Travel

Frida Shatkhina
Mogilyov-Podolskiy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of the interview: May 2004

Frida Shatkhina lives in a one-bedroom apartment in the center of Mogilyov-Podolskiy. The plant of food industry machine building constructed this 5-storied panel apartment building for its employees in the 1960s, and Frida’s husband received an apartment here. Frida’s husband died in 1992 and she lives alone. She has no children. Galina, an older Ukrainian woman, helps Frida about the house. She keeps it very clean, but the apartment itself is poorly furnished. Galina takes care of Frida. Frida is a short thin woman. She wears her gray hair in a knot. She is 90 years old. She gets tired easily, but she tells her story willingly. Regretfully, she’s forgotten many things, but she still has an interesting story to tell and is fond of telling it.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My father’s family lived in the village of Borovka, Chernevtsy district, Vinnitsa province [5 km from Vinnitsa, about 280 km from Kiev]. I never saw my father’s parents. My grandmother died before I was born and my grandfather died when I was still a child. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Borovka.

I know that before the Revolution of 1917 1 my father’s sisters and brothers lived in Borovka, but I never saw them and I don’t know their names. Perhaps, my father mentioned them, but after so many years my memory fails me. Vinnitsa region was within the Pale of Settlement 2 before the revolution and almost every settlement was a Jewish town there. After the revolution my father’s relatives moved to other towns or even countries, perhaps.

A small nameless dried out river crease divided Borovka village into two parts. Jews, who constituted almost half of its population, lived in both parts of the village. The rest of the villagers were Ukrainian. There were two synagogues in Borovka – one in each part. There was a separate room for women, who could listen to prayers through small windows. Jews mostly resided in the right-bank part of the village that was its center.

Most of the houses in Borovka were ‘mazanka’ houses. The word derives from the Russian term ‘mazat’ meaning apply clay on wooden carcasses of houses. In the 1930s the saman – air-brick – houses appeared. Air bricks were a mixture of clay and manure. Most of the houses had straw roofs. Only the wealthiest families had tin sheet roofing.  

There was little land in the central part of the village and Jewish houses actually adjusted to one another. They only had sufficient land to grow some greenery. Ukrainians were farmers: they had vegetable and fruit gardens and fields.

Jews were craftsmen for the most part: tailors, shoemakers, barbers. There was also a blacksmith and a harness-maker. Jews owned stores: there were two or three fabric and garment shops and the rest of them were food stores selling daily consumer goods – salt, matches, sugar, cereals, tea, glass and wicks for kerosene lamps, etc.

Jewish families were religious. On Sabbath and Jewish holidays all men put on their black suits and black hats to go to the synagogue. Women attended the synagogue on the main Jewish holidays. Most men had beards, and the rabbi and shochet had payes. Married women wore wigs. All families celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home.

My father, Haim Shatkhin, was born in the 1880s. My father studied in cheder and this was all the education he got. He helped his father, who owned a small store. After my grandfather died, my father inherited his store.

My mother’s family lived in the Jewish town of Chernevtsy. After the revolution of 1917 it became a district town. I don’t remember my maternal grandparents. My grandfather, whose surname was Rozenberg, died shortly after my parents got married.

Of all my mother’s relatives I only knew her older brother, Haim Rozenberg, who lived with his wife Riva and their three children in Chernevtsy. Haim owned a small fabric store. However, this store must have been profitable. Haim was considered to be a wealthy man. My mother, Reizl Rozenberg, was born in 1886. She told me she came from a big family, but I didn’t know any of her brothers or sisters.

My mother’s parents were religious and raised their children religiously. My mother’s teacher was a melamed from the cheder. He taught my mother and her sisters to read prayers in Hebrew. I don’t know whether my mother could read or write in Hebrew. She couldn’t write or read in Ukrainian or Russian. My mother’s family spoke Yiddish at home. They also had a good conduct of Ukrainian to talk with their Ukrainian neighbors. 

There was a big choral synagogue in Chernevtsy. After the revolution the cheder was turned into a four-year Jewish elementary school. There were two Ukrainian seven-year schools. There was a shochet in the town before World War II. There was a big market in the center of the village where the local villagers and villagers from neighboring villages sold their products. Bigger market days took place there twice a week. 

During the revolution and the Civil War 3 several Jewish pogroms 4 happened. I can’t remember them. All I remember is that our Ukrainian neighbors always gave us shelter in their cellar. We, children, were ordered to keep silent in this cellar. Our family stayed safe from the gangs 5. Jews got along well with their Ukrainian neighbors. 

I don’t know any details about how my parents met. I think there could have been matchmakers involved. Even when I was in my teens, all weddings were prearranged by shadkhanim, if both young people lived in the same town. Borovka is located in about 15 kilometers from Chernevtsy. My parents had a traditional Jewish wedding in Chernevtsy. Afterward my mother put on a wig.

After the wedding my parents moved to Borovka. My father had sold his parents’ house to have money for the wedding and the start of their marital life. My parents rented half of the house from an older Jewish couple. It was an ordinary mazanka house. There was a front door in the central part of the house and two doors in the fore room: the door on the left – to the landlords’ part of the house, and the one on the right – to our lodging.

There was a big kitchen and a Russian stove in it 6. The stove heated the kitchen and a room. We had a small yard. Our landlords grew onions, garlic and beans in their part of the yard. There was a shed where my mother kept wood for winter and chickens. My father worked in the store, and my mother was a housewife and also helped my father in the store.

In 1912 my older brother Boruch – Boris 7 in Russian – was born. I was born in 1914. I was named Frida after one of my grandmothers – I don’t remember which of them. In 1916 my second brother Abram was born. My younger sister Betia was born in 1919. My parents observed Jewish traditions, and both their sons were circumcised, as required.

My parents were religious like all Jews in Borovka. My father went to the synagogue on Sabbath and on Jewish holidays. He had a beard and wore a yarmulka or a hat. My mother went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays, like all Jewish women in Borovka. We always celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays.

On Friday morning my mother went to the market and when she returned, she made dough to bake bread and challot. She also cooked dinner. Meanwhile the dough rose and she made brown bread for the week to come and two wheat flour challot. When she took the bread out of the stove, she placed there a pot with chulent with meat, potatoes and beans for the next day. The chulent was still hot, when she took it out of the stove before lunch on Saturday.

In the evening my mother lit candles. She prayed over them and then we sat down to dinner. Nobody worked on Saturday. My father’s store was closed. No Jews worked on Saturday. My father went to the synagogue in the morning. When he returned, he told us stories from the Torah. We didn’t know Hebrew. We spoke Yiddish at home, and my father translated for us into Yiddish.

After the revolution the cheder in Borovka was closed. Wealthier Jews hired the melamed to teach their children Hebrew and prayers at home. My parents couldn’t afford it.

Pesach was the main holiday in our family. We started preparations a few months before the holiday. We ordered matzah at the synagogue. It was baked in the Jewish bakery in Chernevtsy and delivered to Borovka. Poorer families baked their own matzah, but we ordered ours. There was no bread in the house throughout all days of Pesach. The houses were newly whitewashed and window frames and shutters painted before the holiday. 

Growing up

My mother sent me or my brother to the shochet to have him slaughter chickens for the holiday. My mother saved eggs for Pesach. She made chicken broth with dumplings from matzah flour, gefilte fish and various matzah and potato puddings.

We took the special Pesach crockery and kitchen utensils from the attic before Pesach. We only used it once a year. It was kept in a big wicker basket with a lid. Mama had separate dishes for meat and dairy products required by the kashrut. However, this was still our daily crockery, and it was taken to the storeroom for the duration of this holiday.

In the evening my mother covered the table with a white tablecloth. There were wine glasses put on the table, and a big one for the Prophet Elijah in the center of the table. On Pesach children also had some wine. My father reclined on cushions at the head of the table. He broke a piece of matzah into three smaller pieces and hid away the middle part. One of the children was to find this piece and give it back to father for a ransom. I don’t remember if I ever managed to steal this piece of matzah. 

My father read the Haggadah, and my brother posed the four traditional questions to him. He learned these questions by heart. Then we had dinner, and then my father and mother recited prayers and we sang merry Pesach songs. The front door was always kept open to let Elijah in. 

Before Rosh Hashanah they blew the shofar at the synagogue for a whole month. The sound of it was loud and strident and was heard across the village.

Then came the Judgment Day, Yom Kippur. The fast started on the eve of this holiday. Adults fasted, and the children wanted to do as they did. Mama didn’t allow us to fast, when we were young. She said missing one meal was quite sufficient. In the morning we went to the synagogue. It was required to pray until the first star appeared in the sky. Older children also went to the synagogue, and the younger ones stayed at home in the care of Ukrainian neighbors or acquaintances.

After Yom Kippur preparations for Sukkot began. Father made a sukkah in the yard. We, kids, assisted him fetching a hammer or a plank. When the sukkah was ready, we decorated it with green branches, flowers, ribbons. We also made decorations from chicken feathers. Each family tried to make their sukkah more beautiful than the others. There was a table installed in the sukkah, and the family had meals and prayed in the sukkah.

In winter we celebrated Chanukkah. Mama had a bronze channukkiyah where she lit one more candle each day. The children made the rounds of relatives and neighbors singing a song about Chanukkah. Relatives gave children Chanukkah gelt. We spent it on sweets and toys.

We also liked Purim, a merry holiday. In the morning all went to the synagogue. The children got rattles. When the rabbi mentioned the name of Haman, the villain, we had to make as much noise as possible to make it impossible to hear his name. There were many delicacies cooked. There was a custom to send treats to relatives, acquaintances and friends on Purim. Children made the rounds of houses, and when housewives returned empty trays, they put some small change on them. We celebrated holidays before the Great Patriotic War 8 and both synagogues operated.

My father kept his store for some time after the Civil War. It was probably too small to be attractive for authorities. My mother’s brother also kept his business for some time. They did their business themselves, and the authorities started expropriation of those who hired employees.

My brother went to school. I followed him two years later. After finishing the four-year Jewish school its pupils continued their studies in the Ukrainian school. My parents decided to send my brother and me to the Ukrainian school from the very beginning. We were fluent in Ukrainian and had no problems in this regard.

I liked school. I made new friends: Jewish and Ukrainian. There were quite a few Jewish pupils in my class. The teachers treated us in a similar manner, and there was no segregation at school. I have happy memories about school.

After school I hurried home to do my homework and housework. Mama spent much time in the store, and I had my home chores to do. I cleaned and did the laundry and cleaned vegetables so that my mother spent less time cooking. I also had to look after my sister, who was five years younger than me. And I also managed to play with my friends in the street and read a little.

We didn’t have books at home. I borrowed books from the school library. I didn’t become a pioneer 9 at school. They started admission from those, who had all excellent marks, and when it was my turn, I decided against it feeling hurt.

In 1924 my older brother Boruch fell ill with scarlet fever and died. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Borovka, and the funeral was according to all rules. Father recited the Kaddish over my brother’s grave. Mama sat shivah for a week. She was alone since Father worked in his store, and my younger brother Abram and I had to go to school. 

I finished the seven-year school in 1929. I was the oldest in the family: my brother and sister still went to school. I had to support the family and go to work.

In the middle of the 1920s Jewish and Ukrainian kolkhozes 10 were organized in Borovka. The Jewish kolkhoz 11 had a cow farm and farmlands growing grain and vegetables. I went to work in the field. During summer vacations my younger sister and brother also worked in the field to earn some money.

We got payment in fall after harvest time. We were paid a little money and grain and vegetables for our work. I wanted to buy a cut of fabric to make a dress so much, but there was too little money for anything. I decided I had to find a better-paid job, which was hard to do in Borovka.

Hard times came in 1932-33. Famine 12 came to Ukraine, and the situation in villages was much worse than in towns. Those, who had farmlands and vegetable gardens, were better off while we had just nothing. We starved. We picked berries, mushrooms and some roots in the woods. However, we all managed somehow, but my father. He caught a terrible cold in winter and was very weak.

In winter 1933 Father died. We buried him in the Jewish cemetery near his parents and my older brother Boruch. After he died the authorities took away his store from us. Mother decided we had to move to Chernevtsy to live closer to her brother.

My acquaintance in Chernevtsy was a communication operator at the post office. He said I could get some training to become a telephone operator. Mama, my younger brother and sister moved to Chernevtsy. We rented two small rooms and a kitchen from a local woman. She was a single older Jewish woman. She lived in her house in one room.

My acquaintance helped me to get a job at the post office. It didn’t take me long to learn the job of a telephone operator. There was no automatic dialing at that time. Telephone operators worked manually. There was nothing hard about this job, as long as we were attentive. I received salary and occasional food packages: flour, cereal, sunflower oil.

My brother Abram also went to work at the post office, and was trained to be a communication operator. A Vinnitsa communication school affiliate opened in Chernevtsy and my brother went to study there by correspondence. After finishing this school he was offered a job in ‘Spetssviaz’ [special communication] at the NKVD 13 office. His office was responsible for installation and maintenance of special communication cables.

My sister went to study at the one-year accounting course after finishing school. After finishing this course she entered the Accounting Faculty of the Financial and Economic College in Vinnitsa where she met her future husband. I don’t remember his first name, but his last name was Solomon. He came from the village of Kalinovka near Vinnitsa. They got married in 1940 and Betia moved to live with her husband.

My brother married Sima, a Jewish girl from Chernevtsy in 1938. After the wedding he moved to his wife’s place. They registered their marriage in a registry office and had a wedding dinner with relatives. They couldn’t afford bigger celebrations at this hard time. In 1939 my brother’s son Boris was born. He was named after our deceased older brother. In 1940 their daughter Raisa was born.

In 1936 arrests 14 began. They also happened in Chernevtsy. Some of our acquaintances were arrested. Of course, it was hard to believe that the people, whom we knew well, happened to be enemies of people 15, but we couldn’t help believing it since we knew for sure that innocent people could not be arrested.

They didn’t capture common people basically. They arrested communists, local officials. They might arrest those, who mentioned that life was hard or that there was lack of food. There were such people – innocent, but accused. We also understood that we could not say that an innocent person had been arrested, and all people around kept silent. 

There was no anti-Semitism before the war, we didn’t face any. Jews and Ukrainians had the same life. Sometimes my friends and I went to the cinema or attended lectures in the evening: we could afford such entertainment. We had a poor and difficult life, but everybody lived the same.

During the war

On Sunday 22nd  June 1941 it was my turn to work on the weekend. I came to work in the morning, and my colleagues told me in secret that Germany had attacked the USSR, that there were battles in Belarus going on, and Kiev was bombed. Telephone operators were aware of many things: working at the telephone station we occasionally heard pieces of conversation.

Of course, I felt scared at once, but then I calmed down. Radio and newspapers had mentioned a possible war before, but always in the context that our army was invincible and that we would defeat the enemy on their territory. And of course, I believed this like everybody else did. We were convinced that our army was the strongest, and our military equipment was the best. Nobody had any doubts that the war would last only a few days, or probably weeks.

I went home for lunch. My sister was visiting us. She was having lunch with Mama. We were having a chat, but I didn’t tell them about the war not to spoil their mood. Only when leaving for work after lunch I told Mama and Betia that if they heard about the war, let them not panic since everything would be over pretty soon. And I left for work calmly.

We had a radio at home. They listened to Stalin’s speech, who said that we would win. We believed this so much that we didn’t even consider evacuation. My sister left home, and Mama and I didn’t even think of moving away.

My mother remembered World War I, when she saw Germans. She said Germans were very polite and didn’t hurt anybody. Numerous Ukrainian gangs during the Civil War were much worse. We didn’t know about the brutality of fascists or that they were exterminating Jews.

There were no arrangements for evacuation in Chernevtsy, and people were taking their chances to leave on wagons or even on foot. We didn’t even take an effort to leave. My brother was short-sighted, and wasn’t recruited to the army. He stayed in Chernevtsy with his family.

Germans occupied Vinnitsa region shortly after the war began. Many of those, who had left Chernevtsy, had to come back since the region was encircled by German troops, and there was no chance to break through the encirclement. The Germans invaded Chernevtsy without a single shot, but they didn’t stay. They formed the local Ukrainian police.

All Jews were staying in their homes. Shortly afterward a group of about 100 Jews was convoyed to the Jewish ghetto in Mogilyov-Podolskiy 16 by the policemen. The rest of the Jews were told to pack clothes and food for three to four days awaiting the order about departure to the ghetto.

However, the German troops left and were replaced by Romanians. They didn’t send anybody to the ghetto: all Jews were staying in their houses. The situation was a little easier than when German troops were here. Of course, the Romanians also suppressed Jews, but not to such a great extent as the Germans.

The territory of the Vinnitsa region became the territory of Transnistria 17. There were ghettos in many villages and towns with local inmates and those, who came from Moldova 18 and Bessarabia 19. However, there was no ghetto or Jews from elsewhere in Chernevtsy. The curfew hours were established. Jews could only leave their house during the daylight and had to stay inside, when it got dark. They didn’t allow having the lights on in houses, but later it was allowed to turn on the lights, but have heavy curtains on the windows so that no light was seen from the outside.

All Jews were to have white armbands with yellow hexagonal stars on them. The order dictated that those Jews who didn’t have such armbands, were subject to execution for not following the order. However, I never had this armband on. I am a quiet and reserved person, but this order drove me so angry that I decided that I wasn’t going to obey it, even for the fear of execution I decided not to obey. I was never captured, though the local police watched us closely and they knew that I was a Jew. None of them reported on me, vice versa – they were sympathetic.

The Romanians fired all post office employees, including my brother and me. We had to earn our living, so we worked for the local farmers: weeded their fields, earth potatoes or gather their crops. Mama made plain clothes for Ukrainian peasant women: frilled skirts and blouses and also, altered old clothes for children. They paid her with food products. Money was not valued. People changed things for food at the market. At times villagers brought us a bottle of milk or a few eggs charging us nothing for this.

Occasionally we heard rumors about mass shootings of Jews in neighboring towns. Thus, in August 1942, Germans killed all Jews of the town of Yaryshev located nearby. I don’t know if there were any survivors. There were no mass shootings in our town. Of course, Romanians happened to kill people, but those were their captives, whom they captured after the curfew hours.

In general, Romanians were not as violent as Germans. They didn’t take away our radios. While Germans were in Chernevtsy they ordered the locals to submit their radios to the town hall, but this happened before they were to leave, and when the Romanians came into the town, they didn’t require following this order. There was a radio in all homes. We also had a ‘plate’-shaped radio that we often listened to. However, Mama took it to a niche and covered it with a curtain, although this was not necessary.

We followed the combat actions. In summer 1943 we got a feeling that there was a turning point in the war. The radio hardly ever announced that our troops had left a settlement, but vice versa – our army was attacking. We heard that around February 1944 our forces started advancement in Vinnitsa region. This gave us hopes.

In late March 1944 we noticed that the Romanians hardly ever came into the streets of the town – there were only policemen around. One morning we saw the Soviet tanks coming into the town. There was not a single Romanian left in the town. We didn’t even hear them leaving. The Soviet forces came into Chernevtsy quietly without shooting.

We ran out of our homes trying to come closer to soldiers, shake their hands and thank them. There was a field kitchen on the outskirts of the town inviting the locals to have boiled cereals with tinned meat that they were making.

We were so happy that we survived. Of course, we were not quite sure that the Germans wouldn’t return to Chernevtsy, but we all hoped this wouldn’t happen. And it didn’t. Our peaceful life started in late March 1944.

Shortly afterward my brother and I returned to work at the post office. Life was gradually improving. On 9th May 1945 20 we got to know about the end of the war and that Germany had capitulated. All residents of our town got together in the main square. There was an orchestra playing and people were dancing, singing and greeting each other. This was the beginning of the peaceful life, there were food products supplied to stores and we were hoping for the better.

After the war

My sister Betia and her husband moved to Vinnitsa after the war. She went to work as an accountant in the State Bank department in Vinnitsa. In 1946 Betia’s daughter Rita was born and in 1949 – her second daughter Maria was born.

I didn’t consider a marriage. I had to take care of Mama. There were no old age pensions paid at that time, and Mama had never worked in her life, she was a housewife, so she didn’t receive a work pension. I was the only breadwinner. Of course, this wouldn’t have been enough for living in a town, but in the village we quite managed.

I met my future husband, Isaac Brisman, a Jew, in Chernevtsy in 1960. He came on a long business trip from Mogilyov-Podolskiy. He worked as a postal worker. It was necessary to install cables for a new telephone station. Isaac stayed in Chernevtsy for over two years. One of my colleagues introduced him to me. We began to see each other occasionally.

Isaac was born in Mogilyov-Podolskiy in 1910. I don’t know anything about his parents. He probably told me about his family, but I can hardly remember anything. He was in communication forces at the front during the war. His wife and daughter stayed in Mogilyov-Podolskiy where they were in the ghetto. Isaac’s wife died after the war, and their daughter was raised by her relatives in Vinnitsa. Isaac could not take care of his daughter having to go on frequent business trips.

Before going home Isaac proposed to me. Of course, we didn’t have a Jewish wedding. We registered our marriage in a registry office and in the evening invited my relatives and friends to a dinner. Then Isaac left and I stayed in Chernevtsy. I couldn’t get a job in Mogilyov-Podolskiy and I didn’t want to be a housewife. Mama couldn’t move either due to her health condition.

Isaac went to work at the Kirov 21 plant of food industry machine building 17. He was a worker. He got a higher salary at the plant. His house was ruined during the war and he rented an apartment. The plant built a house for its employees. In 1966 Isaac received a one-bedroom apartment in this new house. His daughter was married and lived in Vinnitsa with her husband.

Isaac came to see me on weekends, and I visited him in Mogilyov-Podolskiy. We spent vacations together, walked a lot, went to the bank of the river. We often spent our vacations to refurbish the apartment, preserve fruit and vegetables for winter. I retired and moved into this apartment to live with my husband.

Mama died in 1962. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Chernevtsy, near my father’s grave. There was a Jewish funeral. My husband recited the Kaddish over her grave. 

All postwar events in the USSR – the campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’ 22, the Doctors’ Plot 23 – went past me. Yes, there were some terrible publications in newspapers, but living in our small village, we didn’t feel like getting into details. It seemed to be happening so far away – in Kiev, Moscow, while we were having a quiet life. We were sure there were no cosmopolitans in Chernevtsy. People had trust in the only doctor in Chernevtsy – a local Jewish man, who was born and grew up in the town.

I remember the day of 5th March 1953, when the radio announced that Stalin had died. I was at work. Everybody was crying, there was not one person without tears in their eyes. It was scary. We were used that everything happening in the USSR was connected to Stalin’s name and we couldn’t imagine living without him. This was the only subject of discussions. 

When Khrushchev 24 at the Twentieth Party Congress 25 denounced the cult of Stalin and spoke about the terrible things that Stalin and his associates had done, I believed it, but not to the end.

I never joined the Komsomol 26 or the Party. I believed in the ideas of communism and the Communist Party before the Twentieth Party Congress, but then it was all over. After the disappointment that the Twentieth Party Congress brought me I gave up any interest in politics. I don’t care about it now either.

We common people know nothing but what we are told, and we do not decide anything. We cannot change anything in the life of the country. So why think about it?

I had the same attitude towards perestroika 27 that Mikhail Gorbachev 28 initiated in the late 1980s. They always promised us a lot, but nothing ever came out of these promises. Each leader of the country promised a better life, but nothing changed, only got worse.

My husband and I grew up in a religious family. After the war Jews didn’t observe Jewish traditions so strictly. My husband and I didn’t go to the synagogue. After the war the synagogues in Chernevtsy and Mogilyov-Podolskiy were closed, but there were prayer houses operating instead. Isaac and I didn’t go to prayer houses either, but we celebrated Jewish holidays at home and tried to follow all rules.

On Pesach I bought matzah, and later I bought it. I cooked traditional food that Mama used to make: chicken broth with dumplings from matzah, gefilte fish and puddings. Isaac had a prayer book and he prayed at home. On Yom Kippur we fasted 24 hours. Even now I fast on Yom Kippur despite my age.

Of course, we celebrated Jewish holidays secretly. My husband and I celebrated Soviet holidays at work. At home we only celebrated the Victory Day, 9 May.

When in the 1970s numbers of Jews were moving to Israel, my husband and I didn’t consider emigration. We didn’t even discuss such a possibility. We are not fortune hunters and we’ve never been attracted by going to another country to live a different life. Many of our acquaintances left Chernevtsy and Mogilyov-Podolskiy then, but I still think that there were more staying here.

I didn’t blame those who decided to leave. It’s their own business. If a person decides something, it’s better not to interfere with him. My brother and his family and my sister and her husband moved there. My sister’s daughters and their families stayed here. We occasionally wrote each other, but not often. This correspondence could do no harm to us 29 – we were pensioners, and were not members of the party. However, there wasn’t much to write about. We still correspond.

My brother’s wife has passed away. My brother lives in an elderly people’s home in Tel Aviv. My sister also moved to the elderly people’s home after her husband died. They can see each other often. They are in good care and are both happy. My brother’s children also live in Israel. They have their own families. My sister’s older daughter and her family lives in Moldova, and the younger one – in Germany. We have no contacts. 

After the breakup of the Soviet Union after perestroika Ukraine became independent and I was hoping for a better life. There are no material benefits, but the Jewish life revived in Ukraine. There is a synagogue and a Jewish community in Mogilyov-Podolskiy.

The community does much for the revival of the Jewry in Ukraine. It’s the center of the Jewish life of the town. When my husband died in 1992, the community helped me with the Jewish funeral for him. Isaac was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Mogilyov-Podolskiy. I am old, and it’s hard for me to look after the grave. The community installed a gravestone and looks after the grave.

I know that the community makes arrangements for celebrating holidays and conducting meetings, but I do not go there. It’s hard for me to leave home. Galina, a woman from the Evangelist society, helps me a lot. She lives with me and does housework. Our two pensions are sufficient for us to live on them. Galina is like family to me.

I don’t care that I am a Jew and Galina is Christian. I believe that everything done in the name of God, all good things will be appreciated by the Jewish and Christian God. People must help each other, and getting an opportunity to do good to one’s neighbor is happiness. 

Glossary:

Mira Markovna Mlotok
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: March 2002

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

My family backgrownd

I am Mira Markovna Mlotok. I was born in 1920, on December 5, in the town of Khorol. Khorol was a small Jewish town in Poltava province, where everyone knew each other. My father’s father was a rabbi there. His name was Moses. His family was large: three sons and two daughters. My grandmother was a housewife. Their family was noble. All children - boys went to yeshiva and all girls went to Jewish school.

I don’t remember my grandfather and his house very much. I remember what he wore when he went to the synagogue: a taleth, a yarmulke, and a small box on his head, I forgot its name. [in these small box put convolute sheets of paper , to which were written prayers, this is identified tefilin]. Grandmother was a very quiet and gentle woman. But I did not spend much time with them because we lived in another city. They were very religious. They always prayed and always kept Sabbath. All their children spoke Yiddish very well – they spoke Yiddish at home. Then all their children went into revolution and became atheists. Their parents did not oppose them because they were wise people and understood that the new time had come. Their eldest son, Zinoviy, was born in 1891. He was a Communist Party worker in Lubny. When the Second World War broke out he went to fight. He was heavily wounded and died in 1946 from diseases in Belaya Tserkov. His brother, Abraham, was born in 1895. He also was a Communist. He died in Chernovtsy in 1948 from some diseases. My father’s favorite sister Katya (Kitusya) was born in 1897. She married a big Party leader Alexandrov. He was arrested in 1937. Her life was very hard. She died in Chernovtsy in 1985. The youngest sister Anya was born in 1898, lived in Leningrad for many years and died in 1945.
I remember the big room of grandfather’s house. They had carved furniture, a huge sideboard with carved birds, a big table with round legs, around which the whole family sat. Grandfather sat at the head of the table and everyone looked into his eyes. When he lifted up his cup the day turned into a holiday. Their big carved bookcase had a lot of books. And they had a small violin. One of the children played violin, but I don’t remember who. All of them sang beautifully Zmirot when came guests , in holidays on eve Sabbath. Their family was a friendly and talented one.
I was very young when we moved, but I remember people singing all the time, having smiles all the time, drinking red wine. I remember small silver wineglasses. Grandmother gave everyone something sweet, strudels with apple, nuts and jam.

My mother’s name was Rosa Moiseyevna Kashtan. She was born also in Khorol, in the family of shoichet, meat-cutter. Both families (of my father and mother) knew each other very well. Mother graduated from Midwifery School in Kremenchug. She was interested in revolutionary ideas. When Denikin’s gang was around, she carried a white bag with red cross and distributed revolutionary leaflets. She risked her life, but that bag saved her; she hid her revolutionary propaganda in it. At that time if a person wanted to join the Communist Party he had to provide recommendation of more experienced and trusted party members. So, my mother gave such a recommendation for him. They met before the Revolution. They had common views.

Her mother was an ordinary woman, without education, but very smart. When Denikin’s soldiers came to kill the Jews she cut her feather bed and when the soldiers opened the door the feathers flew around, so they had to leave. Thus she rescued her whole family.
The family of my mother’s parents was large. They had three sons. The eldest was Sholom, then David and Saul. They all finished yeshivas and moved to big cities early – two went to Petersburg and one to Kiev. They worked a lot and did any kind of work only for the right to listen to lectures in the medical university. They took and passed examinations without attending all the classes. Saul then worked in Kharkov as the chief doctor of a polyclinic of workers. David was sent to the Donetsk coal basin to miners and was a doctor there. Then David moved to Kiev and his whole family (he, his wife and son) were killed in Babiy Yar.  Sholom, the eldest, went to Pavlodar during the war (they were evacuated) and stayed there with his family. He died there in 1955. Saul had a son, Boris, who graduated form a technical university in Kharkov. When the war broke out he went to fight as a volunteer and was killed somewhere in Ukraine.

My mother had two sisters. Tsipa died early. Tsipa had one son, Aron. His father, Tsipa’s husband, was also a shoichet. The Soviet power denied the rights of citizenship and the right to vote to him because shoichet is a profession related to the synagogue, while the Soviet power declared religion outside the law. Their son wanted to study very much. After Tsipa’s death in 1932 Aron came to us, to Lubny, from Khorol by train without a ticket. So, we took him to live with us. He studied at the workers’ department and was an excellent student. In fact, he knew only Yiddish because they spoke only Yiddish at home, but he managed to graduate from the Chemical Technology Institute in Kharkov. Then he volunteered to fight during the war and did not return from it.
The eldest sister, Leah, married a man ill with tuberculoses. He took her out of Khorol into a village in Poltava region. He was Jewish and a talented man. She bore seven children from her ill husband. He soon died. She had no profession, so she learned to sew and her children worked the soil since early age; her boys also fished and thus they did not starve to death, but they were very poor. They had only one pair of shoes for all the children, so they went to school in turns. The boys walked barefoot even in winter. But they survived. The girls, Rosa and Sonya were put into basement to hide from Denikin soldiers, so they had problems with their legs and feet for the rest of their lives. Sonya worked as a doctor and Rosa – as an engineer in Kharkov. Despite all the hardships they survived. A son of Leah was an electrician engineer who worked at Dneprovsky NPP. Eida was the eldest of Leah’s girls. She lived in Lubny and worked as a nurse at the spirit factory. Her mother, Leah, being old lived with her. The eldest son, Chaim Meyerovich Krasik, worked in civil aviation in technical provision. He knew personally many famous pilots, and they respected him for “Sholom-Aleichem” types of jokes. In 1937 he was arrested on suspicion of espionage. He had to stay in horrible conditions. I was very young then. People at that time were afraid to intercede for somebody’s release because it was dangerous. So my mother said, “I can’t write him, but you a child, you can”. So I sent letters and parcels to Chaim as if from myself. When he worked at wood throw he froze so that he was thought to be dead, but the doctor noticed he was alive at the last minute. Later he worked with Ostap Vishnya (famous Ukrainian humorist) and Ostap Vishnya liked him and his humor too. When Chaim was released he settled in Moscow and sold tickets to theaters. He had no family.

Leah died in 1942 when the Germans came to Lubny. They also had a place like Kiev’s Babiy Yar – a common Jewish grave. She was very old and could not walk, so the Germans did not want to carry her to that grave and left her in her flat. Her neighbor, a Ukrainian man, took care of her until she died. He buried her in his backyard. Leah’s son, Iosif, stayed in underground of the Party and was a guerilla. His neighbor betrayed him. The Germans surrounded his house, took him out, called all the residents of the village he lived in, put a board on his chest saying “kike-guerilla” and burned him alive. His son was young at the time, 13 years old. He crossed the front line and found himself at an airdrome. There he said, “I came to take revenge for my father”. After the war he was sent to an aircraft school. His name was Boris Krasik. So, he remained in aviation for the rest of his life.
My father, Mark Moiseyevich Mlotok, was born in 1893. He finished yeshiva – 4 classes. He had no other education. He educated himself. He read a lot. He also played piano. He was a very gentle man, but kept strict discipline. He did not go to university but got involved in politics. There were many revolutionary clubs at the time, so he got engaged with these activities and under the Soviet power he went to work in the Extraordinary Commission to Fight Counterrevolutionaries. He was in control of money and values confiscating from the rich. For many years he worked at the State Security Committee. He started his career in Cherkassy. There my father and mother got married. It was certainly not a traditional Jewish wedding, but a new, communistic, wedding, with no ritual, no chupah, but with simple registration – such was the fashion then.
Father was sent to different cities of Ukraine and he fulfilled the Party’s orders there. He liked that work very much. He was an honest man: while other people got rich in similar positions, my father gave every penny to the state. When he had a lot of experience in that work, he came to Kiev and was highly appreciated by the People’s Commissionaire of the Interior of Ukraine. (Many innocent people were killed because of him. In 1937 he was arrested and shot too). My father was made chief of the personnel department, which was a very prestigious office. In 1937 many people were arrested and my father was doomed to arrest too. But he was sent to the north instead. He was appointed the chief of the camp of political prisoners in Archangelsk, which was in the north with mosquitoes and permafrost. Prisoners of his camp floated logs there. It was a demotion. He did not get any more military ranks in his life, just a mayor. But praise God even for this, at least he was left alive. He worked in the GULAG system, then he was sent to Siberia – Omsk, Tomsk, Novosibirsk, where he was the chief of camps again. Then he was sent to Karelia-Finland, where he was the chief of the construction of a hydrosystem.

Back when father was going from city to city he had an affair with another woman. Her name was Gusta. She was an active Komsomol member and a beautiful Jewish woman. We saw father very seldom, only when he came to Lubny. Officially parents are not divorced, father simply has left not lives with us. My mother did not want to forgive him and cursed Gusta She never had any children. She died in 1938 from cancer. My mother took me and returned to Poltava region, to Lubny. She worked as a paramedic in a children’s hospital and in ambulance. We lived in a house for medical workers. My mother worked a lot because she had to provide for herself and me. We lived poorly. Mother sewed me clothes from her old clothes “to keep me in a decent appearance” as she said. Every time she had vacation we went to her brother in Kiev. We went to Opera Theater and the Zoo. When we came to Kiev for the first time I was 7-8 years old. I remember we went to the Zoo and looked at Kreschatik, the main street of Kiev, and at the Botanic Garden. My mother only had two weeks of vacation and in that time we had to go everywhere, see everything and buy everything we needed. For me, Kiev was a fairytale. I dreamed of studying here.

Lubny was a good green town at the time. There were a lot of schools, a medical college, a teachers’ institute and other institutions of learning, as well as a few plants. There were buses, but no street cars. I never felt anti-Semitism, nobody called me a “kike”. The atmosphere was absolutely different from that after the war.

Growing up

I remember the famine in 1933 very well. Only due to the wisdom of my mother, who sowed the seeds of pumpkin, we survived. We ate so many pumpkins that we became yellow. But we survived. We also ate “makukha” cakes – leftovers pressed together, of black color. When we chewed on them we did not feel so hungry. But in order to get those “cakes” we had to stand in lines for a long time. My mother was very kind and if she received 200 grams of bread but had to go see some patients, she took this bread to her patients and told me that we could eat pumpkin again. Mother’s brother, doctor David Kashtan, worked in Donetsk coal basin, where miners received more foods than others, so he sent us parcels of foods. So, I know what it was like living in 1933 very well. My father did not really help us.
Everyone suffered then. I was very thin. But I was always joyful. We just had to hang on and survive. A year later, in 1934, life became better. 

I was certainly a pioneer. To join pioneers was a great celebration, at the Pioneers’ Palace. I wore the red pioneer tie with great pride. And I loved singing pioneer songs. I was a very active girl. I had a lot of friends. I laughed a lot. I remember mother sewed me a costume of gauze and I danced a Hungarian dance. The time was hard, but I was singing all the time, and people said I had a good voice – lyrical-coloratura soprano. I sang at the pioneers’ club and was invited to sing at different celebrations. When I was 14 years old there was the first children’s musical festival in Ukraine and I was noticed. I was sent to Kharkov. There were a lot of children from different cities. We stayed at the “International” hotel, downtown. All the concerts took place in “Berezil” theater. The jury decided that Mira Mlotok should take singing classes for sure. They made pictures of me and wrote an article about me and a boy who played violin, Dusya Solovyev. But my mother did not want me to leave after the seventh grade. She said, “You are still a child. Finish ten classes general first, and then do whatever you want”. When I finished the tenth grade I went to Kiev. I passed several exams and entered the Gliyer Musical College. First, when I came to Kiev, I stayed with my mother’s brother, uncle Sholom. But they had a large family and I had to sleep beside their wardrobe on a camp bed. My mother sent parcels to the whole family in order to support me. My relatives treated me very well but I still felt that it was hard for them to have another person living there; besides, they imposed their will on me, while I wanted to be independent.

When my father learned that I entered musical college without anybody’s help, he found me and he said he liked me very much. He realized his mistake and decided to help me become a real urban girl. He took me to the central supermarket and bought me a lot of clothes and shoes. I felt equal to other students of my college.
Father and the woman he lived with, Gusta, had a big flat downtown, with good furniture; the flat was very rich. They offered me to stay with them, but I refused. A daughter should always support her mother. I loved my mother very much and did not want to betray her. My father was a kind man, very gentle and honest. But he could easily be influenced. That woman, Gusta, could cause him to forget everything, including his family. But when she died, father came back from Siberia, where he worked, and asked my mother to reconcile with him. She agreed to go and live and work with him in Siberia. When my parents left, I no longer stayed with my uncle, but rented a room together with a relative from Khorol. She studied in university. We liked living together. We left the house every morning, I walked with her to the university and then went on to conservatory. We ate together and bought foods together. We had our companies together – my friends and hers.
I had to learn a lot of things at the college: solfeggio, piano, history of Russian music, harmony, history of Ukrainian music, history of west-European music, dances, and actor skills. It was very interesting to study. All outstanding musicians of Kiev taught in the concervatory and in my college. Studies in the college gave us the right to enter conservatory.
I had a lot of admirers. But I never treated them seriously because they all wanted to marry me. And I did not need that. I wanted to study. I had several marriage propositions. One man even went to Lubny to ask my mother for my hand. It was conductor, Yakov Fridman, a Jew. He worked in Nikolayev. But my mother said, “No way! You are 10 years older than her! Why do you need such a young girl?” So, that was my first marriage proposal.
But when I met my husband… it was love with the first sight. That’s how it happened. I had an academic concert at the college. After the concert I went to a tailor, to try something on. He was there. My God… He was wearing a naval uniform; he was cheerful and full of charm – you could not help loving him. That tailor was his uncle. His name was Yefim Nusimovich Sapozhnikov. He went to see me off that day and did not let me go. The next day he brought me flowers. The landlady of the room I was renting was jealous because she liked me and wanted her son to marry me. She was Jewish, Nomi Iosifovna, and she wanted her son to marry a Jewish girl. But I liked Fima so much! He was an interesting young man and he wore nice clothes. He finished the Kiev Polytechnic Institute and designed a ship. He was sent to the navy, very far away, to Vladivostok. By the time we met he had been working there for a year or two and came to Kiev on vacation. We met in the middle of June 1941, a few days before the war.

During the war

Fima came to see me every day with flowers. We did not know each other for too long, but it was love with the first sight. I was horrified, I did not know what to do, I could not get hold of my parents (there was no communications with Karelia then). He proposed to me. And I thought, “Why not?” So we went to the registration office. People looked at us with surprise: people scatter away from bombings and we are walking with flowers to register our marriage. I don’t even remember what I was wearing. After the registration we went to his parents. His father, Nus Alterovich Sapozhnikov, was a Red guerilla during the Civil War. He had a surgery before the war and his kidney was removed. He worked as a manager in Lavra (the largest and the most beautiful Russian Orthodox Church in Ukraine). His mother was Freida Borukhovna Linetskaya. She was a housewife. For a long time we had no intimate relationship because I continued to stay at my room, and his parents were going to evacuate.

We got on a barge because it was impossible to get on a train or ship. We had to flee by any transportation because the Germans were close. I did not know about the threat to the Jews at the time, but I was scared. Fima’s parents evacuated. And I was waiting for a message from my parents, so I asked Fima to wait with me. We could hardly get on that barge. There were logs and a small room for the captain. The barge was overcrowded with people. All people sat on the logs, close to one another. It was very scary. We could not move. But we were rescuing our lives. When we reached Kremenchug, there was a heavy bombing raid. As it turned out, somebody was sitting on this barge with a flashlight and pointed the Germans to the barge. My Fima noticed this. When the bombing began the captain landed and all people went to the shore. Fima went to catch the one who pointed the Germans to us. I said, “How will you find me afterwards?” He said, “You will start singing and I will find you”. My husband caught that man and brought him to the authorities in Dnepropetrovsk afterwards. They said he landed on parachute to us. I began to sing a Ukrainian song and Fima found me by my voice and led all other people back to the barge. We went on. In Dnepropetrovsk we found Fima’s cousin. All Fima’s relatives were gathered there – parents and their three-year-old grandson Boris (the son of Fima’s brother). They met us nicely but we all had to go on. My husband had to return to his place of service – Far East. I could not go there without a visa. So, he went alone. All trains were overcrowded. He jumped on the steps of some freight train and told me, “Don’t worry, we will keep in touch”. We decided that all of his relatives will keep in touch through him and that he would send a telegram to my parents. There was shooting every day. Fire-bombs exploded at night and nights were like days. The Germans were approaching Dnepropetrovsk. I was left with Fima’s parents. Evacuation from Dnepropetrovsk began. But we were not on the list and nobody wanted to take us. There was no way out. It was horrible. So, we went to the train station and got on some freight train – just so that we would go somewhere. We were taken to Northern Caucasus. It was steppe. It was a German colony that worked with grapes. The Germans were very nice to us, shared beds and foods. Grandmother, Frida Borisovna, Fima’s mother, spoke Yiddish better than Russian, and the Germans understood her somehow. We went to work with them, gathered grapes. Everything went well and we fulfilled their plan, but suddenly it was announced that within one night all Germans had to leave that place. They could not take anything with them. It was Stalin’s deportation of the Germans over the Urals mountains as “Hitler’s assistants”. It was horrible. Only those who were evacuated to these places remained, but not many.
As soon as the Germans left, the Nazi parachutists came. We even heard their speech. We were horrified. But in 30 minutes we were put on a truck and taken to Makhachkala by the Soviet authorities. In Makhachkala we were put on a small boat and taken across the Caspian Sea to Middle Asia. There were many evacuated people there. I remember the sea was stormy. We were taken to Krasnovodsk by sea. From there we went to Tashkent. We found ourselves on the train station. We had no documents that we were evacuated. And in order to get food at the train station we needed documents. As a matter of great favor we were given a glass of kumys (goat milk) each and a piece of bread. While we were sitting on our bags in the street a noble Uzbek man, whom we did not know, came up to us and gave us some food. We wanted to get to the Ural mountains. Before our departure from Dnepropetrovsk I received the address of the place where my parents had moved; Fima let me know that address. So, we went to that place. We were put on a train wagon that carried prisoners before us. There were so many lice that when we reached our destination we did not enter the house. My father threw away all of our clothes, while my mother brought us everything she could find for us to wear, including underwear. So, only when we were clean we entered the house. It was in the town of Perm, which was then Molotov. My father worked there. Outside Molotov there was village Ioranchi with a camp for prisoners. My father was the chief of that camp. My father had wonderful organizational skills.

Most of prisoners were put in jail for political reasons – on suspicion of espionage, anti-Soviet activities, bringing harm to the nation. All of them were certainly absolutely innocent, but it was such a time when anyone could get in jail so that others would get scared. These people were of different professions. There were many medics, intellectuals, artists, actors, authors. I remember the name of one doctor, Simon, from Moscow. He was a quiet Jew, a noble man. My father made him chief of the medical unit of the camp. He had an assistant – a Jewish woman, Genya. There was a shoe shop in the camp, laundry, and other workshops. There was an amateur theater and prisoners performed wonderful concerts. Some prisoners were wonderful actors, former soloists of the best theaters of the Soviet Union. My father understood that these people were innocent, because many of our relatives suffered too. But he was unable to change the policy; it did not depend on him. However, he was a man of discipline, who had full trust in the Communist Party.
As a real member of the Security Committee since 1920 he had a double name. His party nickname was Davydov. In his documents he was Mlotok-Davydov.
We lived not far from the camp. We lived in a one-floor wooden house. We had a stove that we heated with woods and cooked on it. It was hard for my mother, a woman who never did that before. Then Kitusya, father’s sister with two children came to us. They were very thin, like dystrophic patients, and the girl had rash on her hands. But my mother knew how to cure that. They were behind their class at school. My mother sat with them and helped them study so that they would not lose that school year. She cooked at the same time. And she managed – they became normal children.
I never went to the territory of the camp. People could get there only by passes. I could never go there. I was very sorry for these miserable people. I never talked to the prisoners myself, but I heard stories about them from my father. In general, we did not go anywhere if we did not have to. Kitusya began to work as a secretary in a technical school. Father helped her get a room not far from us. Thus they survived that hard time and we certainly helped them. Sapozhnikovs, the family of my husband, also lived with us in the beginning, but then father helped them get a room too. But very soon Fima’s father died. He got infected at the barber’s and he had blood poisoning. He was only 54 years old. He was a very good man, an extremely kind man. He called me his daughter. My husband’s wife and a child remained. Fima sent them his documents which allowed them to get some money as the family of an officer, and thus they survived those hard times.

I did not spend a long time in Perm. In winter I went to Sverdlovsk springtime 1942. It was a very snowy winter. I could not cross the street before it was cleansed from snow. I learned that the Kiev Conservatoire had been evacuated to Sverdlovsk. The teachers recognized me and treated me well. I rented a part of a room. We studied in the premises of the Sverdlovsk Conservatoire. It was a wonderful building downtown, on Lenin Street. We had a life full of music. Famous pianists, actors, singers and musicians came there. We, students, performed in hospitals. We had to smile there. We were looking at those wounded soldiers wrapped in bandages, our souls cried out, but we had to sing and smile to them. Especially if we met somebody from Ukraine, we became like relatives to one another and tried to do whatever that other person desired from you. The military who formed tank divisions in Sverdlovsk came together in the Officers’ House. We performed a concert to them as well. And the next morning, we went to see them off, and when we were at the train station; it was very cold and frosty and we should not have sung, but we sang anyway. There were different people, including the Jews. But there was no anti-Semitism. And many Jewish boys were killed. When Kiev was liberated we had classes. We heard on the radio that Kiev was liberated. Both students and teachers hugged and kissed each other, jumping high. It was such a joy that I can’t even describe it. We were taken to Kiev. We were all happy. We went to see around the city. Kreschatik was in ruins. The captured Germans were clearing out the ruins. Some people got so mad at them that they spat at them right in the street. Kreschatik had been such a beautiful street, and they made it lie in ruins!
I kept up a correspondence with my husband. Every time I entered the conservatoire, a letter from him expected me. He continued to serve in the Far East.
When the Conservatoire returned to Kiev I was living in a dormitory. There were no windows after the war; all windows were blocked with boards. It was very cold; we had to play piano in gloves. We died from cold and hunger. There was also a band of gangsters at the time called “Black Cat”. They killed and robbed everyone. After every murder or robbing they left a sigh – a black cat. They came to us as well, but then saw that they could not take anything from us, students, and left. They did not each touch us. We shook from fear and cold. My friend Sofa and I slept together in one bed and covered ourselves with our two coats over the blanket. When we had to practice singing we went to the Conservatoire because they had some heating there. It was a horrible time.
My husband and I met in Moscow, accidentally. I was going to my parents to spend vacation there (my father remained to work in the Urals) from Kiev. I had to punch a ticket. I came to the student cashier, and saw him standing there. Moscow is so big, and we bumped into each other four and a half years after seeing each other for the last time. He was given a leave and he was going to find me. First we did not recognize each other. We had not had too much time together. He was smoking a cigarette and when he recognized me he dropped it. “Mirochka?” he asked. I said, “Yes”. He said, “We will never part again”. So, we went to my parents together. But first we spent two wonderful days in Moscow. It was 1945 – the war ended!
Can you imagine the joy my parents had when they saw us together? They liked him very much, because he was very cheerful, full of charm and kind. But I could not go to his base with him again. I was waiting for a special visa and then I went to him. At that time I was already pregnant with Lora when he left. But my pregnancy was not visible yet. In Vladivostok I even sang in a philharmonic society. Fima worked as the chief constructor at a shipbuilding works with huge naval ships. He was very talented. And his bosses characterized him in an excellent way. In our flat we had nothing, only an iron bed just like in dormitories, a small bedside table and a box in which I brought my belongings, which we used as a chair. But we had such a wonderful time together that we did not notice how empty it was in the flat. His friends and colleagues came over and we were happy to be alive, to see one another. We did not need anything else! I went to sing and Fima went to try his underwater mines. There was a custom that when sailors go into the sea they had to throw something away in order to get back safely. I did not know it before. Once, Fima came back with only one glove. I asked, “Where is another one?” He answered, “See, I am alive, my trials went well – I had to throw something away”. Another time he threw away his slipper.
I went to Molotov, to my parents when it was due time for me to deliver a child. My father occupied a very high office – deputy director of the main department of camps of prisoners (GULAG) in Molotov region. My husband accompanied me. Our tickets cost very much, so we were advised to “justify the means”. It meant that we had to do some commercial operation. But Fima and I were such bad “businessmen” that we lost rather than benefited from it. We bought a small barrel and fish to smear it; but there probably was a hole in the barrel because the fish got stinky and we were happy to get rid of it.

After the war

My parents had a big flat downtown. They welcomed me nicely. My older daughter, Lora, was born in 1946. The first delivery is always hard. But my beauty was born! She cried a lot. My parents would rock her all night long, but she was crying and crying.

In Vladivostok my husband submitted requests to be transferred to reserve, and finally he was allowed to. He had a choice: to live in Port-Arthur, Dantzig, Keningsberg, or Kiev. He certainly chose Kiev. We moved here and he was given a wok at a shipbuilding plant. This plant was located in Podol, near Dnepr. It used to be named after Stalin. Fima restored the diesel workshop of that plant. He stayed there day and night. I brought him meals there because he had no time to go home and eat, even though we lived nearby. I went back to the Conservatoire. There was no transportation, so I had to walk up the Voznesensky street from Podol. Lora was still young and I nursed her.
The flat of Fima’s parents had burned down. We lived in the dormitory of the plant. It was a big house; 12 neighbors had one kitchen. They treated me nicely because I had a baby. First we were given one room, then two. Before Stalin’s death all Jews were fired form such organizations as GULAG. My father retired on pension, then in 1949, my parents moved from Molotov to live with us. We had different neighbors. One was anti-Semite. When my father died and she saw all his awards she said, “Those kikes bought medals with money”.  Certainly this was not truth and all this understood. But general mood was against Jews and we  could not do nothing, therefore that protect us was certain, but live was necessary. Then my husband received a separate flat in Obolonskaya Street, in Podol. In 1951 my second daughter Nata was born.
The family was large: Fima’s mother, my parents, my husband and I and two children – seven people. Praise God, we had no quarrels. Fima’s mother could not see well. My mother would sit and read out loud and she would listen. They became very good friends. Then my father got very ill. He had three heart attacks and also he had stenocardia, so he could not breathe well. He smoked a lot and was very nervous and he died in 1954. He was buried with honors. He was on the list of honored Communists. He did not spend a lot of time in Kiev; here he spent time chiefly in the hospitals. He died at the age of 62 in 1954. In 1962 my mother died at the age of 67.
I did not work. My husband had a lot of important work. So, I did not sing. We had a very friendly family. Fima loved me very much. He said if he had another life he would have married me anyway.
I speak Yiddish but I cannot read it or write in it. My girls understood Yiddish because their grandmother, Fima’s mother, often spoke to me in Yiddish. When we had to conceal something from our kids my husband and I also spoke Yiddish. We cooked Jewish meals; stuffed fish, hen with prune, salad with cheese and garlic, bean with onion, we make motzebrai from matzos, stuffed fish, and Jewish roast meat, and others at home and bought matzos in the synagogue every year. We keep post in Yom Kippur and celebrated other holidays. Light candles at Saturdays, in Pesakh, go to synagogue and do not eat bread, only matzos. I considered grandmother’s age, and when she returned from synagogue I always knew what to cook for her. I tried to please her all the time and she was pleased. She could not see well, she had three eye surgeries. I treated her in such a way that some of our neighbors thought she was my mother. I still like Jewish dishes.
We certainly felt anti-Semitism, especially Fima. His boss was an illiterate Ukrainian man, who could only sign all the technical documents that Fima made. Fima never was a chief because he was a Jew. When he went to Czechoslovakia, we were all surprised that he was allowed to go outside this country.
First Lora and then Nata followed their father’s steps – they graduated from the shipbuilding Institute, economic department.
Lora got married at an early age. Her son Yura was born. In order to help my daughter we took full care of our grandson. Today Yura is 34 years old. He is a very good boy. He is a businessman. Lora’s family life failed – she divorced. Then she got married again and gave birth to a daughter – Sveta. Today, Sveta is 18 years old. She lives in Jerusalem, Israel. She is already married. Nata moved to live abroad. Many young people were moving and she also decided to go to America. At those times it was considered treachery. She concealed from us the fact that she decided to leave. It happened in 1979, and Nata was afraid that her father would not let her go. Fima was a Communist Party member and occupied a high office. She and her husband took English classes in secret, while Lora and I babysat her child, Gena, at home. He was less than two years old then.
I learned about her plans accidentally when they were on the go. I had to prepare Fima to give them permission. He loved her very much, as well as his grandson. He told me, “My God, I will never see her again! But if she wants to go, I can’t hinder her, let them go”. He was ill at that time – he had a bad case of adenoma. So, he gave Nata permission. Soon after that he was summoned to the district committee of the Communist Party and was ordered to return his party ticket. He threw his ticket into their faces. What else could he do? He cried as a child. He could not even see them off because he was ill. But in his heart he felt that he would never see her again. Later we got a postcard from Italy: “How wonderful that I was born Jewish! I could finally see the beauty of the world!» 
Fima got into hospital. I spent 4.5 months there with him. Lora and I raised him up. He lived ten more years. He retired and got very interested in drawing. Our whole flat was full of his pictures. He also played chess very well. He missed Nata very much. Fima died in 1990. He wanted to go see our daughter in America; he was even willing to cover his travel expenses, but Nata’s husband, Mark Ostrovsky, did not want to send him invitation, beside us never come in well relations. Nata loved him and did everything he said. But when Fima died she sent me an invitation. I went to see her. I had not seen her and her child for 14 years! But I did not stay there for a long time; I was drawn home. They would go to work and I would stay home all day long, with their dog. I could not talk to anyone; even their dog did not understand Russian. Nata’s son is graduating from college this year. In summer they are planning to come and see us. She wants to show him where he was born, his motherland.

Lora is working in “Khesed”, which is a Jewish charity organization. She works as a curator. She takes care of the elderly Jews. I am very proud of her and very pleased with what she is doing. She brings me Jewish press to read, and I read all papers and magazines. I always look forward to novelties. I am very interested in them. I watch closely all developments in Israel. Unfortunately, I’ve never been there: first I was not allowed, then I could not afford myself. I am a great patriot. If I were younger, I would go there, but unfortunately my years have passed. Day by day is passing. I’m scared to go there now. But I had such plans when I was younger, to be honest. But now I just need to live the rest of my life – I am 81 years old already.
 

Arkadi Milgrom
Kherson
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: October 2003

Arkadi Milgrom came to my hotel room for an interview. He apologized for not being able to invite me to his home since he was in the process of repairing it. Arkadi is not tall, but a stately man in good shape looking young for his age with thick gray hair and sad, even doleful face. Arkadi told me an interesting story about his town. He said he wanted to tell the story of his family to leave the memory of them. Arkadi took me to Hesed and to the synagogue. Local Jews temporarily rent a building for their synagogue while the old synagogue that was returned to the community is under repairs. One can tell that Arkadi is proud to tell about the accomplishments of the Jewish community of Kherson. He is preparing for Yom Kippur. He says he and his wife have fasted and celebrated all Jewish holidays for a few years.

