Travel

Arkadiy Redko
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: October 2003

Arkadiy Redko is a short bald-headed man. Although he is severely ill, he is still quite vivid. In 1993 Arkadiy became assistant chairman of the Association of Jewish War Veterans in Kiev. He collects memoirs of the veterans. The organization resolves everyday life issues, assists veterans with medications and food products and takes care of lonely and ill people. Arkadiy has little free time. We met in the building of the Kiev Association of Jewish War Veterans, when he managed to get an interval. Arkadiy appreciated the idea of preserving the story of his family. He lives with his wife now.

My parents' families lived in the village of Ilintsy, Vinnitsa region [285 km from Kiev]. I didn't know any of my grandmothers and grandfathers. They died long before I was born. I don't know where they were born, and never heard anything from my relatives in this regard. My paternal grandfather's name was Volko Redko. It's a Ukrainian name, but my grandfather was a Jew through and through. I don't know the origin of this name. My grandfather was born in the 1850s. I don't know what my grandfather did for a living. I don't know my grandmother's name. All I can say is that my older sisters, Mariam and Esther, were named after our grandmothers. All I know about my mother's father is that his first name was Avrum.

There were four children in my father's family: three sons and a daughter. Avrum, the oldest of the children, was born in 1880. The next was my father, Leib, born in 1885. My father's sister, whose name I don't remember, was born in 1886. My father's younger brother, whose name I don't remember either, was born in 1887.

My father never told me about his childhood and youth. I don't know anything about his life in his parents' home. His mother tongue was Yiddish. My father must have got some religious education. I don't know whether his brothers or sister went to school. When my father was old enough, he was sent to become an apprentice to a tinsmith. Later my father began to work as a tinsmith.

My mother, Pesia Redko, was born in Ilintsy in 1886. I don't know how many brothers and sisters she had. I only remember her two older brothers. One of them, whose name I don't remember, lived in Ilintsy. He was much older than my mother. He was a tall, stately man with a big black beard. My mother's brother was the chief rabbi of the synagogue in Ilintsy. Judging from my mother and her brother, my mother's family was very religious. My mother's second brother emigrated to the USA in the early 20th century. I don't remember his name. I only saw him once in July 1932, when he came on a visit. I was a child, and can hardly remember this meeting. My mother's family spoke Yiddish.

Ilintsy was a district town in the district of the same name. Before the Russian Revolution of 1917 1 this was one of many Jewish towns in Vinnitsa region. Its population was about 10,000 people, of which about 5,000 were Jews, so about 50 percent of the total population. Ilintsy was located on the bank of the Bug River. There was a market in the main square and a church nearby. There was a synagogue not far from the main street. I don't remember whether there was as shochet in Ilintsy, but I guess there must have been one, considering that there was a synagogue. In 1934 during the period of the Soviet authorities' struggle against religion 2, this synagogue was closed, and the building housed a machine and tractor yard. There was a club in Ilintsy where they showed movies and conducted meetings. There was also a cinema where we, boys, used to go, when we managed to save a few kopeck.

There was a cheder in Ilintsy before 1917, but after the Revolution it was closed. There was a seven-year Jewish school. There were no religious subjects taught after the Revolution, but teaching was in the Yiddish language. The school was near the church and the market. There was a football ground near the school. There was a big sugar factory in Ilintsy where many townspeople had seasonal jobs. Jews in Ilintsy were craftsmen and tradesmen, shoemakers, tailors and store owners. Perhaps, Jews also owned bigger stores before the Revolution, but they were dispossessed after the Revolution of 1917. There was also a very good assistant doctor in Ilintsy, a Jewish man. There was no Jewish neighborhood in Ilintsy; the majority of Jews lived in the center of town. Farmers lived on the outskirts keeping livestock and working their fields. There were district fairs in Ilintsy. There were no Jewish pogroms in Ilintsy 3, which otherwise happened frequently during the Revolution of 1917 and the Civil War 4. Jews got along well with their neighbors. People respected each other's religion and traditions.

My parents got married in the early 1900s. They had a traditional Jewish wedding. It could have been no different at that time. After the wedding the newly-weds settled down in the small wooden house on the bank of the Bug River, about 20 meters from the bank on Zemskaya Street, where our family lived till 1932. Our family occupied one half of the house, and the other half belonged to my mother's older brother Avrum, his wife and two children. There were two rooms and a kitchen in each half of the house. There was a small yard and a shed in the yard. There was a well, from where the families fetched water. For washing they heated it on the Russian stove 5.

My oldest sister was born in 1914. Her Russian name was Klara [see common name] 6, and her Jewish one Mariam after one of our grandmothers. My second-oldest sister, Esther, was born in 1916. She was named after the other grandmother. In 1918 my brother, Volko, named after my father's father, was born. I was born in 1924. My Russian name is Arkadiy, and I was given the Jewish name of Avrum after my mother's father. My youngest sister, Asia, was born in 1926.

My mother was a housewife after she got married. My father had to support the family. He traveled to neighboring villages looking for work. He mainly fixed buckets and wash tubs. He didn't earn much and we were poor. We lived from hand-to-mouth. We only had meat on holidays and our everyday food was bread and potatoes. The younger children wore the older children's clothes and shoes. However, we didn't care that much about it since the majority of the population of Ilintsy lived that way: Jews and non-Jews. Despite our poverty, my father insisted that all children had education.

We spoke Yiddish at home. We also knew Russian and Ukrainian, but our mother only spoke Yiddish. She just knew a few Russian words. My mother wore a kerchief. My father didn't wear a hat. He didn't have a beard or payes.

My mother was more religious than my father. On Friday evening the family got together for dinner. My mother started preparations for Sabbath in the morning. She made gefilte fish and potatoes and put a pot with cholent into the oven for the next day. Even when my father was away from home for a few days, he always came back before Sabbath. My mother lit candles and recited a prayer and then we sat down to dinner. The next day my mother went to the synagogue. Sometimes she took me and my younger sister with her. My father didn't work on Saturday. My older sisters and brother didn't go to the synagogue. They studied at school where religion was not appreciated. The school children weren't only raised atheists, but they were also taught to 'enlighten' their retrograde religious parents, telling them there was no God. However, my sisters and brother joined the family for celebrations on Sabbath and other Jewish holidays.

Before Pesach my mother baked matzah in the Russian stove. We, children, enjoyed preparations for holidays. We hardly ever had enough food on weekdays, but my mother tried to make as much food as possible for holidays. She saved money to have chicken, gefilte fish, and make strudels from matzah with jam, raisins and nuts for holidays. There was a general clean up of the house before Pesach. Bread crumbs were removed and fancy crockery was brought down from the attic. I don't remember any details about the celebration of Pesach in our home, or whether my father conducted the seder: it was so many years ago... I remember that we also celebrated other Jewish holidays: Chanukkah, Sukkoth, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but no details. I was seven to eight years old then, and now I am 80.

In 1931 my father was arrested by the NKVD 7. He was kept in a cell for a month while they kept demanding silver and gold from him. My father was brutally beat, as they demanded: 'Tell us where the money is'. We didn't have any money or gold, and only when they had made sure that this was true they let my father go. I didn't recognize my father when he came home. He was 46 years old, but he looked like an old man. He was thin, couldn't walk and stayed in bed for a long time. My father didn't tell us anything, but that he was beaten terribly. My mother hardly managed to bring him to recovery. However, we didn't blame anybody thinking that it had just been a mistake. We thought that since the Soviet power had many enemies, the NKVD often had to resort to strong measures.

I went to the 1st grade of the Jewish school in 1931. My older sisters and brother also went to this school. I had all excellent marks at school and I enjoyed going to school. I had many friends. I knew many of my classmates before school. We used to swim in the river and play together.

A famine plagued Ukraine in 1932 8. It was easier to survive in towns, but in villages people died in thousands. It was a tragedy for our family. We were starving. We didn't have our own vegetable garden and had to buy all food products. My father hardly ever managed to get work. My older sisters moved to Kiev. My brother went to study in a rabfak 9 in Kharkov [430 km from Kiev]. Only Asia and I stayed with our parents. Our situation was very hard. My sisters sent us a message saying that it was possible to find a job in Kiev and thus my parents decided to move to Kiev. We left Ilintsy in December 1932. I studied in the 3rd grade at the time.

We settled down in the damp basement of a house on Artyoma Street in the city center. My parents fixed it as much as they could to bring it to a condition we could live in. I went to the 3rd grade of the Jewish school near our house. My sister Asia went to the same school a year later.

My father continued to work as a tinsmith in Kiev. He left home early in the morning to work in the streets fixing casseroles and wash tubs that housewives brought him. He earned very little, but at least we could survive.

My oldest sister, Klara, went to study in the Kiev College of Food Industry. At first she studied in the preparatory department called rabfak; then she became a student at the college. She was accommodated in the dormitory. In 1937, my sister Esther married Yuzia Orlovski, a Jewish man from Ilintsy, whom we knew well. He finished a military school and became a professional military. They didn't have a Jewish wedding, considering the political and economic hardships of the time. They registered their marriage in a registry office, and in the evening there was a wedding dinner with the family in our damp basement on Artyoma Street.

I liked studying at school. I became a pioneer and then joined the Komsomol 10. We were raised patriots of the USSR and had unconditional faith in Stalin and the Communist Party. We learned patriotic poems and sang Soviet songs in Yiddish and Russian. They were popular Soviet songs by Soviet composers, such as the 'March of the Pioneers': 'Dark blue nights will burst in fires, We are pioneers - the children of workers, A fair era will come soon The pioneer motto is 'always be ready', or: 'My homeland is vast There are many fields and rivers in it, I don't know another country Where an individual can breathe so freely'

We sang songs about friendship and the Komsomol; I don't remember their titles. There was a melodious song in Yiddish about the happy life of various nations in the Soviet Union building a happy life for future generations.

The arrests that started in 1936 and lasted till the beginning of World War II [during the so-called Great Terror] 11 didn't have any impact on our family. They mainly arrested high officials, party activists and the military that were declared 'enemies of the people' 12. Almost every day there were announcements about new arrests in the newspapers and on the radio. We believed that there were true reasons behind it. Stalin was our idol.

My mother couldn't correspond with her brother in the USA. Soviet authorities cut off any contacts with foreigners. [It was forbidden to keep in touch with relatives abroad.] 13 People were arrested and sent to the Gulag 14 for having relatives abroad, or could be executed on charges of espionage.

After World War II, when I visited Ilintsy, I was told that the director of the Jewish school in Ilintsy had been arrested in 1936. He was captured when he was getting off a bus. They said he was an enemy of the people. I knew this man well and understood that he was innocent. But at that time, before the war, I had no doubts that he was guilty; I was just a boy then. However, at that time the majority of adults believed everything the newspapers wrote.

My older brother, Volko, moved to Moscow after finishing Industrial School in Kharkov. He had been reading a lot since his childhood and started to write poems in Yiddish at the age of 16. He was going to enter the Jewish department of Moscow Pedagogical College. He traveled by train, where his documents were stolen. Upon his arrival in Moscow my brother arranged a meeting with Kalinin 15. Kalinin had duplicates of all documents issued, and my brother managed to enter college. He lived in the dormitory where he met many activists of the Jewish culture. He shared his room with Aron Vergelis who was chief editor of 'Sovyetishe Gaymland', 'Soviet Motherland', the only magazine in the USSR published in Yiddish.

My father fell severely ill in 1939. There was something wrong with his legs: he couldn't walk and became an invalid. He couldn't work any longer. His doctor, a surgeon, told him there was no cure. My younger sister and I studied at school. My mother didn't work. My brother switched to the extramural department in his college and moved to Kiev. He went to work in the editor's office of 'Der Shtern', 'The Star' newspaper, published in Yiddish. There was a big team of Jewish writers and journalists. My brother's poems and articles were published in 'Der Shtern', and the Kiev newspapers 'Komunist' [Communist] and 'Pravda Ukrainy' [The Truth of Ukraine], published in Russian and Ukrainian. Volko also wrote reviews on Jewish literature. Sometimes he took me with him to meetings of Jewish poets. Volko believed that whatever I was going to do in life, I had to know the Jewish literature. Volko finished college in 1940 and received a diploma with honors. My brother was the pride of our family and my idol.

In 1939 the government issued an order to close Jewish schools in the USSR. I had finished eight grades before then and continued my studies in a Russian school. There was no anti-Semitism in this new school. I also had all excellent marks there.

My older sister, Klara, finished college in 1939 and received a [mandatory] job assignment 16: she was sent to the town of Stanislav, present-day Ivano-Frankovsk [490 km from Kiev]. She rented a room from a local Polish family. They treated her like one of their own.

On 20th June 1941 I finished the 9th grade. There was another year left at school, but I was already thinking of where to continue my studies. On the morning of 22nd June we got to know that German planes bombed Kiev and that the Great Patriotic War 17 had begun. At noon Molotov 18 spoke on the radio announcing that Hitler had breached the Non-Aggression Pact [Molotov- Ribbentrop Pact] 19, attacking the USSR without announcing war. Then Stalin spoke: he said we would win.

The following day my brother Volko, my brother-in-law, Yuzia Orlovski, and I went to the district registry office to volunteer for the front. We were sure that the war was to be over soon and rushed to take part in it. The military commander told me I was too young to go to the front and that they would call for me, if necessary. Since my brother-in-law was a professional military, he was recruited to go to the front. My brother and other recruits took a course of training in the military registry office before they went to the front. My sister went to see Volko. She came one hour before he was to depart for the front. Volko gave her a notebook with his poems, 67 of his poems which he had written from 1937 to 1941 and which had never been published. My brother went to the front, joining Regiment 148 of the Kiev Proletariat division defending Kiev.

Evacuation began in Kiev. Everyone believed our troops would stop the Germans before they could invade Kiev, but my parents decided to leave anyway. We left Kiev on 7th July. There were my parents, Asia and I, my older sister, Esther, and her twins: her daughter Sophia and her son Herman, born in 1939. Herman was called Izia in the family. We headed for Chkalov, present-day Orenburg, in Russia. It took us almost eight days to get to the town of Sol-Iletsk in Chkalov region. We found shelter with an old couple. Their sons were at the front and they treated us like their own.

My older sister, Klara, was in Stanislav when the war began. Her landlords were nice people and meant well for Klara. They told her to stay with them and that Germans were civilized and cultured people and weren't going to do any harm. My sister agreed to stay. On 28th June a lieutenant whom she knew came to tell her that the last train was leaving and if she didn't take it, she would be killed by the Germans. My sister decided to come to us in Kiev. On the way the train was bombed and only moved very slowly. The trip lasted twelve days. There was a long stop in Poltava. My sister took her luggage to her acquaintance and left it with her. She was so sure that the war was to be over in no time that she only took her documents with her. Klara arrived in Kiev on 11th July and began to look for us. Fortunately, there was an evacuation information agency in Buguruslan that helped her to find us. She joined us in Sol-Iletsk four months later, in October 1941. The Germans exterminated all the Jews of Stanislav on the first days of the occupation.

The locals and the administration of Sol-Iletsk were kind and sympathetic. They understood how hard it was for the people who had left their homes. This was a small town and the people living there were poor. They never reproached us with coming to their town. We heard the words: 'Why did you come here, did anybody call for you?' when we returned to Kiev from the evacuation. There was no anti-Semitism in Sol-Iletsk. The locals didn't even know who Jews were.

I had to go to work to support the family. My father could barely walk, but he still tried to go out to find some work. It took a long time before he finally got a job as water carrier in the school of assistant doctors. It was too hard for him to work alone there and I helped him. My father didn't get money for this work, but received food cards [see card system] 20. I went to work at the Ministry of Defense storage facility. I was the only young employee there - the rest were 20-30 years older than me. We worked three shifts. I came home and went straight to sleep.

My sister Esther went to work at the railway station. When her husband, who was at the front, found her, she began to receive certificates for money allowances. My mother stayed at home and looked after Esther's twins. There was a ration of 400 grams per person. My younger sister, Asia, had to stand in line the whole day to receive bread for the family. In Sol-Iletsk Asia went to work at the school of assistant doctors.

We never missed the news from the front. There was a map of the USSR where employees marked the positions of the Soviet troops in every organization. Each town or village left to the enemy was pain for us, but we believed in what Stalin said: that we would win. We were full of patriotism and hatred for the enemy. Boys were impatient about going to the front and I was no exception. There was less than a year for me to wait till I would go to the front.

We didn't have many clothes with us. When the manager of the storage facility saw what I wore to work, he gave me a pair of trousers. I wore them twice and then gave them to my father - his clothes were even more miserable than mine. Our landlords helped us a lot, giving us their sons' clothes. We kept in touch with those people after the war and corresponded with them till 1967, when the old couple died. No one of the family was left: both their sons had perished at the front.

In September 1941 we received a notification saying that my brother Volko was missing in action. We wrote to the military units and registry offices searching for him. His comrades, writers and journalists, also tried to help us, but in vain. We didn't have any information till 1976. In my despair I wrote to the 'Pravda Ukrainy' newspaper, which published my article, 'Looking for my brother' in 1975. My brother's former fellow comrade called me. This was Yakov Ziskind, a Jewish man. He met with me and told me about my brother.

Volko perished on 7th August 1941 in the battle near the village of Stepantsy, Kanev district, Cherkasy region [100 km from Kiev]. During a counterattack he threw himself with a bunch of grenades under a German tank. Yakov Ziskind took my brother's passport and diploma to give them to us after the war, but on the next day there was an air raid and Yakov lost his leg. He was evacuated to a rear hospital at Zolotonosha station [140 km from Kiev]. The following day this station was captured by the fascists. All warriors of regiment 148 defending the station perished. Yakov was in hospital for a long time. Later he tried to find us, but failed. The newspaper article helped him to find me.

I went to Stepantsy where I met with the former director of the local school, Ivan Skoropud. He promised me to try to find my brother's grave. In 1980 the district newspaper 'Dneprovskaya Zvesda' [The Dnieper Star] published an article about Volko, entitled 'On a field near Stepantsy'. All school children were looking for Volko's grave, and, finally, they found it. His comrades had buried him in the field... I visited my brother's grave near Stepantsy.

I joined the army in June 1942. All new recruits were sent to the Reserve Regiment 61 near Chkalov where we were trained in hand-to-hand combat, shooting, the basics of military training. From there we went to the front in early 1943. The first stage of the war in 1941-42, when our troops were retreating and suffering great losses, was over. Those were the hardest years of the war. In early 1943 there was a turning point in the war. Our armies were attacking on all fronts. We sensed that we were on the way to victory. We became stronger. There were better provisions to the army and we also began to receive assistance from the US: vehicles for the front and food products. However, the Americans didn't open the second front before June 1944, when the US saw that our armies were on the threshold to Germany and knew that we might manage without their help.

I was sent to regiment 125 of the rifle unit of the 3rd Ukrainian Front. My first battles were for the liberation of Donetsk region, the town of Konstantinovka [610 km from Kiev]. Our troops were advancing promptly. Our artillery regiment started artillery preparations and then the infantry went into action. When we incurred big losses, we were sent to the rear for several days or months. At that time we could lead a normal life where there was no war. Then we returned to the same front or a different one at times.

So I started my front experience in the 3rd Ukrainian Front and ended in the 1st Belarussian Front under the command of Marshal Zhukov [Editor's note: Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov was born in 1896 in Kaluga province, Russia, and died in Moscow, in 1974. He was a marshal of the Soviet Union, and the most important Soviet military commander during World War II.]. After Konstantinovka we liberated Artyomovsk [610 km from Kiev] and on 17th October 1943 we came to Zaporozhiye [400 km from Kiev]. Then, in 1944, we relocated to Manevichi station [400 km from Kiev] in Western Ukraine and liberated other towns and villages there. This was when I received my first combat award: the medal 'For Valor'. Military units were continuously relocating. At times we moved to new locations by train and when there weren't enough vehicles we walked. The Americans supplied their first vehicles in 1944, but we still had to cover vast distances on foot.

There were three Jews in our company and two in the platoon. Vinnitskiy from Leningrad had a squad under his command. He was a good man. We didn't pay attention to each other's nationality. We were about the same age and were raised patriots. We cherished human values. It was important at the front line what kind of a person was beside you. At times your life depended on your comrades. There was no anti-Semitism at the front. There was a common enemy, and a common goal: victory.

We usually pitched tents and sometimes stayed in local houses, when there was a village nearby. We had food supplies every day and the people in the field kitchen cooked for us. We also received mail from our families, and newspapers. There were central, front line and division newspapers. I liked to read articles by Erenburg 21 published in 'Krasnaya Zvesda' and 'Pravda'. These newspapers were read aloud and then we shared them with one another. I corresponded with my family.

We were young and during intervals tried to forget about the war. We had musical instruments in our military unit and arranged concerts, singing and dancing along to the music. When we stopped in a village, we went for walks and to dances.

In 1943 I submitted my application to the Party. The procedure was no different from the one in peaceful times. I needed two recommendations. I had a recommendation from the Komsomol and two recommendations from party members. The only difference was that if someone submitted an application before a combat action you added the following words: 'If I perish, please consider me a communist'. The candidateship lasted a year. I joined the Party on 9th May 1945, on the day, when the complete and final capitulation of fascist Germany was announced [see Victory Day] 22.

I was very fortunate: I wasn't wounded once the whole time I was at the front line. Once I was shell-shocked and my commandment wanted to send me to hospital, but I refused because I didn't want to be in hospital when the war was over. I always thought the end of the war was near.

There were also penal battalions at the front. I only heard about them. They consisted of former prisoners. I guess, they were sent to the front from 1942 to 1944. There were many military who failed to follow their commanders' orders, and even if it was impossible to follow them, they were sent to the tribunal anyway. They were sent to the most dangerous locations. They completed their task. They had to serve there till they 'tasted blood'. If they got wounded, they were sent to hospital and once recovered, they joined ordinary military troops.

We began to meet partisans in 1944 and talked to them. In 1944, during the liberation campaign in Lutsk region, we struggled with partisans for some time. One of them told the story of how they had shot one of the partisans, a Jew. He stood sentinel over other partisans, when he fell asleep. The partisan military tribunal sentenced him to death. I asked the partisan how it happened that he had fallen asleep. Could he not just have been exhausted? And this partisan just replied that if there had been an attack and the guard had been asleep they would have been eliminated. That's how it was: the laws of the wartime were not to be discussed. In Volyn region the commanding officer of my company met his friend, a partisan. They were in encirclement in 1941. Kovtun fought his way into a military unit, and his friend stayed in the woods. Kovtun gave him his horse. In late 1944, when the war was coming to an end, the partisan units were disbanded, and the partisans were assigned to military units.

There were representatives of SMERSH [special secret military unit for the elimination of spies; lit. translation 'death to spies'] in each squad in the army. SMERSH actually belonged to the NKVD and was responsible for fighting spies, but of course, there were many more SMERSH representatives than spies. Those people were to identify people who expressed their concerns about so many unjustified losses or their discontent with the commandment, etc. They had their informers, whom they called 'volunteer assistants'. After the war SMERSH operated in our regiment in Germany.

We were advancing fast. In late 1944 we came to Poland. Some Polish people were glad the Soviet army was there, others hated us. Before attacking Warsaw we stayed in a village. This was in January 1945. I made friends with a Polish man; he was a nice person. I knew Russian and Ukrainian and thus had no problem understanding Polish. He told me about his life and country, and sang Polish songs. He told me that there were people who hated communist ideas and didn't like us to be there. I was 19 years old and this seemed weird to me; I didn't understand.

I remember the following episode from our attack on Warsaw: One soldier discovered a group of Germans in a forest. One of them left the group running from one tree to the next and looking back. I followed him. He saw that I was coming closer and threw a grenade. I threw myself to the ground before the grenade exploded. Then I rose to my feet and shot at him using my machine gun. He fell. When I came closer, he was still alive. He was holding a grenade. He probably wanted to blast himself and me, but it was too late. He turned out to be a corporal, who had been awarded three crosses. He was a sniper and had killed many soldiers during the war. We got to know this after we studied his documents. Our front newspaper wrote about it and published my photograph. I was awarded the 'Order of the Great Patriotic War, 2nd class'.

I faced fascists for the second time in April 1945, when the column of vehicles of our regiment moving in the direction of Berlin, was fired at in the woods. A shell hit a vehicle of our squad and many perished. When this kind of attack had happened at the beginning of the war, we tried to pass the dangerous location as soon as possible. At the end of the war, however, we didn't just flee. A group of soldiers of our regiment including me ran in the direction from where we heard the shooting. I ran to the nearest blindage. There were seven Germans, one of them an officer. They were caught unawares. I yelled, 'Haende hoch!' and they raised their hands obediently. I took the captives to our commanding officer and went back to my unit. Our army newspaper also wrote about this incident.

