popular Front and the Red Cross started a charity association. As far as I remember they called it Humanist Club. The Popular Front provided the space for it. Its aim was to collect clothes and money at the time when many people emigrated from Transylvania; that was already in the 1980s. The leader of this local movement was a Lutheran pastor, with whom my wife was on very good terms.

My wife died in 1990 and she wasn’t buried in a Jewish cemetery. She wasn’t religious. She said what many other Jews also did, that how could the Almighty let this happen. She was unwilling to go to the synagogue and she wanted the Lutheran pastor to bury her. The ceremony wasn’t Lutheran, only the pastor did the memorial. I was on very good terms with the pastor. Unfortunately he immigrated to South America for some reason. We wrote each other one of two letters, and then I found out that he had died at a relatively young age.

We lived on Gyarmat Street until 1957. When my sister Anna got married they moved to my mother’s, the house in Rakospalota. Anna married Ferenc Bolmanyi, an artist, in 1954. He was an excellent artist, originally a great portrait painter, and at the beginning he was getting on, even the royal British family ordered from him. Then in the Rakosi regime they didn’t let him get on, partly because his non-figurative style was opposed to the socialist realism of that time, and partly because he was a very religious Jewish man. [Bolmanyi, Ferenc (1904–1990): A successful portrait painter at the beginning of his career. From 1938 he was drafted into forced labor regularly, but he survived the war. He was a member of the European School and, along with the other members of this school, was excluded from the public for a decade. His first exhibition was in March 1966 in the Fenyes Adolf Hall, and in March 1973 an exhibition on his life-work was shown at the Ernst Museum. On his 80th birthday a jubilee exhibit was organized at the Ernst Museum, where they presented 160 of his paintings. (Katalin S. Nagy)].

I don’t know whether they got married in the synagogue or not, but I wasn’t at their wedding. They didn’t have any children. My sister didn’t graduate from high school, but she learned to do paperwork well. She could typewrite and she knew stenography. Last she was an office worker at the Hungarian Advertisement Company. When Anna and her husband moved here my mother was already in bad health. Anna and her husband couldn’t maintain this big house financially. At that time there wasn’t gas heating but there were tile stoves. And for the upkeeping of a big house like this one needs technical skills, too. They simply couldn’t take it. They always complained that the conducts froze in the winter. Then we offered them to change apartments. I told them that I would give up the small apartment on Gyarmat Street they could manage that much easier, and that I would take care of this apartment. Unfortunately, they weren’t lucky there either, because in a heavy summer shower the drains in the house got clogged and they got flooded.

While I lived in that house it never happened that the sewer didn’t work. Perhaps they thought that I had kept it a secret before the exchange. Bolmanyi had submitted an application for a studio earlier, and luckily he got a beautiful studio apartment on Bartok Bela Street in 1965. It used to be a sculptor’s, the one who made this Eve sculpture, I have here. Originally it was a couple. Adam was bought by the pharmacy on Kigyo Street, and I got Eve as a gift from a friend. So they got that studio apartment, and their life became settled. After the change of regime his paintings were sought after. Bolmanyi died in 1990, and Anna remained in that apartment until her death. She died in 2002 and we buried her in the Jewish cemetery.

Post-war events

When the war was over, my friend Hajdu, who worked in a film studio, and I decided to start a small company together. I had another forced laborer comrade, who was rich enough, and he could equip a small film laboratory. Then they realized that it would be more interesting to make sound recordings. There was once a company in Budapest, which had the motto ‘Take home your voice!’ [Editor’s note: The Scheiber sound recording studio, where the ‘Take home your voice!’ recordings were made, operated in the 1930s. A sound recording studio with the same motto operated in the 1960s as well. (Gyula Kozak: Labjegyzetek a Hatvanas evek Magyarorszaga monografiahoz, Manuscript)].

We obtained at a discount price a device with which we could make sound recordings, and we thought that we could make a fortune out of this. But we didn’t. Our company was called Gong Recording Room. The company was in my name, because I had a good profession. When we started the company, I had already taken my master’s examination, so I was an electrician master, and I got a license. I got my certificate of mastership on 8th October 1946 and I got my license on 18th December 1946. In the end we switched over to be an electrician, and I could employ one or two people, because I had my old connections.