My ancestors came from Krasilov, a small town that before the revolution of 1917 [1] belonged to Volyn province in 430 km from Kiev. In my childhood the population of the town accounted to 7 thousand people and Jews constituted about 40%. During the Soviet rule the town gained a status of district center of Kamenets-Podolskiy region, and now it belongs to Khmelnitsk region. The nearest district town was Proskurov [present regional town Khmelnitskiy in about 400 km from Kiev]. The road to Proskurov crossed Krasilov and another road connected Krasilov with Starokonstantinov town. There was a relatively big square in the center of the town where there was a market twice a week. Local Jewish families lived in the central part of the town. There were shops and stores also owned by Jews on one side of the square. There were grocery stores, baker and butcher stores, a glass and woodwork shops, garment shops, soap works and a forge. There were cabs taking people to the railway station and back to the center, saddle makers, carpenters and tinsmiths. In general, the town had all necessary facilities and provided its products to neighboring villages. There were also long one-storied buildings that served as inns near the center. Some of them were for visiting villagers: they rode their wagons under a tent. These shops and inns operated until the late 1920s when NEP [2] was liquidated. There was local intelligentsia in the town: Polish doctors Velikanets and Skhish and Mankovski, Polish owner of a sugar refinery. He had Polish and Ukrainian workers at his refinery. After property expropriation [3] Jewish owners, who had to give their shops to the state also had to go to work at this refinery.

There were two synagogues in the central square of Krasilov. Local Jews mainly visited a big beautiful synagogue with a splendid prayer hall ornamented with stucco molding and richly ornamented balcony and gallery on big holidays. They came to another synagogue, also two-storied, but not so richly ornamented to pray on weekdays. There was a Beit Midrash nearby, a mikvah and sheds. In the early 1930s, when Soviet authorities were destroying all religious institutions [4] the bigger synagogue was removed and the smaller synagogue and its auxiliary facilities were used to grain and vegetable storage. There was a stand for town leadership made in the center of the square to watch parades during Soviet holidays.

My father’s family lived in house in the center of the town. A part of the house was an inn. My paternal grandfather Iosif Milgrom (‘milgroim’ is ‘pomegranate’ in Yiddish), was born in 1868. I don’t know for sure where he was born: either in Krasilov or in the nearby village of Kulchiny. I don’t know anything about his parents either. My grandfather had few brothers and sisters, but I only knew his sister Rachil. She was one or two years younger than my grandfather. Rachil’s family – her husband Isaac Goldenderg, their son Pinia and their married daughters Yenta and Sosia and their children – lived nearby. They visited us on holidays and always brought gifts with them. I used to play with Rachil’s grandchildren whose name I don’t remember, regretfully. They all perished on the first days of occupation during the Great Patriotic War [5] in 1941. They were shot along with other Jews of Krasilov. Only Yenta’s husband survived. I don’t remember his first name. His surname was Portin. Before the Great Patriotic War he was director of a restaurant. In 1937 he was arrested [6] like many others. I don’t know what were the charges against him, but he was sentenced to 10 years in a penitentiary camp. It’s hard to say whether it was fair or not, but Portin survived thanks to this sentence. When he returned to Krasilov after the war, there were none of his family left there. I don’t know what happened to him them. They said he got married and moved to Israel in the 1970s.

My grandfather Iosif was a tall stately young man whom his neighbors called ‘Yos’ka the redhead’ for his red hair, a rare color among Jews. His hair had a light brown and goldish tint. He received a traditional Jewish education in cheder. Iosif was an apprentice of a blacksmith and when his training was over he worked some time. Later he became a grain wholesale dealer and made his living from wheat and barley sales. After he got married and had children he turned his house into an inn for local farmers and merchants. There were rooms and a kitchen in the living quarters and in another half of the house there were visitors with their wagons, horses and loads. Visitors had meals that my grandfather’s beloved wife and my grandmother made.

Leya Milgrom, nee Gleizer, was born to the Jewish family of tailor Nukhim Gleizer in Krasilov in 1876. I only knew my grandmother’s older brother Iosif Gleizer of my grandmother’s family. Iosif was born in the 1860s. He lived with his wife Tsupa and their children in Krasilov. Iosif and Tsupa had ten children: Yan, Moishe, Shoil. Shmil, Yona, Tula, Tuba, Sarra and Rieva. Moishe moved to USA in the early 1900s. All other children lived in Kiev. After Iosif died in the middle of the 1930s Tsupa also moved to Kiev. During the Great Patriotic War Tsupa was in evacuation somewhere in the Ural. She died in Kiev after the war. Yona is the only living Iosif’s child. He lives in Israel and occasionally sends me holiday greetings. Iosif’s grandchildren live all over the world. I have no contacts with them.

My grandmother and grandfather were deeply religious. My grandfather had a big beard and always wore a kippah or a big black hat to go out. He prayed every morning with his tallit and tefillin on and went to the synagogue. My grandmother Leya wore a wig during the day and before going to bed she put on a lace nightcap. My grandmother had an imperious character and her daughters-in-law called her ‘Catherine the Second’ [7], a Russian Empress with an imperious character. My grandmother was actually the head of the family even when her children grew up and had their own families. The family celebrated Jewish holidays and Sabbath. My grandmother always followed kashrut strictly, even though she cooked for their visitors with Ukrainians among them.

My grandmother and grandfather had four children: one daughter and three sons. The oldest daughter Golda, born in 1895, had no education. She could only speak Yiddish and never learned to speak Russian properly. She was a very kind woman and her husband and children called her like Sholom Aleichem [8] ‘Golda the Heart’. Golda married Aba Shil’man, a Jewish man. He also made his living as a dealer purchasing minor lots of goods in Proskurov selling them to local traders. Aba was a successful dealer and provided well for his family. During liquidation of NEP Aba was exiled to mines as a bourgeois and anti-Soviet element. He worked as a worker in a mine in Krivoy Rog [600 km from Krasilov] a few years before he moved to his brother in Baku [3000 km from home, today Azerbaijan]. Aunt Golda, her daughter Tania and son Boris also moved to Baku in the middle of the 1930s. Boris perished during the Great Patriotic War. Aba died in 1948 and aunt Golda lived with her daughter in Baku until 1985 when she turned 90 years.

My father was the next child and then came his brother Moishe, born in 1901. During the Civil War [9] Moishe moved to Poland. He lived in Opole Lublin district. My father happened to visit Lvov in the 1930s. He met with Moishe and was photographed with him. This is the only memorable we have from my father’s brother Moishe. This is all information I have about him.

My father’s brother Berl, born in 1904, was the youngest in the family. Before the revolution of 1917 Berl was a Zionist and follower of Jabotinsky [10], and after the revolution he became a Komsomol [11] leader of Krasilov. Berl didn’t have any education either. He was an apprentice of a blacksmith who rented a shed for a forge from grandfather Iosif and then he worked as his assistant until the forge was closed during liquidation of NEP. Then Berl became a supply dealer for the sugar refinery. When the Great Patriotic War began, he and his family – his wife Malka and their children, Nukhim, born in 1934, Emil, born in 1937, and daughter Etah, born in 1939, evacuated to Kazakhstan. From there Berl went to the front and aunt Malka gave birth to their son Leizer in 1942. Berl perished at the front and aunt Malka and their four children returned to Krasilov in 1945. Then she moved to Baku where her aunt Golda and her family lived. Malka lived there to the end of her life. She died in the late 1960s. Malka’s sons Nukhim and Emil finished a Navy School and became sailors. They lived in Baku. Leizer also lives there and Etah who took her husband’s surname of Kreinina moved to Israel with her family in the late 1970s. We have no contacts with them.

My father Itsyk Milgrom was born in 1898. He inherited grandfather Iosif’s color of hair and now he was called ‘redhead’ Itsyk. He was short, shortsighted and wore glasses since childhood. Although my father studied in cheder, he wasn’t religious, but he observed traditions showing respect to the older. He even occasionally went to the synagogue with grandfather. My father could read and write in Yiddish and Ukrainian, but he didn’t have a real education. At about 13 he became an apprentice of painter Skarupski who didn’t have children and he taught my father the smallest details of his craft. If it hadn’t been for the revolution and Civil war my father would have become a skilled master of his craft. Until the middle 1920s my father worked with Skarupski. My father married my mother in 1919. Their marriage was prearranged by matchmakers which was customary with Jewish families, though my parents knew each other since childhood.

I know very little about my mother’s father Avraam Sirota. He died before I was born. He was born in Krasilov in the 1860s and died from a disease in 1919. From what I heard Avraam was a forester when he was young. He lived in a house in the woods. Later he and his family – my mother’s mother Sima and their children, moved to Krasilov where he bought a small two-bedroom apartment in a private house. I remember this apartment. My grandmother Sima lived in this apartment until she died in 1935. It was a wooden house whitewashed on the outside. There were wooden floors in the living room and ground floors in a smaller room and the kitchen. My grandfather bought this apartment from the Garber family who lived in the second part of this house. My grandmother Sima, born in the 1870s, was a short fat black haired woman. Both grandfather Avraam and grandmother Sima were religious like all other Jews of the town. Grandmother always put on her wig before going out and at home she wore a dark kerchief. I have no information about grandfather or grandmother’s relatives. All I know is that grandmother Sima was an orphan. She had no brothers or sisters. My grandmother prayed every day and went to the synagogue on Saturday and holidays. She lit candles on Sabbath and recited a prayer.

My mother’s older sister Yenta, born in 1895, lived in Mikhailovtsy, about 15 km from Krasilov, before she got married. Her husband Moishe-Yankel Shoichet, a tall stately black-haired man was a good match for her. She was strong and had black hair. They worked in the field and on the farm. They kept cows, pigs and poultry and were quite wealthy working hard for their wealth. Even during famine in 1933 [12] Moishe Yankel sold flour in Krasilov and managed to support our family and grandmother. After grandmother Sima died they moved to her house in Krasilov. Yenta and Moishe-Yankel perished during fascist occupation in 1941. Yenta and Moishe-Yankel had five children: Zoya, their oldest daughter, married a rich Jew from Baku. Her husband was jealous and beat her and uncle Moishe took his daughter back home from Baku. About two months before the Great Patriotic War she married Itsyk Shpiegel, a local Jew. He perished at the front in 1943. Zoya stayed in occupation with her parents and perished. The youngest Usher, born in 1927, perished with her. Yenta also had sons Shloime, Iosif and Itsyk. Itsyk was an electrician. He died in an accident at work when he was killed by electric current. Shloime went to the army before the Great Patriotic War, then he went to the front where he was wounded. Then he returned to his Byelorussian wife and they lived in Byelorussia [today Belarus]. I don’t remember his wife’s name. Shloime died in the 1960s. He didn’t have children. Iosif, born in 1923, was the most talented in the family. He was an excellent mathematician and chess player. In 1940 he entered Odessa University. During the war Iosif went to the front. He didn’t continue his studies after the war. Iosif married Anna, a Jewish girl, and they moved to Tashkent. They had three children: Mikhail, Roman and Yeva. Their two sons drowned in the local river. In 1991 Iosif, his wife, their daughter and her family moved to Israel. They live in Beer Shevah. Iosif occasionally sends us holiday greetings.

My mother’s brother David, born in 1897, went to USA by boat during the Civil War. He married Rosa, a Jewish woman. David and Rosa owned a shop of bed sheets and lingerie. They had a good life, but they didn’t have children. During famine in Ukraine my uncle sent grandmother money and she could buy food in Torgsin [13]. After the war David found me and supported me many years. David died in 1970 and his wife lived two years longer.

My mother Etah was the youngest in the family. She was black-haired and swarthy in contrast to her father. She was born in 1898. My mother finished two or three years in a Jewish school. She learned to read and write. When she was about 12, a ‘Singer’ dealer convinced my grandfather and grandmother to buy a sewing machine and train my mother in sewing. The family was very poor and they paid installments for a Singer sewing machine for about 15 years, but my mother learned a good craft and became one of the best seamstresses in Krasilov. My parents got married in 1919. They never told me about their wedding, but since they came from religious families I think that they had a traditional Jewish wedding. Shortly after their wedding my mother’s father Avraam died in 1919. My parents settled down in my father’s big house and my mother became the first daughter-in-law in this house.

In 1920 my sister Dvoira was born. Later she adopted the name of Dora. On 20 July 1924 I was born. I was named Avraam after my grandfather, but in 1972, at the height of the state Anti-Semitism I changed it to Arkadi [14], that sounded alike to make the life of my son and me easier. We lived in grandfather Iosif’s house. There were four families living in this big house and four adult women: grandmother Leya, my father’s sister Golda, my mother and later – my father brother Berl’s wife Malka. All of them obeyed grandmother Leya who watched that there were no arguments and misunderstandings between the housewives. Every family had a cow. Cows were kept in a shed that served as an inn in the past and later was leased for a forge. I remember a huge pit excavated in the yard to dump sugar beetroot wastes and compact them to make food for cows. It was a lot of fun for the children. There were hay stocks in the attic for winter. On weekdays each housewife cooked for her family. On Friday they got together to cook for Sabbath: gefilte fish, jellied meat and bread. After grandfather came from the synagogue the family sat down to dinner. My grandmother lit candles and grandfather recited prayers. My father took part in the celebration of Sabbath out of respect for my grandfather. He couldn’t observe traditions properly since he had to go to work at the sugar refinery and, besides, he wasn’t a true believer. Uncle Berl was an atheist and a Komsomol member and in the middle 1930s he joined the Communist Party. However, all Jewish holidays were celebrated in the house.

Pesach was the main holiday. Fancy kosher crockery was taken down from the attic. Before Pesach the family whitewashed the walls and stove, polished the floors rubbing them with kerosene, replaced curtains and prepared starched tablecloths. My grandmother joked that we had to prepare for Pesach as thoroughly as for 1 May. My grandfather conducted seder, of course. He reclined on a beautiful velvet cushion and asked questions and I replied being the youngest in the family. Later I passed this honorable mission to uncle Berl’s son Nukhim. My favorite holidays were Sukkoth and Simchat Torah. There was a tent used for wagon parking on ordinary days, but on Sukkoth we removed the roof tiles and replaced them with reed and straw and installed three missing walls. This made our sukkah. We had meals there a whole week and grandfather told me and his younger grandchildren about the holiday. On Simchat Torah I danced around the synagogue with other children. We had an apple on a stick and a burning candle on top of it in our hands.

We were rather poor. What my father was earning was not enough and my mother had to go to work. She sewed at night drawing curtains tight on the windows fearing financial inspectors [state officer responsible for identification of illegal businesses]. My mother put her sewing machine onto a blanket to reduce the sound of it: she was afraid that somebody might hear and report on her. In 1932 a sewing shop was organized in Krasilov and all seamstresses were forced to go to work there. My mother had no other option, but joining this shop and taking her sewing machine there. A few years later, when the shop split they gave my mother back an old shabby sewing machine – instead of hers.

My sister studied in a 7-year Jewish school. There were five schools in Krasilov: one Jewish primary school, three 7-year schools: one Jewish, one Polish and one Ukrainian and a Ukrainian 10-year school. My friends were one year older than I. On 1 September 1930 they went to the first grade and I joined them. I liked the primary school teacher Mirra Hovar, a tall, stately, nicely dressed lady with her hair neatly done. She took her new schoolchildren to their classroom, but she sent me away saying that I was too young to go to school yet. I ran to my mother’s shop and begged my mother to help me go to school. My mother managed to convince the teacher and she let me stay in class few days. I stayed in the classroom two days and then didn’t want to go to school again. It was hard to stay quiet for long and I felt like going to play with my friends. In 1931, a year later, I went to the first grade of this Jewish primary school and I enjoyed going to school.

I remember famine in 1932-33. My father occasionally received rationed food at work. My mother, my sister and I went to gather spikelets in the field. My mother went after work and my sister and I – after school. On weekends we gathered them from morning till night. My mother received 300 grams of bread and one herring for what we gathered. My mother sister Yenta’s husband Moishe-Yankel supported us bringing food from the village. My father’s brother David sent my grandmother some money a few times and she bought food at the Torgsin store, so we didn’t starve, but we always felt hungry. My mother also shared food with those whose situation was even more miserable than ours. We always had music the teacher Aron, Arn Kleizmer he was called in the town, having dinner with us. Aron taught my sister to play the violin for a meal. When the period of famine was over, he continued teaching her for free. She didn’t want to study music and was always hiding from the old teacher. As for me, how I dreamt of playing the balalaika! There was a folk orchestra in our school and I kept nagging at home: ‘I want a balalaika, buy me a balalaika’. A balalaika cost 3 rubles, but it was too much for our family to spend 3 rubles. I kept asking for a balalaika for three years until my father bought it and I joined our folk orchestra. However, I was no good at hearing the tunes and soon I was expelled from the orchestra and after that I put away my balalaika.

Shortly after the period of famine militia units began to walk people’s home demanding money and gold and arresting them. Aba Shilman, aunt Golda’s husband, was the first one in our house who was arrested. He was kept in a militia cell for seven weeks (there was no prison in Krasilov). Every day he was called to interrogations where they demanded gold. There were criminals in Aba’s cell who were taunting him. So he gave up and agreed to give away the only golden piece in his home: a thin golden chain that he had bought to give to his daughter Tania on her 18th birthday. A local Ukrainian militiaman convoyed Aba home and Aba told aunt Golda to give him the chain. The militiaman took the chain, came up to Tania and put it on her neck. Perhaps, he felt ashamed that they kept a man under arrest for seven weeks for such a thin little chain. Shortly afterward Aba was sent to mines. Then grandfather Iosif was arrested. He was kept in the same cell in the militia office. It was summer and the window in the cell was kept open. I was a thin boy and it was no problem for me to get through the bars into the cells. One evening I brought my grandfather some food. We were sitting and talking there and the guard must have heard our conversation. He came to the window and when I got out of the cell I fell right into his hands. I started kicking and screaming and the militiaman let go of me. They released my grandfather about two weeks later since he didn’t have any gold. One evening two Jewish militiamen Duvtsik Tseinis and Berl Fishberg came for my grandmother. They told grandmother to get dressed and didn’t even give her time to lace her shoes. They took her to the cell across the autumn mud. They often arrested women then hoping that their husbands would bring gold for them. My grandmother was kept in this cell just one day, but later she often cried recalling this. They didn’t arrest my father knowing that he was a worker and earned his living working hard for it. In 1935 my father working in the crew of Nikolay Kobetski, a Polish man, took an obligation with his crew to operate three equipment units instead of one. They became best performers and all crewmembers received bonuses. Since Nikolay was their crew leader the plant built him a nice new house. However, before two years passed all Polish employees were arrested in 1937. Authorities declared them Polish spies. Nikolay was also arrested. Nobody ever saw him or any of those who were arrested again. Sometimes they even had to suspend work at the plant since there were not enough employees. My father didn’t sleep at night fearing that they would come for him, but, fortunately, our family didn’t suffer the repression of the 1930s.

In 1935 my grandmother Sima died. We, children, didn’t go to the funeral. Our parents sent us to our neighbors, but I know that my grandmother was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions. Old Jews prayed at her funeral and Jewish women cried for her sitting on the floor. By that time the synagogues had been destroyed [Struggle against religion], but grandfather continued paying. Jews got together for a minyan in one of nearby houses. In 1937, when I turned 13, I had bar mitzvah. Of course, this was done in secret, but my grandfather taught me all details: how to handle tefillin and pray. I was a pioneer already and if somebody got to know about it at my father’s work or at school it would have caused a problem. I went to pioneer meetings and liked Soviet holidays 1 May and October revolution days [15]. Local Soviet and party officials stood on the stand in the central square during parades. I liked this as well and it was in no conflict with the Jewish ritual of coming of age. Soviet holidays were days off and we had a festive dinner and enjoyed our free time.

My sister Dora finished a 10-year school in 1936, then she finished a teachers’ school and worked as a primary school teacher in Pechisk village near Starokonstantinov. In 1939 I finished a 7-year school and went to the higher secondary school. Graduates of all lower secondary schools of the town came to complete their secondary education here in this school and there were four 8-grade classes, four 9-grade and four 10-grade. There were Jewish, Ukrainian and Polish schoolchildren. We got along very well and spoke actually three languages: Yiddish, Polish and Ukrainian, easily switching from one language to another. We played football at the school stadium after classes, went fishing and swimming in the lake in summer. I liked mathematic and physics. I also liked geography. I read a lot about other countries and travels and dreamed of going to Odessa Navy College. I also wanted to become an artillerist if I had to serve in the army. In the late 1930s there were talks about Hitler and the war in Western Europe, but it seemed too distant to us. Of course, we didn’t know anything about German abhorrence of Jews. There was a feeling of the war, but nobody believed that Hitler could dare to attack the USSR. We believed that our country was powerful and unconquerable. Fathers of many children were recruited to the army: to the Finnish campaign [16], or just some military training. They didn’t call my father since he overstrained his back severely at work and was almost an invalid. He quit work by 1940. In late 1940 my grandmother Leya died. When the war began grandfather Iosif was a widower.

We heard about the war that began on 22 June 1941 from Molotov [17] speech on the radio. There was a single radio in the central square and at 12 o'clock the whole town gathered there. On that same day we, senior schoolchildren had a meeting at school. Commissar of the aviation regiment of Krasilov said a patriotic ardent speech. He said that each person had to help the front as much as he could. We went to the regiment to stuff cartridge belts for automatic guns in planes. Cartridges were stored in huge barrels in the middle of a field. We took them out, cleaned with kerosene and stuffed cartridge belts. We did it for about five days. When German troops came nearer the aviation unit moved farther to the rear and we were sent to excavate an anti-tank trench on the bank of the lake. We were standing almost waist deep in water and mud digging a trench about 6 meters wide and one meter deep. My sister Dora was with me. She came home on vacation. When fascists were near we were dismissed. They said there was a freight train at the station and we had to try to move away. Young recruits-to-be were taken to the east of Ukraine to make a reserve for the army. Our military commander ordered us to move away. He said our Motherland would be in need of us in the future.

We ran home to convince our families to leave. Grandfather said he wasn’t leaving. He remembered Germans of the time of WWI [18], he didn’t think they could harm Jews. My mother didn’t want to leave my father who was almost bedridden having unbearable pain in his back. My mother told us to go to Kiev and come back home about two weeks later when everything was over. We took a small bag with a change of underwear, soap and toothbrushes. At the last moment before leaving home I packed a few family photographs – for the memory. My grandfather gave me a huge amount of money for the time – 30 rubles. We ran to the station and actually stormed into a train. 15-20 residents of Krasilov managed to get into a carriage. Those were young men and few women with small children. The train departed. It headed to Dnepropetrovsk. This was on 2 July 1941, 10 days after the Great Patriotic War began. There were many refugees from Western Ukraine in the train. They told us about brutalities of Germans against Jews, although there was no mass massacre at the beginning of the war. One woman gave us a thin blanket and my sister and I slept at night under it. Our trip lasted for about 20 days. We got meals on the way. We arrived at Filonovo station in Stalingrad region in 1500 km from home. We stayed in the railway station building for a few days. Then kolkhoz representatives came to the station looking for workforce. About 12 of us – few from Krasilov, a brother and sister from Zhitomir and a woman with a 20-year-old daughter – went with one of them. We came to Kamenka farm Kruglov district Stalingrad region. This was a distant and backward place. People were very poor and even chairman of the kolkhoz Soloviov wore patched pants. They never saw a plane or a train. They were cossacks [19], Russians and Ukrainians. They had never seen ‘zhydy’ [kikes]. When we arrived all residents gathered to look at us thinking that we were one-eyed or had horns. However, we had a warm reception. We were accommodated in a vacant and empty recently built house. We slept in one room: women in one corner and boys in another. We worked in the kolkhoz [20]. I had a hard and unusual work to do taming young bulls. I worked with Abram Sher from Krasilov. We had to catch young bulls in the steppe and to catch one we had to run about 10 km over feather grass in the steppe. Then we harnessed bulls in the yoke making them pull heavy loads. We were well paid for this work. A month later Abram and other guys of 1923 year of birth were recruited to the army. We lived there until October 1941. When fascists came nearer chairman of the kolkhoz told us to leave if we wanted to save our life. Some time before I wrote aunt Golda in Baku telling her where we were. Aunt Golda replied telling us to come to Baku. In the district town my sister obtained a certificate confirming that she was working in a kolkhoz, but they didn’t include me in this certificate.

The kolkhoz gave us bread and a bag of dried bread to go and I staffed my shirt with tobacco leaves. We were taken to the station and from there we went to Stalingrad [Volgograd at present, today Russia]. From there we went to Astrakhan where we stayed at the railway station 10 days waiting for a boat. It was good that we had tobacco with us. I smoked since the age of ten, but we also exchanged tobacco leaves for food. My sister had accommodation in the room for women with children and I slept curling up by the door. Once a high-ranked NKVD [21] officer woke me up. I tried to run away, but he after asking me who I was and where I came from, he treated me to tea and cookies and told me to not be afraid of anybody there. About ten days later we took a boat to Makhachkala. We met few people from Krasilov there. My sister friend Gitl Fishel’s husband worked in the port. They took us to their home. Their apartment was packed with evacuated people. We stayed about ten days on the staircase near their apartment. Looking back into the past I am astonished at how lucky my sister and I got. Once we bumped into a militiaman with a gun in Makhachkala convoying an arrestant. My sister recognized her classmate from Krasilov in him. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten his name. He was evacuated to Makhachkala with a militia office from Krasilov. He helped us obtain bread coupons and made arrangements for us to have free meals in a diner. He also got train tickets for us. It was required to have a permit to leave Makhachkala for Baku. We took a train and reached the Khachmaz station [today Azerbaijan] where there was a raid all of a sudden. Frontier men ordered all passengers without a permit to gather on the platforms. There was a fee to be paid to come onto the platform and platforms were fenced. I helped my sister to climb over the fence and then I climbed over it and we jumped off on the other side of the fence escaping from the raid. It was 9 o’clock in the evening. It was dark and cold. This was November. My sister had a vest on and I was wearing a jacket. We had no clothes with us. My sister began crying and I tried to console her. We went to the town. Khachmaz was like an orchid. There were fruit trees growing in the streets. We went to an open air cinema where we enjoyed watching the prewar comedy ‘Ivan Ivanovich is angry’. After the movie we spent the night on a bench in the park. In the morning I left my sister and went to town looking for a place to stay. I saw a nice woman of oriental appearance at the market. She was selling apples. I asked her whether she could help me to find a place where we could stay. We went from one house to another, but there was nothing for us and this woman took my sister and me to her house, though she didn’t know who we were. I am still grateful that she accommodated us, total strangers, and treated us like her own family. I only don’t remember her name. We were accommodated on a glass windowed verandah. The hostess, her husband and their five or seven children were in the house. We didn’t go out fearing another raid. Once, when there was nobody at home I saw a little boy dragging a book with Hebrew writing in it. I picked the book. It was Talmud. So I discovered that we were in the family of mountain Jews. Our host and hostess were very happy to hear that we were Jews. They didn’t want to let us go, but we were eager to go to Baku. Then they found my aunt and a few days later she came to visit us and there was a military man accompanying her. My aunt gave us and our landlords some money. She couldn’t take us with her since we didn’t have a permit. The hostess’ husband came to our rescue. He was a smuggler. He crossed the mountains to Iran to purchase some goods there. He knew all paths and roads well. He described us the way we should take in detail. We had to reach a certain station, say a password at a baker’s shop and they were to take us across the mountains. It was as he said. A few days some taciturn people lead us across the mountains and then put us on a train to Baku. We finally reached Baku. We headed to Mirzofatali Street where our aunt lived. I almost got in a raid on the way, but I saw the militiamen on time and hid behind some box-tree bushes in a garden. When we finally came to my aunt she was overwhelmed with joy.

A few days later my sister went to work at a military plant where aunt Golda’s daughter Tania and her husband Misha worked. My sister worked in a forge shop. She was a blacksmith assistant. She had to start a mechanical hammer. Tania’s friend introduced me to chief of a special artillery school in Yerevan [today Armenia]. He was visiting an Armenian family in Baku. He looked at my school record book for 9 grades and took me to Yerevan with him. So I came to special school #17. There was military discipline at school and we wore military uniforms. We studied school subjects and artillery. I finished this school with all excellent marks in September 1943. Then I was sent to the artillery school in Tbilisi [today Georgia] where I took military oath. I can say that the dream of my youth came true: I became an artillery man. I was aware of brutalities of Germans on the territories they occupied. Aunt Golda received letters from her acquaintances and neighbors from Krasilov who described the situation, but they didn’t mentioned anything about our family. When in early 1944 Krasilov was liberated, I wrote the town authorities requesting them to write me about my family. This letter reached Motia Kucheruk who was my classmate. She worked as secretary of the local executive committee. Motia wrote me a detailed letter about how my family perished and sent me a certificate. My parents and other Jews from Krasilov were shot in Manivtsy village 18 kilometers from Krasilov. Grandfather Iosif, who refused to go to the shooting spot was killed on the way there. So I became aware that my sister and I were orphans.

The term of studies in my school was 6 months, but it was continually extended in relation to victories of the Soviet army. We started training for service in the army at the time of peace, but we managed also to participate in combat action. Before finishing my school I submitted my documents to join the Communist Party. We were patriots and wanted to go to the front when we became communists. I became a candidate to membership in the Party. In March 1945 we were put on a sanitary train that brought patients to a hospital in Tbilisi. We headed to the front. The train crossed Kiev and we were allowed a daylong leave. I remember Kiev in ruins. I see Kreshchatik [the main street of Kiev] in ruins before my eyes. I helped some soldiers working on the ruins. We tied ropes around a huge wall of a 5-storied building that was about to collapse and removed it. I was looking for my relatives named Gleizer on my mother’s side. I didn’t find any and returned to my train.

I was enrolled in regiment 92 of the 6th fighting anti-tank artillery brigade. I was assigned commanding officer of a platoon. My rank was junior lieutenant. I was at the front line for over a month, and I participated in big combat actions for Czech towns Morawska Ostrawa and others. On 3 May, 6 days before the end of the war, I was wounded with a percussion mine and shell-shocked. Our medical assistant tried to remove the splinter, but failed. I was taken to the army hospital where I had a surgery. They removed the splinter and sent me to the rear. The war was over. We were in the army hospital in Ratibor [present Raciborz] in Poland. I celebrated Victory Day in this hospital. All officers who could walk saluted shooting from their weapons in the yard of the hospital. Later I was sent to Tbilisi by a sanitary train. When the train was passing Baladzhary station near Baku one officer and I were taken off the train and moved to Baku. I stayed in hospital 45 days to recover from my wounds and shell shock. I had problems with speaking and stuttered for a long time. After I recovered I was certified as fit for service with limitations. I could choose to stay in the army or retire. I decided to retire. I dreamed of getting higher education in Odessa Navy College. Commander of our artillery brigade took quite an effort trying to convince me to continue my service, but I stood my grounds and insisted on retirement. A few days later, when I faced all difficulties of everyday life that I wasn’t used to, I ran back to my unit – take me back here. Well, they refused and I realized that I had to find a place in this life. I didn’t have a profession, so I went to the district party commission and asked them to help me with getting a job. They sent me to the Caspian harbor office. They organized a course of design technicians at the shipyard. I was admitted to this course and after finishing it I got a job of technician at the plant. I started working in January 1946. However, I didn’t give up dreaming about the Navy College. In summer our plant developed lists of the employees willing to enter the Navy College in Odessa. In this case the plant was paying a stipend in the amount of average monthly salary and after finishing this college graduates were to return to work at the plant that actually paid their studies. There were 5 other applicants: Jews, Russians, Ukrainians, but no Azerbaijani applicants. The management tried to convince at least one Azerbaijan employee to have his name on the list of applicants, but it was in vain. Since there were no national applicants they sent nobody to study. I didn’t dare to go to study all by myself and live on a miserable stipend.

My sister and I lived with aunt Golda. I often went to visit my schoolmate Lev Vizel living with his parents in Baku. Once Lev came to us bringing news: my uncle David from America whom we had no contacts with since 1936 was searching for me through Krasilov. I got his address and wrote him a letter describing everything that happened to my family: about my parents and relatives who perished, my sister and my wanderings and my service in the army. I also mentioned how willing I was to study. My uncle promised his support if I went to study. In 1947 I quit the plant and went to Odessa where I entered the Equipment Maintenance Faculty at the Odessa Navy College. My second childhood dream came true. My uncle David supported me through five years of studies. He sent me one parcel each year with everything a young man needed: a coat, a suit, shoes, socks and handkerchiefs. He addressed this parcel to my distant relative since I was afraid that someone in my college might discover my relationships with abroad [22]. She also helped me to sell the contents of the parcel and I spent this money on living until another parcel arrived. I was not the only one whom uncle David supported. He organized a US association of Jews who came from Krasilov and they began to provide assistance to their relatives in Ukraine helping them to go through hard postwar years. In summer 1948 my sister and I went to Krasilov. There were only few Jews who survived the Great Patriotic War left in Krasilov. We went across the mournful road that our dear ones covered to their shooting place. I have a small faded photograph that I’ve kept from that time. Later relatives and my uncle David collected money to install a monument. Uncle David also supported me in the first yeas after graduation. He died in 1970. It felt hard visiting Krasilov, but I always felt homesick as well. In the middle 1970s my wife and I and my sister Dora and her husband went to Krasilov. We walked the streets we knew so well, stood by the remnants of our house and then went to Manivtsy where there was a monument installed already. There were flowers by the monuments. It meant that there were still people in Krasilov who remembered those who perished.

The period of my studies coincided with state anti-Semitic campaign of struggle against the so-called ‘cosmopolites’ [23]. Director of my college Budnitski was a very loyal, just a fair man. Thanks to him lecturers and professors fired from other educational institutions for cosmopolitism found shelter in our college. One was Nudelman, professor of resistance of materials, then there was mathematician Krein and others. However, there were also party meetings in our college where they held up to shame for references to foreign scientists. Professor Sokolov, who was over 90 years of age, became a cosmopolite for his reference to some works of English scientists that he made in his book in 1910. After a meeting Sokolov was fired and shortly afterward he died of a heart attack. I faced open anti-Semitism when receiving my job assignment [24] in 1952.

By that time I was already married. I met my future wife Lilia Yarkho at a college party. Lilia was born to a Jewish family in Slutsk town near Minsk in Byelorussia in 1929. Her father was a shochet in the synagogue and her mother was a housewife. Lilia was the oldest child. She had two sisters: Irina, born in 1939, and another girl whose name I don’t remember. She was only few months old at the beginning of the war. Lilia’s mother had no breast milk and the girl was fed with cow milk in a village near Slutsk where Lilia’s grandmother lived. Lilia’s mother failed to evacuate them and Lilia’s grandmother and little sister perished. Lilia, Irina, their mother and father went to Kazakhstan. Irina died of hunger. After the war the family moved to Kherson where Lilia’s uncle was director of a shipyard. After finishing school Lilia entered the Chemical Engineering Faculty of Odessa Polytechnic college. Lilia and I got married shortly before we were to receive a graduation job assignment. We were hoping to get jobs in one town. There was no wedding party. We had a civil registration and in the evening we had a get together with friends in the hostel. We drank some campaign and ate bread and sausage and tinned miniature sprats. This was all we had. Lilia lived in a hostel for girls and I lived in one for men. Our friends understood our situation and sometimes they left us alone in a room. Before receiving a job assignment we spent long hours reading locations of jobs on a board. There was also Baku written there and everybody thought I was to go there. However, before the time of distribution of assignments they changed Baku to Kherson. Naturally, when my time came I asked them to send me to Kherson where my wife came from. There was deputy Navy minister at this meeting. He decided that I had to go to work in the Far East in Sakhalin Island in 8000 km from my wife and relatives. I was to have a medical checkup and the medical commission discovered that I had residual tuberculosis processes and forbade me to go to Sakhalin. Deputy minister sent me to another clinic to be examined by a different commission and only after they confirmed my diagnosis he approved my assignment to Kherson, however reluctantly. Anyway, it cost me lots of nerves.

We arrived in Kherson in 1952. I went to work in the port right away. My wife had to find a job since she had a free diploma [she did not have to complete the mandatory job assigned by the university] and was to follow her husband. This was another time we understood what it meant to be a Jew in this country. She couldn’t find a job for a whole year, although she had a diploma of chemical engineer. As soon as people heard what her nationality was they said there were no vacancies. In 1953, during the period of the ‘doctors’ plot’ [25] employing a Jew was out of the question. We heard by chance that there was a chemical laboratory to be opened at the motor repair plant and that there were vacancies there. I went to talk with first secretary of the Party district committee. I put our documents on his desk: diplomas, marriage certificate, my Party membership card and my wife’s Komsomol membership card and told her about our problems. The secretary called this plant and sent there was a young specialist coming from her personally. My wife was welcomed at the plant. They employed her. She was at the incentive of the plant laboratory. She was involved in purchasing equipment and hiring personnel. Everybody else was promoted, but Lilia retired from the plant as engineer after working there for 45 years.

The attitude toward me at my work was also tense. This was before Stalin died in 1953, and I was deeply mourning after him like all Soviet people, and afterward. I often heard people mocking me, particularly my name of Avraam [Jewish names were targets of mockery, vulgar jokes and often exclusion at the time]. It was often mispronounced.

In 1955 our son was born. We named him Igor. The first letter I was in honor of my father Itsyk. Igor studied well at school. When it came time for him to receive his passport I decided that Igor should not suffer from his patronymic like I had suffered from my name. In 1972 I officially changed my name to Arkadi. It was very hard for me. I thought I was betraying the memory of my grandfather, but really being Jewish caused me so much annoyance in my everyday life. After finishing school and service in the army Igor finished the Irrigation and Drainage Faculty of Kherson Agricultural College. In 1980 he married Alla Belashova, a Ukrainian girl. Alla finished a Pedagogical College. She is a biologist. My wife and I had no objections to their marriage. We saw that they were happy and this was the most important thing for us. We liked Alla. My grandson Dmitri was born in 1980. He followed into his mother’s steps. This year he has graduated from the Faculty of Biology of Kherson Pedagogical University. Although my son married a Ukrainian, he feels his belonging to the Jewish nation and he has raised his son in the spirit of respect of the Jewish culture and traditions.

My wife and I have had a modest life. We lived in her parents’ apartment until we received one. We’ve never had a dacha [summer cottage] or a car, but we always spent our vacations nicely. I often received a stay in recreation homes due to my lung problems. After our son was born we often went to Odessa and Crimea. However, my favorite spot to spend vacations was Baku, my second Motherland. My sister lived there for many years. In 1947 Dora’s Jewish boyfriend from Krasilov, who courted her before the war, Yakov Goltsfarb found Dora. Yakov wanted to marry my sister before the war, but my mother was against their marriage. She didn’t like Yakov. Yakov served on a submarine and became a warrant officer. He took part in the war and was wounded. He came to Baku in 1947 and Dora married him. They had a civil ceremony in a registry office and arranged a wedding dinner for their friends and relatives. In 1948 their daughter Iraida was born. They had a good life. Yakov held good positions after the demobilization. My sister was a typist at the same plant where he was working. Iraida went to work at the design office of the plant after finishing a college. Everything went well until the breakup of the USSR [26] in the 1990s resulted in blood shedding conflicts between Armenia and Azerbaijan. I kept telling my sister that everything was going to be all right, but she and her family and many other Jewish families moved to Israel in 1990. Now my sister, her husband and their daughter live in Ness Ziona in Israel. They often write us that they are happy with their life in Israel. Iraida was married to an Azerbaijani man who left her after they moved to Israel. She hasn’t remarried.

Before the middle 1960s I often met with my cousin sister Tania’s family in Baku. In the middle 1960s her husband died of radiation disease. It turned out that his office had no insulation from the adjusting X-ray laboratory and Misha was exposed to rays for many years. Tania grew very old and withdrew into herself. She lived with her mother in Baku. Aunt Golda died in 1985 and Tania over lived her for 10 years.

My wife and I didn’t celebrate [Jewish] holidays when we were young. We believed we were real internationalists. However, we tried to have Jewish friends to feel free in our own environment. When in the 1970s emigration to Israel and USA and Germany began, we had to consider the issue of departure like all other Jews. I told my wife then that I couldn’t leave this country; this land where our dear ones were buried is our Motherland. I’ve visited my sister in Israel, but it only was another proof that I am closer to the spirit of my Ukrainian land. I am very concerned about the situation in Israel, though. If I were young and strong I would probably go to Israel to try to be useful to my country, but I don’t want to be a dependent there. Of course, life is hard in our country now. We’ve lost our savings and we also lost the feeling of our big family: the State of Soviets. However, we’ve got opportunities for democratic development of various nations, including Jews. Now at my old age I’ve returned to Jewish traditions, language and religion. I am a member of a religious Jewish community of Kherson. I go to the morning and evening prayer at the synagogue every day. I cannot say that I’ve become religious: it’s impossible to make over what has been instilled in our minds for many years, but I am trying hard to be closer to religion and to the culture and language of my ancestors. My wife and I celebrate all Jewish holidays and cook Jewish food. We enjoy going to the Jewish charity center Hesed. We study Ivrit and socialize with our Jewish friends. This makes our life easier and fills it with meaning.

GLOSSARY:

[1] 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.

[2] NEP: The so-called New Economic Policy of the Soviet authorities was launched by Lenin in 1921. It meant that private business was allowed on a small scale in order to save the country ruined by the October Revolution and the Civil War. They allowed priority development of private capital and entrepreneurship. The NEP was gradually abandoned in the 1920s with the introduction of the planned economy.

[3] Nationalization: confiscation of private businesses or property after the revolution of 1917 in Russia.

[4] Struggle against religion: The 1930s was a time of anti-religion struggle in the USSR. In those years it was not safe to go to synagogue or to church. Places of worship, statues of saints, etc. were removed; rabbis, Orthodox and Roman Catholic priests disappeared behind KGB walls.

[5] 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.

[6] 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.

[7] Catherine the Great (1729-1796): Empress of Russia. She rose to the throne after the murder of her husband Peter III and reigned for 34 year. Catherine read widely, especially Voltaire and Montesquieu, and informed herself of Russian conditions. She started to formulate a new enlightened code of law. Catherine reorganized (1775) the provincial administration to increase the central government's control over rural areas. This reform established a system of provinces, subdivided into districts, that endured until 1917. In 1785, Catherine issued a charter that made the gentry of each district and province a legal body with the right to petition the throne, freed nobles from taxation and state service and made their status hereditary, and gave them absolute control over their lands and peasants. Catherine increased Russian control over the Baltic provinces and Ukraine. She secured the largest portion in successive partitions of Poland among Russia, Prussia, and Austria.

[8] Sholem Aleichem, real name was Shalom Nohumovich Rabinovich (1859-1916): Jewish writer. He lived in Russia and moved to the US in 1914. He wrote about the life of Jews in Russia in Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian.
[9] Civil War (1918-1920): The Civil War between the Reds (the Bolsheviks) and the Whites (the anti-Bolsheviks), which broke out in early 1918, ravaged Russia until 1920. The Whites represented all shades of anti-communist groups – Russian army units from World War I, led by anti-Bolshevik officers, by anti-Bolshevik volunteers and some Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries. Several of their leaders favored setting up a military dictatorship, but few were outspoken tsarists. Atrocities were committed throughout the Civil War by both sides. The Civil War ended with Bolshevik military victory, thanks to the lack of cooperation among the various White commanders and to the reorganization of the Red forces after Trotsky became commissar for war. It was won, however, only at the price of immense sacrifice; by 1920 Russia was ruined and devastated. In 1920 industrial production was reduced to 14% and agriculture to 50% as compared to 1913.

[10] Jabotinsky, Vladimir (Ze’ev; 1880-1940): Zionist leader, soldier, orator and a prolific author in Hebrew, Russian, and English. Born in Odessa he received a Jewish and general education. He became involved in Zionist activities at the beginning of the 20th century. 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. In 1935 the Revisionists seceded from the World Zionist Organization after heated debates on the immediate and public stipulation of the final aim of Zionism and established the New Zionist Organization. Jabotinsky also founded the ETZEL (National Military Organization) during the 1936-39 Arab rebellion in Palestine. He died in New York.

[11] 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.

[12] Famine in Ukraine: In 1920 a deliberate famine was introduced in the Ukraine causing the death of millions of people. It was arranged in order to suppress those protesting peasants who did not want to join the collective farms. There was another dreadful deliberate famine in 1930-1934 in the Ukraine. The authorities took away the last food products from the peasants. People were dying in the streets, whole villages became deserted. The authorities arranged this specifically to suppress the rebellious peasants who did not want to accept Soviet power and join collective farms.

[13] Torgsin stores: Special retail stores, which were established in larger Russian cities in the 1920s with the purpose of selling goods to foreigners. Torgsins sold commodities that were in short supply for hard currency or exchanged them for gold and jewelry, accepting old coins as well. The real aim of this economic experiment that lasted for two years was to swindle out all gold and valuables from the population for the industrial development of the country.

[14] 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.

[15] October Revolution Day: October 25 (according to the old calendar), 1917 went down in history as victory day for the Great October Socialist Revolution in Russia. This day is the most significant date in the history of the USSR. Today the anniversary is celebrated as ‘Day of Accord and Reconciliation’ on November 7.

[16] Soviet-Finnish War (1939-40): The Soviet Union attacked Finland on 30 November 1939 to seize the Karelian Isthmus. The Red Army was halted at the so-called Mannengeim line. The League of Nations expelled the USSR from its ranks. In February-March 1940 the Red Army broke through the Mannengeim line and reached Vyborg. In March 1940 a peace treaty was signed in Moscow, by which the Karelian Isthmus, and some other areas, became part of the Soviet Union.

[17] Molotov, V. P. (1890-1986): Statesman and member of the Communist Party leadership. From 1939, Minister of Foreign Affairs. On June 22, 1941 he announced the German attack on the USSR on the radio. He and Eden also worked out the percentages agreement after the war, about Soviet and western spheres of influence in the new Europe.

[18] World War I – a military conflict, from August 1914 to November 1918, that involved many of the countries of Europe as well the United States and other nations throughout the world. World War I was one of the most violent and destructive wars in European history. Of the 65 million men who were mobilized, more than 10 million were killed and more than 20 million wounded. The term World War I did not come into general use until a second worldwide conflict broke out in 1939 (World War II). Before that year, the war was known as the Great War or the World War.

[19] A member of a people of southern European Russia and adjacent parts of Asia, noted as cavalrymen especially during tsarist times.

[20] Collective farm (in Russian 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.

[21] NKVD: People’s Committee of Internal Affairs; it took over from the GPU, the state security agency, in 1934.

[22] 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.

[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 antisemitic 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] Mandatory job assignment in the USSR: Graduates of higher educational institutions had to complete a mandatory 3-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.

[25] 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.

[26] Breakup of the USSR: Yeltsin in 1991 signed a deal with Russia's neighbours that formalized the break up of the Soviet Union. The USSR was replaced by the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS).

Nikolai Mesko
Born: Nusn Mermelstein
Interviewer: Martin Korcok and Barbora Pokreis
Date of interview: July 2005

Nikolai Mesko Salamonovic comes from an Orthodox Jewish family. He lost his entire family in the war. In 1946 he joined the Communist Party and in it tried to make use of all the Jewish moral values that his parents had taught him. During the time of the Communist regime, rife with corruption and ill-gotten gains, he preserved a clean slate. Perhaps also thanks to this, he has for 48 years been continually elected by people to the Mukachevo town council. He is currently retired, but actively participates in the running of the town’s Jewish religious community, as its deputy chairman and cantor in one.

My grandparents were born in Ruthenia [1], the same as my parents. When they were born, Ruthenia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. I barely remember my grandparents, because they died while I was still very small. In those days I was the youngest member of our family, so that’s why I don’t know anything about my grandparents. In fact, my parents didn’t tell me anything about them either. I don’t even know their names, or when they were born and where they’re buried.

My father, Salamon Mermelstein, was likely born in the year 1888 in the village of Rosos, in the district of Tjacev in Ruthenia. I don’t know if my father had siblings, because I don’t remember him being in contact with someone from his family. I don’t know what schooling he had either, but I do know what he did for a living. He was a coachman. My mother’s maiden name was Dora Stern, she was born around 1891 in Pasikovo, in the district of Svalava in Ruthenia. My mother likely had a primary school education, the same as my father. My mother wasn’t employed, her job was to take care of children and raise them. At home we spoke exclusively Yiddish, but my parents also spoke Russian.

Our family was very poor and there were many children. I had three sisters – Golda, Chana and Roza and one brother, Jozef. I was the youngest. Between my youngest sister and me there was an age difference of 14 years. The rest of my siblings were about two years apart. My parents lived in the village of Rosos, in a family bungalow, I was also born there. When I turned 3, our family moved to Mukachevo, so I don’t remember anything from my birthplace. I do already remember what sort of house we moved into in Mukachevo. It was in a street named Toltes. Our three-room house was very modestly furnished. It consisted of only a bed and wardrobe. We didn’t have a tile floor nor even a wooden one. It was an earthen floor. Each and every week, before the Sabbath, we evened and smoothed out the floor. The house also had a courtyard and a very nice garden. In the courtyard we had stables for horses. The stables were made of earth. Our house wasn’t made of bricks either, but of earth. The courtyard wasn’t large, but for that all the more beautiful. It was planted mainly with fruit trees, but my mother and sisters planted potatoes, cucumbers and other vegetables. That’s what we lived on. Like I said, we were a poor family. My father, as a coachman, didn’t make very much, because with a hay-wagon you couldn’t make very much. The town had a stand for coachmen, where they stood with their wagons and waited until someone needed something moved somewhere. When, say, a rail car of flour arrived, because in those days there weren’t haulage trucks, businessmen would come and ask the coachmen to transport it somewhere. Often it happened that he made nothing. I don’t know how much coachmen were paid in those days for hauling a load. My mother didn’t work, she was a housewife. My sisters didn’t work either. My brother, Jozef, was the owner of a small spice shop.

As I’ve already said, I had four siblings. We got along very well, we were a good family. I didn’t see my siblings very much, because my brother and three sisters were all married. Jozef was born in 1912 in Rosos. I don’t remember his wife. I don’t even know her name. They had one daughter. Jozef lived in our original house, from which we had moved to Mukachevo. In it he had his spice shop. As I child I wasn’t used to visiting him. My sister Roza was born in 1914 in Rosos. Her husband was a very strong man. He came from Ardanov, where they also moved after their wedding. Ardanov is a village in the county of Irsavsko. They had one child. Golda was born in 1908, in Rosos as well. Her husband was, same as my father, a coachman. He was a red-haired man of short build. They had two children. Golda and her family lived in the same house with me and my parents, where they had their own room. Chana was born in Rosos in 1906. She had a very handsome husband, who made a living as a master carpenter. They lived in Kerecki. They had two children – a boy and a girl. They transported [during World War II] my parents and all of my siblings together with their families and gassed them. They put them into the gas chambers and gassed them. They dragged them away in April of 1944 and probably killed them during that same month.

My father was a very good man. I’m not only saying that because he was my father. He loved his family, and brought his children up well. He helped us in every way he could. He wasn’t able to financially secure the family very much though, so none of my siblings could get more than an elementary education [they finished primary school, which consisted of five grades – Editor’s note]. I would say, however, that our father lived for his family. My mother liked children very much, she tried to please our every wish and desire. She gave birth to five children, so she definitely had who to take care of.

My mother was a very devout Jewess. She always dressed in long, dark dresses and wore a scarf on her head. Her hair underneath the scarf was always cut short. In the morning she prayed right after rising. Likewise she also prayed at dinnertime. She prayed three times a day. My father also always dressed properly. He always wore a hat, beard and payes. For praying he used an outer tallit and a tefillin. He didn’t attend synagogue every day, only when he had the time. During the Sabbath and holidays he always went. He never missed even one Sabbath. He didn’t work on Saturday and during holidays. As a young boy, even before my bar mitzvah, I used to regularly attend prayers. Whether or not my parents used to go to a mikveh I don’t remember, it’s likely they did, but I don’t remember.

When I was young my parents dressed me in a simple fashion. But they always cut my hair, I couldn’t go about with long hair. I had only payes. All summer long my head was covered by a kippah, and in the winter I wore a cap. I most likely got my first long pants at the age of 13, when I became a man. By Jewish custom a boy becomes a man at the age of 13. But unfortunately I don’t remember my bar mitzvah.

In Toltes Street there were no other Jews besides us. At the end of the street, however, there was a store that belonged to this one very devout Jew. He was named Chaimovich. But the store was quite far from our home. All of our immediate neighbors were Christians. They weren’t as poor as we were. One neighbor was a fire chief. I remember that our house was No. 23, and at No. 21 there was this one nice, big house, in front of which was a courtyard full of grapevines. A butcher used to live in that house. Bucin, I think he was named. Each New Year’s day, Bucin would lock the gate and wait for me. When someone knocked on the gate would open the window and look out to see who it was. If he didn’t see that it was me, he wouldn’t unlock it. He insisted that I be the first one to come wish him a happy New Year. I liked doing this very much, because he would then give me a pile of money and some food. He used to say that as a Jew I will bring him luck.

We had good relations with the rest of our neighbors as well. Such good relations that when they dragged my family off – I was told about it, because at that time I wasn’t at home, but doing forced labor – our neighbors sealed our house and kept guard over it to make sure no-one entered. So that when my parents returned they would find everything as it had been. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything to steal, we had only old furniture, we were very poor. In 1944, when I returned and had no one, the neighbors took care of me. You could say that I spent all of my time with them. They fed me, and when I needed they also took me in to live with them, that’s how good they were to me. Then I volunteered for the Red Army. A lot of people did this in Ruthenia at that time.

My parents didn’t associate much with anyone in particular, only when they would stop by the neighbors’ for a chat. They didn’t even get together with family, so that’s why I don’t know whether my parents had any siblings. Our family was completely apolitical. No one had any political opinions and so no one could have been in some political party. None of us, neither my father nor my siblings, were ever interested in politics. We lived a beautiful and contented life without any anti-Semitism whatsoever in that town.

In the time of my youth there were a lot of Jews living in Mukachevo. That’s why Mukachevo was nicknamed the Jewish Town. More that half the town’s population was Jewish. In all there were 17 synagogues and prayer halls, that they used to attend. Every family was devout, even little children. Every Jew in Mukachevo attended prayers at a synagogue. In those days our family belonged to a rabbi by the name of Shapira [3]. He was a very wise and thoughtful person, whose name became known worldwide. When the Czechs came [4], both presidents, Masaryk [5] and after him, Benes [6] as well, kept in personal contact with him. He was a very good and proper person. People loved Masaryk as well. He was a beautiful, tall and bearded man. I never saw him in person. We had no television in those days, but I saw him in the newspapers. Masaryk was a big democrat. People liked Benes as well, but not like Masaryk. Masaryk was very much, as they say: “A good father to his family.” The father of Czechoslovakia. All the people of Czechoslovakia liked him very much.

There was a large cheder [a religious elementary school for study of the Torah – Editor’s note]. Almost every synagogue also had a cheder. Children would go to study there. Mukachevo also had a Hebrew high school. The high school building was in Sugar Street. It was a large school. Jewish children from all over Ruthenia attended it. There were also many bocherim (yeshivah students) studying in the town. There might have been over 350 of them. The yeshivah stood in Mukachevo Street and was led by rabbi Shapira. I also studied in that yeshivah. I went there after finishing cheder. Around 160 bocherim lived right in the yeshivah. They were housed in the synagogue courtyard, where the rabbi himself also lived. Of course, only those that had come from far away lived there. For example from Tacov and Beregov. Those of us that were from town lived at home with our parents. Boys from surrounding villages also made the trip every day.

The bocherim were divided into grades. There weren’t many of them, only three – beginners, advanced and a grade for future graduates. Bocherim in the highest grade knew how to read the Torah and lead prayers. I also knew how to lead prayers well, daily as well as holiday prayers. The things I learned I still use fully to this day. There were only a few teachers in the yeshivah, but I don’t remember their names anymore. It was a long time ago. I started attending the yeshivah in 1933 or 1934. I attended it for four years. After I finished my studies, because I wasn’t preparing to become a rabbi, I started working. I attended that school because my parents were very devout, mainly my mother. My father not as much. You could see on my mother that my attending the yeshivah made her very happy. It pleased her very much that I had learned how to lead prayers. I did everything I could for my mother.

There was a very important rabbi in town, Shapira. I remember him only foggily. He was of medium build, and wore a big beard and payes. He was a very educated and broad-minded person. He behaved elegantly and expressed himself with dignity. Even we children led conversations with him. Goodness shone from him. He was a great man. As they say: “He was the right hand of God. In the same way that Moshe was the successor in the interpretation of the Torah – so was rabbi Shapira also his successor.” [...from Moshe to Moshe, no one achieved what Moshe did!” – this well-known sentence originally characterized the noted rabbi Maimonides (1135 – 1204). People used these exact words to describe another Moshe – Moshe Schreiber, or Chatam Sofer (1762 – 1839), a rabbi from Pressburg (Bratislava). This means that Jews compared rabbi Shapira (1872 – 1937) to these two giants of world Jewry – Editor’s note]. That’s how much people respected him, he was widely liked. You could never have heard one loud word from him. He prayed beautifully, people respected him. When there was a conflict between Jews, people turned only to him.

I don’t remember the exact number of shochetim in town. A shochet never came to individual households to slaughter poultry, but chickens, geese and other fowl were brought to him. I myself never brought him poultry, only my mother did. I remember once going with her and seeing how the shochet carried out his work. In the room there was a container similar to an elongated tub. The shochet cut the chicken’s throat and threw it in there. She chicken shook about for a while, and when it was still he took it out. My mother then brought it home, plucked and prepared it.