In April 1945 the central newspaper published an article by Alexandrov, chief of the department of propaganda and agitation of the Central Committee, in which he criticized Erenburg for his appeal to exterminate all Germans. Alexandrov wrote that we, Soviet soldiers, had to clearly understand the difference between fascists and peaceful people and be loyal to peaceful Germans. I felt the same way. Germans were different, just like all other people. Some Germans hated Hitler, but there were too few of them to raise arms against him. I hated fascists, but when they surrendered, I could shoot at them, or even hit them. When we arrived in Germany, the local population fled, thinking that we were going to kill them, but we didn't. However many towns, villages and plants they had destroyed, however many Jews and people of other nations they had killed, I was loyal to them: I respected kind people and treated German fascists like defeated enemies. We were also raised in the spirit of respect of German workers and German communists. We were sure that the Germans would kill all Soviet people forcibly taken to Germany, but we met girls and women working for German families and we were happy to see them and so were they.

The attack on Berlin began in April 1945. Those were horrific battles. The commander of the 1st Belarussian Front, Marshal Georgiy Zhukov, came there to take command in person. Our troops were in the hollow, and the Germans had more beneficial positions than us. We couldn't see the German tanks - they were camouflaged. Our attack lasted several days and we incurred great losses. However, this was all we could do - and we won. This was the last big battle. I was near Berlin, when the war came to an end. On the early morning of 9th May we heard about the victory on the radio. This was such a holiday! There was a festive meeting in the regiment. Everyone, even strangers, kissed each other, talked about the end of the war and the life at the front. We went to Berlin, and I and my fellow comrades signed the wall of the Reichstag. Our peaceful life began.

Of course, the joy of the victory was saddened by the memory of those who had perished in this war: our fellow comrades, families and peaceful people. The Germans came to Ilintsy three weeks after the war had begun. Many Jews failed or didn't want to evacuate. My father's brother Avrum and his family perished during a mass shooting of Jews in Ilintsy. My mother's older brother, the rabbi of the synagogue in Ilintsy, and his family were shot. We don't know the exact date, but this was one of the first mass shootings. On 17th January 1943 the family of my brother-in-law, Yuzia Orlovski, was killed during a mass shooting of Jews in Ilintsy; there were seven of them: his father, mother, two brothers and a sister and her two children. They were buried in a common grave. Yuzia survived at the front. He was severely wounded during the defense of Leningrad [see Blockade of Leningrad] 23 and became a war invalid. When he heard about his family, he went to their grave, and there witnesses told him how it had happened. This was a tragedy. Yuzia lived his short life after the war in poverty and hardships. He died in 1963. He was buried in the Jewish section of the cemetery in Berkovets, Kiev. My father's younger brother died in evacuation in Tashkent [Uzbekistan] in 1942. His older son perished at the front in 1941. The younger son survived, finished a medical college after the war and became a doctor. I didn't have contact with him. He died in 1996. My father's sister stayed to live in Tashkent where she had been in evacuation. She died shortly after the war.

In 1945 I got a leave and went to Kiev to visit my family. They were in the same basement apartment where we had lived before the war. My older sister, Klara, and my parents returned to Kiev. My father was very ill and could hardly walk. My sister worked and helped my mother to take care of the father. My sister Esther, her husband and children also lived in Kiev, but not with my parents. My younger sister, Asia, finished the school of assistant doctors in evacuation and worked as an assistant doctor in a polyclinic. She fell ill with tuberculosis in evacuation. There was no medication and life was full of hardships and her disease progressed. My parents couldn't work and didn't receive any pension. Fortunately, Volko's friends did what they could to help my parents to get a pension of 200 rubles for their lost son, my brother.

Unfortunately, I only visited Ilintsy twice after the war. Once I went there after demobilization in 1950 and the second time with my wife in 1973. She wanted to visit my homeland. Hardly anyone of all ´the Jewish families living there before the war survived. They were hoping for a miracle, but it didn't happen. My friends who stayed in Ilintsy also perished.

Of course, many nations and many countries suffered in this war, but I think that the heaviest hardships fell on our people. Would any other country have endured this? Not one army or state. I think any other country would have had to surrender, sign an agreement and stop its existence at this. Germans were merciless to many peoples and particularly so to Jewish people. Only the Soviet people serried by the party and Stalin could win after suffering such great losses. According to the most recent data we lost 24 million people to the war. Who made a decisive contribution to the victory? The Soviet Union and the Soviet army, of course. And those Jews who were at the front and perished fighting for the Motherland, did not give their lives for nothing. I can say the same about my brother, who perished young, having seen or done nothing in his life. We, the living, must feel this. That's all.

After the war I served in Germany for five years. My year of recruitment to the army, 1942, meant that I was subject to demobilization in 1950. Berlin was divided into four zones. Our regiment was to prepare territories for the arrival of English, French and American troops. Besides, in 1946, we were involved in preparing German specialists for their departure to the USSR. The government didn't want them to work for the occupational armies. They weren't forcibly taken to camps, they volunteered to go to the USSR. They were selected by representatives from the USSR - directors and human resource managers of big plants that were in need of qualified personnel since most of our specialists had perished at the front. There were announcements on the radio for qualified personnel willing to work in Soviet plants to make their appearance at certain locations. Those people had contracts and willingly went to work at enterprises.

The population of Germany suffered from hunger in the postwar years. And those, who went to the USSR, were provided with food and clothes and had normal living conditions. The majority of them worked at plants in various towns of the USSR, helping to restore the industries and install new production lines. They weren't involved in the military production, of course. I remember us sending a train with Germans to Kuibyshev, where they were accommodated in dormitories with everything necessary for a living. They could take their belongings with them and were allowed to correspond with their families. They wished to go to the USSR and were glad to have this opportunity. I don't know exactly what happened to these people then since I never met any of them, but I believe they returned home. I know for sure that they weren't forced to stay.

In the Soviet sector we helped the local population. I served in Kustrinchen on the border of Poland and Germany, and, later, in Frankfurt an der Oder. In 1945-46 we often went to the camp for prisoners-of-war, German officers. They talked to us and answered our questions. When the subdivision of the town into sectors was over, so was the arrangement of the Soviet sector. I was sent to serve in Berlin. I spent the last two years of my service in Dresden. Half of the town was in ruins from bombings. We stayed in the barracks of the former military academy in Dresden. We communicated with Germans. There were very good people among them. We did our ordinary military service and had trainings. There were SMERSH representatives in our regiment, but we didn't know their mission. We were far from them. The SMERSH representatives sometimes arrested the military. Once in 1947 our soldier guarding a German prisoner began to help him: he went to addresses that this German told him to deliver messages to. This German was arrested for his ties with intelligence and the soldier was arrested for assisting him. I don't know what happened to him.

During my service in Germany I was aware of the events in the USSR from magazines, newspapers and the radio. In 1948 the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 24 began in the USSR. I knew about this from newspapers. Almost every issue of the newspaper published an article about Jewish scientists, artists, writers or poets accused of incredible things, even of their efforts to destroy the USSR. I couldn't believe those people were against the Soviet power and Stalin. Sometimes I bumped into names I knew, like Lev Kvitko 25, a Jewish writer, and others. I was sure they were innocent and couldn't understand why they were referred to as cosmopolitans. It wasn't just me, a 24-year old guy, but also older people who had no doubts about the truthfulness of what the papers published. I had an ambiguous attitude to this: I could not believe that the people whom I had known and respected were guilty and I couldn't distrust Stalin. Jews were blamed for everything; it was like there was an entire Jewish conspiracy. I didn't experience any change in attitude towards me in my regiment, but I sensed that the attitude towards Jews on the whole had changed.

When I read in newspapers about the establishment of Israel in 1948 [see Balfour Declaration] 26, I was happy. Finally the wanderings and persecution of the Jewish people were over and we had our own state.

In 1950 I demobilized and returned to my family in Kiev. I had to work and study. I had finished nine grades before the war. I went to work as a receptionist at the mixed fodder factory. In 1952 I went to the 10th grade of an evening school. I attended school after work, came home very late and still had to do my homework. It was very hard, but I was eager to get education. My family supported me as best they could.

I met my future wife, Tamara Shkuro, in the evening school. She and I shared a desk. I liked this sweet humble girl. We became friends first and then began to see each other. Tamara is Ukrainian. She was born in Poltava [315 km from Kiev] in 1922. Her mother, Tatiana Shkuro, was a housewife, and her father, Timofey Shkuro, was a cashier at the railroad. Tamara's younger sister, Yevgenia, was born in 1924. During the Great Patriotic War the family was in evacuation. After the war they moved to Kiev. Tamara's father was an invalid; he was bedridden for ten years. My wife's mother died in 1959, her father in 1963. Yevgenia got married. Her family name was Gorova. She was a cashier. Yevgenia had two sons. We were always close with her. Yevgenia died in February 2004.

In January 1953 the 'Doctors' Plot' 27 started. A group of Jewish doctors was accused of trying to poison Stalin. I simply couldn't believe it. I thought that Doctor Timoschuk, who disclosed them, was fulfilling someone's order. Somebody wanted to instigate anti-Semitism and they didn't disdain to use any means. This was a horrific time. I didn't believe what the newspapers published. I couldn't believe that there were Jewish people speaking against Stalin. Stalin was an idol in my family. Only my mother was against Stalin. Of course, this caused arguments. We argued with Mama and she kept saying, 'You will know who Stalin is, time will show'. I guess, she thought that Stalin was a tyrant and to blame for anti-Semitism and the arrests of innocent people, including my father's arrest and the resulting impact on his health condition. She never believed this could have been happening without Stalin's knowledge while my father and I thought this happened because of local officials, and Stalin had no hand in it.

On 5th March 1953 Stalin died. It was a grief to me like to the majority of the Soviet people. I was crying like people cry after their close ones. We were thinking what was going to happen to us and to our country. I still think that if it hadn't been for Stalin, we wouldn't have won the war. He solidified the people and taught us courage acting as an example himself. When fascist troops were close to Moscow, Stalin didn't evacuate, but continued to rule the country from Moscow. Yes, Stalin was a rough man, but he was as rough with his family as with his comrades. During the war we all knew the story of his son from the first marriage, Yakov Dzhugashvili [Stalin's family name was Dzhugashvili; Stalin was his revolutionary pseudonym.], whom Germans captured at the front. They offered Stalin to exchange his son for the German Field Marshal Paulus who was in Soviet captivity, but Stalin refused saying that they wouldn't exchange a private for a Field Marshal. This was the kind of man he was.

I didn't quite believe what Nikita Khrushchev 28 said about Stalin at the Twentieth Party Congress 29. I think, Khrushchev was wrong with regard to the evaluation of Stalin's personality and deeds. There are many books now representing Stalin as a bloodthirsty monster. Well, they can say what they want, but one needs to know the history. Everybody must know what Stalin accomplished. He was so far-seeing that back in 1939 he expanded the Soviet borders shifting them to the west. Who, if not Stalin, won the war? Who stopped the advance of the Germans? Of course, Stalin had his shortcomings. He exterminated the members of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 30, and he was killing Jews and other nations, but we need to pay tributes to him: Stalin rescued the Soviet Union and the whole civilized world from the fascist threat. This is my personal point of view and I shall not give it up. Time will show who is right.

In 1954 I finished school with a gold medal. I had all excellent marks in my certificate. That same year I entered the Sanitary Technical Faculty of Kiev Engineering Construction College. I didn't have to take any entrance exams having finished school with a gold medal. I had to pass an entrance interview 31. I never faced any anti-Semitic attitudes. Perhaps, the fact that I had been at the front, played a role. I studied well. I was one of the few communists in the course. I was appointed senior man of the group. My co-students and lecturers respected me. I had many Jewish and non-Jewish friends in college, and we still keep in touch. In all the years of my studies I only had three 'good' marks, the rest were 'excellent'.

My wife, Tamara, entered the Geodesic Faculty of the Land Reclamation College. We got married after finishing the second year in college, in 1955. My mother had died in 1954. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev according to the Jewish ritual. Later this cemetery was closed since there were no more places for burials. My father didn't worry about my marrying a non-Jewish woman. What mattered to him was that we loved each other. He helped us with preparations to the wedding. We registered our marriage in the registry office, and in the evening we had a wedding dinner with our closest friends. We stayed to live with my father.

In 1956 a tragedy struck our family: my younger sister Asia died from tuberculosis. She was only 30 years old. We buried Asia in the Jewish section of the Berkovets town cemetery in Kiev.

I finished college in 1959 and got a job assignment to work at a construction and assembly agency. I worked as a foreman, an expert in sanitary engineering, on construction sites in Kiev. I was involved in the construction of all the major facilities in Kiev: hotels, colleges, the buildings of the Verkhovna Rada [Ukrainian Parlament] and the Cabinet of Ministers. My management thought highly of me. I worked there 33 years and had nothing to complain about. I retired in 1992, but I keep in touch with my organization. Tamara didn't finish college - it happened so. She worked as a geodesist. My wife retired in 1990.

My wife and I didn't celebrate Jewish or Christian holidays. We always celebrated Soviet holidays: 1st May, 7th November [October Revolution Day] 32, Victory Day, Soviet Army Day 33, 8th March [International Women's Day], New Year's. We also celebrated birthdays. Our friends and relatives visited us. On Victory Day we went to the Grave of the Unknown Soldier. Veterans of the war got together there to share their memories. Children brought us flowers. On this day I always recall those who didn't live to see the victory, and of course, my brother Volko is the first whom I recall.

In 1960 we received our first apartment. It was a communal apartment 34 and we had several neighbors. In 1968 my wife and I received a separate apartment in Rusanovka, which was a new district in Kiev then. Now it is a well established district on the bank of the Dnieper. We have no children. My father lived with us. He died in 1973. He was buried in the Jewish section of the Berkovets cemetery in Kiev.

My niece Sophia, Esther's daughter, married Boris Lifshitz, a Jewish man. Her only daughter, Zhanna, was born in 1959. Sophia was a housewife. Her mother, my sister Esther, was severely ill and bedridden. Sophia tended to her. Her twin brother Herman worked at the pram factory after finishing school. He was married and had a daughter. Herman fell ill with anemia and died in 1986. His daughter finished the national Polytechnic University. She works as an engineer.

When Jews began to move to Israel in the 1970s, I didn't even consider departure. My wife is Russian, she wouldn't go and I couldn't leave her. But first of all, I was a patriot and I could have never left my motherland for good. I was confused about my friends and acquaintances who decided to leave their motherland. I couldn't understand how they brought themselves to leaving their country, though I understood that anti-Semitism was dispiriting and it was hard for people to endure it. I never faced anti- Semitism, but I knew it existed.

In 1979 Zhanna, Sophia's daughter and granddaughter of my sister Esther, left the country. Her parents stayed in Kiev. Sophia had to take care of Esther. We were against Zhanna's departure, but now I understand that she did the right thing. We correspond with her. Zhanna lives in New York. She is doing well. She is married and has two children: her daughter was born in 1992 and her son in 1997. My sister Esther died in 1990, Klara died in 1991. They were buried in the Jewish section of the Berkovets cemetery, near Esther's husband and my father's graves.

In 1976 I got an unexpected gift from life. Volko had left his scrapbook of poems with Esther before he went to the front. These poems were published in Yiddish in 1976; the book was entitled 'The Lyre'. Besides, this same year my brother's friend and co-student, Aron Vergelis, chief editor of the 'Sovyetishe Gaymland', published these poems in Yiddish in ten issues of the magazine. Vitaliy Zaslavskiy, a Ukrainian poet, translated almost all the poems by my brother into Russian. He published six volumes of Volko's poems in Russian. The most recent one, 'Premonition', was issued by the Kiev publishing house 'Rainbow' in 2001, shortly before Zaslavskiy's sudden death. Besides, Zaslavskiy sent Volko's poems to Israel. In 2003 Volko was awarded the Literature Award of Israel posthumously. They now prepare a volume of poems by my brother in Ivrit for publication.

When the general secretary of the Central Committee of the CPSU [Communist Party of the Soviet Union], Mikhail Gorbachev 35, started perestroika 36, it first seemed a turn to a better life to me. We were interested, but he didn't give us anything real. I thought Gorbachev made too many mistakes. They became fatal and led to the breakup of the USSR [Yeltsin in 1991 signed a deal with Russia's neighbors that formalized the break up of the Soviet Union. The USSR was replaced by the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS)]. They say Gorbachev gave us freedom. Yes, one can go out into the street and shout that the president is bad, but it will not change anything. Yelling, making noise and going to parades will not make anything happen. I think perestroika didn't give us anything, but took away our past, our life and, finally, the USSR. I believe, this was an American plot. Gorbachev followed directions; he didn't have his own opinion.

I've taken interest in the life in Israel since it was established. I've never been there. I've had many invitations, but I refused. I've only traveled to Leningrad, Moscow and the Crimea with my wife. I read about Israel though. The situation is very hard now. I think their Prime Minister, Sharon, conducts the right policy making no mistakes. There is no other way out. It's hard to fight with Arabs. They surrounded Israel on all sides. The Jewish nation struggles for survival. The nation has lived in this hostile environment for 2000 years. I believe Israel must win. And it will.

I retired in 1992, but I've still been working since. In 1993 I became deputy chairman of the organization of Kiev Jewish veterans of the war. I was elected secretary of the all-Ukrainian organization of veterans of the war in the Jewish Council of Ukraine. I am a member of the military commission in the Jewish Council of Ukraine. For eight years I've been a member of the council of the Kiev Jewish community, a representative of the Jewish Council of Ukraine in the Sohnut 37 and Joint 38, and a member of the Association of Jewish War Veterans in Kiev.

As for the Jewish life in Ukraine after the breakup of the USSR, I think there are more Jewish leaders in Kiev and Ukraine than there is a Jewish life. There are many Jewish centers: 10-15 make a Jewish center, but they don't want to unite for the sake of the common goal, but want to take command. Over ten Jewish newspapers are published in Kiev and more than 47 in Ukraine. And they compete with one another. I think there will never be a Jewish life in Ukraine because people live very different lives. Ukraine will never get out of this state: it's necessary to replace the political elite. The only Jewish organization really beneficial for the people is Hesed 39. Hesed helps old people by providing food and medications; they also celebrate birthdays in Hesed. It's very important for old people to know that they are remembered. There are often meetings with delegations. And of course, Kiev's Hesed supports Jewish organizations. We need to render justice to them - they accomplish a lot.

I am an atheist; the majority of Jews are atheists. I think that any religion is anti-scientific. An intelligent person who knows about history would never agree to believe all those fables about the existence of God. Every nation has a religion believing that it descends from God. But in reality, people do not believe in gods or idols, they believe in real life. Real life is what is important.

Glossary:

Lea Beraha
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Maiya Nikolova
Date of interview: August 2002

Mrs. Lea Beraha lives in an apartment of an apartment block situated in a nice quarter of Sofia. Her home is very well kept, clean and tidy. Mrs. Beraha is an extremely energetic person and very active both physically and mentally. She shows  natural inclination for dominating the conversation, as well as for a concrete statement of her ideas. In spite of her age, she continues to keep her body and mind fit. She is full of life, well informed and interested in everything happening around her.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My ancestors, both on my mother's and my father's side, are Sephardi Jews. After the persecutions of the Jews in Spain, they spread all over Europe [see Expulsion of the Jews from Spain] 1. I didn't know my grandparents as they died early. I only have vague memories of my paternal grandfather, Betzalel Delareya, and of my maternal one, Benjamin Mamon. I don't remember anything specific about their looks or their surroundings.

My father, Yako Delareya, born in 1885, was orphaned very young. My grandfather's second wife, Rashel Delareya, chased away all his children from his first marriage. She gave birth to three kids. My father told us that he used to clean the ships in Ruse for which he got a salary. One of his brothers was a peddler and the other one was a cutter-tailor in an underwear studio. One of his sisters was a worker and the other one a seller. I don't remember anything particular about them. They all left for Israel. We had hardly any contact with them. Now they are all gone. My father's kin is from Lom and Vidin, whereas my mother's is from Sofia.

I don't remember anything about my maternal grandparents. My mother, Rebecca Delareya, nee Mamon, was born in 1904. She had four sisters and four brothers. They all took care of each other. One of my mother's brothers owned a café and the other one was a clothes' seller. I only remember that one of them was called Solomon, but I don't know which one. Her sisters were housewives. They spoke mostly Ladino and Bulgarian. My mother's kin had a house on Slivnitsa Blvd. My mother's eldest brother inherited the property from his father and compensated his siblings financially.

Unfortunately I don't know how my father and my mother actually met. After the events of 1923 2, in which my father took part, he returned to Lom - I don't know where from - with my mother, whom he was already married to. They settled in the village of Vodniantsi. With his little savings my father bought a small shop - a grocery-haberdashery. My mother told me that they were quite well off at that time. Because of his active participation in the events of 1923, my father was arrested. Then some villagers robbed both the household and the grocery. All that my mother could save was an apron, which I inherited after she and my sister, Eliza Eshkenazi, nee Delareya, moved to Israel. This apron became a real treasure for our family.

When my father was arrested, my mother was eight months pregnant and my brother, Betzalel Delareya, born in 1921, was two years old. My father was sent from Vodniantsi to Lom, Belogradchik and Mihailovgrad. There the prisoners were forced to dig their own graves. The witnesses said that after the execution the grave 'boiled' like a dunghill piled up with half- dead bodies. Luckily my father was late for the execution. Some of the Vodniantsi villagers helped my mother with some food and alcohol. My mother took my brother and accompanied her husband, shackled in chains, and the two horsemen convoying him. They stopped quite often on the road using my mother's pregnancy as an excuse, though, actually, while having a rest, the two guards ate the food and drank the alcohol. Thus my mother helped them to be delayed and instead of arriving in Mihailovgrad in the evening - the grave was dug the whole night and the prisoners were shot and buried in the morning - they only arrived around 11am the next morning.

The policemen swore at my father and sent him to Vidin to put him on trial there. I have no idea how many years he was given but because of different amnesties he was released after two years from Baba Vida Fortress 3. When my mother went to visit him there, she passed my brother over the fence. The other prisoners held him and took from his clothes letters especially hidden there for them. At that time, while my father was in prison, my mother had a stillborn child. Then she began working as a servant cleaning other people's houses. She survived thanks to food charity and the little money she was given for the housework. Thus she was able to provide for my brother and bring food to my father in prison.

When my father was freed, the family first tried to stay at my grandfather's, as he had some kind of property and could shelter them, but my father's stepmother chased them away. Then they came to Sofia and settled on the grounds of the Arat tobacco factory. My father started working there as a courier, while my mother worked as a cleaner. By destiny's whim I later worked as a doctor in the very same tobacco factory for 14-15 years. While my mother was pregnant with me, she once fell down when carrying buckets full of coals. Therefore I was born with a trauma, moreover we both had a scar on the hip.

Growing up

Before the internment we used to live in Odrin Street where we had two rooms with a small kitchen. The conditions were still extremely miserable. Because of the constant arrests my father's status got worse and worse, and therefore every house we used to rent was poorer than the previous one. I have lived in places full of sweat and mould. We never had our own property. My father's income was very insufficient and every time we had to change our lodging to a poorer one at a lower rent. All these living estates were in the third region - the Jewish quarter in Slivnitsa Blvd., Odrin Street, Tri ushi Street, Morava Street. [What is called the third region today was the poorest quarter in Sofia when Lea was a child.]

My mother's family was more bound up with Jewish traditions than my father's. My mother and her elder brother valued the traditions very much. They were religious. My mother wasn't a fanatic, yet we observed Rosh Hashanah, Pesach and other holidays and traditions. When we had to keep the fast [on Yom Kippur], my mother did it for real, while my father only pretended to. We accompanied my mother to the synagogue and then my father brought us back telling us, 'Let's eat cakes now before your mother returns.' At that time we used to sell ice cream, which was prepared with egg-whites. My mother used to make the cakes from the yolks.

It was a tradition for the Mamons, my mother's family, to gather every Saturday evening at their eldest brother's place. There were only two rooms. Every Saturday evening they used to take the beds out, arranged the tables next to each other and gathered the whole kin. My uncle, as far as I remember that was Solomon, was the wealthiest of them. He was good-hearted and generous, though his wife controlled and restricted him. Once on Fruitas 4 he lied to his wife saying that he had had a dream in which God told him to give everyone 20 leva. So he lined us, the children, up in a queue. Each family had two to three children, so we were around 25 kids. We opened our bags and he gave each of us fruits and a 20 leva silver coin. It was such great joy for us, as we were very poor. I still have that coin, while my sister spent hers immediately. I was very angry with her for doing so.

The children of our family were on friendly terms with each other. We never quarreled. It's a pity that these traditions are gradually falling into oblivion in the Jewish community nowadays. Every Friday came Topuz Bozadjiata, the quarter's boza carrier, who was Armenian, and poured boza 5 into large vessels. He used to give the adults shots of mastika 6 as a bonus.

After the internment, when we came back impoverished and hungry, my mother's brother Solomon sheltered us in a building, next to the house he had inherited from our grandfather. A Bulgarian woman, a prostitute, lived next-door at that time. Only a small corridor separated us from the room where she used to accept men. We were just kids and that was my mother's worst nightmare.