There was a lot of work at that time, after the war the destroyed houses had to be repaired. We rented a small room on Deak Ferenc Street, which meant that we were in the center of the city, and at that time shops were being reopened that needed to be wired. Besides this the sister of my friend Hajdu worked at the Metropolitan Public Project Council [which carried out the preparation and authority control of the metropolitan public constructions]. This was good because while I worked as an electrician, I got smaller and bigger jobs from the Public Project Council. I could get hold of material at the old wholesale traders. Before the war, when I was an electrician assistant I used to go to these wholesale traders, they knew me, and there were some who had hidden material.

Everything would have been all right, but then the Rakosi caprice 41 came, when they didn’t want to allow even the tradesmen to work, and as far as I remember in 1948 they imposed very high taxes, which were unbearable 42. So on 7th January 1949 I gave up my license and I asked for a hire-purchase discount. The Rakosi change of regime destroyed the Public Project Council, too, and Hajdu’s sister was transferred to the Structural Engineering Office, which replaced the Public Project Council, and she arranged two jobs for us there.

So in 1949 I got into the Structural Engineering Office. At first I was employed as an administrator. Soon after, the Structural Engineering Office became the General Building Design Company, where I got a key position because they entrusted me with economic work. Besides this I became the secretary of the trade union committee, which was called secretary of the works committee at that time. This was quite an important position at that time, because I was always in the so-called factory triangle: the director of the company, the party secretary, and the factory committee secretary. But this was one of the reasons why soon after I got into a conflict, which can be seen in my file, too. So I dropped out of the factory committee secretariat soon, and after that I never did anything like that. The personnel manager there noted about me that I was aggressive. In 1956 I got my file.

From 1950 I attended extension courses, and in 1954 I got my mechanic engineer degree. In the meantime I acquired complex practice in construction at the construction company, because besides the designing of electrical installations, I could take part in the construction work of central heating, water conduct, sewer installation and gas-fitting. Later they made it possible for me to learn and practice the designing of bonts and conveyors at the lift designing department of the Apartment Planning, then at the Public Building Construction Institute for about two years. From 1955 until 1957 I mainly designed electrical installations at the building modernization department of the Budapest Town Planning Institute [BUVATI].

In 1956 they elected me into the Revolutionary Committee at BUVATI. I was definitely a moderate person. For example, when we took the files from the personnel department, there were some who got really angry and blustered out threats. As far as I remember the personnel manager was a small Jewish red-haired man, and we defended him. We didn’t let him be fired or hurt, because the Institute functioned throughout. On the one hand the salaries had to be paid, on the other hand there were projects in progress, since the renovation of the ruined buildings in Budapest belonged to us. Then, in 1956 I didn’t join the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party 43 and so I managed to be out of this.

I have to mention here, that in 1945 I joined the Hungarian Social Democratic Party 44. At that time it was almost natural that everyone joined one of the parties. The Social Democratic Party suited my taste, my earlier mind, and the expectations of the family. When the two parties joined, I saw what it was about, but I didn’t dare to leave. In 1948 it might have been very dangerous to quit, and after that it was even more dangerous, since in 1953 they caught my father, and they said that they would catch me, too. I knew that they were inquiring about me, because the caretaker told me that they had been there and had been asking about me.

By accident I became very good friends with Alajos Fischer, who was much older than me. This started so that we had common projects. He designed the building, and I designed the building engineering part. His brother, Jozsef Fischer was minister of state in Imre Nagy’s 45 government for two days, between 2nd and 4th November 1956. There were many troubles around them, they were old social democrats. [Editor’s note: Jozsef Fischer (1901–1995): architect, politician, one of the reorganizers of the Social Democratic Party during the 1956 revolution.]. And this friendship made me even more convinced that I wouldn’t join the party again.

When in 1957 they formed the party organization again, people were very difficult to move [to join the Party again]. The consequence of this was that in the summer or fall of 1957 they sent Valentiny from the Building Ministry to talk us, old members into joining again. [Editor’s note: Agoston Valentiny was a social democratic politician, who was imprisoned in 1950-1955 as the accused of a show trial. The interviewee is referring to his son.] He held a big speech. In the end they asked who wanted to make a comment. I was one of these, and Alajos Fischer was the other one. Both of us told them to get lost. At that time they held Imre Nagy and his companions captive in Romania, and we both came out strong against it. We brought up especially those arguments, that it was a shame that they were holding captive the legal premier of Hungary. And we also asked them about the journalist who had been caught. We brought these things up, and told them that it was out of the question for us to join a party again, which was just like Rakosi’s party.