There were Zionists [7] in Mukachevo as well, but I can’t say anything about it in detail, because I didn’t take part in their activities. There were many supporters of the Betar [Brit Trumpeldor – right-wing revisionist Zionist youth movement founded in the year 1925 – Editor’s note] movement and other groups. Zionist groups competed amongst each other, but I don’t know anything about them. I always behaved very modestly. My mother raised me only to faith. Only to faith. My father not as much as my mother. She raised me to live only for God. My mother would say to me: “My son – of course, she also said it to my other siblings, but she liked me very much, because I was the youngest – you should know that we’ve come into this world and are here only for a while. He who is born also dies. We must live and behave as if real life awaits us in the next world, in heaven. As soon as you awake in the morning, wash your hands and face and thank God, in whatever language, for yesterday. Thank you God, for allowing me to live through yesterday honorably, and I ask You for today to be a good day. My son, you are in this world in order to go to synagogue and pray. Live your life in this way until the end.” She always said this to me and I follow it to this day.

Mainly Jews lived in Mukachevo. But there were also Hungarians, Slovaks, Germans and Russians. There were very few Ukrainians, they mainly arrived after the war. Individual ethnicities didn’t live closed off in quarters, people lived together. Only Germans lived separately in one quarter, but not the others. During the war the Germans for the most part behaved well towards the others. After the war some of them were taken away to Russia. Most of them, however, stayed in Mukachevo and gradually moved away to Germany. After the war they also took away some Hungarians as well, mainly those about whom it was said that they collaborated with the Arrow Crosses [Arrow Cross Party] [8]. Those that were pointed out and whose guilt was proven, were led away. But there weren’t many of them. Slovaks and Czechs were left alone. They only hassled the Hungarians, because people said that they were fascists.

Jews in Mukachevo were mainly businessmen. There were, however, also tailors, shoemakers and carpenters. Mostly they opened their own shops of various kinds. There were two fur factories that also had stores associated with them. One belonged to Stern and the second to Schüssel. Two large sweet shops. The owner of one of them was Neumann. Gottesmann had a huge bakery. Another large store belonged to Mermelstein.

The entire town didn’t have electricity and running water, only the center. In the suburbs they drew water from wells. The street where we lived had running water. City streets were paved with stone. It can’t be said that the streets were in great shape, but neither were they bad. In those days there were very few cars in Mukachevo, but a few were already to be found. There were about eight, ten at most. Only rich people had them, like for example the owner of the Star Hotel. His name was Imre Nagy. Most people used horse-drawn wagons.

The town market was in the same place that it is today. It was a covered vegetable market, where only fruit and vegetables were sold, nothing more. In the center of town there was a flea market where they sold secondhand goods and suchlike. They weren’t big markets. Besides this there were many spice shops in town. There you could also buy various vegetables. The only people that sold things at the market were those that brought their goods from surrounding villages. There was also a fair that was held near the town. There they sold horses, pigs and cows. In other words, farm animals. The fair was held twice a week, on Wednesday and Saturday.

All holidays were observed in our household. For Sukkot we didn’t put up tents, but the houses themselves were built in such a way that they had a small built-in folding roof, that could be opened for Sukkot and you had a tent. So not in a room, but in front of the room on the outside of the house, we put up a tent. We ate in it all week. We observed this very strictly. During this holiday a similar tent stood in every Jewish courtyard in the town. It was the same in rich Jewish families, because rich Jews lived in Mukachevo too. When they bought a house, they rebuilt in this fashion, or had it built this way, so that there would be a roof that could then be folded open. We didn’t spend all day in the sukkah, but only ate in it.

For Yom Kippur everyone strictly fasted. Before the Yom Kippur holiday, everyone left town and went to the river, threw in crumbs for the fish and prayed. It’s called tashlich [tashlich – an expression describing the symbolic casting away of sins. Devout Jews gather by a river and recite prescribed passages that speak of God’s willingness to forgive a repentant sinner – Editor’s note]. Because there were a lot of Jews living in the town, they didn’t go to the river all together, but in groups. In every group there would be someone who would lead prayers. Kaparot [kaparot – a ceremony performed by some Jews on the evening before Yom Kippur, when sins symbolically transfer from individuals to a white rooster and a white chicken for women – Editor’s note] however wasn’t observed by everyone. You needed a rooster for this ceremony, for women something else. For men it was a rooster and for women a chicken. In our family only my father performed this ceremony, as we had only a rooster. I don’t know any more what happened to the rooster after the ceremony, whether they slaughtered it or not. I don’t remember. As a small child I didn’t fast all day. I began to observe the fast when I turned 13. Not before then. For the New Year we had meat for supper. Our parents in some fashion saved money for this holiday. During the week we didn’t eat meat. That’s how it was in a poor family.

Our household was kosher, both during the week and on Saturday. As the head of the family, my father sat at the head of the Sabbath table. My mother sat across from him. Men and women sat separately at the table, not next to each other. On my father’s left sat his son-in-law [Golda’s husband], on his right sat Golda. On Friday evening we had a traditionally stuffed fish. Because this food was very expensive and we didn’t have the money for it, my mother prepared a so-called falsch [Yiddish – fake] – a fake fish. Falsch basically means that one fish was bought. The fish was de-boned and ground up. Then bread and eggs were mixed into the ground fish so that there would be as much as possible. A real stuffed fish was very expensive, because it’s slit open and then stuffed. In this way my mother made many fake fish from one fish. I don’t know the exact soup recipe, but likely they put goose or duck fat and noodles into it. On Saturday shoulet and kugel (pudding) couldn’t be missing from the table. We also always had kolaches [small sweet cakes with a variety of fillings] on the table. My mother baked them herself, as we had an oven. The oven wasn’t made of earth like our whole house, but of bricks. The kolaches and shoulet were prepared at home. She would also bake two large braided kolaches and many small kolaches. The two large braided ones were for my father to say blessings over. To commence the Sabbath and broche [broche – blessing]. When the stars were already out, we went to synagogue. By the synagogue there was a room where a Sabbath table was prepared, and the rabbi would make Havdalah [Havdalah – a ceremony ending the Sabbath – Editor’s note]. During the Sabbath we only rested and read prayer books. My mother attended synagogue every Sabbath, as well as on all other holidays. My father smoked a lot, but never during the Sabbath [during the Sabbath it is forbidden to smoke. In this case, however, the reason isn’t that it’s work, but that it is forbidden to start and use fire on this day – Editor’s note].

On the evening before Passover we would have a small seder supper. Before that, it was necessary to clean everything. We had a small broom, made of feathers, goose feathers. My mother would buy a rag and clean all cabinet corners with the broom and rag. First we had to sear all the dishes with fire so that they would be kosher, as we didn’t have separate Passover dishes. [Passover is the holiday of unleavened bread. During the holiday it is forbidden to eat or possess anything containing yeast, chametz in Hebrew. Food containing yeast must be removed from the house. As well, it is forbidden to use anything that has come into contact with yeast – for example dishes and cutlery. Families that didn’t have Passover dishes had to make them kosher by searing them – Editor’s note]. We used the same dishes as during the week. How exactly the dishes were seared I no longer remember, but I know that a fire would be built out in the courtyard and that’s where they would sear them. I saw that. The second thing is that during the day before Passover you can no longer eat bread. So if we had any bread left in the house, we would give it to the neighbors and the horses in the stable, so that not even a crumb would remain in the house. They swept up the crumbs with that little broom and burnt them in a spoon. Then we would write down what was left in the household – flour or similar foodstuffs – which was then put into a cupboard and my father would seal it. He would ask a neighbor to buy chametz from him, so nothing would remain in the house. The neighbor would buy it from us, and after the holidays he would sell it to us for the same price. We would get matzot from the Jewish community. During the holiday we ate mainly potatoes, eggs, onions and similar food, because there isn’t much that you are allowed to eat during Passover.

I remember Chanukkah from when I was an older child. I know that we would go to synagogue. At home we played dreidel. We children played for pocket change. We would bet as to what number would come up. When someone bet on five, and a five came up, he won. When no one guessed correctly, nobody won. For Purim we would go from house to house and people would send kolaches to each other. They gave each other gifts. I don’t know what the kolaches were made of, because that was my mother’s affair. In Mukachevo there wasn’t any carnival for children during Purim. Nothing similar was held.

When I was 6 or 7, I started public school. The town had Jewish, Russian, Hungarian and Czech public schools. Public school had five grades and was compulsory. Whoever finished public school could continue in council school. That school can’t be completely compared to today’s middle school, it was only something similar. Council school consisted of three grades, whoever finished it could go on to another school. Ruthenia didn’t have a university. The nearest one was in Kosice. Ruthenia only had a Hebrew high school and commerce academy, which prepared for example bankers and various clerks. These schools were in Mukachevo.

I attended the Russian public school. I finished five grades of public school and then transferred to council school. After I finished it I got into the commerce academy. I wasn’t able to finish it however, because my parents didn’t have the money for it. I attended two years and then had to start working. At the age of 15 I started working for a furrier as an apprentice. I had to make money.

They liked me very much at school, which was by me also interesting, as we were so poor that my parents could buy me neither textbooks nor exercise books. In those days you had to buy everything, books, exercise books, pens, pencils. We didn’t have money for these things. Two of my classmates lived not far from me. They weren’t Jews. One’s father was the chief of the fire station and the other’s a railway employee, and made decent money. Their sons, however, weren’t good students. So the boys’ parents asked me to tutor them after dinner, because we had school only until dinnertime. These boys had textbooks, and by tutoring them I at the same time learned from the books. Studies were easy for me. Despite not having any educational materials, I attended school. The parents of the children I tutored began to give me exercise books as well, and paid me. In this way they enabled me to study. I tutored them in public school, council school and for two years of commerce academy. In the second year they didn’t manage to pass their exams and had to leave school. Thus I also left school, as my parents didn’t have any way of paying for it.

I didn’t have a favorite teacher. For me they were all good and they also all liked me. My teachers also helped me a lot, it happened that my teacher would buy me exercise books. At the age of fifteen however, I had to leave the commerce academy. I left to go work in one large fur shop, for Mr. Stern. Mr. Stern didn’t only sell furs, but also had a workshop where they processed furs and made coats out of them. He was a very rich person, after all, furs are expensive things. I began as an apprentice. I got a decent salary, partly thanks to the fact that the owner took a liking to me. Slowly I worked my way up. I stayed and worked there up until October 1943, because in that year all boys born in 1922 were called up into the army. Because I was a Jew, I didn’t go into the army but into forced labor. In October 1943 they led us away from Mukachevo.

As a child I didn’t associate much with my peers, I was a loner. Most of all I liked to read books in our garden. My mother and father spoke both Yiddish and Russian. My mother tongue is therefore Yiddish. I didn’t know any other language, only Russian, because that’s what we learned in school. I learned Hungarian completely on my own, to read and write. I taught myself from books that my Hungarian peers lent me. As a 15 year-old apprentice, after starting work, I wasn’t friends with anyone. There wasn’t time. In the morning I went straight to work, at dinnertime home to eat and the again to work. After coming home from work I would pick up my Hungarian books and go read in the garden. There I laid down and read. I loved to read. When there wasn’t money for books, I would borrow them. I was a good child.

I remember the fur shop well. It was at the end of today’s Rakoczi Street, at No. 20, I think. The store had about 80 and the workshop around 120 square meters. Three furriers worked in the workshop. Working in the shop were the boss, who was also the owner, his wife and I. Furs were a very expensive item. Mr. Stern was a millionaire and wasn’t able to trust anyone. There was also another fur shop in Mukachevo, but Mr. Stern’s shop employed mainly only his relatives. He hired me despite the fact that we weren’t related. Most likely he took a liking to me, but despite this they watched me carefully. Why? Because it was easy to steal in the store. There were expensive silver fox furs, those of course couldn’t be taken. There were however also Persian furs from unborn lambs, and those are very expensive. If someone was to take ten of these legs, he could easily wrap them in a kerchief and stick them in his pocket. From those ten legs a person could in those days live decently for even two months. So maybe that’s also why they watched me until they found out that I was honest. In time they began to trust me very much. Old Mr. Stern went to Leipzig, Germany every year, where he would purchase materials. He trusted me to the degree that when he was gone we left the keys to the store with me, and I would open the store each morning at 8:00. In fact, when he bought himself some material for a suit in Leipzig, he bought the same material for me. Once, when he brought the material, I told him: “Sir, you’ve brought me material, but for a suit you need the lining and other things. I don’t have the money for it.” He answered me: “Boy, go to this and this tailor and say that I’m sending you.” He dressed me the same as himself, that’s how much he liked me, and I felt very good with him. He paid me a nice salary and so our entire family began to live well. I helped my family very much. At home I gave my entire salary to my parents. I didn’t need money for anything.

After this territory was occupied by the Hungarians [9] everything changed. Czech [the interviewee means the first Czechoslovak Republic – Editor’s note] lasted until the year 1938. We had democracy here. There were no racial divides between people. I can say that after 1939, when the Hungarians arrived, racial persecution [10] began. They began to chase Jews out of everywhere. A Jew couldn’t be a public servant, at university they didn’t accept Jewish students. While the Czech were here, nothing like that existed. Until then it didn’t matter whether a person was a Jew or non-Jew. Everyone was equal.

In the beginning I only helped out in the store, and ran errands when necessary. Only very rich people had fur coats made, the poor couldn’t afford fur coats and jackets, only for example baronesses and their daughters. When the coat was finished, it was my job to deliver it. This was wonderful, because I used to get tips. A certain French Jew, Mr. Berger, worked in the workshop. He was born in France and was also educated there. I have no idea how he got here. He spoke French and Yiddish very well. Berger was the head tailor and had three assistants that sewed furs. Berger’s job was to take the measurements and design the fur coat. My boss wanted me to have a trade as well. That’s why in the summer, when we had less work – it could be only in the summer, as winter was the busy season – he always sent me to the workshop for a few hours to learn. That’s how much he liked me, despite the fact that we weren’t related in any way. I worked for him until October 1943, when I had to go and do forced labor.

In October 1943 they called up all Jewish boys born in 1922 for forced labor. During the whole time of forced labor God always stood by me. Up until the end. They took us to he Russian front. We did heavy physical labor. We dug deep anti-tank trenches. Even there luck was with me. In what respect? Together with the other soldiers we got to the Russian front. They went with us right from Mukachevo. We slept in houses guarded by soldiers. There were two officers among these soldiers. One young captain and an older first lieutenant. I don’t remember his name, but in civilian life he was an actor and came from Budapest. The first lieutenant had a soldier that worked as his assistant. Somehow he took a liking to me. He looked us over, and because I didn’t look like a Jew, he asked me whether I could speak Hungarian. I answered:
“I know Hungarian well!”
“You know Hungarian well. And do you know Russian?”
“I also know Russian.”
“Wow, so come over here then.” I became his assistant, despite his already having one official one. Because I could speak Russian, he used me for finding him Russian women. He said that I was going to be his interpreter. That I was to find him women, as after all, I was still young. I was to translate for him at the table. I said to him: “I’ll be at the table, but what about in bed?” He answered: “In bed I don’t need a translator!”. So I didn’t have to dig trenches, it was luck. So this is what my forced labor consisted of.

In 1944 the Russians were already advancing very quickly. The front was approaching toward us. We set out on foot from Russia to the town of Cop. It was very far. In Cop they would have herded us into wagons and sent us to Germany. Most likely they would have gassed us. But the first lieutenant had taken such a liking to me, that he told me: “Miklos, let’s go. When we get to Ruthenia, start to limp, and say that you’re not able to walk any further. Tell another twenty – thirty men that you hold in high regard, that you’re staying. I’ll tell one warrant officer to go with you, you’ll have no problems with him. I’ll tell him that when you ask, he should let you go.
“We should stay, why?”
“Because you’re walking to Cop, where they’ll load you into wagons and send you to Germany. But I don’t believe that any of you will ever return from there.” Before we reached Hust I started to limp. The warrant officer already knew what he was supposed to do. There were about 25 of us. The warrant officer assigned one armed soldier to us, as he couldn’t let us go just like that. Because we couldn’t manage the pace that had been set, we were supposed to catch up later. We walked very slowly, and when we arrived in the town of Hust, we said to the soldier: “Stay with us too, what’re you going to do? When they catch you they’ll arrest you.” He agreed. Nearby there was a school that had been used by soldiers and was now abandoned. We stayed there. We waited for three days to be liberated. It was quite risky, because there were ‘kakastollasi’ [Hungarian constables] [11] around, they were horrible people, policemen. When they found someone, they shot him without batting an eyelash. We were shaking with fright. Finally, in October 1944 we were liberated by partisans. At that time the whole of Ruthenia was liberated. They let us go on our way. On 26th October 1944 Mukachevo was liberated as well. Immediately the next day, the 27th, I was already there [the Soviet Army occupied Mukachevo on 26th October 1944 – Editor’s note]. I stayed in Mukachevo for about a month at our neighbors’.

After my return home I learned what had happened to my family. In April of 1944 they had deported every single one of them – my father, mother, sisters and brother together with their children. They dragged them off to Germany [in his interview, the interviewee considers all territories occupied by Germans as Germany]. In Mukachevo they collected them into one ghetto and from there deported my entire family. I don’t know exactly where they took them. Somewhere to Germany. None of them returned. I never heard anything more about them. Apparently everyone who was deported from the Mukachevo ghetto was gassed. Apparently.

In 1944 I volunteered for the army, because of my parents. I wanted to avenge myself on the Fascists for what they had done to my parents. I got into the Russian Army [Red Army]. At that time there was already also the Czech [Czechoslovak] Army. The recruitment of volunteers was being done by two colonels. One was recruiting for the Czech and the second for the Russian army. I entered the Russian one. When the officer learned from my name – Mermelstein – that I was a Jew, I became trustworthy, because the Jews had been persecuted. Mermelstein, a Jew, and what’s more he also speaks Hungarian. The colonel was very pleased and said to me:
“Go home and come back in two days.”
“But I want to go! Because of my parents and brother and sisters! I want to kill! I want to avenge them!”
“Listen to me son, you’ll avenge your parents. We’ll transfer you to a place where you can avenge them. Why? Because if you go to the front, as a soldier, they’ll either kill you right away or you’ll kill a couple of soldiers, let’s say you shoot them. But those soldiers maybe aren’t responsible for anything and were forced to do everything! We’ll put you in a place where you’ll be hunting only the big Fascists!” And truly, from January (1945) I served a year and a half in the army as a Hungarian-Russian translator, who hunted Fascists in Hungary. We searched them out and jailed them.

I criss-crossed the whole of Hungary – Sopron, Eger, Nyíregyháza. Finally I ended up at the headquarters in Budapest. I didn’t have an army rank, it wasn’t like that. I wore civilian clothing or army clothing, depending on what was needed. When the situation required it for me to become an officer, I became an officer. We searched for agents and spies. I really was able to avenge myself. I avenged myself because we uncovered many Fascists that had persecuted Jews, and put them on trial. The court gave them death sentences. Many of those curs got the death sentence. The war ended in May of 1945. At that time I submitted a request to be released from army service. They didn’t want to let me go. They even suggested that I go to the Hungarian embassy and stay there as a Soviet, because I spoke Hungarian. I didn’t want to. They stretched out my army service for another year and in June of 1946 I was discharged from service. It’s interesting, that the general that wrote up my discharge gave me two pieces of paper. One discharge paper and one that was filled out as a leave permit. I asked him: “What good is a leave permit to me?”
“Listen, maybe you’ll change your mind, you’ll go home, be there a month, start to be bored and you’ll come back.” Because if he didn’t give me a leave permit, I wouldn’t be able to return. Of course he also gave me all documents that had to do with my discharge with the words: “When you get bored, come back to us. Did you not like it here?”
“No, I liked it very much!”

In 1946 I changed my name. In the unit that I served in there were many, very many Jews. Almost all the higher officers – lieutenant colonels, colonels, changed their names. For example, Litkovsky had originally been Lichtenstein. At that time in Russia they had passed a law that enabled you to change your surname, your patronymic [father’s name] and given name [in the former Soviet Union people were given three names, name, surname and patronymic: the interviewee was named Nikolai Mesko and his father’s name had been Salamon. His entire name was therefore: Nikolai Mesko Salamonovic – Editor’s note]. You only had to submit one request to the Bezpeke [submit a request to the security institution that belonged under the KGB – Editor’s note]. Not even a month went by. I had been born in Ruthenia, as my grandfather had been. They researched not only my grandfather, but also his father as well. Of course I got permission to change my name. They checked what my original name was, because many people were concealing their names – for example those that had committed some crimes. I got a new surname, they wrote up that it was according to what law, who passed the law, and so on. The law had been passed by Stalin. The others said to me: “Miklos, you don’t look like a Jew. See, we’ve done it too. You’re a proper young man, pick out a name that you want.” So from Mermelstein I became Mesko, and from Nusn, Nikolai. I didn’t want to change my patronymic, though. They asked me:
“Why Salamon, when it’s a Jewish name?”
“Let it remain as a memento. I’m not changing my father’s name!”
“In that case it’s not worth doing.”
“But I’m not concealing that I’m a Jew.” And so I kept his name. So that why, in 1946, I became Nikolai Mesko Salamonovic. In Hungarian Mesko Miklos, because there they don’t have a patronymic. To this day I still use the Jewish name of Nusn, because when they call me to the Torah, they call me Nusn ben Shloime. Because my father’s Jewish name was Shloime.

In 1946 my life began anew. In June I returned home and immediately started to look for work. By then all of my friends were home. One of them, Tibi Berkovich, was already working. He was also a Jew. There was a factory in Mukachevo, and he had some sort of function there. He says to me: “Go to our office, maybe you’ll find something there.” I came as a discharged soldier and by coincidence the office manager was a former officer. Right away he took a liking to me. He took me on as a supply clerk. It was manufacturing – candles, shoeshine creams, various things for barbers – manufacturing where the products were sent to other branches of industry. We for example also manufactured buttons. But I had never worked in a warehouse before. I worked there for about a month, and then told him that I didn’t really like it. I went to see the director and got a new job. I became the head engineer’s deputy. The head engineer was also a Jew, named Litvak. Suddenly they transferred our director, Alexander Ivanovich Krukov, to another factory. At a general meeting before his departure, he recommended me for his position. He didn’t recommend the head engineer, but me. At the age of 24, in 1948, I became the director of a factory. At that time I wasn’t even a Party member. A year later, in 1949, I had to join the Communist Party.

So this is how in 1948 I became the director and in 1949 a party member. In 1948 I was also elected to the town council as a deputy. I, a Jew, became a deputy and stayed one for the whole 48 years. This didn’t happen anywhere else, not only in Ruthenia but in all of the Ukraine. In those days town council elections were held every two years, only later were they every four. During the entire 48 years they elected me again and again. At the same time I was a factory director. There was one factory in Mukachevo where they manufactured thread. The director of this factory was this one Christian, Glebn. The factory was in this one old building, so that’s why they started to build a new one. Moscow allocated a lot of money for it. But Glebn drew out the construction for years on end, and somehow they couldn’t complete it. At that time I had already been in the position of director for six years. Suddenly they threw Glebn out, they threw him out of the Party as well, and put me in his place, to finish the construction. The factory building was so attractive that they would come to photograph it, and even a TV crew from Moscow came to shoot it. This was in the year 1958. The factory became one of the most well-known in Ruthenia. They photographed it, in fact even shot a film about it. Thanks to this I got to Moscow for the first time in my life. The minister’s deputy assigned me a car and driver so that I could have a look around the city. At the same time there was a construction company in Mukachevo – Remont, Rem Stroj Upravlenia. Its director was also a Jew, Klein. He didn’t have a school diploma. He had a house built, not in an honest manner, because he worked in an industry where there were sufficient construction materials. Because he didn’t build it in an above-board manner, they threw him out of the function and the party. Once again, they put me in his place. They always put me in the place of someone they had thrown out. I was director there for 25 years. From there I went into retirement.

Before the war I hadn’t finished commerce academy. But when I returned from the army, I finished school by attending part-time. I finished 10th grade and then entered university. I graduated from university in Lvov, in 1958, from the Faculty of Economics. I became an economics engineer. At that time I already had the job of director. I was director of Remont for 25 years. They hadn’t had something like this here before. Why? Because they stole. Everyone wondered how it was possible that Mesko is a town council member for 48 years straight, and for 25 years the director of Remont. He didn’t build anything for himself, no house, no cottage. Since he got married he lives in the same apartment. Actually, this apartment isn’t even mine, it’s my wife’s. She was an only child, she had no other siblings.

I could have retired when I turned 60. Despite this I’ve only been retired since last year (2004). At the age of 82 I was still working in various positions. They were making use of my experiences and knowledge. For example, they wanted to start up a second-hand shop in Mukachevo, where they would sell rags [the interviewee means clothing – Editor’s note] and similar things. They called me from the town council, I hadn’t been retired even a day, that I should become director. We also have a dormitory for students here. The director of the dormitory called me up: “Please do something with it, help me out. Be my deputy.” I didn’t feel like doing it. So the director said: “Listen, you’ve got two granddaughters, and I know that you’d like for them to go teacher’s high school.
We won’t accept them unless you start working for us. They we’ll accept them at school!” So I worked there as well. My job was to bring about some order in the dormitories, where there were about 500 students. Boys were crawling into girls’ rooms through windows and so on. I was supposed to put it right. But what’s more important, when I was already working on it, they elected me chairman of the Mukachevo association of retirees. Thirty-seven retired army officers and many noncommissioned officers were members of this organization, and despite this, they elected me, an ordinary soldier, as chairman. I’m still a member of this organization, but I stepped down from the post of chairman. I resigned a half year ago. Even now they’re calling me back, making all sorts of offers and promises. But no, it’s been enough. And one more thing, the town council recognized what I’ve done for the town, the huge amount of work, what I had accomplished and I received a significant honor. I was elected, as the only Jew, to be an honorary citizen of Mukachevo.

How did I meet my wife? When I was a factory directory, we also had clothing manufacture under us. She [Eva Gajdos] started there at the age of 15, an apprentice. I liked her and began to court her. As a 16 year old she was already my wife. We were married on 31st August 1947 and in October she turned 17. There’s an age difference of 8 years between us. We had a civil wedding, as my wife is a Christian.

After the wedding I moved here. My wife’s parents used to live in this apartment. It’s a beautiful apartment. Everything, even the furniture is theirs. Just imagine, I’ve been director for 52 years. Out of that, I was also responsible for a furniture factory for 9 years, and didn’t take a thing. At first we had only a small room, where my daughter now lives, that’s what we got. Her parents had two rooms, a hall and kitchen. An old lady lived in another room. After her death the city gave us her room as well. After her parents died the entire apartment became my wife’s property. My wife was born on 3rd October 1930. She’s named Eva Gajdos. Her father worked as a waiter and her mother was a housewife. She didn’t have any siblings. They lived relatively well, as her father was the headwaiter in large restaurants. Among others he also worked in the Hotel Star [Hotel Star is the most luxurious hotel in Mukachevo – Editor’s note]. They lived in Beregov, Hust, everywhere where he worked at the time. They weren’t a very rich family, middle-class I’d say.

My wife finished high school at a very young age. It was already during the time of the Soviets. After high school she began to learn how to be a seamstress, so she would have a trade [in the post-war school system of the Soviet Union, it wasn’t unusual for high school graduates to enter a trade school – Editor’s note]. When I met her she was working in a tailoring workshop, for the company where I was director. She didn’t work there for long, because after our wedding she left work and from that time has been a housewife. We had three daughters: Eva in 1950, Silvia in 1953 and Zita in 1955. Now, thanks to God, we have three of everything. Three daughters, three grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

As a director I was able to give each of my daughters a trade. My goal was, as they say: “To put bread in the hands of all my daughters.” Girls get married, which is as it should be. I always tried, and try even now (with my grandchildren), for the girl to not be dependent on only her husband after marriage. Because not all marriages are successful. That’s why it’s necessary for the girls to have a trade, to finish school. When her husband is good and capable, the wife doesn’t have to work, but if the marriage doesn’t work out, it’s good for the woman to have an education too. This way she doesn’t have to be dependent on her husband. All three of our daughters finished school. The oldest, Eva, finished teacher’s high school and now works as a nursery school teacher. Silvia also finished teacher’s school and after that university. Now she works as a schoolteacher. After finishing high school, Zita registered at the university in Lvov and graduated as a fashion designer. She works in Kaposvar (Hungary) for a company as their head fashion designer. She’s been living in Hungary for nine years now. At first she worked in Budapest, but then when she met her husband, she moved to Kaposvar. Her husband is the director of the textile firm where she works. His name is Szigeti and he’s Hungarian.

Eva’s husband is from Lvov. He served as a soldier in Mukachevo. The met and he married her. Her husband worked in a furniture factory. At the same time, with my help, he got into university and also finished it. He worked as a furniture designer, but unfortunately died around five years ago. He was named Kaprovski. They had two children, Oxana and Natasha. They’re both already married. I’ve also got great-grandchildren. Oxana, just like her mother, finished teacher’s high school and then also university. Natasha also finished teacher’s high school in Mukachevo and this year [the 2005/2006 school year] will also finish university.

Silvia’s husband, Stefan Guarag also graduated from university in Lvov. He currently works and a physical education teacher. They have one son, Alexander. In the beginning they lived with Stefan’s parents in Mukachevo. Because Silvia didn’t get along with her mother-in-law, she and her son moved in with us. She and her husband don’t live together. We brought up Alexander. Today he’s 29 years old and is a small businessman.

I didn’t bring up my children as Jews. Judaism is inherited from the mother. Because the mother of my children is a Christian of Hungarian origin, she brought up the children as Christians. To tell the truth, I didn’t even want them to be brought up as Jews. They know I’m a Jew, my wife’s parents knew it as well. In fact, that’s why they also agreed to their daughter being married in a civil ceremony, because I’m a Jew. But I’ve always observed my religion and my family supported me in it. My wife always prepared what I asked her to. When I was fasting, they let me be. They respected my faith and do so to this day. Actually, before our wedding my wife used to go to a Roman Catholic church. When she married me, the stopped going. She did still celebrate Easter and Christmas, but she didn’t go to church, and neither did our daughters. Nobody. Out of our entire family I’m the only one that goes to church (synagogue).

During the time of the Communist regime I didn’t always go to synagogue, as I was a member of the Communist Party. It wasn’t until the creation of free Ukraine in 1991 [Ukraine gained its independence from the Soviet Union on 24th August 1991 – Editor’s note] that I began to again visit the synagogue daily, at that time people no longer cared about religion. Up until then they suppressed religion! I hadn’t led prayers for sixty years, and I’m still able to do it. Services during the week, that’s nothing, but on the Sabbath, that’s music! Everyone wonders how it is that I’m able to manage it at the age of 83. During Communism I prayed at home. I didn’t observe the holidays like I do now and I didn’t keep kosher either. During the high holidays, though, I did go to the synagogue and ate there, because they had kosher food there. During the holidays they always served kosher food at the community, dinner and supper.

I read a lot – regional papers, Kiev papers, local papers, everything. I also very much liked to read books. I was mainly interested in books about management, but as well I liked Hungarian novels. My favorite author is Bagajev. He’s a very good Russian writer, he’s written nice books. As far as Hungarian authors go, I liked Mor Jokai very much. We have a lot of his books at home. While there wasn’t TV, we used to go to the theater and the movies. Once we got a TV, we still went to the theater once in a while, but not to the movies very much. As they say, the TV occupied us fully.

I worked a lot. I never had my own car, but when I was a director, they gave me a government car. I always spent my time off with my family. We would go out of town, because Ruthenia is a beautiful place. There were beautiful places for recreation not far from Mukachevo, about 18 kilometers. We would always go there. In those days people still worked on Saturday, only recently, from Ukraine’s independence, do we have two weekend days – Saturday and Sunday. Before there was only Sunday. My hobby is soccer. That’s my passion. I played in all matches. When we had a meeting and at the same time a league game, I rather went and played soccer, it kept me pretty busy.

I had many friends. I met regularly with the director of a tobacco factory and the director of the movie theater, who was named Molnar. Another of my friends was Mr. Bilinec, also a director of some company, and the mayor in those days was also one of my friends. We would get together at either my place or theirs. Usually we played chess. On state holidays and birthdays we mainly met at the Star Hotel, but also in our apartments. I never had a conflict due to my Jewish origins. On the contrary, they respected and greeted me. For 48 years in a row people elected me to the town council.

I didn’t react in any way to the creation of Israel. I don’t have any family there. I don’t have any family anywhere abroad, not even in Israel. Nowhere. I never thought of emigrating. I’ve never been in Israel either. Before 1991 I used to visit the West, I was in Austria and Hungary. I was there both during the war [World War II], and after. They respected me very much, and always, when the first party secretary – Emilio Vas – he was the first party secretary in Mukachevo and at the same time a very decent person. Always, when they sent a delegation to Presov, Kosice, Budapest and Moscow, he would put me in the delegation. I helped the town a lot, as I already mentioned, I was the director of a construction company. The situation was such that there was no place left in town to build, so they started to build apartments on the outskirts. But there were these buildings, one and two-story which had been built by the Czechs [this means that they were built when Ruthenia was part of the First Czechoslovak Republic – Editor’s note]. I knew that those buildings had strong foundations, so one could add not only one, but even two or three stories. I suggested to the city, and to the party as well, that we should do this. At that time schools in the city taught in two shifts, because there were so few schools. One shift wasn’t enough, and even two were completely packed. So I suggested that we build another story on the school and children could then attend in one shift. Various documents about the building were needed for this, building plans and so on. Project planners arrived from Uzhorod. They uncovered the school’s foundations in several places in order to look at them and measure them. There are 17 schools in all in Mukachevo, but only two are ones that were built by the government. The rest are older. We built additional stories on 14 of them. We also rebuilt the Star Hotel, we built a soccer stadium, a library beside the Roman Catholic church. The library was small, like a village library, so we added two more stories to it. Now it has mainly books in Ukrainian, but you can also find Hungarian and Slovak books there.

There are about 10,000 Hungarians in the city, but I don’t know their exact number. There are still Hungarian schools, even nursery schools. You won’t find Hungarian Jews here, they only speak Hungarian [the interviewee meant to say that most Hungarian-speaking Jews in Mukachevo don’t identify themselves as Hungarians, but as Jews – Editor’s note]. There are many Russian Jews. They speak both Russian and Ukrainian. They came from all over Russia, from many Russian towns. They served here as soldiers and then stayed. Many were already born here, or their parents moved here. This was still during the time of the Soviet Union. Not all Russian Jews go to synagogue. There are those among them, mainly the young, that don’t observe any religion at all.

Our synagogue stands in Beregovskaja Street, at No. 3. After the war there was only one Jewish community in Mukachevo. Around 700 to 750 of us returned [after the Holocaust], in the meantime the older ones have died, many emigrated to the USA, Germany, Israel and Canada. Today about 750 Jews live here. In 1952, or 1955, the religious community asked Kiev to send us a rabbi. And they did. Rabbi Hoffmann arrived. After his arrival Chaim Hoffmann founded a kitchen for poor Jews. About 30 Jews regularly visited the synagogue. In the beginning Rabbi Hoffmann behaved well. Slowly, though, he began to institute things in the synagogue that we weren’t used to. This led to the community splitting in two. About 12 to 14 people who participate in prayers daily stayed with the rabbi. Now they pray where the kitchen used to be. Our religious community – under the leadership of chairman Leibovich – has about 25 men who regularly attend prayers. We pray where the Torah is. Many Russian Jews who don’t know how to pray live here. A large majority of Jews don’t participate in prayers. They only go to synagogue during the high holidays. Rabbi Shapira’s grandson, Rabinovitz, had prayer books specially printed so that beside the Hebrew prayers there’s a Russian translation, so they could read it. There are few of us that know how to pray properly [meaning to pray from Hebrew prayer books – Editor’s note]. There’s only five of us. Of these five, only three know how to lead prayers, Mr. Leibovich, Weider, who was born in 1922, and I. Leibovich leads prayers during the week. I lead prayers only on Friday evening, Saturday, and on other holidays. I also have to note that in Ruthenia it’s only in Mukachevo that there’s a synagogue where there are prayers every day, morning and evening. In other towns people go to pray mainly on Friday evening, on Saturday and holidays. We pray, morning, evening, every day. When our chairman, Leibovich, is away, I lead prayers. Shapira’s grandson, Rabinovitz, who lives in the USA, is constantly helping us, whether it’s with prayer books or supporting the kitchen, where they cook daily. We have a beautiful kitchen. He sends us money, and when necessary, he sends us bocherim from a yeshivah for the high holidays.

I actively participate in the life of the religious community, because I’m the deputy chairman of the community. I also lead prayers, meaning I’m a cantor. We don’t have a rabbi, but I know as much as a rabbi, because I studied it. So I participate in prayers as a cantor. Thanks to the synagogue I have friends to this day, because we often meet there. One of my very good friends is Schneider, who was born in 1922, and who I knew even before the war. We attended synagogue together as children. Another is Ocsi Job. I see them every day. Most often we lead discussions on how Jews live in Israel. It’s horrible, because there isn’t any hope that there will ever be peace there. How much terror exists in the world.

Nowadays I don’t go on holidays any more. I’ve only been to visit my daughter in Hungary. At that time she was still living in Budapest. Thanks to God I see my grandchildren and great-grandchildren every day. Everyone except for my daughter Zita lives in Mukachevo. Because it’s the summer holidays [the interview was done in July 2005], my wife is in Hungary with one of our granddaughters who just finished fourth grade of elementary school. They’re visiting our daughter Zita, because she promised the little one that she’ll take her for the holidays. She’s still a small girl though, and so she went with my wife. I speak Ukrainian and Hungarian with my grandchildren.

I was compensated by the Hungarian Republic for being persecuted during the war, because my parents had been murdered. I got 1.5 million Hungarian forints [about $7,500 USD]. People in Ruthenia don’t care any more who is of what religion. Before it wasn’t like that. You had to fill in what nationality you were, for example, Ukrainian, Russian or Jewish. You had to have it in your passport as well. Everywhere I had written Jewish nationality.

Notes:

[1] Subcarpathian Ruthenia: is found in the region where the Carpathian Mountains meet the Central Dnieper Lowlands. Its larger towns are Beregovo, Mukacevo and Hust. Up until the First World War the region belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, but in the year 1919, according to the St. Germain peace treaty, was made a part of Czechoslovakia. Exact statistics regarding ethnic and linguistic composition of the population aren’t available. Between the two World Wars Ruthenia’s inhabitants included Hungarians, Ruthenians, Russians, Ukrainians, Czechs and Slovaks, plus numerous Jewish and Gypsy communities. The first Viennese Arbitration (1938) gave Hungary that part of Ruthenia inhabited by Hungarians. The remainder of the region gained autonomy within Czechoslovakia, and was occupied by Hungarian troops. In 1944 the Soviet Army and local resistance units took power in Ruthenia. According to an agreement dated June 29, 1945, Czechoslovakia ceded the region to the Soviet Union. Up until 1991 it was a part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. After Ukraine declared its independence, it became one of the country’s administrative regions.

[2] Forced Labor: Under the 1939 II. Law 230, those deemed unfit for military service were required to complete 'public interest work service'. After the implementation of the second anti-Jewish Law within the military, the military arranged 'special work battalions' for those Jews, who were not called up for armed service. With the entry into northern Transylvania (August 1940), those of Jewish origin who had begun, and were now finishing, their military service were directed to the work battalions. The 2870/1941 HM order unified the arrangement, saying that the Jews are to fulfill military obligations in the support units of the national guard. In the summer of 1942, thousands of Jews were recruited to labor battalions with the Hungarian troops going to the Soviet front. Some 50,000 in labor battalions went with the Second Hungarian Army to the Eastern Front – of these, only 6-7000 returned.
[3] Shapira, Chaim Eleazar (1872-1937): Rabbi of Munkacs, Hungary (today Mukachevo, Ukraine) from 1913 and Hasidic rebbe. He had many admirers and many opponents, and exercised great influence over the rabbis of Hungary even after Munkacs became part of Czechoslovakia, following the disintegration of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy after World War I. An extreme opponent of the Zionist movement and the Orthodox Zionist party, the Mizrachi, as well as the Agudat Israel party, he regarded every organization engaged in the colonization of Erets Israel to be inspired by heresy and atheism. He called for the maintenance of traditional education and opposed Hebrew schools that were established in eastern Czechoslovakia in the interwar period. He also condemned the Hebrew secondary school of his town. He occasionally became involved in local disputes with rival rebbes, waging a campaign of many years.
[4] First Czechoslovak Republic (1918-1938): The First Czechoslovak Republic was created after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy following World War I. The union of the Czech lands and Slovakia was officially proclaimed in Prague in 1918, and formally recognized by the Treaty of St. Germain in 1919. Ruthenia was added by the Treaty of Trianon in 1920. Czechoslovakia inherited the greater part of the industries of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and the new government carried out an extensive land reform, as a result of which the living conditions of the peasantry increasingly improved. However, the constitution of 1920 set up a highly centralized state and failed to take into account the issue of national minorities, and thus internal political life was dominated by the struggle of national minorities (especially the Hungarians and the Germans) against Czech rule. In foreign policy Czechoslovakia kept close contacts with France and initiated the foundation of the Little Entente in 1921.

[5] Masaryk, Tomas Garrigue (1850-1937): Czechoslovak political leader and philosopher and chief founder of the First Czechoslovak Republic. He founded the Czech People’s Party in 1900, which strove for Czech independence within the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, for the protection of minorities and the unity of Czechs and Slovaks. After the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy in 1918, Masaryk became the first president of Czechoslovakia. He was reelected in 1920, 1927, and 1934. Among the first acts of his government was an extensive land reform. He steered a moderate course on such sensitive issues as the status of minorities, especially the Slovaks and Germans, and the relations between the church and the state. Masaryk resigned in 1935 and Edvard Benes, his former foreign minister, succeeded him.

[6] Benes, Edvard (1884-1948): Czechoslovak politician and president from 1935-38 and 1946-48. He was a follower of T. G. Masaryk, the first president of Czechoslovakia, and the idea of Czechoslovakism, and later Masaryk’s right-hand man. After World War I he represented Czechoslovakia at the Paris Peace Conference. He was Foreign Minister (1918-1935) and Prime Minister (1921-1922) of the new Czechoslovak state and became president after Masaryk retired in 1935. The Czechoslovak alliance with France and the creation of the Little.

[7] 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 if their ancestors, Eretz Israel – the Israeli homeland. The final impetus towards a modern return to Zion was given by the show trial of Alfred Dreyfus, 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.

[8] Arrow Cross Party: The most extreme of the Hungarian fascist movements in the mid-1930s. The party consisted of several groups, though the name is now commonly associated with the faction organized by Ferenc Szalasi and Kalman Hubay in 1938. Following the Nazi pattern, the party promised not only the establishment of a fascist-type system including social reforms, but also the ‘solution of the Jewish question’. The party’s uniform consisted of a green shirt and a badge with a set of crossed arrows, a Hungarian version of the swastika, on it. On 15th October 1944, when Governor Horthy announced Hungary’s withdrawal from the war, the Arrow Cross seized power with military help from the Germans. The Arrow Cross government ordered general mobilization and enforced a regime of terror which, though directed chiefly against the Jews, also inflicted heavy suffering on the Hungarians. It was responsible for the deportation and death of tens of thousands of Jews. After the Soviet army liberated the whole of Hungary by early April 1945, Szalasi and his Arrow Cross ministers were brought to trial and executed.

[9] First Vienna Decision: On 2nd November 1938 a German-Italian international committee in Vienna obliged Czechoslovakia to surrender much of the southern Slovakian territories that were inhabited mainly by Hungarians. The cities of Kassa (Kosice), Komarom (Komarno), Ersekujvar (Nove Zamky), Ungvar (Uzhorod) and Munkacs (Mukacevo), all in all 11.927 square kilometer of land, and a population of 1.6 million people became part of Hungary. According to the Hungarian census in 1941 84 percent of the people in the annexed lands were Hungarian-speaking.

[10] Anti-Jewish laws in Hungary: Following similar legislation in Nazi Germany, Hungary enacted three Jewish laws in 1938, 1939 and 1941. The first law restricted the number of Jews in industrial and commercial enterprises, banks and in certain occupations, such as legal, medical and engineering professions, and journalism to 20% of the total number. This law defined Jews on the basis of their religion, so those who converted before the short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic in 1919, as well as those who fought in World War I, and their widows and orphans were exempted from the law. The second Jewish law introduced further restrictions, limiting the number of Jews in the above fields to 6 percent, prohibiting the employment of Jews completely in certain professions such as high school and university teaching, civil and municipal services, etc. It also forbade Jews to buy or sell land and so forth. This law already defined Jews on more racial grounds in that it regarded baptized children that had at least one non-converted Jewish parent as Jewish. The third Jewish law prohibited intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews, and defined anyone who had at least one Jewish grandparent as Jewish.

[11] Hungarian Constable: A member of the Hungarian Royal Constabulary, responsible for keeping order in rural areas, this was a militarily organized national police force, subordinate to both the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Defense. The body was created in 1881 to replace the previously disbanded county and estate gendarmerie (pandours), with the legal authority to ensure the security of cities. Constabularies were deployed at every county seat and mining area. The municipal cities generally had their own law enforcement bodies – the police. The constables had the right to cross into police jurisdiction during the course of special investigations. The conservative governing structure didn’t conform (with its outmoded, strict hierarchical principles) to the social and economic changes happening in the country. Conflicts with working-class and agrarian movements, and national organizations turned more and more into outright bloody transgressions. Residents saw the constabulary as only an apparatus for the consolidation of conservative power. After putting down the Hungarian Soviet Republic, the Christian establishment in the formidable and anti-Semitically biased forces came across as a coercive force able to check the growing social movements caused by the unresolved land question. Aside from this, at the time of elections – since villages had public voting – they actively took steps against the opposition candidates and supporters. In 1944, the Constabulary directed the collection of rural Jews into ghettos and their deportation. After the suspension of deportations (June 6, 1944), the interior apparatus Constabulary forces, sympathetic to the Arrow Cross, were called to Budapest to attempt a coup. The body was disbanded in 1945, and the new democratic police took over.

Aron Rudiak
Ukraine
Ternopol
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: September 2003

Aron Rudiak is full of charm. He is a slim dressed to modern fashion man. His wife Lubov offers me a cup of coffee. I knew their age, but I was surprised to see that they don’t look it: they make a beautiful couple and have young shining eyes. They live in a big apartment in the very center of Ternopol. They have new modern furniture, music devices in their apartment and the latest design electric appliances in their kitchen. One can tell that they are wealthy. During our interview Lubov comes into the room every now and then sympathizing with her husband and his life story. Therefore, I give her an opportunity to talk about herself at the end of our interview. Meeting with this couple makes a good impression on me. I feel like seeing and talking to them again, so comfortable they make me.

My family came from Zhabokrich village, Kryzhopol district, Vinnitsa region [300 km from Kiev]. I have dim memories about Zhabokrich since I only lived there in my early childhood and when at school I visited my grandmother once or twice. I don’t have any information about the village before the revolution of 1917 [1]. I only remember it in the middle of 1930s. This was a picturesque village with a big park and a lake in the center. There was music playing and young people rowing, playing volleyball and football on the sports grounds in the park. We, kids, liked to lie in children’s playground. Zhabokrich was a village, but it was more like a Jewish town since Jews constituted 80% of the whole population. Like everywhere else within the Pale of Settlement [2] they lived in the center of the town and dealt in crafts and trade. Some had kitchen gardens and kept livestock. The rest of the population – they were Ukrainians, lived in the outskirts. They were farmers. I don’t remember a synagogue in the town, but I believe there must have been one since my paternal grandmother Chaya attended a synagogue.

My father’s parents Chaya and Aron Rudiak were born in Zhabokrich in 1860s. The family name of my ancestors sounds like a Ukrainian name and this shows how deeply intertwined were Ukrainians and Jews that had lived together for centuries. I don’t know what grandfather Aron was doing before the revolution of 1917. He had died long before I was born. All I know is that his family was poor. Grandmother Chaya lived in a small house with thatched roof. Most of Ukrainian population lived in such houses at that time. My grandmother had a kitchen garden and kept poultry and a cow. Grandmother spoke Yiddish at home and switched to Ukrainian when talking to her Ukrainian neighbors. She spoke Ukrainian with a strong Jewish accent. She was religious and didn’t work on Saturday. Her Ukrainian neighbor came to look after the cow and poultry on Saturday. I have dim memories about us, grandmother’s children visiting our grandmother on Friday and sitting on a small wooden coach. Grandmother lit candles to greet Saturday and gave us delicious fresh milk. By 1941 all children had left their home and only came to visit their old mother occasionally. When Germans came to the village our poor grandmother tried to leave the village, but it was hard for her to walk and she returned. Grandmother Chaya and other Jews in Zhabokrich were shot in late July 1941. My grandmother’s neighbors told us this story at the end of the war.

Grandmother Chaya had practically no education. Like many Jewish girls she didn’t study, but she knew her prayers and could read in Hebrew. She got married at a very young age. My grandparents had 14 children. Only five survived: the others died as infants and two or three perished during pogroms [3] during the Civil War [4]. I only know the name of my father’s favorite brother Menachem of those that perished. He was one year older than my father. My father was wounded when they were attacked by some bandits, but managed to escape. His brother Menachem died. I also knew my father’s three sisters: Chana, Rosa and Buzia and two brothers: Isaac and Yudko. All boys finished cheder and went to a primary school for few years, but girls didn’t study and were actually illiterate. When they grew up they gave up observing Jewish traditions.

The oldest of my father’s living sisters was Golda, born approximately in 1880s. She didn’t get any education. She was married. Her husband’s [family] name was Novak. Her husband died before I was born. I don’t know what caused his death. Golda and her four children lived in Zhabokrich . In early 1930s they moved to Odessa. Golda was a housewife and her children worked to support her. During the Great Patriotic War [5] Golda was in evacuation. After the war she returned to Odessa. She died in early 1960s. Her older son Lev, born in 1900s, his wife and son were in evacuation and lived in Odessa after the war. I don’t know when Lev died, but his son works as a construction engineer in Odessa. Golda also had three daughters: Chana, Rosa (her Jewish name was Reizl) and Buzia. Chana was married, but didn’t have children. She had a problem with giving birth to her first baby and could not have children afterward. However, she got pregnant again and during her second childbirth she lost her speech ability and it took her few years to resume it. In evacuation during the war Chana’s husband left her and she lived with her sister Rosa since then. Rosa’s husband David whose last name I don’t remember perished at the front in 1941. Rosa’s daughter got pregnant after the war having no husband and Rosa was so affected by this disgrace that she died from heart attack. Chana raised Rosa’s granddaughter that was illegitimate. The younger daughter Buzia didn’t have children. Chana and Buzia died in Odessa in the middle of 1970s.

My father’s sister Ghenia was born approximately two years before my father was born, approximately in 1895. Her husband Elia Gershgorn was younger than aunt Ghenia and for this reason my aunt always kept her age a secret. She didn’t have any education and was a housewife. Ghenia and her daughter Anna were in evacuation and Elia was at the front during the Great Patriotic War. He returned home, but died shortly after the war. Ghenia died in early 1950s. Their older son Aron studied in a military medical school and when the war began he went to the front with other cadets of this school. Aron worked in a field hospital during the war. After the war he finished a Medical College in Odessa and became a surgeon. He had a Moldavian wife. They had two children: a boy and a girl. Aron went to work in the north to earn money to buy an apartment. By a wicked twist of fate he died from appendicitis there in the middle of 1970s. He saved hundreds of lives, but there was nobody available when his life was at risk. I have no contact with his family. Aron’s sister Anna, born in 1928, married a Jewish man from Zhabokrich. After finishing Technological College of Flour Grinding Industry in Odessa they worked in a Baltic Republic, I don’t know where exactly. Anna died from kidney cancer when she was young.

My father’s brother Isaac, born in 1905, worked at Vapnyarka railway station near Kryzhopol in Vinnitsa region. About two weeks after the war began Isaac, his wife Malka, their children Betia, Rosa and Aron were evacuated from the town. After the war they lived in Zhuravlyovka station, in Vinnitsa region where Isaac died in a train accident in 1953. I didn’t grieve after him. The reason is that I couldn’t forgive Isaac that he didn’t pick grandmother Chaya when going in evacuation near Zhabokrich. It was an exaggerated attitude that young people often have. I have no information about Isaac’s children.

I don’t remember Yudko, my father’s youngest brother, ‘the little finger’ so much loved by grandmother. He went to the front in 1941 and disappeared.

My father Duvid Rudiak, born in 1897, finished cheder and a primary school, I guess, since he could read and write. My father worked at an agricultural cooperative that later became a kolkhoz [6] in the village.

As for my maternal grandmother Frieda, born in early 1880s, I didn’t know her. All I know is that she died at childbirth at the age of 33. I knew my grandfather Nuta Grievski very well. He was born in Zhabokrich in middle 1870s. Of my grandfather’s relatives I can dimly remember his brother Leiba who was a carpenter. Nuta worked in an agricultural cooperative like my father. I don’t know exactly how he earned his living before the revolution of 1917, but I think that he made his living as a carpenter. His family lived in a big wooden house that Nuta built himself. I don’t think they were poor.

My mother was the oldest child in her family. Her younger sisters Sonia and Ghenia only studied in a primary school for few years. They were workers at a wool factory in Odessa. Sonia, born in 1907, married Efim Balin, a Jewish man. He was production engineer at the wool fabric factory in Odessa. Efim perished in Odessa on the first days of the Great Patriotic War and Sonia refused to evacuate after he died. She and her two children: Yura, born in 1938, and a week’s old baby boy perished in the first days of evacuation in Odessa. Sonia’s younger sister Ghenia also perished because Sonia refused to evacuate. Ghenia’s husband Michael whose last name I don’t remember was at the front during the war. When he returned to Odessa he got to know that his wife and their two children Alexandr and Emma had perished. My mother’s younger brother’s (Grigori) wife also perished in Odessa. Grigori, born in 1915, perished at the front. His young wife that gave premature birth to a baby on 22 June 1941 caused by the stress also perished with her baby and her old father.

My mother Ruchlia, she was called Rachil at home – also a Jewish name sounding alike - was born in 1900. This was her actual date of birth, even though in her passport the date of birth was 1902. When my mother was to enter a grammar school in Odessa she was overage and her parents subtracted two years to make her admission possible. My mother was the only one in her family to finish a grammar school. After finishing school she returned home to Zhabokrich.

My parents knew each other since their childhood and decided to get married when they came of age. They got married around 1922. My mother’s family was rather religious and they had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah arranged by my mother’s distant relatives in Odessa [7].

In 1923 my older sister Frieda named after our grandmother was born and I was born on 13 November 1925. I was named Aron after my father’s father. I need to mention here that all first sons in my father sisters and brothers’ families were named Aron. I spent the first years of my childhood in grandfather Nuta’s house in Zhabokrich. One of my first childhood memories is of the children’s room with drawn curtains where my sister Frieda is lying with measles. I stayed in the same room with her since doctors commonly believed that if somebody in the family had an infectious disease the others had better had it, too. However, I didn’t contract measles from my sister, even though we were staying in the same room. I remember swinging in the park. My grandfather’s Leib made me sleighs and I skated down a hill in winter. There was a big veranda with stairs leading to it in my grandfather’s house. I often played there with my cousin brothers and sisters. I remember getting scared of a calf that probably wished to play with me. I hid in a puddle near the house with my head under the water. Everybody burst into laughing and my father got me out of the puddle and took me into the house to wash me. I also remember a small square near our house where there was a market once or twice a week. We liked going there after it closed to pick up corns, sunflowers and other leftovers.

I cannot remember any details of the Jewish life of our family. I remember that grandfather wore a kippah at home and a big hat to go out. I also remember that my parents attended a synagogue, but I don’t remember the synagogue in the village. I remember Chanukkah when all grandchildren came to grandmother Chaya. We received treatments of sweets and few coins as a gift. I don’t remember other holidays since I was too young.

In 1929 our family moved to Odessa. Our mother’s distant relatives gave us accommodation in a small dark room with no widows. As soon as we moved in I opened the door from where light could be seen. I saw a big brightly lighted room where the family of our relatives was sitting. A dame at the table said strictly ‘Boy, you can’t come in here!’ I was used to warm and affectionate attitude of my family and this comment hurt me. However, I got used to our small room where we lived for over seven years. This apartment was near the synagogue that our relatives attended in the very center of Odessa.

My father went to work as a fat loader at a buttery. My mother went to work as an assistant accountant at a garment factory. My sister Frieda studied in a Jewish school in Zhabokrich . Our parents submitted her documents to a Ukrainian school in Odessa. Children were admitted to schools based on their national origin and special commissions made inspections to identify any Jewish children in Ukrainian or Russian schools. Our parents decided to send my sister to a Ukrainian school. My mother instructed my sister to not react to any Jewish words that she might hear at school. We understood Yiddish. Our parents often switched to Yiddish at home. Once Frieda came home from school with tears in her eyes. She said that she incidentally answered a question in Yiddish and was afraid that they might send her to a Jewish school, but nothing happened. She remained in her school.

I hardly remember my kindergarten. I didn’t care about children’s ways of spending time. I liked counting and arithmetic that my sister was teaching me. I liked being at home and was glad to stay at any occasion, even when I fell ill and didn’t have to go to kindergarten. Once my father had to go to hospital with stomach ulcer. He was prepared to a surgery. Grandmother Chaya somehow got to know about it. She came to Odessa when I was at home. We went to my mother’s work and from there we went to the hospital. My grandmother had an appointment with the chief doctor and refused to give her permission to the surgery. She took our father to her home in Zhabokrich and a month later he returned looking healthy and strong. He had tests made and there was no ulcer identified. My father gave up smoking when staying in the village and I decided for myself that smoking was bad and never ever had one single cigarette.