There were five of us inhabiting one room. We slept in a plank-bed. There was a soldier's stretcher, in which my father was bedridden, lying sick after the labor camp, and where he actually died. The rest of us slept on the plank-bed. The toilet and the running water were in the yard. Our room was two meters long and three meters wide. We had a case, which served both as a kitchen cupboard and a wardrobe. I found a small table in the yard, left by some other family, and I fixed it so that I could study there.

I have a very embarrassing memory of that house. I attended evening classes at the time and my parents' work was extremely exhausting. Once I was studying mathematics by the light of a bedside lamp as I was going to have my term exams. My father warned me several times that no one could go asleep because of me. Finally he got so angry that he broke the lamp. I sheltered myself in the corridor, continuing my work by candlelight. Anyway, I managed. I was very ambitious.

My brother was six years older than me, whereas my sister Eliza was four years younger. They were both very clever, good-hearted and intelligent, yet they didn't show any particular desire to continue their education. My father practically beat my brother to make him study. My sister wasn't very inspired with the idea of a further education either. After our father's death in 1947 I begged her to stay in Bulgaria and take a degree. I was already working and I could provide for her. She didn't want to. She got married and went to Israel.

I was a lousy student till the 4th grade of elementary school. I almost failed. It was thanks to the birth of Simeon II [see Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Simeon] 7 that I was able to pass from the 3rd to the 4th grade. [Editor's note: On the occasion of the birth of Simeon II, son of the tsar, heir to the crown, all students in Bulgaria got excellent marks at the end of the school year.] I studied in the Jewish junior high school till the 3rd grade. We studied the usual subjects plus Jewish history. We studied everything in Bulgarian. Only the Torah did we read and write in Hebrew, and we also had Hebrew as a separate school subject.

All teachers loved us very much. There was only one teacher, who hated the poor children. She used to call us 'lousy kids'. Her daughter was in our class. That teacher used to tell us, 'My daughter will become somebody, whereas you will always be nothing but servants.' Years passed, I had already become a doctor, when I met her daughter in Israel and she complained that she was very badly off.

The education in this school was excellent; I took a turn for the better and became an advanced student very quickly. I didn't have any special talents, yet I achieved everything through enormous efforts, constant visits to the library and sleepless nights. I don't remember anything special about my classmates. I was quite ambitious and the informal leader of the class, so to speak.

When I finished the 3rd grade, I cried a lot that I couldn't go any further. In order to calm me, my brother, who was already working as an apprentice in a shoe shop, bought me a watch on the occasion of my successful graduation. I still remember the trademark - 'Novolis'. I held it in my hand and stared at it all night long. On the third day of my vacation my mother took me to the atelier of the tailor Zvancharova. She and Pelagia Vidinska were popular tailors in Sofia with big private studios. Zvancharova hired me as an apprentice at a very low wage. I was begging to be allowed to deliver clothes to houses because of the tips. I decided that I would be able to provide for myself and enrolled in the Maria Louisa secondary school for tailors. It was right opposite the Law Courts. I was expelled already in the second week, as I couldn't pay my tuition. I remained a simple tailor.

In the 1st grade of the Jewish junior high school I became a member of Hashomer Hatzair 8. Hashomer Hatzair aimed at the establishment of socialism in Israel. It was a 'progressive' organization with a strong national aspect. I organized a very big company there. We often visited the Aura community center on Opalchenska and Klementina Streets, which was regularly attended by Jews and 'progressive' Bulgarians. [Lea tends to call people with left-wing political convictions progressive. This expression was quite common in socialist times.] Mois Autiel noticed us there. We didn't know then that he was the UYW 9 responsible for our sector. Mois was making propaganda for this organization, which was different from Hashomer Hatzair but which had the same goal, the establishment of the socialist order. Our class was divided into two groups, 15 people each, both supporters of the UYW. Anyway, only two or three people - including me - were selected to become UYW members. Mois was the person in charge of our group. I became a member of the UYW on 5th May 1942, right after I finished the 3rd grade of the Jewish junior high school.

During the war

My future husband, Leon Beraha, was redirected to our group as a more experienced UYW member. At the age of 15 I carried out my first action with him, and at 16 we decided to be a couple. For three or four years we were only holding hands. In Iuchbunar 10 there was a conspiracy, a traitor within our organization and a lot of members were imprisoned. My future husband was also arrested. He simulated that he was an imbecile, he was released as an underdeveloped person and was acquitted for lack of evidence.

His second arrest was a more serious one. In fascist times [in the late 1930s - early 1940s] he worked as an electrician. At that time the newspapers wrote about the Totleben conspiracy. The gang of Totleben bandits was raging, etc. My husband and his brother electrified a hospital. In an outhouse behind that hospital they hid two outlaws. Actually the conspiracy was called this way because the hospital was on Totleben Street in Sofia. During a police action a shooting started. Anyway, the authorities never proved that it was my husband who had shot. Yet, all this resulted in his internment to the forced labor camp 11 in Dupnitsa. They dug trenches there. By a 'happy' coincidence my family was also interned to Dupnitsa.

I took part in the protest on 24th May 1943 12 against the internment of Jews. Now they don't admit that the protest was under the leadership of the Communist Party, but we took part in it and we did and do know who led us. Heading the group were the communist leaders of Hashomer Hatzair - Vulka Goranova, Beti Danon - and our rabbi who wasn't a communist but he was a 'progressive' and conscientious man. The smallest children were also walking in front. We, the older ones, were carrying posters and chanting slogans. We had almost reached the Geshev pharmacy between Strandja and Father Paissiy Streets, where horsemen and legionaries [see Bulgarian Legions] 13 were waiting for us, when a big fight started.

They beat us up badly. We hid in the yards like ants. I lost my father and my little sister. I hid in the yard of an aunt of mine, though I held my peace because I didn't want her to be harmed in case of an eventual arrest. My father and my sister went home. When my father saw that I hadn't come home, he went out to search for me. I was two crossings away from home and I saw how they arrested him. I didn't dare to shout out because if they had arrested me too, there wouldn't have been anyone left to take care of my mother and the family. From the police station they took him straight to Somovit labor camp. They interned him without clothes, without food...

When he came back, he told us horrible things. Their daily food ration was 50 grams of bread only. A compatriot of ours, a Zionist and very hostile to 'progressive' people, slandered my father on being a communist. As a result the portions of my father and some other people were shortened to the minimum. My father used to dig in the garbage for scraps of food. He ate potato peels. He was set free at the time of the Bagrianov government. [This government was in office between 1 June - 2 September 1944.] He looked like death warmed up. He didn't even have enough energy to climb the stairs and was shouting from below. My mother and I carried him to the first floor. That was already in Sofia, after the internment.

When I was interned to Dupnitsa with my mother and sister, my brother was already in a labor camp. We had no contact with him whatsoever. We only knew that he was somewhere around Simitli. We didn't receive any letters. We were worried because he had a duodenal ulcer. He told us later that trains carrying Jews from Aegean Thrace and Macedonia to the concentration camps passed by them. Once they heard from a horse wagon people begging for water. My brother and some others jumped up with their cups, but the warders beat them up badly. Finally they poured cold water on him, in order to bring him back to consciousness. Nevertheless, they made him work after that. He was set free on 9th September 1944 14, like all the others.

Although the state policy was pro-fascist, generally there wasn't an anti- Semitic mood among the Bulgarian people. On the contrary, I have a very positive memory. When the internment announcement came, we immediately took out everything for sale because we didn't have any money. My father was in Somovit, my brother was in a labor camp. I was alone, only with my mother and my sister. At that time I had already started working. With my first salary I had bought a wallet as a present for my brother and a beautiful water pitcher for the whole family. We sold those as well. People gathered. A man liked the pitcher and bought it. When I handed it to him, I began to cry. When he realized that it had been bought with my first salary, he told me to keep both the money and the pitcher. Naturally I gave it to him, as we couldn't take it with us during the internment. Yet his gesture moved me deeply. The money we succeeded to collect only lasted us a very short time.

In Dupnitsa they took us in a convoy from the railway station to the school gym. We were more than a hundred people, and they separated us in families. I found a job in the candy factory. I stole sweets for my friends in the labor camps. Then we moved to some rich Jews, who accepted us under the condition that I worked as a maid for them. They had three boys aged one to two, three to four, and five to six years. I used to work there so much that my child-like hands became completely rough. My mother was already advanced in years, she was constantly ill and wasn't able to work. I was the breadwinner.

My sister was crying for food all the time. The landlords were well-to-do traders in Dupnitsa. They imported curds, butter, etc. as black marketers. My sister cried because she also wanted such things. My mother and I used to 'gag' her and hid her in the little square behind the door, which the rich Jewess had given to us. In this one square meter space we put the sack, the blankets and the clothes that we had brought from Sofia. We used to lie down crosswise like in a sty. The mattress was too short and our bare feet touched the floor.

Post-war

We returned from Dupnitsa to Sofia after the fall of fascism [after the communist takeover on 9th September 1944]. From 9th September 1944 till 1945-46 we lived in the house my mother's brother had on Slivnitsa Blvd.

After 9th September 1944 everything changed. First, there was a great tragedy - my father was ill. The misery was beyond description. Yet, the Jewish community established a tailor's cooperative named Liberation. I began to work there. I attached sleeves using a sewing machine. I also attended high school evening classes. I studied from 6 to 10 in the evening. From 10pm to 7am I worked - I only took night shifts. The cooperative was in the bazaar opposite the Law Courts and I used to walk to Odrin and Positano Streets, where we lived. We often changed our address and everywhere we lived under terrible conditions; the whole family in one room.

By 1947 I was alone. My future husband was a student in the USSR. My father died in my arms. My sister Eliza got married and left for Israel. In the beginning their family was quite badly off. Her husband used to work in a garage. Later the owner, who was childless, adopted him. Now my nephew, their son, owns the garage. My sister was a housewife all her life. My brother Betzalel and his family followed my sister at my mother's request. She wanted him to go there and help my sister. He was a stevedore in Jaffa. His work was physically very hard - he pulled boats to the riverside. As a result of this he fell seriously ill and died in 1966.

In 1949 my mother also left for Israel. It was very hard for me. In order to escape from loneliness, I took part in two consecutive brigades 15. There I fell and broke my hand. I was falsely diagnosed with bone tuberculosis. Later it turned out that I had simple sciatica. From one sanatorium to another I finally reached the Workers' Academy 16 in Varna, where I finished my high school education. There I was put into a plaster cast and during the whole year they took me to exams on a stretcher. I gained a lot of weight and weighed some 90 kilos as a result of total immobilization. I was lucky that my husband visited me. I told him that I didn't intend to marry him because of my illness. Upon his return to Moscow my husband took my tests to the Institute for Bone and Joint Tuberculosis. The professor there concluded that I have no tuberculosis whatsoever. According to him it was more likely to be rheumatism or something of that kind. And above all he recommended that I should start moving. I stood up and fell immediately.

My wonderful, loving mother-in-law realized that I was suffering and came to see me. I lived with her for two years, before marring my husband. We lived in one room - my father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my husband's brother and his wife. We lived very well. My mother-in-law was an extraordinary woman. She still wouldn't believe that I had tuberculosis. She used to hide good food from the others. She took me out into the yard behind the house and made a huge effort to persuade me that I had to eat for the sake of my husband, who was so good-hearted and whom I loved. I loved her very much and later took care of her. She also died in my arms.

I graduated in medicine and worked for five years in the hospital in Pernik. I became a chief of the professional diseases' sector. I traveled around the mines. In 1964 I came to Sofia with my husband. First I worked in the hospital at the Ministry of the Interior. Then I applied for a job in the 4th city hospital. Out of 35 requests, only mine was accepted. I worked under the hardest system. I was in charge of seven beds in the hospital till 11am, then I was in the polyclinics until 1pm, in the tobacco factory until 2pm and finally I had house-calls. In addition I was working on my specialty degree and meanwhile I had already given birth to a child, my daughter Irina [Santurdjiyan, nee Beraha, born in 1966]. In Pernik and in Sofia we lived in lodgings. In Sofia we first lived in a small room in Lozenets quarter. Later we moved to our current apartment.

My husband came back from the USSR in 1952, after graduating in mine engineering. We married on a Sunday. On Monday he 'disappeared' - he was appointed at the mine in Pernik and got very busy. My husband was extremely modest, industrious and honest. He climbed the career ladder all by himself, without any intercessions. The newspapers wrote about him. I have a large file of press clippings. First he worked as a mining engineer in Pernik, then he was advanced to the post of mine director. Then he was in charge of the industry in Pernik - the Crystal Plant, the mines, the Lenin State Metallurgy Plant, the Cement Plant, etc. As a next step, he was promoted to a job at the Council of Ministers because they needed someone who was simultaneously a mining engineer and an economist.

In 1966 Stanko Todorov 17 decided to send him to Italy because meanwhile my husband had graduated from the diplomats' school in the USSR. He also worked for the Council for Mutual Economical Support [the economic organization of the former socialist countries] as well as for UNESCO. He was regularly sent to its head office in Geneva. My husband was the ideal example that in communist times there wasn't any anti-Semitism in Bulgaria. As he was a diplomat for 28 years and traveled a lot, I used to accompany him. In Italy he was the Bulgarian embassy's first secretary. In Angola he was a minister plenipotentiary, and in Cambodia ambassador. Finally, when he got very ill, he was sent to Geneva to defend Bulgaria with regard to the Revival Process 18.

At that time Bulgaria still wasn't a UNO member. It was only a candidate. In Geneva there were moods for excluding the country from the group of the UNO candidates for membership because of the forced name change of the Bulgarian Turks, which was carried out at that time. My husband gave a speech on this topic that was loudly applauded and Bulgaria wasn't excluded from the group. When my husband came home, he told me that he had held a very strong trump in his hands - his passport, where it was written that he was a Jew. He was ready to take it out of his pocket at any moment and ask them how could the non-Bulgarians possibly be oppressed, if there was written proof in the official documents of a Bulgarian diplomat that his nationality was Jewish. Principally my husband didn't approve with the name change of the Bulgarian Turks, but in that case he had to defend Bulgaria before the whole world. The nation wasn't supposed to suffer because of the mistakes of a few people. My husband died of cancer shortly after the Geneva conference.

I have visited my relatives in Israel more than ten times. It was only difficult in the first years because then even letters weren't allowed. [Editor's note: Visiting Israel was not a problem for Lea's family, as they were quite high-standing in the hierarchy of the Bulgarian society of the time.] I was among the first people who visited Israel. I wasn't able to 'warn' my relatives about my arrival. They were at the cinema when it was announced that Jews from Bulgaria had arrived at the airport. They heard my name and immediately rushed to meet me. My mother hadn't seen me for seven years and she fainted at the airport.

Regarding the Israeli wars, I am definitely on Israel's side. At first I was more inclined to understand the Arabs, but it is no longer like that. I think they are intolerant in terms of politics and reaching of agreements. Maybe it's simply that a new leader should come and replace Arafat. It's a pity that young people from both sides die or become disabled for life.

My daughter Lora graduated from the College for Dental Mechanics. She is married to an Armenian and has a little daughter, Lora Edmond. She doesn't identify herself as a Jew and doesn't observe the traditions. She isn't affiliated with the Jewish community. I myself am a complete atheist, yet I buy matzah for Pesach and prepare burlikus 19. I visit the synagogue on Yom Kippur, but just to join our community. I don't pray there, I'm just very sensitive when it comes to the Jewish community.

I was the person in charge of the Health club at the Jewish community in the 1990s. I receive a monthly financial support of 20 leva. In winter they also give us some money for heating. If it wasn't for Joint 20, I would have become a beggar-doctor.

Glossary

Dezso Deutsch
Budapest
Hungary
Interviewer: Dora Sardi and Eszter Andor

My family background
Growing up
School years
During the war
Post-war

My family background

My paternal grandparents were born in Hungary around the 1850s. My grandfather’s name was David Deutsch. I do not know my grandmother’s name;  I never met  her. She died young, in childbirth. Grandfather David died in 1936 at home, in Bakonytamasi, where he . He had been living there all along. One of my father’s grandfathers fought in Kossuth’s army [in the 1848 Hungarian War of Independence]. That Which means that, beside having a strong Jewish identity, he believed and considered himself a Hungarian.

I do not have real living memories of my father’s brothers and sisters. It is because I did not visited them very often. I know about one of his sisters of his, who . This sister helped her father run their store. She wagsot married, and her son and daughters who managed to survive the war, tnow hey all live abroad. My father had a brother, too, who moved to Ujpest and had a shoe store. He did not survive the Holocaust, either. Many of my relatives live abroad.

My mother’s parents lived in Tet, near Gyor. Tet was quite a big village. There was a  rabbi;, who lived there, there was everything a Jewish community needed. T, there was an Orthodox and a Neolog branch, too. There was a shochet, as well. The proper religious Jews devoted their lives completely to their being Jewish, to business and to the family.

Grandfather’s name was Bernat Sauer, grandmother’s Lina. She must have been born in the 1860s. My grandparents had a store which was then called the haberdasher’s. They traded with all kinds of clothing and sold fabrics too. The store was on the Main Street, near the Main Square, in the city. It was named the Sauer Haberdashery. They had a big family house. I do not know how many rooms exactly, but four is for sure. They needed it too as the family was a big one. And the store was in the same building only it opened onto the street.

They [my grandparents] occupied themselves with two things: business and synagogue. They had their own seats in the synagogue. Grandfather had some kind of position in the Jewish community, I am not sure what it was exactly but he was a member of some committee and  probably even  the president of that board. Grandfather would go to synagogue twice a day. He prayed with the prayer shawl and leined [the reading of the Torah] tefilin [phylacteries]. Almost like an Orthodox of the strictest kind. He wore ordinary dark gray suits [not a caftan]. He had  little payot, which he tucked behind his ears. He did not have a beard but his head was always covered – he wore a hat even when at home. Grandmother naturally wore a wig and in the house she wore a kerchief on her head. Grandmother partly ran the house, partly worked in the store. But as a matter of course, there was a house maid as well.

It was mostly at summertime that we would visit them, but not too much of that either. I was not too enthusiastic about the [maternal] grandparents and was not very keen on visiting them anyhow. We, the young generation had a little more modern way of  life and thinking, in the school too, and we were raised without being compelled to wear caps, and I had a moderate hairstyle too. I was about 13 or 14 and had a hairstyle when I went to visit my grandparents and the first thing they did was to have my hair cut saying that one could not appear before the rabbi like that. And there they would see to it that we wore something [hat or kipa] on our heads all the time.

My mother had five brothers and sisters, two of them my mother’s elders. There was Kari  [Karoly], then Aunt Riza, Aunt Sari, Naci, Uncle Dezso and my mother. My mother as well as the other children received the same [strictly Jewish] education. We were really and truly religious yet everyone of us spoke Hungarian but of course we all had an excellent command of Yiddish as well, and sometimes we switched over to that language.

The young ones worked for the [family] business for a while, then each went on their way. Some  moved  to Paks, others to other places. Some opened a store of their own. Each had some kind of a store but none of them dealt with foods. Sari had a leather goods store. All of them got married. Aunt Sari had two children, both of them girls, Aunt Lisa had two as well, one of them, Shmule lives in Israel: he emigrated as a young lad in 1939 and took part in the wars of  liberation too. He established a family in Israel. Dezso had three children – two girls and one boy, the latter died during the war.  He [Uncle Dezso] also had some kind of a store. Uncle Naci became director to a store that belonged to a big mining company, he sold [mining] tools and accessories. I do not know where it was: he became a little estranged from the family. He too had a family, wife and children as well. Karoly had married already before the war and they all died, they were all taken to Auschwitz along with the grandparents. Karoly alone came back home and here he remarried, established a new family then went to Israel and died.

My father’s name was Mor Deutsch. He was born in 1882 in Bakonytamasi  but of course he did not live there. My mother, Iren Sauer, was born in Tet in 1887. My father actually completed his elementary studies only, then, I think, he went to Vienna where he worked and learnt the language. First he married a very religious woman from Papa. It was an arranged marriage. Unfortunately she died in childbirth, but the child, Zoltan, survived. My father remarried, there was a young lady recommended to him – as was the custom of those days – and he married her. The little boy was less then a year old when he came into the custody of my mother. To me Zoltan was as if he had been my own brother and as far as I remember I only came to know later that he was not full kin to us. Later he came to live in Celldomolk where he opened a small store which in time grew bigger and bigger.

Growing up

[In Celldomolk] the majority of the Jews settled in the core of the town but not in separation. There was no ghetto, but the Jews lived close to each other, not in one single street, but in a few streets within one neighborhood. Our next door neighbor on the right was Christian as well as the one on the left side. But we had a good relationship. The Jews mostly made friends with Jews but we maintained good connections with the others as well, partly on account of the business. In Celldomolk there was an Orthodox and a Neolog community. The two communities were not on good terms with each other at all. They spectacularly neglected each other. The two schools fought and eventually the Orthodox community took over the school where pupils from Neolog families could come as well, however there were Neolog families who sent their children to some other school. Nevertheless, friendly private connections did exist between Orthodox and Neolog people.

Our store was in the center of Celldomolk, and I think it was the best store in Celldomolk. It offered everything except for food, that is, fabrics, haberdashery, shoes. It belonged mostly to the family as we were four of us brothers and two sisters and my mother was an excellent business woman. She also worked there part time but there were employees too. Generally eight or nine people were employed, mostly Jews.

In the store there was everything on stock: carpets, fabrics, silk. The store was in a one-storey house but it was a long building. It consisted of several departments. There was the textile department, the department of accessories, then shoe department. Later, after having finished school, I became the director of the shoe department. My father bought the goods mostly in Budapest, but there were wholesalers in Papa, or in Szombathely. Partly he himself traveled, and later we also went up to Budapest to get stuff, partly the big firms had their agents who toured the country with the collection and one could order from them.

My parents worked very hard. A holiday was out of the question for them and we were there to help them. There was nothing like going on holidays like people do today, only at times of religious celebrations would they close the store. The family never had their lunch together except for religious festivals. No such thing as lunchtime existed at work: we would go and get our meals one after another in the flat at the rear end of the house. Evening dinners were more like family gatherings because by that time the store was already closed. In those days business was very important for Jewish families. When opening hours were regulated by law, the store was open from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. But in the wintertime, when Sabbath was over,  my father would go and open the store even on Saturdays. That’s when the new week came in early and he would go and open the store at around 5 for an extra hour or so. There was a steady system of credits. We had lots of customers who worked for monthly salaries and came regularly to us and were indebted to us and many would purchase goods on credit. There were some who would pay only a part of their debts, and accounts had to be kept for them. At the same time we ourselves purchased goods on credit. This was a widely accepted custom.

My mother did not have to struggle too much with household chores as she herself worked in the store. She would not go out shopping too often. At the time of weekly fairs we had so many customers, it would have been impossible for my mother to go to the market.  It was always the housemaid who went [to market]. She was the one who cooked, she knew what to buy. But she went to kosher places only – she was not allowed to go anyplace else. But our customers often brought us presents, like fruits or vegetables. It was an absolute necessity for us to have a housemaid who was capable enough and would keep an eye on everything because most of the time my mother was busy with the store. And that stood for my grandparents too. Because  my grandmother was also busy with the store. Women had their very important, decisive role in the business. The housemaid was a real family member for us. She would help with everything, she learnt how to keep kosher and was verily like a grandmother. She lived with us – there was a place fixed for her next to the kitchen but she never ate with us – she had her meals in the kitchen. 

My mother also had a beautiful wig. Every day someone came to comb it. They put the wig on for her and so she was ready to start the day. Ladies wore only long sleeves even in summer and the tops were long too, as well as their skirts, but they looked very attractive all the time. My mother’s deepest concern was to raise us in the manner that we become good Jews, but she accepted that times were changing and she considered, for example, that maybe it was not so very necessary for us, boys to wear caps all the time, though it is also true that  in spite of our conduct  which was a bit closer to modern ways, we still remained very much Orthodox. We did not really digress from religion, just handled certain things in a different way. In fact the Jewry of the time had two main concerns: the great fair and the religious holidays. Those were the events we were always preparing for. Of course we young people frequented cafes, we were allowed to go to the dancing school when I was 18-19-20 years old. I and my brothers and sisters were absolutely Orthodox, but not that old fashioned. Well, my mother was not so happy about it, but what could she do? A typical reaction of hers was when I received my call up to the army, in her first shock she asked:  “yeah, but what about your meals?”

My parents were not particularly educated, and we did not have too much money, so we did not buy too many books. They would rather read books on Jewish matters if  they read books at all.  
We subscribed to the paper Egyenloseg [Equality] and to the Pesti Naplo [Pest Diary] which was the best paper of its time, a daily. Then there was the Miriam [prayer book for women], which was in Hungarian. My mother, however, read Hebrew beautifully too, only she did not understand what she was reading, so she would rather read the ladies’ prayer book in Hungarian.

During the first world war my father served  in the Italian front from 1917 to 1918. He came back when the war was over. He received a decoration  and I remember that he brought his pistol home, which he kept hidden somewhere. And at home he was a Jew and a Hungarian at the same time. And as being a member of the Alliance of Front Warriors decorated with an award of war merit,  he was convinced he would never suffer any harm from the Hungarians,  then see what happened.