There was a big scandal, they dissolved the meeting, and a couple days later we were summoned to the directorate, where there were two people from the Department of the Interior. It was quite a harsh argument. I told them: ‘You don’t know, but I will tell you that my father was beaten and tortured to death at the AVH. When I tried to find out what had happened and why, I was told that I would never find out what had happened there. And nobody has given me any kind of explanation ever since. What would you think if after all this I had taken a couple men with machine guns and gone to Fo Street to find the ones who were responsible for this? Would that have been alright? Isn’t it a better solution that I try to change things in a peaceful way, so that I can live in a regime, where things like this cannot happen? I insist that Imre Nagy and his companions are the legal leaders of the country.’

The reaction was that they immediately pensioned off Alajos Fischer. And they told me: ‘We accept your story, but if you ever open your small mouth again – this is how they said it, one remembers such things – then you’ll see. Your name will be mud. You won’t be able to take part in anything.’ I answered, ‘At the meeting where Valentiny held a speech, we were all asked to give our opinion because there would be democracy from now on. It seems that what they said then wasn’t in Hungarian, but in Russian. The opposite is true. What you tell me now is at least in Hungarian. I will not open my mouth.’ And that’s what happened. I was very careful. Of course they fired me at once, for the sake of the precedent, so that people would know.

And then again my friends from the old engineer brigade got me a job within a couple days at the Metropolitan Fitter Company. Of course that wasn’t to my liking. I looked in the newspapers every day; I was looking for another job. I would have wanted two kinds of jobs. One was the theater, because when I worked at the Public Building Construction we worked for theaters, too, and one of my last jobs was the construction of a lighting effects mobile bridge at the Operetta Theater. The other one was the public health sector. And guess what, in 1959 I found an ad that a health institute in Budapest was looking for a building engineer. I applied and I succeeded. This was the National Oncology Institute. And nobody from the Department of the Interior interfered; they kept their promise as long as I kept my mouth shut. From 1959 I was the head of the technical department at the National Oncology Institute, and I worked there until my retirement.

From 1960 besides my main job I took on a part-time job at the technical department of the Hungarhotels Company, where I worked as a building engineering advisor next to the technical inspector for ten years.

In 1964 I applied at the Labor Department to be admitted in the directory of professionals, which happened on 25th February 1964. From then on I gave consultative assistance in construction, engineering and operating issues, especially for health institutions. The new anatomical building of the Sports Hospital and the epidemiological pavilion of the Cardiologycal Institute were constructed with my collaboration. I also contributed to the complete rewiring of the main building of the Neurosurgical Institute on Amerika Street, and I engineered the program of the rehabilitation building of the National Jozsef Fodor Health-Resort. Several statements of mine related to the technical equipment and professional requirements of health institutions were published in the professional magazine called Health Economic Review. I participated in the work of the Hospital Construction Committee. In 1971, at its congress, I held a presentation on the building engineering concerns of the use of light structures.

I was a member of the Hungarian Electrotechnical Association, and I was the president of the Medical Standardization Committee. Besides this I participated in the work of the technical group of the Popular Front, in which there were mainly engineers and technicians. This was social work, for example the renovation of old buildings. There was an old museum in the district, and they had its complete survey made, I made some proposals, I made a calculation. I did it with pleasure.

In the 1970s I broke my promise to be quiet that I had made to the people from the Department of the Interior. The local secretary of the Popular Front invited me to introduce me to the council president of the district. I couldn’t say no, since I had done this and that as a technical professional. We went up to the council president, and the district party secretary was also there. They seated us, gave us a coffee, and soon after they said what they really wanted: they wanted to nominate me as a council member at the next elections, because I was a good specialist, and I was young etc.

At first I burst out laughing. I said that I wasn’t willing to do something like that, and that we shouldn’t even talk about it. But they started trying to convince me. In the end I told them that they should acknowledge the fact that in 1956 I was on Imre Nagy’s side and that I still was at that moment. I also told them that I didn’t consider their regime a legitimate one and that I would never enlist to this regime. I told them that I never agreed with what they said, that there was a counter-revolution in Hungary. They were very astonished, but nothing happened after this.