In Odessa our parents didn’t celebrate holidays or observe traditions. My mother fasted at Yom Kippur while my father said that since he had to work hard physically he could allow himself to not fast. This was the only tradition mother observed. My father wasn’t a Komsomol [8] or Party member, but he was a real patriot and piously believed everything the Party or Government promised. Even famine in 1932-33 [Famine in Ukraine] [9] when there was a food coupon system, but it wasn’t always possible to receive bread per bread coupons didn’t shatter his belief in socialism and communism that our propaganda proclaimed. At that time my sister or I stood in long lines to get some bread. When a shop opened in the morning a crowd broke inside the shop and children climbed on heads to get to a counter. There was not enough bread in stores. I remember homeless children stealing bread, running away with it biting off big pieces and swallowing them. Once our mother paid a lot of money for a loaf of bread at the market. When she brought it home it turned out to be a baked in brick. Our mother took her few pieces of jewelry to a Torgsin store [10]. I hadn’t been there, but I know that one could buy food products for gold or hard currency. I didn’t suffer from hunger. I was a tiny boy and didn’t have a big appetite. I remember our mother bringing home a chicken in 1933 when the period of famine was almost over, but a celebration didn’t work out. My sister decided to cook chicken and burnt it. We were very upset: we hadn’t had chicken for years and looked forward to have a piece.

I went to school in 1933. At first I went to the school located in few blocks from our house, but then a new school was built in our yard and my mother brought my documents to this school. This was a Ukrainian school. There were Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, Jewish, Bulgarian and Greek children in our school. Odessa is a multinational town. I never faced any national segregation or abuse at school. We didn’t care a bit about nationality. We were Soviet children. I became a pioneer at school and had some chores related mostly to helping other children to improve their studies. I had all excellent marks in the course of my studies. I was short, but I went in for track-and-field events, but I was mostly fond of mathematic. I managed to find mathematical dependences in everything: in biology and in everyday life.

My classmates and I were friends. We celebrated 1 May and October Revolution Day [11] in autumn. We went to parades and then walked in the town. At home my family had a festive dinner on these days. We sometimes visited my mother’s sisters that also celebrated Soviet holidays. As for Jewish holidays, I didn’t know any at that time. Grandfather Nuta living with his daughters taking turns to look after him celebrated Sabbath and went to synagogue on holidays. We didn’t have guests since we lived in such small room until 1937. In late 1937 my father received a one-room apartment. There was one big room and a kitchen in it. Since then guests began to visit us. In 1939 our father was injured at work: he had his both legs fractured and after he recovered he was appointed to a position of production engineer. There was not a word said about arrests of late 1930s [Great Terror] [12] in our house. Our father believed that everything happening in our country was correct and was not subject to discussion. Nobody of our relatives or acquaintances suffered.

In May 1941 I was awarded a second prize at the Odessa regional Olympiad in mathematic. I was supposed to receive my award in late June, but I never received it since the Great Patriotic War began. At that moment I was visiting my aunt Sonia. Since 14 June she had been staying in a maternity home where she gave birth to a boy on 15 June and I was staying at her home looking after my 3 or 4-year-old cousin brother Yuri. On 22 June I gave my cousin breakfast as usual and sat down to do my mathematic. In the after noon my father came. He was supposed to go on business trip on Friday and I was surprised to see him. He said ‘Aron, get ready to go home. A war began’. At that time Efim and Sonia and the baby came home from hospital and I could go home with my father without worrying about Yuri. My father and I took a tram home. Usually it took twenty minutes to get home, but this time it took us about two hours. There was air raid announced several times. People didn’t know what to do, but there were no bombs dropped yet. The enemy’s planes just flew in the sky ringing panic. At home I heard that the outskirts of Odessa were bombed and the radio announced that Kiev was bombed, too.

Efim Balin, Sonia’s husband, was an officer in a military unit near Odessa. He went to his unit, returned home a day or two later and then we went to see him off to the railway station where he was to take a train to go back to his unit. This was the last time we saw him. It turned out that he failed to get to his military unit. He must have perished during an air raid. We knew that Germans were dropping bombs on strategically important facilities: the harbor and big plants and during air raids we were trying to find shelter at some distance from those facilities.

About ten days after the war began my father’s brother Isaac arrived. He was evacuating with his family and for some reason came to Odessa. I don’t know how he failed to take grandmother Chaya with him: whether he was pressed for time, or he didn’t have a chance. Isaac told my father to pack and evacuate as soon as possible. My father had a ‘white card’ [this was a release from military service in the army issued by a medical commission that determined whether a man was fit for military service] due to his injury, but he said it was a disgrace to flee in evacuation rather than defend Odessa and the country from the enemy. He didn’t believe that the enemy would come to Odessa. Isaac tried to convince our parents to agree to send the children or at least my older sister with him, but our mother said we would be together whatever happened.

The first massive bombing occurred one moth after the war began. We children began to play war games forgetting about horrific reality. Children are children. During air raids we found shelter in a nearby trench. Our mother made us bags where she put dried bread, underwear and soap in case we lost each other. Many people carried such bags in the town. After this bombing there were bombings at night. We were getting used to them and didn’t even bother to hide. Our father didn’t even want to hear about evacuation. On 27 July 1941 he went to a military registry office. He was an invalid with his one leg shorter than another, but he volunteered and was recruited in the army. We went with him to the gathering point. When saying farewells our father kept saying that Odessa would not be occupied. Our mother didn’t even try to discourage him since she understood that he was so dedicated to defend his Motherland that there was no chance to talk him out of it.

Soon refugees from Bessarabia [13] began coming to the town. They slept in parks, gardens and even in the yards telling people about fascist atrocities on occupied territories. We felt worried and our mother also began to consider evacuation. There were battles near Odessa. Germans drowned a raid ship and the front was actually open for several days. The front was very near. It was strange to see the military going to the front by trams. Ghenia’s husband Michael was recruited on one of those days. He had a ‘white card’, but nobody cared about such things: they recruited everybody who was able to hold weapons. I remember a governmental appeal to residents of Odessa that said ‘Boiling water poured on occupants’ heads and a stone thrown on them shall help us to forge victory’. At the beginning of siege Kuban and Don Cossacks [14] came to the town riding their horses and beautiful uniforms. They carried their swords and posters ‘Kuban – Berlin’ and ‘Don – Berlin’. They were full of patriotism in their determination to defend their Motherland, but what could they do with their bare hands? Few survivors, wounded and bleeding came back to town soon. They had no horses or swords with them. A human being gets used to everything. We began to live a routinely life in siege. There were lines to buy fruit, vegetables, fish and watermelons. During air raids people hid in shelters and after it was over they returned to their lines. Our battleships were close to the shore shooting across the town and it might have made a beautiful sight for boys had it not been acute risk to life.

We spent most of the time with aunts Sonia or Ghenia – it was easier to be together. One day Michael came home. He was wounded in his jaw. He had his head bandaged and bloodstains on him. He told his wife to pack and evacuate with his hospital. There were 120 slightly wounded patients that were going to a rear hospital. Ghenia refused saying that she was staying with her sisters. Michael had to go since there was a bus waiting for him. He left. I kept telling my mother and aunts that we needed to evacuate. Boats transporting the wounded and evacuating people were sinking one after another. The ‘Lenin’ boat transporting all higher Party officials and elite – actors and scientists – drowned. There were only few survivors and the rest of them perished. Couriers from our district executive committee [Ispolkom] [15] were bringing us evacuation tickets almost every day, but our mother and her sisters were afraid of getting aboard ships. I insisted that we had to evacuate. I was convinced that we would manage all right. Finally, mother agreed and on 28th September she received two evacuation cards: one for herself and one for my sister. I didn’t need a document.

On 29 August early morning we packed our belongings and went to the harbor. I was carrying a bag with our biggest value; sewing machine ‘Singer’. There was a log line to get on board a ship. There were air raids and bombings, but nobody left the line. Grandfather Nuta and my mother’s sisters came to see us off. Sonia probably felt sorry that she refused to evacuate and her sisters, children and grandfather were staying because of her. She said they were evacuating with a next boat. People dropped their suitcases and bags in a huge net container that was loaded on the boat with a crane. The crane operator missed the boat several times dropping bags into the sea. We were among the last passengers boarding the boat and got on an upper deck. Grandfather came to the boat with us and our mother asked him to stay with us, but he said he couldn’t leave his daughters Sonia and Ghenia and Grigori’s wife with the baby behind and promised that they would leave Odessa on the next boat. We said our good byes. German planes began shooting at the boat, but our antiaircraft guns kept the enemy off. The ‘Dnepr’ boat was slowly moving away from the berth. In my thoughts I was saying ‘good-bye’ to my hometown and wondered whether I would ever see it again.

The boat was under shooting several times, but on 30 we successfully arrived at Novorossiysk 300 km to the east from Odessa. Few passengers formed a commission that released the luggage to others. We were glad that our luggage was not lost. On 4 September we boarded a freight train for cattle transportation heading to the east. It went across the Northern Caucasus, Penza, Kuibyshev, Cheliabinsk, Sverdlovsk [today Yekaterinburg] and few other towns until we arrived at Kustanai in Northern Kazakhstan, 2000 km from home. Kustanai was a regional town. I was used to living in a big and beautiful town and was surprised to see small houses made of saman – airbricks. They were cold houses and I slept in my winter coat. We arrived on 17 October. During our trip I wrote letters to my aunts telling them what they needed to take with them for the trip, but they never left Odessa. We didn’t have any information about my father. In late September 1941 we received a letter from him from Mariupol on the Azov Sea. He wrote he was sorry for having told us to stay in Odessa and that he wished we had evacuated. I guess he had had his share of grief and ordeals.

We were accommodated in a school building. Few days later chairmen of Kazakh kolkhozes came to select groups of people. They were wearing big fur hats and winter coats: it was already cold at this time of year in Northern Kazakhstan. Frieda had finished school with honors before the war. She entered the State Teachers’ College in Kustanai. I didn’t have any documents from school with me since my school had closed before we left. I only had an award of honor for finishing the eighth grade. I entered a Medical School with this honor. I attended classes and two or three days later I told my mother that I couldn’t study medicine since there was no mathematic or physics that I was fond of. The only word I learned in this school was ‘defecation’. I was admitted to the third year of Teachers’ School, but it was closed a month later and senior students including me were transferred to the college where Frieda studied. They formed a Natural Geographic Faculty of ten students: two guys and eight girls. We had wonderful lecturers that were professors from Moscow, Kiev and Leningrad colleges. My mother and sister rented an apartment and lodged a girl that studied in college. I went to live in a hostel. I passed my first exams with only excellent marks. I also worked in ‘Trudovik’ shop. We made gloves and foot wraps for the front and received food products for our work. I studied there during 1942. In late December recruitment of the young men, born in 1925, was announced. Being a disciplined young man I went to the recruitment office, although I didn’t get any summons. When they measured my height it turned out to be 149.5 cm while they only recruited men of at least 150 cm height. An officer making measurements wrote 150 cm in my certificate. When somebody mentioned to him that second-year students were subject to delay of recruitment he waved his hand and said ‘He will finish his studies after he returns from the front’. The shop where I worked gave me a winter jacket, a hat, fur boots and a vest. I gave these to my mother leaving only a vest for myself. After the medical examination we waited for another month: we stayed in the recruitment office overnight going home in the morning. On early morning 12 February we were woken by alarm, marched across the central street of the town and got on a freight train that headed to the north. We moved 700 km to the east from Tyumen where we were assigned to 2nd Aviation School of Tyumen. A doctor of the medical commission of the school didn’t approve me due to my height and complained of the doctor in Kustanai for having sent them such poorly weak fresh forces. Ten other recruits were disapproved. We were taken to a station from where we walked 25 km to Krivosyolki, [about 3000 km to the north-east from Kiev] village. I was assigned to accompany of gunmen of the 2nd reserve riflemen battalion. We were to take a 6-month training studying battles, attacks, defense from tanks, etc. I didn’t have any problems with my training. We got sufficient food. I didn’t eat much and even managed to send a parcel to my mother and sister in Kustanai. From my unit I mailed a search request about my father and received a response. It said that my father Duvid Rudiak disappeared near Mariupol in October 1941. He must have perished when fascist troops landed in Mariupol. I didn’t inform my mother or sister that father had perished, but I gave an oath to myself to take revenge for my father. Once, when we were lined up my commanding officer, a senior lieutenant, found my student’s record book. Commanding officer of our regiment called me to his office. He said that since I had education he wanted me to speak about fascist atrocities in front of the regiment. We were aware of mass shooting in occupied territories. I prepared a speech and spoke in front of my fellow comrades. I had to stand on a box to be seen from behind a stand, but I made a very good speech. In 1944 I became a member of the Communist Party. There were no special ceremonies, it became a routinely procedure, but I believed it to be my duty to be in the first rows of fighters for the victory over fascism. I received my Party membership card at a meeting few months later.

I requested to send me to the front several times. My cousin brother Aron wrote me from the front to try to be no fool, if possible, but I was a patriot and was eager to take revenge for my father. One day my commanding officer told me that I was to go back to my studies in college according to another order issued to confirm that students were to get a delay from service in the army. He asked me ‘Well, will you go back to college now or after the war?’ and I responded bravely ‘We need to beat fascists first’. After our training was over my commanding officer tried to convince me to stay at school. He said I was needed there and I agreed to stay and work in the regiment office.

My mother and sister returned to Odessa after it was liberated in 1944. They failed to get their apartment back, even though authorities were to support the needs of those whose relatives were at the front. Our neighbors – a Bulgarian family – took them to their apartment. They also told them that grandfather and my aunts with their children had perished in Odessa in late October. Fascists burnt several hundreds or a thousand Jews in a barrack.

In late 1944 I was offered to accompany a group of recruits, born in 1930, to Donetsk region. They were too young and their commandment decided to let them go home. I agreed to go with them under condition that I could visit my family in Odessa. On our way to Donetsk we changed 5 trains. From Donetsk I went to Odessa. Entrances to houses in Odessa were kept locked and when I knocked on the door and the concierge opened the door she didn’t recognize me. I grew up 20 cm in half a year. My mother didn’t recognize me either thinking that it was one of her nephews coming home. There was a lot of laughter, joy and tears when she finally acknowledged her son. It turned out that my mother and sister knew about my father, but didn’t want to let me know protecting me from grief. I stayed a week in Odessa, received my food ration and left it to my mother and sister: they became very thin during the war. I returned to my military unit. In summer 1945 I came to Odessa on leave.

I demobilized after the decree issued on 25 October 1945 for wounded veterans, specialists, teachers and 2nd-year and senior students were subject to demobilization. I arrived in early October and submitted my documents to Odessa Construction Engineering College. Rector of the College was telling me to take a year’s leave to take a rest, but I was eager to go back to studies. I was admitted and a month later I passed my half-yearly exams successfully. I had only the highest grades and could apply for Lenin’s stipend [the highest stipend in higher educational institutions in the USSR awarded to the best students for special merits. Maximum 10 students in each institution could be awarded this stipend], but it was awarded to a Ukrainian student that also had all highest marks. In late 1940s state anti-Semitism was at its height and struggle against cosmopolites began [campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’] [16]. A few Jewish professors were fired from our college. I even remember that one of them – Professor Trubianski – died from heart attack and his wife refused to accept assistance from the college. I finished my college with honors and had the right to take my post-graduate studies, but I didn’t get an offer. Probably it was due to my Jewish nationality. I was a proud guy and decided to ask nobody about it. I got a job assignment [Mandatory job assignment in the USSR] [17] in Ternopol, a regional town in Western Ukraine, and in September 1950 I got off the train in this small half-ruined town in 500 km from my hometown.

In the first years I was chief engineer at a maintenance construction company. I had a low salary. I received a one-room apartment [people could not own apartments, so they were “given” apartments by the government]. In 1951 when my first year at work was over, I went to a recreation center near Odessa on vacation. On my way back I visited my family in Odessa. I visited my relatives when I met a lovely Jewish girl. She was my wife to be. Her name was Lubov Bruches. I fell in love with her at first sight and took her home on that day. We began to correspond and sent photographs to one another. I saw her again on October holidays [October Revolution Day]. I came to Odessa and we met at a party. Lubov came to the party with somebody else, but left the party with me. We met again on New Year’s day and on 30 April 1952 I came to Odessa and proposed to her. We had a civil ceremony in the registry office and a small wedding dinner at Lubov parents’ home in the evening. Shortly after we got married Lubov finished a Pedagogical College in Odessa and joined me in Ternopol.

Lubov was born in Proskurov town [Khmelnitskiy at present] in 1929 in the Jewish family. Her family moved to Odessa. Lubov’s father worked at a confectionery. Her mother Edes Bruches [nee Levit], born in 1902, got a good education. She finished grammar school, could play the piano and knew French. Lubov’s mother was a housewife before the war raising her two daughters: Lubov and her older sister Maria. Lubov’s family wasn’t religious. They evacuated from Odessa in 1941. It turned out that we left Odessa on the same ‘Dnepr’ boat and they were in evacuation in Northern Kazakhstan. During the war Lubov’s mother was director of a children’s home and after they returned to Odessa she went to work at a children’s home. Her daughters followed into their mother’s steps: they studied languages and were intelligent people. My wife’s sister Maria married a Jewish man from Odessa in 1950. In late 1970 they moved to USA. Maria’s husband died a short time afterward and she was raising her daughter. They live in New York. We didn’t have any contacts with them for a long time and in late 1980s we began to receive letters from them. They write that they are doing well and are happy.

In 1953 our elder son Gennadi was born and in 1960 our son Yuri was born. Gennadi was born when Stalin died. I didn’t cry, but I was terribly concerned about the future of the country and was very sorry that Stalin died. I was a patriot like my father. Denunciation of Stalin’s cult in 1956 was like a bolt from the blue – it was hard to believe that we had lived under the power of tyrant for so many years.

We had a good life. I held a managerial position at work, but I wanted to go back to Odessa. When I told my boss that I was going to quit he told me to obtain our minister’s permission from Kiev. I didn’t go to Kiev, but I continued looking for a job. When I found a suitable job my management approved my choice since I was staying in Ternopol working in the same branch. In 1953 I went to work at a design institute with the salary three times my previous salary. It was a lot of money at that time and our life was improving. I found my work interesting. I was responsible for development and implementation of designs for restoration and reconstruction of the town, parks and gardens, buildings and even an artificial lake in the center of Ternopol. I worked as director of a design shop for many years and then – chief of Ternopol regional department of the design institute. I wasn’t promoted for a long time afterwards, after the first promotion, because I was a Jew. Nobody told me openly, but this was evident since there were no other reasons for not promoting me. My management knew about my skills and qualification. Once secretary of the town Party committee asked me to solve a problem for his son that about twenty people before me failed to resolve. It took me an instant to give him the right answer after I read the problem. However, they were in no hurry to promote me since I worked hard anyway. They were very well aware that Jews didn’t have many choices with getting an employment. I worked 43 years and retired in 1993. I didn’t participate in any public activities. I had to attend Party meetings and pay my monthly fees, though.

My wife worked as a teacher of the Russian language and literature in a school in the center of the town. Our children finished this school. There were only two Jewish teachers in the town and Lubov faced prejudiced attitudes. She wasn’t awarded the title of honored teacher for many years and when educational authorities were awarding medals at the 100th anniversary of Lenin’s birthday in 1970 she didn’t get one. The wife of secretary of the regional Party committee was surprised to hear that my wife didn’t get a medal and when she asked her ‘Why?” my wife told her frankly ‘Because I am a Jew’. Soon she got an invitation to pick up her medal, but she insisted that they should award it at a public meeting. We live in a small town where she taught many children. For her kind heart and readiness to come to help at any moment people call her ‘Bureau of good services.’ We often had her pupils that had problems with their parents stay with us. Once Lubov’s friend left her husband and stayed with us for some time and children of our acquaintances that came to town to enter a college lived with us. We kept our door open. We had a difficult, but interesting life. We went to the cinema and Russian and Ukrainian Drama Theaters and never missed a performance of Kiev or Odessa theaters when they came on tours. We had many friends. Lubov’s friends were her colleagues and my friends – my colleagues at work. There were few Jews among them, but there were no anti-Semites for sure. We celebrated Soviet holidays together: October revolution Day and 1 May. We often had guests. Lubov is very hospitable. She likes cooking and having guests. Before our children got married we spent vacations together at recreation centers in the Crimea and Caucasus. When I bought a ‘Zhiguli’ [Lada] car we traveled by car. We often spent vacations in Odessa where my sister Frieda lived. Frieda married Lev Tsugel, who is Jewish, in 1946. He was a military officer. They lived in Odessa where Frieda worked as a teacher. Frieda and her family often visited us in Ternopol. Lev died in 1995 and in 2002 my sister passed away. They were buried at the Jewish section of the town cemetery in Odessa without any tradition observed. Her son Duvid named after our father lives in Odessa. He often calls and visits us. We cannot travel now due to poor health condition.

Lubov’s mother died in the middle of 1960s. My mother remarried very successfully in 1957. Her husband Iosif Poltorak, a Jew, was many years older than my mother. Iosif had four sons from the first marriage. One of them – Arkadi Poltorak - was senior researcher of the Institute of State and Law in Moscow. Iosif was a very intelligent and – a rare quality at the time – very religious man. He retired and held some important position in a synagogue. He had a tallit and tefillin and started every day with a prayer. When I visited my mother he told me the Jewish history and about Exodus. I celebrated Pesach and Rosh Hashanah with him several times. Unfortunately, I visited them rather rarely and cannot tell any details, but I know that he was very religious and observed Jewish traditions strictly. I respected his faith, but since I was a member of the Party I was far from religion, but my mother resumed observing Jewish traditions and followed them until the end of her life, she began to follow kashrut and on Saturday they went to the synagogue. My mother lit candles on Sabbath and prayed. She cooked traditional Jewish food on Sabbath. Iosif died in 1977. All members of the Jewish religious community of Odessa came to his funeral. They buried Iosif with prayers following all Jewish rules. My mother died 10 years later in 1987. She was buried near Iosif, but we didn’t follow any Jewish traditions at her funeral.

We have wonderful children. They both studied very well, but Yuri, the younger one, was particularly gifted. They were the only Jewish children in their class and if it hadn’t been for their mother working in this same school they would have faced open anti-Semitism. Only occasionally they felt that they were followed with wicked glances and they were called ‘zhyd’ [kike] a few times. Both sons made good careers. Gennadi finished Belgorod all-Union Tecnological College. He is a builder. Many Jews entered colleges in small Russian towns at that time. There was low competition that made it easier for a Jew to enter a college. He worked as construction engineer for many years.

Yuri finished Polytechnic College in Ternopol and post-graduate studies at the Faculty of Mechanics and Mathematic in Kiev State University. He defended his candidate’s dissertation and was awarded a title of candidate of physics and mathematic sciences [Soviet/ Russian doctorate degrees] [18].. He returned here and worked as a lecturer. He was also a member of the Scientific Council where applicants submitted their candidate’s dissertations. In 1993 he entered the Doctorate department in this College with competition of 14 applicants per one vacancy. He prepared a dissertation of doctor of science. He worked on many works, was invited to conferences in Poland, Lisbon in Portugal and Oxford. There are references to my son’s works in many scientific publications abroad. Both sons married Ukrainian girls. We are very happy with our daughters-in-law that came from very intelligent families.

Perestroika brought many changes. Our salaries devaluated rapidly and my sons didn’t receive salaries for months. We couldn’t afford any traveling that we were used to. We could hardly make ends meet with our earnings. In 1994 Yuri quit his job. He dealt in small businesses. He took the risk of selling his apartment to invest the money in business. He lived with his family in our apartment. Gennadi joined him in the course of time. Now they own a network of big pharmacies ‘Gedeon Richter’ in Ukraine. We can call it a family business. Gennadi’s wife Galia and Yuri’s wife Vera have medical education and are involved in this family business. Our children and their families are wealthy. They have luxurious apartments and cars and they can afford to give our grandchildren good education. We have four grandchildren: Gennadi’s children are Denis, born in 1987, and Natalia, born in 1989, and Yuri’s children are Tamara, born in 1988, and Alexandr, born in 1995. Our grandchildren are very gifted and they love us.

Of course, I feel upset that Yuri gave up his scientific work. A real scientist cannot abandon his science and Yuri finds time to write articles. He has publications abroad. I think our family has reached everything one could dream of. We’ve never considered moving to another country: Germany was out of the question. The wounds of the Great Patriotic War are still fresh in our memory. I’ve been attracted to Israel, but I’ve always been a patriot. I’ve given much to Ternopol that has become my hometown. I am a happy man. I’ve lived with the best woman ever in the surrounding of loving children and grandchildren. We are members of the Jewish community and often visit Hesed. My wife is a great cook. She is head of the national culinary club in Hesed. We haven’t become religious, but we began to celebrate Jewish holidays. What is interesting – our Ukrainian daughters-in-law Galia and Vera also enjoy celebrating Jewish holidays. Our children support us. We have a wonderful apartment and a dacha. We are fond of growing vegetables and flowers. I gave my car to my older son in 1990. Gennadi and Yuri have nice foreign made cars now. Few years ago our children bought us a trip to Cyprus. We often get together to celebrate Jewish holidays. Our children always cover all expenses. In 2002 we celebrated our ‘golden wedding’ in an expensive restaurant. Our beloved children and grandchildren were with us. ‘Of course, we are the lucky few: many people lost their savings at the beginning of perestroika. Independence of Ukraine is a complex issue. On one hand, Jews and other nations were given a start for development. On the other hand, we’ve lost a lot: a huge country where we grew up and our friends living in other countries, but we are happy regardless.

GLOSSARY:
[1] 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.
[2] Jewish Pale of Settlement: Certain provinces in the Russian Empire were designated for permanent Jewish residence and the Jewish population (apart from certain privileged families) was only allowed to live in these areas.
[3] Pogroms in Ukraine: In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.
[4] Civil War (1918-1920): The Civil War between the Reds (the Bolsheviks) and the Whites (the anti-Bolsheviks), which broke out in early 1918, ravaged Russia until 1920. The Whites represented all shades of anti-communist groups – Russian army units from World War I, led by anti-Bolshevik officers, by anti-Bolshevik volunteers and some Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries. Several of their leaders favored setting up a military dictatorship, but few were outspoken tsarists. Atrocities were committed throughout the Civil War by both sides. The Civil War ended with Bolshevik military victory, thanks to the lack of cooperation among the various White commanders and to the reorganization of the Red forces after Trotsky became commissar for war. It was won, however, only at the price of immense sacrifice; by 1920 Russia was ruined and devastated. In 1920 industrial production was reduced to 14% and agriculture to 50% as compared to 1913.
[5] 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.
[6] Collective farm (in Russian 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.
[7] Odessa: The Jewish community of Odessa was the second biggest Jewish community in Russia. According to the census of 1897 there were 138,935 Jews in Odessa, which was 34,41% of the local population. There were 7 big synagogues and 49 prayer houses in Odessa. There were cheders in 19 prayer houses.
[8] 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.

[9] Famine in Ukraine: In 1920 a deliberate famine was introduced in the Ukraine causing the death of millions of people. It was arranged in order to suppress those protesting peasants who did not want to join the collective farms. There was another dreadful deliberate famine in 1930-1934 in the Ukraine. The authorities took away the last food products from the peasants. People were dying in the streets, whole villages became deserted. The authorities arranged this specifically to suppress the rebellious peasants who did not want to accept Soviet power and join collective farms.
[10] Torgsin stores: Special retail stores, which were established in larger Russian cities in the 1920s with the purpose of selling goods to foreigners. Torgsins sold commodities that were in short supply for hard currency or exchanged them for gold and jewelry, accepting old coins as well. The real aim of this economic experiment that lasted for two years was to swindle out all gold and valuables from the population for the industrial development of the country.
[11] October Revolution Day: October 25 (according to the old calendar), 1917 went down in history as victory day for the Great October Socialist Revolution in Russia. This day is the most significant date in the history of the USSR. Today the anniversary is celebrated as ‘Day of Accord and Reconciliation’ on November 7.
[12] 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.
[13] 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.
[14] A member of a people of southern European Russia and adjacent parts of Asia, noted as cavalrymen especially during tsarist times.
[15] Ispolkom: After the tsar’s abdication (March, 1917), power passed to a Provisional Government appointed by a temporary committee of the Duma, which proposed to share power to some extent with councils of workers and soldiers known as ‘soviets’. Following a brief and chaotic period of fairly democratic procedures, a mixed body of socialist intellectuals known as the Ispolkom secured the right to ‘represent’ the soviets. The democratic credentials of the soviets were highly imperfect to begin with: peasants - the overwhelming majority of the Russian population - had virtually no say, and soldiers were grossly over-represented. The Ispolkom’s assumption of power turned this highly imperfect democracy into an intellectuals’ oligarchy.
[16] 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’.
[17] 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.
[18] Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees: Graduate school in the Soviet Union (aspirantura, or internatura for medical students), which usually took about 3 years and resulted in a dissertation. Students who passed were awarded a 'kandidat nauk' (lit. candidate of sciences) degree. If a person wanted to proceed with his or her research, the next step would be to apply for a doctorate degree (doktorantura). To be awarded a doctorate degree, the person had to be involved in the academia, publish consistently, and write an original dissertation. In the end he/she would be awarded a 'doctor nauk' (lit. doctor of sciences) degree.

Anna Iosifovna Ulik
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: October 2001

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

My family backgrownd

I, Anna Iosifovna Ulik, was born in Zhitomir in 1925, on January 3. Our family had three members – father, mother, and I. Later, my sister was born.
My father’s name was Iosif Davidovich Ulik; my mother’s name was mina Zakharyevna Papish. My father was born in March 1895. He paid a lot of attention to his studies, he always wanted to hear on all as large as possible, he also studied music. He went to Kharkov on his own to finish his musical education, simultaneously finishing secondary school. He began to work very early. He worked in various symphonic orchestras, and then he held many administrative offices in Kiev, starting with 1926. All his offices were related to the cultural formation of Kiev and Ukraine. He worked at the Ivan Franko Theater, in the Opera Theater, was vice director of the philharmonic society, and at the “Ukrainian Concert” company. He came from an ordinary family. His mother was a seamstress and father – a cabinetmaker.
My father was born in Zhitomir. He had a large family. His father’s name was David Kivovich, his mother’s name was Lubov. Their children were: eldest daughter Olga, then my father, Iosif, and sister Yelizaveta, who died early, at the age of 36. I remember it very well because she came to Kiev, where we lived at the time, and was put into a hospital. She had cancer, spinal marrow sarcoma. We did not have very strong relations with the family of these grandparents therefore that they lives in Zhitomir, this  the whole 150 km from the Kiev, but then this seemed much far cry and go there was difficult and we nearly did not meet. However, one or two visits of my grandfather to Kiev left an unforgettable impression on me, because he was a very kind, nice and gentle man. Know only that family an grandfather was very religious he prayed, attended synagogue, kept Shabbat and kosher laws, celebrated Jewish holidays  Both he and grandmother were killed in Babiy Yar.
I don’t know who was father’s elder sister Olga, I can only say that during the war, her daughter, whose name was Runya, went to fight as a volunteer. At the front she met her future husband, Valentin Pavlenko. After the war she did not return to Zhitomir, but went to her husband’s homeland, remote Russian village. They had two children: Lena and Zhora. Today they are certainly adults. Unfortunately, Runya died two years after the war.
My father also died early, in 1950, at the age of 55.
The family of my mother was somewhat different. It is obvious that the Revolution caused people to count time from it and not to dig deep into history. Everything was designed to cause people think only about the bright future. But some things were told, some things were mentioned, and they are stuck in the memory. For instance, when the war began and we fled and ran to safety, with no clothes or belongings, my mother grabbed her photos with her. She realized that there was something important in them. The most interesting of them is the one with grandmother, Esther Iosifovna Shulfental, wearing a Zionist dress.
Grandmother’s family came from West Europe. They came to Ukraine when the Jews were moved to Volyn. They came to Zhitomir area. That’s where my parents – mother and father – met each other. My mother’s parents certainly came from a more well-to-do family with a higher cultural level, with the knowledge of languages, with great love to music. They had special musical evenings at home. When guests came over, they always played music together.
Mother told me that grandfather, her father, often went to Warsaw. His name was Zakhariy Papish. He died in 1936. From mother’s stories I know that being a young man he went to St. Petersburg on foot and graduated from the Higher Agricultural Academy there. He majored in agriculture and forest estimation. It was an interesting and prestigious work requiring special skills. He worked for big land owners. He was given a special house and a cart – and every other thing he needed for his work. His family always accompanied him. They lived in different cities. I only know Pinsk, Lutsk and some other cities of the Volyn province. The family of my grandparents was large. As far as I remember they had five children. I can’t name them all though. I only remember those whom I met personally. My mother, Mina Zakharyevna, was born in 1895. Then Lev, Lelya, her brother, was born in 1898; he is my uncle. Mother’s younger sister Lubov Zakharyevna was born in 1911. I know from stories that when she went to the United States in 1905 (she was sent there to study the education system of the USA), her eldest son died. My mother said he was the most talented of her children. When his mother returned home he was already dead. Her second son wanted to emigrate during the Revolution. He went somewhere to the East, towards China, but nobody knows where he went and what happened to him. Lev, or Lelya, got blind. During the war we lost all communications with him, but later we found him. He died in some unknown town under some tragic circumstances. We could not find the place where he spent his last years of life. Finally, aunt Lyuba, my mother’s youngest sister, whom I and my sister remember very well because she visited us often and helped raise us when she was young; I remember that she married George Baklanovsky. They had a son, Valya. When the war broke out, he turned a year and a half. George, Lyuba’s husband, was killed on the first day of the war. She and her son evacuated separately from us. She found herself in Rostov that was occupied by the Germans. A local family rescued her. Her life was very hard as we learned later from her stories. Some people betrayed her, but that local family told the Germans that she was Armenian in order to save her life. Finally, Lyuba and Valya came to Kiev. She had no profession, so she worked at a factory and was in great need. Our life was not very good either, but we did our best to help them. She died in 1978.
My mother had musical education; she met my father in a musical college. It was in Zhitomir. There they began to work as musicians. They worked at a drama theater; my mother also acted in films when she was asked, and taught. She worked 45 years at the Franko Theater, starting from 1926, as a concertmaster of the theater.
My parents did not talk much about revolution in the family. Every time they mentioned something, they asked us not to talk about it, which was absolutely natural then. The Revolution of 1905 enabled the Jews settle where they wanted to, so my grandparents welcomed that revolution. They could certainly not understand what happened in 1917. Sometimes we heard some talk about Lenin at our house, about Gorky, about some other serious matters, but we, children, did not pay much attention to these things. I think my parents understood a lot of what was going on at that time.
At home grandmother spoke Russian. She knew several foreign languages. She spoke fluent English because she had a chance to live in the United States. All her family – sisters, brothers and other relatives – moved to the United States, and she was the only who refused to emigrate in 1905 together with her husband Zakhariy.
Grandmother was an educated woman. She finished high school. At the graduation ceremony she wore the costume she sewed herself – you can see it at the picture. And for this dress she was awarded with a prize at graduation ceremony at a Russian school. She was an educated person, read a lot, and tried to understand things around her. When she was young, Zionism was born, and the advanced Jewish youth got involved in this new movement. I not know belonged she to some Zionist organization.  And certainly when we look at a picture and see a woman wearing a homemade Zionist dress with a six-point star with photos of outstanding figures of Zionism, we certainly can understand that she was also interested in these issues. But grandmother was not religious. It was a family of Russian intellectuals of Jewish origin. She did not go to the synagogue. She lived next to St. Vladimir Cathedral and we, children, spent a lot of time in it. [This the most known and beautiful orthodox temple in Kiev]. Later we found out that my grandparents separated. My mother took grandmother to Crimea for treatment because she had some problems with bones and spine. As far as I remember, there was some demonstration in Yevpatoria when grandmother was young; she took part in that demonstration but was knocked down from her feet and people even stepped on her. She had a spine fracture due to this and she had to spend almost two years in bed. She was very clever with her needle and she began to make some special things that were sold in stores. Grandmother had a small room in a communal flat, and when we wanted to get to her flat we had to cross a big hall that was divided into sections in each of which different families lived. Her little room had old furniture and was decorated with her beautiful needlework. I even remember the slippers she made and embroidered herself.
We did not see much of our grandfather because he lived separately and died from pneumonia in 1936. Almost all our nannies and babysitters were former actors. They would go to church and take me with them. Nobody kept Shabbat at our house: life in theater envisages a lot of activities on weekends, that is, on Saturday and Sunday. Grandmother died in 1940, right before the war.

Growing up

We moved to Kiev in 1926. Kiev in our understanding was only the center of the city. We could not go very far from the center anyway. We lived in Karl Marx Street, which is next to the Ivan Franko Theater, in building № 11. We had a room in a communal flat, whose landlady’s name was Klavdia Vasilyevna. I think the whole flat belonged to her before the revolution, but after the revolution all people who owned flats had to share these flats with other families. Klavdia Vasilyevna lived with two beautiful wonderful grown-up daughters, Tanya and Tasya. They loved us very much: both children and my parents. Then Klavdia Vasilyevna disappeared somehow; she was arrested. And a man by the name of Samokhin settled in the third room. He worked in NKVD.
Our kitchen was small. We did not have much food and we were often hungry. I remember endless lines to get food; people had to register to get into line. I remember some people disappearing, for instance, there was a couple, Professor Zavyalov and his wonderful wife who looked like Marlene Dietrich. They always walked together, hand in hand. They also disappeared. Maybe they were arrested. Every time somebody disappeared it would worry my parents very much and they would talk in whispers to each other. Later my sister and I certainly understood what they were whispering about. I remember myself from the age of two or three. I remember exactly what chair I stood on when my parents received guests. I remember it was a very happy atmosphere and people laughed loudly and told me some nice words.
My sister, Vera Iosifovna Ulik, was born in 1928 in Kiev, on January 30. The best memories I have in this life are always related to my sister and to my father. These two people became symbols for the rest of my life. Vera was a unique person, a very talented girl. I remember one situation when a teacher came to teach her violin. She did not want to have that particular lesson and she acted as if she passed out. When I looked at her, I thought I was losing my sister, and that’s when I realized what a talented sister I have. We also had teachers who taught us English and other things. In the street Vera became the leader of the gang of children, who before that obeyed only one guy – Karlusha. For the first time leave on scene of theatre of name of Franco when she was 3 and I was 6 years old. We were part of a Jewish play My sister was pushed in a stroller and I had to cling to my mother’s skirt. I remember how my sister was crying and the audience exploded with applauds. We even got paid – 3 rubles each! Our whole life was linked with the theater, especially the life of my sister who was born an actress. She worked in the same Ivan Franko Theater at a shoemaking workshop. After school my sister entered the Theater Institute of Kiev and graduated from it with honors. The chief director of the Lesya Ukrainka Theater, honored actor of USSR Professor Khokhlov and then director of the theater Gontar asked the Arts Committee of the Ukrainian Soviet Republic to send three graduates to them. I remember that two graduates were admitted immediately – Yury Shevchuk and Boris Kashirin. But my sister was not. We certainly understood why: because of her nationality. Nevertheless, Khokhlov, on his own initiative, made it so that she was taken as an actress to the Russian Drama Theater. But some time later pressure was put on the directorate and on my sister to quit her work there. It was prior to their tour to Moscow. My mother heard from a high-ranking official that at one meeting it was said that my sister has a “wrong nose”. I remember this phrase all my life. As a result of some changes she found herself at the Kazan Russian Drama Theater where she realized herself as an actress and where she was awarded the title of the Honored Actress. Then she moved to a few more theaters for various reasons. At that time actors were allowed to travel abroad, so she had a chance to visit the United States, where a famous director staged the play “Good Night, Mother” together with her. The same play was staged by Rozovsky [a very famous Russian stage director] after she came back from the States. She also visited Poland and Denmark, was awarded first prizes for roles in plays. One of the plays was staged by the book of Grossman “Life and Fate”. It was recorded on video, and my friend once called me from the USA and said she had just seen Vera on TV in that play. She also had a few good roles in the cinema. Then she moved to Moscow. She died very early, at the age of 67.
So, back to the description of our house in Kiev. Our room had two pianos. We played music endlessly: mother played piano, father played violin, Vera was the conductor and I danced. I liked to dance very much; I even took dancing classes at the Opera Theater Choreographic College. I remember Tairov, the famous chief choreographer, how her personally admitted me to the College, examined my feet and discussed them with my father. My father was working as the vice director of the Opera Theater then.
I have a picture of my group of students of the college. Our teacher was a former ballet dancer. She is on that picture as well. We were very poorly dressed, but since our grandmother sewed wonderfully, she made us dresses, so we were always neat and clean. We had a nanny. It was during the time of dispossession of the kulaks [rich peasants], and many people starved, very many. So, this girl was recommended to us. She settled with us, in a separate room in our flat. She helped my mother, as well as aunt Lyuba. Nobody ate anything special. We were left some slices of bread with jam and with instructions: “Eat this” or “Don’t eat this”. We allowed be only small slices, part needed was to leave for other members of family and for us on the evening. Mama always wrote in note how much and what we can eat.
Kiev was a small, nice and elegant city, where everything was concentrated in the center. Street cars ran in Kreschatik, the main street, full of stores and lines of people. Prewar Kiev is associated, in my mind, with our street. We were children; I finished only 9 grades of school before the war.
I remember the hard times: 1931, 1932. I remember Postyshev making pictures with children. I remember the coming of Voroshilov, how he stood at the balcony of his hotel “Continental” and examined the city, and passers-by looked up to him in delight.
I remember the famine very well. It could be seen in people who fell down on the streets because they starved to death. Many families moved in the streets like today’s homeless people. I remember I brought home one woman with children. My mother settled them in our corridor, gave them a chance to wash and provided a little bit of food. It was real famine at the time.
We went to school #79, which was next to the Ivan Franko Theater. It had wonderful teachers. It was interesting and easy for us to learn. I remember our vice director Olga Sergeyevna, who was a strict middle-aged woman; she liked her students to march like soldiers. I remember that in 1936 she went to the famous “Winners’ Congress” of the Communist Party. She returned to Kiev in delight from Stalin and everything she saw in Moscow.
I was a pioneer. I also was to join Komsomol, but they did not admit me right away, because I failed to remember the names of some figures. Then I remember the feeling of utter happiness when I could finally join Komsomol. I remember I walked along Kreschatik towards my house and there was no man happier than me.
I was a very good student at school. In our class we had children of different nationalities, but we all were friends and did not know each other’s national belonging. But when the Second World War began, in 1939, when we saw the first refugees from Germany and Western Europe, we saw some Jewish children. In our yard we saw some people dressed in a strange manner. Those were refugees from the West. In our class we had a new boy by the name of Grisha Kotlyar. He was Jewish; he and his parents fled from Western Europe. This boy did not speak Russian, but he spoke excellent German, and we were studying German at school. I remember that he felt very much at home in our class. I was a little bit in love with him, but he fell in love with a different girl. Prior to the war I never heard the words “kike” or “Jew” or anything like that.
We heard about fascism, but never saw it and did not believe it was possible. But the shaking of hands between Ribentrop and Molotov was pictured in newspapers and it shook me, because I thought that friendship or cooperation between the Soviet Union and the fascist Germany was some kind of a terrible betrayal. But I could not explain anything.
There were Jewish children in our yard. I remember Nina Korotkina, Arkady who later evacuated and joined military college. After the war he even wanted to marry me, but then he was lost. I also was friends with another boy in our class, Levin. Many people have already passed away.

During the war

I remember June 22, 1941, very well. My sister and I were outside of Kiev in a pioneer camp. My mother was on tour with the Ivan Franko Theater in Moscow. Our father came to take us to Kiev. My mother was also allowed to go to Kiev, while the theater team was evacuated to Semipalatinsk.
After the start of the war, very soon after that, many a few weeks after, I heard the word “kike” for the first time. Since that time we always felt who we were. I realized that the problem was pretty bad. I am not even speaking about the after-war period.
Something happened at that moment, and people began to plunder flats, take out everything they could find from people who fled. Everything was confused; it was horrible and complicated… Some Jews welcomed the coming of the Germans; they thought it would save them. The family of my friend Nina Korotkina was not going to flee anywhere. They stayed deliberately – and were all killed in Babiy Yar  [they remembered the Germans in the First World War, when the Germans treated Jews in a good way]. When Kiev was liberated I got a letter from somebody who said that Nina was killed. Later, my parents told us that our grandparents had also been killed. They came on foot from Zhitomir to Kiev, to my father, that is, to their children, but we had left Kiev by that time. So, they stayed in Kiev and were shot in Babiy Yar on the order of the Germans.
My mother sewed us bags from bed sheets and put some stuff there. I was amazed to see that she put some photos there as well. We also carried some things in our hands. In 1939 the Ivan Franko Theater toured in Lvov, which was considered a very western city of Ukraine. From there, my mother brought us some things we had never seen before. For instance, she brought me a winter coat with a very nice fur collar, and a very nice suitcase. So, we took such things with us as well. I remember how we all ran to the train station. But it was absolutely impossible to get on the train, even to get on its steps. We tried but failed. Then we ran to the Dnepr. There we were told that we could jump on a barge that would soon leave for Dnepropetrovsk. It is impossible to describe the situation there: no water, no food, constant bombings, no place to lie down. I understand that our parents did their best to provide security to their children. We, children, thought only of ourselves, without thinking of the feelings of our parents. We cried a lot. In Dnepropetrovsk we were put on trains, into wagons without doors or windows, without food or drink. It took us 18 days to get to the Northern Caucuses by that train. People got sick and died. Only our family was allowed to get off that terrible train, upon great request from my parents and only because they had documents of figures in culture.

We spent two or three months in Kislovodsk. There I went to school and we stayed with a woman who rented us a part of her room.
After Kislovodsk we went to Tbilisi. The Germans were getting closer. The situation grew dangerous. My father was sent to Tbilisi as an administrator of the theater. In Tbilisi I finished the 10th class of school. I remember that our teachers were very good. Once we had to write compositions. The next day after we turned them in, the teacher said, “Children, you all wrote good compositions, but the best one was written by…” then she made a pause and called my name. I understand that it was all due to the good training at our Kiev school. My sister was also a good student, but I was a better student because she was thinking of theater more, so she was naughtier.
In Tbilisi we got off the train at dawn. I saw oranges of great beauty that were bought for us for the first time in many years. We stayed with one landlady in Griboyedov Street, which was downtown. 
I finished school in 1941. At that time a group of outstanding actors was evacuating to Uzbekistan. They had to go to Baku, cross the Caspian sea and there, in Krasnovodsk they were divided. I remember that we went one direction and that group – another. I remember that train station near seaport, and I remember the mad face of a woman who was carrying her dead baby along the railway. Famine, cold, all military hardships and disasters were certainly felt everywhere, absolutely everywhere.
The Germans were attacking; they were already in the Northern Caucuses. There was danger that they could capture those territories. My father went away with the group, while we were first sent to Sverdlovsk and then to Semipalatinsk where we had to join the Ivan Franko Theater.
Semipalatinsk was a terrible steppe town. It cannot even be described. It was full of famine, cold, diseases, steppe; it was not just cold – it was arctic frost. I remember how my mother had to go outside with our neighbor and saw wood woods; they could not do it during the day because they were all too busy. Workers of the theater labored as hard as people of other professions. There I was the first-year student of the Teachers’ Institute. I majored in mathematics. I remember I had to walk a long distance, several kilometers, in order to get to that institute. But I lost two years of studies anyway, and when I went to university in Kiev I was already 19, and even though I studied there for two years, it was all in vain.
Then we went with the theater to Tashkent, where the Kiev Polytechnic Institute was located at the time, and I again became a first-year student of the physics and mathematics department. I spent one semester there. So, on the one hand, I studied mathematics all that time, but on the other hand I lost 2 years of studies, because my major in Kiev was absolutely different.
We returned to Kiev together with the Ivan Franko Theater, where our mother worked. We returned right after it was liberated, in 1943. Our father stayed in Semipalatinsk. We saw that everything was destroyed completely, all houses; it was impossible to walk the main street. When I began to study, us, students, were sent to Kreschatik and we cleared it of roadblocks and prepared for the future building of houses. The columns of captured Germans walked Kreschatik when it was a little bit cleared. We witnessed the execution of some German officers in today’s Independence Square. The whole square was full of people. I personally was unable to watch it all. It was impossible to see the process of execution.
We had no place to stay; we had no food to eat. A long time passed before my mother and us were given a room in a big communal flat. We were given this room by the theater. It had 13 rooms. It had a stove that had to be heated with woods. The total number of people that lived in that flat was 36. There was one bathroom for the whole flat with long lines to it; there was no shower, just a sink in front of that bathroom. The kitchen was so small that it was very hard to stand and cook something there. That is why there were so many quarrels at the time.
I played accordion at the Ivan Franko Theater. I had to play accordion in the wings when an actor pretended he played it at the stage. I also worked with the jazz band of women in the “Caucasus” restaurant. That restaurant was quite elegant for those times and there many rich people dining in it. They came there with their ladies. I went there with my accordion. Our jazz band was combined of girls who studied at the conservatory. One of them played drums, another blew trumpet and I played accordion. Visitors of the restaurant gave money to the players, but on agreement with our leader we could not touch this money. It was counted afterwards and shared justly between all the members of the band. Rich people appeared after the war. They came to dance; they ordered music. They were called “speculators”. There were a lot of crimes in Kiev at that time and not only now as some tend to say.

I decided to go to university because I knew English pretty well (I studied it before war outside school as well). I was certainly not admitted to the university despite my diploma with honors from school. Gnat Petrovich Yura, the chief director of the Ivan Franko Theater, played a great role in my life. My mother asked him to help me, and he did. According to his request I was admitted to university at the very end, when the reception of students was over. Thus, in September 1944, I entered the Kiev State University, the Roman-German Department.
Soon, persecution of outstanding teachers began. Great meetings were organized, with hundreds of people present, to rebuke and put to shame these people. All of it resembled the medieval witch-hunting and was terrible. But nobody could stand up and defend those people. Then the same thing was directed against some students, who were close to graduation. Graduates were needed in many cities of Ukraine, especially teachers of English, French, and German languages. And that’s where problems began for me personally. Three graduates from our group were singled out because they were Jewish. It was strange. A special commission was set up to examine the case of just three students concerning the place where they should be sent [in the Soviet Union all graduates had to go to work in places they were sent to by their university]. I was sent to a village near Zhitomir that allegedly needed an English teacher. My father took me there. As it turned out, no English teacher and no English language was needed there. But I could not return to Kiev. So, I was sent to a school in Zhitomir where I worked for one month. Every time I entered classroom my students would throw hats, inkpots, pens, paper into the air. I sat down and laughed together with my students. I could not say a word to them. In Zhitomir I first lived with my aunt, my father’s sister Olga, in a damp terrible basement. Then I rented a flat with Tera Samoilovna, who was sent the same way to teach at a music college. I could not bear it any longer and I went to the city executive committee. They sent me to teach at the Zhitomir military college where I worked for some time It was in 1950. But then I had to go home because my father died. I returned to Kiev. Father died in Kharkov and he was brought to Kiev in a zinc coffin. My sister and I were in such condition that we did not remember what was going on.

After the war

After my father’s death, my mother continued to work in the theater for some time. But she was older and many things changed. She was not as spectacular when she came to the stage. Besides, her eyesight was getting worse, so she retired on pension. She was given a great present – 100 rubles. She died in my presence in December 1984.
Thus I was left without any job at all. For other people it was not hard to find a job in Kiev, because specialists were always needed. But as soon as I filled in the line “nationality” I saw strange expressions on the face of commissions and I was denied every work. I could not get any permanent job, only part-time jobs. So, I was very happy when I was given another part-time job at the Economic Institute.
And in 1952 I was given a job at the Foreign Languages Courses. I found myself among very talented Jewish teachers. I realized that these courses were like a refuge for these people. These people were not just highly educated, but also wonderful humans. Our students were adults and oftentimes specialists. At these Courses we could speak practically of anything. We could not be too open, of course, but we could say things in such a way that both teachers and students would understand you, that nobody would betray you to the authorities. Betrayals were very popular at that time, including among students. Our students came to study languages after work or other studies. We started at 5:30 p.m. and finished at 11 p.m. Our groups had a lot of hours of foreign languages and their studies lasted for three years. These courses were like a “window to Europe” and when they were resumed after the war, many people wanted to study there. For me it was not only a job, but also a place where I wanted to do something interesting. There I studied before pension, before 1990, always concerned with deal, which I like. 

My sister returned to Moscow from Leningrad because of her husband, a famous musician and teacher. She worked at the Moscow Jewish theater until she was invited to Rozovsky, to the Nikitsky Gates Theater, there it and worked before the end its short life’s. My sister died on August 28, 1995. If I talk about my sister, I need to mention her son as well. His name is Alexander. He is 41 years old. He is the only person who is my blood relative and with whom I have full mutual understanding. He has his own life. He once emigrated to Israel and now he returned to Moscow for some family reasons
The main influence my Jewish identity had affected at the device on work, when moving on the service etc. We were not raised as Jews. The nationality was not important to us, but people. Prior to that, in 1994, she and I went to Israel, when her son Alexander lived there. We spent three months in Israel. I went to Jerusalem and saw everything there. I went to the Wailing Wall and to David’s tomb. I visited Yad-Vashem and left information on my grandparents there. I saw how the memory of the Holocaust was preserved there. It was interesting and impressed me very much.
Strange as it may seem, I identify myself more Jewish than I did when I was young. I feel drawn to my history and my ancestors. I read Jewish newspapers, watch the Jewish program “Yahad” on TV. But I don’t know whether God exists in this world.  It seems to me that if he did exist he wouldn’t have allowed extermination of over 6 million Jews during the war. Perhaps, I am not a believer. After Perestroika many religious and Jewish communities appeared in Ukraine. But I cannot believe those who were communists yesterday, and today they are standing with candles in the orthodox churches or putting on a kipa. However, I try to celebrate Jewish holidays, I buy matsa at Pesah, observe the fast at Yom-Kipur. I do what I couldn’t do during the years of the Soviet power.
I began to analyze my life and I can say that I understood what determined my life. It was fear. It was constantly with me. Probably it started with childhood when parents would warn us not to tell other children in the yard certain things, then in later years we had the same warnings; being adults we are also very cautious even if we trusted people.

Lasar Blekhshtein 
St. Petersburg 
Russia 
The interviewer: Anna Shubaeva 

Lasar Isaacovich Blekhshtein excites unstinted admiration because he is really hale and hearty, notwithstanding the fact that at the age of 8 he lost his leg and since then walks on crutches.

At present he is about 100 years old and he is able to fulfill exactly 100 push-ups.

Lasar strictly follows the rules of healthy life-style (information about it he had picked up from the ancient knowledge of yogis many years ago).

But after several hours of conversation you understand that hardships of his life and life of his relatives had strongly touched him and were seared into his memory.

The last misfortune (recent death of his beloved wife Gede) must have knocked him down, but Lasar, a man of spirit manages to find pleasure in his great-grandsons against everything.

• My family background
• Growing up
• During the war
• After the war
• Glossary

• My family background

I was born in St. Petersburg in 1911. I managed to know something about my ancestors thanks to one very distant relative. His hobby was genealogy and he was engaged in it all his life long. He publishes articles in Russia and in America. He traced his own family back 5 hundred years and at the same time he found interesting facts for me. You know, Jews were authorized 1 to live in large cities, including capitals only since 1863; the privilege was given to college-bred people, very rich ones and handicraftsmen.

For the 1st time our surname was mentioned right then: it was spelled Blekshtein. One of those Blekshteins was a tinsmith, another one was engaged in veneering. Possibly one of them was my great-grandfather (or grandfather), but I cannot prove it.

My own information is connected with the photos I have in my album (the small album full of old photos came to me from my relatives). There are photos of my grandfather and grandmother, probably they were my father’s parents (unfortunately I do not know exactly), and also photos of my Daddy and Mom.

I know that my grandfather from that photo worked somewhere on a railway; and Mom told me with pride that he had invented an original lantern. I guess his creative abilities came down to me, because I also appeared to become a modest inventor.

Mom never spoke about her ancestors, therefore I knew nothing about them, including all her relatives. Only from that enthusiast of family trees I got to know that I had got an aunt (Mom’s sister) and her name was Tsilye!

I suppose that my both grandmothers were housewives. I also understand that my maternal grandfather’s name was Solomon, because my Mom’s name was Rebecca Solomonovna (in Russian 2 Rebecca Shlemovna). It seems to me that her maiden name was Kaplun, therefore my maternal grandfather was Solomon Kaplun. And my paternal grandfather’s name was Lasar Blekhshtein (I was named in honor of him as is customary among Jews).

I guess my father was born in Vilno [Vilnius at present, capital of Lithuania], and later his parents moved to Petersburg. Unfortunately I know very little about my father: Mom did not tell us and we (my sisters, my brother, and me) did not ask. Maybe my sisters and brother knew more, but I was the youngest among them and my father died in the year of my birth (in 1911 when he was about 40 years old). It is easy to count that he was born in 1860s.

My father’s name was Isidore (his second name was Isaac). My sisters and brother took Isaac for their patronymics (the same with me), though Isidore would have been more correct (in his birth-certificate Isaac was in brackets). Daddy was a shoemaker.

And unfortunately he got into trouble: he invested all money he had into the co-operative he worked at. But the co-operative went bankrupt and father was crushed down. Mom explained me that it resulted in his stroke. That was all.