Where I was born that was a smaller house and the store was in a separate building. Then later we had a pretty big house with a big yard and the store in the front and the family lived in the rear tract. We had four rooms which we needed too because I had two sisters and three brothers. My eldest brother was Zoltan. He, just like everyone of us, worked in the store, then in 1937 or 38 he became self-employed and moved to Dobrogkoz. That’s where he married and he went on working there. He had one child. He always observed his religion very strictly. Then there was Jeno. He was born in 1911. He too started working in the store and never left. Then he got married and two children were born to them. The elder must have been about three and a half when he was deported to Auschwitz, the other one less then six months old. Jeno was drafted into forced labor and died a few weeks before the end of the war in Mauthausen. Nandor was with him all along. The next brother is Nandor. He too worked in the family store, got married, was deported and his wife and little daughter perished. He alone came back from Mauthausen. Then I came in 1918, then my sister, Rozsi who was born in 1921. That time it was the custom that children had to help in the store. But she finished her studies too. She was a beautiful, intelligent girl. Unfortunately in 1943 she got married. My father strongly objected. not because of the boy but he said “You have four brothers and if one of them is unable to attend the wedding ceremony, you should not get married.” But she did and that was her bad luck. She too was deported and when her hairs were shaved the doctor noticed that she was pregnant and immediately she was sent to the gas, though she had been selected for work because she was strong and healthy, she could have survived the camp. My youngest sister, Margit,  was born in 1928. She was 12 when I left, a beautiful one, still in school. She was 16 when she was deported. She was also killed.

School years

I went to the Jewish elementary school which was a school of six grades. It was run by the Orthodox community. Here everybody was Jewish and as far as I remember there were Orthodox students wearing payot, but that was the only difference between them and us, we were all equally religious. We did not wear payot. Everybody spoke Hungarian, but the schoolteacher spoke Jewish [Yiddish] occasionally. We understood both.

When I finished elementary school I wanted to go to middle school. At first my mother strongly objected and said I did not need it and why should I go to a totally secular school. Eventually I went to the middle school in Celldomolk which was said to be a very good school. My mother consented to it on condition that I was not going to do any writing on Saturdays. The director was a decent man so it was I alone in the whole school who got the permission to be exempted from  writing. [On Sundays]. I would not even bring my schoolbag to school  – everything I needed I packed on Fridays, I left them in my desk and on Saturdays I would just be sitting and listening all day. In the school there were some Jews, they were Neolog, not religious. I had Christian classmates, but neither from them nor from the part of the teachers ever came anything [anti-Semitic remarks] because there was this director, a very strict and firm person but very nice and honest at the same time. My favorite subjects were arithmetic and geometric. I was the best student in my class. I also liked German, because I knew Yiddish so I was good at it too. I did not have to attend religious education. When the class started I would just go home, when it ended, I walked  back. During my school years I played football, I was member of a team. Later we played these games, mostly table tennis, and teams were set up by Catholic, Lutheran and Jewish societies.

From my first grade on I attended another school too, where I studied Jewish subjects. It was not a proper yeshiva, it was a kind of pre-yeshiva. It was run by the Orthodox community and we were about the ten of us students there. We studied Humesh [the five books of  Moses], Rashi [commentaries to the Talmud written by Rashi], Gemore  [Gemara, part of the Talmud which interprets and explains the Mishna which preceded it], as well as Tosefot [critical and analytical glossaries attached to the Mishna and the Gemara]. The classes had their special choreography. There  was a copy of the Talmud and we would read out from it, then the bocher [yeshiva student] explained it, then we discussed it  and gave the explanation of the different stories and we were supposed to understand the different points of view of the sages. We translated everything into Yiddish. Then sometimes we discussed the same thing in Hungarian. The discussion was in Hungarian. There was no homework but a so-called review or report on Sundays. It was conducted by the rabbi and he asked questions on the subjects we had covered  the previous week  It was not a proper exam but rather a discussion of the material we had studied the previous week. He would ask questions and he would add his own explanation to the given question. I liked going to this place but it was quite stressful because I would come home from school, have my lunch and by two o’clock I had to be there. I generally studied until six and I had to do my homework in the evening [for the middle school.]

Friday evenings and festival nights in general were decisive in the life of the family. [On Fridays] we would go to the synagogue with my brothers and sisters. Women would stay at home because they prepared the dinner with the help of the housemaid, of course, who was naturally a Gentile. She would serve the Friday meal and she would fetch the Saturday dish from the baker’s. [After worship] there came the Friday dinner. According to the tradition  my father blessed the boys one after the other, every week, which was such an uplifting feeling. [For dinner] we often had  stuffed fish, also soup and chicken stew. After dinner there was zmirot [psalms], singing. Then on Saturday mornings we would go to the synagogue. Then we would have lunch. 

Of course all Jewish tradition was strictly observed in the family. I have a very vivid memory of an event. One Saturday morning I was out in the yard when someone knocked on the door and one of our regular customers stood in the door with her sobbing daughter. As it turned out the daughter was to have her wedding the next day and her shoes which they had bought in our store were too small for her. So the mother said, “Please, Mr Dezso, I know that this is a holiday for you, but please, do me a favor and let me exchange these shoes. I am not even going in, you just hand it out”. Well, I did not have the heart to refuse her, I went in and brought a pair one size bigger which meant I did not have to touch money at all or anything, and just when I was handing over the shoes my father came. He saw me coming out of the store with a parcel in my hand, on a Saturday, and the lady started to explain that she was responsible, she was the one who asked me to do it and the like. My father did not say a word, he just simply went into the house. But when the customers were gone, he started to shout at the top of his voice. He actually hollered and declared that as long as he lived and the store belonged to him, nobody in that house would ever be allowed to work on Saturdays. In short he was always aware of what was the most important thing at a given moment: business, synagogue, family.

All holidays were strictly observed. The store was closed, we celebrated the holiday and went to worship. The most distinguished holiday was Pesach because that is one of our most important holidays starting with the Seder night. On Seder night we went to the synagogue, then we held the Seder which could go on until as late as half past eleven. There was a rich Seder plate, with  naturally charoses [a mixture of ground nuts, apple, wine and cinnamon] on it, along with bitter herbs and eggs and there was salty water on the table. It was my father who held the Seder, he explained everything. I, as the youngest boy read the Haggadah out. Everything [all utensils] were kept apart for Seder. In this period nothing was used from what we used normally, everything had been carried up to the attic. On the day before there was the process of doing hometz [the removal of all leavened products from the house] which lasted for one day. I did not take part in that, it was done by my mother and the maid. Whenever we were given any new clothing as children, it came for Pesach.

Then there was Succoth. Outside the entrance to the house we had a kind of fenced arbor. In the summertime one could sit there then in the afternoon my father and his friends played cards there. Then at the time of the Succoth it was very easy to prepare the tent, and everyone would eat there during the holidays. We had of course lulav [palm tree branch], and etrog [a kind of lime fruit]  in the house and we would be sitting out under the tent and read the Kohelet [Ecclesiastes; one of the five scrolls] and other things. My father would explain things and we also told what we were taught about those things at school. At Chanukah candles were lit in the synagogue, every day, as it came, one after the other. My mother would light them at home too and she told the blessing on it each evening, along with the girls. We, children would play, played with the spinning top. At Purim it sometimes happened that some kind of a role-play was staged in the school. They would animate the story of Esther, they would put on costumes, learned the roles and perform  the play. We would prepare presents, some cookies. Everyone would bake some, send it to their friends and close acquaintances and of course would get a lot in turn. There were some students with us who lived in the countryside but wanted to go to some Jewish school and so they came to live in Celldomolk and “eat days” [i.e. they would go and have their lunch with different Jewish families each day]. My mother regularly received such students then at each holiday we would be given huge parcels from the parents of these children.

During the war

I finished the middle school in 1938. Then I started to work in the store. At first [my duty was] selling goods, keeping the place tidy, then later on I did the purchase along with my father. We had a separate shoe department which was not a common thing those days and I became assigned to direct that department. My father would never stay behind the counter. There was a strict counter-system those days. My father would stay in the customers’ area while I stood behind the counter. I worked in the store until 1940.

In the middle of 1940 I received my call up letter from the army. I registered as a regular soldier and did not know that that could be the beginning of something. We were taken to Koszeg where after two sessions of training we were rounded up and told that we weren’t trustworthy enough to defend the country so we would serve as laborers. An indeed this was the first forced labor division, so we became the first Jewish forced laborers. We worked in Koszeg for a while, then at road constructions, trenching and unloading train carriages. There was also some agricultural work. It was all quite hard but we were all young and strong. From time to time we were allowed to send a postcard home but were not given any leave. From places all over the country Jews who were liable to military service had been directed to Koszeg, so two divisions were set up. We were told that we were expected to follow absolute discipline and the slightest breach of discipline would be sanctioned. There came 1942, the two years almost passed [the duration of compulsory military service] when in the summer of that year we were instructed to write a postcard home and say that we wanted them to send us all the necessary clothing for march as well as for cold weather because we were not entitled to be given any clothing any more. They packed us into a train and that was when a very typical scene occurred. The trains that carried the soldiers of the Hungarian Army to the front were finely decorated with flowers. When we arrived at the railway station a train beautifully prepared like that was standing there. When our commander caught sight of it, he ordered that all flowers should immediately be removed because we were only Jews and not Hungarians defending their country.

We traveled almost one week by that train. Food was not distributed too often and when we stopped we were already on the territory of Ukraine. Then came the march on foot. We were informed that we were going to cover more than 1,000 km in cavalry march – which meant 30 km per day and there would not be any rest only after having walked 15 km – so we’d better throw away all luggage that was not absolutely necessary, like canned food, and so on. The march lasted for more than a month and not once did we sleep under a roof. During the march we were given food too, I won’t say that it was sufficient and delicious but some kind of catering it surely was. And the weather was not that bad, as it was the summer period. Then we arrived at the river Don where we got accommodated in nasty tents and the trench digging and tank trap setting started. It was an absolutely senseless work to do and in the meanwhile fall, then the merciless wintertime and the frontline was approaching. Until fall we had been having a relatively nice commander who had no ill intentions. But when it dawned on him that the front was rapidly approaching and it would be impossible to defend ourselves, he asked for a leave and never came back. He was replaced by another one who was ruthless and a sadist and we were falling like flies.

I got hit in November and to my great luck I was taken to a hospital where the Hungarian soldiers got treatment, but the Jews were just thrown into the basement without beds or anything. The doctor would come down once a day but did nothing  -- Jews were not supposed to get medicament or bandage. We were given some kind of food and when I was already recovering I started to help those around me. One day the First Lieutenant Surgeon came downstairs to visit and he was accompanied by a girl. After the doctor had left she hurried up to me and asked “Mr. Deutsch, don’t you recognize me? I used to be a regular customer of your store in Cell[domolk], see these shoes, I bought them in your store. I am not in the position to help but I will try to keep an eye on you.” Days were passing and all of a sudden she comes and whispers in my ears that the next day everyone capable of walking would be sent back to the front, because the hospital was too crowded and I’d better figure out something. So the next day the First Lieutenant duly came and told us that we should be on our way. I told him I had just been written to my unit and asked for my clothes that I left behind when I was taken to the hospital and if I were to get back right now, I would just outright miss my baggage, and it was minus 30 degrees Celsius there and I was sure to freeze to death right away. He was a decent guy so he took me off the list and said that I should go by the next transport. And a few days later he even managed to organize me as a help-all in the basement, along with another guy. We had to bring the food, carry out the dead, look after  everybody and the like. So I got access to the kitchen where I was sometimes given an extra portion and that way I could share my regular portion with the other people downstairs.

That was going on like that for a while and one morning we woke up to realize that the hospital was empty. Food and all equipment lying around, the whole building deserted. While the Russians attacked, the Hungarians fled and no one cared about us, we were just left behind. For a few days we did not really know what had happened, then the Russians came and told that we were prisoners of war. For a short period of time we stayed on, then we were transported to camps. We went by train as far as the Eastern borders of Russia. It was already summertime by the time we arrived at our destination, the summer of 1943. Here I stayed for five years. Our job was the felling of trees. It was extremely cold, the rule was that we went to work only when the  temperature was above minus 40 degrees Celsius. If it fell under 40 degrees we would be given a day off. Boarding was all right and all those who reached these camps  starting off from the road construction in Hungary, all of us survived. Here one did not have to die any more.

Post-war

In 1947 those who were not fit for work because of their health were sent home – regardless of their being Jewish or German or Italian or Hungarian – we were all put together, but in the barracks people were separated according to their nationalities. The Jews however were not accommodated separately, we lived where the Hungarians lived. I’ll never forgive them for treating us the same way [as the non-Jewish Hungarians] and that we were not sent home earlier. In 1947 we were given a postcard so we had the chance to write back home ( it was the first time after five years that I was allowed to write home) that we were alive and well. And as I did not know whom to write and of course one had heard many things of what happened to the Jews, I wrote the postcard and addressed it to the Mayor’s office in Celldomolk. My brother got my card and knew that he could expect me home. Then in the spring of 1948 we too were released and sent home –  that year there was a big release campaign .

I went to Celldomolk straight away as I got home from captivity. My brother had already been home for almost three years, he got married and had a child too. I went home – in our house there lived my brother, his wife and their six-month-old little daughter. My brother told me what happened to whom. It was horrible. I helped my brother in the store but that time stores already started to become nationalized so I was given a job in Szombathely in a textile emporium where I dealt with the distribution of products. This store fulfilled the demands of  the whole Vas county. I got promoted to a relatively high position. I joined the party but then those days that was kind of natural, although I never became a very busy party member.

Of course one had to work on Saturdays too but I always remembered that it was a holiday. And I went to the synagogue on the high holidays. I took a day off  so that I could attend the service. It was quite obvious to everybody but I would never talk about it in particular. It was maybe the day before Yom Kippur when the secretary of the party comes up to me and asks whether I am taking a day off in order to go to the synagogue. I told him that it was so. So he says “you’d better not go, it is not really appreciated.” So I answered that at Yom Kippur there is a ceremony when we remember our deceased. During the war my grandparents, two brothers, two sisters, my parents and cousins got killed. He stopped bothering me, I think he got the message. I attended the synagogue anyhow, not much for prayers but I was seeking connection with my fellow Jews. There was a common room above the prayer hall –  the synagogue itself was too big for us – where we played cards and chatted, I went there quite frequently. I kept connection with the Jews all along.

It was in Szekesfehervar during a business trip that I got acquainted with Klari, my wife, who lived with her father. Her mum had been killed in Auschwitz, but she and her father had come home. Her father Andor had an upholstery while Klari worked as a shop assistant. When we decided to get married I applied to be transferred to Szekesfehervar. By that time I was already the second person at  the company, but Klari would not leave her father on his own and no place else could we have such a nice and spacious home as in Szekesfehervar. So I got transferred to a local textile center as a  distributor and  purchaser.

We had a civil wedding, but afterwards we went to the Szekesfehervar rabbinate, accompanied by a very few people only, and the rabbi also married us. In the mid-fifties this was not a common thing to do but to us it meant a lot. We regularly attended the synagogue and we were active members of the Jewish community. The Jewish community had about 30 members. That time it was not trendy to be Jewish and there were lots of mixed marriages. At the time of holidays we were always present in the prayer house – there was no proper synagogue functioning here either – and we would organize meetings as well. 

In 1956 nothing extraordinary happened in Szekesfehervar. A few people demonstrated, but nothing could be felt of what was going on in Budapest and in some other places in the country. In 1956 I was already married and had a job. We had my wife’s dad to look after so I was not in the position of thinking about emigrating to Israel. But when there were the wars in Israel I was deeply concerned. Of course I was not in the position to help, but I kept my fingers crossed for Israel. It was very comforting for me to know that Jews were able to protect themselves against others, that they had arms and they were able to fight and win. It was good to know after all that had happened in the second world war. It is not just that it gives you the feeling of security that a there is a Jewish state. I also appreciate that country very much and I would be really happy if there were real peace over there. Although I was not able to emigrate because whenever we were about to go and visit my relatives, my wife fell ill. We decided several times to go, but in the end we never went. It was only after her death that I managed to get there in 1998. It is a fascinating country.
Since we moved to Budapest I went more often to the synagogue. At first I attended the synagogue in Dohany street then the one at the Rabbinical Seminary. Since my wife died I am in the synagogue each Friday and I pray. I spend my afternoons at the Shalom Club where we play cards with my friends. I keep connections nearly exclusively with Jews. I have my doctor in the Jewish hospital. It’s among them that I feel secure.

Sonya Adolf Lazarova
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Svetlana Avdala
Date of interview: November 2005

‘When I get up in the morning the first thing I do is put on lipstick.’ And the lipstick suited her. During our work of several days she always met me with a large smile and a table arranged, because Sonya is a person who likes to give and help people. It’s not accidental that she fulfilled her dream to become a nurse.
And one day she said to her mother, ‘How happy I am that you gave birth to me!’ Sonya really has a jolly character. For her there are no bad people or situations. She speaks about the events in her life without pompous heroism or stoicism. They just happened like that.
At the age of 82 Sonya starts her day with applying lipstick and yet she still shivers when speaking about her first big and unfulfilled love. Years simply passed by without touching her.

Growing up 
My family
Going to school 
During the War 
After the War
Glossary

Growing up

My name is Sonya Adolf Nusan. I was born on 12th August 1923 in Ruse [Northeastern Bulgaria, 251km from Sofia]. My ancestors were German and Russian Jews but I have no memories about them, as I’m the youngest of the six children in our family. My eldest sister’s name was Gizela, born in 1910, and then came Liza, born in 1912, Hilda, born in 1915, my brother Fridrich, born in 1917, and my sister Zivi, born in 1921. Only Zivi and Fridrich are alive today. She lives in Israel, while he lives in Bulgaria. They were all born in Ruse.

From my earliest childhood I remember the pretty house that we had in the center of Ruse, behind the theater on Konstantin Velichkov Street. It was owned by my maternal family: my mother, Berta Hirsh Nusan [nee Goldenberg] who was born in 1888, her sisters Liza and Erma as well as my maternal grandparents. We sold it about two or three years ago. It was surrounded by an orchard. I remember my mother and father but I have no memories of my grandparents. When I was born they weren’t alive and I have no information about their names. Later my sisters used to tell me that they had had servants at home, as well as a remarkable order, which indicates that they were well off.

My father, Adolf [Avram] Lazarovich Nusan, was born in Ploesti in 1887. I have no information about his exact date of birth. At the age of 20 he came to Bulgaria, to Ruse. He spoke Romanian, Bulgarian and Yiddish. I know that he wasn’t rich, it was even rumored that he came here ‘barefoot,’ when he, sort of quickly, married my mother. I don’t recall anyone telling me why he came to Bulgaria – but most probably to search for a more profitable market for his craft – millinery, as well as better treatment of his Jewish origin, because his real name was Avram, yet he changed it to Adolf in Romania for the sake of convenience. I don’t know how and why he married my mother, but I know that she was a true beauty, she came from a well-off family, and moreover she was a very kind-hearted woman and always ready to help people. So I believe these were the reasons for their marriage.

Though my father was ‘barefoot,’ he had a successful business: the millinery. In Ruse he established a hatter’s workshop with seven employees. In this workshop they initiated the production of hats with a stiff body, both cylinders and straw hats, which was a rare practice for Bulgaria in those days. In the period of the wars [the First Balkan War 1, the Second Balkan War 2 and World War I 3] the workers enrolled in the army and the workshop closed down. Maybe this was the reason why my family moved to Sofia in order to try to make a living.

My mother was born in Ruse. Her mother tongue was Yiddish and Bulgarian, but she spoke several other languages: French, German, Russian, and English. She had graduated from a German college in Ruse, which was a high level of education for a woman at that time. At home we spoke Bulgarian and Yiddish.

I was three years old when my family decided to leave Ruse and move to Sofia. We settled on the fifth, i.e. last, floor of a building on Maria Luiza Street, as it was the cheapest one. We used to rent it until our internment in 1943 4.

There was a yard in which we, the children used to play draughts, ‘people’s ball’ [ball game in which two teams try to get the other side’s players out by hitting them with a ball], rope. The neighbors in the block of apartments were mostly Bulgarians, but other Jewish families also lived in the blocks, which surrounded the common backyard.

Our family inhabited a kitchen and two rooms. My parents used to sleep in one of the rooms, while we, the girls, slept in the other one. My brother used to sleep in the kitchen. The furniture was very modest. There were beds, tables and a dresser. Instead of a wardrobe we used to hang our clothes on a hat and coat rack, which we covered with a piece of cloth. We used a firewood-burning stove. There was a toilet in the hallway and running water in the kitchen, yet there was no bath. My sisters used to go to the public city bath, and when I was a little girl I used to be washed in a trough with heated water.

We used to sleep two in one bed, head to toe. And when my mother woke us in the morning she always confused our names because she could never recognize us in this position. Actually all of us always woke up at the same time.

At that time Sofia used to be calm, clean and green. It wasn’t crowded with enormous blocks of apartments and there was no terrible deafening noise. Jews were dispersed all over the city, but mostly in Iuchbunar 5, where the poorer ones used to live.

I remember the synagogue on Ekzarh Yosif and Bacho Kiro Streets: the old one. [The interviewee means the Midrash. According to the statistics by 1912 there were 5 synagogues in Sofia, one of which was attended by the Ashkenazi Jews. By 1928 the number of Ashkenazi Jews in Sofia was 1,600, with a synagogue and a rabbi. There was also a cheder with 15-20 children and a teacher.] There was a rabbi but I can’t recall his name and he was wonderful. I remember the service. It was in Bulgarian. I remember the cautionary speeches [prayers], choir, etc.

My family

My mother was an educated woman. Although she had graduated from a German college in Ruse and despite the fact that she spoke several languages, after her marriage she was devoted to bringing up her children, born every second year. She was a very noble person. She lived for the sake of helping people. There weren’t bad people according to her. She was ready to help anyone yet she never took part in charity organizations. Her genuine goodness was expressed in many cases, which I would love to share with you. She never yelled at us, nor did she punish us. Calmness was the most important thing to her. She always taught us to forgive people and to never get angry. She was tall, with a white face and blue eyes; the only blue eyes in our family. She always put her hair up in a bun. She didn’t use make up and always dressed in a plain manner.

My father was also a very handsome man: tall, slender, dark hair and eyes, and a mustache like that of a movie star. He always dressed elegantly and wore a soft hat. In Sofia he opened a millinery workshop with an associate of his. It was on Lege Street. Later this associate cheated him, my father went bankrupt and got divorced for reasons that I don’t know. [Editor’s note: Until 1944 marriage of Jews in Bulgaria was performed and legalized by the consistory with a marriage contract (ketubbah). In Bulgaria at that time there was no institution of civil marriage (Christians respectively got married in the church). Regarding divorces the quoted books usually are: ‘Shulhan Arouh’ and ‘Even Aezer’ by Joseph Caro, where the following sections are examined in detail: engagement, vow, marriage, ceasing of marriage, divorce, chaliza (release of marriage due to childlessness). ‘Jewish marriage and divorce law,’ a handbook by Rabbi Daniel Zion and Albert Varsano comments on all cases of Jewish practice in ceasing marriage and divorce and generalizes the rabbi experience until 1940.] Then he decided to leave for Israel in 1939. He remained there and stopped supporting our family. He passed away there but I have no information about the year, most probably between 1955 and 1965.

My father wasn’t interested and had no respect for money. He wasn’t capable of saving; he had a Bohemian nature. He was always ready to give his last penny to someone who would ask him. He traveled a lot on business and when he returned home there were always presents for us: something nice and delicious, very often kebapcheta [grilled oblong rissoles] or ‘marzipanes’ [a confectionery consisting primarily of ground almonds and sugar]. He didn’t earn much and never did he bring home the full amount, but my mother never blamed him for it. Actually they resembled each other a lot in this matter because she in her turn willingly invited anyone even if she would deprive us of something. My parents were tender and kind people. They never punished us, nor did they scream at us. My elder sisters were engaged in my upbringing. I would like to talk about them.

Gizela Asher-Anski [nee Nusan] was the eldest among us and a leader in every sense. She was talented, ambitious and intelligent. She made a brilliant artistic career with appearances in Israel and the USA, where she passed away.

She graduated from a Bulgarian elementary, junior high and high school. After graduation she initially worked in the famous dress atelier of Otto Seiner on Lege Street. There she sewed, cut, and worked as a model and sometimes, because imagination was among her greatest gifts, she designed her own clothes. As early as her work in Otto Seiner’s fashion atelier she used to play in the Jewish amateur theater [In 1928 a theater troupe was formed at Byalik chitalishte 6. It was led by Mois Beniesh and Leo Konforti: a theater and film actor, who was born in 1911 in Dupnitsa, and died in 1970. His work is mostly associated with the ‘Ivan Vazov’ National Theater.] together with Leo Konforti, Bitush Davidov [a librettist], Milka Mandil [an actress, she’s still alive and lives in Israel], Nichko Benbasat [a public figure, journalist, who worked at the Bulgarian National Radio for many years]. There she met her future husband, Eliezer Asher Anski [a writer and playwright, who was active in the 1920s-1930s], who was a director.