My wife never joined the Party. After the war she only kept her Zionist connections for a short time. As far as I remember she was in touch with the Klal [Zionists]. [Editor’s note: Klal – Hebrew term for General, cf. General Zionism 46]. Since she had been in Palestine for a couple years she spoke Ivrit well, and there she taught Hebrew for a while, too. And there were some friendly get-togethers, and sometimes I went as well, because I was interested. But we were out of it very soon, perhaps already in 1946. Then she only lived public life in the Popular Front from the beginning of the 1980s.

As far as friends are concerned, I have already mentioned the Hajdu couple. We kept seeing each other throughout, we went on trips together. There wasn’t any other friendship as old and as close as this one was, but there were many others, too. At my workplaces I always made new friends, not only family friends, but also some with whom I sat down by a glass of wine to talk, and with whom we did things together. My wife also had her own circle of friends. For example, she had friends with whom she sometimes played cards. And she also had friends from the charity work. In fact nothing changed after I buried my poor wife. The good friendly relationships with those whom we kept in touch with endured.

Political activities

I got involved in political activity again in 1986, with the Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Society. I got here, so that when I was the senior engineer of the Oncology they assigned me to the Sports Hospital, too, where the senior engineer had been caught with corruption and someone had to arrange their things. I became very good friends with the finance director there. He was called Karoly Novak; he has since died, I gave the address at his funeral. He had been at the front, he got home safely and wrote his memoirs, ‘My Encounter with History’ was the title.

At first we only talked on a professional level, then about other things, too, and a very close friendship developed between us. He told me that he had known Endre Bajcsy-Zsilinszky in person, and that he was a member of the small society whose aim was to erect his statue in 1986, on the 100th anniversary of his birth. It had already been ordered, it was being done. They were registered as Endre Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Friendly Society. He told me that I should take part in it, that they needed people like me.

I joined, and in 1987, 1988 and 1989 I worked very actively. I wasn’t afraid of the Department of the Interior anymore. I didn’t care. Interestingly, they only started keeping me under observation sometime in 1988. Because in my files that I got from the Historical Bureau there are mainly those things when I was a strike organizer, when, for example, I held a presentation and held a memorial in the cemetery. So my political activity started with this, and it continued so that this friendly society was completely reorganized into a political society, and we had a secret place, a book stack on Akacfa Street, where we got together if we wanted to discuss a more delicate matter.

The Popular Front had a beautiful room, with seating room for about 50-60 people, and we regularly organized presentations there. We invited people like Istvan Eorsi, Gaspar Miklos Tamas, Sandor Csoori, Istvan Csurka. I mainly took on organizational tasks; I was in charge of the member registering and handled the correspondence. By the time we had 1000 registered members there wasn’t enough room, and then someone introduced me to the director of the Jurta Theater. They entrusted me to negotiate with him. I offered a cheekily small amount of money, and he accepted it. In a couple months the Jurta Theater became a famous institution. The culmination of this process was that the Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Society took part in the work of the Opposition Round-Table. I was one of the delegates of the Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Society at the meetings of the Opposition Round-Table, so I actively took part in the change of regime.

I am a founding member of the Hungarian Democratic Forum, and in 1990 I got into the deputy representation of the 15th district, and I was its member for a term, until 1994.

My children

In short about my children. Judit was born in 1947. When she graduated from high school I had already been working in the public health sector, and I took her into our hospital. She studied there in the laboratory for a while, then she got to the Public Health and Epidemics Institute by her own efforts, and by completing different courses she acquired specialized assistant’s qualification. She still does this until this day, only in the meantime the name of the KOJAL [Public Health and Epidemics Institute] became ANTSZ [Public Health and Medical Officer Service]. She married a military officer at the age of 19, in 1968. When her husband was assigned to Kaposvar she went with him, and she found a job there at the KOJAL and did the same work. She had a son who now lives in Germany. I don’t really know anything about him; I don’t know what he does. Unfortunately my daughter’s marriage didn’t work out, and after ten years they divorced. Later she remarried, but in 2000 she became a widow. She has lived alone since then.

Peter was born in 1959. He graduated from I. Istvan High School [presently Szent Istvan High School] then he got a meteorologist degree at the ELTE TTK [Eötvös Lorand University, natural sciences faculty] in 1984. He took his doctor’s degree in 1999. He deals with climatology; he regularly publishes articles in international and national journals. He was married, but then he divorced. He doesn’t have any children.

We were very happy about the forming of the State of Israel, we kept out fingers crossed for the Jews, and we didn’t keep this a secret.