My father was buried at the Preobrazhenskoe (Jewish) cemetery [the Jewish part of the Preobrazhenskoe cemetery was opened in 1875]. But Mom never told me about the details of the ceremony.

My Mom’s name was Rebecca (Ginde Rive) Blekhshtein, her maiden name was Kaplun. She was born in 1870 (I counted it, because she died in 1942 at the age of 72). She was religious: attended synagogue on holidays. I do not know whether Daddy did it (Mom told nothing about it). Mom belonged to Misnagdim (a Hebrew word meaning opponents). [The term Misnagdim is loosely used by Hasidim to refer to European religious Orthodox Jews who are not Hasidic 3.

I know that my Mom also came from Vilno. Mom and Dad got acquainted there. But I have no idea about the circumstances of their acquaintance. They arrived in St. Petersburg having already been married. I do not know why they appeared in St. Petersburg. Possibly there they expected to find a large labor-market for handicraftsmen.

• Growing up

In Vilno Mom worked as a senior shop assistant in the department of small wares. Probably that was why she could speak a little a lot of languages: German, French, Polish, Yiddish, and Russian. She had to accept the goods brought from different countries: France, Germany, Poland, etc. Mom told me that her Lithuanian was poor, but Polish was rather good. At home when she wanted to keep something in secret, she spoke French to my sister. But her mother tongue was Yiddish, she often spoke Yiddish to me, and I gave her answers in Russian.

Father died, and mother remained a widow with 4 children. Her life before the revolution of 1917 4 was terrible (she told about it herself). Five of us lived in a small room together. I remember the room though I was very little. I also remember the fire, and my mother pulling me out: I remember very long corridors of that communal apartment 5.

When Mom lost her husband, she immediately lost the right to live in St. Petersburg. Every week a police officer visited her to take a bribe. That was the way we lived before the revolution, but after it Soviet authorities gave us an apartment.

I also remember that during the revolution we often were hungry. A Jewish orphan asylum was opened at that time. Together with the orphans my brother, one of my sisters (middle) and I left Petersburg for Ufa (the Urals). Many years later, being already an adult, I realized that there we had seen cossacks 6 (people on horses). I guess we got there right during the fights of Chapaev brigade 7, but at that time I did not understand it.

Mom had no profession, therefore she worked at the market. She had a small stand there. For about 2 years she boiled soap (I remember it was white with dark blue strings), cooled it, cut it into pieces and sold at the market. Later she started buying and selling different things: soap, blue dye, etc. She earned little money, but she earned it. My brother also was engaged in trading (instead of studying). But in 1920s NEP 8 was abandoned by authorities.

We were often hungry: I remember myself standing beside Mom when she was frying potato pancakes (made from potato peel) on oil stove. It was a pleasure for me to wait for the next pancake. At present Mom often comes in my mind as an expert in cooking. I never ate gefilte fish cooked better than she could!

Mom was a very noble woman. Soviet authorities gave us a three-room apartment, but we lived in one rooms (for some time the second one was occupied by my sister and her husband, and the third one was empty and cold). We kept odds and ends in it.

One day in 1927 my dear Mom walked along Kanonerskaya Street [situated near Lermontovsky prospect] and saw an elderly Jewess and a girl sitting on the sidewalk. She started a talk: Fun wanen zeiter? (Where are you from?), etc. She got to know that they ran away from pogroms in Belarus, lived in need and had no place to spend the night. And Mom took them to our place and gave our cold empty room at their disposal.

They turned out to be provincial Jews with bad manners. They were ungrateful. At first they lived in out apartment without registration, but soon they got registered without our knowledge, and we lost our room (our apartment became communal). Soon they became three, and later the old woman’s son appeared.

So they lived in our room (about 16 square meters) four together. When they opened their door, something unpleasant emitted a smell. For our family it was a tragedy, a great discomfort. My Mom did her Jewish duty and in a better world (beyond the veil) she would be granted remission of forty sins.

After all our torments we had to change two our rooms for another one, dark and terrible, but in another apartment. Mother did not discuss it with her children: I was a schoolboy, and my brother and sister thought it was a temporary measure. You see what happens sometimes to polite and sorrowful people… People say that kind acts cannot be passed over as a mere trifle. That was the way we lost our apartment.

We often moved from one apartment to another. Since my birthday, I lived in 8 or 9 apartments. I was born on Vassilyevsky island [the biggest island in the delta of the Neva River]. I remember our apartment near the Great Choral Synagogue [the Great Choral Synagogue in St. Petersburg was built in 1893]. I consider that district of Leningrad to be Jewish (a lot of Jews lived near the synagogue).

Most of the Jews around the synagogue were handicraftsmen, employees, small traders, etc. - in general there were not many intelligent people. I describe the situation of 1920s and 1930s. Later people became more educated: for example, all my schoolmates received higher education. In our class there were 16 Jewish boys, and only 1 of us married a Ukrainian girl, i.e. a girl of different nationality.

I never wore a kippah; Mom forced me to wear tzitzit, but after a year I got rid of it, because I became more independent and was able not to obey Mom. I never had payes, I was always close-cut. Even the older generation did not wear Jewish lapserdak (old-fashioned floor-length frock-coat), but a lot of them were bearded.

Every day on my way to school I met people going to the synagogue. They usually carried tallit and other necessary things for praying.

Our family was rather poor, but not dirt poor. I remember that I was dressed badly, my clothes were the worst in my class. But at that time people did not pay attention to it. You see, my clothes suffered much because I used a crutch, and it rubbed against my trousers. As Mom had no time to patch, I had to do it myself and managed to repair my clothes.

My mother had got 5 children. One of them died being a baby and we never spoke about him. So I had got 2 sisters and a brother, I was the youngest.

My elder sister Elena was born in St. Petersburg in 1898 (you see, I do not know when my parents arrived in St. Petersburg, but I know that she was born here). My second sister Elizabeth was born in 1904; my brother Solomon was born in 1905. And I was born in 1911.

My elder sister Elena got married at the age of twenty. Her husband’s name was Aron Sust, he was a Jew. But he never visited his relatives. Never. I do not know why. Possibly he was a man of bad temper. I lived with Mom and my second sister Elizabeth. Elena lived with her husband in their own room (in another street), and she never came to see her mother, never brought her anything. As for me, I visited Elena many times.

Aron worked as a mechanic: he repaired sewing machines and typewriters. He made a lot of money, but I never saw him with a book in his hands. My sister also was a housewife and nothing more, but a very loving mother and a good wife. She was a real cordon bleu. A good wife, a good mother… But there happened a misfortune: she smothered a baby in her sleep.

Elena was very tired, went to bed and the baby was sleeping beside her. She turned over on her side and pressed the child against the bed. Elena’s husband loved their children very much, therefore that loss made things difficult for their family (Aron considered it to be an inexcusable sin). They had got two more children, two girls: an elder one Vera (born in 1928) and a younger one Elizabeth (I do not remember the date of her birth).

My second sister Elizabeth had a bad fall in her childhood (I guess at the age of 12) and became humpbacked and very short. She did not finish a school and did not get married. She worked as an accountant at a bank. Elizabeth read much, but had sullen disposition. She read in Russian: neither my sisters, nor my brother knew Yiddish (even the alphabet).

During 3 years I did not talk to my brother, trying to persuade him to study at the secondary school. I told him that Soviet authorities allowed us to study, we got an opportunity to study and we had to study. But my brother stood his ground and refused. So he finished only 2 classes. He was able to write and read, but he did not want to read.

My brother was dandyish: it was important for him to have two suits for each season (one for working days and one for days off), and he managed to have. Pay attention that I had got only 1 suit and wore it all the year round. Solomon liked to dress well, liked jolly crowds. But I remember no interesting persons or Jewish intellectuals among his comrades. At that time (in 1920s) it was in fashion to have parties. They used to gather every week. There they mixed with their equals, got acquainted, and married. I was never present at those parties: at that time I was too little and they did not invite me. They never arranged parties at our place.

During the NEP period my brother became interested in trading and got a small stand at the market. He sold fancy goods there. Later NEP was abandoned and in 1930 or 1931 he arranged manufacturing of woolen caps and scarves together with his friend, a Jew. They bought a knitting machine and hired a worker (a woman). That woman had no place to live, therefore we invited her to live at our place.

My brother and his partner registered her as a homemaker (I guess it was cheaper, than to register her as a worker). To cut a long story short, it was illegal. Both of them (my brother and his partner) were condemned for their crime. His partner managed to escape and ran away to China (together with his family). And my brother was brought to prison, and later to a camp. He spent two years there.

Till now I suffer, because I did not send my brother parcels while he was in prison and in the camp. Two years I sent nothing to him. You see, I was a student, I was poor, but now I think I was able to send a parcel to him! That idea did not come into my head and nobody suggested it: neither Mom, nor sisters. We acted like strangers, not relatives. We were wrong. It was necessary to send him a lot of cigarettes, so that he could change them for food… Unfortunately that cannot be remedied.

Later when he returned from the camp, he worked as a bookkeeper. You see, he was not educated, but very clever: he managed to finish courses for bookkeepers and worked as a senior bookkeeper at KIROVSTROY! The Kirov factory [The Kirov machine-building factory was founded in St. Petersburg in 1801] was a great factory! They had got a special building organization engaged in construction of new factory workshops: it was named KIROVSTROY. My brother was the Head of that organization and had got 6 subordinates. I guess he could have come to the forefront, because he was more talented than me. But he did not study…

He got married. I do not remember her name. She was a Jewess. As my brother wanted to be better and better circumstanced, his wife had to have abortions (one after another) until he got a room, furniture, cut-glass ware, clothes, etc. In the issue they had got no children. So they died having no children.

I studied at the National Jewish school #5 9. Mom sent me there. They did not teach us religion. In our class there were 8 boys and 8 girls: only Jewish children. At school there were 10 classes (about 200 pupils). All teachers were Jewish. They taught us Yiddish among other generally accepted subjects. At our school only 2 cleaners were Russian.

At that time in the city there were 5 national schools: 2 German (Annenschule, Peterschule), Greek, Polish and Jewish. The Jewish school was situated in the former gymnasium of Eizenshtadt in Lermontovsky prospect (close to the synagogue: our back door opened into the synagogue court yard).

I finished that school and I am very proud of it. In 1929 in Leningrad authorities initiated campaign for estimation of training quality and potential of pupils, i.e. investigated students’ IQ. And our school appeared to be the 2nd in the city after Annenschule.

By the way, students from Annenschule and Peterschule were from rich families: governesses saw the children to the school doors, tutors helped them in their studies, etc. And our school was a school of beggars, we were beggars. I finished my school in 1930. It functioned 20 years and was closed after our graduation.

By the way, I started my school years on September 1, 1921 and on September 30 of the same year I got under the wheels of tram. I lost my leg and since then I walk on crutches. Therefore I missed the whole year (I spent it in hospital) and continued my studies at school only a year later.

Our school was perfect! Here I’ll tell you about our director Timofey Yakovlevich Tseytlin (I do not remember his Jewish name, but I remember that it was absolutely different). He taught us social science, trained us to be good people and told us about everything. Here imagine a fine day in May, our studies are almost over. Do you think it was possible for a teacher to arrest attention of 16 boys and girls aged 16-18? Yes! He fell into talk and had been giving a lecture for 6 hours without any break.

We were so much taken with the topic that even did not leave the classroom for toilet! He was a person of encyclopedic knowledge: he was able to speak about Middle Ages, about Indians, about China. He also knew much about Jewish societies (at that time Israel did not exist). We listened and he spoke. He was a born orator! I bend my knee before him!

And his wife Lubov Sergeevna was a short slightly built woman. She taught us chemistry. But… we did not like chemistry: nobody of us (16 pupils) became a chemist. Most of us chose engineering.

Mark Yakovlevich Shnitsler taught us physics. I think he was not talented in teaching. Our Maths teacher Abram Efimovich was perfect, though he was a doctor by profession. Humanitarian subjects (History, Literature) were taught very well. Our teacher of German language knew 7 languages (her name was Anna Ossipovna Pinsker).

They taught us Yiddish (we knew nothing about Hebrew) like all other subjects: German,  Geography, Maths. At that time I could read Yiddish. At present I remember the alphabet, but I cannot read: I spell out (my English is much better), but I write easily! Four times my neighbors came to me and asked me to translate letters from Russian into Yiddish. They sent my translations to America and got answers: it means that people understand my Yiddish. Yes! I can write quickly.

Mom did not help me in my studies. You see, she worked in the market. One day a teacher from our school saw her there. She bought something from her and said ‘Your boy is a capable pupil and you should not worry about him.’ So nobody paid attention to my studies: neither my sisters, and brother, nor Mom.

In our class there were several intellectuals: for example, a son of one of our teachers (Yiddish language teacher). He became a professor later. And the majority of us were kapsonim (like my family). Kapsonim means beggars (according to Sholem Aleichem 10).

In fact nobody of us attended the synagogue. We (boys) used to run to the synagogue at Simchat Torah, because at that time they gave us gifts, and we competed (tried to receive as many gifts as we could). I walked on crutches, therefore they felt sorry for me and I got more gifts than others. I was very proud of it. They usually gave us sweets, gingerbreads, but it was not our aim, we acted for the fun of it. We were boys of 12-14 years old.

A lot of religious people attended the synagogue. I remember that at that time there were 3 synagogues: the Great Choral Synagogue, the synagogue of Hasidim (now it is called the Small Synagogue), and the synagogue of Misnagdim (inside the Great Choral Synagogue on the 2nd floor). During holidays all synagogues were full of people. And I do not remember any conflicts.

My Mom attended the Misnagdim Synagogue, and I used to bring her something to eat while she was praying. My brother and my sisters never visited the synagogue, and I attended the Great Choral (for me it was more interesting).

In the Great Choral Synagogue the first rows (about 20) were places for gvirim, i.e. for rich people; each of them had tallit bordered with gold and silver. It was impossible to have a seat there: people bought places a year beforehand (like in the Philharmonic Society). And it was expensive (I do not know how much).

There were a lot of Jews in Petersburg: I know that they were about 220,000 before Perestroika 11 and at that time they were much more. The farther from the 1st row the cheaper the seats. A lot of people had to be standing. If I came, I stood in the crowd. The synagogue hall was overcrowded.

Once in my life (I was a 12 years old boy) they trusted me to carry Torah, though I was on crutches! I carried Torah, and people touched and kissed it. That was my affecting experience.

We did not celebrate my bar mitzvah, but I remember the following. In the city there were several synagogues situated at private apartments, where religious Jews gathered to pray. One day Mom sent me to one oа those apartment on some business (she used to send me to different places: to shochet with a hen, etc.). I remember it was in June somewhere in Sadovaya Street, in the big apartment. I came in and saw people walking around the flat like sleep-walkers. As soon as I came in Jews rushed to me ‘The boy! How old are you?’ - ‘I am thirteen.’ - ‘Oh!!!!’ And they clamored at once. You see, I was the 10th Jew (minyan) and they could start praying. It was good that the 10th Jew came, though I was only a boy.

My mother forced me to go to cheder. It was here in Petersburg in 1926-1927. Mother wanted me to study Jewish Tradition, because she was a religious woman. But I haven’t learnt much there: it was not very interesting for me. Later for some reason the cheder was closed. But Mom was very persistent: she invited rabbi from the cheder to come to our place (she paid him).

He came, we read. We read in Hebrew, but I understood nothing! He read and translated. It was Humash or something of that kind: I do not remember. I also do not remember the rabbi’s name, we called him rabbi. I guess he was rather poor: he used to have dinner with us. Rabbi visited us during a year. But I was interested in Russian literature (classical). Therefore I appeared to be an underachiever and he stopped our studies. He was very nice, and I distressed him. At that time I wore tzitzit (Mom forced me). At our school nobody did it, but in cheder there were boys with payes (their parents insisted).

We finished our school in 1930. All my schoolmates started working in different spheres. Some of my friends became turners and mechanics, and I found job of a copyist at a design office.

Here I’d like to tell you that our teachers brought us up ideally: all of us became honest people, nobody of us broke the law. Almost all of my classmates have already died. All of my classmates avoided camps 12 - and it was surprising; because in 1937 13 people suffered much. Several boys served in the army. During the Great Patriotic War 14 one of them was lost.

Our teachers were professionals, therefore fifteen persons from our class (even the most slow ones) graduated from different colleges and became engineers, geologists, meteorologists, etc. And one of us (the 16th one) did not manage to receive higher education, because he was executed by shooting before 1937. Here is the story about him.

That boy was the most intelligent of us, he was from an intelligent Jewish family. His father was a bookkeeper at the Synagogue. His father was one of the Twenty [an initiative group of 20 religious persons got registered and was able to sign contracts on using religious buildings, and solve other problems connected with exercise of religion]. My schoolmate’s name was Emmanuil Kitainov, and we called him Nolik (Zero). He was talented in the humanities.

At our school there were two good reciters of verses: Nolik (he was the 1st) and me (I was the 2nd). Nolik was very good in Russian, but he was ignorant in mathematics and physics. In the 9th form he was asked to count the volume of the cube (its side was equal to ‘a’). Nolik thought for a long time, but managed to answer that it would be ‘а3’. Then the teacher changed the problem specification from ‘a’ to ‘a/2’, and Nolik gave no answer. But! He was the only pupil at our school who knew Hebrew!

His parents were grateful to me, because at school there were savage customs and guys used to play tricks on Nolik. Once they forced him to climb upon a bookcase. The bookcase was not high, but Nolik could not climb down and stayed there. I also remember that they often put Nolik into a garbage box (at school there were special boxes for rubbish), and again Nolik made no attempt to get out. It was me who often came to his succor. His mother was extremely grateful to me.

We finished our school and stopped to be in touch. But in 1934 he was brought to our mind. In December 1934 Kirov 15 was killed; the next day we read in the newspaper that 16 people were shot (in revenge, I guess), and among them we found Nolik’s name. How did he get there?! We lost ourselves in conjectures. By hearsay we got to know that he studied in some library.

We suspected that he was connected with keeping or distributing unauthorized books and in the end of 1934 he was in prison. He was taken among other prisoners. He was innocent.

After school it was necessary to find a job. When a schoolboy, I studied at the art school and finished it. I doubt that I had any creative abilities, but I had been studying drawing for 3 years and received a diploma. I decided to become an engineer, and appeared to be a good draftsman (my studies at the art school helped me much).

But at that time it was very difficult to enter a college: it was necessary to have worked for 2 years before entrance exams. All my classmates (I already told you) found their work at different factories as turners, mechanics, etc. But it was impossible for me because I had only one leg, therefore I found job of a copyist at the design office at ELECTROSILA factory [Electrosila Factory is a Leningrad Corporation for construction of electric machines – one of the largest USSR factories in this sphere.] Half a year later I became a draftsman (designer).

At ELECTROSILA they arranged the first Special Design Office in the USSR. Different people were taken to the office: 6 persons from ELECTROSILA factory, several dozens of arrested doctors and professors. A General was the office chief. For fulfilling ordinary (simple) tasks they sent there a lot of students of Electrotechnical College. [The Electrotechnical College was founded in 1891.]

Those people designed 2 mighty projects. I was so sorry that at that time I had not enough knowledge to adopt their practices and methods.

At that time they also arranged evening courses at ELECTROSILA (a branch of the Electrotechnical College). I had no chances to enter it: my brother was in prison, and Mom was a handicrafts person. At that time my nationality was not an obstacle for entrance; but the facts from my biography were.

Those learned scholars finished their work in 1932 and the Special Design Office was closed. The former chief presented me a set of clothes for my good work. You see, at that time it was a problem to buy clothes (even a handkerchief): everything was on cards 16 and salaries were crummy. And the General gave me a lot of things: from socks to winter coat, caps, suits, etc.

But I thanked the General and said that I wanted to study: ‘You know my biography, I never made secret of its facts. I guess they will not let me enter a college.’ - ‘Why didn’t you submit your application?’ - ‘It is useless.’ He answered: ‘Do it.’ And I handed my documents over to the College entrance examination. Later I did not find my name in the list of new students. I came to the General ‘They did not take me, I told you.’ The General gave me a petition (from GPU 17). It was GPU that killed millions of people under the guidance of Stalin. It was terrible (at that time people used to say that half a country was in camps and half a country was on duty). With the help of that paper I entered the College (evening course).

Soon I found out that our training there was inadequate, therefore I continued as a full-time first-year student of the Polytechnical College. [The Polytechnical College was founded in 1899.] I graduated in 1937 from the faculty of measuring technique and started my labor activity.

At first I worked at LENENERGO [the power company of St. Petersburg]. Graduates had to complete a mandatory 2-year job assignment 18 issued by the college from which they graduated. But I graduated with honors, therefore I was allowed to get employment at my discretion in any town or organization. I chose LENENERGO. They had got no service of measurements, and I started working at the department of automatic equipment.

My future wife came there to work, too. Her name was Gede Israelevna Kaplun. At that time she was 26 years old (she was a year younger than me: born in 1912). Her parents had got 3 daughters: Ida, the youngest (she is still alive), my Gede, and Ella, the eldest (she has already died). It was a Jewish family, they arrived in Petersburg from somewhere, I do not remember the place. I did not know their father (he died earlier), but I was acquainted with their mother.

She had a great deal of personality, was independent and strict. And she brought up her daughters in her own spirit. She was not religious. Their family was of average culture. My wife, for example, was not widely-read. But she was a clear head, a good expert and she was equal to the tasks of mother and wife.

We got acquainted in 1938. She graduated from the Electrotechnical College and was an electrical engineer. She understood that I was an indecisive boy-friend. So one fine evening I heard a doorbell. It was about midnight, and I usually went to bed early. I had a room at the communal apartment and my neighbor opened the door for her.

She understood that I was that sort of idiots whom it was better not to talk to much, she came in, undressed and got to my bed. Our loving relations lasted 66 years, we lived in harmony. Only one misfortune: she passed away before me (several years ago); though women usually live longer than men.

When we got married, my wife was already going to give birth to our first child. LENENERGO gave us a room (5.5 square meters). Can you imagine that I managed to place there a sofa, a large desk, a wardrobe, and 2 armchairs. I visited a furniture store 3 times to measure the pieces of furniture. All my neighbors came to our place to look what I managed to do!

The chief engineer of LENENERGO Sergey Mihaylovich Pussin was one of my benefactors (it happens not often in our life!) - may he rest in peace! When my wife became so great with child that she could not squeeze between the sofa, the wardrobe and the desk, Sergey Mihaylovich gave us charge over the room.

He had no right, because the room belonged to the LENENERGO department! But it happened and we got a possibility to change it for another one. We managed to change it for a room of 12 square meters and it became a little bit easier for us.

By 1941 our son was 10 months old. His name is Erlend. Erlend is a Norwegian name. You see, my wife Gede read a novel by Norwegian writer Sigrid Unset [1882-1949]. She received (to my knowledge) a Nobel Prize. Erlend is a hero of her novel Kristin Lavransdatter. My wife read the book and named our son Erlend. At home we called him Eric. He has got only one name (like the rest of my sons): nobody of them has Jewish name.

One clever famous Frenchman recommended people the following: if you want to know a person, give him 2 sheets of paper and ask him to write down all his good deeds (on the 1st one) and all his clever deeds (on the 2nd one). As for me, I’ll recommend to give a person the 3rd sheet of paper to write down all his silly deeds.

My list of silly deeds would be much longer than 2 previous, I am sure! But one of my cleverest ideas (I am proud of it!) came to me before the war. I analyzed information from newspapers and understood that the war was going to burst out very soon.

• During the war

I worked at LENENERGO, and one of my friends worked at the sales department. They defined quotas, therefore they could get everything by pulling strings. I asked my friend to order tickets for me. So next day (absolutely unexpectedly for my wife) I came home and brought her railway tickets. I saw my wife and our son off on the train. They left Leningrad on June 6, 1941. And the war burst out on June 22 (2 weeks later). I consider that my action to be one of the cleverest or even the cleverest in my life.

I sent my wife to her sister Ida. She and her husband were geologists and at that time worked on construction of some power station (I do not remember what power station).

My wife was very clever and active, while her sister, on the contrary, was not so active. So Gede moved her sister and her family to Tashkent [nowadays it is the capital of Uzbekistan; and during the Great Patriotic War it was a place of evacuation]. There she managed to find job of a teacher at the technical school and  got a room somehow. [Technical school in the USSR and a number of other countries was a special educational institution preparing specialists of middle level for various industrial and agricultural institutions, transport, communication, etc.]

I remained in the besieged Leningrad 19 and suffered from starvation: my weight was 32 kg when I left the city in February 1942. LENENERGO gave us a bus and we moved along the Road of Life 20. I traveled about a month and in March reached Tashkent. When my wife saw me, she nearly fainted: I was a bag of bones. In Tashkent people lived not very well, but they could eat normally. I worked there at the design office of a factory which produced electric lamps. I was a chief designer there.

My Mom, my sister Elizabeth, and my nieces (Elena’s children) stayed here in Leningrad. Elizabeth took care of them.

Elena’s husband was lost during the first months of the war. From rumors we got to know that on the Volkhov River their barge turned over and all passengers were lost. So he did not fight. Later (in 1942) Elena was killed during bombardment. She worked at the Kirov factory (wanted to get a worker’s ration card). She was buried in the Daddy’s grave. No Jewish ceremonies. I was present at the ceremony and I remember that we all were silent. I am distressed with it now.

My brother Solomon was at the front-line twice: he took part in the Soviet-Finnish War 21 and in the Great Patriotic War [WWII]. He fought from the very first day till the very last one. During the World War II he served on the Far East as a lieutenant (though I am not sure). Solomon managed to remain alive, he even was not seriously wounded. He was awarded an Order of the Red Star 22.

I could not take my relatives to evacuation with me: the bus belonged to LENENERGO (therefore only its employees were permitted to go, no relatives). I also was not sure that our bus would be able to reach the continent: I knew about trucks which had broken through the ice on the Road of Life. I addressed the local Communist Party committee and they told me that they were going to evacuate a lot of citizens very soon.

I calmed down my relatives: I told them about their forthcoming evacuation. And indeed, they left the city soon. But unfortunately by that time my mother had died. It happened on March 8, 1942 (therefore March 8, the Women's Day is not a holiday for me, but a dark unforgettable time). And Elizabeth and her nieces left for the Urals. They returned to Leningrad (to their apartment) after the end of the war.

In Tashkent my wife gave birth to our second son. It happened in 1943. We called him Simon. Why Simon? Why not Solomon (in honor of my brother)? You see, we were not sure that my brother was alive. Therefore we wanted to call our baby not Solomon (in case my brother was alive), but we wished the name to sound similar. That was why we called our son Simon. Since that time we called my brother Monya and my son Sima. We returned to Leningrad after the end of the war and in 1946 our third son Boris was born.

My wife refused to have abortions. It was in her character. Therefore everybody around us (including our director and the chief engineer) had got one child, and we had got three of them. They considered us to be crazy. I did not dare to insist: I would have never forgiven myself any tragic mischance with my wife during abortion. And she loved our children very much and devoted her life to them.

• After the war

You know, it was a problem for me to get back to Leningrad after the end of the war 23. My wife returned, but the factory administration did not want to let me go, because I was one of the leading designers. Later I was appointed a shop superintendent. It was necessary to find a replacement, so I managed and then they let me go. I got to Leningrad via Moscow.

We lost our room: leaving Leningrad I simply put my key under the rug near the front door. And when we arrived, we could not get inside the room: it was occupied. Everything was awfully difficult. Some time I worked not in compliance with my profession, and later (in 1948) I found job of designer at the Vibrator factory. I worked there from 1948 till 1984 (36 years).

Vibrator factory produced electrical measuring instruments. At that time there were 5 different types of instruments and I was the chief of design office for one of those types. I had got 18 subordinates. We worked upon a model of the instrument and handed it over to the factory where they produced instruments after our example. I invited hard-working people to the office, all of them were professionals. We were not close friends, but I remember that we celebrated someone’s birthday together (I do not remember exactly).

Jews worked in our office, too. But most of our employees were Russian. We worked and our administration board was satisfied with our work. Our instruments were on sale abroad.

By the way, the factory director and the chief designer were Jews. Our team was very efficient.

I never paid attention to nationality choosing friends. At school my friends were Jewish, because my school was Jewish. At my College there were many Jews. I did not do it on purpose, though I felt some drawn to Jews. But there was no religious aspect in our relations. We did not celebrate Jewish holidays (at school we did, but because our parents attended a synagogue.) All Jews I knew in my life knew nothing about Talmud or something of that kind. Some of them knew about Hummash.

Here are the results of my life activity: 5 books, 19 articles, 32 inventions (for 10 of them I got copyright certificates and received some money).

Using my inventions, 2 persons defended their theses and received 'kandidat nauk' degrees 24. I did not need the scientific degree, because I earned money for my family, working on inventions and books. Using one of my inventions a group of my colleagues received the State (Stalin’s) Prize. But as I was a Jew and not a communist party member, therefore I was not in the list. The same happened with my friend in 1948 and he went crazy. As for me, I did not sleep 3 nights: the situation was so insulting! You see, a good idea comes to you not every day.

One day Einstein was asked about the way he got his brilliant ideas: ‘Do you file them or keep a diary?’ Einstein answered ‘Oh, good ideas appear so seldom!’ You see, those people received the State Prize for the work I was thinking about during 8 years (and it was my fourteenth variant of solution)! But I was easy to get round. When I understood everything and recollected that my friend, I did my best to remain alive: I used yoga exercises to avoid stress results. I think that life is life and the prize is nothing… At present I often watch my instruments on TV (every month in different programs!).

I had got three sons, hence it was necessary for me to have four apartments. I managed. For example, this apartment, I got for one of my inventor’s fees: I solved the problem that people have been trying to solve for a long time (since the 19th century).

A new device I designed in 1956. Once I talked to Americans, and they told me that in their country my invention would have cost half a million dollars! Here I did not received half a million dollars, but I got an apartment: and it was very good (it was extremely difficult to receive a new apartment, I had to become a member of  a building society and pay for the apartment!).

My successful inventions disturbed the good understanding between my brother and me: he was unkind to me… A close friend of mine explained to me that I had hurt the feelings of my brother by presenting him my book with an inscription ‘To my dear brother from one of the authors.’ For me it was normal, but for him it was a misfortune. You see, he never wrote a word, and his brother wrote a book!? I guess if someone somewhere solved a difficult problem and received a million for it, he would not notice it. But if it was his brother, it was a severe hurt to his pride.

Unfortunately my brother hated me. When I visited him, he usually left the apartment supposedly to buy ice-cream. But he did not come back in my presence. I guess after my leaving his wife gave him some signals and he returned. My brother could not forgive me my success. You remember that I had got three children, and he did not have any, I received higher education and he finished only two classes… So I stopped visiting him and he came to my place never more.

My brother died in 2001. His wife died several years later.

Elizabeth, my sister died at the age of 72. She was a decent person: during the blockade she took care about her nieces (orphans) after Elena’s death. Elizabeth went to evacuation with them. After their return to Leningrad her private life was very poor, and the children were very difficult… The elder girl Vera was uncontrollable: in evacuation she tried to commit a suicide. 

Elizabeth got in the hospital and one day they called me and informed about her death. She was cremated, and I buried her near our father’s grave.

My wife died in 2004. We lived 66 years together with her. And I… I feel fine (like a young boy). I guess my heart worked not so hard because I lost my leg at the age of 8. I am able to stay in a steam room for long and do not feel high temperature.

Let's talk about my children. The elder son Eric graduated from the Conservatory, he is a chorister. We meet seldom. His family is not fine: 12 years ago he lost kidneys, his wife is sick with cancer, his daughter is about 29, but not married, his son got divorced and is not happy with his second wife…

My second son Simon left for Israel 11 years ago. Their life in Israel is not so good now. He is an engineer (graduated from the Electromechanical College), but works as a yard keeper. Several years ago he was a worker at a plant. He has got two girls: 20 and 22 years old. They are my pride and happiness, because they are beautiful, good, and talented! His wife is a chemist. Simon never calls me, his daughters or their grandmother sometimes phone me.

My younger son Boris is my beloved boy. Yesterday we visited a steam bath together. He is an engineer, graduated form the Polytechnical College. 23 years he worked in Norilsk. He often goes to business trips to solve different serious problems at different metallurgic plants: people trust him. He has got a daughter Galina. Her first marriage was not successful; and now they live together with a guy and have a child of 4 years old, but they are not married officially. They often visit me.

My children and grandchildren know that they are Jewish, but they do not live Jewish life. Only Daniil, my grandson arranged manufacturing of matzah (he is a businessman) somewhere in the suburb of St. Petersburg. Last year he brought me 2 kgs of matza. Probably my Israeli relatives understand Jewish life more than we do.

And today I’ll soon congratulate some people by telephone: ‘Gut yom tov! Gut yor.’

• Glossary:

I met Boris Yosefovich in his 5th floor apartment. He and his wife Faina Vladimirovna are very hospitable hosts. Boris Yosefovich is a talkative, energetic and
a cheerful person despite his suffering during the siege of Leningrad 1 and the Great Patriotic War 2, as well as since the death of his son.
 

He recently celebrated his 81st birthday and continues to lead an active life.

He has a good memory and is an excellent storyteller. Moreover, his friendliness and humor make his life story even more impactful. 
It was a real pleasure to listen to his recollections and we are lucky that Boris Yosefovich shared his memories with us.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary 

My family background

There is a saying that goes: ‘we all come from childhood.’ However, I like to be more specific: I come from the Jewish shtetl Ushachi in the Vitebsk province (now it is in Vitebsk region on the territory of Belarus - 40 kilometers far from the city of Polotsk). The city is situated on the bank of the Dvina River. It is also home to the picturesque Ushacha River, which is 70 kilometers long. In fact, the settlement was founded in the 17th century on the banks of the Ushacha River. The original settlers included Jews. It was a unique beautiful territory of lakes and woods full of fish and animals - gifts of nature. It did not take the citizens much time to reach a lake or a wood – the settlements were surrounded by nature.

Polotsk is now 1,140 years old. The city has a rich history. One can still find a small, one-storied house, where the Russian tsar Peter the Great lived for some time. And it was in Polotsk where local citizens aided in Napoleon’s defeat.

My father, his father, and his grandfather were born in Ushachi. My father’s name was Yosef, and my grandfather’s name was Shimen-Dovid. My grandfather died in 1915.

My father had had two elder brothers named Zalman and Isaya. Their houses were next door to ours. They also had a younger sister named Menye. She married a young local man, Sinkin. In 1911 they left for America. When they settled in New York, they sent special invitations for Menye’s brothers to join them in America. I saw the invitation at home; everybody forgot about it. We probably only remembered it once we were living in the ghetto.

My Mum’s name was Hane-Seyne (many of us had two names). She was born in 1879 in the settlement Drissa, which is situated on the Zapadnaya Dvina River (Vitebsk province, Belarus). Her maiden name was Klet. She was very beautiful. Shadkhan arranged her marriage, bringing her from Drissa for my father. They got married in approximately 1903. Their wedding took place in a synagogue (with a chuppah, etc.) according to all of the Jewish rules. At that time there were no official wedding records. Rather, my parents just remembered that they got married in the winter, sometime before Chanukkah and the Russo-Japanese War of 1905.

My parents also connected the dates of their children’s births with different holidays, events, circumstances, or seasons. Then, when it came time for my siblings to leave home, they obtained their certificates of birth according to their appearance and with the help of witnesses. I was the first among our family members to receive the correct official certificate of birth (for June 24, 1925).

By 1922, my parents already had seven children: two daughters (Nekhama and Libe) and five sons (Berl, Haim, Shimen, Ele, Isaak).

In 1923, my oldest sister, Nekhama, moved to Petrograd [Petrograd was renamed Leningrad after Lenin’s death in 1924]. My parents then had six children, but that did not last for long. In the same year, Mikhael was born. And again father had to work hard to support seven children.

In 1925, Libe left for Leningrad, but I was born immediately after she left. And again our family had seven children. I was named Bentse (Bentsion). I became Boris much later in the reserve regiment #111. This is how my name was ‘changed:’ Before our departure for the training tank battalion, the first sergeant asked my first and last names in order to complete the muster roll. I, of course, told him my real name. But the first sergeant interrupted me: ‘What is your name, again? Say it in Russian.’ He ordered for me to say my ‘real’ Russian name. I said ‘Boris,’ and that is how Boris became my name.

In 1927, Berl left for Leningrad too, but after his departure Leybe was born. Leybe was my parents’ last child. Despite the fact that he was the youngest, he was very talented. Nowadays we call such children prodigies. He did very well in school—so much so that his classmates gave him a nickname: a mathematician. He was the best in chess (we made chess-men of spool of thread and drew chess-board on a cardboard). But during the war he was executed by shooting together with my parents by fascists.

When our parents had seven children, my father had to work hard to support a family of nine. How did he manage?! It is difficult to imagine.

Father began his professional life as a smith, and later (in the beginning of 1920s) he trained to be a wagoner.

He earned money mainly conveying passengers and luggage from Ushachi to Polotsk and back. Besides that he had to take care of the horse and the cow and to chop firewood for winter, etc. To tell the truth, even when the elder sons started helping my father, the hardest part of work still rested on his shoulders.

To this day, I am haunted by the tune of a song my father used to sing while working (Michael Alexandrovich, a Soviet singer sang it and I still take care of his record). The song is called ‘Bin ich mir a Fuhrman.’ Here is its literal translation:

My home is road,

My bed is a cart.

My work is to hurry.

The horse is running at full speed.

In summer and in winter,

In hot and cold weather,

On the sands and in the marsh,

I sing this song.

And my Mum! I guess she deserves many awards, if we consider the fact that nowadays, mothers with only three children receive social services benefits. And my Mum (think about it!) gave birth to ten children and had no maternity leaves. She even knew nothing about maternity hospitals. And she spent so many days and sleepless nights beside the cradle, singing lullabies…

She washed many baby linens, worried about her children when they were sick (you understand that they were sick very often). She never received assistance from a nurse-maid. In Ushachi there were a lot of women who wanted to work as nurses, but my family could not afford such a service. Mum was pregnant almost all of the time, but she went on working till the very day of delivery. I remember my elder brothers joking: Leybe (the tenth child) was practically born in the vegetable garden near our cabbage plants.

Mum had to take care not only of her children. In fact, at that time, we did not have gas, electric, water supply, or central heating. Mum had to get up early in the morning to start a fire (kerosene was in short supply).

She also had to bring and chop firewood, bring water from far distances, and ‘invent’ breakfast for the entire family. I say ‘invent’ because we always lacked food. However Mum managed to feed and do all of the washing for every member of our large family. She was an excellent cook, because before her wedding she had worked as a cook for a rich Jewish family.

In Ushachi, each family had many children, but less than ten. Only our parents had ten children. Father and Mother were very proud of it and they did their best to send children to cheder and to Jewish school. In Ushachi there were two schools: Belarus secondary school and Jewish junior school. Although we children had more opportunities for education, our parents had received only a religious education.

The Jewish school was very small. There were small classrooms with school desks for pupils (three seats each). Our teachers were very strict, but fair. The teachers were also very competent and did their best to help us in our studies and to grow up to be worthy Jews. As such, we took examinations and did not cheat.

There were people in need everywhere. There was shortage of everything: copybooks, pens, pencils, ink, etc. At school they gave us one textbook every two or three pupils. From spring until autumn we went to school barefoot. Sometimes they gave out one or two boots, but the children without fathers always received these shoes.

There were a lot of poor families. Some houses had dirt floors and windows at the ground level. Only tailors, shoemakers, tinsmiths, tradesmen, and office workers always had work and therefore managed to make ends meet. Wagoners lost their jobs when people started to have cars.

During the second half of the 1930s, the Sunday market in Uschachi was filled with people. It was possible to buy high-quality food there. You only had to have money.

In our shtetl there were three synagogues and two Jewish cemeteries. My parents and uncles Isaya and Zalman were very religious. At home we spoke only Yiddish: it was our mother tongue and favorite language. All of my siblings and I finished Jewish school and we all also studied in cheder – actually, all of them but me. By the time I started my education, the cheders were already closed. [In 1918 Soviet authorities permitted national minorities to teach their children at schools in their mother tongue. But in 1938 they issued an edict ordering to teach all schoolchildren in Russian.] To clarify, Cheder literally means ‘a room’ in Hebrew. In the context of education, a cheder is a room where children gather to study Hebrew and Torah.

Father was very religious. He never missed the morning prayers and always put on tefillin. He always took tefillin with him when he went out of town. And God forbid if he got home late on a Friday evening and missed lighting the Shabbat candles! He was not educated but was still a very wise person. Many people asked his advice (for example when they wanted to buy a horse or a cow).

Although Father was very religious, my parents never dressed according to Jewish tradition. Instead, they wore very modest secular clothes. Most of our neighbors were religious Jews.

We usually met our relatives in synagogue and at market on Sundays.

Members of our family never traveled farther than to Polotsk, and the purpose of those trips was only business affairs. We did not even consider going on vacations.

Also, Father was never called up [for military service].

Politically, our family was very loyal to the government. My parents never criticized the actions of authorities (or at least they never discussed their dissatisfactions in the presence of their children). They were afraid of saying too much; therefore, they always warned me to keep my mouth shut. 

Growing up

I did not attend kindergarten. Rather, I stayed at home with Mum, my brothers, and my sisters. I do not remember having any particular school-like activities. We always had chores in the house and in the vegetable garden to do, regardless of our age. We also used to help grazing a cow and a horse.

We lived in a wooden house. During the winter, we closed half of the house to save on firewood for heating. We had no bathroom or bathhouse. We had to rent a bathhouse for washing until we built our own in 1935. We had no orchard, only a vegetable garden with potatoes and other vegetables. We kept a cow and poultry. Our parents never had servants. As I mentioned before, us children always worked around the house according to our abilities.

Our family lived modestly financially since only Father worked. You remember that our parents had ten children (seven of them lived at home; the older children had left home). Still, it was impossible for us to survive without our vegetable garden and a cow.

At home we had only religious books. Other books we borrowed at school. We did not subscribe to newspapers, but bought them. There was a library in Ushachi and it was possible to borrow books there, too.

I studied four languages: Yiddish, Belarusian, Russian, and German. At school I liked all subjects and received only excellent marks. I studied Yiddish for seven years and managed to finish my Yiddish education before Jewish schools were closed in 1938. I never studied Hebrew.

I remember many of our teachers. After the end of the war I saw some of them. The son of one of our teachers lived in Leningrad, and she always visited him after her retirement. We met since I was also living in Leningrad at that time.

Our family was religious and our parents were members of the Jewish community. We strictly observed all Jewish traditions (such as kashrut and the Sabbath). In fact, our family ate only kosher food. We had separate dishes for dairy and meat dishes, and special set of plates and dishes for Pesach (we kept these dishes in the attic during the rest of the year). We celebrated all Jewish holidays and went to synagogue. Despite our poverty, we celebrated Sabbath and holidays according to all religious rules and traditions.

For example, a month or so before Pesach it was time to make matzah. In 1930s, the authorities did not officially forbid making matzah, but they actively propagandized against it. At school, teachers strictly warned us not to take part in making matzah and threatened to expel from the Pioneer organization 4. Mum asked all of us to keep my participation in matzah making a secret. Everybody did.

Since my parents had eight sons, they arranged for a circumcision on the eighth day for each boy, as prescribed by the tradition.

I remember that at school, teachers started explaining that we lived better than we were before the October Revolution of 1917. They told us to ask our parents and to compare the ways of living before and after the Revolution.

So I asked Mum and she answered: ‘We were satisfied with food and well dressed. We lived better before the Revolution.’ At school I retold her words, and teachers cursed and almost expelled me.

We were surrounded by a lot of young people and children, so we had a good time! We used to gather at somebody’s house, play mandolins and balalaikas, and tell stories. In summer we went to the woods to gather berries and mushrooms and to swim in the lake. And in winter we went to ski and skate (we used self-made skis and skates since we had no money to buy new ones).

We often went horseback riding late at night. I enjoyed riding and especially liked to gallop bareback at full speed.

Although we had a lot of fun, there were also many negative aspects of life: fights at school and in the streets, unauthorized visits of the authorities to the gardens of collective-farms 5, and punishments for grazing horses on the collective-farm fields. Sometimes we were whipped for it. Gershen, a horse-trainer, would get particularly angry for the latter infraction. Many times he arrested our cow and horse, took them away from the field, and kept them in a shed as hostages until we brought him ransom (three or five rubles).

Despite the disorderly aspects of life, Jewish life flourished. People arranged weddings with chuppot, brit milot [circumcisions], Bar Mitzvot. On Purim, young people used to come to the Great Synagogue carrying rattles and other gadgets to make noises at the appropriate times. Sometimes we made so much noise that they sent us out of the synagogue.

In our shtetl we had our own Hakhamim [wise men], sorcerers, midwives, and physicians. Here I’d like to tell you about our neighbor Ele-Rose. When somebody got ill, they went to her for a so-called ‘treatment’ (now I recollect it with horror!). She would put her dirty hands into somebody’s mouth or lick specks of dust away from somebody’s eye.

When I read Sholem Aleichem 6 or Dovid Bergelson 7 (descriptions of Jewish life in shtetls), it seems to me that they describe my shtetl Ushachi: our life, troubles, and habits. Sholem Aleichem explained why Jews laughed and made fun all the time, despite their bitter lot and poverty: they had no choice but to do so.

The Jews of Ushachi experienced difficulties under all political regimes. I remember Mum told me that during the Civil War 8, two strong Russians from the Red Army came to Uschachi. They demanded gold and threatened to shoot everyone if their demands were not fulfilled. Mum started crying and asking for mercy. But they ordered Mother and Father to go to the closet and shot at them through the door. Father and Mother lay on the floor and therefore remained safe. Those guys took a bag of grain and left. And the hole made by the bullet remained in the closet door forever as a reminder of a happy ending.

At the end of 1920s and beginning of 1930s, the GPU 10 often arrested Jews and demanded gold, too. One day my father was also taken away to the GPU office, which was situated in a small house. I stood near the window and watched them beating him. In the afternoon they arrested Mum, and placed her into prison. But by the evening father was released (he was black and blue, his ear was smashed), and two days later Mum was released, too.

In the middle of 1930s, authorities started their slow but sure attack against Jewish culture and religion.

Local authorities gathered shoemakers and decided to create a workmen's cooperative association. They needed a space for their gatherings. So the authorities arrived at a wise decision to arrange the workshop in the Great Synagogue. To be fair, it is necessary to add that in the remarkable Roman-Catholic church they also arranged a special office where people brought their vegetables, fruit, mushrooms and berries to sell.

In 1936 authorities started building a new brick two-storied Jewish school. I transported bricks from brick-works to the building site in a cart for a scanty salary. But, alas! The building was constructed, but it did not house the Jewish school. In 1938, the government closed all Jewish schools. That school became a Belarusian school. Jewish, Belarusian, and Russian children studied there together.

After finishing school, young people tended to leave Ushachi. In 1938, my brother Mikhael left for Leningrad (he was born in 1923), and in 1940 it was my turn to leave.

I went by car for the first time in my life at the age of fifteen. In our shtetl there was only one car, and all of us went to the owner asking to go for a drive.

And my first trip by train was in 1940 when I went to Leningrad—before that I had never seen a train and had never left Uschachi. In Leningrad, I entered the Industrial School #7. [In industrial schools they trained young people to attain working specialties]. That school belonged to the plant named after Voroshilov 11. I studied in the group of opticians and mechanics. I finished the school and started earning money little by little, but then the war broke out.

In the Industrial School it was necessary to fill out a questionnaire about my siblings. It took a long time, and the employee who was assisting me got very tired and even asked to take a break from this hard work!

Nekhama (Nina) was my eldest sister. According to her documents she was born in 1908, but she was actually born in 1905. In 1923 she left for Leningrad where she worked and graduated from the Technological College. She got married in 1933. After the end of the war she gave birth to three sons, at this time they are all alive. She died in Leningrad in 1996 at the age of 90.

Libe (Lyuba) was born in 1907. She also left for Leningrad and worked there as a nurse. Later (during the war with Finland 12 and the Great Patriotic War, too) she worked in a military hospital. She died in 1968 at the age of 60. Libe had two children. Her daughter lives in St. Petersburg, and her son in Jerusalem.

Berl was born in 1909. He graduated from the Leningrad Pedagogical College. During the war he was at the front line. He died in 1990 at the age of 80.

Haim was born in 1913, Shimen in 1915, and Ele in 1917. All of them finished only Jewish junior school. During the war Haim and Shimen (as well as Berl) were at the front line. They died in Leningrad in 1993 and 1986, respectively. Haim’s two children died during the war, and Shimen’s daughter lives now in Jerusalem (Israel).

I’d like to tell you about my brother Ele later and in more detail.

Isaak was born in 1920. He graduated from the Pedagogical Technical School and worked as a teacher of German language in high school of Kublichi (20 kilometers far from Ushachi). He knew German perfectly. I’ll tell you about his death later.

Mikhael was born in 1923. In Leningrad, he graduated from the Timber Industry College and worked at the Institute of Fish Industry. During the war he was at the front line. Mikhael died in 2000 in Jerusalem (Israel). His son lives in Israel, and his daughter in Germany.

I went to Leningrad, and my mother, father, and younger brother Leybe remained in Ushachi. Leybe was a still schoolboy. Isaak worked as a teacher in Kublichi. My brother Ele, his wife Ester, and their four-year-old daughter Sonya lived in Polotsk.

With almost all of their children out of the house, it was time for my parents to reap the rewards of their hard work. It was fantastic that they managed to raise ten children without any assistance! All their children were already able to offer financial assistance to our parents, and I looked forward to receiving my first salary to do so as well. When Mum saw me off to the train from Polotsk to Leningrad, I promised her that I would come back in a year for holidays and bring her the most beautiful dress I could find. But I never received my first salary. And who ever would have thought that we parted, we would never meet again.

During the war

The Germans arrived in Ushachi on July 4, 1941. They arrived easily: in our area, the fascist armies moved forward with barely any resistance. In fact, on the sixth day of the war, the Germans took Minsk [capital of Belarus; Minsk is located250 kilometers from Ushachi]. Jews were so confused about what to do and where to move. Still, at that time, they believed that Germans would not harm innocent old people and children. Only several families left all their property and ran away before Germans appeared. Those Jews who remained in Ushachi perished later.

Among those who remained was my brother Ele. He (together with his family) came to Ushachi to visit our parents. On July 4, 1941 (early in the morning) they tied their cow to the cart and started moving eastward. Several families followed them. Having covered 35 kilometers, they reached the small Ulla River and saw the wooden bridge in ruins. The retreating Red Army soldiers, who did not want Germans to cross the river and pursue them, had destroyed it the day before. The Jews became panic-stricken. At that moment, the Germans approached them and ordered to come back home. The carts returned home.

At first, the Germans left Jews alone. It was a disturbing calm.

Later, my cousin Aron, Isaya’s son (Isaya was my father’s brother) was the first in our family executed by Germans. And at the end of summer 1941, all Jews in Ushachi were ordered to move to the left bank of the river into houses located around the small synagogue (those houses were cleared out beforehand). So that was the way ghetto in Ushachi was organized. Children and old men, sick and disabled people moved there. It was their last shelter.

My brother Ele managed to get out of the ghetto. People advised him not to come back. He could be rescued, especially because at that time partisan groups were being organized nearby. Ele thought it over, gathered some food, and made a decision to go back to his family. But in the ghetto, the Germans took the food away from him. Ele’s wife gave birth to a boy, but several hours later he died of hypothermia.

It happened on January 12, 1942. People in the ghetto were ordered to stand in line. The Germans said that they would be sent to the east by train. Jews moved forward under he escort of submachine gunners. They covered several hundreds of meters, and then the column was ordered to go right (to the left bank of the river). Everyone who was still able to think realized that it was their final journey.

Here I’ll retell you the story of an acquaintance, whom I met in 1950: ‘The day before the execution, the Germans forced twenty strong men to dig a hole near the road. The ground was very frozen, therefore the hole was not very deep. The Germans stopped the column in front of the hole, selected parties of 20-25 people, and shot them using submachine guns. Injured people were pushed down in the hole alive.’

Two days later, Germans brought about 200 Jews from the Kublichi shtetl to the same place. They were executed by shooting the same way as the previous group of Jews. Along with the Kublichi Jews, my brother Isaak Lerman, the German language schoolteacher, was shot, too. He would have preferred to remain alive but in hell, but he refused to work for Germans as an interpreter.

But in spring of 1942, powerful partisan groups sprang into existence. In Belarus there were 350,000 partisans. The headquarters of the partisan movement was situated in Ushachi. Partisans (among them there were many Jews) fought for Ushachi and managed to liberate it and all settlements around it. The fascist garrison was annihilated. The partisan zone of Ushachi became the most armed one in Belarus, and Germans were not able to reoccupy it.

In July 1944, I heard that my hometown had been liberated from the fascist occupation. I was eager to find my relatives. The Communist Party leader (assistant of battalion commander in political and educational work) of our battalion sent a letter of inquiry to a military registration and enlistment office of Ushachi. [Military registration and enlistment offices in the USSR and in Russia are special institutions that implement call-up plans.] Soon I received a terrible message: the Lermans (my father, mother, brothers, their wives and children – fourteen people in total) were executed by the fascists (shot together with hundreds of other Jews in 1942). I could not stop crying.

After the end of the war, only several Jewish families returned to Ushachi. Most of the town’s former Jewish inhabitants settled in Leningrad. Now only two of them remained alive in Leningrad. Two more live somewhere in Israel, and one of them is in Los Angeles, in America. Only these five people remained from our large Jewish community—only one among many Jewish communities in Belarus that faced such a horrible end.

In 1945, my cousin Emma returned to Ushachi and immediately started investigating the circumstances of execution of its Jewish inhabitants. She found eyewitnesses who told her about it. But nobody wanted to show her the very place of execution. They only said that it happened near the cemetery, but Emma found there only flat ground, covered with grass. Later Emma found a courageous woman who showed her the exact place of execution. People put columns in that place and built grave mounds over the holes; they also planted trees around the place.

In the 1950s, the inhabitants of Leningrad, Minsk, Vitebsk, Polotsk, etc. collected money and put iron fencing and a small cement obelisk on the tombs. In the 1960s, we decided to put a commemorative stone plaque there. The authorities refused to finance it (they explained that there were no money for it). Again we arranged fund raising and ordered a stone in Vitebsk. When it was time to erect the monument, local authorities decided to pay for it, but forbade writing the word Jews on the plaque. So the following text is written there: ‘On January 14, 1942 on this place 925 Soviet citizens - inhabitants of Ushachi settlement and Kublichi village - were executed by shooting by German soldiers.’

After the war

So every year after the end of the war, the former Ushachi inhabitants (sick or disabled) came to visit the commemorative plaque from all over the Soviet Union. They gathered to commemorate their murdered relatives. After all, before the war, 2,000 people lived in Ushachi and 80% of them were Jewish.

Years passed, and we changed the date of our visit to Ushachi to the first Sunday of August (it was easier for us to come there during summer holidays). We gathered to recite the Kaddish and to commemorate the memory of our tortured and murdered dear ones. Every year the number of visitors thinns out. In 1996 we were ten; in 1997 only four. In 2000 nobody arrived except me. I was alone standing in the rain and reciting Kaddish. The tomb was neglected and everything was downtrodden and rusty. I addressed the local authorities with a request to take care of the plaque for the Ushachi citizens. They promised to do so. And indeed later they later did everything necessary.

Here I’ll tell you some words about my brothers and sisters who lived in Leningrad at the beginning of the war. Haim, Berl, Mikhael, Shimen, and Libe were mobilized on June 25, 1941. My sister Nekhama remained in the city. Blockade, bombardments, cold, and the most terrible famine began.

When Germans laid siege on Leningrad we stopped our studies. Transport did not function. Our school was located near the Bolshevik factory and I lived in Vereyskaya Street near Vitebsk railway station. It was necessary to walk twenty-four tram stages to reach the school. At school I received breakfast (some porridge and 75 grams of some kind of bread). There I waited for dinner (they gave us 175 grams of bread more). I did not eat everything at dinner, but took it home and shared with Nekhama (she received only 125 grams of bread per day) 13.

Later I was not able to walk anymore, so they gave me a children’s bread ration card for me to receive 125 grams of bread instead of 250 grams.

It is necessary to say here that when we came to Leningrad we no longer observed Jewish traditions.

In the middle of February 1942, a messenger from Smolny came to our place. [Smolny monastery housed supervising Communist party and Soviet state bodies of the city.] He was well dressed and well-groomed. He brought us instructions regarding my sister’s and mine evacuation me. Those directions came from the Ministry of Petroleum Industry. You see, my sister’s husband (Solomon Mikhailovich) was evacuated to Nizhni Tagil and worked at a defense enterprise there. He held a very important post in petroleum industry; therefore, he managed to arrange our evacuation from Leningrad. He sent a telegram through the Ministry with instructions to provide our departure from the besieged city.

On the appointed day we put our belongings on a sledge and left our house. We had bought the sledge from our neighbors. I walked about 100 or 150 meters, and then understood that I was not able to make the next step: my legs went weak. My sister cursed me to get up: ‘Let’s go quickly, I’m afraid we may be late!’ I asked her to go alone, to save herself. So I persuaded my sister to go, and remained there in the street alone. My sister left the besieged city and reached Nizhni Tagil where her husband worked.Later I somehow crawled home, reached our apartment, and lay in bed to die.

On the radio I heard the voice of Olga Berggolts: ‘Hold on a bit longer, just a little…’ [Olga Berggolts was a poetess, who wrote her patriotic poems in the besieged Leningrad].