Leo Konforti, with whom they were close friends, most probably introduced her to some leading actors of the time. She attracted their attention and later she appeared on the stage of the National Theater with Ruzha Delcheva [(1915-2002), a famous Bulgarian drama and film actress, graduated from Nikolay Osipovich Massalitinov’s theater school in 1935, specialized for three years in ‘Deutsches Theater’ in Germany, actress of ‘Ivan Vazov’ National Theater since 1938], Magda Kolchakova [b. 1914, a Bulgarian drama and film actress, played in the ‘Ivan Vazov’ National Theater from 1940] and Ivanka Dimitrova [b. 1920, a Bulgarian drama and film actress, played in ‘Ivan Vazov’ National Theater.] It’s difficult for me to name the theater plays she performed, although I have seen them all. Nor can I remember the years when I watched them.

She knew many people from Sofia’s artistic Bohemian circles. The people mentioned above often visited us. She was always the center of attention in these merry companies: she sang, told funny stories, recited poems by [Hristo] Smirnenski 7, [Hristo] Botev 8, [Nikola] Vaptsarov 9, and others. She got married around 1939 to Eliezer Asher Anski. He was a Sephardi Jew. His family was well-off. They owned an apartment on the corner of Tsar Boris and Tsar Simeon Street [in the center of Sofia]. He was always quiet, reticent, and uncommunicative; maybe sort of a calm background to the ‘bright’ Gizela, who always shone. Probably it was due to his character that he couldn’t achieve a good career as a director. Later, when in 1948 their whole family moved to Israel, he changed his profession and started making art mosaics.

Gizela and her husband were two complete opposites. Eliezer adored Gizela and immensely loved their son Alex, who was born in 1940. In Sofia they lived at first in a lodging on Sofronii Street and after that they moved to Eliezer’s own apartment. When they left for Israel, their son Alex also started appearing on the theater stage as early as a little boy. He also made a good artistic career and now is a famous actor in the Abima [Hebrew: ‘the stage’] National Israeli Theater of Tel Aviv. His artistic talent, a continuation of his parents’ gift, was also revealed when he starred in a radio show addressed to mothers of Israeli soldiers which was meant to keep their spirits high. [Apart from being an actor, Alex Anski leads a radio show on the Israeli Military Radio. He also speaks Bulgarian].

Lili [Liza] also worked as a seamstress in the fashion atelier of Otto Seiner. She finished Bulgarian elementary, junior high and high school as well. She was also artistically gifted and was attracted by Gizela to the Jewish amateur theater, but she didn’t have Gizela’s genuine talent. She loved reading a lot. She had inherited the affinity to learning foreign languages from my mother. She attended language courses, spoke several languages and later became a bookseller. She was well-measured and frugal in company. She was always elegantly dressed, attentive to the smallest detail of her dress, because she was very exacting both to herself and to the other people. She got married in 1956 to the dentist Isak Assa, with whom she lived but had no children. She divorced him in 1958 and left for Israel by herself. There she worked as a seamstress, and got married again, to a Russian Jew with the family name Nisan, who had a daughter. She raised the child as her own. She died in Israel around 2000.

Hilda finished only a Bulgarian elementary and junior high school. She had a beautiful voice and participated in an amateur Jewish choir at the Jewish chitalishte. [Editor’s note: After World War I, in 1919 the ‘Obsht Podem’ [Common Uplift] Jewish chitalishte was founded. It existed until 1924. In 1924 the Jewish chitalishte ‘H.N.Byalik’ was formed, which by 1928 was already fourth in range among the Sofia community centers, ‘Aleko Konstantinov’, ‘Gotse Delchev’ and ‘Hristo Botev.’ The community center had 1900 volumes of literature, a theater troupe, a literature circle and a Jewish choir. There was also another Jewish chitalishte that was situated in Iuchbunar quarter, between Klementina and Opalchenska Streets.] In her selflessness and devotion to people Hilda resembled mostly my mother. She worked in a hosiery factory. She married Mihayl Mihaylov, who was a Bulgarian and an electrician by profession. They had two daughters, Lilyana and Borisalva. She never moved to Israel and died in Sofia, but I can’t recall the year of her death.

Fridrich was diligent, strict and reserved. He had the gift of an artist. Very often, when Gizela and Lili brought patterns home, which they had to draw and design in accordance with their clients’ bodies’ dimensions, he used to help them. It was as early as then that he started revealing his designer capabilities. He graduated from the ‘Hristo Botev’ construction vocational school. [Editor’s note: Technical schools are dedicated to specialized technical education. There are 3- and 4-year ones. Apart from the common subjects, the educational system includes specialized technical subjects oriented to the respective industrial branch – construction, mechanics, chemistry, electronics, etc. A great part of the students of technical schools continue with a higher technical education.] It was because of these skills that he became a designer and later, a constructor, in a science institute.

He has married twice. His first wife, Valka, was Bulgarian. He has a daughter, Nina, with her. He lived with Valka for ten years before they got divorced. Later he married a colleague of mine, Vanya, a midwife. I introduced them to one another. They liked each other and went to a sweet shop. They got married in 1965. Vanya also has a daughter from her first marriage. The two stepdaughters lived together with Vanya and Fridrich. Vanya actually raised Fridrich’s daughter from his first marriage, who had never lived with her mother. Vanya was a very noble person, yet Fridrich also divorced her due to property arguments.

Zivi was shy, meek, caring and a great housewife. She graduated from the Romanian school [Editor’s note: According to the practice every official religion in the country registered in Sofia after Bulgaria’s Liberation from the Turkish rule in 1878 had the right to support its own school, for example: Armenian church with an Armenian school, Greek church with a Greek school, Catholic church with a Catholic school, etc.]. It was situated behind the Central Synagogue. She was deeply in love with Isak. They went to live with his family a year before they got married.

Isak was a very handsome and ambitious man. His family was poor and as a student he had to both study and work in order to provide for his family. Until the third grade he used to work as a shop assistant and a barber’s assistant. But as ambitious as he was, he finished evening classes and later the Institute of Ecomomics with honor. Finally he became the director of the ‘Stalin’ technical school. Zivi worked for many years as a typist in OJB ‘Shalom’ 10. They have two children: a son, Sabitay and a daughter, Ruth. Isak died in 1981. In 1992 Zivi left for Israel and currently she lives with her daughter.

Apart from my parents, my sisters and brother were also involved in bringing me up. Actually they were the tough ones. They inspected whether my shoes were polished, whether all the buttons were well sewed, whether everything was neatly and tidily put in order. I wasn’t supposed to be late in the evening and had to strictly do everything I was told.

Once a friend of mine took me to a hairdresser. I was 12-13 years old then. When I came home Lili saw me and told me to immediately wash my hair, although I hadn’t even paid for my hairstyle. How strict she was! If I had done everything like I was ordered and supposed to, I was awarded with a small cone of ice-cream; it cost stotinkas [pennies, 1 stotinka = 0.01 lev]. It was my award and it was possible for me to receive it only at the end of the week: on Saturday or Sunday. I often told them that I was going to marry an ice-cream man, because I just love ice-cream, even now.

Fridrich was responsible for the preparation of my lessons. He examined me and checked whether I had learned my lessons. Gizela and Lili worked and all the rest went to school. Thus they supported the family budget. My two sisters dressed very elegantly; after all they worked in a fashion atelier and I wore their clothes. How impatiently I used to wait for Hilda to come home, so that I could wear her coat and go out. I wore all of her clothes with the exception of underwear and shoes, because I had large feet. When I was growing up they used to buy me larger shoes, which often ‘banged.’ Therefore they always made me wear wool socks, in order to fill up the shoes. And Gizela and Lili used to wear silk ones. When the soles tore, we used to cut them and fill them with cardboard and that is how I wore them.

We weren’t poor and we always had something on our table, yet we lived economically. Once a week, Zivi, Hilda and I used to go to the women’s market [one of the first Sofia markets. It was called this way, because its sellers were mostly women from neighboring villages. Other popular markets are: Rimskata Stena [The Roman Wall Market] in Lozenets quarter, as well as ‘Dimitar Petkov’ Market and Pavlovo Market.]. We usually went there late in the afternoon when the sellers lowered the prices. We used to buy meat and sausages from the Dokuzanov butcher’s. We used to buy from the so-called ‘pieces:’ the smaller parts of the big parts, which were cheaper. I would like to mention here that we, the children, didn’t observe the kashrut. Such kind of food was never cooked at home, therefore we felt free to buy meat from Dokuzanov.

At that time in Sofia street-vendors used to sell salep and boza 11. We used to drink salep 12. It was a colorless sweet drink with a very pleasant scent and the thickness of boza, but it was cheaper than boza and we often used to dilute it with water. It was very tasty indeed.

Thanks to the contacts of my two sisters Gizela and Lili, who communicated with the artistic circles, we used to read a lot of fiction books at home. I remember ‘Gone with the Wind’ [by Margaret Mitchell (1900-1949)], and ‘From Heraclitus to Darwin’. I was most interested in the medical books. While the others were playing with dolls I used play ‘doctors and patients.’ I dreamed of healing people.

My parents’ friends were both Jews and Bulgarians. They kept relations with the Jewish community also. A Bulgarian friend of mine, whose name was Victoria, often visited us. She had become part of our family. We used to share everything with each other: we went to the cinema, we studied together, but as soon as we offered her something to eat she always declined the invitation. Only after 9th September [1944] 13 she admitted to us that she had been told that Jews prepared their food with human blood. She felt really sorry about that and about all these missed opportunities to taste our delicious food. My mother used to cook quite well but I can’t say she was a great cook. I don’t remember any of her recipes. The whole family used to gather around the table every evening. At lunchtime we were always busy and we weren’t able to have lunch together.

At that time people visiting your home wasn’t such a common practice as it is now. The most important thing for a housewife was keeping the household and bringing up the children. We were six kids and practically my mother didn’t have any free time at all for meeting with her friends. We used to gather with my maternal family mostly during the high holidays. My mother had two sisters. The elder one, Liza, had four children, and the younger one Erma, had one daughter. Later, during the Holocaust, Erma burned to death in a camp near Pleven [Kailuka camp] 14, set on fire by the Branniks 15, while she was helping to save people.

Liza’s family was richer than ours. Some of her five children had good jobs and earned well. Their family used to live close to us, on Ekzarh Yosif Street. Erma’s family was really well-off. They had a bakery for bread, buns and sweetmeats on Dondukov Street [now Blvd.] and they often used to help us with money and various things. We were closer to aunt Liza’s family and used to walk together in the Borisova Garden [a central Sofia park created by Austrian specialists for Tsar Ferdinand at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century], or used to visit a tripe-shop, and I hate tripe soup.

We didn’t go to restaurants often. Of all siblings Gizela most often visited restaurants, with her friends and admirers. She used to bring home the remains of the large portions. I first went to a restaurant much later with Gizela’s and Lili’s friends, and my two sisters especially warned me not to order too many things. I’ve learned from them that the best meal to order is a portion of kebapcheta.

I used to visit the synagogue on every holiday, but not every Friday. I went with my mother because she was more religious than my father who, being a hatter-trader, used to travel a lot. In the evening or during her spare time she used to read us the Old Testament and told us different biblical stories in a very picturesque way. Tanti [aunt] Liza was religious and on holidays she often visited us with her children. I remember Yom Kippur and the taanit. It was difficult for me to fast, as I was the youngest and I was always tempted to eat something delicious, yet I wouldn’t dare. My mother forbade us and kept an eye on us.

On Pesach we used to move the table from the kitchen to the living-room because there was more space there. Very often at that time Gizela’s friends used to visit us including the Bulgarian ones. They showed great interest in this holiday. They were most interested in matzah, which we used to receive from the Jewish community house or the synagogue for free, as far as I remember. My mother also used to prepare burmolikos 16: crumbled matzah dipped into fresh milk and eggs. This mixture was poured with a spoon in heated oil. My favorite holiday was Chanukkah. I loved the kindling of candles and making a wish. I always wished to become a medical worker and it just happened so.

I must say that our Bulgarian neighbors regularly treated us with Easter cake and eggs on Easter.

Going to school

I studied at a Bulgarian school: the elite 11th secondary school. There were 25-30 students in our class. Five of them were Jews. Our class teacher was called Vassilev. My favorite subjects were Psychology and Logic. I also loved the Religion classes, although we, the Jews, weren’t obliged to take them. Yet I insisted and the teacher allowed me in. It was very interesting for me to listen to various biblical stories from the New Testament.

I remember that my desk neighbor was the cleverest Jewish child at school. His name was Isak. I can’t remember his family name. He wasn’t only clever but also kind and well-bred. So my decision to sit next to him wasn’t accidental. The teachers often praised him, and at such moments some classmates made vicious remarks mentioning his origin. They never showed such negative feelings to the other excellent students, such as Slavka Slavova [Slavova, Slavka (1924-2002): a Bulgarian drama actress, from 1942 till 1992 she performed on the stage of ‘Ivan Vazov’ National Theater], who was among the most exemplary students in our school. Once some Bulgarian pupils even wanted to beat Isak. But how interesting that another Bulgarian student called Hristo interfered and defended him. Maybe he was brought up in this way – to defend the outcasts. But I think that he rather sympathized with the Jews. Later he became a prominent artist. Unfortunately, I can’t remember his family name.

I used to sing in the school choir and often performed on the loudspeaker system. We used to sing a lot of songs, which we performed most often during holidays: ‘Varvi, narode vazrodeni’ [March Ahead, O Revived People] 17, ‘Shumi Maritsa’ [Maritsa Rushes] 18, ‘Chernei, goro’ ['Loom Dark, Forest' - a city folklore song] as well as a bunch of Bulgarian national folk songs.

My relations with the Jewish community were mostly in terms of the Jewish sports organization Maccabi 19. Besides me, its members were 25-30 Jewish boys and girls of different ages. There was a Bulgarian boy in it as well and his name was Lyubcho. ‘Maccabi’ carried out its activities in the gym of the Jewish school on Lavele Street. [In the place of today’s Rila hotel in the center of Sofia, right next to the small church ‘St. Nikolay Chudotvorets’ (Miracle worker) a Jewish school, one of the oldest in Sofia, was situated.] We used to gather two or three times a week in the gym. We were engaged in sports, did Jewish dances; we were brought up in good sportsmanship, and we also went on excursions.

They also supported us materially by means of sports clothes and snacks. Once they gave me money. Very nice relations were encouraged and kept among the Jewish children in Maccabi. I had a lot of friends there: Suzi, Zhak, Lili Yulzari, Sarika, Sheli, with whom I stayed in touch throughout the years. Once a week we used to gather at our houses in turns. Those were overnight stays during which we used to discuss topics from the Jewish history, we sang Jewish songs, I can’t remember which ones, which we learned from the pupils who attended the Jewish school, and we danced.

In our spare time we used to walk in the Borisova Garden with my friends from Maccabi; we also used to go to the cinema. We never spent our vacations outside Sofia and we never went on holiday. We most often went to the cinema. ‘Gloria Palace’ was right opposite our block of apartments. I used to buy tickets in the first row, which were the cheapest ones. I have watched all the movies of Charlie Chaplin. I remember the Soviet films, for example, ‘The Circus Princess.’ [Editor’s note: ‘The Circus Princess’ is an operetta by Hungarian-Jewish composer Emmerich Kálmán (1882-1953). The interviewee is probably referring to the German film adaptation of 1929.] My passion for the cinema lasted until 1942. After that, during the anti-Semitic acts 20, I was afraid to enter the closed room of the cinema hall, because there was no way to escape from it. Thanks to my two elder sisters I used to visit all theater and opera performances for free. I never missed a performance with Gizela’s participation, yet unfortunately it’s hard for me to recall their names.

During the 1940s as young boys and girls, we used to gather in front of the Jewish community house. There were UYW 21 members among them also. In this company I met my big adolescent crush, Rafael Nissimov – Feto. It lasted for four years. After that he got married, but not to me, and later he settled in Israel. At that time he used to live close to the Jewish community house and was an active revolutionary. I fell under his influence and decided to join the UYW. He inspired me to read, to pursue my aims, to be strong.

During the War

In 1942-43 the anti-Semitic acts started and it was then when we put on the badges [yellow stars] 22. I had two long plaits, with which I used to hide my yellow star and thus I walked the streets, and yet it was always visible. Twice Branniks and Legionaries 23 pushed me and pulled my plaits, they didn’t beat me up, but I fell down. The interesting thing was that people immediately came to help. Thrashings often took place in the Borisova Garden, but I always stayed aside.   

I remember that a man told us that ‘Jews would be taken’ and we decided to hide at our closest friends’ place. One night my sister and I went to their house but they didn’t open the door, they hid themselves and we had to return home after the curfew.

My noble mother was keen on helping people. She had a disabled friend, I can’t recall her name, whom she often visited in order to help her with the housework and cooking. She lived in Knyazhevo [a suburb of Sofia]. One day when she was coming back from her friend’s place the police checked her documents and found out that she was a Jew. Yet my mother didn’t wear the [yellow] star then for reasons unknown to me. Therefore she was sent to the Somovit camp 24, where she was kept for eight months.

In May 1942 my sister Hilda and I were interned to Karnobat [a town in Southeastern Bulgaria, 300km from Sofia]. My mother was sent to the labor camp in Somovit. Liza, Zivi, Gizela and her son Alex were sent to Vratsa, while Fridrich was sent to a forced labor camp 24. My father was already in Israel [Palestine at that time].

In Karnobat all Jews were allocated and settled in local Jews’ houses. They were scattered all over the town. We used to inhabit a large house with three other families. Asya and Olya Weisberg were in one of the rooms; Rafael Nissim’s aunt and cousin were in the other room and my sister Hilda and I were in the third. The landlords, also Jews, helped her a lot with furniture and food.

The life in Karnobat was like in a ghetto. There was a curfew and certain streets and places were forbidden for Jews. We didn’t have the right to leave the town. We weren’t allowed to work. We were given food from a cauldron. During the [police] blockade of Karnobat in which outlaws were hunted for, they not only broke into the Jewish houses and sought for people in hiding places but also robbed canteens, rucksacks and clothes.

We used to gather in the small park, where we walked and sang songs, but I can’t remember exactly which ones. I helped the landlords mainly with the household, because we were restricted from walking around. [At that time] I wasn’t a part of a UYW group and I wasn’t engaged in UYW activities.

One day Feto came to visit me and we went out for a walk to some hills. There we came across a man, who said that he knew a lot of things about Feto and me, and that he would give us away to the police. Feto pushed me and said to me, ‘Run.’ I ran down the hills shouting ‘Help, help!’ The two of them fought. In the end the man took Feto’s watch.

After that incident the head of the Jewish organization in Karnobat came to me and told me that I had to leave the town, as I was already rumored to be a dangerous political enemy and that would be of harm for the other Jews in Karnobat. He obtained permission from the town’s police for leaving the town and thus I found myself in Lukovit [Northwestern Bulgaria, 90km from Sofia].

I spent the time from spring 1943 to 9th September 1944 in this town. My mother was already in Lukovit, she was sent there from the Somovit camp, as well as my brother, who had come from the forced labor camps. My mother was accommodated in the priest’s lodging and instead of the rent, which most of the interned Jews were supposed to pay; she took care of him and helped him in the household. Being true to her selflessness and kind-hearted, she helped him with the housework and took care of an ill Jewish woman; I can’t remember her name.

Many rich Jewish families were interned from Stara Zagora [Central Bulgaria, 192km from Sofia] to Lukovit also. They rented more luxurious lodgings, they were elegant and they didn’t want to mingle with the poorer ones, especially if they had found out that those people were leftists or had been arrested or sanctioned by the authorities because of their leftist convictions. Life here was also like in a ghetto. There was a curfew and a ban to cross certain streets or places. We were fed from a cauldron, but a much better one.

I was engaged in a UYW group here. We used to gather at Mutsi’s place: the girlfriend of the well-known revolutionary Moni Dekalo. Her family was rich and this fact dispersed the police suspicions. We used to read books, write and prepare ourselves to spread leaflets, listened to Radio London, we were taught how to use a gun, we collected clothes and rusks and invented ways to send them to our friends detained in the police station.

There was a [Bulgarian Communist] Party group in the town, too. My brother Fridrich was a member of it. I was involved in an underground activity, I hid and distributed leaflets and if I have to be honest, I was always afraid. Once I went out in the yard of the priest’s house in order to fetch some firewood for the stove. Suddenly I saw some kind of light among the trees and I was scared to death. I quickly returned to the priest’s house. Then Priest Nikola accompanied me in order to check the situation and it turned out to be just a firefly. So these are the eyes of fear. Although fear never actually left me, I have never broken the [Communist] Party discipline.

Once I was told to bring some materials, leaflets, to the girlfriend of a [Communist] Party functionary, in order to hide them there. When I went there she refused to take them, because she said she was under surveillance and this could be dangerous for other communists also. So I had to return with the leaflets but I never thought, even for moment, that I might destroy them. I simply knew I had to find a place for them. 

When there was an alarm to hide in the air-raid shelter because of the bombardments, we used to run through some hills. Several Brannik members used to block our way then, but immediately other Bulgarians stopped them telling them that all people, no matter if Bulgarians or Jews, had the right to hide in the shelters.

In Lukovit I was arrested. Firstly Moni Dekalo was arrested and as he didn’t want to betray the more superior comrades, he gave us away, the smaller fish. I was sought for several days. When the police examined the lodging I was accommodated at, they couldn’t find me. My mother hid me for several days in the place of the ill woman she was helping, but I couldn’t stay there for a long time, so I had to come back home and I was arrested at my place. When the policemen were taking me away, she only told me, ‘God will help you. Put on warm clothes, so that when they beat you, you will be able to survive the pain.’

I was arrested and they led me under an escort in the streets. The whole town of Lukovit saw me, including the priest. I was confronted with Moni Dekalo. When they brought him in he was covered with blood. He only said that everything was disclosed. But in the corridors of the police station I passed by my brother and another comrade of his, who gestured with his hand to keep quiet. I was beaten up but not the way they had beaten my brother, for example. I was detained for two days. I didn’t say anything.

On the second day the priest came in order to intercede for me. He couldn’t believe that the girl with the plaits was involved in underground activities. Priest Nikola was a reputable man in Lukovit and thanks to him I was set free on the second day. Yet soon after that he realized that it wasn’t a slander and that my brother and I were involved in underground activities indeed and he threw us out in the street with all our luggage. His daughters begged him to leave us, yet he was adamant. He couldn’t cope with the thought that he was hiding communists. One of his daughters helped us find a room in the house of a gendarme. It was with an earth floor, isolated from the other parts of the house. We paid minimum rent and took care of the garden in the yard. I had to look for a job and found one in a bookshop. I was a typesetter.

The bookseller-owner was called Pencho Vlahov. His wife was German and her name was Ani. One day while I was at work the agent who had arrested me entered the bookshop. I immediately recognized him because his face was covered with pockmarks. The bookseller had told me to go and fetch something. There were a lot of people in the bookshop. I can only imagine how I looked when I came back after I had seen the agent. Pencho noticed my reaction yet he deliberately didn’t pay attention to it. He knew that I had been taken into custody for two days. The whole town of Lukovit knew. Of course, it was a great worry for my mother, but she also shared my leftist ideas without being a [Communist] Party member. She always supported me and calmed me down.

At that time my sister Zivi gave birth in Vratsa. My mother asked for permission from the police to go there and see her grandchild. I was afraid to stay alone and asked the bookseller Pencho to shelter me in his house. In return I would help raising his two children, as well as in keeping the household. I was accommodated in a closet.

One evening I heard a strong drumming on the door. I thought they were coming to arrest me again. I kept some leaflets in the closet. While all the rest were in the other room I hid the leaflets under the wardrobe in the bedroom. They weren’t coming for me. They just asked the bookseller to borrow his car, as they wanted to meet some boss. He refused, telling them that the tyres were punctured. The next day the family saw the leaflets. The German asked me to clean all the rooms and she went out with her two children so that I would be able to hide the leaflets again. And yet, she was German!

After the War

After the war we came back to Sofia. We rented a new lodging on Moskovska Street and 11th August Street. First we were given one room 26. All of us were accommodated in it: my mother, Fridrich, Hilda, Lili and I. Zivi had already married and she stayed with her husband. Gizela and her husband also rented a house somewhere but I can’t remember where. Nothing had remained from our belongings. We began collecting old furniture from our friends: Jews and Bulgarians, which they presented to us. We had a landlady. She was quite unmanageable and she didn’t behave very well. But not because we were Jews but because of her temper. Her daughter was very kind to us.

Life had a new beginning. I decided to make my dream come true: to cure and take care of people. I enrolled into nursing classes. My family wanted me to become a doctor yet this seemed very difficult for me. In the medical vocational school, where I graduated from, I made many new friends. I had a colleague, very beautiful, from the village of Buzovets [Northwestern Bulgaria, 107 km from Sofia]. She introduced me to my future husband, who was born in the same village. She decided to take me for a holiday there. For the first time in my life I not only visited a village but traveled in a certain direction. In order to reach the place I had to change trains. When I entered the railway station I didn’t know how to ask for the tickets. Otherwise the holiday in the village was a very merry one. We danced various dances and horo [Bulgarian national folk dance], we sang, we ate and we laughed. My future husband Yoncho Lazarov was also present there. This experience made our relationship even closer and more spontaneous.

My husband was born on 1st November 1920. His father was a disabled soldier, but his entire family: father, mother, brother and sister used to work in the TKZS 26. His family is of Bulgarian origin and with leftist convictions. During the anti-fascist struggle Yoncho was in prison in Sliven [Southeast Bulgaria, 246km South of Sofia]. After 9th September [1944] he was already a [Communist] Party member. He had already finished his studies in veterinary medicine; nevertheless he received an order by the Bulgarian Communist Party [BCP] to make a military career, because of the insufficient military personnel in the army.

We got married in April 1948. My parents, i.e. my mother and my sisters were a little prejudiced against my marriage, because Yoncho was of Bulgarian origin and was a military man, which meant a lot of traveling. None of my or his relatives was present at our wedding, which took place in the Civic Council. We only took our passports and we went there. Some military men, colleagues of my husband, were witnesses to our wedding. After the ceremony they invited us to lunch.

Afterward all of us lived in our apartment on Moskovska Street. My mother quickly ‘fell in love’ with her new son-in-law. They got along very well. Later she raised both my children. When we were in Sofia she used to live with us. And when we were on a trip to the countryside, as Yoncho often traveled, she stayed at my sisters’ and brother’s.

When we lived on Moskovska Street we were given one more room, something like a living room with a sliding glass door. In 1948 our first child, Orlin, was born. We still lived on Moskovska, but we filed an application for another home. Then we were given an apartment on Vrabcha Street. Then we had to leave for Razgrad [Northeastern Bulgaria, 277km from Sofia] because of Yoncho’s job, where our second child, Vanya, was born in 1952. After that we went to Kabiyuka: an elite horse breeding company in Shumen [Northeastern Bulgaria, 301km from Sofia]. Yoncho was invited as a head doctor there. There he learned that there was a competition for a scientific degree at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences. He enrolled in it and passed the test, so we came back to Sofia again. He worked there until his retirement and now he’s a Professor in Physiology.

After I graduated from the medical vocational school I worked as a nurse in the Fourth City Surgery. I started there and retired there. In 1954 I became a member of the Bulgarian Communist Party. There was a call at that time for the former UYW members to become BCP members. I used to be a BCP functionary and a deputy BCP secretary at the hospital. I was also the chairwoman of the Democratic Youth Committee. I have never had any problems because of my Jewish origin at my workplace. On the contrary, I was much respected for it.

After we began living separately from our children we used to spend our vacations and holidays in the mountain and at the sea at holiday villages. We celebrated all holidays: the Bulgarian, Christmas and Easter, and the Jewish ones. I buried my mother in the Jewish cemetery [in Sofia] in 1971 in accordance with the Jewish ritual. While my mother-in-law was buried in accordance with the Bulgarian traditions.

Our children were both raised with Jewish awareness, which means that they know facts from the Jewish people’s history and they know some of the Jewish traditions, and a Bulgarian one. Orlin graduated from the ‘Hristo Botev’ radio and television vocational school. He used to work in the Isotope Center. Today he owns a copier service company. He married a Bulgarian. Her name is Kalina Andonova. They have three children: Orlin, Toni and Yoncho, and a granddaughter, Ela. They live in Sofia.

My daughter Vanya also married a Bulgarian. His name is Emil Kostov. He is a roentgenologist. After graduating from a medical college, Vanya worked for a while as a laboratory assistant in the Institute for Infectious and Parasitic Diseases. Currently she lives in Angola with her family. They have two children, Andrea and Katerina, and a granddaughter, Alicia.

The Jewish self-identification is less revealed in our grandchildren. We did invite them to Jewish holidays, but they celebrate Christmas and Easter in their own environment. Whether my kids and grandkids feel like Jews or not, they have always participated in various initiatives of the Jewish community center.

I visited Israel three times: in 1961, 1966 and 1989. I went to see my relatives there. I have never had difficulties as far as Bulgarian state authorities are concerned in terms of my trips to Israel. Nor did I want to emigrate there, because my husband is a Bulgarian. Moreover Ivrit is a difficult language for me. Yet being there has always been very pleasant for me. I took to heart the Six-Day-War 28 and every event in Israel; moreover the official political line of the government here was anti-Israeli. Yet, politics is politics. The most interesting thing is that my husband supported me and suffered with me through everything that happened in Israel.

After 1989 29 we embraced the desire for democratic changes as something positive. But in the course of time I started feeling more and more embarrassed about this confrontation between socialists and rightists. Apart from the fact that our life is getting worse. I don’t approve the extremist acts such as setting fire to the Communist Party House and the Parliament 30.

As a whole our daily life became harder. Once we could allow ourselves to go on vacation, now it’s completely impossible due to financial reasons. When Yoncho used to work in the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences 31 we used to get together with his colleagues, no matter if Bulgarian or Jewish. Now we are leading a rather isolated life. Yoncho writes his books and scientific works, while I am engaged in the Jewish community center. I managed to incorporate him into the Jewish community, as a result of which he became more sociable and sort of came out of his private world.

I’m glad that the Jewish home [Bet Am] 32 revived its activities and raised the Jewish conscience to a higher level. I regularly attend the events there. What’s more, I actively participate in the life of the Jewish community, as I’m involved in all the events of the Health Club, which I’m a member of, as well as the Club of the disabled people. [The Club of disabled people gathers once a month in order for them to socialize with each other. They are informed about all changes in the social sphere and the Bulgarian legislation, which are focused on people with different levels of disability. With the support of this club Jews are able to visit sanatoriums once a year. All the expenses for their stay are being covered by the organization.] I visit the synagogue during holidays. I’m grateful for the compensations I received from Switzerland and Germany, as well as for the support of the Joint foundation 33.

Glossary

Eli (Eliyau) Perahya
Istanbul
Turkey
Interviewer: Naim Guleryuz
Date of interview: December 2004

Very well-known in the Jewish community in Istanbul, Eli Perahya’s life has been connected with cultural and social work. Besides his professional occupation he devoted 26 years of his life to the service of the Chief Rabbinate of Turkey as a financial counselor. He is regarded with love and respect by every person who knows him. His friends have unforgettable and pleasurable memories of social gatherings in his home. Eli Perahya is 92 years old now, and retired from financial counseling. He lives with his equally beloved and respected wife Klara in Nisantas, an outstanding and distinguished residential district of Istanbul, in an apartment well decorated with many paintings, and a grand piano always open for someone to perform. In spite of his age he has not stopped his habit of extensive reading, researching and writing for the Shalom newspaper every week, the only Jewish newspaper of the Turkish Jewish community today. Together with his wife, he is also the co-author of a Ladino-French dictionary.

The Encyclopedia Judaica dates back the roots of the Perahya(h) family to 13th century Egypt. M. Molho, in his monograph about the Perahya family [‘Essai d’une Monographie sur la Famille Perahia’, Thessaloniki, 1938, pp. 27-33], states that the Perahya family was Salonican and that they had raised many grand rabbis. Molho also talks with awe about the very famous Perahya Library. The word Perahyah can be understood as the merge of the [Hebrew] words ‘Perah’ meaning ‘flower’ and ‘Yah’ meaning ‘God,’ so the ‘flower of God.’ Pirke Avot [‘Ethics of the Fathers’, a part of the Mishna] mentions Yeshua ben Perahya. Perahya has been mentioned also as the uncle of Isaah in Israel Zangwill’s 1 book ‘Fantaisies Italiennes’ [translated by Mme. Marcel Girette, Collection Anglia, Editions G. Cres et Cie., 1924].

I was told that my paternal grandfather, Ishak Perahya, was born in Kuzguncuk [district on the Asian side of Istanbul], and so were his brother Vitali, who married Esterina and had two sons named Jak and Salvador, and his sister Rachel, who married someone from the Keribar family, whose name I don’t remember, and didn’t have any children. Later they moved to the Haydarpasha area [district on the Asian side of Istanbul]. Unfortunately I don’t have any details about his parents or his education.

Having a thin moustache and no beard, my paternal grandfather used to wear normal urban clothes with a fez 2, and in winter he wrapped himself in his kurdi 3. He had an authoritarian but loving character; however, he never revealed his feelings much. My grandmother always addressed him as ‘siz’ [in a formal and respectful way, analogue to the French ‘Vous’ or the German ‘Sie’] and always used a third person singular question form as in: ‘A ke oras va vinir?’ [Ladino question in the formal and polite form, meaning ‘at what time will you come?’] .

My grandfather Ishak was devoted to his religion; very respectful of Shabat [Sabbath], obeyed the kasherut [kashrut] rules, and performed all his religious duties and obligations. It cannot be said that he was pious, since in those days this was the normal, standard way of life.

My paternal grandmother, Yohevet, was from the family of Fratelli Haim, who owned the famous printing house. [Editor’s note: later named ‘Kagitcilik Matbaacilik Anonim Sirketi,’ it was a modern printing house founded by the Haim brothers around the end of the 19th century, publishing books in different languages, including the review ‘Hamenora,’ edited by the Bnai Brith Association]. I don’t know anything about her parents, her childhood or education.

My maternal grandfather, Moshe Rottenberg, an Ashkenazi, emigrated from Russia, probably to flee the oppression against Jews in that country. [Editor’s note: In the late 19th century many Jews from the Russian Empire (often from Bessarabia or Southern Ukraine) as well as from Romania fled south of the Danube, to Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire, to escape pogroms and oppression in general.] I have no idea about his birth date or birth place, but I guess he had some sisters who remained in Russia. He married here, in Istanbul, Belina Scherler, who was born in Istanbul and attended the German High School. He was the Turkish business representative of different European manufacturers. Later Moshe and Belina Rottenberg immigrated to Belgium and both died there.

I remember my paternal grandparents much better than my maternal ones, mostly because my father lived for a long time in his father’s house, even after he got married, as it was customary in those days. My maternal grandfather had lesser financial means than my paternal one, but he was more outgoing. Unfortunately I don’t have many memories of him.

My father, Yaakov Perahya, was born in Haydarpasha, Istanbul. I never knew his birth date. He attended the communal elementary school and continued his studies in the German High School of the Hilfsverein [der Deutschen Juden] 4. Together with his brother Yasef, who married Regine and had three children – Rifat, Victor and Elvira – he was a partner in their father’s millinery shop in Corapci Han [Turkish words meaning sock-maker/seller building] in Mahmutpasha [a business neighborhood in Istanbul].

My father was the only subscriber [probably not literally the only subscriber, but there must have been very few of them] in Turkey of Forverts 5, a periodical printed in Yiddish in the U.S.; the periodical came rolled up in a tube. He of course knew Yiddish very well because he had studied at the Hilfsverein Jewish school even though he himself was Sephardic. He liked to read it aloud while simultaneously translating it into French. He kept all the issues. At one time there were so many periodicals piled up at home that I remember quite clearly, my mother telling him, ‘Ya basta, los echaremos’ [Ladino: ‘enough, let’s throw them away’]. Since he was neither very talented in trading nor really interested in it, he wouldn’t go to the shop very often; mostly it was his brother and father who ran the business. Instead he preferred to go to the synagogue and the yeshiva [yeshivah] and have religious discussions with the rabbis and his friends. I probably got my habit of reading and discussing from him and later developed it further with personal effort.

Besides being Sephardic, maybe because of the German cultural background he had gotten, he was also very interested in the Ashkenazi synagogue, even to the point that he read his morning Tefila [prayer] at home one morning in the Sephardic way, another morning in the Ashkenazi way. He attended both synagogues. Because of this intimate interest of his I make a donation and add his name on the list of the deceased members of the synagogue, to be read at every Yom Kippur at 12 o’clock midday. [Editor’s note: According to the Istanbul Ashkenazi tradition, a Kaddish for the souls of the dead is recited at noon at every Yom Kippur. The names of the deceased for whom the Kaddish is to be recited are recorded beforehand. Again according to the Ashkenazi tradition, those members of the congregation whose parents are alive do not attend this prayer. They have to leave while this prayer is being read. According to the Ashkenazi tradition those whose parents are both alive are not even allowed to go to the cemeteries.]

On the other hand, I do recall my father acting as a reporter for some foreign journals and newspapers, and having a Zionist point of view. In fact when Nahum Sokolov 6, the Hebrew writer, a pioneer in modern Hebrew journalism and president of the World Zionist Organization and the Jewish Agency, visited Istanbul, the interview he made with him in Pera Palas Hotel was published in a foreign newspaper, I don’t remember which, but probably one in German. [Editor’s note: Designed by the French architect Alexander Vallaury and opened in October 1891, the Pera Palas Hotel was built primarily for use of passengers coming from Paris to Istanbul.] My father used the signature Yifrah as a pseudonym when he wrote in local Jewish weekly newspapers like El Tiempo 7 and La Vera Luz 8. I still sign some of my writings in my column, named La Huente [fountain/source], on the Judeo-Spanish page of the Shalom 9 newspaper with Ben Yifrah [Hebrew for Son of Yifrah].

My father and I didn’t have problems in our relationship. There was not the tell-tale ‘generation gap’ between us. In fact our relationship had nothing worth mentioning.

My mother, Klara Rottenberg, was born in Istanbul in 1886 as one of eight children of an Ashkenazi family. My mother’s sisters Rachel and Hanna died very young, of tuberculosis, in Istanbul. Her brothers Manuel and Josef immigrated to France whereas Leon and Cecile went to Belgium. During World War II, Manuel participated actively in the French Resistance, at Romans near Grenoble in France. When my mother died in 1988, she was 102 years old.

Although my mother’s native tongue was Yiddish, after she got married, in time she managed to communicate in Judeo-Spanish much better and more comprehensively than many Sephardi people.

My mother was a classical housewife. Although my father had a rich library at home, I don’t recall my mother making any use of it. My paternal grandmother, Yohevet, except for religious holidays, went to play cards with friends almost every afternoon and sometimes also took her daughter-in-law, my mother, with her.

According to the Muslim [Islamic] Calendar 10 my year of birth is 1328, meaning 1913 in the Gregorian calendar. I was born on 14th February in a distinguished little district of Istanbul on the Anatolian side, called Haydarpasha.

My siblings are Luisa, born in 1920, and married to Ishak Sayah, and Anna, born in 1924, and married to David Abaruh. Both studied in French schools.

Why am I named Eli, when according to the Sephardic tradition, where the first child is named after his paternal grandfather, I should have been named Ishak? The simple reason was that my paternal grandfather didn’t want to give his name when he was alive, thus he opened the Torah at random and decided on the first biblical name he read: it was Eliyau… Ilyao is my name spelt erroneously in the civil registers.

We lived in the three-storey high Lefter Apartment on Duz Street, very near the famous Valpreda Apartments, between the Haydarpasha and Kadikoy districts. [Editor’s note: They were built in Yeldegirmeni, Haydarpasa, at the beginning of the 20th century. The owners or tenants of these apartments were mostly Jews. These were the first modern apartments built on the Asian side of Istanbul.] Valpreda was the name of the famous architect who had built the big Haydarpasha Railway Station. [One of the two main railway stations in Istanbul, built between 1899 and 1903. It is located on the Asian side and connects the city with Anatolia, Iran and the Middle East.] As the building had the same granite stone covering, it was rumored that he had built the apartments using the leftovers from the railway station’s construction. Obviously this was just a rumor; a logical error of judgment.

There were four rooms with high ceilings; some had a sea-view. There was electricity and running water and heating in winter was by using a big enamel coal-stove.

Meat was bought from the kosher butcher, prepared and cooked traditionally. After attending the Friday night prayer in the synagogue, dinner was eaten at a very specially prepared table, all together. Dinner on Friday nights was one of the most important events and entertainments of the family. First my paternal grandfather used to recite the Kiddush and then came the meals, starting usually with fish cooked with green plums, flour pastry, vegetables, meat and fruit or dessert, all accompanied by kosher wine. Then we used to sing joyously all together. The dinner was prepared by a Jewish cook named Esterina.

We also attended the synagogue every Saturday. Jewish shops were all closed on Saturdays and religious holidays. My grandfather Ishak used to gather the kids in the Haydarpasha synagogue [named the Hemdat Israel Synagogue, inaugurated in 1899] and during the summer in Buyukada [one of the Prince Islands in the Marmara Sea, near Istanbul] synagogue [named Hessed le Avraam, inaugurated in 1904] and shared with them his religious knowledge. My father was the gabay [gabbai] of the Haydarpasha synagogue. The Saturday sermons by Rav Ishak Sciaky were listened to with great interest and some people who could comprehend his teachings followed him to his house where they had discussions with him. [Rav Ishak Sciaky (Shaki) (1852-1940): president of Beth Din, author of the Ladino ‘Historia Universal Judia’ (The Universal Jewish History), a 16-volume masterpiece, 13 of which have been published. It is written in the Rashi alphabet. He also contributed to the completion of the Me-am Loez (An outstanding Bible commentary in Judeo-Spanish, written in a popular and attractive style.) by working on the Song of Songs chapter in 1899. He deputized for the Hahambashi [Chief Rabbi] from 1931 to 1940.] I remember that sometimes, together with both my grandfathers, we used to go to his house, too. Besides this, my father was officially registered as one of the title-deed holders of the Haydarpasha synagogue. Here my mind gets caught on something odd; there were no mikves. As far as I can remember, an agreement was made with the local public Turkish bath, the Hamam, to use one part of the bath as mikve [mikveh] on certain days and hours of the week; I don’t remember which days.

Judeo-Spanish was the dominant language in my grandfather Ishak’s home; however, my parents often used Yiddish to communicate with each other. Although I’ve never learned this language, with my ears full of it I’ve always felt very familiar with it.

My mother believed in the Evil Eye and she called it ‘aynara,’ a concise colloquial expression for ‘ayn ha-araa’ [mentioned in the morning prayers as ‘Please God to protect us from the malicious looks around’, literally bad eyes]. My younger brother, Albert, whom we lost as a very young child, was a beautiful baby. On a summer day on Buyukada while my mother was pushing him along in his baby carriage, a woman passing by came to her and said, ‘ke ermozo ijiko’ [what a beautiful boy] and went away. That same night, after a very sudden high fever, my brother developed quick-spreading meningitis, and in a short time he passed away.

My mother came from a family who loved music, singing and dancing, and she played the piano herself. She very much wanted me to take violin lessons, but my paternal grandfather, with whom we lived, wasn’t very keen on the idea, saying that music was unnecessary and that it was a futile activity. My mother arranged for an Italian, Mr. Romano, and his daughter, who were living nearby, to give me violin lessons secretly. I studied my music at our porter, Ms. Eliza’s house, so as not to make my grandfather, who represented the patriarchal authority, suspicious. This went on for about nine months, until I learned and could fully play a song that my grandfather would like. Finally the important day came and I was able to play in my grandfather’s presence. Although he never expressed it openly, he must have appreciated it, since he never made any difficulties again.

One of the important memories of my childhood was the famous fire in Haydarpasha. In the summer of 1922 I was a nine-year-old child playing football with my friends. On the evening after the day I had bought myself a beautiful new football a very big fire broke out in our district. Shortly after, it spread all over the neighborhood with the impact of the wind. Everyone was trying to evacuate their houses, and with the help of the relatives who came to help, our belongings were carried from the balcony of our house to the garden and from there to the shore of Haydarpasha-Kadikoy. The only thing I had missed in the hurry of saving our belongings was my new beautiful football. ‘Kada uno mete la mano ande le ruele.’ [Ladino for ‘One puts his hand where he is hurt’] The fire continued the whole night, and we spent the night at the shore like everybody else. The following day, when we headed back home to determine the losses, we found out that our house was the only one that had remained intact in the whole street. We moved the furniture back and started to live there again.

I started my education in the elementary school of the Jewish community in Haydarpasha. Here boys and girls studied together, whereas the high schools I attended later were for boys only. Being a very good student I was able to skip certain classes. I attended elementary school for only three years [instead of five]. Thanks to the private French lessons with Ms. Ojeni Bivas, after taking a special examination I skipped certain classes and went directly to the 5th grade at Saint Louis High School [a French Catholic school in Haydarpasha] and studied three more years there. My favorite subject was algebra, but there wasn’t any lesson I specially disliked. After that, I finished my last three years of education in the commercial department of the Saint Joseph High School [a French Catholic College in Moda, a district on the Anatolian side of Istanbul] before I started earning my living. Here I was also a good student. I still keep my school report cards and certificates. I remember our teacher of philosophy, nick-named ‘the Philosopher’, who asked us to write a dissertation on the Industrial Revolution in England. I was the best in our class and was marked 16 over 20. I still remember his words, ‘this is the highest mark I’ve given to a student in my life,’ which showed how meticulous he was on the level of the studies. I like to nick-name my educational life as a ‘3+3+3 educational system,’ as I attended three classes at each level.

In February 1929 I attended the courses of the Millet Mektebi 11 to learn the new Turkish alphabet and received my certificate, which I still keep.

My bar-mitzva [bar mitzvah] took place in the Haydarpasha Hemdat Israel Synagogue on a Saturday morning. I presented a short speech, but I don’t remember its content now. Afterwards a reception was held at home. It was just a cocktail party to which only the family members and a few very close friends were invited. We didn’t have the custom of having a banquet or ceremony outside home in those days.

During the summer holidays, we either used to move to summer resorts like Buyukada or to Yakacik [a hill resort on the Anatolian shore] for the whole summer, or we went to the public beaches between Haydarpasha and Kadikoy to swim.

Friday as the Muslim holiday of the week was later replaced by Sunday [see Reforms in the Turkish Republic] 12. Naturally Saturday was a holiday for us Jews in any case. The custom was: after going to the synagogue on Saturday mornings, we visited our uncles and aunts in their homes. Aunt Rachel, Aunt Regine etc. We used to go either to the newly opened movie theater in the neighborhood next to the famous grocery shop Niko’s, where a Jewish lady, Ms. Abenkual, was also a partner, or to the movie theaters in Altiyol Bahariye [district not far from Haydarpasha]. I used to watch films like ‘La Porteuse de Pain’ [aka ‘The Bread Peddler’] and ‘Les Deux Gamines’ [French movie, lit. translation: ‘The Two Brats’] in those theaters. I don’t remember what they were about now; it was a long time ago. Besides the Jewish religious holidays, national holidays like the Day of the Republic 13 and Liberation Day of Istanbul 14 were celebrated with enthusiasm with the whole neighborhood.

I was a member of the Social Benevolence Association of Haydarpasha [Cercle Israelite de Haidar-Pacha, Israelite Circle of Haydarpasha] in my youth. From 1931 to 1936 I served as the president of the literature division of this association, ‘Cercle Litteraire,’ as we used to call it. About fifteen youngsters, both girls and boys, of an average age of seventeen attended this division. Amongst them were, as far as I can remember, Jozef Alkahe, Salomon Azarya, Albert Nassi, Robert Sarfati, Moris Barbut and my best friend, Anri Kaneti. Later Anri went to Morocco and established himself there. I met him once in Paris, but we didn’t have further contact. We used to gather in the Cercle’s locale twice a week, usually after 8pm, organizing conferences, debates, concerts, meetings and the like.

In Haydarpasha we had many Muslim, Greek and some Armenian neighbors. I don’t recall any anti-Semitic incident – neither in the neighborhood nor in school – I don’t recall even hearing anything to imply such a thing or any alienating feeling. On the contrary, in our association, there was one young Muslim man named Fahir Selami, whose father was my teacher of Turkish language, and one young Armenian man named Serkis Kalebciyan who could talk Judeo-Spanish much better than we did.

In the orchestra we founded, Elsa Angel played the piano, Fahir Selami and I played violin and Serkis Kalebciyan played the wind instruments. We also had a library that we youngsters were managing as well. I’ve kept the records and correspondences of this organization and I still have them today. Generally we went to the famous hotel of the time, the Belvu [Belle-vue; beautiful view in French] in Fenerbahce [Istanbul neighborhood on the Anatolian shore] to dance. Naturally, many love affairs blossomed during these gatherings. I also got to know my first wife, Elsa, in this organization.

The Elsa and Klara Angel sisters lived on Ferit Bey Street in Talimhane [a district near Taksim, on the European side of Istanbul]. Their house was just opposite the Turkish state school. Later the school was transferred somewhere else and the building started to be used as ‘Askerlik Subesi’ [Military Department]. In the thirties we used to rent motorcycles in the meadow at the end of the street and tour around the square ‘para azer hadras’ [an expression in Ladino meaning ‘in order to show off for the girls’].