But my destiny carried me along another way. Two days later I heard a knock at the outer wall (the doorbell did not function). A short soldier (a Jew) came in carrying a huge package in his hands. I immediately understood that someone had lent me a helping hand.

The soldier said that he had a parcel from my brother Haim (from the Leningrad front) for his sister Nina. The soldier had served with Haim. They were anti-aircraft gunners at the famous Road of Life 14. There they were fed well, and had some extra food at their disposal.

The soldier refused to give me the parcel since Nina was absent. In the accompanying letter my brother said that he had sent us parcels several times before, but they did not reach the addressee. The first time messenger fairly confessed that he had kept the parcel for his family when he found his wife dying and his relatives suffering of starvation. The second time the messenger told Haim that he did not find us because we had died. For the third parcel, Haim permitted the messenger to keep it if he found us to be dead. So that third messenger was in front of me.

I explained him that Nina and I were brother and sister, she had left, and Haim was my brother. I showed him our photograph and my passport (I got it in June 1941). But the soldier remained unmoved by all of this information: he wanted to see Nina. I cried and begged to give food to me because I was dying of starvation. He thought it over, had compassion on me, and gave me the parcel, but only when I wrote a letter to Haim confirming the receipt of the food. Our apartment was communal 15. If my hungry neighbors had seen my food, I think they would have taken it away from me, probably killed me, and eaten the food as well as me.

I had a small iron stove. I opened the parcel and could scarcely believe my eyes: flour, crackers (big soldier's crackers), a piece of honey (rolled in a piece of paper), and tea! I made pancakes using my stove, and a week later I felt better. It was possible for me to go on living.

In fact, that parcel saved me. Soon I was able to walk and decided to go to the Central Administrative Board of Industrial schools (it was situated near the Circus). There I told them that I was left alone and physically was not able to reach our school canteen.

An employee asked me distrustfully: ‘Who is the director of your school?’ – and other similar questions. I answered all of them correctly. And again, a life-saving miracle: they gave me permission to eat at the canteen at the Industrial School #38, which was situated ten minutes walk away from my house.

They wrote: ‘Put B. Lerman down for allowances until trams resume operation.’

This occurred on February 25, 1942. And on March 8 we learned that our school was going to be evacuated by crossing the Ladoga Lake (the Ladoga Lake is 40 km far from Leningrad) southward (to Stavropol region). The director warned me that I had to be evacuated with my school. So I packed my things and went with that school. Every student was allowed to bring one person (a relative) along, but I had nobody to take with me.

We reached the Finnish railway station and moved towards the Ladoga Lake. There we spent a night. The next day we boarded the train. We were lucky to get into the heated car, but there were too many of us In it: we were only permitted to seat. So it took us 22 days (sitting in the car) to reach a settlement in Stavropol region. It was Gorbachev's birthplace 16. There they placed us in a school building and fed us like prize turkeys. People did not starve there. When we got off the train we were given a loaf of bread (one for every two people) and a piece of lard. It was like a dream! Bread seemed to be sweet honey. They also gave us soup and porridge. So we were fattened up and sent (again by train) to Moscow to aircraft factory.

I entered the army as a volunteer in summer of 1943. At that time I worked as a turner and had an exemption from military service. But I wanted to volunteer. The factory produced airplanes; therefore every worker was part of the war effort already. When I told the director that I wanted to volunteer anyways, he told me to return to my work. Later I went to the military registration and enlistment office, and they advised me to tell nobody and go directly to the army base to join.

‘And what will happen at my factory?’ – I asked. ‘Later we will inform them that you left for the front line,’ they responded.

So I went to Ryazan (a city 200 km far from Moscow) to the training tank battalion. Later we received new American self-propelled guns and were sent to the 1st Tank Army, to the Tank Corps #11. I participated in defense of Moscow until 1944.

Later I fought against the Germans in Belarus and in Ukraine. When our self-propelled gun was knocked out in Poland, the driver was taken to the hospital and I became a motorcycle submachine gunner at the reconnaissance battalion. I liberated Poland along with the soldiers of the 1st Tank Army.

On March 29, 1945, when we liberated Gdynia (a city in Poland), we learned that the Germans had retreated and had left a lot of technical equipment. So we went to have a look at it.

On our way to do so, we saw barbed wire and people puttering about. We stopped. Since I could understand German, I was sent to go closer and to get a sense of the situation. I walked closer and saw the barbed wire and a locked gate. I asked: ‘What is going on here?’ And I got the answer: ‘This is a camp.’

I came in and saw people lying, kneeling. Some of them were dead. Those who were able to speak said that they were Jews and were afraid to leave. I explained to them that the war was finished and that they were free.

And we went on to find German technical equipment. It turned out that it was damaged and could not be repaired. I only picked up only two wrenches.

On our way back to Gdynia we saw people who had left the camp. They were more dead than alive. They were trudging along the road carrying bread (slices and loaves), probably given to them by local residents. Now it seems to me that that concentration camp was situated 40 kilometers from Gdynia on the shore of the Baltic Sea.

We were the first to enter Berlin (it happened on April 21, 1945). We participated in street fights and attacked Reichstag. Usually the infantry goes behind the tanks, but in Berlin it was the opposite: we moved in front of tanks.

When we approached the Reichstag, we received an order to organize special assault groups consisting of four to ten tanks and 40-60 submachine gunners (the number depended on the number of soldiers we could gather around one). The soldiers went in front of the tanks, armed with panzerfausts (weapon of the latest design - a prototype of modern grenade launcher). Soldiers made their way through the streets of the city. They were able to destroy tanks from a distance of 100-200 meters. If we had been armed that way in the beginning of the war, German tanks would have never cut their way through the Soviet Union.

The assault groups approached the city center from different directions. Our group moved ahead to Imperial Office, under which Hitler was in hiding in a deep underground shelter. On April 29, we were already very near to that Imperial Office, but suddenly we received an order to change the direction of our attacks since the shock army #5 was approaching the same location from the opposite angle (and running into each other could result in incidental casualties).

Later we learned that Hitler committed suicide.

On April 30, Soviet army commanders delivered an ultimatum to the Germans, but they refused. Therefore we started taking the city by storm: artillery, Katyushas, airplanes bombed the city. The Germans’ resistance was broken down, and they surrendered their guns in front of their houses.

We celebrated a long-awaited VICTORY with pride and elation.

That was the end of the war. Our tank battalion was lodged in German military barracks in Dresden. I served for four more years in Germany.

I only got home in 1949. On my worldly-wise soldier's jacket people could see the following decorations: Order of the Great Patriotic War (2nd Class) 17, Order of the Red Star 18, Medal for taking Berlin, Medal for liberation of Warsaw, Medal for Victory over Germany 19.

I served honestly and was considered to be a very efficient soldier. I remember that after demobilization headquarters of our battalion received two letters of acknowledgement. Our commanders decided to write the first one in my name (Boris Lerman), and to adjourn consideration of the second letter.

Fortunately, all of my brothers and sisters returned from front line alive. They all died natural deaths. Libe died in 1968 (she was 60 years old). Shimen died in 1986 (at the age of 70). Berl died in 1990 (he was 80). Haim died in 1993 (at the age of 80). Mikhael died in Jerusalem (he left for Israel in 1990 together with his son and grandson) in 2000 at the age of 77. Nekhama died in 1996 at the age of 90.

One day after my return to Leningrad I heard by the radio that the trolleybus depot had invited people for apprentice training. I decided to become a trolleybus driver. At that time that trolleybus depot was the only one in the city. Five years later I became a 1st class driver. When the 2nd trolleybus depot was opened, I was sent there as the best driver. I worked and at the same time studied at the evening courses of the Leningrad Electromechanical School. I got a diploma of a specialist in operation and repair of municipal electric transport. When there were more trams in the city, I taught courses for tram drivers. Later I worked as a chief inspector for electric transport safety regulations. In 1985 I retired on pension [in the USSR and in Russia men can retire on a pension at the age of 60].

I met my wife Haya Wolfovna (here people call her Faina Vladimirovna) after the war. Her sister was married to my cousin. I used to visit them. I wanted to find a woman who already had an apartment, but I did not manage to do so. Neither of us had an apartment, so we rented a room in a semibasement. Then we got married. I had only a soldier's blanket with me. We had no money to arrange our wedding. So our relatives collected money and helped us plan a modest wedding ceremony (not religious, of course). It was on New Year's Eve.

My wife was born in Polotsk. She studied at the Belarus school. She could speak Belarusian, but she grew up speaking Yiddish at home. Her father was a qualified tailor and her mother worked as a dressmaker. Their family was well-to-do. Right before the beginning of the war they bought a big house. When the Germans started the bombardment of Polotsk, they hid themselves in a special self-made dugout.

My wife’s father was clever. One day warm summer day (June 30, 1941), he and his family went to a bombproof shelter located near the railway station. After the white alert he heard the announcement that the last train to the East was leaving in one hour. My wife’s father appeared to have a head on his shoulders: he took his three daughters and his wife to the railway station immediately, not stopping at home. They all squeezed themselves into the freight car: mother, father and their children. That was the way they left for Totsk of the Chkalovsk region carrying nothing with them. But they managed to escape. In evacuation my wife’s father worked in a military workshop (he cut out overcoats).

We lived in our semibasement for about a year. Later we got a room (we had been on the waiting list). My wife worked as a chief accountant for the central chemist's warehouse. Her salary was 61 rubles (the sum was not great; you can compare it with 120 rubles – the salary of an engineer).

Our son was born in 1961. He studied very well and he was also a strong athlete. Later he began university, having passed the required exams. He got excellent marks in all of his exams except composition (there he made one mistake). He studied in the college of the paper-cellulose industry. Leonid knew that he was a Jew, but he did not care. We did not bring our son up as a Jew. He was sociable and cheerful.

I’m also a cheerful person but feel wronged by my life. Once I wrote a story describing my life. It was called My Destiny. It was published in the book by Lazar Ratner: Unloved Children of Fatherland.

My son graduated from university and was a qualified engineer. At that time, his documents were ready for departure to Israel. Later he got ill and he died in 1995.

So I remained with my wife Haya Wolfovna. Our grandson Vadim is very close to our hearts. He was born on August 28, 1985. He promised to take the place of our son for us, and we promised to replace his father. At this time he is a professional soldier. He participated in war in the Chechen Republic [Chechen Republic is situated in the Caucasian region of Russia]. During the summit in summer 2006 he was in security detachment at the Pulkovo Airport in St. Petersburg.

My daughter-in-law (Vadim’s mother) is Russian. Once we decided to send our grandson to a Jewish summer camp, but to our surprise they did accept him: they required to documents confirming that his mother was Jewish.

Anti-Semitism in our country occurred at the state level, but as far as I am concerned, I also came across everyday manifestations of anti-Semitism. For example, in the army they did not beat or hurt me, but they told spiteful jokes about Jews in my presence. They used to say that Jews did not want to fight and did not want to be at war. And I laughed with them—I had no choice.

After the end of the war I never came across manifestations of anti-Semitism. I never felt it myself and never witnessed other Jews experiencing it either. People around me respected each other and one another’s religion. At that time people were more tolerant than they are now.

Here I’d like to say some words regarding anti-Semitism in 1980-1990.

When the Pamyat society appeared (writer Vassilyev was the leader of that anti-Semitic nationalistic organization), they organized anti-Semitic meetings. I used to watch people at those meetings (they took place in different places of the city). I used to be seated, listening, and guessing if I was present at a Nazi meeting in Munich of 1930s in Germany. I listened to awful speeches: speakers incited people to kill Jews, etc. And nobody objected. I was the only Jew there and I was afraid to utter a word.

In October 1989 in Leningrad, there was a meeting arranged on behalf of Palestinian Arabs. From announcements I understood that Pamyat had arranged the meeting. Nevertheless I decided to see everything first-hand. I could barely trust my own eyes and made me think about about what was going on.

Professor Romanenko opened the meeting. He wore a scarf a la Yasser Arafat (the former Palestine leader). He spoke about the way he himself helped Arabs to fight against Zionists and Jews, who were the root of all evil.

Serving in Germany I had learned much about activities of Hitler and Goebbels, the greatest evildoers of all times and peoples. I can tell you with confidence that their speeches against Jews were much more polite than the speeches of Leningrad fascists-racists.

At the meeting I listened to the people standing around. A group of young people (well dressed and handsome) talked about the humanity of Hitler regarding the Jews: he did not touch them until 1938 and permitted them to leave Germany. They said it was necessary to avoid that mistake in Leningrad. From their perspective it was necessary to kill all Jews here and to give them no opportunity to leave. One person dared to oppose: he said it was impossible to accuse all Jews, not all of them were guilty. People almost beat him.

After that meeting I came home and immediately wrote a letter to the Central Committee of the CPSU [the Communist Party of the Soviet Union].

In the beginning I wrote: ‘To the secretary general M. Gorbachev (CC Leningrad regional CPSU Committee). From a CPSU member (since 1948), war veteran and pensioner.’

Below I wrote the following: ‘Every year I visit the grave of my relatives who were executed by shooting. I used to lay flowers on the grave, walk along their road of death from the ghetto to the place of execution, and think about the following. Is it real that one day my children and grandchildren will have to walk along the similar road at the point of bayonet, forced by Leningrad Nazi rogues? Far be it from me to think so. But when Hitler started his movement in Munich pub with a few gangsters, everybody laughed and did not take them seriously. The Pamyat organization is really dangerous. They blame Jews for everything, and insist that Jews have already organized fighting groups to begin an armed struggle against Russians. I do not believe that the country’s leaders support Pamyat. Otherwise Pamyay would not complain that authorities gave them no permission to arrange that meeting. So I am obliged to address you and to bring to your attention the activities of the Pamyat Society. Do not give them an opportunity to propagate Fascism.’

In the end of the letter I asked to the recipient to show it to M. Gorbachev because it was very important.

Ten days later I got an answer that my letter had been received and would be considered.

Later they called me from the city Communist Party Committee [that committee supervised all spheres of the city life] and informed that my letter had been forwarded to them. They assured me that everything was under control, and they would never allow Pamyat to propagate Fascism.

Later I received a call from the regional Communist Party Committee. They said the same: ‘Do not worry.’ I said that fascism was rising again. And they answered ‘Do not worry, it cannot be allowed.’

Then they called me from Moscow (from the Central Communist Party Committee): ‘We inform you that your letter was taken into account.’

When my friends left the USSR, I figured everyone had a chance to make his own decision to leave or not. If you leave, you have no way back. My friends complained from Israel that it was difficult to live there for the first five years. But everything depended on your personal activity. For example, my nephew started in Israel as an unskilled worker even though he was an educated engineer. Soon they understood that he was intelligent and gave him engineer’s work. Later he became a chief engineer.

During the wars in Israel [20, 21] I listened to the Voice of America 22 by radio. I used to share the news with everybody. I was a real fan of Israel. At our institution people called Israeli soldiers gangsters. I wanted to retort but my coworker stopped me and forced me to keep silence.

When Perestroika came at the end of 1980s 23, authorities started the democratization of the country. I was very pleased with it. I read newspapers where they denounced communists, and was pleased again.

I did not visit Israel before 1989. But in 1991 and in 1998 I visited my only brother Mikhael there.

In Jerusalem I visited Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial where among other victims of Nazism I found the names of my relatives executed by fascists that terrible day of January 12, 1942 in Ushachi near Polotsk.

To my great regret Mikhael got ill and died in 2000. Therefore I cancelled my next visit to see him.

Our life changed after 1991: it became very poor. People could buy nothing in shops, but my son worked at a factory and received special food packages for factory workers.

At this time I am an active member of the St. Petersburg Jewish organization for war veterans and disabled soldiers. We often visit Jewish schools and talk with schoolchildren, especially on Jewish holidays.

In the Hesed Avraham Welfare Center 24 we usually have dinner (earlier it was free-of-charge, and now we pay fifteen rubles for it). During hard times we received food packages from Hesed.

When I learned about the Doctors’ Plot 25 from a newspaper, I lived in a communal apartment. When the doctors were liberated, I told my neighbors about it, but they assaulted me. 

After Stalin's death most people were silent, but pleased at heart.

As for the events of 1968 (Prague Spring 26), I supported Czechoslovakia.

I liked traveling very much: I visited a lot of cities and towns of our country. I keep great number of photos from my trips to different boarding houses and tourist areas in the USSR.

In 2005, our country celebrated the 60th anniversary of our Victory 27 in the Great Patriotic War. Veterans took part in celebrating of the Great Victory. My wife and I were invited to watch a concert at the Octyabrsky Concert Hall. We had our picture taken at the entrance.

I tried to avoid conflicts throughout my life. Everyone must be conscientious and responsible. I was never reprimanded. I was honorably mentioned forty-five times throughout my professional life. My photograph can be seen on the Board of Fame from all of the time that I worked.

Glossary:

City: St. Petersburg Country: Russia Interviewer: Olga Egudina Date of interview: April, 2007

Igor (Israel) Efimovich Lerner is a short person with kind eyes and still voice. The WWII burst out when he was a schoolboy. He was its participant from the very first till the very last day. 

After the end of the war he received a good education and became a person in high position. Igor Efimovich shares his memoirs willingly: he is often invited to deliver lectures at schools. 

Mr Lerner is a person of settled convictions, and though we are not always able to agree with him, his adherence to principles commands respect.

My family background

Growing up

Durinng the war

After the war

Marriage life and children

Glossary

My family background

Unfortunately I remember absolutely nothing about my great-grandparents. And all my grandparents came from Ukraine. My both grandfathers perished during the WWI and I never saw them. But I remember my grandmothers well. Both families of my parents lived in Krivoe Ozero village of Odessa region. My grandmothers lived in their own houses and managed a household. Their houses were typical Ukrainian huts. [Ukrainian hut is a house made from clay or wood covered with clay, it is usually thatched with straw.] Grandmothers kept cows, a lot of hens, had large vegetable gardens. So they worked without a break since morning till late at night, because they had to produce foodstuff for themselves and also to help our family with food. Leye, my maternal grandmother was very religious and brought her daughter (my Mom) up on the same lines. Grandmother always visited synagogue in Pervomaisk and in Uman. My paternal grandmother Haya was thriftier and much less religious. Leye was more kind than Haya: her relations with grandchildren were much better than Haya’s. Some time Haya lived at our place, and they not always reached mutual understanding with my Mom. You know that a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law are seldom in tune with each other. But Daddy was very wise: he always managed to smooth away conflicts.

Both my grandmothers died in Ukraine during starvation of 1932. [In 1932 the authorities in many instances exacted such high levels of procurements that starvation was widespread. In some places, famine was allowed to run its course; and millions of peasants in Ukraine starved to death in a famine, called the Holodomor in Ukrainian. An estimated 3-6 million people died in this horrible manmade famine.] In the heat of famine we lived already in Leningrad, we got to know about events in Ukraine from rumors. We sent grandmothers food packages, but later we found out that they had not received any.

Our village in Ukraine was large. There was a beautiful small river (I do not remember its name). For the most part my memoirs refer to 1939 when we arrived there already from Leningrad. It was then when I saw straight streets with ruinous huts: almost all population of the village died out during famine of 1932.

My parents lived in the former priest’s house. It was the only house in the village with iron roof. My parents had got a large vegetable garden. It was necessary for the family: vegetables helped to survive all the year round.

Now I’ll tell you about my parents.

My father Haim Davidovich Lerner was born in Krivoe Ozero in 1896. In his childhood he attended cheder, and that was all regarding his education. Father participated in the World War I and got into the phosgene area. [Phosgene is the highly toxic gas gained infamy as a chemical weapon during the World War I.] After that he got asthma and coughed all the time. Having returned from the front, Daddy at first worked in the field, but later became a shop manager. The shop was situated in our house (I told you that the house was very large). I guess that parents paid some rent for it. At the shop they sold mainly fabric, which was in short supply at that time. I had a photo showing my father with a folding rule in his hands, he was standing in front of the shop (unfortunately I lost the photograph). At that time our financial situation was not bad.

Here I’ll tell you about my father’s life. By the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 1 he was already 40 years old, therefore he was not drafted. But he served as a hospital attendant in a hospital in Leningrad. He left for the hospital and we never saw him any more. We sent numerous inquiries and they answered that father was registered neither among victims, nor among reported missing. Many years later I got ill with dermatitis and went to the nearest polyclinic to visit a dermatologist. She looked at me attentively and asked ‘Are you a son of Haim Davidovich?’ It turned out that during the war she worked in the hospital together with my father. From her I got to know that one day all men who worked in the hospital were sent to the front line, presumably to Tikhvin region. Most likely he perished there.

My Mom’s name was Hayka Borissovna (nee Fleymboym). She was born in 1896 in Krivoe Ozero, in the same place where my father was born. I do not know for sure, but I guess that my parents knew each other since their childhood. I do not remember when they got married, but I know for sure that they were married under chuppah.

Mom also studied only in cheder, but she was much more educated than father. She knew Hebrew very well and was interested in Jewish history. Many interesting facts from the history of our people I got to know from her in my childhood. Yiddish was my mother tongue, mother tongue of my parents, and of my grandparents, too. Before the war we spoke only Yiddish at home. 

Father was not very religious, but till the very beginning of the war he kept tefillin and tallit in the special trunk. Mom kept 2 thick prayer books (in Hebrew) till her death. She also did her best to observe kashrut. Even in Leningrad she managed to buy kosher meat somewhere. When she was about 70 years old, she decided to live separately from my family. I guess that one her reasons was her wish to eat according Tradition. All her life long she celebrated Sabbath, made matzot herself (when it was not possible to be bought). I remember that we moved to Leningrad on Saturday, and not all her belongings had been transported: Mom’s candlesticks were absent. She cut a potato in two and attached candles to the halves. Mom died in Leningrad in 1983. She was never sick; she even never visited a doctor.

Here I’ll tell you about brothers and sisters of my parents. My Mom had got 4 brothers and a sister. Brothers’ names were Abram, Moyshe, Haim, Benye. The sister’s name was Buya. They lived in different cities: Tashkent, Kuybyshev, Leningrad, Kiev, and Odessa. Mom corresponded with all of them. According to Jewish Tradition all elder boys in their families were named in honor of my Mom’s father who was lost during the World War I. His name was Boris, therefore I had got 5 cousins named Boris each. All of them (except my elder brother) were killed at the WWII front line.

Father had got a sister, her name was Hinye. She lived in Ukraine. She had got a husband and a daughter Rivva. Rivva was married to a Ukrainian guy. After the end of the war she worked as a school director. During the war relatives of Rivva’s husband hid her from Germans. Unfortunately Germans executed Hinye and her husband by shooting.

Growing up

I am the youngest son in our family. I had got 2 elder brothers: Boris (born in 1921) and Jacob (born in 1923). I was born in 1925 and my parents called me Israel. Later I changed it for Igor (I’ll tell you about it a little bit later).

It was Mom who kept the house. Besides the vegetable garden, we had an orchard with big plum and apricot trees. I remember the sound of ripe apricots falling down upon the roof of our house…

We kept a cow, a calf, a lot of hens. We also kept pigs, but only for sale. Mom managed not only to keep the house, but also to help father at the shop. Regarding assistants, we had only a nurse: she was invited when the 3rd child (me) was born. That nurse sewed a toy dog for me (using a sheepskin) and called it Bobik. It was the only toy I had at that time; therefore I remember it till now (80 years passed!).

We did no electricity supply and used kerosene lamps. In the house there was a large stove of Russian style 2. There was no water supply, too. But in the yard there was a deep well with cold and tasty water. The cellar under the house seemed to me very deep. Each time I got there I considered a real adventure. We cellared food there (it must last us the winter). I remember huge bright pumpkins (they remained fresh very long). Mom cooked very well and taught me to cook. She also taught my wife to cook traditional Jewish courses.

At home we celebrated all Jewish holidays. We observed strict kashrut.

In our village there was a school, and a teacher of the primary school rented a room in our house. When I was 6 years old, she noticed that I read very well and suggested to send me to school. That was the way I became a schoolboy a year earlier than it was necessary. At school they taught us in Ukrainian language (at that time I did not know that there were other languages except Yiddish and Ukrainian). Later at Leningrad school children laughed at me when I spoke Ukrainian. So in our village I finished the first grade and my brothers finished primary school.

In the beginning of 1930s authorities started struggle against homebrewing. [Brewing relies on the conversion of sugars into ethyl alcohol and carbon dioxide by yeast through fermentation. In the USSR it was considered an administrative offence.] It was the beginning of struggle against kulaks 3. Soviet representatives used to say ‘The citizens starve, and you spend grain for brewing.’ I remember well that from the city there came sailors girt about with cartridge belts. They used to come to our house and say to my father ‘Munchik (they called him Munchik for some reason), show us who is engaged in homebrewing here? Who has got a lot of bread?’ You see, my father was one of the activists, therefore all hooch stills deforced from its owners were stored in our yard. In the hooch stills the sailors found some raw stuff, managed to finish the process, bottled the brew and forced my Mom to butcher and grill a ram. You understand that those sailors spent their time very well.

Later struggle against homebrewing gradually transformed to subtraction of peasants’ grain. Peasants tried to hide grain underground, but in vain. Sailors came again and again. Father invented the following trick: he put me (a child) upon a bag of wheat and instructed me the following way: ‘When they start taking the bag away, cry loudly and don’t give it away!’ Sailors tried to pull the bag out from under me, I cried and held on to it. The sailors said to father ‘We know you to be a conscientious person, you understand that we cannot fight against the child, give us your grain in an amicable way.’ Father gave them MY bag, and they left very pleased (they did not search any more). In 1932-1933 authorities took away ALL grain they found: they did left grain neither for eating, nor for the following sowing. Therefore I am sure that that terrible starvation in Ukraine was caused not by natural phenomena (i.e. bad harvest), but by the communist party line.

So, we understood that starvation was beginning. It became difficult to find food. Father went to Caucasus. There he changed carpets from our house for corn meal, butter, and millet. It gave us possibility to hold out for some time. But it became clear that our family had no chance to survive. Old and weak people died. Mom cried and begged father to leave. At last he made his decision: Mom together with children went to Tashkent (to her sister), and father together with his brothers moved to Olgino (a settlement near Leningrad) to mother's brother Abram. About 2 months later we also arrived in Olgino. First winter we lived at the place of my uncle. I went to the 1st grade (I had to study in the 1st grade twice, because I did not know Russian). In Olgino I had to live very long: till 1963. My uncle was engaged in bookselling. I remember well that at home he had a grand piano, and there were a lot of children's books on it. I drenched myself in them to my heart's content.

Here I’ll get back to our trip to Tashkent. It was then when I traveled by train for the first time in my life. For some reason I remembered Kharkov railway station very well. There I saw a big overhead road and it impressed me much: I guessed how it was possible to build such a construction. We spent a lot of time moving to Tashkent with changes. After our arrival in Tashkent I was so tired that felt tinnitus and my legs trembled. I also remember a huge bridge across Volga. And my 1st trip by automobile happened in Olgino: our neighbor took us to the river by a small lorry.

I attended a school in Olgino. Elementary school was situated in the red wooden house, and the secondary one - in the white house. People used to say that in Olgino there were 2 schools: red and white. I studied very well. But it happened that I had to study twice not only in the 1st, but also in the 10th class. I’ll tell you about it later.

So, we (my brothers also) studied at school. Daddy worked as a worker at a factory. Later he met a friend who helped him to get a job of a seller at the market. 2 years later my father was appointed a deputy director at a grocery store. Very soon he became its director and worked there till the beginning of the war. At first Mom did not work, but soon authorities introduced food cards into practice 4. They gave more food for worker’s food card, therefore Mom went to work at a knitting factory Krasnoe Znamya [‘Red Banner’ in Russian] in Leningrad. She worked there 2 years, and then began sewing at home. Mom was a very good milliner and a seamstress: in Ukraine she made clothes for all village inhabitants. When I came to my College wearing a jacket made by Mom, students joined the queue wishing to have jackets similar to mine. Mom needed neither fashion-magazines, nor patterns. She fearlessly brought in new styles.

We could not live together with my uncle’s family very long. We handed in an application about separate place of residence. As a result we got a small room and a very large kitchen (the most part of it was occupied by a huge stove). It was impossible to live five together in that small room, and my elder brother wrote a letter to Stalin (so resolute he was!). As a result, a local official came to us and ordered to replan our kitchen and change the stove. After it there appeared 1 room more. The situation changed for the better, though still we were cramped.

We were not rich and not poor. At first we bought food in the shops. We did not starve, but later there appeared a card system (I already told you about it). You see, even before introduction of that system, our life was getting worse and worse: in shops there was nothing except pickles, sauerkraut, kvass and black bread. After introduction of food cards there appeared long lines near the shops. Sometimes Mom worked late in the evening and came to Olgino by last train. We waited for her, because at her factory mothers with many children received meals. Therefore sometimes we waited for her till 1 o'clock in the morning. Beginning from 1935 (when father became a deputy director at the grocery store), we lived better.

We never left such a good place as Olgino for vacation.

In Leningrad region Olgino was a very prestigious place for vacation. In summer a lot of Leningrad citizens came to Olgino with their children to spend summer holidays. I had many friends among those children, but we met only in summer. I swam perfectly (mastered all styles). In winter I skied much. At school I attended a historical circle. I was fond of history, and our teacher entrusted me with making lectures for my schoolmates. I also attended a photographic circle. Behind the staircase in the small lumber-room I used to process my films.

I liked to go to different parties arranged at school. In Olgino there was a good library. In the former times there lived many Finns, Poles and Germans. During the Great Terror 5 all of them were arrested, and their books were collected into library. Therefore the library was very rich in books. I read much, I always liked reading very much. At home we subscribed to newspapers. We were great friends with my brothers all our lives long. We gave no troubles to our parents. Only Jacob liked to fight sometimes. Several times Mom was invited to school because of it. It seems to me that our parents brought us up properly. They never beat us, but achieved much using words, suggestions, and serious talks. They served as an example to us: father never smoked or drank vodka. When he got ill, doctors recommended him to smoke special cigarettes for asthma. Till now I remember my sincere surprise: Daddy smoking a cigarette!

Political life of the country did not avoid us. At school we (schoolchildren of the 4th grade) voted for execution of Nikolaev, the murderer of Kirov 6. Parents never talked about politics in our presence.

Steam locomotive connected Olgino with Leningrad. We used to go to Leningrad to a bath-house (there was no bath-house in Olgino).

During the war

War burst out when I finished the 9th grade.

My elder brother was a professional soldier and served in the Far East. Jacob was drafted in 1942. I joined a volunteers battalion. Those battalions were created for struggle against saboteurs, spies, and gunlayers which launched signal rockets near the military objects, etc. They gave each of us a rifle, 120 live cartridges, a gas-mask. We kept it at home. We lived at home and studied at school, but at any time on a signal we had to run fast to the alarm post. Officers from NKVD 7 waited for us there. Usually we searched the district. 2 or 3 times paratroopers touched down nearby and we managed to neutralize them. Sometimes we were on duty near important objects (it was called to stay in secret). After a while we were lodged in barracks in Pargolovo, near Olgino. There we stayed till January of 1942. We were very hungry. I realized that it became useless to study at school and handed in an application of an army volunteer. They sent me to a military camp. So I became a real soldier.

But they had no right to send me to the front line: I was under 17. Therefore I served in the horsed antitank regiment. I took care of the mare. By the way they gave me a sabre, I teetered after belting it on: I was very thin. The mare needed care like a child. Each morning before washing myself, I started cleaning my mare. In the afternoon they usually carried out mock battle: 4 mares did their best to pull an antitank gun. One day we came back a mock battle, but were not allowed to get into barracks: they read out surnames of soldiers with secondary education. My name was in that list, too. The commander told us that Germans racked Leningrad with fire using long-range artillery. At that time we had no opportunities to stop it, but it was necessary to do something. Reconnaissance units went searching those guns, but did not come back. Therefore they created a special unit (top secret) for detection of those guns. Members of that unit had not to search those guns in the woods and ravines, but to find its location by means of certain calculations (basing upon sound-waves of the guns). They moved us to a separate barrack with real beds: it was good to stop sleeping on plank beds. [Plank bed is a primitive construction for sleeping: some sort of duck-boards fixed perpendicular to the wall.] They fed us well, but we had to study 8 hours a day. Leningrad was already in blockade 8. My ration saved both my and my Mom’s life.

Every third day she came to me and I gave her my bread and that of my 3 comrades. The next 3 days I had to give my bread to my friends. Soon I managed to persuade Mom to evacuate, and she left for Altai region. 2 years later my brother Jacob was wounded, and after hospital treatment he went to Mom’s place.
We studied rather difficult subjects: besides knowledge it required intuition.

Three months later our skill was checked up near Kolpino. I managed to find two big guns and was awarded a medal For Military Merits 9. I understood that I had the only chance to survive in this war: to continue my service in that unit. We studied three months more and were sent to the Finnish front. Soon we were taken back to the Leningrad front. At the end of December 1943 they alarmed us and sent to the Oranienbaum Pyatachok (across the Gulf of Finland). [Oranienbaum Pyatachok was a small sector of the front near the Gulf of Finland. It became an impassable obstacle to fascists and did not permit them capture Leningrad.]
One day in the morning we were told that a great offensive would happen soon. We had to find location of all guns around us. It was not so easily because (for example) tanks changed their place after a shot, so it made it impossible for us to define their location. Fascists hunted for us, therefore we were specially guarded and always took up position in the most safe dugouts. But on the other hand we were rather defenseless, because it was impossible to place any guns near our dugouts: fascists could try to destroy them by bombing and the bomb could accidentally find us. One day connection with one of our receivers was broken and I (together with 2 submachine gunners) went to search for the break. We found it: the wire got fouled up in the big bush. We came closer to unhook the wire and suddenly saw Germans sitting under the bush. They saw us and rushed away, but we managed to seize one of them. Those Germans attached explosive to the wire, hoping to blow up us in case we pulled the wire.

In the morning of January 13, 1944 artillery preparation fire was started. I never saw such number of military weapons and equipment. They roared so loudly that I could not hear my voice. During 3 hours everything around us was booming and burning. Pandemonium! We went forward and found out with great surprise that we met with no resistance. We stopped trying to understand the reason. And we saw only bodies of German soldiers torn to ribbons - and that was all. The first armed conflict happened about 10 kilometers farther (near the Koporye village). There was an ancient castle occupied by Germans. Our commanders ordered not to shoot at the castle in order to keep it undamaged. Certainly we managed to dislodge the enemy, but suffered heavy losses. I was also impressed much by the cemetery of German military equipment. By the way, I often deliver lectures at schools. I like to tell schoolchildren about the war I participated in. I noticed that boys and girls frequently consider our allies to be the winners (not us!). Therefore I told them how often I saw twisted wreckage of English and American tanks we received according to lend-lease. [Lend-lease was a system of loaning or renting arms, ammunition, strategic raw material, foodstuffs, goods and services to countries - allies.]

Those tanks were very bad: bulky and slow. When I saw our tank T-34 for the first time I felt pride in it. [The T-34 was a Soviet medium tank considered to be the best one on the front lines of the WWII.] Airplanes of our allies were so-so, too. In general, I think that by the end of the war our army was armed and organized so well that we could reach Gibraltar if they did not stop us on Elba.

Here I am back to my narration. From Koporye we advanced with fights through Pskov, Gdov and Slantsy. Up to Narva we were not bad, but later everything became hard. Narva River had got a slight and a slope banks. Germans occupied the slope one. We had to force a crossing over the Narva River suffering heavy losses, but after that we chased Germans up to Tallin. There Germans fortified their position again and again we had to start heavy fights.

Here I’ll tell you about one incident which happened to me near the Narva River. You see I had several photographs of my relatives (the dearest ones) with me and kept them in the breast pocket of my soldier's blouse. The equipment I worked with required accumulators, so we always held them in stock. One day we came short of accumulators and I (together with a group of support) went to the charging station. I made our way along the Narva River. A member of our group suggested to move on the ice, because the road was occupied by moving armies. Well, we started, but the front part of the lorry fell into the scour (fortunately only the bumper went down). We managed to jump out, but certainly got wet through. By the way, it was very cold: 20 degrees centigrade below zero. We started shooting in the air. Soldiers ran up and brought us to the hospital, where nurses (young girls) stripped us naked, took methyl alcohol, worked it in and gave us some spirit to drink. In the morning we felt having no cold, but a part of my photos got slightly wet. Later I got to know that all photos of our family burned down together with our house in Olgino.

Near Narva we had got a small territory (about 20 square kilometers) under our control. We were surrounded by Germans, and received foodstuffs parachuted from airplanes. About a month we ate millet and American slab bacon. I remember myself going to my unit, watching girls in soldiers’ blouses dancing and listening to accordion. Sometimes I danced too, and then did not sleep at night: I tried to imagine my future peace life.

Later we chased Germans to East Prussia. Therefrom we moved to the Oder River by train. Near Oder a lot fell to our share. Oder was a very wide river, it was very difficult to force a crossing. Our group was up to the mark: according to our information all German weapon emplacements were neutralized. Soldiers made new bridge of boats instead of the old one fired by Germans. After that we turned to Berlin. There I saw a superhighway for the first time in my life: it differed sharply from our roads! Suddenly we received another order: move to Prague! There Czechs excited rebellion against invaders and we had to help them. It happened on May 2. Our next point was Silesia where fascists still showed resistance. Therefrom we moved to Vienna. In Vienna we welcomed the Victory Day.

After the war

Now I’d like to tell you about the life of my family after the end of the war. Mom wanted to return from evacuation to our place immediately after the war, but our house was burned to the ground. Both Mom and my brother wrote letters to different higher echelons asking to help them with lodging. And she asked me to interpose in the matter. I wrote an official report to the chief of our political department. Later I got his answer from Leningrad: everything was all right and Mom had already returned to Olgino. During my leave I visited Leningrad and found out that Mom lived on the ground floor in a very cold and uncomfortable room. I had to take up this case again and at last Mom got decent warm room on the second floor. Jacob lived together with Mom, but soon he married a girl from Olgino and left for her place. Jacob was a disabled soldier: he had a bad limp because of the wound and shell-shock. It was difficult for him to get used to the new life. But soon authorities arranged special courses for disabled soldiers. Jacob finished courses for rate-setters and worked at a factory. He died in 1989.

Boris, my elder brother also lived at Mom’s place. Before the war he finished a military school and became a specialist in radio communication. He worked much, raised the level of his skill and became a well-known person in the sphere of electronics. He worked in Leningrad, and got an apartment there. Boris traveled much all over the country and equipped new television centers together with a group of coworkers. He even reached the Novaya Zemlya. [Novaya Zemlya (New Land) is an archipelago in the Arctic Ocean in the north of Russia.] Besides he took part in electronic reequipment of the largest ships of our fleet. Boris died in 1998.

Now about me after the end of the war. Headquarters started the process of disbandment of military units. Our regiment became a reconnaissance battalion. A part of our battalion moved to Germany, and I remained in Vienna (at the army staff). I became a chief secretary responsible for confidential documents. I worked there till 1950. I recollect my service with pleasure. At first our command aimed us at rapprochement with population: they waited what political party of Austria would gain advantage. And while there was a hope that local people would follow the leaders of the Communist Party of Austria, we arranged parties for them. Courting the local girls and even marriages were encouraged. But soon it became clear that People’s Party of Austria gained the upper hand and everything changed: we were closed inside our military units and could watch the local life only through the window. Even dismissals were forbidden. As for me, I was striving home eagerly: I wanted to receive good education. Besides I was responsible for maintenance of new strict rules. To tell the truth, it was not pleasant. In our team there was Kostuchenko, a scout (chestful of decorations). He ran away. We had to set out in search and found him in Czechoslovakia. He was given a trial and sentenced to 25 years of forced labor camps for parricide 10.

In fact I studied in the 10th class not long (before the beginning of the war) and received a paper about finishing school. But it was not a school-leaving certificate of official standard. And I had a dream to receive higher education. After 5 years in Austria I came back to Leningrad. I managed to retire only with assistance of the chief of our political department.

My family members were friends with Natalya Sergeevna Michurina, my former teacher of history. My father was a shop director and helped her with food. She worked as a teacher at the Pedagogical College. I told her that I would like to become a student of her College. She answered that it was impossible without a school-leaving certificate and I had to go to Moscow and change my paper for the certificate. I did not want to go there (I realized that I forgot everything during 8 years of my military service). Therefore I decided to enter the 10th class of an evening school. [Evening schools in the USSR were institutions of general educational for working people.] I became a schoolboy again, but they made it imperative that I should be employed.

Here my tortures started. About 2 months I ate nothing and could not sleep: I tried to find job, but they looked into my passport, saw the item 5 11 and used to say the following: ‘No vacancy’. They did not permit me to become even a pupil of metalworker at a factory. But I was a very good rifleman: during the war they used to invite me to adjust captured weapon. At last I got fixed up in a job of shooting club instructor. I finished my school with a medal, i.e. I had the right to enter a college without entrance examinations (it was necessary only to pass an entrance interview 12.) I decided to enter the College for film-engineers.

I called them and asked if they took in medal winners. They said yes, I came and showed my documents. They said ‘You know, we have no vacancies’. The same happened in many other colleges. One day I called a college entrance examination from telephone box situated close to the College door. They said ‘Come to us please!’ I appeared 5 minutes later and heard the following: ‘Sorry, we have no vacancies’. At last I decided to make no more telephone calls and went to the Technological College. [The Technological College prepared specialists in the chemical sphere]. I showed them my documents ‘You won’t take me in, will you?’ - ‘Why? Leave your documents here and come tomorrow morning’. I came next morning, and they said ‘You are accepted, but it is provisional. Tomorrow come to take part in the entrance interview’. Having come for the interview, I found out that all medal-winners were Jews.

So I became a student of the Technological College. I graduated from it with excellent marks. Besides I was an editor of the College newspaper, a former front-line soldier, a communist party member. Therefore notwithstanding the generally accepted mandatory job assignment, they suggested me to choose a place where I would like to work 13. There were 2 good places to work at and one of them was GIPH (the State Institute of Applied Chemistry). Everyone knew that at GIPH they never employed Jews, therefore I chose the 2nd one (not to receive refusal!). And what a surprise: I got to know that they invited me to GIPH! 2 weeks later I started working there. My first chief was a Jew, too. There I worked 42 years (from 1956 till 1998). I liked my work and was one of the top experts of my profession. My first position was a mechanic of experimental workshop. Later I became its chief and worked till I retired on pension. Nobody forced me to retire, on the contrary: they tried to persuade me to go on working.

Till now I keep in touch with my former coworkers: I am a member of the local veterans council. I share my memoirs about war with schoolchildren. I aim at putting new heart at their patriotic spirit, because in my opinion at present patriotic education at school needs to be up to higher standard. When I talk to children, I understand that they lack it, too. They usually ask many questions and listen very attentively. Boys are interested it military questions, while girls ask about love during the war. I had a look at school textbooks of history and it seemed to me, that war is covered there insufficiently. In particular well-known 10 Stalin Blows are described badly. [10 Stalin Blows or 10 blows Soviet Army gave to fascist troops in 1944. They were strategically important for the military campaign of 1944.]

During my work in GIPH I came across no manifestations of anti-Semitism. I had got an access permit and held high positions. To tell the truth, in the beginning of my work there were several very elderly women (Communist Party members since pre-revolutionary times). My nationality gave them no rest. They considered me to be responsible (for example) for Israeli wars of 1967 and 1973 [14, 15]. They asked me every minute ‘What do you want to achieve there in your Israel?’ But GIPH administration put no pressure upon me. When I came to GIPH, there were many Jews. Later their number decreased and during the period of state anti-Semitism GIPH was one of the most closed for Jews institutions. We worked upon very important projects connected with defense industry (till now I can tell you nothing about them). I keep good relations with my coworkers till now. I am allowed to keep my let-pass and can enter the Institute whenever I want. I receive medical treatment at the Institute polyclinic. My former coworkers invite me to all holiday parties and ceremonial meetings. By the way, some day soon I am going to take part in the preparatory meeting for the Victory Day celebrations 16.

In 1963 being a workshop mechanic, I made my mark during assembling of a very important equipment. I was offered to become a shop superintendent. And I wanted to remain a mechanic. You see, mechanics had the right to retire on pension at the age of 50 (before the appointed age of 60), while a shop superintendent had no privilege of that kind. But my coworkers asked me persistently, therefore I specified that they would give my family an apartment in Leningrad. And we moved from Olgino to Leningrad.

Marriage life and children

I got married in 1954. My wife’s name was Etella Yosefovna Lipina. She was born in Leningrad in 1928. She graduated from the Conservatory and worked as a teacher at a musical school. We got acquainted the following way. Once I felt severe pain in my coccyx. Doctors told me that an operation was necessary. I was in a hospital and my girlfriend visited me. One day my girlfriend could not come and sent her friend instead. We liked each other, started to keep company with each other and got married later. In 1955 our son Alexander was born. First time after our marriage we lived at her parents’ place in the city center. It was very convenient for me, because at that time I was a student of the Technological College and my way to the College took not much time. 

The family of my wife had relatives in Germany. In 1972 my wife’s uncle, who lived in Germany died. He bestowed a fortune upon the family of my wife and she went to Germany to come into the inheritance. But the uncle’s German relatives managed to evict the most part of property, therefore my wife received only a one-room apartment. During all these events my wife suddenly died and was buried there in Germany.

My son Alexander graduated from the Shipbuilding College in 1977. [The Leningrad Shipbuilding College was founded in 1902.] He worked at the design office of the factory producing escalators for underground. I wanted him to work in GIPH, but he refused flatly. At that time I did not understand him, but later I realized that he planned to emigrate to Israel, and his possible work in GIPH could become an insuperable obstacle. He knew that GIPH employees had a let-pass and were permitted neither to go abroad, nor to communicate with foreigners. Alexander took it into account.

But there was another difficulty. I had to grant him an exit authorization. Alexander brought a paper for me to sign. I realized that the next day after signing the document, I should be fired. Therefore I refused. Then my son sent me an official certified document by mail. It read the following: I was obliged to list (in written form) my claims to my son. If I failed within 2 months, it meant my consent automatically. I addressed some people in GIPH (experts in such affairs). They confirmed my fears saying that if my son left, I would be fired immediately. OK, I listed my claims. Several years later (already under Gorbachev 17) the same people said ‘Now let him go’. I signed all the papers, and my son left. At present he lives in Chicago. He has got a daughter.

After my first wife’s death I thought I would never marry once more. But I was carried along by my destiny. My second wife also worked in GIPH, she also held a high position. We got married in 1965, and in 1967 our son Oleg was born. We did our best to give Oleg everything possible: when he was a boy, I went with him to hockey and figure skating training groups; he studied at a musical school and finished it successfully. We visited puppet theaters, and usually bought season tickets to the Kirov Opera and Ballet theatre. I think we put our souls into him and he grew up a very good person. He does not smoke, does not drink, he has got a good family: 3 children. All his children are girls, therefore I think they will give birth to more and more children, waiting for a boy. Oleg graduated from the Technological College (like me). At present he is a businessman.

Here I’ll get back a little. When Oleg was 16 years old, he had to receive his passport. His patronymic was Izraelevich. I went to the local civilian registry office and asked to change my name Israel for Igor (on account of disharmony). They examined my application very long, but after all they complied with my request. I changed all my documents. Oleg got patronymic Igorevich, but Alexander did not want to. My old friends call me Israel (of course), but I introduce myself to new ones as Igor. I already got accustomed 18.

My both sons studied at school very well, and gave us no troubles.

We lived OK and had many friends, but unfortunately most of them are already not with us.

After my second wife’s death in 2000, I consumed away with grief. And now it is very difficult for me to speak about her. Don't hold it as a grievance against me, but I still cannot speak about her, it still hurts me.

Almost every year we together with children went to the Black Sea to spend summer vacations. We used to rent a room at the same owners. They said that we became more than their relatives.

I always worked much. Besides during my life I had to go through 2 periods of great starvation (I guess the worst ones in the history of mankind): starvation in Ukraine and blockade of Leningrad. Of course they had an effect on my health: I had problems with my gastrointestinal tract. I started treatment in sanatoria 19. At first I went there alone. When I became older, I asked for 2 permits: for me and for my wife. After sanatorium I always felt much better. In addition to it we had got a dacha near Leningrad. Now I sold it: without my wife it was unbearable for me to stay there. I also sold my car: at present I want to go nowhere.

I’d like to tell you about my granddaughters separately. I think that they saved my life. After my second wife’s death I was completely confused, I did not know how to go on living. My son took me to his place, not listening to my objections. When the girls were born, my life gained sense. My heart went out to these children, and they loved me too. During celebration of my 80th anniversary I said that Oleg and his wife took care of me, and my beloved granddaughters made me happy. It’s true!

Here I’d like to tell you about my attitude to events in Hungary in 1956 20 and Czechoslovakia in 1968 21. In fact during the war I was in both countries, and in Czechoslovakia I left a very close friend. We gave up so many lives for liberating of those countries from fascists and I agree with reaction of the USSR to events in those countries. I was often asked about my attitude towards fall of the Berlin Wall. [Berlin wall was erected in 1961 to divide Western part of Berlin from the Eastern one. It was demolished in 1989. It was symbolical that its concrete was used to construct highways of the united Germany.] I’ll tell you the truth though it will sound indecently: I have no respect for the Germans. I think that fascism in Germany is ineradicable. If I were in charge, I would have not pull out our armies from Germany.

As far as Perestroika 22 is concerned, I guess it was not necessary to break communistic system abruptly. I think that we would have come to democracy anyway, but it would help us keep moral, intellectual and other values. I always remember that by the end of the war there was no country in the world stronger than the USSR. We could have occupied the whole Europe easily.

I attend Hesed Center 23 and take part in events they arrange.

Glossary:

Petr Weber
Brno
Czech Republic
nterviewer: Zuzana Strouhova
Date of interview: May - July 2005

Petr Weber is a former president of the Brno Jewish community, and is still an active functionary. He was born to Jewish parents in a concentration camp in Poland, but when he was two years old, a group of fellow prisoners managed to get him out of the camp and transport him to the then Slovak State 1. He thus virtually never knew his parents, as they remained there and later died. He grew up in a Czech Christian family, which however supported his Jewish upbringing. He worked as a nuclear systems designer for Skoda Pilsen, which he had to leave for political reasons, and subsequently worked as a programmer. He is currently retired. He lives in Kyjov with his wife.

My family background
Growing up 
During the war
After the war
Glossary:

My family background

I’d say that my life story is a bit on the blurry side. It’s not even completely clear to me, because I got it from various places second-hand, and that only much later. I found out a lot from my uncle, Schlomo Königsberg, who was the brother of my mother, Lola Königsberg, married name Preiss, and from her sisters Toshka and Esther. These three were the only members of my original family to survive. I later met up with them in Israel. I’m also in touch with Tommer Brunner, who’s Toshka’s grandson. From him I got copies of photographs that indicate another branch of the family, a certain Hersh Leib Forman from New York, the son of Rivka Dorman, née Kellman. Likely somewhere in that generation of grandmas, one from the Königsberg family married into the Kellman family, but I don’t know anything about it for certain. Someone by the name of Yehuda Schlomo Kellman is there, apparently the brother of Zissl Königsberg, who was probably my grandmother, the mother of Lola Preiss. So her maiden name would then have been Kellman. According to the same source of information, my mother’s grandmother was named Chana Kellman, née Weiser. Apparently she died in 1929. So that’s perhaps how both families are related. Both families lived in the same small town, Bochnia in Poland, near Krakow.

Growing up

This is how it is, more or less: in 1942, when I was born, my parents Lola Preiss and Aaron Preiss – both Polish Jews – were already imprisoned in the concentration camp in Bochnia. It wasn’t an extermination camp, but likely a certain type of ghetto where local Jews were concentrated before being sent to the places of “final solution”, like Auschwitz and other camps to the east. So that’s where I was born. We were all together until 1944, when a certain group of people managed to escape from that camp, among which was also my uncle [Schlomo Königsberg], at that time a young lad of seventeen. And they took me, a two-year-old child, with them. My parents stayed there. On the way through the Slovak State, my uncle left me in the care of one Jewish family in Liptovsky Mikulas, that was in 1944. There I was discovered by the daughter of my later adoptive parents. My adoptive father was 50 years older than I. That’s why I don’t know much about my grandparents, neither my own nor my adoptive ones.

I know almost nothing about the parents of my real mother and father, not even their names. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was perhaps named Zissl Königsberg, but I’m not sure of that. She died before the war, in 1931. My grandfather was perhaps Josef Moshe Königsberg, I’ve got a couple of his photographs and a photograph of his sister, Chana Königsberg.

Similarly with the parents of my adoptive mother, Marie Weberova, there I don’t know much either. Perhaps only that her father was something like a government official. He worked, I think, for the police, still during the time of Austro-Hungary, and that they lived in Prague in a rented co-op apartment. Already back then there were co-ops. On the side of my adoptive father, Josef Weber, it’s also hazy, we’re dealing with stories about people that lived 70 or 80 years ago, which is a huge gap in time. I’ve of course got only very, very sketchy memories of it all. My father was from a farming family from around Pilsen. They were farmers, but in a region that is agriculturally very poor. They grew what was normally grown in that region. All four cereal crops. As far as animals go, they certainly must have had a cow, and pigs were also a matter of course. A goat, that I don’t know, and for sure they didn’t have horses. They lived on this little farm, drew water from a well, and in those days there wasn’t any electricity there either.

It’s hard to tell from such a distance how well off both families were, both my father’s and my mother’s. Probably a little below average. Not that they were beggars, but neither were they well-off people. For sure they didn’t have servants. My father’s family must have read a lot; I found entire volumes in boxes. Back then that was literature of very high quality. It was a standard Czech book collection, but my attention was captured by collected volumes of Vilimkovy Humoristicke listy, which in those days was something like Reflex [a weekly magazine dealing with current issues and interesting personalities of our times – Editor’s note], but back in the days of Austro-Hungary. They were this family, bookish as people used to say. Meaning a family with lots of books. They were definitely well-read. What daily papers they read there, whether any at all, that I however don’t know.

My real parents were from Poland, as I’ve mentioned. Their mother tongue was Polish and also Yiddish, because they lived in an Orthodox Jewish environment. I myself don’t know Polish, or more precisely, I know it, or rather I understand it, like every Czech who isn’t illiterate. I don’t know anything at all about my real father, that’s an absolute black hole. All I know is his name, Aaron Preiss. The only information about my real relatives is from my mother’s side, there thanks to being in touch with her siblings I have certain clues, some names.

My real mother was named Lola Königsberg. She was, I think, one of seven or nine siblings, most of which were girls. My mother was the oldest of them all, so she actually brought them all up. She lived with her husband in Bochnia, Poland. Years later, my uncle Schlomo Königsberg, my mother’s brother, told me the address where we used to live, and I even went there to have a look. I can’t say whether my parents dealt mainly with others from the local Jewish community, but one can assume this to be so. It was a traditional Jewish environment, it’s hard to imagine that they’d somehow differ from the rest. But it’s not impossible for them to have had closer friendships with non-Jews as well. I have no clue as to how, where and when they died. As I’ve said, when I was two, my uncle escaped with me and some other people, and I then grew up with adoptive parents, and had no information about the fate of my real parents. My connection to my original family are my mother’s siblings, Uncle Schlomo, who got to the Palestine via the Slovak State, and two of my mother’s sisters, Toshka and Esther, who moved to what was back then the Palestine still during pre-war times, probably around 1935, and thus survived and became this bridge between me and my past. They lived in Tel Aviv. So from the entire Königsberg family, only these three survived, Toshka, Esther and Uncle Shlomo. My mother and her other sisters, by this I mean Dina, Lea, Bracha and another brother David, all those died during World War II.

I was in touch with my uncle regularly, by mail. And then, when there was that short period when things let up, around 1966, 1967, I also traveled to Israel for the first time, to go see him, because his was the only name that I knew. But another two aunts were also there to greet me, so there I found the remainder of my family. But all three of them are dead now. I don’t know of any other relatives that would be this close.

I of course have a few pieces of information about my uncle, but it’s again not all that much. He lived in Jerusalem, and then in Tel Aviv. He was, as I’ve mentioned, a deeply devout, strictly Orthodox Jew, and so also had that sort of family, meaning large. He had at least seven children. His children were of course also religious, so he’s got at least two rabbis in his family. His daughter married a rabbi in England, his son is in New York, and he then moved there to live with him, where he was until the end of his life. But I don’t know any more than that about his children. His wife died a while back, about 4 or 5 years ago, and about a year ago he died as well. He most likely met his wife in Israel, but I’m not certain of that. I don’t even know what nationality she was. But she was definitely a Jew, deeply religious. My uncle was a watchmaker. He made a living more with the repair then with the sale of clocks. He had little shop about the size of this small room (ca. 3 x 2 m). He was never in the Czech Republic, he was back in Poland at least once to have a look, and I’ve got this feeling that he lived with that one daughter in England for some time. But he probably lived most of his life in Israel, except for those final years, that is.

As far as my aunts Toshka and Esther go – definitely the former and perhaps both – after their arrival in Israel they worked in a kibbutz. Then they were both housewives, both of them got married. Ether’s married name was Fleisher, and Tonka’s was Brunner. Her grandson, Tommer Brunner, is very interested in the lives of his ancestors. He still lives in Israel, and his parents live there too; his father is the son of Auntie Toshka. Toshka had a daughter and two sons. As for Esther Fleisher, she’s got two daughters in Israel, both are still alive. One of them is still single, so is still named Fleisher. The other one is married and is named Darewski. She’s a private music teacher. And he, her husband that is, I don’t know, he’s got some sort of managerial job I think. Neither of my aunties is alive anymore. Esther died at home, and died, I don’t remember anymore, sometime between 1993 and 1997. Toshka died in a senior citizens’ home a year and a half ago. Both of them in Tel Aviv.