Their father, Yaakov Angel, passed away when they were children, so they had been raised by their mother, Fortune Mazaltov Angel, and their maternal grandparents, the Kasavis [Cassavi]. Elia Kasavi, their maternal grandfather, was a money-changer and also the mukhtar [the elected head of a village or a neighborhood within a town or city] of Talimhane. A pious but liberal thinking man, he was married to Klara Salti and had two children: a daughter and a son. The daughter was Fortune Mazaltov, who had two daughters and had been widowed very young. Fortune Mazaltov was my mother-in-law twice: when I married Elsa and then, after her death, when I married Klara. Kasavi’s son, Rafael, was a veteran of World War I. He and his wife Rebecca had three children: Sara, Yaakov and Eli. Eli is today a member of the Communal Council of the Etz Hayim Synagogue in Ortakoy, a neighborhood of Istanbul.

Elsa and I got married on 30th June 1936 in the Kal Kadosh Galata [Zulfaris] Synagogue 15, which became The Museum of Turkish Jews in 2001. We spent our honeymoon in the Belvu Hotel in Fenerbahce. Then we moved into my mother-in-law’s house. We didn’t want her to live all alone. She had been widowed at an early age and was used to living together with her daughters Elsa and Klara. Three years later, just on the eve of World War II, we joined a ten-day cruise on the ‘Bessarabia’ to Romania, where we visited Bucharest and different sites.

I have two children from Elsa: my daughter Lina, born in 1943, and my son David, born in 1947. Lina was named after Grandmother Belina, as for David, he was named according to a dream Elsa had a short time before his birth. She saw a very old and wise man holding a baby in his arms and giving him to her saying, ‘This is your baby. You will name him David.’ As we lived all together in the house the children weren’t just our children, they were the ‘children of the house.’ Later we moved, all together, to Tepebashi, a residential district on the European side of Istanbul, near the Jewish neighborhood. Our apartment was named Jul Apartiman after its owner, Mr. Jules Blumenthal, a rich and famous trader, representative and producer in Turkey of Columbia and His Master’s Voice records. We had such wonderful days; however, very unfortunately, my wife Elsa died of cancer in 1949, in spite of all the efforts by the renowned physician Dr. Barbut.

I was a widower with two children. Although we lived together as a family I was feeling the absence of a wife very dearly. In 1951, my then-sister-in-law, Klara, and I decided to get married. Our wedding ceremony was very plain and simple. After kissing our mothers’ hands I went out with Klara to get married in the City Marriage Office with two witnesses we found there. After the wedding took place, we took the rabbi of the Kal de los Frankos Synagogue on Sahsuvar Street [founded by the Italian Sephardim, Comunita Israelitico-Italiana di Istanbul in 1886], who was also on duty at the Hemdat le Avram Synagogue in the summer months, and we went to Buyukada by boat. He performed our wedding ceremony under the hupa [chuppah], only in front of a minyan. We had our honeymoon for one week on Buyukada.

The same year Klara had a daughter whom we named Elsa, in memory of my late wife. Klara being a generous and selfless person raised all three kids together treating them completely equally. I’m so grateful to her.

For many years we rented a house in Fenerbahce with nearly two acres of garden with fruit-trees for the summer months. When I came back from work at about 5-6pm, together with my wife and the kids, we used to take the tomato-feta-cheese-olive sandwiches that Klara had prepared, rent a boat from the coast in front of the Todori Restaurant in Kalamis and row along the coast of Kalamis-Fenerbahce, and swim there. Today it is impossible for me to recognize the places we used to ride our bicycles around and have so much fun with sweet memories hidden in them; the panorama of those days has been changed so much that now I feel alienated.

I was enlisted for military service three times. First, in 1935, I completed the six-month service in Istanbul, partially in Harbiye headquarters as ‘yazici’ [secretary-clerk], partially in Haydarpasha in the ‘sihhiye’ [sanitary corps]. Then in 1940, I was called again and consigned to Bahceyis [a very small village near Catalca in Thrace, around 50 km from the center of Istanbul] together with three classes [men born in the years 1327-28-29 – hijri calendar, roughly speaking these years would correspond to the years 1912-1913-1914]. And, finally, again in 1941 with the well-known call for the 20 [military] classes 16; this time I was sent to Sivas and Erzincan [north-eastern Turkey].

In 1930 I started to work at G. Dielmann and Bill, a leading firm employing more than 40 persons, and acted as representative in Turkey of very well-known European manufacturers such as Krupp, Pirelli, Zeiss, Parker and others, as an assistant-accountant. How did I get that job? I had just graduated from the Saint Joseph College commercial section and was looking for work. My father talked about this to his close friend Mr. Kohen who was the chief accountant of that firm and who invited me to join the company. When the Income Tax Law was brought into force in 1950, I resigned and started my own bureau as a free accountant/financial adviser. I worked like that for nearly twenty years.

I cannot say that I suffered badly of the so-called Wealth Tax 17 I paid the 250 Liras assessed to me as a worker. I still keep the receipt. We also paid the 750 Liras for my mother-in-law, who was charged three times more for being a landowner. The figures might look small, but everyone has their own worth of money. ‘Kada uno a su boy’ [an expression in Ladino meaning, ‘everyone according to what he can afford’].

In 1957, I was invited to be a member of the honorary council for the Chief Rabbinate, and until 1983 I tried my best with my professional knowledge and experience to be useful to my community. I retired as vice-president in 1983. Essentially I had the associative experience of the communal work from earlier times. Long ago I was a member of the youth branch of the Bnai Brith Association. Later I worked for the management of many societies. In the meantime, from 1974-1976, I was elected president for the ‘Fakirleri Koruma Dernegi,’ ex-Bnai Brith [Charity Foundation to Protect the Needy].

I didn’t get any special religious education when I was little, meaning I didn’t attend Mahazike Torah or Sunday School [Mahaziketora] 18. I learned all the prayers, our creeds and traditions from my grandfather Ishak, who had educated generations, and from my father’s practices. I am well-connected to my religion and traditions; however, I never act dogmatically when it comes to practice. For me, the basis of religion, the essence of it, is its spiritual message to be given to the people. For me Leviticus and Deuteronomy [Two of the Five Books of Moses, the Torah] contain all the laws for contemporary human rights and values, and are the base of humanism itself. While until very recently I was regularly carrying out the tradition of limmud [prayer and ceremony held on the same date of funeral every Jewish year, like the yahrzeit in the Ashkenazi tradition] for the relatives who passed away, I now prefer to donate a certain amount of money instead to some charitable institutions in the name of the deceased. The only exception being the ceremony of reading my father’s name in the Ashkenazi synagogue on Rosh Ashana and Yom Kipur for the noon prayer, as I mentioned earlier.

Whether I have ever considered Aliyah, that is a question difficult to answer for a person who is responsible for his parents, widowed mother-in-law, wife, and who has kids on his shoulders. I leave the conclusion up to you.

My children left home, and the country, at an early age. Lina’s husband Moris Asseo went to France to finish his education in engineering and settled there with his wife. Later on, they moved to the U.S. and they still live there. My son David, after graduating from Saint Benoit High School here, acquired a scholarship from the Turkish–French Society and decided to continue his college education at a university in France. He went to Lyon, because according to the agreement between the two countries, scholarships were granted for schools in that city. After getting his degree in biochemistry he married Bronnie Davidovich, a Jewish girl of Polish roots he met at university, and settled in Paris. He still works at the CNRS [Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, National Center of Scientific Research] as Research Manager of Laboratory. Elsa also studied psychology in France. Afterwards she returned home and married Vitali Franko, the son of a Jewish family in Istanbul, who was a student at INSA [Institut National des Sciences Appliquees, National Institute of Applied Sciences] also at Lyon, and then returned to France. Later they moved to the US and they still live there.

I now have six grandchildren, four of them living in the US and two of them in France, and four great-grandchildren. Camille and Christian Roy have two children: a daughter named Isabel and a son named Sebastian. As for Elsa and Paul Jacobson, their daughter’s name is Maya and their son’s Stephan. They are all living in the US. Although we can define the whole family as more traditional than religious, somehow one of my grandchildren in Paris ended up being very religious, conforming to all the laws of Judaism. My grandchildren are named as follows: the two granddaughters from Lina and Maurice are Camille, named after Maurice’s mother, and Elsa, named after Lina’s mother. From David I have two grandsons named Benjamin Eli, after me, and Mischa, after Bronnie’s father. And from Elsa, I have two grandsons named Alp [Albert], after Vitali’s father, and Eli, after me. So there are in the family two Elis to continue my name. It’s a Turkish-Sephardic tradition that the first boy or girl is named after his/her paternal grandfather or grandmother, the second after his/her maternal ones. Sometimes the name of a beloved in the family, who died young, is also given. Today names are often distorted to meet the Turkish spelling [Turkish names sounding similar to Jewish ones are chosen], for instance Alp for Albert, Izzet for Ishak, Hayati for Vitali, Inci for Perla, Suleyman or Selim for Salamon etc…

Unfortunately I don’t use the Internet to communicate with my children and grandchildren. For some reason I have been allergic to everything mechanical in my life. Luckily my wife Klara can manage to deal with the computer and manages our communication for both of us.

There are two days I really don’t give any value during a year: they are yesterday and tomorrow. The important thing for me is today, in fact the very moment of now. The past is already in the past and the future is a lot of unknowns. A characteristic feature of mine is that I try not to consider the negative aspects of events. Whatever happened, happened. Certainly I had hard times in my life, but when they ended, they had neither more value nor any importance for me any more. Because of this, I don’t find any value in recalling the social negativities and complaining about them over and over again; I have trouble understanding people who act this way.

I’m 92 years old now. When I look back I see all the sweet and bitter memories following each other. Being in a parallel wavelength of thought and philosophy of life with me, my wife Klara has been a great support to me in all my life, and she has relieved me in my social work. For the last few years, Klara and I have been trying, through the pen and the word, to make an effort for the preservation of Judeo-Spanish. My wife and I have been working hard to prevent the disappearance of Judeo-Spanish as a language of communication. We have published a dictionary – Judeo-Spanish – French/ French – Judeo-Spanish – in France. Also, every week, I have a column in the Judeo-Spanish page of the Shalom newspaper called ‘Huente.’

Thank God, I can still read, write, and try to be useful for the society as much as I can, trying to share my memories and experiences with them.

Glossary:

Ştefan Guth
Braşov
România
Reporter: Andreea Lapteş
Data interviului: septembrie 2003

Dl. Guth este un om în vârstă de 72 de ani, care în ciuda vârstei impune prin prezenţă şi spirit: oricine vorbeşte cu el rămâne cu impresia că nu are vârstă, mai ales atunci când vorbeşte despre tinereţea lui şi despre năzbâtiile pe care le făcea, copil fiind. Îi plac glumele, chiar şi pe socoteala altuia, şi vrea să fie acceptat aşa cum este. Trăieşte într-un apartament cu trei camere într-o casă, împreună cu soţia sa, Maria, care are acelaşi spirit tânăr şi corpul unei balerine. Dl. Guth este un om foarte cultivat: iţi poţi da seama după antichităţile şi obiectele de artă pe care le are în sufragerie. Dar mai mult, îţi dă impresia că este un om care a trăit la maxim orice i-a oferit viaţa: devine pasional când vorbeşte despre sporturi, despre nedreptate, despre scriitori, despre dragoste, despre politică, nu pare să fie nimic ce să nu fi experimentat la timpul său.

Familia mea
Copilăria mea
Al Doilea Război Mondial
După Război
Liceul și facultatea
Viața mea

Familia mea

Bunicul meu patern, Guth, (nu îi ştiu numele mic) era funcţionar la consulatul ungar din Belgrad, dar nu l-am cunoscut niciodată; a murit când tatăl meu era încă tânăr (nu ştiu dacă în Belgrad sau în Oradea), nu ştiu exact când, dar tatăl meu nu-şi amintea deloc de el; astfel că am cunoscut-o doar pe bunica paternă, Serena. După ce bunicul patern a murit, ea s-a recăsătorit cu un evreu numit Schwartz. Bunica nu se îmbrăca tradiţional, dar respecta Sabbath-ul şi aprindea lumânări în fiecare vineri seara. Vorbea maghiara, dar nu ţin minte dacă vorbea şi idiş. În orice caz, nu am văzut-o decât de câteva ori, pentru că locuia în Oradea şi familia mea locuia la Braşov, aşa că distanţa era imensă pe vremea aceea, în anii 1930. Ţin minte că atunci când am vizitat-o a fost drăguţă cu mine, cum cred că e orice bunică, dar asta e tot ce îmi amintesc despre ea. Nu l-am cunoscut nici pe al doilea soţ al ei, şi el a murit tânăr: când am cunoscut-o pe bunica, era deja văduvă pentru a doua oară.

Tatăl meu, Iuliu Guth, a avut şi o soră, Bella Honig (nee Guth). Ea s-a căsătorit cu un evreu numit Miklos Honig; Miklos administra restaurantul celui mai elegant hotel din Oradea, Pallas, iar Bella era casnică. Au avut doi fii, Otto şi Toni Honig; Otto era cu trei sau patru ani mai în vârstă decât Tomi, şi a publicat mai multe poezii în reviste, era considerat un poet foarte talentat.

Bunica a mai avut un fiu din a doua căsătorie, Felix Schwartz, născut în 1912, care era fratele vitreg al tatălui meu. Felix a studiat medicina aici în România, nu ştiu în ce oraş, şi în 1939 cred, a emigrat în Franţa. L-am cunoscut puţin, aveam doar 8 ani atunci; ţin minte totuşi că o dată a trebuit să vină să vadă pe cineva, o vecină de-a noastră care locuia deasupra, când a fost bolnavă, şi mi-a dat voie să mă uit cum lucrează. Mă interesa meseria lui. În timpul războiului, Felix a făcut parte din Maqui, mişcarea de rezistenţă franceză din timpul ocupaţiei germane, iar apoi a practicat medicina la universitatea din Le Havre. Avea o vilă minunată pe Coasta de Azur [riviera franceză de la Marea Mediterană]. A fost căsătorit cu Renee Schwartz, dar nu a avut copii. Eu eram singurul lui moştenitor. Dar mi-a fost imposibil să moştenesc acea casă în timpului regimului comunist, în 1980 când a murit el, astfel încât cred că a donat-o comunităţii evreieşti de acolo. După ce a ajuns in Franţa, Felix i-a cumpărat mamei lui casa pe care aceasta o visase din totdeauna, mi-a spus tata: o casă mare în Oradea cu un nuc în curte. Bunica ocupa doar două camere şi bucătăria, iar celelalte două apartamente ale casei erau închiriate. N-a avut niciodată servitori din câte ştiu, era obişnuită să facă singură treaba din jurul casei. Nu cultiva nimic în grădină şi nu creştea animale; dar avea întotdeauna gem de nuci, făcut din nucile din grădină. Am mers în Oradea cu 15 ani în urmă, eram curios să văd dacă mai există casa: era, iar nucul era imens.

Bunicul matern, Emanoil Lobl, a locuit în mai multe sate din jurul Făgăraşului [în judeţul Braşov]: în Veneţia de Jos, Viştea de Sus, Scoreiu [judeţul Sibiu], cu bunica mea, Hannah Lobl (nee Fendrich). Bunicul meu nu a avut fraţi sau surori, dar bunica a avut două surori, Ida Goldstein (nee Fendrich) şi Helen Grunfeld (nee Fendrich); soţii lor erau evrei, iar ele erau casnice amândouă.

Bunicul a avut un restaurant în Scoreiu, după care şi-a putut permite să-şi mute afacerea în Făgăraş. Restaurantul lui se numea Mercur şi curând a devenit cel mai popular restaurant din oraş. Avea o curte mare şi o grădină unde oaspeţii puteau mânca afară vara. Bunicul mi-a povestit că s-a întâmplat o dată – era ziua naţională a Ungariei [20 august], o sărbătoare importantă în Făgăraş de vreme ce atunci Făgăraşul era sub ocupaţie austro-ungară – ca toată protipendada Făgăraşului să vină să sărbătorească această zi în restaurantul lui, în grădina de vară. Un taraf de muzicieni, de ţigani, a fost adus să cânte imnul maghiar; ţiganii erau foarte buni muzicieni, puteau cânta orice după ureche, şi bineînţeles că ştiau şi imnul Ungariei. Dar pe de altă parte nu te puteai baza pe ei, nu puteai să ai încredere că nu vor bea prea mult la petrecere, aşa ca au fost încuiaţi în două camere: instrumentele lor erau într-o cameră, iar ţiganii în cealaltă, astfel încât să nu se îmbete înainte de a cânta în faţa oaspeţilor. Dar unul dintre ţigani a avut o diaree formidabilă, şi, disperat că nu era nici o toaletă, a fugit în camera cu instrumente şi s-a uşurat în helicon, instrumentul mare de suflat, de aramă, care ţine ritmul. Bineînţeles că heliconul s-a înfundat. Şi când au ieşit să cânte, bietul ţigan care sufla în helicon nu putea scoate nici un sunet din el. Bunicul mi-a zis că dirijorul era roşu de furie, îi ieşeau ochii din cap, şi îi arăta pumnii bietului ţigan cu heliconul care nu putea ţine ritmul. Aşa că ţiganul a tras tare aer în piept, a suflat cât de tare a putut, şi a mânjit cu excremente toţi oaspeţii din primul rând! Scandalul a fost groaznic, groaznic! Nimeni nu ştia cine era de vină, bineînţeles cu excepţia ţiganului care a folosit heliconul pe post de toaletă, dar el şi-a ţinut gura. Bunicul a aflat mai târziu cine a fost, dar nu a spus nimic. El nu a avut probleme cu autorităţile, deşi restaurantul era al lui, pentru că nu s-a putut dovedi nimic împotriva lui. Mai mult, Mano bacsi [unchiul Mano], cum era cunoscut bunicul, era un om foarte spiritual, vesel, şi toată lumea din Făgăraş îl iubea. Doar după al Doilea Război Mondial, când Transilvania s-a întors la România, [după Tratatul de la Trianon], ţiganul responsabil a recunoscut că el fusese, şi a devenit un mic erou local pentru o vreme, pentru că el cauzase acel incident, şi majoritatea oamenilor din Făgăraş nu îi simpatizau pe maghiari!

Nu am cunoscut niciodată faimosul Mercur, când îi vizitam pe bunici aveau un restaurant mai mic, în centrul Făgăraşului, lângă bancă. Nu mai ţin minte cum se numea, dar toată lumea spunea: „Hai să mergem la Mano bacsi!”, aşa era cunoscut în oraş. Restaurantul era în casa lor: două camere mari erau un fel de Bar, unde oamenii veneau şi beau o halbă de bere bună şi rece, pentru care bunicul era vestit, şi mai era o cameră unde se putea mânca. În spate mai erau două camere unde locuiau bunicii mei.

Bunica era casnică, dar avea o grămadă de făcut: ea conducea bucătăria restauratului, ea supraveghea totul. Bucătăreasa şi servitorii găteau reţetele ei, şi ea însăşi gătea splendid. Încă mai îmi aduc aminte de una din favoritele mele, bors tokany [în maghiară]. Era o tocană de vită cu piper, parcă o văd, cum era servită în farfurii adânci, cu mult sos închis la culoare, cu piper şi carne, era ceva grozav! Elita Făgăraşului venea în fiecare duminică dimineaţa la Mano bacsi pentru vestita tocană, servită cu o halbă de bere rece. Acesta era ritualul de duminică din Făgăraş, pentru unguri şi români deopotrivă, era la fel de sigur în programul de duminică cum e pentru evrei mynian-ul în programul de sâmbătă!

Am stat mult cu ei, toate vacanţele mele când eram în şcoala generală le petreceam acolo. Aveam mulţi prieteni acolo, acolo am învăţat să înot sau să pescuiesc in Olt [râu în partea de sud a României]. Bunica era ocupată cu restaurantul, dar mereu îşi găsea timp să mă răsfeţe, aşa că am fost cam răsfăţat ca unic nepot. Îmi făcea toate poftele, îmi gătea mâncărurile favorite. Dar asta nu se întâmpla foarte des, pentru că puteam alege din meniul restaurantului. Ţin minte că îmi plăcea să mă joc de-a chelnerul, şi să servesc singur clienţii. Bunica şi bunicul erau aşa de mândri să mă vadă cum mergeam printre mese cu şervetul alb pe braţ. Oamenii mă plăceau, sau aşa credeam eu, şi îi tot felicitau pe bunici pentru ce nepot minunat au! Aveam cel mult 11 ani atunci, pentru că ţin minte că eram în şcoala primară.

Bunica era mai religioasă decât bunicul, respecta toate tradiţiile: gătea mâncare kosher pentru familie, şi i-ar fi plăcut ca şi restauratul să fie kosher, dar bineînţeles că nu era posibil. Nu respectam kashrut, gustam din toate oalele din bucătăria restaurantului. Amândoi respectau Sabbath-ul, şi mergeau la sinagogă sâmbăta, şi bunica aprindea lumânări vineri seara. Mergeam cu ei la sinagogă sâmbăta, ţin minte că era un teren de tenis lângă sinagogă, unde copii se adunau şi se jucau. Ţin minte că erau două domnişoare evreice care jucau tenis acolo, şi care îşi dădeau nişte aere incredibile! Cea care servea striga: „Plaaay!” cu o voce ascuţită, iar cealaltă răspundea: „Ready!”

Bunicii mei materni nu erau implicaţi în politică. E interesant că, deşi trăiau în Ungaria, sau mai bine spus, în Transilvania sub stăpânire ungară, nu vorbeau maghiară. Vorbeau română, şi idiş intre ei, când nu vroiau să-i înţeleg. De fapt, bunicul simpatiza cu regimul român: ţin minte că mi-a spus că atunci când avea restaurantul în Scoreiu, a mai fost un incident. Era un stâlp, sau un copac în curte, şi când a fost 10 Mai [mai târziu Ziua Victoriei] cred, cineva a ridicat steagul românesc în copac. Scandalul era iminent, bineînţeles, şi de data aceasta bunicul ştia cine fusese, era parte din complot, dar nu a zis nimic. Jandarmul, sau csendorul [în maghiară] a trebuit să vină, în uniformă şi cu pene de cocoş la coif, să se urce în copac şi să dea jos steagul. Au vrut chiar să taie pomul, dar se pare că s-au răzgândit, pentru că nu au mai făcut-o. Au făcut investigaţii despre cine ar fi putut fi, dar fără nici un rezultat.

Mama, Estera Guth (nee Lobl), avea un frate mai mare, Arnold Lobl, născut în 1902. Arnold a locuit la Turda şi apoi la Cluj-Napoca, unde era căsătorit cu Zita Lobl; ţin minte că o chema după o prinţesă austro-ungară, dar nu ştiu cine exact. [A fost ultima împărăteasă a Imperiului Austro-Ungar. Arhiducele Karl Franz Joseph s-a căsătorit cu prinţesa Zita de Bourbon-Parma în 1911.] A emigrat în Israel şi acolo a şi murit, în 1993. Au doi copii, Lucia şi Andrei Lobl, care de asemenea trăiesc în Israel.

Tata, Iuliu Guth, s-a născut la Belgrad în 1902, unde lucra tatăl său. După ce el a murit, s-a mutat cu mama şi cu al doilea soţ al ei, Schwartz, la Oradea. A terminat academia de comerţ din Oradea, unde a învăţat în maghiară. A cunoscut-o pe mama, Estera Guth, în Făgăraş, după care s-au căsătorit şi au venit să locuiască în Braşov. Mama s-a născut în 1907 în judeţul Sibiu, lângă satul Scoreiu, şi a studiat la Cluj, la liceul evreiesc Tarbut, tot în maghiară. A considerat întotdeauna perioada aceea „timpurile ei de aur” (1920-1924/5), i-a plăcut foarte mult liceul; era considerată o vedetă acolo, era foarte, foarte populară, şi din ce am înţeles de la ea, simţirea evreiască şi sionistă de acolo era foarte puternică. Amândoi vorbeau în ungureşte unul cu celălalt.

S-a căsătorit cu tata în sinagoga din Făgăraş în 1930. Nu a fost o căsătorie aranjată, probabil s-au cunoscut în cercurile evreieşti, pentru că Braşovul e aproape de Făgăraş. Tata mi-a spus că a făcut o gafă grozavă la nuntă: el era un bărbat tăcut, bine crescut, şi era acolo un tip mai în vârstă care făcea tărăboi. Şi tata o întreabă pe cea mai bună prietenă a mamei, Sari: „Cine e ăla care face atâta scandal?” „Tata!”, a răspuns ea. „Nu, pe Ţig bacsi îl ştiu, cel de lângă el”, a încercat tata s-o dreagă. „Acela e fratele meu!”, a răspuns ea.

Copilăria mea

Tata lucra ca procurist pentru Societatea Bancară Română din Braşov, care era de fapt o ramură a unei bănci germane. Era o poziţie importantă, avea autoritate de la directorii generali ai băncii să ia decizii în numele lor.