So that’s about all that I know as far as my real relatives are concerned. My adoptive parents, whom I’m named after, Weber that is, were already of a quite advanced age when they took me in. They must’ve been married sometime long before the war, I don’t know exactly when. They were a Christian, Catholic family, but one can’t at all talk about any great degree of religiosity. I don’t know anything about my adoptive parents’ political opinions, that wasn’t something that was the subject of conversations at home.

During the war

My father Josef Weber was born in a small village by Pilsen named Chalupy, and to this day it’s still a mere hamlet. He was born in 1892, and was 50 years older than me. He had a vocational college education, and worked as a technical clerk. He worked for Skoda in Pilsen. There, he was I’d say a very good, maybe even excellent worker. I recall, for example, his  considerable skill and cleverness in the manufacture of various things, a washing machine for example. After the war washing machines were scarce, but he made one himself. As far as hobbies are concerned, he was a passionate stamp collector. My father worked at the Skoda Works, as the company was then officially named, in the cannon manufacture department, and then worked for a Skoda branch plant in Slovakia, in Dubnice nad Vahom. Skoda was at that time starting up the plant there, and it continued even under the Germans [meaning during World War II – Editor’s note] . My father had already been working there before the war, and also worked there during World War II, which was relatively rare, because as is known, after the Slovak State was declared in March 1939, all Czechs had to leave Slovakia 2. After 1945 he left Slovakia to work for a short time back in Pilsen, and then retired. As far as I know, at one time between the two world wars he lived in Yugoslavia, where he’d been sent by the company, again it was to do with the manufacture of cannons, in Kragujevac. Otherwise he lived mainly in Pilsen, after the war quite certainly only there, and finally he returned to his native village. That’s where he also died, in September of 1959. When he died, only the two of us remained, so I buried him. He was cremated and buried in Prague, the same as my adoptive mother.

My father was relatively strict, pedantic in fact. And very, very clever and skilful. He demanded work and order of me. We didn’t do much together, we didn’t go on trips much, neither did we go fishing, or things like that. I don’t even remember him or my mother reading me fairy tales or something. It was more a case of me reading by myself, and very early on at that. But I don’t remember much of it. But you have to take into account that huge age difference, age-wise he was more my grandfather then my father. I shared his fondness for collecting stamps a bit, as a boy I also collected them, so yes, I guess there was some sort of my father’s influence there. Unfortunately my father’s collection was lost, today it would perhaps even be quite valuable. He concentrated on Czechoslovak stamps. I don’t really know how exactly he came by them. Back then I don’t thing there were trading exchanges back then. He was probably a member of some club, because he used to get those stamps as a normal subscription, that yes, but whether he traded them, bought and sold them, that I don’t know.

His brother, Jan Weber, also lived in his native village, he was older and died before him. As the oldest of the siblings, his brother Jan ran the farm he’d inherited, he was a small-time farmer. He likely had some sort of basic education, but I don’t know any more than that about him.

My adoptive mother’s maiden name was Marie Faloutova. She was born in Prague, in 1896 I think. I think she had a basic education. I don’t know exactly when she married my father, nor where all they lived after that, but I have the feeling that they didn’t move around much, just the places I’ve already mentioned. She never actually held a job anywhere. After the war, when they were let’s say living modestly, economically speaking, she worked as a seamstress at home. She sewed things for factories. She also died in that little village by Pilsen, in Chalupy, in March 1958.

She had both brothers and sisters. I don’t recall much about her brothers. Her sister lived in Prague, she was younger, a lot younger than she was, and survived her by many years. I think that she died sometime after 1970. She was named Bozena. As far as her employment or education are concerned, I don’t know anything. She was married, her husband died before her. They had a daughter, Vera.

As far as my siblings are concerned, I don’t know of any real ones. As I’ve mentioned, when they took me in, my adoptive parents had an already adult daughter, Anna, who was about 25 or 30 years older than I was. So she became my stepsister. I don’t know that much about her, she was born in Prague, her mother tongue was Czech. If I remember correctly, she had only a basic education. After finishing school she went through several jobs. She worked as an office clerk, a saleslady. Most of the time she lived with us in Pilsen, and then in that village, in Chalupy. Just one time, when she got married, which was sometime after the war, she lived in Karlovy Vary 3. She worked there as a clerk for CSAD (Czechoslovak Bus Lines). I don’t know any more about that. We had a very good relationship, she was sort of like my younger mother to me. Back then I even once went to stay with her during the holidays, for about a week or ten days. That was my first encounter with Karlovy Vary.

That was an incredible experience for a young boy, a city like that. I was around 12 or 13 at the time. What captivated me the most there? You know, Karlovy Vary is a nice place in every respect. I for example remember excellent whipped cream ‘rakvicky’ [‘little coffins’, sponge-biscuits with whipped cream] at Elefant, which was and is a renowned coffee and pastry shop in Karlovy Vary. Since that time, this is what reminds me of Karlovy Vary. And especially of that Elefant pastry shop. We used to sit there, though not really regularly, as it was expensive, but we were definitely there several times. The coffee shop is still there, it’s been stylistically renovated, because it’s something akin to Sacher in Vienna. Karlovy Vary wafers,  they’re in  the colonnade, but this is somewhere else. When you walk from the old colonnade and pass through this place where it narrows, by the spring, then a bit past it, about 20-30 meters to the right, is one of the best places in Karlovy Vary, as far as desserts are concerned, the Elefant coffee shop. We also of course made the rounds to see the local sights, from Jeleni Skok, to the springs, the Russian Orthodox church and so on.

But then my sister got divorced, sometime in the mid-1950s, and moved back again, and lived the rest of her life in the village. I actually don’t know anything about her husband, not even what kind of work he did. They didn’t have any children together, she didn’t ever have any children at all. She married only once, after the divorce she lived only with us, and didn’t even have any other partner. She died in that village by Pilsen around 1955, when I began attending high school. She wasn’t very old, though she was already over 40, my whole adoptive family were already older people.

As far as my life is concerned, I was born, as I’ve already mentioned, in a little town in Poland named Bochnia. Bochnia is located by Krakow, which is a region known for salt mining. When I was in school they were still teaching about the Bochnia and Wieliczka salt mines. My date of birth, well, right off the bat there’s the first thing that’s all tangled up. Officially, in my documents, I’ve got 1st march 1942. But because my life, as I’ve already mentioned, is a bit convoluted – I’m actually a wartime foundling, they discovered me at the age of about two – so the doctors, when they were setting the my official date of birth, set it to the date I mentioned. After many and many years, I found out that they’d been mistaken by roughly a month, which I think is not such a bad result. So my real date of birth is March 29th. I got this information from my relatives, whom I got in touch with after the war. My own parents were understandably not alive anymore then. They died early on, in Poland. And I myself of course don’t remember anything from my childhood in Bochnia.

So when I was about two, my uncle took me away with that group that managed to escape from the concentration camp in Bochnia. The whole group went through Slovakia, through the Slovak State, on to the Balkans and to the Palestine, where they, including that uncle of mine, managed to finally get to. They left me, a small child, for reasons that today I can only guess at – perhaps they were afraid, for themselves, for my life, it’s hard to say – in any case, they left me back there in Slovakia. In the hands of Jews, in a Jewish family, which – in 1944 Jews in Slovakia were also in difficult circumstances – at that time was living in one of the collection points before the deportations, namely Liptovsky Mikulas.

A Christian girl used to visit that family to see her love, her boyfriend. That’s where she first saw me, that’s where I apparently first caught her eye, and she took me from that family and brought me to her own family. I don’t know anything about that Jewish family, neither their names nor their employment and so on. That girl, my future stepsister, then found another boyfriend, because this one died. I don’t even know whose idea it actually was to take me in. And why did that Jewish family actually give me to a Christian one? They were in danger, at that time they must have already known... They were actually already interned. So it was exactly the other way around, no that they gave me up, but that she was a way to save me.

My new family was Christian, they were Czechs who had by chance remained in Slovakia, which is a story in itself, because Czechs had to leave Slovakia in 1939. They stayed there because my later adoptive father, thus also the father of the girl that found me, worked in the arms industry and apparently as an expert had an exception and could stay there. So they took me into their family and during the remainder of the war pretended I was a nephew from Prague. For this purpose a cousin from Prague used to even come visit for these camouflage visits, which also wasn’t exactly a simple matter. My adoptive parents knew of my origins – they had my relatives’ trail, as they knew who had left that child in Slovakia. Who he’d been with and where he’d continued on to. So they knew roughly what the deal was.

After the war

After the war, I don’t know exactly when, but for sure very soon after its end, my uncle was looking to re-establish contact, which he succeeded in doing, and tried very vehemently to have me handed over to him, so I could go to the Palestine. But the husband and wife kept the child and then adopted it. So they became my parents. I never knew my real parents, my biological parents. It’s likely that some sort of tension developed between my adoptive parents and my uncle regarding my being handed over, I don’t know, but the family probably simply didn’t want to, they’d already gotten used to the new child. I myself couldn’t have had much say in who I’d be with, at the end of the war I was only three years old. I found out that I was adopted very early on, as soon as I had a brain, as they say. It was completely natural, without any drama or secrecy, it was simply common knowledge. My new parents even supported my Jewish upbringing.

For some time we still lived in Dubnica nad Vahom. That’s a time from which I already have these faint memories. I remember things, like cannon fire, our garden, shelling and things like that, when the front was passing. But that’s already the end of the war, then there are you typical post-war things. So I can’t have my own personal experiences, they’re only second-hand and let’s say gleaned.

After the war my father returned to Pilsen – because he’d been sent to Slovakia from the parent Skoda plant in Pilsen – and worked in the factory until his retirement in 1948. And so we lived in Pilsen for some time. There I also began attending school, which was in 1948. Before and also afterwards, only my mother took care of me, she didn’t have any helper. In 1949, when my father was already retired, we returned from Pilsen to his native village of Chalupy, which is also in the Pilsen region, about 30 km away from the regional city.

It’s a very small village. It’s not an independent municipality, but a mere hamlet. About 40 houses, for example ours had only an outhouse in the yard. The village already had electricity, but during that time there was no running water, only wells. Everyone had his own water. We, for example, lived in this little house on a little bit of a hill, and the well, the town well, was at the bottom. When I was living there, there wasn’t even a paved road, only this better dirt road. And of course, I was also the only Jew there.

While in Pilsen I attended a big school, here in Chalupy I attended a one-room schoolhouse my first year. It was in the closest village, about two kilometers away. Every day we’d walk there. I wasn’t so terrible, but as a six or seven-year-old kid... well, it is a bit of a trudge. I still remember the crackling fire in the stove in the winter, they still heated with coal. The next year, they closed the one-room schoolhouses and put us all into a larger school in a different town. There we were already transported by bus. But the closest stop was again in that village two kilometers away. I then attended high school, one with eleven grades, in a district town, in Stod near Pilsen.

I liked going to school. I was a good, if not excellent student. I liked almost all subjects, but mathematics and physics, those were definitely my hobbies. And that wasn’t anything very common among students back then, and isn’t to this day, as I’m convinced. Among my least favorite subjects were music and art, for reasons of clear lack of talent. I have absolutely no musical hearing, as far as art goes it’s not all that great either, and due to the fact that otherwise all my marks were excellent, this was an irritating blot. So I understandably didn’t participate in any music clubs, nor sports; in any case such things didn’t even exist at our school. On the other hand, I did take German lessons, and quite early on. In the town where the school was, there was this one retired teacher who used to give private lessons. So I can speak decent German, but also English, a very little French and of course Russian, because I studied in the Soviet Union, where I graduated from university as a nuclear systems designer.

As far as hobbies go, already as a child I had this peculiar deviation, I liked to read a lot. Anything and everything. I grew up on everything that was being published back then, especially stories by Verne [Jules Verne]. Balzac [Honoré de Balzac] too, him for example I read quite early on, but I don’t know exactly when anymore, whether already in elementary school. For me the best Christmas present was a book, I used to get 15-20 books under the tree. It’s hard to pick a favorite one, but I think that it could have been Dumas’s Three Musketeers, with beautiful illustrations. And also stories by Verne. I also pored over Jirasek [Alois Jirasek], but that was more because I had to. Jirasek’s Collected Works, which we subscribed to at the time, took up about two meters on our bookshelf. But I liked reading very much, and that’s how I spent most of my spare time during childhood. I also read books from libraries – back then even villages had them – and it’s stayed with me into adulthood. But we had, as far as I remember, our own quite rich book collection. It was my father who mainly read, my mother I’d say for one less and for another a different sort of books, that lighter women’s genre. So we also had some romance novels at home. As far as magazines go, not very much.

I of course also used to have ambitions in sport, but little talent for it, so I used to try running a bit and so on, but it was more of the sort to be doing at least something. I liked short track running the best. As far as ball games, it was soccer, that’s something a village boy always gets around to playing. Surprisingly, back then ponds still used to freeze over, so we also used to like playing hockey. I very much regretted not doing any skiing in childhood, though I had always very much wanted to. And so later – in high school and university – I had a very hard time catching up during ski trips.

So that’s how I mostly spent my free time as a child. Our parents never took us anywhere on trips, neither to go see sights nor into nature. That wasn’t our custom and neither did our financial situation permit it very much. One child, that is I, was in school, so they concentrated mainly on what was necessary from this standpoint. There was no television back then, villages don’t have exhibitions, a mobile cinema used to come around, so that yes, that was an attraction. And I remember for example, when television began in 1953, the one and only television receiver was at the school superintendent’s in the school in the neighboring village. We kids used to go over there to watch it. That was also an attraction. I don’t really remember much of what we used to do on Sundays, most likely  I was running around somewhere outside. And what’s more, don’t forget that our hamlet was a remote hole. Which did have a pub, but didn’t even have a store. So to do some sort of cultural activities there... there wasn’t anywhere to go, even if you wanted to. And the nearest bus stop was, as I’ve said, in the next village. True, occasionally we went to visit relatives, we were in Prague a few times at my mother’s sister’s or in Pilsen. I of course couldn’t go to my grandparents’ during vacation, they weren’t alive anymore. My older sister, who got married and moved to Karlovy Vary, was partially usable as a destination for family visits, but she had a job.

The Pioneer movement 4 already existed at that time, but I didn’t go to any camps. Scouting was stopped I think in 1949 or 1950, and wasn’t restarted until after 1990. So I missed out on that too. What’s more, for me vacations always meant work. Because we had to – or I had to – help pad out the family budget. And so I spent my vacation in the forest picking everything there was, mushrooms, blueberries, cranberries and so on. We would then sell the results at a collection point. That was hard-earned money. I remember that I’d leave for the forest early in the morning, almost crying. I’m not saying that I spent all of summer vacation like that, but certainly a good half fell to that.

As far as friendships from those times go, I’ll mention one thing: recently we had an elementary school reunion – which is in itself quite unusual. Usually people have high school reunions, so it quite surprised me. The reunion was organized by classmates that stayed in the village, who actually during that whole time never got out into the world. They put in the work and effort and invited us all, repeatedly even, as since then the reunion has taken place twice. I of course hadn’t seen anyone during those fifty and more years, but despite that we didn’t have problems picking up the conversation there where we’d interrupted it those many years ago. Even if sitting here was someone who was now a professor, beside him a doctor, across the table a farmer and beside him a caretaker. This didn’t play any role, and I guess that it’s not a bad result. Otherwise I always based friendships more from my working life than my student days; a few friendships also lasted on the basis of my Jewish origin, from the ranks of young Jewish people in Pilsen and later in Prague.

I lived in Chalupy near Pilsen up to my high school graduation in 1959. Our years were affected by the shortening of school attendance, so we graduated when we were already 17. The I went to study in Prague. By coincidence when I was 16 my adoptive mother died, then when I was 17, three months after graduation, my father. So I started my university studies as a youngster of 17, and a complete orphan. A double one, actually. At that time my relatives on both my father’s and mother’s side were of course still alive, but I remained alone and lived alone. I had an orphan’s pension and a scholarship. And I lived at the university dorm. In Prague I studied at the then (today as well) prestigious Faculty of Technical and Nuclear Physics (FTJF), design of nuclear power systems, which was during the years 1959 to 1961. But after two years I left on a scholarship for the Soviet Union, to Moscow, and there I then finished my studies in 1965. I left for there not even so much because I didn’t have anyone here anymore, but because it was a very enticing offer. At that time the Soviet Union was at the forefront of my field.

In Prague I also went through a half year of military service for university graduates, back then I was one of the last ones to manage to still do only a half-year term. I served with the anti-missile defense. We didn’t go to the army to learn something. We were being prepared for officer positions, so we arrived there as deputy officers, not as regular soldiers. And it was quite funny that I, though having basic service rank (they didn’t give us one star and the rank of second lieutenant until we were in our last month), I was one of the platoon commanders and the other commanders were career officers. Many times it happened that I would be signing leave for soldiers that were even of higher rank than I was. Well, but otherwise it was a waste of time, which is a frequent opinion of basic army service to this day.

When I was still in Prague, local young Jewish people themselves approached me, you can say that they found me. And pulled me into the Jewish community of that time, this was during the 1960s. In the Soviet Union I of course also met up with Jews. But general contact was minimal. I was in the synagogue in Moscow several times during holidays, but I didn’t establish wider contacts.

If I was to compare my studies in Prague and Moscow, one could say that what I studied here was more of an academic nature. That is, what I began to study, because right in first year they transferred us from Charles University to CVUT [Czech Technical University]. The studies were more theoretical, even though in the first couple of years that’s hard to discern. Well, and in the USSR I then switched to a purely practical, engineering direction. Plus I’d say that the studies here in Prague were more difficult. Even though again it’s hard to compare, because starting school is always difficult. So from this standpoint, after the initial break-in period, let’s say one year, when language difficulties subsided, it wasn’t anything especially dramatic. And as far as life itself goes, in that there was of course a huge difference, because back then the Soviet Union was at a significantly different point as far as standards go. For example living standards. I lived in a dormitory like all other students, sublets didn’t exist. There were dozens of nationalities studying there with me, Europeans, Africans and Asians. There were also Chinese, Koreans or Vietnamese, a varied international society. But we don’t keep in touch at all anymore.

Back then, we of course traveled around the Soviet Union as much as we could. During vacation I and other students, Czechoslovaks or a lot of Germans too, tried to go on various trips. As far as it was of course possible, it wasn’t at all a simple matter. And so besides Siberia and the Far East, and of the Baltic countries Estonia, we visited all its interesting corners. Back then Estonia was a strategic region, it was simply out of the question. And for many reasons. The conditions in the Soviet Union were a little different, and we had to get used to them. For example – just for interest’s sake, today this is something utterly incomprehensible for us – we didn’t have a visa for the Soviet Union. We had a visa for Moscow. For Moscow and 50 kilometers around Moscow and that was it. Whenever we wanted to travel further on, we always had to have special permission. And getting it was complicated. You had to report it, you had to arrange it. Of course it was possible to embark on a trip even without it, it’s not as if they checked at every station. But if they did find out that you were traveling without a permit, you’d have problems. These trips used to be organized, so they had to be prepared long in advance. The exact route had to be defined, for example. And we of course had a guide with us, a local one. We weren’t allowed to go anywhere by ourselves.

After my return from the Soviet Union in 1965, I got a job in Pilsen. I again worked for Skoda, like once my father had. The company was at that time named the V.I. Lenin Works (ZVIL) and I got placed into nuclear research (Nuclear Power Station Works – ZJE). Thus I participated in the construction and commissioning of the first Czechoslovak nuclear power station, in Jaslovske Bohunice in Slovakia. I was at Skoda for only a short time, a couple of years, so I didn’t work for that long in my original field. I left in 1971, officially because I was laid off because of redundancy. I don’t think that it was due to my Jewish origin, more likely it’s got to do with 1968 5 and what followed 6. Back then the situation progressed differently at different levels, my position was cancelled and the position that was offered to me – because they had to offer me a position – was such so that I would refuse it, or so that I would at least be humiliated as much as possible. I don’t remember anymore what exactly they offered me, something like a warehouse worker, but from a university graduate’s position it was several levels down, so for workers with a basic education. Well, and when I didn’t accept it, I got dismissed. I was unemployed for a long time, about a year and a half. I even decided to take the Skoda syndicate to court, and was even partly successful. Only slightly, but successful. I charged them with unjustified dismissal, and back then I was awarded about three months’ severance pay. The court acknowledged that the dismissal really was invalid on the date that it was issued, and that it wasn’t valid until a later date. I’ve even got an official document that confirmed that I was officially unemployed, so they couldn’t even jail me for parasitism, as was the custom under Communism. Unemployment today and back then are in general “about something different”, as they say today with that ugly modern Czech.

It wasn’t unemployment of the type “lost a job”. It was of course political persecution. While today unemployment isn’t anything unthought-of, it’s a common thing, it isn’t in general demeaning, it can happen to anyone and has happened to many, or happens, back then it was almost a crime in society’s eyes. It wasn’t only about the fact that I’d lost my job, and for me it wasn’t just a job, for me it was a profession that I had myself chosen, which I considered to be a mission and a calling. Because from one day to the next, I found myself at the edge of an economic abyss. A person has to support himself somehow. I may have been alone, I wasn’t yet married, but I had to buy food, pay the rent, take the train... But the fact that I didn’t have a family was an advantage. Maybe it was my only luck, one could say that if I had one, everything would have been much harder. But even so it wasn’t anything simple. I didn’t even have parents, no one. Back then I dealt with it by working under the table for some kind people. But of course work in my field was out of the question, I helped bricklayers and so on. It’s hard to say if I thus learned something new that’s since been useful to me, probably only in a very limited way.

But then I by chance got to a little different profession, in the field of computers, and for the majority of my productive life, actually from 1971 until the end of the century, I spent among computers. That was already in Moravia. Not in Brno, but in Kyjov – I joined my future wife in Kyjov, where we live together to this day. After all, I got my job precisely thanks to her and her friends. As the saying went back then: when will life be good all over the world, well of course when everyone will have connections everywhere. I learned my new profession on the job, I never attended any computer school, everything was self-taught. We did economics calculations, that was still the era of so-called punch cards. I worked as a programmer in Hodonin, in the Computer Technology Company (PVT), which engraved itself into people’s consciousness especially during the coupon privatization of the early 1990s. I was there until 1995, then I underwent a heart operations and after recuperating I left. I worked for another several years in the same field somewhere else, in Veseli nad Moravou. Well, and then began “sweet” retirement.

How I met my wife, that’s a story. I met my future wife because of a trip to Israel. At the time I was going there to meet my one and only relative, real relative. It was my first trip to Israel, and basically also my first trip to the “West”. When I was getting ready for the trip – which was combined, by train to Greece, from Greece by ship – I got a message from one old lady from Prague that she was going on the same ship, and whether we couldn’t travel together. So I said, why not. We met in Prague at the train station, got on the train and traveled to Vienna; in Vienna we were supposed to continue on in the evening by express  - even in a sleeping car – all the way to Athens, to be more precise to the port of Piraeus. The train from Prague was arriving at Franz Joseph Bhf, the train to Greece was leaving from Süd Bhf, we had a bit of a delay and before we transferred to the other train station in Vienna, all we managed to do was to wave goodbye to the last wagon and our expensive sleeping car. And the next train wasn’t until the next day.

My fellow traveler had some friends there in Vienna, and could sleep over at their place. I wasn’t worried about where I’d sleep, I took my suitcase and went to lie down in the park. I did fall asleep beautifully on a bench, but around 4:00 a.m. someone tapped on my shoulder – a Vienna policeman – and courteously, decently but uncompromisingly sent me away. Well, I waited it out somehow, the next day got on the same train, but no longer into a sleeping car, but into a normal compartment, and in the next compartment over there was this group of interesting people. A group of Polish Jews were traveling from Warsaw to Israel and with them a black-haired nurse from Moravia, who’d left Czechoslovakia a day later. And so we met, there on that train. She was also going to Israel for the first time, to visit friends. I was a ripe old 26, she a touch older. We all traveled together, I was the only one who could mangle a bit of English, and so was their tour guide and interpreter in Greece, we slept over one more night in a harbor hotel before setting sail. The next day we then got on a ship to Haifa, and after traveling for a one and a half days, we disembarked and went our separate ways to see friends and relatives. So then we really first met, exchanged addresses and as they say, sparks flew. For some time we were friends, then we lived together, and finally we were married. we had a civil wedding, not in a synagogue.

My wife’ name is Vera, née Baderova, and is Jewish. She was born in Brno in a maternity hospital, but lived her whole life in Kyjov, if we leave out the period during the war when she was in Terezin. Her mother tongue is Czech. She’s a graduate of nursing high school, she’s worked her whole life as a nurse, initially at an ophthalmological ward and then as a scrub nurse during surgery. She’s retired now.

She had only one brother, Jirka [Jiri], who died during the war, the same as her father, Max. Only she and her mother survived. Her brother was older than she, but I don’t know exactly what year he was born, I think around 1930. He died in Auschwitz. When, that would be possible to search out in the transport documents, evidently in 1944. They transported him to Terezin in January 1943, their whole family, and he later went with his father to Auschwitz. At that time he was still a young lad, of school age. Their father was the owner of a store. Back then they called it a wholesaler’s but basically it was a store with mixed goods of all types.

The mother and daughter survived, then lived in Kyjov, and never ever moved anywhere. My wife’s first husband was also of Jewish origin. He was a career soldier, then left the army and worked as a dispatcher at CSAD (Czechoslovak Bus Lines). He then became seriously ill, he had cancer of the pancreas, and died of this disease. My wife divorced him, sometime around 1970. She’s got a son, Jiri, from that marriage. The two of us were married much later after we met. We had a simple civil wedding, with only witnesses, in 1976, after knowing each other for almost ten years.

Her son Jiri from her first marriage is actually my only son, thus my stepson. The two of us never had any children together. Jiri is of course named Süss after his own father, and got his first name in memory of his deceased uncle. He was born in Kyjov on 22nd April 1956. He’s a high school graduate, he studied at economics high school in Hodonin. He held various jobs, both in Hodonin and in Kyjov, but unfortunately the past while he’s been unemployed. As a stepson, he accepted me well, there wasn’t any problem there. There’s a 14-year age difference between us, when I married my wife he was already 20. He’s married, since 1989, and his wife is named Lenka, née Hyskova. She was born in Hodonin. She herself isn’t Jewish, but that’s not a problem. Even as a young boy, Jirka didn’t seek out partners among Jewish women, you see, he didn’t even have the opportunity, there aren’t any girls like that in our town and its surroundings. He and his wife have two children, a boy, Jan, who’s 15, and a girl, Gabriela, who’s 12.

As a family we used to go on vacations more in the winter than in the summer, mainly skiing. Now I go to the mountains only sporadically. Skiing is one of my favorite activities, both cross-country and downhill, I more or less managed to catch up in it. I also like bicycle riding. We weren’t too much into trips around the country, say on weekends, into the countryside or sightseeing. We mostly spent weekends at home. We’ve got a house, a relatively large one, with a garden – that’s actually non-stop work. Occasionally we go to the theater, but not so much to the movies. When I was in university I of course used to go to the movies, especially things that were a little exceptional, a film club and so on. And I used to go to the theater whenever possible. I studied in Prague, and our favorite stage was Semafor.

During Communism I maintained written contact with my relatives in Israel on the whole without problems. I’m sure our correspondence was monitored, but I didn’t worry about it. I don’t know of any problems stemming from it, and otherwise it didn’t worry me. I didn’t travel much to the “West”, one could say almost never. I went on one business trip to London in 1968. So there were no opportunities for problems. I of course listened to Free Europe, the English BBC broadcasts or the Voice of America 7, back then they were the only sources of independent information and by the way an excellent opportunity to learn foreign languages. I wasn’t too familiar with samizdat 8 writing, it didn’t come around to me. I never had the feeling that it was necessary to hide my Jewish origins.

When the year 1989 9 arrived, a fundamental change in our lives was the return of my wife’s house, which was former family property, confiscated by the Communists. That certainly influenced our life in a significant way, and in a good way. During the Velvet Revolution, everything was interesting, but I’ve got a rather guilty feeling that I participated in it only as a spectator. I was no longer able to find the courage and strength to participate in it. I didn’t go to any demonstrations, but that was never something that I gravitated towards. As far as employment goes, I kept working in the same place even after the revolution, and my wife didn’t change jobs either.

My adoptive parents were, as I’ve said, Catholics, but not very religiously active, more lukewarm. Their own parents, a generation back, especially living in a village, certainly must have been religious and attended church. It was unthinkable for it to be otherwise. Religion, the concept of God or so on, wasn’t even a subject of conversation in our home. Nevertheless, my adoptive parents very sincerely supported my religious upbringing, as far as they could, and I’m glad of it. They never hid my origin from me, and themselves kept close and continual contact with the Jewish community in Pilsen, and with my uncle in Israel. I used to go to Pilsen for Jewish religion lessons and I also had my bar mitzvah [bar mitzvah - literally “son of the Commandments”, a ceremony absolved by a Jewish boy that has reached the age of thirteen. In the synagogue he is first called to the Torah, and from that point onwards he is eligible to be part of a minyan, a group of at least 10 men that are allowed to pray, and has all the rights and responsibilities of a devout Jew. This day is considered to be a family holiday – Editor’s note] there. I’d say that it was very noble and considerate behavior on my parents’ part. Due to their non-religious orientation, I didn’t get the roots of upbringing the way others would have, but I’m grateful to them for making it possible for me to live in contact with the Jewish world. That’s probably the main thing. As far as my parents are concerned, my being Jewish probably didn’t have any influence on them. I don’t know why they actually supported my Jewish upbringing, whether the wishes of the Slovak Jewish family played a role, or of my uncle, who must have contacted my adoptive family very soon after the end of the war. That’s something that of course can’t be proven now, none of them can say anything anymore. Abut I think that they felt that they had – and now I’ll say it a very not nice way – that they had something sort of borrowed. A thing for which they were responsible. And with which they couldn’t do completely what they wanted, but had to respect where that thing was from, right? Be it that I’m allowed to talk like that about myself, I’d never dare to designate another human being as a thing.

Pilsen, where I used to go to the Jewish community, was about 30 kilometers from our village via this three-stage method of transportation... first on foot, then by bus, and finally by train. We used to go there for the main Jewish holidays, most certainly at least once a year. Well, and then when I was preparing for my bar mitzvah, I used to go there to study. The lessons lasted several months, and I used to go there once a week. I was of course obliged to learn to read and understand Hebrew prayer texts, but I’ll admit that I learned it primarily phonetically. And since then I’ve again successfully forgotten it. So today I don’t know Hebrew.

My participation in Jewish holidays during my childhood didn’t only take the form of my parents for example taking me to Pilsen, waiting, and then returning back the Chalupy with me. There weren’t again that many of those holidays, that was really usually only that one time a year, Yom Kippur [The Day of Atonement. The most celebrated event in the Jewish calendar. – Editor’s note]. For that holiday were the guests of the Jewish community at their expense, and were put up in at a hotel, because it of course lasted until the evening. So my parents were with me the whole time, that’s self-evident, and as guests they also participated in the celebrations.

Back then the Jewish community in Pilsen still had over a hundred members, but after the war there were only four of us children, with the age difference between the youngest and the oldest being almost 14 years. I was of course the youngest. There was for example a girl about two years older them me, they used to put us together even later, and we’re good friends to this day, though we rarely see each other. At that time I was the only boy of that age, plus an orphan, being brought up in a Gentile family. All this contributed to making the celebrations back then an utterly exceptional event. I would get tons of presents, everyone congratulated me, for a while I was like the child of the whole community. After the service in the synagogue, we’d then all go for a gala supper at a hotel, at the largest hotel in Pilsen, and as a 13-year-old boy, albeit chaperoned, I found myself in a bar for the first time. Later I didn’t absolve any additional Jewish upbringing, that which I know and feel is from my own studies, listening and watching.

I don’t know anything about the religious behavior of my real parents. It’s of course hard to judge from such a distance and through others. My uncle, who survived, was a very deeply religious, Orthodox Jew, however whether from the very beginning or only later, that I don’t know. Both aunts that arrived in Israel still before the war, were on the contrary very liberal, I’d say. And their husbands as well. So both forms of approach to religion exist or existed in our family.

Since childhood, Yom Kippur has been among my favorite holidays, and to this day it’s for me the most significant of all Jewish holidays. But favorite is perhaps not the right expression. It’s the biggest holiday, the main holiday, sort of the innermost one. It’s a day where you do an annual balancing of deeds, when the believer should come to terms with his friends as well as those others. It’s a day of fasting, a day of contemplation and all-day prayers. So that’s why it’s the biggest holiday. That’s how it’s decreed by the Torah. And when I take it personally, it was so unforgettable precisely because it was so demanding. So from this standpoint it was the first and only one with which I became familiar in early childhood. The one I observed, or at least tried to observe. I had this awareness that it was necessary, that it was proper, that it was right. The rest is this maybe yes, maybe no. But this here for sure yes. For example, already from childhood I observed the prescribed fast. And at first sight that looked very difficult, but on second sight already as a child I had this feeling that I was doing the right thing. And surprisingly, which of course I realized only later, it’s also healthy.

Today my wife and I observe the main Jewish holidays, sometimes we also go to synagogue. Most certainly, without any sort of doubt, the most important for us is the celebration of the Jewish New Year [Rosh Hashanah] and the holiday of atonement [Yom Kippur]. We also celebrate the holiday of crossing, Passover. But in first place I put the holiday of atonement, the traditional time of fasting. The nature of the others is of more joyous holidays, they can but don’t have to be observed, now I’m talking for our family. We’re aware of them, but it doesn’t mean that we’d have to do something special right on that day. We don’t observe the feast of lights, Chanukkah, much in our family, but try to pass its tradition on to the next generation, to our grandchildren, but only moderately, soberly. We don’t observe Christian holidays, though we do accept a brief invitation for Christmas Eve because of the grandchildren.

Our son Jiri is another step further along in the sense of more tolerant, more liberal behavior, so he celebrates holidays even much less. On his own, from his own impetus, I’d say, he doesn’t celebrate anything, plus his wife isn’t Jewish. But while his grandma and grandpa were still alive, the traditions were observed more. We don’t observe kosher regulations in any particular fashion, but as far as his grandparents were concerned, they tried to not commit significant offences. In short, let’s say that pork wasn’t served. So our son Jiri was brought up in a Jewish manner when possible. He’s circumcised, had a bar mitzvah. And for the High Holidays the family regularly visited the synagogue. Grandma, my wife’s mother, who after the war remarried and again married a Jew, a devout Jew, she kept the Sabbath relatively strictly. My wife and I less so, I’d say almost not at all.

Our grandchildren are also aware of their Jewish origins, they of course know about them. They both very much like to for example come here to the Jewish community, but it’s more got to do with the fact that they feel a certain importance here, that their grandfather works here and so on. They also come here during the biggest holidays and for memorial ceremonies. I’ve never had a problem due to my Jewish origin. People already knew about it in elementary school, but no one ever looked at me in any negative way. Neither in school nor at work.

Another fundamental change that the revolution brought, this time as far as being Jewish is concerned, was that I was pulled into being a functionary and later also elected president of the community in Brno. I myself would never have thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that something like that could happen. I was of course always in contact with the Brno Jewish community here, but as a regular member, more on the passive side. Well, and back then the head cantor, still alive at the time, the recently deceased Mr. Arnost Neufeld, approached new, until then “unused” functionary cadres, and so invited me to do this work. At the complete beginning I began helping during last farewells for our members, ritual cleansing [the tahara ceremony, which is by the way one of the most honorable “mitzvot”, obligations in Jewish society – Editor’s note], funeral oration, and similar things. Thus I slowly “sunk in my claws” and in the end I ended up with everything.

I commenced this type of public service in 1996, and do it to this day. I didn’t run directly for the post of president, according to our rules a body is elected, that means a group of functionaries called the presidium, and then it picks a president from among itself. I ran for the presidium voluntarily, and more than anything else let myself be talked into the function, there wasn’t and isn’t any excess of candidates, which is too bad. How did they convince me? I don’t know. Objectively, though considerably immodestly put – I was probably the most suitable from the existing “portfolio”. So I agreed, with a heavy heart, but agreed.

Well, and when they elected me in the next electoral period as well, I said that it’s the last time, that if I was to be elected one more time, I’d consider it to be a personal failure, that I didn’t manage to find and prepare a suitable successor. This I more or less adhered to, even though I was still “left with” the function of vice-president. I was president for 8 years before that. My family didn’t look at my presidency very positively, and doesn’t. For one for reasons of time, thanks to it I’m very often away from home and that at the most varied times, and for another my wife has a markedly different opinion from me on a number of things in the affairs of the Jewish community.

I myself felt already back then, and feel to this day, that my work at the Jewish community is a bit like the repayment of an old debt. But it’s hard for me to evaluate something myself. What’s more, it’s also a certain enrichment for me. Perhaps primarily in that a person sees at least some sort if tiny furrow plowed behind him. That yes, let that be my reward. But it’s terribly hard, hard because working with people is hard. And a person perceives that only once when he’s in an executive function and has to make decisions. And he’s got to decide against this person and for this one, and next time the other way around. Truly, especially complex decisions? Certainly there were. And not in all of them am I convinced that I decided correctly. But there’s another thing that’s worse than to decide incorrectly, and that’s to not decide at all.

I visited Israel several times. I was there twice, thrice to see my family, once I stayed with my wife with friends, once I was there on business. Everything in Israel captivated me. Especially on my first visit. And that was right upon entering the harbor, where the passport official addressed me in flawless Czech: “Welcome, Mr. Weber, and you’ll remain here with us, won’t you?” None of my relatives in Israel of course spoke any Czech. But I didn’t experience any long questioning at the border back then, that didn’t exist there yet, in 1966 it as something completely different than today. And then, you know, a young person, who was in the “West” for the first time, gaped with eyes wide open at everything. At gas stations, at roads, at beverages, at advertisements, at nightlife, at food, at whatever. Everything was new, everything was unsoiled, un-shabby, everything was different. I of course also saw the main Israeli sights, I took some tours, I was taken somewhere by one aunt, somewhere by another. Including the Dead Sea, Masada, Eilat, Jerusalem, that especially. It’s hard to say if something there took me aback or if I didn’t like something, definitely positive impressions were the rule during my first visit.

During my first visit I considered very seriously whether I should stay in Israel, but I didn’t find the courage. Mainly I was afraid of the language barrier. Not even later, already with my wife, who doesn’t have relatives there but friends, did we consider it.

My relationship with Israel is of course highly emotional and positive, it’s my second homeland, even though I’ve never lived there. As far as the current political situation is concerned, it’s of course a somewhat different question, that certainly isn’t something open and shut. Like every state, Israel can be criticized, not everything is exemplary there. But as far as I know, none of my relatives had serious problems, neither my uncle not my aunts.

Glossary:

Solomon Epstein
Saint Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Olga Egudina
Date of interview: October 2007

Solomon Borissovich Epstein invited me to his apartment-studio situated in one of the most beautiful districts of St. Petersburg.

We had our talk surrounded by his beautiful paintings. Solomon Borissovich is talented for all spheres of life:

he is a worthy party in a conversation, an author of the very interesting memoirs about war, and a brave soldier in the past.

One can be envious of his exact memory. When you listen to Solomon Borissovich, his stories seem to come alive and you become able to hear sounds and smell…

• My family background
• Growing up during the war

• After the war and recent years
• Glossary

• My family background

I know nothing about my great-grandparents. My paternal and maternal grandfathers were born and lived in Belarus near Vitebsk. My maternal grandfather’s name was Ruman. As far as I understand, he was a tzaddik of the local community. He had got several daughters. My paternal grandfather lived about 60 kilometers far from Vitebsk - in Velizh. My grandfather Ruman was short and rather weak, very kind and silent, and my grandfather Hirsh-Leyb-Meir Epstein was a joker, a horse-lover. He was very tall and black-haired (looked like a gypsy), very cheerful. Both grandfathers were very kind.

Grandfather Hirsh had got many children, and not only girls. He was engaged in carrying goods between Velizh and Vitebsk. He got acquainted with grandfather Ruman and his family somehow. Ruman was a tailor and grandfather Hirsh sent his son Boris (Berele) to Ruman as an apprentice. That was the way Berele found his love (my future Mom). I keep his love-letter written in 1916.

The letter was written in Russian, and the first letters of lines spelled my mother's name Ester. By that time Daddy had finished 4 or 5 classes of gymnasia and knew Russian well, though my both grandfather’s mother tongue was certainly Yiddish.

My father was a very talented person, a real artist of tailoring. Later in Leningrad he became one of the most famous local tailors. People of high position (now we call them VIP) lined up to get his services. They paid him much money, because everybody knew him to be a magician able to turn an ordinary person into a real picture. He was left-handed to no profession: a furrier, a glover, and even a shoemaker.

I do not remember my grandmothers very well. Grandmother Rachel, Ruman’s wife wore a wig and I remember her bald head under the wig. When it became clear that my hair became shockingly red, everybody said that it was passed down from my grandmother (she was red-headed). Haya was Hirsh’s wife. She was a person of cast-iron character, completely different from her husband.

But here it is necessary to take into account that she had to take care of a large family, and it was not easy: Hirsh traveled much and his family was not a burden for him. Last year I made portraits of my grandfathers from memory. For the last time I saw them at the age of two and a half (by the way, I have no photos of grandfather Hirsh). At the same time I am absolutely sure that in my picture my grandfather looks real, I felt like giving birth to him by means of my brush. I kept a photo of grandfather Ruman, but strangely enough it distracted me from my work. I put it aside and did not look at it during my work on his portrait.

My parents got married in Vitebsk in 1921. Both my brother and I were born there, too. David was born in 1923, and I was born in 1925. A year later our family moved to Leningrad and we started our life there (I know nothing about the reason). We lived in Zhukovskogo Street, in the city centre, in a communal apartment 1. I lived in that house during 50 years. For the first time I left it in March 1942 for evacuation (we moved along the Road of Life 2 across the Ladoga Lake).

After the end of the war I returned home to that house and lived there till 1975. By now the house is reconstructed, and some very rich people live there. When we made it our home in 1924, our apartment looked rather strange: the floor of one its part was situated higher than that of the other one. Between these levels there was a stairway of 9 steps. In our apartment there lived 6 families (they had got 9 children (boys) in total). So we used to slide down from that stairway on my father’s furriery boards.

When I reached the age of 7 (and David was 9), parents brought us to the House of Art Education for children in Chaykovskogo Street. The House was founded by 2 friends, 2 enthusiasts of art education for children Solomon Davidovich Levin and Konstantin Alexandrovich Kordabovsky. They invited remarkable teachers. There we studied the following subjects: drawing, painting, sculpture, architecture, archeology, history, music, scenic movement. In 1937 Palace of Pioneers was opened and our House moved there. Solomon Davidovich became a manager of the art department, and Konstantin Alexandrovich went on teaching children. I studied in his group till the beginning of the war. Besides I studied at school (certainly). My school was situated near our house. Behind our school there was a small garden, where we played lapta in summer and skated in winter.

Later I changed my school for the school #32 (it was financed by the railway administration). I studied there till 1939. But in 1939 our class was moved to the school near our house for some reason. Therefore I found myself at my first school again. I studied there during blockade, too. We were members of the school fire-fighting squad, but I’ll tell you about it later.

At school I turned out to have an inquiring nature, therefore it was difficult for me to concentrate upon certain subject. Everything was interesting for me. I read a lot of popular books, I also was interested in biographies of outstanding physicists: Einstein, Nils Bor, and others. [Albert Einatein (1879-1955) was an outstanding physicist; author of the theory of relativity; a Nobel prize winner; Nils Bor (1885-1962) was one of the founders of the modern physics.] I was also very fond of geometry and stereometry. I liked to draw very much. My teacher of mathematics used to draw carelessly, and it conflicted with my concept of exact science, therefore I did not like her.

My brother and I loved uncle Vladimir, the husband of my father's sister very much. He was a strong and kind Russian man, a naval officer. He was our idol. Uncle also loved us, especially David. David also was a remarkable guy. He also was tall and kind. I painted his portrait many years after his death.

Uncle Vladimir took care of David. He advised him to enter Naval School after 9 classes. That Naval School cadets used to be invited to enter the Military College named after Frunze, and David became its cadet after finishing his Naval School. David was much taller and stronger than me. He had got sports categories in 6 different kinds of sports. My brother was handsome and purposeful. He perished in the battle near Stalingrad during the war.

David was a yachtsman (a steersman of the first class). He often took me with him to his yacht club. I got used to work as a sailor and became very fond of yachts for their beauty. Once David brought home a second-hand album Instruction for Fans of Sailing by a Swedish yachtsman. That album was full of photographs of yachts, and it choked me up. There were also drawings for construction of yachts, and I decided to start making models. I saved money (mother gave me some money for lunch at school), bought wooden rulers and cut details for yachts.

At home I had got 3 small assembly jigs, where I assembled my yachts. Unfortunately all of them were lost during the blockade 3. So during my childhood I was crazy about several things: fine arts, models of yachts, sailing sport and contests in physics and mathematics. That was the reason why after the end of the war I handed in applications to 3 colleges: the Academy of Arts, the University and the Shipbuilding College.

Now I understand that our parents brought us up very well, but according to the rules of that time. We were brought up as persons of excellent qualities: ideal people, absolutely unpractical. Our parents believed that a person should have heavenly thoughts and be honest-minded. I have been a romanticist since my childhood. But I guess that our parents practiced the only proper method of upbringing. I believe that otherwise all people have to go on their hands and knees and grow dog-teeth.

In our apartment there lived another Jewish family of Rosenfelds. They had got 2 boys, our coevals. During our first years in Leningrad, a rabbi from yeshivah came to teach us Yiddish. But the time came when it was necessary to finish our studies and rabbi disappeared. I do not know Yiddish at all 4. Parents spoke Yiddish only when they wanted to keep something from us. We never celebrated Jewish holidays and never attended the synagogue.

Mom and Dad were born in 1890s. Mom finished a gymnasium, and Daddy studied several years in cheder. Mom frequently said as a joke that she had married an uneducated person. In Leningrad Mom entered the College of Foreign Languages, graduated from it and taught German language at school. At home we had collected works of Schiller in German. [Johann von Schiller (1759-1805) was a German poet and philosopher.] As for me, I read Schiller’s works translated by Zhukovsky. [Vassiliy Zhukovsky (1783-1852) was a Russian poet and translator.]

I do not remember any political events discussed by our parents. As far as we were concerned, we were pioneers and Komsomol members [5, 6] and we took it with great enthusiasm. On the whole, our childhood was very happy. The Palace of Pioneers protected us from the nightmare around us (as I understand it now): in fact it was the time of Great Terror 7. And we were fine (like inside a cocoon).

Parents had got many friends. I was surprised when I noticed that one of them had suddenly stopped visiting us. Parents used to explain: he had left. Later I understood that those people were arrested. One day I was playing in the street near our house, when my father told me passing by ‘Solomon, Kirov 8 was killed.’ I guess I remember it because father looked very excited: he understood that a great wave of reprisals would follow.

Father earned money by sewing. But when authorities started persecutions of private craftsmen, he had to find job of a worker at the Aluminium factory. There he worked perfectly well, too. He was awarded a copper teapot for his work. Later he found job of a cutter at a workmen's cooperative association, but there it was necessary to fulfill the plan. Father could not stand it and got back to his work at home.

We had good neighbors. They never informed authorities about father’s work at home (at that time private enterprises were not encouraged). In general, we called our neighbors our relatives. Of course there was my father’s great merit in it: he was a person of unusual charm and was able to get on with different people.

Soon after our arrival to Leningrad, father got acquainted with a GPU 9 officer (somewhere) who occupied a large apartment (later we lived in that apartment). His name was Ivan Alexandrovich Yermilov. He was very good. He liked my father so much that invited all of us to his apartment and placed 2 rooms at our disposal. Later authorities started to reduce space per person in living accommodation and his apartment became communal. Yermilov was a drunkard. Under the influence of drink he liked to shoot with a gun and did it right in the apartment (once he broke the window).  

Among our blood relatives I remember aunt Sonya (my father's sister and the wife of uncle Vladimir, a naval officer). She was a true Komsomol member of 1920s. She was a cheerful beauty. Daddy had got another sister: aunt Manya. Her husband was a German communist. During the Great Terror he was expelled from the Party and took it hard. But when after the end of the war he was suggested to join the Party again, he refused flatly. Father’s sisters lived in Leningrad not far from us. Father had got 2 brothers: uncle Lev and uncle Naum.

They also were staunch supporters of the communist ideas. Naum was killed when he was one of the party searching for excess of provisions in villages. Rich peasants did not agree to give their grain to authorities and often tried to prevent those actions. Possibly that people killed Naum: they attached stones to his feet and drowned him.

Now I’d like to tell you about my brother David in detail. I already told you that he was a remarkable person. I saw him for the last time in the window of the Military College named after Frunze. He waved a farewell. It was right before the evacuation of his College to Astrakhan. It was supposed that cadets would finish their studies in Astrakhan and go to the front line as naval officers.

But their studies lasted not long. When Stalingrad battle 10 was in its heat, all cadets were sent there into the hell. Most of them were killed. Recently I painted David’s portrait. He is about 19 years old there, but I never saw him at the age of 19. Here I’d like to read you his letter he wrote to Aunt Sonya. David wrote it before their departure to the front line.

Dear Aunt Sonya!

I am sorry that it took me so much time to write you back. We have just finished the 2nd course, but the situation requires our departure to the front line. At first they wanted to send us there as privates, but later they changed their mind and gave us the ranks of officers. At present we are near to finish the infantry school and become lieutenants of infantry. So my naval service has terminated, but I survived. It can't be helped, because it is necessary. Soon I’ll be at the front line. If I manage to survive in Stalingrad, I’ll fight further. We’ll see! 

I received the last letter from my parents a long time ago. At present I know nothing about them. I guess very soon the front line will get close to their location and it is useless to write them.
That's all for today.
Write me please while it is possible.
David,
the former man-of-war's man,
now the infantryman.

• Growing up during the war

Now I’d like to get back to my childhood. Of course Leningrad of my childhood was absolutely different. There were plenty of horses, and the city was very odorous. I remember holidays of melting snow. In winter when the city got covered with snow, people used to arrange pyramids of boards in city yards. They put a stove inside the pyramid and burned wood in it. Snow was brought from all the nearest yards and thrown into the pyramid. The yard was filled with a tasty smoke of birch fire wood and steam. For children it was a presage of spring and a real holiday. People used to store firewood in their yards in piles. It was very interesting to play boyish games between woodpiles.

It was Mom who kept the house. We had no assistants. We were not poor, because my father was doing well. But I do not remember any non-essentials. We were satisfied with food and dressed tidy, no more. We used to spend summer holidays in Velizh. Father often got permits to recreation centers 11 or sanatorium (in Essentuki, for instance), because he was ill with gastric ulcer. [Essentuki is a town in Stavropol Krai, located at the base of the Caucasus Mountains.] Together with Mom we went to Essentuki without father on June 21, 1941. So the beginning of the war found us en route.

On June 21, 1941 we left Leningrad for Essentuki by train. We heard the news about the war near Rostov-on-Don. As we reached Essentuki, we rushed to buy return tickets, but managed to get them only for July 18. Our way back was much more difficult: a lot of stops to give way for troops trains. I do not know the reason, but our train was left by the steam locomotive 15 km away from Tula, and we had to walk to Tula. From Tula we went round Moscow (it was already closed) via Kaluga, Vyazma, Rzhev, Likhoslavl having no information about the situation. At last we managed to arrive in Leningrad at the turn of July.

The front line approached quickly, and people started evacuation from Leningrad. My elder brother David was evacuated together with cadets of the Military College named after Frunze by one of the last echelons. I saw him shortly before their departure, he waved me from the College window. For the last time... Mom, Daddy and I remained in the city. Fascists tightened the blockade.

Like all other senior pupils in the besieged city, I was on duty on roofs, put out fire-bombs, later fought fires as a member of fire-brigade (we were happy to get asbestos overalls and sparkling yellow helmets of Roman style). Winter frosts were in.

One frosty night I was on duty on the roof and saw our plane ramming a German bomber. The picture stamped in me: the black sky, the white cross of the German plane in the light of searchlights, our pursuit plane, the wing of the German plane slowly falling down, and tremendous roar. Fortunately the parts of the crashed planes were strewed over the territory of the Tavrichesky garden and citizens did not suffer. Next day people were informed that Sevastyanov, a young pilot had fulfilled a ram attack (one of the first attacks of that kind during the war).

Winter frosts were followed by real famine. In March 1942 our family (we were on the verge of dystrophy) was evacuated from Leningrad. We crossed the Ladoga Lake covered with spongy ice. In Yaroslavl we stayed about a month coming to life. Then we moved to Stavropol, later to Kizlyar, Astrakhan (much later I got to know that the School of my brother had been evacuated there), and farther to Kustanay region. There I managed to finish 10 classes ahead of time

1943 was the year of my draft. Boys who finished 10 classes were directed to Tumen. In Tumen there was the Infantry School evacuated from Tallin. After 10 months of training in October 1943 we were moved to Tula, where the 5th tank corps was formed. I was sent to the 5th separate vehicular brigade.

I remember our commander addressing us ‘Soldiers who knows Degtyaryov's machine gun well, come forward!’ And I (proud young guy!) stepped forward together with some other guys. Each of us received a machine gun.

The next order ‘Disassemble and assemble!’ Having appreciated my skill, the commander came up to me. ‘Can you shoot straight?’ - ‘At School I was pointed at as an example.’ - ‘Well, start fighting!’ So I became a machine-gunner of the 5th separate vehicular brigade at the 5th tank corps. Our corps had to enter the breaks made by active forces, carrying forward the advance. Our corps maneuvered from front to front.

Our first experience under fire was unhappy: on our way to the front line we were bombed. My memory keeps feeling of shock and chaos. I remember Lera, my schoolmate dying on my hands. He used to be a cheerful and sociable guy. His last words were the following: will you remember me, will I remember you...

After that bombardment the corps was reinforced (our losses appeared to be not great) and moved towards Nevel through Gorodok. That offensive I remember in more detail.  It was in November, the first dirty sleet was everywhere. Motor-infantry of our corps was thrown into the break which was only 4-kilometer wide and was raked with fire. Our three-ton trucks stuck in the mud. Only we (infantrymen) mudded all over, were able to move and even pull, drag and push our automobiles. After all we managed to move forward and reach Gorodok. In order not to lose contact with our corps we dug in. I remember black-and-white naked trees under the grey sky and black houses on the white snow.

A comical episode which could have become tragic happened there. Our entrenchment was situated near the town outskirts and there was a privy right behind us. During a lull in the fighting I decided to make use of it. The privy door was broken and I could see the sky through it. Suddenly right in front of me I saw some sort of a black flower expanding extensively in all directions without any sound. Another one flower appeared a little bit lower. The fourth one brought awful sound of exploding mortar shell. I immediately realized that Germans noticed me and wanted to kill in the privy. The situation looked both ridiculous and awful. I jumped out falling down into our entrenchment.

Later in winter we took our stand in Belarus, near the Losvida Lake. The Lake was about 3 kilometers long and rather wide. At night we usually went to capture a prisoner for interrogation. In our group there was Yusupov, a soldier from Kazakhstan. He was a real Goliath. My task was to make noise, simulating activity in a certain place. And at that time in another place another group was creeping up to German entrenchments. Yusupov used to burst into it, seize several Germans, stun them, tie hand and foot by means of Kazakh hair lasso and easily drag them all to our position. He managed to bring in a lot of prisoners.

Much later he died ridiculously. Our plane stuck out of the ice on the Lake, its tail-end upward. Both Germans and our soldiers stamped a trail in the snow to the plane. You see, the point was that the pilot’s cabin had a special transparent cover, and the control board was set with colored semi-transparent handles made of beautiful plastic. Soldiers used them to make mouthpieces and handles for sheath-knives.

By the way, I still keep a knife made at that time. Both Germans and our soldiers crawled there to get that plastic handles. We had a secret understanding with Germans not to fire at soldiers crawling to that airplane. So Yusupov wanted to get that plastic, too. We tried to dissuade him from it, promised to bring him everything he wanted, but it did not help. He started, but Germans recognized him immediately and brought down fire on him. They remembered how he had troubled them. When we crawled there to take his body away, Germans did not shoot...

In the same place near the Losvida Lake I often waited in ambush together with my friend Genka Sidorov. Most probably we became friends because we both were from Leningrad. I was captivated by his intelligence, though sometimes he behaved like a yoot. He was tall, thin, cheerful, and fearless in fight. He was a true friend who kept vigilant watch on me and protected me (a red-haired Jew!) from bad encroachments of our associates. Waiting in ambush (digging ourselves in snow under a fur-tree), we whispered and bothered each other not to fall asleep (in fact Germans could capture us asleep). We used to spend there about 4 hours wearing short fur coats, valenki, caps with earlaps. [Valenki - winter boots made of milled wool.]

Later (in spring) field-kitchens were caught in the mud and our food supplies gave out. Genka suggested going to the neighboring village and earning some food drawing portraits of inhabitants. It was me who had to draw. At that time I always had clean sheets of paper (I did my best to find them everywhere I could) and a stub of a pencil with me. So Genka and I started towards the village during a lull in the fighting.

The village appeared to be not far from our position: about 1.5 kilometers. We found there a long earth-house and a bench in front of it. An old man was sitting on that bench. We greeted him and sat down beside him. I asked if it was permissible to draw his portrait. The old man examined us suspiciously ‘What for?’ I answered that I was an artist and wanted to draw during a lull in the fighting. ‘Well, do it, if you wish!’ I drew him quickly and the portrait was a good likeness. His wife appeared, sat down next to him, and looked at my drawing. ‘Look, it’s you! It looks like a photo!’ The old man agreed ‘You are quick and skillful!’ I handed the drawing over to him. He moved away mistrustfully ‘How much is it?’ - ‘It’s free. But if you give us something to eat, we would be grateful. You see, our field-kitchens lagged behind and we have nothing to eat.’ The old man took the portrait, looked at his wife and nodded his approval.

She jumped up and some minutes later called us to their earth-house. With great pleasure we ate shchi, potatoes and pickled cucumbers. After that I drew a portrait of the old woman. Their neighbors came; they wanted to have their portraits, too. I drew quickly. One hour of my work resulted in a small bag of potatoes, a piece of lard, some hard-boiled eggs and onions, a loaf of bread, some salt. My earned income appeared to be great! We became friends. Genka wanted to carry the bag: ‘You worked, and I only chattered!’ ‘No, you did good public relations for my work!’ Nevertheless he took the bag from me and carried it himself.

Our return was triumphal. We made a fire and reheated our meals. We also shared it with soldiers from other platoons... Here I told you about this sort of fighting episodes... Together with Genka we fought till July 1944 years. On July 17, 1944 I was wounded.

Our troops were ordered to advance in near the Baltic Sea. Our corps forced a crossing over the River Drissa. My vehicular brigade moved between tank brigades crawling over the bridge of boats. I was sitting in the bodywork of a high-powered truck. As I was sitting at the very backboard, I was the first to jump down and open protective fire while the others would get down from the truck. My soldier-assistant was sitting beside me holding reserve drum magazines. While approaching the river, I saw the narrow Drissa with the bridge of boats and tanks on it. I also saw explosions over the river: Germans tried to prevent our crossing.

The show was bewitching, like the stare of boa. It was terrible. I collected myself already after crossing, when our trucks caught up our tanks. Everything became absolutely quiet and we entered a small green cozy town Kraslava.

At that moment we were fired by Germans. We quickly jumped down and lay in hiding. I placed my machine gun on the left. Germans did not stop firing, trying to annihilate us. I rushed forward and saw a large residence with a balcony. I understood that it was the firing-point! I crossed the street and shot through the house wall until that German stopped firing.

Later during that very fight I was wounded. At first I understood nothing. I felt a stab in my back and legs. Feeling no pain, I rushed forward. But I managed to make only a few steps and fell down. I passed my hand over my trousers and saw that it was red. After that I lost consciousness.

I regained consciousness and realized that silence enveloped everything around me. I rolled over to the ditch, just in case. Suddenly I saw 2 tall Germans (their sleeves were rolled up) approaching me. My muscles toughened. But a minute later I distinguished our soldier holding a submachine gun. I guessed straight away that he was escorting 2 captives. It took a load off my mind. They came nearer and bubbled over with joy I recognized my friend Genka. I called him and he saw me. ‘Senya (they called me Senya for short), what happened?!’ - ‘I’ve caught a bullet…’ - ‘Halt! Diesen mensch nehmen!’ he ordered. ‘We’ll carry you to the medical and sanitary battalion.’

Till now I remember the round face of the red-haired tall German with a clotted wound on his cheek. He bent down to take me out of the ditch. At that moment I felt pain and a wave of nausea. I said to Genka ‘Don’t! Better send a field ambulance for me.’ Later I was picked up by an ambulance, my wound was dressed and I was put on the straw in a truck ready to start. There were several wounded soldiers in that truck. Genka came up and gave me a small notebook in red morocco cover, taken from that German. ‘It is for you, keep it as a remembrance. Live!’

I met Genka many years after the war was finished. He was a top-class long distance truck driver on routes of Scandinavia and Baltic countries. He was doing well. When I introduced Genka to somebody, I used to say ‘This is a person who saved my life: I was wounded and he carried me away from the battlefield.’ It was not a lie, though in fact the situation developed differently.

Some time after Genka’s leaving, a field ambulance appeared. Two nurses quickly cut my trousers using scissors. Before that they took off me 2 round bags with reserve drum magazines. The day before I sewed them myself, having recollected my father's profession. I made them with loving care (I attached buttons and small straps). And you see, when those nurses took those bags away from me, I burst into tears... I remember no more tears during the war.

Meanwhile the nurses quickly wrapped my legs in something white and carried me to the ambulance paying no attention to my cries. There were several wounded soldiers in the car. We bobbed up and down in it and groaned with pain. I remember that I had to ask a nurse about help. I had to hold her by her hands burning with shame and relieving myself.

So I found myself in the hospital of a small Latvian town Kretinga. The surgeon, who extracted several splinters from my body said ‘You are lucky, red, if these splinters hit you a little bit higher, you’d better be killed. And those very small pieces we left inside your body will not spoil your long life.’ (To tell you the truth, they did not!) Soon I managed to walk without crutches. I started drawing portraits of my ward neighbors. They sent my drawings home by mail. According to their requests, I often drew extra medals to them.

They never asked to draw extra orders (they thought it much), but medals were asked frequently. Time was getting on. Soon I was going to leave the hospital and it was necessary for me to get back to my corps. While I was in the hospital, our corps took the city of Dvinsk (Daugavpils) and received the name of Dvinsky. But everything changed when the wife of the commander’s assistant of the 4th army (their staff was stationed in Kretinga) noticed me drawing portraits.

She frequently came to the hospital and brought different tasty meals to the injured men. She wished to have her portrait. Soon I found myself among bodyguards of General Andrey Kalachev (her husband).

There my sense of direction appeared to be very useful: I was able to find the way without visible reference points (by intuition). The General always ordered me to sit beside his driver ‘Keep your eye on the road!’ And he was absolutely sure that we would not lose our way. The General often had to move along unknown front roads. Kalachev appreciated my ability. I liked to serve at him. At night I slept in a bed with real bed sheets (I had already forgotten such luxury!). I also realized that I had more chances to survive beside the General. We finished the war near Konigsberg. 

Here I’d like to tell you about another lucky hit: I got pennies from heaven shortly before my leaving from the hospital. One day I was appointed to accompany a local peasant mobilized to collect milk from neighboring farms for our hospital. At that time I was already recovering. I had to guard him and took my sub-machine gun with me. Not to frighten people, I hid my sub-machine gun in his telega under the hay and we started moving slowly and talking peacefully about everything. [Telega is a four-wheel carriage.]

He told me that he was a poor man, his farm was situated nearby. So we went from one farm to another. Sometimes people friendly rolled out big cans of milk and helped us to put them into the telega, the others obeyed gloomily. One peasant served us a hefty meal. By the evening we brought about 20 big cans of milk to the hospital. We became friends with that peasant. I was sleepy. I got into bed, but jumped up immediately! My sub-machine gun! That peasant had taken it away in his telega. I knew for sure that a soldier who lost his arms was worth death by shooting.

I decided to find that peasant. I had to go through the wood, and it was extremely dangerous, because the wood was full of wood brothers. [Wood brothers was a cumulative name of anti-soviet armed groups on the territory of Baltic Republics.]

I was sure that I would never get back alive. At last, after a long way I came to his farm more dead than alive. My driver came out of his house carrying my sub-machine gun. I seized it hastily and hung it on my shoulder. The peasant’s wife invited me to visit their house, gave me some bacon and apples. See what a prize I found!

• After the war and recent years

I finished war on the Kursh spit near Konigsberg. Soon after the Victory our 4th army was moved to Kazakhstan (to Alma-Ata). General Kalachev was appointed the commander of the Kazakh military district. Many years later (when I was already a member of the USSR Union of Artists) I arrived to Crimea (to the Gurzuf recreation house for artists). During my first walk along the beach I met Andrey Kalachev and his wife Nina: they spent their vacation in the central sanatorium of the Ministry of Defense. We embraced. They invited me to their magnificent apartments in the sanatorium, and we spent the whole day together. Later we corresponded.

So, the war was finished. I (a front-line soldier with awards and 10 classes of school education) had to think about demobilization and further study. I returned to Leningrad. My Mom had returned from evacuation a little earlier and waited for me in our apartment. Father survived the war, but did not return home: he married another woman. Father died in Moscow in 1970s.

I have told you already that I was so much eager to study that submitted my documents to 3 higher educational institutions at the same time. I tried to understand myself. But by that time my teacher Konstantin Kardabovsky returned from evacuation and convinced me to enter the Academy of Arts. It seemed to me that I was able to better all entrants, but it appeared that people did not like arrogant men.

They flunked me in my entrance examinations. Then I entered the 3rd course of the high art school. I studied there during a year, and then entered the Academy of Arts (the department of painting) trouble-free. I studied in the workshop of Professor Oreshnikov (a remarkable teacher and a top-class professional artist). After graduation from the Academy, I started working at the USSR Union of Artists.  [The USSR Union of Artists was founded in 1957.] There every artist had got an agent (art critics), who used to find orders for the artists. We performed those orders and earned money for living. There was a lot of interesting work.

One of orders came from the state farm where I was in evacuation 12. There was a fur farm. I painted a picture for them and sent a letter describing my life there during evacuation. We painted different pictures. For example, one of them was devoted to a working day on a cattle-breeding farm. I remember that I had to go to Kirov to perform that order.

Another one was to paint a working day in the railway depot in Kotlas. I went to Kotlas, met with the local Communist Party committee secretary, and asked about the purpose of the future picture. He answered that it was meant for the House of Culture where workers usually spent their spare time. I asked the secretary whether it was reasonable to show workers their working day when they wanted to relax. He hesitated a minute, but said ‘Paint a working day: we would feel great security.’ You see, I had got a lot of orders. But usually I managed to find some time to paint for myself, so to say for my private satisfaction.

I lived with my Mom. She was often sick, worked in some workmen's cooperative association and earned just a dab of money. She died in 1956. Being a student of the last course, I met a girl among students at a party. I immediately decided to marry her. So I did it in 1953, a year after my graduation from the Academy. My wife’s name is Nina Pavlovna Iossilevich. She was born in Leningrad in 1924. She graduated from the College of Engineers of Railway Transport. All her life long Nina worked as a structural engineer.

In 1954 our son Alexey was born. We gave him his mother’s surname (Iossilevich), because his maternal grandfather was in anguish at the fact that his family would come to an end. 6 years later our daughter Nina was born. Our children were very good. They grew up and became remarkable persons. Alexey finished school specialized in mathematics. He used to win the first places in different contests in physics, therefore he had the right to enter any College he wanted without entrance examinations. Alexey decided to become a student of the University (physical faculty).

But unfortunately the same year a daughter of Victor Eskin (a known physics and my friend) was going to enter the same faculty. Two Jews at once were too much for the University; therefore Alexey was given a flunking grade. Then he entered the Polytechnical College. After graduation he started working at ELECTROSSILA plant (they produced electric motors). He worked there at the theoretical department.

During his work at ELECTROSSILA Alexey wrote a paper about a certain physical effect known earlier, but not explained from the theoretical point of view. Alexey managed to explain that effect. He gave a report about it at the scientific conference in Odessa. Academician Khalatnikov from the Moscow Institute of Theoretical Physics was present at that conference. He listened to Alexey’s report and invited him to work at his Institute. Three months later Alexey defended his dissertation. It happened that the procedure was fixed for the day when Brezhnev died.

So Alexey was standing in the lobby of the Institute and all Institute employees condoled with him, but not upon the loss of Brezhnev, but upon postponing of the procedure. Later he defended his dissertation brilliantly. Research workers spoke that Alexey’s work was the high-water mark of contemporary physics. Alexey was suggested to be given a doctor's degree, but he refused. He explained that he did not want to outstart his coevals (colleagues). My son defended his doctor's dissertation many years later. At present he often works abroad. He has got 2 sons of 20 and 13 years old.

My daughter graduated from the Academy of Arts, too. She is a graphic artist. Unfortunately she has difficulties with her work, because she is not able to scratch her way. She has got a son Eugeny (now Eugeny is 13 years old). They live in St. Petersburg.

When our children were born and rather long time after that we lived in a two-room apartment in Zhukovskogo Street. Both rooms were dim: the wall of the opposite building was 2 meters and 6 centimeters far from our windows. And according to sanitary norms it was necessary to have not more than 2 meters for improvement of living conditions. Members of the Union of Artists put their artists on their own waiting list. I visited the secretary of the regional Communist Party Committee and he helped me. I was suggested to occupy a workshop and an apartment of an artist who had left for Israel. Giving me the voucher, a local official told me with hatred, ‘Is this apartment a runway for flying away to Israel?’

While our children were little, we used to spend summer vacations out of the city. Sometimes we rented dacha, sometimes lived at our friends.

I came across anti-Semitism as a state policy, when I presented the rough draft of my degree work for approval. You see, I was in love with Rembrandt’s picture Syndics of the Drapers' Guild. [Rembrandt, Harmenz van Rijn (1606-1669) - the greatest artist.] I wanted to paint a group portrait of the members of the Soviet Committee in Defense of Peace.

I wanted to paint it similar to the Rembrandt’s picture, of course understanding the status of Rembrandt and my own. [The Soviet Committee in Defense of Peace was created in 1949 in Moscow.] I was going to draw Ilya Erenburg 13, the chairman of the Committee in the center.

Ilya Erenburg was a picturesque figure, an idol of many people, especially of the front-line soldiers. So, I submitted my sketch, and received a recommendation not to over-stress Erenburg. I was shocked. I spent a week thinking the situation over and decided to give up my idea of the group portrait. I suggested painting 3 portraits of cultural workers and got permission immediately. After graduation I became a member of the USSR Union of Artists. By the way, when a student, I received the Stalin’s increased stipend for excellent students, but in 1952 they stopped paying it without any reasons.

I was the best student and my degree work was the best, too. But our communist party functionaries could not permit a person by the name of Epstein to have everything too easy. A student from our course (a quite good capable guy, a son of some General) was presenting his degree work just before me. His painting was devoted to Mikula Selyaninovich in full-scale. [Mikula Selyaninovich is one of the heroes of Russian epic literature.]

The frame of his picture was covered with bast mats, bast shoes were fixed to the frame. [Bast shoes are Russian country wicker footwear made of bark of young deciduous trees]. In general he presented his work in old Russian style. They decided to make it the highlight of the program. During his presentation the hall was illuminated beautifully. But after that the light was almost switched off and I had to present my work in darkness. It was ridiculous!

In the time of Doctors’ Plot 14 it was terrible. We could not even imagine the inevitable consequences. When Stalin died, I was in confusion.

During the Hungarian 15 and the Prague 16 events I was ashamed for my country.I was pleased to hear about Gorbachev’s reforms [17, 18]. When people ask me about my attitude to Putin, I answer that for the first time in my life I am not ashamed for the leader of my country. At present I have no connection with the St. Petersburg Hesed Avraham Welfare Center 19. A long time ago I received food packages there.

• Glossary:

Iosif Gotlib

Date of interview: October 2003
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

Iosif Gotlib lives in a three-bedroom apartment in a new district of Lvov. His wife Antonina, daughter Lilia and Lilia’s son Anton, their grandson, live with him. They have standard 1970s style furniture in their apartment. One can tell that they enjoy doing things with their own hands: they’ve taken a lot of effort to make their dwelling comfortable and cozy. They did repairs in their apartment and Iosif’s wife Antonina placed her embroidery patterns on the walls. Iosif made shelves and stands for pot plants. Their apartment is very clean and bright. There are many pot plants and there are photographs of Iosif and his wife, their children and grandchildren on the walls. Iosif is a man of average height, thin. He was ill and it affected his speech, but he willingly agreed to give this interview and said a lot about his life and family. Although he doesn’t go out, he takes a vivid interest in everything happening around him.  He reads a lot and likes to discuss what he has read.  

I didn’t know my father’s parents or any members of his family. Since my father’s patronymic was Mikhailovich [the customary polite address in Russian is by first and patronymic name, which consists of one’s father’s name and a suffix: –ovna for women and –ovich for men], I can guess that my paternal grandfather’s name was Moishe which is Mikhail in Russian [common name] 1. I don’t know anything about my grandmother. My father Abram Gotlib was born in the town of Sudhza [250 km from Moscow] Kursk province in Russia in 1888. All I know about my father’s childhood or youth is that he became an orphan young. Somehow he moved to St. Petersburg where he entered the medical Faculty of the university. I don’t know where my father studied before he entered the university.  Although my father was a Jew, and at that time there was a Jewish admission [five percent] quota 2 in Russian higher educational institutions, my father was admitted. My father was a very talented and educated man. He knew 5 European languages: English, French, German, Italian and Romanian; he could draw well and play the piano. After finishing his studies he was trained in a hospital for a year where he obtained qualifications as a surgeon. My father worked in this hospital until the beginning of World War I. When Russia entered the war my father was recruited to the tsarist army. He was a surgeon in a frontline hospital.

I know a little bit more about my mother’s family. My maternal grandfather David Levandovskiy and grandmother whose name I don’t know lived in Voyutichi village in 13 km from Sambor town of Lvov region [600 km from Kiev], in the Russian Empire. I don’t know their birth date or place. I remember a portrait of grandfather David that we had at home. My grandfather had a big gray beard and had a black suit and yarmulka on. I remember my grandmother a little. She was short, fat and very kind. She spoke drawlingly and always smiled and wore long dark clothing and a black kerchief. She has a silk shawl with fringes that she wore to the synagogue. The grandparents spoke Yiddish at home, but they all knew Polish and Russian.  My mother told me that her parents were religious. They always celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My grandfather went to the synagogue on Saturday and Jewish holidays and my grandmother only went there on Jewish holidays.

My grandfather was a cabinetmaker and my grandmother was a housewife, as was customary with patriarchal Jewish families. Their children were born in Voyutichi. Haim was an older son and then Shymon was born. I don’t know their dates of birth. My mother Dora was born in 1896, and her younger brother Leizer was born in 1898. My mother was still a child when the family moved to Lvov [510 km from Kiev]. It’s hard to say why they decided to move. My mother told me that there was no anti-Semitism at the time when she was young. It appeared after World War I when even Jewish pogroms in Russia 3 happened, but Lvov was a big town and there were no pogroms in it.  They happened in smaller towns where they were not afraid of facing any resistance. In Lvov there were no national conflicts. There were synagogues and Jewish schools. Jews also owned trade. There were Jewish teachers, doctors and lawyers, but of course, the majority of the Jewish population were poor craftsmen.

My maternal grandparents rented an apartment from a Jewish owner in Lvov. He owned a 4-storied house that he leased. He also owned a store on the first floor of this house. The owner and his family lived on the 2nd floor and had tenants in remaining apartments. There was a small hut in the yard of this house that my grandfather also rented from him and had his carpenter shop there. They manufactured furniture, doors and window frames in this shop. My grandfather had his shop closed on Saturday. His two older sons also worked with him. Leizer, the youngest son, died during flu epidemic in 1913. Grandfather David died in 1915. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Lvov. After grandfather died his sons inherited his shop.  

My mother’s brothers studied in a Polish school and cheder. My mother also finished 8 grades of a polish school. Girls didn’t go to cheder and my grandfather made arrangements with a melamed to give my mother classes at home. He came every other days and taught my mother to read and write in Yiddish and read in Hebrew and taught her prayers. My mother was very talented and wanted to continue her education, but there were very limited opportunities for women at that time. There was a choice of going to Froebel school 4 training governesses or becoming a medical nurse. After finishing school my mother went to study at 1-year school of medical nurses in Lvov. After finishing this school in 1915 she and other graduates were sent to a hospital at the front where my future parents met. They worked in the same hospital. They fell in love with each other and got married in 1917. They didn’t have a Jewish wedding, but registered their marriage. When in 1917 a revolution 5 took place in Russia and the Russian Empire fell apart, new borders were established. The Western Ukraine was annexed to Poland 6. There was famine and war in Russia. My mother’s family lived in Poland and my mother convinced him to move to her mother in Poland.

After they moved to Poland my father’s life was hard. Poland didn’t recognize his Russian doctor’s diploma. He had to take exams in polish, but he didn’t know it. He tried to work illegally in Lvov, but it was dangerous.  My parents moved to Biskovichi village Sambor district Lvov region [580 km from Kiev] also belonging to Poland. My mother’s family helped them with money, and they bought a house. My father worked as a veterinary. My mother didn’t work after getting married.  Their first baby David was born in 1917. He was named after my mother’s father. In 1919 my older sister Sima was born. After Sima Moishe, named after my father’s father, was born in 1921. I was born in November 1922 and named Iosif-Leizer. My sister Haya was born in 1925. Shmil was born in 1928, and in 1930 Eshiye, the youngest boy, was born.

Our house was rather big. It was built from thick beams faced with airbricks. It was divided into two parts. There was a fore room and there was a door to two small rooms serving as my father’s veterinary office. The living quarters were on the right. There were four rooms: my parents’ bedroom, boys’ room, girls’ room and a living room. There was a big kitchen where we had meals on weekdays. On Sabbath and Jewish holidays we had meals in the living room. There was a wood stoked stove in the kitchen. It heated the kitchen and my mother cooked on it. There were smaller heating stoves in the rooms. We had household chores to do. However small we were, we fetched water, sawed wood and the girls washed dishes and cleaned the house. There was a small orchard in the backyard, few trees, a woodshed, a toilet and a small well. My father worked from morning till night. Sometimes his customers brought their animals to him and sometimes he had to go examine them at their places. Villagers mostly paid him with food products. My mother often helped my father in his office.

My parents were religious. My mother and father observed Jewish traditions. We always celebrated Sabbath at home. My mother baked challahs on Friday morning and cooked food for two days. She put cholnt with meat, beans and potatoes and a big pot with two big chickens boiling in it into the stove. In the evening my mother lit candles and she prayed, then father blessed the meal and we sat down to dinner. My father didn’t work on Saturday. He read the Torah and told us, kids, stories about Jewish life and Jewish religion. We spoke Yiddish and Polish at home. There was no synagogue in Biskovichi. There were three other Jewish family in the village besides us. The rest of the population was Polish, Ukrainian and there were few Russians. Neighbors got along well and helped each other. On Saturday our polish neighbor came to stoke our stove, boil water for tea, heat food and light the lamps. My mother always gave her some money or some treatments. On Jewish holidays another neighbor rode my mother and father on his wagon to the synagogue in Sambor in 8 km from Biskovichi. Our neighbor took care of us, children.

I remember when my father had to do his job as a surgeon. There was no doctor or assistant doctor in Biskovichi. A midwife came to help with childbirth. She witnessed almost all children of Biskovichi born to this world. There was a wealthy Polish villager in Biskovichi, I don’t remember his name now. He had 250 cows, farm fields and a big forest area. His wife had problems at labor and the midwife couldn’t do anything to help her. The woman was dying and this farmer came to ask my father for help. My father refused at first saying that he had no right to operate on her, but the farmer begged him to rescue his wife and baby and my father agreed. My father warned him that if authorities heard about it he would have to pay a big fine and the villager promised that he would pay it if it came to it.  My father went to his home and then he sent for mother. They made Cesarean section and the woman and her baby survived.  They named this boy Kazimir and he became a close friend of my younger sister Haya and brother Shmil. His father was grateful to my father. Every winter he supported our family with vegetables, flour and meat. 

My mother’s distant relatives Shpringers lived in Sambor. They didn’t have children and convinced my parents to let them adopt their older son David. David moved in with them and they gave him the last name of Gotlib-Shpringer. My brother David lived with his adoptive parents and occasionally visited us. 

There was one 4-year Polish school in Biskovichi. My older sister Sima and brother Moishe went to study there. I also went to this school in 1929. I was doing well at school. I was the only Jew in my class, but I didn’t face any bad attitudes due to my nationality. I had few Jewish, Polish and Russian friends. We didn’t think about who was of what nationality. 

In 1930 there was a big fire in Biskovichi. Few houses in our street including our house burnt down.  Our neighbors offered us to live in their houses while my father was to build a house for us, but my father decided otherwise. My father received compensation from the municipality for his burnt house and managed to buy a house in Sambor for this money. Sambor was a small town, but it seemed huge to me compared to Biskovichi. The majority of population was Jewish, but there was also Polish, Russian and Ukrainian population. There were few synagogues, Jewish schools and even a Jewish grammar school. Jews mostly dealt in trade and craftsmanship in Sambor. They owned all stores and all shoemakers, fur dealers, tailors, joiners and barbers were also Jews. Jews mainly resided in the center of the town. Land was more expensive in the center and the houses stood very close to one another. My father bought a house in the central street. It was a brick house with 3 rooms and a kitchen. My parents lived in one room, sons in another and the third room was for the girls. There was a big kitchen with a storeroom and a spacious fore room. There was only space for a small wood shed in the yard. There were wood stoked stoves and a well in a nearby street. 

After we moved to Sambor it was difficult for my father to find a job. Veterinarians were not in such big demand in town as they were in a village and on the other hand, my father was not allowed to work as a doctor.  He was good at drawing and woodcarving and he chose to do this to earn his living. My father carved wood sculptures. He didn’t learn carving anywhere before, but he somehow happened to do it well. Wealthier people used to decorate their gardens with them. He also made stucco decorations on ceilings and building facades. All of a sudden his works happened to be in demand and my father began to earn a lot. My mother began to work as well. She was a very good cook and began to do this to earn her living. She cooked at weddings or other celebrations in wealthy families. Of course, it had to be kosher food and her clients wanted to be sure that their cook followed kashrut at home. My mother followed kashrut strictly. She did not only have special dishes for meat and milk products, but also, plates, spoons and even dish wash sponges for meat and dairy products. My mother soon became a very popular cook in Sambor and she even had to refuse from orders since she was busy in other houses on those days when they wanted her to cook in their houses. Cooking usually took a week before a party. Mother baked strudels, honey cookies and other pastries and one day before a party she cooked other dishes.  My mother had two Jewish assistant ladies preparing food products for cooking and washing utensils. My mother did the cooking herself, she didn’t let anyone else to do it. She had a notebook where she put her orders for months ahead.

At home my sisters were helping mother with cooking. My mother taught Sima and Haya everything she knew herself. She said the girls would always be able to earn their living if need be. Of course, we began to have a wealthier life. Shortly after she went to work, my mother bought a piano that she had long dreamed about. She had wonderful hearing. She didn’t know notes, but she played tunes by ear. I remember that we gathered in our parents’ room on Saturday and sang Jewish songs that we knew many and my mother accompanied for us and sang too. Later my parents bought my older brother Moishe an accordion and he often played with my mother. Later he began to teach me to play. Our family was very close and I often recall those happy hours.  

My father went to the synagogue in our street on Saturdays and Jewish holidays. It was a small synagogue and there was no room for women in it. The boys went to the synagogue with our father after they turned 7, it was a custom in Sambor that children started going to the synagogue at this age. My father didn’t have a beard or payes. He only had small moustache.  He wore a hat to go out and a yarmulka to the synagogue. He put it on inside the synagogue and they took it off to go home. We, boys, also took our yarmulka to the synagogue and didn’t have our head covered elsewhere. Of course, when it was cold we wore caps or hats. I remember that my older brother and I usually went to play football with other boys after the synagogue. My mother went to a bigger synagogue in the neighboring street also on Sabbath and holidays. My mother didn’t take her daughters with her. My mother didn’t wear a wig. She had a long plait. When my mother went out she clipped it on the back of her head. My mother only wore a kerchief to go to the synagogue and at home on Sabbath or holidays. 

We celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. Before Pesach we cleaned the house. Everything was shining with cleanness. No breadcrumbs were to be found anywhere. After the cleaning all breadcrumbs or pieces of bread were taken to the yard to be burnt. We also took away our everyday kitchen utensils and took down a box with special Pesach dishes from the attic. There was crockery and kitchen utensils – casseroles and frying pans - stored in the box. My mother also kept her dishes for making matzah separately. She had a bowl for dough for matzah, a rolling pin and even a wheel to make holes on matzah.  My mother baked herself. Sometimes our neighbors joined her and they made matzah for together for their families. My mother always cooked a lot before holidays. She only baked her pastries from matzah flour. My older brother and I took turns to crash matzah in a copper mortar and then sieved it. My mother made strudels, honey cakes and Pesach cookies with raisins from sieved matzah. Mother always made chicken broth with dumplings from matzah flour, a chicken neck stuffed with fried flour and chicken liver and gefilte fish at Pesach. I’ve never tried such delicious forshmak as my mother made. There was a white tablecloth with embroidered lions and quotes from the Torah on it for seder at Pesach. In the evening the family got together for seder. My father sat at the head of the table. He recited a prayer and then broke a piece of matzah into three pieces and put away the middle part. It was called afikoman and we had it to finish the seder. One of the children had to find the afikoman and give it back to the father for a redemption. When I did it I asked my father sweets or toys in return. Then I asked him traditional four questions in Hebrew. My father answered me. The front door was open to let Prophet Elijah 7 in. There was a big wine glass with wine for him on the table. We bought wine for Pesach at the synagogue, red and very sweet. During seder each of us had to drink four glasses of wine. Children drank wine from small glasses. After answering questions my father recited a prayer and we sang Pesach songs. Nobody went to bed until seder was over. Younger children happened to fall asleep sitting at the table.  My mother or father didn’t work through 8 days of Pesach. We visited our parents’ acquaintances and they visited us.  

At Rosh Hashanah my parents went to the synagogue in the morning. In the morning my mother put a dish with apple pieces and a bowl of honey. When our parents came back from the synagogue we dipped apples in honey and ate them. There was Yom Kippur 10 days later. On this day children above 8 years of age had to fast from the morning till the lunch time. After bar mitzvah we fasted all day long. A day before my mother made a hearty dinner. We had to finish our meal before the first star when fasting began. Frankly, I never fasted.  Of course, my parents didn’t know about it since I didn’t eat at home. There was a Ukrainian family living nearby and the boys from this family were my friends.  During the fast I ran to their house and they gave me something to eat. My parents stayed at the synagogue a whole day on Yom Kippur.  They came back home in the evening and we sat down to a festive dinner.

On Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the backyard. There was a table inside and we prayed and had meals only in the sukkah. I also had two other favorite holidays: Chanukkah and Purim. On Chanukkah all our visitors gave children some money. My parents had many acquaintances and before evening I collected quite a sufficient sum. I spent this money buying sugar candy and ergots. There were dark brown hard and very sweet ergots sold in stores. We liked chewing them and my sisters made necklaces from their seeds. Purim was a merry holiday. There were performers in costumes coming to houses. My mother made lots of pastries at Purim.  There was a tradition to take pastries to relatives and neighbors and children were running around with trays of treatments and they brought us theirs.  In every house we went we got something sweets or some coins in return.

In Sambor we also went to a Polish school. My brother and I studied at school and cheder. There were religion classes at school for Catholic children. Their teacher was a Roman Catholic priest.  Children with different faith could go home. I had a good voice and ear and I sang in a school choir.  After finishing school Sima and Moishe went to a Jewish grammar school and so did I later. My parents had to pay for the grammar school, but they could afford such expenses at that time. We studied all general subjects in Yiddish. We had two religious classes twice a week. A rabbi came to conduct these classes. Some children skipped classes of religion. It was allowed and in their school records book they had a dash instead of a mark for this class.  It didn’t take me long to understand that it was more fun to play football than sit in class and I began to skip these classes along with other children. Of course, my parents didn’t know about it. I had all excellent marks in all other subjects. 

I turned 13 in 1935 and became of age. I had a bar mitzvah at the synagogue that my father attended. A melamed from the cheder prepared me for bar mitzvah. I don’t remember any details, but I remember that on Saturday after my birthday I went to the Torah stand at the synagogue and read a section from the Torah, there is a special section for a boy to read on his bar mitzvah. On this day I had a tallit on for the first time in my life. It was quite a ceremony and everybody greeted me. My father brought a bottle of vodka and lekakh to the synagogue and after bar mitzvah the attendants enjoyed the treatments. In the evening my mother arranged a special dinner for the occasion. My mother’s brothers came from Lvov. They visited us on almost all Jewish holidays. Haim was married and had two sons, a little older than me. He always came with his family. My cousins and I were friends. Shymon didn’t have a family.  

Sometimes we visited my mother’s relatives in Lvov. In 1936 my grandmother, my mother’s mother died. She was buried near my grandfather according to the Jewish tradition in the Jewish cemetery. I remember that on my grandmother’s funeral a woman approached my mother and me and tore up our clothes. I didn’t understand why she did this and my mother explained that it was a sign of the mourning. Haim, an older son, recited the Kaddish at the funeral. I don’t know whether any of my mother’s brothers recited Kaddish or sat shivah after grandmother, but we went home. My mother’s brother Haim perished tragically in an accident in 1940. He was buried near his parents. Shymon died of typhus in evacuation in the 1940s. After his death I lost contact with Shymon’s family.

In 1937 our quiet family life came to an end. My father was making stucco molding on the facade of a building and fell from scaffolds. He had a severe cranium injury. He was taken to hospital and after he recovered his doctors didn’t allow him to continue doing any physical works, particularly working on elevation. My father returned home, but he couldn’t work any more. He suffered from headaches and dizziness. My mother was the only breadwinner in the family. We were hard up and Moishe had to quit grammar school. Moishe became an apprentice in a railcar depot and I became an apprentice of a joiner. I studied 2 years and in 1939 I was to take my specialty exam and obtain a certificate of qualification, but this didn’t happen after the fascist Germany attacked Poland. In August 1939 German troops came to Poland and the Great Patriotic War 8 began. My older brother David Gotlib-Shpringer was mobilized to the army.  

Before German intervention there was no anti-Semitism in Poland. There were routinely incidents, but they were rare. We didn’t see Germans in Sambor. We read in newspapers and heard on the radio about intervention of Soviet troops. We had a radio at home. By the way, there were newspapers issued during the war. Of course, they were not delivered to people’s homes, but they were sold at post offices. We didn’t know anything about the Soviet Union before. When Soviet troops liberated Poland from fascists Sambor and Lvov districts were annexed to the USSR [annexation of Eastern Poland]. They became a part of the Ukrainian SSR. We were very happy about it. We thought that the USSR was a country of justice and equal possibilities for all nations and that it was a country where there was no anti-Semitism. There were many newcomers from the USSR. They were holding high official posts. The Russian language was introduced everywhere and it took me no time to pick it up. I liked Soviet girls very much. I remember once telling my mother that I would only marry a Russian girl and she jokingly threatened me with her rolling pin. Soviet authorities began their struggle against religion 9. They began to close temples of all religions and conduct anti-religious propaganda. Moishe and I became convinced atheists and my mother and father were distressed by it. They kept observing Jewish traditions and we were telling them that they were holding to vestige of the past.  

During the Soviet regime private shops became the property of the state. The owner of the joiner shop where I was an apprentice was also taken away from my master. I failed too obtain my certificate of qualification.  However, the railroad depot of Sambor employed me as a joiner. In the first months of my employment I joined Komsomol  10.  There was a Jewish chief of the training department of the depot. His surname was Shluze. He suggested that I attended training classes for locomotive operators after work in the evening. I studied there 6 months and I was a successful trainee. I had a medical examination and there were no restrictions. I passed all exams and obtained a certificate of qualification to work as assistant locomotive operator of freight and passenger trains. I took my first trip in June 1940. Since then I worked as assistant locomotive operator and I earned well. My older brother Moishe worked as track foreman in this same depot. The younger children went to school.  Since Moishe and I went to work the material situation in our family improved.  

I could play few musical instruments: piano, accordion, saxophone. I took part in an amateur club of the Sambor depot. There was a brass orchestra that often performed at concerts. I was a saxophone player, a dancer, master of ceremonies and a soloist singer. So I went on trips according to the schedule to be able to attend rehearsals. In January 1941 our orchestra went to a contest of amateur performers in Moscow. After a concert organizers of this contest approached me and offered to move to Moscow and join the Lazar Kaganovich  11 ensemble. They promised that I would be able to obtain a certificate of locomotive operator in Moscow. I said I had to think it over and talk about it at home. When I came to Sambor and told my mother about this offer she asked me to work in Sambor till my younger sister and brothers finished school. The family needed my earnings. I agreed with my mother and wrote to Moscow that I would join them a couple of years later. 

At 6 o’clock in the morning of 22 June 1941 I was to take a trip to Germany as an assistant locomotive operator. I came to the depot at 5 o’clock in the morning to obtain documents and do the final inspection of the locomotive before departure. I was surprised that there were no lights in the depot and there were many people in military uniforms  on the platform. The depot radio announced that all depot employees had to stay in the depot and if they left it they would be executed.  I didn’t understand what happened. At about 10 o’clock one of militaries announced that Germany attacked the Soviet Union without an announcement and that we were at war. I climbed my locomotive and saw another operator incinerating his documents: a Party membership card, certificate and something else. Then we were ordered to drive the locomotive to a train. When we drove there I saw that the train consisted of platforms for cattle transportation with hastily made plank sides and roofs. There were women and children crowding on the platform. It turned out that we were to evacuate families of the Harrison of Sambor. We headed Stryi and then Gusiatin. The train was bombed on the way, but it wasn’t damaged, fortunately. We stopped in Gusiatin for passengers to get water and food and members of the locomotive crew could rest. I fell asleep and when I woke up I saw that the locomotive operator was dead. He was killed with a shell splinter. There was no replacement operator available in the depot in Gusiatin. They provided an assistant and I had to drive the locomotive. We reached Kharkov [430 km from Kiev], our point of destination. Went to the depot office to get a job task. There was a military sitting there. He looked at my documents and gave me an application form to fill up. I wrote in this form that I studied German in a grammar school and when he saw it he told me to wait aside. There were few others in the group waiting. We boarded a truck and it left. We had no idea where we were going. We drove for few days. We were taken to a camp where they took us to take a bath and then we were given military uniforms. We didn’t know where the camp was located. Only later it turned out that it was in Moscow region. Few days we learned to shoot and crawl and studied service regulations. Then we were distributed to military units. I joined an intelligence unit as an interpreter, my major duty was to interpret interrogation of German captives. The regiment was deployed near Moscow. This was September 1941. There were no actions near Moscow and we moved to Byelorussia. I went scouting with the unit several times.

We lived in trenches for the most part. We excavated wider and deeper trenches and placed planks on top. We had branches of the ground floors and slept on our overcoats. Of course, these were unbearable conditions. Everything was difficult: washing and even combing. Combs and razors broke and there was nowhere to get new ones. We shaved with sharp blades or knives: whatever we had. For this reason many frontline men grew beards and moustache, though the service regulations didn’t allow it. In a short time we all got lice.  There were happy moments when we could stay in village  houses and got an opportunity to wash and put ourselves in order. There were no men, only elderly omen, in villages. All men of 18 through 50 years of age were at the front. Village women sympathized with us and gave us better food, though they didn’t have enough either. We could wash in a public bathroom when there was one in villages, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen often. 

There was a field kitchen moving with our regiment. Food product supplies were delivered from the rear. There were delays during combat action, but then we had dried bread and tinned meat.  It was hard for smokers. There were delays with tobacco delivery and then they smoked dry leaves and dried rind.  Tobacco served as currency: one could exchange anything for it. 

I didn’t stay long at the front. In January 1942 I was wounded in my arm and head. Our regiment medical unit provided first aid and then sent me to a rear hospital in Karaganda, Kazakhstan, in 2500 km from home, where I stayed for almost two months. When I was released from hospital I went to a military registry office to request them to send me back to my unit. The military commandant looked at my documents and said that there was a railroad crew formed in Karaganda and  that he was sending me there. There were 3 columns formed and I joined the 28th locomotive column. There were 10-15 crews in each column, 12 members in each: 2 locomotive operators, 2 assistants, 2 stokers, 2 chiefs, 2 escort men, 2 foremen: those were 2 crews.  We worked two shifts on trips: one crew taking a rest, another one working. There was a railcar carriage for crews to take a rest. There were plank beds and an iron stove where we could make something to eat. Chiefs and escort members were officers and the rest were privates. We hauled military force and military loads. We drove at night to avoid raids. When we transported weapons, especially rockets for ‘Katyusha’ units [Editor’s note: The Katyusha Rocket ‘Multiple Rocket Launcher’ BM-21], we attached those shipments in the middle of a train so that Germans couldn’t recognize their location. We hauled people, tanks and planes – anything. As a rule our destination points were near the frontline so that people or equipment could reach it promptly. There were frequent air raids. Almost in every trip there were losses of staff: crewmembers were wounded or killed. We looked death in the eyes every day. Of course, it was scaring, but not at work. During the shift I was calm and concentrated. 

Only during my short service in the intelligence unit I didn’t face any anti-Semitism. When I was in the column they often called me zhyd [Editor’s note: ‘Zhydy’ (kike) – abusive nickname of Jews in the Soviet Union] in my absence or even looking me in my eyes. At first it was a shock for me and I tried to hit the counterpart, but then I tried to explain that it wasn’t nationality that mattered I don’t know which of these worked, but I didn’t suffer abuse again. But who knows what they were saying when I wasn’t there… They also awarded Jews so reluctantly and only when they couldn’t help doing it.

In 1944 I submitted my application to the Communist Party. Two locomotive operators of our column gave me recommendations. There was one-year term of candidateship before they admitted to the Party. I believed that to be a Party member was an honorable and responsible thing and that a communist had to be an example for all. 

In March 1945 we already began to drive trains in the direction of Germany.  In late March 1945 our crew was awarded with orders. A locomotive operator of my crew was awarded an Order of the great Patriotic war of the 1st grade and I was awarded the same order of the 2nd grade.  I was also awarded medals ‘For Courage’ for fighting for various towns. [Editor’s note: There are orders and medals awarded to him for his combat deeds and labor achievements on his jacket, including the Order of Great Patriotic War, Order of Glory, medal for Defense of Stalingrad.]

In late April 1945 our train was running in the vicinity of Berlin, about 30 km.  We didn’t reach Berlin, though. I remember a funny incident  at a big station. A Soviet colonel came to the train and asked for a locomotive operator. I responded and he asked me to follow him. We came to the station and I saw a beautiful shining car there. This colonel said: ‘Start this car’ and I replied that I was a locomotive operator, not a car driver. He grew mad, called me stupid and told me to go away.  He thought that everything that could move operated in the same way.

I met my wife in this locomotive column. In late 1944 our column was stationed in Nida, a Byelorussian town. Many girls came to work in the depot at Komsomol assignment. They sent a young girl from Pskov to work as a stoker with me.  Antonina Fomina was born in Pskov in 1926. Her parents were farmers. Antonina had 3 brothers and 2 sisters. She was very industrious with her work. At first I didn’t take much notice of her. Later she told me that she noted my accuracy. Some operators had their cabin dirty or there was coal near the stove, but they didn’t care. I liked to keep my work place clean and orderly and then it felt better to work. I shaved every day and washed my uniform. She liked it and took a closer look at me. I was seeing Galina, a Jewish girl working in the depot. We went for walks and went dancing at he club. Once we went dancing and Galina refused to dance with me saying that she was tired, but almost right away she went for a dance with another guy. Of course, I felt hurt and told her that we would not be meeting any more. She jerked at me angrily: ‘Maybe you’ll marry your stoker girl?’ I replied: ‘That’s a good idea of yours!’ It was a joke then, but I took a closer look at Galina: she was a nice girl.  Hardworking and pretty and I could see that she liked me. I invited Antonina to dance and then we began to take walks in the town after work. Shortly afterward I asked Antonina to be my wife. Since we were both assigned as military we had to obtain permission of chief of headquarters Stepanov and  column commissar Natanin to get married. They signed our request and on 12 January 1945 we went to a registry office in Grodno, the nearest Byelorussian town where we got married. We had a wedding party at our work. There were tables set in the dining hall and chief of the column made us a wedding gift: few bottles of vodka. There was another gift: we were allowed 10 days of leave.

In the middle of 1944 I met with my family. I didn’t even know whether they were alive before. From Sambor they evacuated to the Ural and returned to our house after liberation of Sambor. My older brother David perished at the front in 1943 and the rest of my family survived. My parents couldn’t even imagine that I would marry a non-Jewish girl. Of course, I told my mother that I had my wife to meet her. My mother asked me to not tell my father that I got married. Even my sisters and brothers told me off for marrying a non-Jewish girl. I told them that I wouldn’t give up my wife for anybody. My future life showed me that I was right.  When they met Antonina they got to liking her, even my mother. My father never knew that Antonina was my wife, he thought that she was just my friend. We stayed few days with them and then left for our unit.

We were near Berlin on Victory Day 12. Everybody was happy that this terrible war was over. People greeted and hugged one another. There were fireworks in the evening and orchestras playing in squares and streets.  My wife and I were looking forward to demobilization, but we were told that our column was staying in Germany. We transported the military, military shipments and food.  Only in October 1945 our column returned to Nida in Byelorussia. Only 19 of 300 who were initially in our column survived. We were awarded Stalin’s award letters. In this letter they thanked us for outstanding labor during the war on Stalin’s behalf and wished us success in peaceful labor. 

I demobilized in early 1946. Railroad men from the Baltic Republics often came to Nida and they invited young locomotive operators to come to work there. They promised us lodging and good salaries, but I wanted to go back to Sambor where my family was. I didn’t know that my parents and siblings emigrated to Israel in late 1945. Only my older brother Moishe stayed in Sambor. But we didn’t meet with him: Moishe perished in early 1946. I didn’t know about it for a long time. They wrote me, but I didn’t receive their letter. My wife and I arrived at Sambor and went to my house: and there were strangers there.  They told me that my family moved out. I felt distressed and bitter about it. I didn’t know that I could claim my house to be returned to me and nobody told me there was this opportunity. My wife and I were accommodated in the hostel of the railroad depot. I went to work there as a locomotive operator.  In November 1946 our son Pyotr was born.

There were people who still remembered me in the railroad depot of Sambor. I submitted my application to the Party again and obtained recommendations. Chief of depot authorized me to organize an amateur club. I spent a lot of time organizing a choir and an orchestra.  We began to perform at parties and in contests. My wife didn’t like it that I spent there my time that I could spend with my family. Later she confessed that she was jealous. Whatever, but she posed an ultimatum: a family or an orchestra. I chose a family, of course, but I had to give up my orchestra.  When the Party bureau was reviewing my application, they blamed me that I didn’t accomplish my Party task: that I gave up this amateur activity. They didn’t admit me to the Party. I became a member of the party only in 1956. I was a convinced communist and a convinced atheist. Religion has been alien to me.

In 1950 I was sent to work in a depot of Lanovtsy station  [360 km from Kiev] where I became chief of the depot. My wife and son stayed in Sambor till I received a lodging.  In April 1951 our daughter Lilia was born in Sambor. In 1952 I received a dwelling in Lanovtsy and my family moved in with me.  Antonina didn’t go to work. She was to stay with our baby daughter till she turned one year of age. Then our son went to a kindergarten and our daughter was sent to a nursery school.  My wife went to work in the depot.

After the war anti-Semitism grew stronger. Cosmopolite processes 13 began. This period didn’t affect my family or our surrounding and I sincerely believed that the party was denouncing its enemies. Another round of anti-Semitism started after the Doctors’ Plot 14 in January 1953. And again I believed it was true that many Jews happened to be enemies and saboteurs of the soviet power. Of course, I didn’t tie Stalin’s name to the growth of anti-Semitism. When on 5 March 1953 Stalin died, it was a big blow and horror for me like for the majority of Soviet people.  I remember, the railroad issued an order for all locomotives to stop on all stations with their horns on at 13 hours on 5 March. My locomotive stopped at Drogobych station and the horn was on for 5 minutes. 

After Khrushchev’s 15 speech on the 20th Party Congress 16 my eyes opened. At first I believed him in disbelief. The thing is, we didn’t know what was happening in the USSR before 1939 when we lived in Poland. And later we didn’t have enough information. Gradually I began to think about it and compare things. I got to know that there were trains prepared to deport Jews to Birobijan 17, Siberia. From Khrushchev’s speech I understood that the ‘doctors’ plot’ and other ‘plots’ were organized specifically to strengthen anti-Semitism to justify deportation of Jews to Siberia. I understood that Stalin eliminated all Party officials and military leaders because they presented a threat to him, not because they were plotters and spies, as we were told. However, all Stalin’s followers were also destroying the country, each in his own way. But I understood this only later. 

Locomotives were gradually replaced with electric locomotives. I finished a locomotive school with honors and they sent me to a depot in Chanyzh station [460 km from Kiev]. My family moved to Chanyzh with me. Our children went to school and my wife and I went to work. I liked spending my weekends with the family. We went for walks, to the cinema and theater. We didn’t celebrate any Jewish or Russian religious holidays at home.  We celebrated birthdays and Soviet holidays. In the morning we went to a parade and then Antonina arranged a festive dinner at home.   We often invited friends and colleagues. We traveled on our summer vacations. I could have free railroad tickets for the family and we traveled a lot across the country.  We traveled to the south and north of the USSR and we liked tourist trips.  

In 1966 I was transferred to the depot in Uzhhorod [700 km from Kiev], in Subcarpathia. This was a bigger town compared to where we lived before. We received a small 2-bedroom apartment called ‘khruschovka’ 18 and said it was to be our temporary dwelling and that we would receive another apartment. We lived in this ‘temporary’ dwelling for 12 years and only recently we got a comfortable apartment. 

My wife decided to go to study. She finished a medical school and went to work as a lab assistant in a dermatovenerologic dispensary clinic where she worked until retirement.

My children studied well at school. They were ordinary Soviet children. They became pioneers and then Komsomol members. They didn’t face any anti-Semitism. They had my typical Jewish surname of Gotlib, but my wife and I decided to change their nationality to their mother's to avoid problems in the future, in the passport they are written down as Russian. My son liked my job very much. After school he often came to the depot where he helped me and asked questions. After finishing school he decided to enter the Locomotive faculty in a Railroad School in Lvov.  He passed his entrance exams successfully and was admitted. My son studied well and received wonderful recommendations after every training session. After finishing this school Pyotr received a mandatory job 19 to the locomotive depot of Lvov. He worked there 3 years. In 1967, when his 3-year job assignment was over, Pyotr got a transfer to Uzhhorod depot.  Back in Lvov he married Tatiana Yakovenko, a Ukrainian girl. My first grandson Pyotr was born in 1968, and my granddaughter Svetlana was born in 1976. Pyotr received a 2-bedroom apartment in Lvov. He worked at the depot until retirement. Locomotive operators retire at the age of 55. Pyotr has grandchildren. My grandson Pyotr’s daughter Kristina Gotlib was born in 1993, and Svetlana’s son Saveliy Andriyanov was born in 1992. Pyotr and Svetlana have non-Jewish spouses. This has never been a matter of importance in out family. What mattered was that they were nice people and loved our children.   

My daughter Lilia finished school with a silver medal. She entered the Faculty of Electronics of Uzhhorod University. Upon graduation Svetlana got a job assignment to work as an engineer at Uzhhorod instrument making plant. She lives with us. Her private life never worked out.  Her son Anton Gotlib was born in 1985. Now he is a 2nd-year student of Uzhhorod university. After perestroika the plant where Svetlana worked closed down.  She went to work as an accountant at the department of railway passenger and freight transportation. She works there now.

From 1946 I’ve tried to find my family. I sent requests to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and tried to search them through the Red Cross.  They replied that they had no information about them. Later I gave up those efforts: for a citizen of the USSR it was dangerous to have relatives abroad 20. Besides, I was a Party member. They found me after we moved to Uzhhorod in the late 1970s. I received a letter from my younger sister Haya. She wrote that she wanted to come to the USSR to see me, but they didn’t issue her an entry visa.  She went to Hungary. It was easier for residents of Subcarpathia to obtain a Hungarian visa compared to the rest of the USSR and I went to Budapest to meet with my sister. Of course, we were so happy to see each other. We didn’t even hope that we would meet again. My sister told me about my dear ones. After returning from the front my older brother Moishe worked in the depot of Sambor. He perished in 1946, he was smashed between two trains. He was married, but they didn’t have children. My father died in Israel at the age of 67 in 1955. After he died my mother lived with Sima and her family.  Sima married a Jewish man in Sambor before they moved to Israel. She didn’t work after getting married.  She has a son, but I don’t remember his name. Haya married a Jewish man from the USSR in Israel. Her family name is Strikovskaya. She finished an accounting school in Israel and worked as an accountant till she retired. Haya and her husband have two daughters: Tsviya and Esta. They are married to Jewish men and live in Haifa. I don’t remember their marital surnames. My younger brother Shmil finished a Construction College in Israel and worked as a construction superintendent. He is married and has a son and two grandsons. He named his son Abram after our father.  Shmil and his family have lived in New York, USA, for over 20 years. The youngest, Eshiye, finished a construction school and made stucco decorations. Eshiye got married in Israel. His wife’s name is Sarra. They have no children. In 1966 Eshiye moved to New York, USA. Eshiye and his wife loved each other, but unfortunately, they had no children. Eshiye was the best at music in our family. He could play any instrument and had wonderful voice. Regretfully, my brother died too early. He had throat cancer. He had few surgeries, but they didn’t help. Eshiye died in New York in 1972. I couldn’t go to his funeral due to strong iron curtain 21, separating the USSR from the rest of the world. We couldn’t even imagine traveling abroad on a visit. Later, in 1982 my sister could come to Uzhhorod and we met again.

When in the 1970s Jews began to move to Israel, I didn’t want to go. I love my wife so and I was afraid she would face this prejudiced attitude as Jews face here. Also, my children were not considered to be Jews according to Jewish laws because their mother wasn’t a Jew. According to the Jewish law, there are two ways someone can be a Jew. You can either be born a Jew, which means that your mother is Jewish, or you can convert. A convert is called a ger which literally means stranger. Being born a Jew means that if your mother is Jewish then so are you, if she isn’t then neither are you. It doesn’t matter whether your father is Jewish or not. Besides, I didn’t hope to find a job at my age and I didn’t want to be a dependent receiving welfare. However, I sympathized with those who decided to leave and wished them to be happy with their new life. 

I became a pensioner in 1977, but I continued to work in the depot.  Firstly, it was hard to live without working. It seemed to me I would die if I quit my job. Besides, it was hard to live on a pension. I had to support my daughter. I got a job of a track dispatcher. It was an interesting and responsible job and I liked it.  I worked in the depot until 1992. Only after I had my first stroke my family talked me out of going to work. 

When perestroika 22 became I thought that Gorbachev’s 23 promises were idle. Whatever hadn’t they promised on behalf of the Party… But then there were notable changes. The dead wall separating the USSR from the rest of the world, fell down. Soviet people got an opportunity to travel to other countries and invite their relatives and friends from abroad. In 1991 I visited my relatives in Israel. It happened a year before, in 1990, that my wonderful and beloved mother died. She lived 94 years and until her last days she was in sound mind and she remained kind.  I never saw her. I only managed to visit her grave in a Jewish cemetery in Rishon LeZiyyon. My mother and father were buried nearby and according to Jewish rules, of course. 2 months of my stay in Israel flew by like one day.  I met with my family and saw my friends who had moved there long before. Israel is a beautiful country and I am happy to have visited it at least at my old age. Of course, perestroika gave me this opportunity. However, I think perestroika took away from much more than it gave. During perestroika our society divided into the rich and the poor. I still think they shouldn’t have allowed this.  In the end perestroika ended in the breakup of the USSR  [editor’s note: Breakup of the USSR: Yeltsin in 1991 signed a deal with Russia's neighbours that formalized the break up of the Soviet Union. The USSR was replaced by the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS).]. Life became harder. I was an ace, the best locomotive operator, I have over 20 awards for my work, but now I am a beggar. 

After declaration of independence the rebirth of the Jewish life in Ukraine began. Before Hesed was established in Uzhhorod in 1999 the Jewish community began its activities in Uzhhorod. People began to go to the synagogue freely and stopped hiding their Jewish identity. I’ve never attended the synagogue.  I’ve been an atheist, though I believe in some superior force supervising us.  My wife Antonina began to attend a women’s club at the synagogue. We joke at home that Antonina is more Jewish than me. At least, it was her initiative to celebrate Jewish holidays at home. We do not celebrate Sabbath. On Jewish holidays Antonina cooks traditional Jewish food. We always have matzah at Pesach.  However, we also have bread at home at Pesach since my grandson doesn’t think it necessary to refuse from it. As for my wife and I, we do not eat bread at Pesach. My wife insists that I do not fast. She doesn’t think my health condition is fit for fasting. I’ve never strived to it, but I’ve got adjusted. Almost all of my wife’s friends are Jewish ladies.  They taught her to cook traditional Jewish food and my wife cooks for holidays. Only my mother could make as delicious gefilte fish as my wife. My wife and I read Jewish newspapers and magazines Vek (Century), and Yevreyskiye Vesti (Jewish news) that we receive in Hesed and then we discuss what we’ve read. Of course, Hesed helps us to survive. They used to bring us meals from Hesed, but my wife and I decided we would have them brings us food packages rather than cooked meals. Not because their meals were not good. It’s just that I, like any other man, think that my wife can cook better. Hesed provides medications and makes arrangements for a stay in hospital, if necessary. When my grandson Anton was at school he went to Jewish summer camps. He is much closer to Jewish life than me. Unfortunately, after my illness I cannot go to meeting or concerts in Hesed.  I hardly ever leave my home, but we constantly feel Hesed’s care. This is how it should be: if Jews hadn’t supported each other, they wouldn’t have survived and wouldn’t remain a nation through centuries.

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