Părinţii mei nu erau deloc religioşi. Mama nu era religioasă, dar aprindea mereu lumânările vineri seara şi spunea rugăciunea, asta învăţase de la mama ei. Dar nu exista challah la noi în casă, şi mâncarea nu era kosher. Tata oficia de Seder, şi spunea rugăciunile, şi cred că înainte de Pesach era o curăţenie mare. Dar nu ne costumam de Purim; asta făceau evreii ortodocşi. Cam astea erau toate tradiţiile evreieşti care se respectau în casa părinţilor mei. Tata nu era religios deloc, lucra de Sabbath, nu respecta kashrut, dar respecta sărbătorile mari. Era neolog, dar avea o identitate iudaică şi era un sionist fervent. Ţin minte că mama avea o ketubbah de la căsătoria ei, şi că tata avea un săculeţ de catifea violet cu magen David brodată pe ea, cu hainele pentru înmormântare, tallit-ul, siddur-ul. Tata nu era în nici un partid politic, dar aveam în casă cutiuţa Keren Kayemet, şi oricine venea la noi în casă trebuia să lase ceva în ea. Tata fusese membru în Ivria, una din primele organizaţii evreieşti din Braşov, care abia apoi au devenit sioniste. Nu ştiu sigur, dar cred că tata era o persoană importantă acolo. Nu vorbea mult despre asta, spunea doar că jucau mult fotbal. Cred că părinţii mei aveau un cerc de prieteni exclusivist: erau toţi evrei. Mama era o persoană foarte deschisă, foarte sociabilă, şi era foarte cunoscută în Braşov, cel puţin în cercurile evreieşti. Tata era bun prieten cu Felier Dezideriu, care fusese cu el în Ivria şi apoi a devenit preşedinte al comunităţii evreieşti din Braşov în timpul celui de-al Doilea Război Mondial. Îl ştia şi pe Citrom Molnar, care a devenit preşedinte al comunităţii în timpul comunismului.

Comunitatea evreiască din Braşov era de vreo 6000-7000 de evrei între cele două Războaie Mondiale. Aveam funcţionari, ca rabinul Deutsch, doi hahami, şi aceştia sunt doar cei pe care mi-i amintesc, nu eram foarte religios când eram tânăr. Erau două sinagogi, una ortodoxă şi una neologă, iar comunitatea era împărţită în două. Dar după ce comuniştii au venit la putere, cele două comunităţi s-au unit. Azi doar sinagoga neologă mai este deschisă.

Eu m-am născut în 1931 la Braşov. Prima casă în care am locuit era destul de mare, şi avea o grădină imensă, o fâneaţă cu flori sălbatice mai degrabă, pentru că nimeni nu planta nimic în ea; mă jucam acolo, alergam, prindeam fluturi, era raiul pe pământ! Locuiam la parterul casei, dar probabil mai locuia o familie deasupra noastră, pentru că casa mai avea un etaj. Nu îi ţin minte, eram prea mic atunci. Noi aveam trei camere mari, o bucătărie şi o baie. Mobila era modernă atunci, tata a cumpărat-o după ce s-a căsătorit cu mama. Încă mai am acea mobilă în casa mea, dar acum este considerată antică.

Mama avea grijă de mine, dar am avut şi o fraulein, era elegant şi la modă pentru bunele familii evreieşti să aibă o fraulein; şi am avut mereu una sau două servitoare în casă. Nu-mi aduc aminte numele ei, era o săsoaică, de vreo 19 ani,  care trebuia să fie în jurul meu toată ziua şi să-mi vorbească în germană. Drept urmare, am învăţat germana mai bine decât oricare altă limbă pe care am învăţat-o apoi, dar din păcate am mai uitat din ea, pentru că n-am folosit-o. Dar mama obişnuia să-mi spună, că atunci când aveam trei sau patru ani, şi mă sculam noaptea pentru că-mi era sete, nu spuneam [în maghiară]: „Egy pohar vizet kerek szepen”, spuneam „Bitte ein Glass Wasser!” [Dă-mi te rog un pahar cu apă! în germană] Bineînţeles că vorbeam şi maghiară, pe care am învăţat-o de la părinţii mei, dar până nu am mers la grădiniţă, nu ştiam un cuvânt româneşte. Acolo am învăţat-o pentru prima oară. Mama mă certa rar, doar mă „bombănea” când făceam ceva rău. Tata era mai sever, fusese crescut altfel, dar când eu crescusem timpurile se schimbaseră, iar eu nu eram copilul cel mai ascultător din lume; de fapt, nu eram deloc ascultător! Aşa că bineînţeles că erau scântei între noi din când in când.

Ne-m mutat din această primă casă când a trebuit să încep şcoala primară, şi tata a decis să mă trimită la şcoala primară evreiască, care era departe. Aşa că ne-am mutat în altă vilă care era mai aproape de şcoală, stăteam la parter, şi aveam de asemenea trei camere mari. Mai era un ungur care trăia la subsol, el era portarul. La parter eram noi şi o familie de unguri cred, şi la etaj mai erau două familii de evrei, Ehrlich şi Smuck. Familia mea nu se vizita cu vecinii, cu excepţia familiei Smuck: mama era bună prietenă cu doamna Smuck, şi ea a fost învăţătoarea mea în clasa a doua. Eu eram prieten cu Ehrlich Miki, care era nepotul celeilalte familii evreieşti; ne jucam împreună. Mi-a fost coleg mai târziu, dar noi ne ştiam deja de când eram copii mici.

Aveam cărţi în casă, dar nu religioase, cu excepţia siddur-ului pe care ţin minte că îl avea tata. Şi părinţii nu m-au sfătuit niciodată ce să citesc, nu era nevoie, pentru că eram un fanatic al cititului. În curând cărţile din casă nu mai erau suficiente, aşa că am început să fac schimb cu colegii; devoram cărţile, orice de la clasici la Submarinul Dox [serie săptămânală despre aventurile unui submarin german care scăpase de sub control]. Citeam şi în maghiară şi în română.

Am fost un pic şocat când am mers în clasa întâi la şcoala primară evreiască, pentru că am cunoscut o categorie de evrei pe care nu o întâlnisem până atunci: evreii ortodocşi, care, cu felul lor de a se îmbrăca, cu payes, îmi păreau mai străini decât prietenii mei români cu care mă jucam în stradă. Ne înţelegeam bine, bineînţeles, dar totuşi m-am împrietenit cu neologii: nu era ceva premeditat, dar cred că stilurile de viaţă erau prea diferite: ei se rugau tot timpul, noi citeam tot timpul, nu aveam prea multe lucruri în comun cu excepţia şcolii. Nu aveam materii favorite, mie îmi plăceau pauzele. Dar eram un elev bun, chiar dacă nu învăţam acasă: prindeam în timpul orelor; ţin minte că mama îmi spunea: „primul dintre băieţi”, pentru că eram cel mai bun elev dintre băieţi, însă era o fată, Cica Nagy, fiica lui Citrom, preşedintele comunităţii, care era mai bună decât mine. Şcoala era în altă aripă a sinagogii neologe, şi am studiat acolo până în 1939 cred, când alţi băieţi evrei au venit la şcoala noastră, nu pentru că vroiau,  ci pentru că fuseseră daţi afară din şcolile de stat, din cauza legilor anti-evreieşti. Ţin minte că atunci când eram în clasa a doua, am mers cu clasa să mărşăluim de 10 Mai, chiar dacă eram o şcoală evreiască; îmi amintesc că prietenul meu Ehrlich Miki avea o fotografie minunată, cu noi mărşăluind ca străjeri. Asta a fost în 1939, probabil ultima dată când s-a întâmplat.  Cred că eram în clasa a treia, în 1940, când a trebuit să părăsim clădirea, şi şcoala a fost mutată în alt loc, în curtea sinagogii ortodoxe, unde am mai făcut două clase. Ţin minte că profesoara din clasa întâi, Biri neni [mătuşa Biri] m-a lovit peste palmă cu băţul de bambus, nu mai ţin minte de ce, dar probabil o meritam. După doi ani a trebuit să ne mutăm de acolo, şi comunitatea evreiască  închiriat o casă în altă parte, şi am mers acolo până am terminat şcoala primară, care dura 4 ani. Pe de altă parte, liceul dura 8 ani.

Am mers la liceu din 1942, dar bineînţeles că evreii nu erau acceptaţi în liceele de stat, aşa că am mers la liceul evreiesc: avea un profil industrial, dar doar cu numele, nimic mai mult. Trebuia doar să avem un atelier, unde trebuia să pilim diferite bucăţi de metal. Prima temă a fost să pilim o bucată de metal într-un dreptunghi perfect, la 90 de grade. Ţin minte că profesorul, Engler, nu era în relaţii bune cu tata, nu ştiu de ce. Dar mi-a dat cea mai groaznică bucată de metal ca s-o pilesc în dreptunghi. Aveam 10 astfel de teme în fiecare an, dar eu am terminat anul tot pilind la acea amărâtă bucată de metal. Dar am trecut clasa, cu greu, dar am trecut-o. Engler îşi dădea mereu aere, nu îşi dădea seama că ce preda el nu era prea important. Şi ceilalţi profesori erau evrei din Braşov, ca şi Engler, oameni cultivaţi.

Al Doilea Război Mondial

Cred că era începutul celui de-al Doilea Război Mondial când bunica paternă şi sora tatălui şi familia ei au fost deportaţi la Auschwitz. [Deportarea din Oradea a avut loc în mai şi iunie 1944; 27215 de evrei au fost deportaţi.] Tata ţinea foarte mult la sora lui Bella, şi când a izbucnit războiul, i-a aşteptat să vină la Braşov. Dar a aşteptat şi  aşteptat, dar nu a venit nimeni. După o vreme au început să se răspândească veştile că evreii din Transilvania au fost deportaţi de către unguri în lagăre. Aşa că tata, după toată acea aşteptare, se aştepta să audă ce e mai rău. Aşa a şi fost, din păcate; singurul care s-a întors a fost fratele lui Miklos Honig, cumnatul lui Bella, care şi el fusese deportat la Auschwitz. A supravieţuit, şi a adus veştile că toţi ceilalţi erau morţi. Numele lor, Honig, este menţionat într-o carte, Evreii din Oradea, o carte despre ororile Holocaustului. [Terez Mozes: Varadi zsidok, Ed. Literator, Oradea, 1995.]

Am învăţat acasă engleză în timpul războiului, cu o profesoară deosebită, doamna Pelin, care era soţia unui judecător. Avea o engleză excelentă, şi după ce m-a învăţa baza, ne-am distrat de minune: ţin minte că citeam împreună din Jerome K. Jerome, Trei oameni într-o barcă, cu subtitlul „fără a număra câinele!” Ştia cum să-mi trezească interesul în ceea ce citeam, nu doar în limba propriu-zisă.

În timpul celui de-al Doilea Război Mondial a trebuit să ne mutăm din nou din vilă, care aparţinea unui evreu. Nu ştiu exact ce s-a întâmplat, dar am fost evacuaţi, de fapt toţi evreii care aveau case bune au fost evacuaţi, şi noi a trebuit să ne mutăm lângă gară. Asta n-a fost o locaţie prea fericită, pentru că au început să bombardeze gara şi moara Seewald [moară din Braşov, mai târziu numită Horia, Cloşca şi Crişan], şi noi eram exact în mijlocul ariei pe care o bombardau, am avut mare noroc că am supravieţuit. Ţin minte că era Paştele ortodox când a avut loc bombardamentul, iar noi eram într-un şanţ în curtea casei unde locuiam, încercând să ne adăpostim. Şi tata mi-a spus să mă liniştească: „Spune Shema Israel şi nu ţi se va întâmpla nimic!” Aşa am făcut, am început să recit, ştiam asta din şcoală. Şi pentru că bombardamentele nu au încetat, tata ne-a trimis, pe mine şi pe mama, să stăm la Stupini [sat la 5 km de Braşov] până când totul se va fi terminat, într-o casă închiriată. Ironic însă, abia ce ne-am mutat acolo, că forţele aeriene s-a mutat la Stupini, într-un câmp din apropiere. Dar nu am mai avut probleme. Tata nu a venit cu noi, el trebuia să rămână în Braşov să lucreze. În cele din urmă şi-a pierdut slujba la bancă din cauza legilor anti-evreieşti, banca era germană şi bineînţeles că toate deciziile anti-semite luate în Germania erau implementate şi aici. Aşa că a trebuit să lucreze la negru, să facă contabilitate pentru diferite firme ca să putem trăi.

Eu personal n-am suferit din cauza anti-semitismului ca individ, dar am avut probleme împreună cu colegii din şcoala primară evreiască. Hitler Jugend-ul începuse să fie foarte popular printre tinerii din Braşov, în special printre germani şi saşi. Liceul Honterus [liceu din Braşov numit după Johannes Honterus, unde toate orele erau predate în germană] era lângă şcoala noastră, şi când terminam orele şi mergeam spre casă, ei erau deja organizaţi în cete şi ne luau la bătaie. Noi eram doar câte 2 sau 3, aşa că de obicei luam bătaie, dar nici noi nu eram nişte fătălăi, dădeam înapoi cât de tare puteam. Bătăile aveau loc destul de des. Şi un băiat din banda lor a făcut ceva foarte urât o dată, a aruncat apă clocotită peste noi de la balconul casei unde locuia. Pe acela l-am ţinut minte, şi după 23 August 1944, noi, nişte evrei, i-am făcut o vizită: am bătut la uşă, i-am dat pe părinţi la o parte, şi l-am bătut de n-a mai ştiut de el. Bineînţeles că n-a zis nimic după aceea, cei care fuseseră simpatizanţi ai nemţilor nu ştiau cum să se facă invizibili în acea perioadă!

În timpul războiului, unchiul meu Arnold Lobl, care era un comunist ilegalist, a fost închis aici, în Braşov, în Fekete Var, care era o închisoare politică. Asta a fost prin 1941-1942 cred. A evadat cu ajutorul tatălui meu; când a fost concediat de la bancă, tata a primit totuşi o sumă mare de bani drept compensaţie. Toţi acei bani au fost folosiţi pentru a mitui un comisar, care a închis ochii şi aşa a putut să evadeze unchiul meu. După evadare, s-a refugiat la Turda, unde a condus mişcarea comunistă ilegalistă. După 23 August, a devenit secretarul Partidului Comunist din Turda, şi i-a adus pe părinţii săi din Făgăraş să trăiască cu el. Bunica a murit acolo în 1953, şi după moartea ei bunicul  venit să locuiască la Braşov, unde a murit în 1960. Unchiul Arnold studiase economie politică la Basel, în Elveţia, şi terminase Mana Cum Laudae, aşa că a fost numit profesor la universitatea din Cluj; după aceea a devenit pro-rector la universităţii Babeş-Bolyai de acolo.

După Război

Când s-a terminat războiul, am mers la un liceu normal, de stat. Şi atunci aveam ore de religie în liceu, şi pentru că eram evrei, aveam două ore pe săptămână aici, în clădirea sinagogii, cu rabinul Deutsch. O dată pe săptămână ne preda două ore, cu o mică pauză între ele. Vă spun, n-o să uit niciodată de profetul Habakuk! A fost mare scandal despre asta. Povestea e următoarea: Deutsch bacsi era surd, aproape surd. Şi purta mereu un aparat auditiv, avea ceva în ureche şi ceva rotund pe piept, cu o baterie. Dar noi, copiii, ştiam că nu auzea bine nici cu aparatul, pentru că totdeauna spunea: „Linişte, copiii!” când nu scoteam nici un sunet, şi când făceam gălăgie, nu spunea nimic. Încerca să ascundă faptul că nu auzea bine, dar noi ne-am prins. Şi oricând ne întreba ceva, din ce ne predase, noi ne mişcam doar buzele şi asta era! Deutsch basci spunea: „Bine, Iovan, bine!” Aveam un bun prieten, Kurt Şapira, tatăl lui era un doctor renumit aici în Braşov. Şi o dată, în timpul primei ore, Deutsch bcsi îl întreabă pe Kurt ceva; Kurt ştia, bineînţeles, că nu auzea bine, aşa că doar a mimat, şi-a mişcat buzele, şi a scăpat. După pauză, primul pe care îl strigă sunt eu. Şi mă întreabă despre profetul Habakuk. „Habakuk să fie!”, îmi zic eu în sinea mea şi încep să mişc buzele. Şi Deutsch bacsi spunea: „Da, da” şi se tot apropia de mine. Şi când a ajuns la o distanţă convenabilă, mi-a tras o palmă de am crezut că o să-mi zboare capul de pe umeri! Cine naiba ştia că Deutsch bacsi îşi schimbase bateriile în timpul pauzei! Scandalul care a urmat a fost teribil, a chemat-o pe mama la şcoală, i-a spus că îmi bat joc de religie, şi aşa mai departe. Bineînţeles că mama abia s-a putut abţine să nu izbucnească în râs, dar acasă părinţii s-au distrat de minune pe seama întregii situaţii, nu m-au pedepsit. M-au întrebat doar cât de tare m-a plesnit rabinul! Tata obişnuia să-l numească pe rabinul Deutsch „aldott rossz ember” în ungureşte, adică un om sfânt de rău; rabinul Deutsch era o persoană foarte respectată şi temută, dar din păcate nu era foarte plăcut de către comunitatea din Braşov.

Mergeam în vacanţe cu părinţii, ţin minte că am mers la Tuşnad [staţiune în apropierea cheilor de sus ale râului Olt,  la 32 de km de oraşul Miercurea Ciuc, la poalele masivelor Harghita şi Bodoc]. Şi când am fost mic, înainte să merg la şcoala primară, părinţii m-au trimis la o tabără pentru copii evrei, Bruderlein cred că se numea, lângă Oradea. A fost în timpul verii, şi mi-a plăcut, erau o mulţime de copii cu care mă puteam juca, învăţam cântece evreieşti. Dar când am crescut, când eram în liceu, mă bucuram când părinţii plecau în vacanţă pentru 10-12 zile, la mare sau la munte, nu mai ţin minte locurile, şi eram singur acasă. Bineînţeles că eu şi cu prietenii mei ne instalam în casă, şi cu o zi înainte să vină părinţii casa era în o dezordine! Aşa că chemam 4 sau 5 prieteni şi făceam aşa o curăţenie, că se minuna mama decât de bine arăta casa!

Tata s-a temut la un moment dat să nu devin prea religios, pentru că eu şi prietenii mei participam la Oneg Sabbath-urile organizate de rabin, dar a înţeles repede că n-o să se prindă de mine: era doar un cerc de prieteni, şi aveam mai multe lucruri de făcut. Ne întâlneam o dată sau de două ori pe lună cu rabinul, dar nu făceam nimic special, în afara ceremoniei obişnuite de Sabbath. Rabniul vorbea, noi ne plictiseam şi abia aşteptam să termine ca să putem ieşi afară să ne jucăm. O dată ne-am gravat iniţialele în zidul de cărămidă al sinagogii; chiar dacă a fost restaurată, încă le poţi vedea acolo, GS, 1948.

Liceul și facultatea

În liceu m-am implicat într-o organizaţie sionistă, Gordonia. Era o organizaţie social-democrată de stânga, dar nu una extremistă. Tata nu a avut nici o legătură cu faptul că eu am devenit sionist, adevărul era simplu: eu jucam ping-pong, şi Gordonia avea cea mai bună masă de ping-pong din oraş. Aşa că am început să merg acolo, şi toată banda a venit după mine. Şi am rămas acolo, eram foarte uniţi şi Gordonia a început să aibă o reputaţie foarte bună. Un important rol pe care l-a avut a fost că am avut contact cu tinerii evreii din Basarabia, din Cernăuţi, cum ar fi Manin Rudich, Melitta Seiler, Erika Seiler şi alţii. Eram atât de uniţi la Gordonia, încât nu mai ştiam care e de unde. Asta a fost un rol important al organizaţiei sioniste atunci, la începutul anilor 1940. Şi am rămas social-democrat în convingerile politice de atunci până astăzi. 

La Gordonia, aveam în fiecare săptămână ore despre scriitori evrei, politicieni evrei, despre situaţia politică: era înainte de 1948, înainte să se fi născut statul Israel, vorbeam despre declaraţia de la Balfur, eram bine informaţi. Luam parte şi în alte activităţi: Gordonia avea o tabără la Săcălaz [sat în judeţul Timiş], era o tabără pentru instruirea viitorilor sheliachim şi eu am fost trimis acolo să mă antrenez să fiu sheliach pentru moshav. Moshav era o tabără de vară unde se făcea mult sport, unde se primea o educaţie sionistă şi unde se făceau şi nişte antrenamente paramilitare. Mai era o tabără de antrenament în Săcălaz, în Moldova [oraş în provincia Moldovei], dar acolo erau evrei din toată România, din Transilvania, din Moldova şi din Ţara Românească, şi toţi eram foarte diferiţi. Se părea că evreii din celelalte regiuni aveau deja ceva instruire paramilitară, pentru că ştiau comenzile în ebraică. Noi, evreii din Braşov, nu ştiam nimic din astea. Şi la un moment dat, eu şi prietenul meu Noru Weinstein a trebuit să mergem într-o coloană şi să exersăm cu ceilalţi, să mărşăluim. Dar noi nu ştiam să mărşăluim, aşa că am stat la coada coloanei şi încercam să facem ce făceau şi ceilalţi: am avut cele mai bune intenţii. Am făcut câteva mişcări, şi apoi dintr-o dată a fost un ordin în ebraică pe care nu l-am înţeles, şi toată lumea a făcut stânga împrejur, şi dintr-o dată ne-am trezit în capul coloanei! Am mărşăluit un pic, apoi a mai fost o comandă şi toată coloana a făcut stânga cu excepţia noastră, care am continuat să mergem înainte. A fost un scandal uriaş, idiotul care conducea instrucţia a crezut că am vrut să ne batem joc de el; degeaba am încercat să-i explicăm că nu ştim comenzile. Din păcate, exista un resentiment al evreilor din Moldova faţă de evreii din Transilvania, şi au vrut să ne trimită, pe mine şi pe Noru, acasă. Dar când s-a răspândit vestea, toţi evreii din Braşov au ameninţat că pleacă şi ei acasă cu noi; şi după asta, toţi evreii din Transilvania au vrut să plece cu noi, aşa că au trebuit să ne lase să rămânem. Oricum aveau nevoie de o echipă de fotbal bună, ş iasta era Hacua, echipa din Braşov. Nici n-are rost să mai spun că am câştigat concursul de fotbal de la Săcălaz.

După Sacălaz am mers la Cultura la Bucureşti. [Cultura era o organizaţie sionistă de tineret care activa în Bucureşti în anii 1940, care reunea toate celelalte organizaţii sioniste din ţară]. Fiecare organizaţie sionistă din ţară îşi avea propria baracă acolo. Am primit instrucţie militară, paramilitară, şi am fost instruiţi şi pentru agricultură. Condiţiile nu erau foarte bune, trăiam în barăci de lemn, unde erau 30 de oameni, şi aveam duşuri şi toaletă la comun. Mâncarea era proastă şi nu era niciodată suficientă. Eu şi cu prietenul meu Peter Neuman ne-am înscris la viticultură, ne-am gândit că poate aşa ajungem să mâncăm struguri! Erau diferite clase la care te puteai înscrie, viticultură, horticultură, cereale şi aşa mai departe. Aşa că noi am luat lecţii de viticultură, dar n-am văzut nici un strugure: foamea era groaznică. Ca să fiu cinstit, cred că se fura mult: ori de câte or venea cineva de la Joint, aveam mânare bună, dar în restul timpului, dacă puneai mâna pe o bucată de pâine şi pe o ceapă erai norocos. Dar poate că era ceva planificat, chestia asta cu foamea, poate că vroiau să vadă cât rezistăm. 7 dintre noi am mers la Gordonia, dar 5 s-au întors acasă. Eu am rămas cu Peter Neuman. Am fost o surpriză pentru multă lume, pentru că eram un copil răsfăţat, nimeni nu credea că o să rezist. Dar am rezistat. Ţin minte că o dată eu şi Peter a trebuit să descărcăm un camion cu gemuri de fructe. După ce am terminat, răsplata noastră a fost un borcan de gem de fructe. Abia aşteptam să îl mâncăm, dar când am ajuns la baracă, Buţu Şameş, care era sheliach pentru Gordonia, l-a văzut, şi a trebuit să-l împărţim cu toată lumea: am primit doar o linguriţă de gem pentru toată munca noastră, dar a fost o lecţie importantă.

Cei 5 care s-au întors acasă erau cam ruşinaţi, aşa că au început să spună tuturor ce groaznice erau condiţiile acolo, şi mai ales, pentru ca toată lumea să înţeleagă „ororile”, au spus că chiar şi Pişta [porecla lui Ştefan] a leşinat. Era adevărat, dar nu am leşinat la Gordonia, cum a spus Mişi Mendelovici. A fost aşa: aveam voie să părăsim tabăra din când în când, şi o dată am mers la un meci de fotbal în Bucureşti. Am mers încolo cu tramvaiul: iar tramvaiul era plin, mirosea groaznic a transpiraţie, şi tocmai atunci cineva de lângă mine a tras un pârţ. Mi s-a făcut rău de la stomac şi am leşinat pentru câteva momente, eram într-adevăr un tip sensibil când era vorba de chestii din astea. Şi asta a fost vestitul leşin al lui Pişta (adică eu) de la Cultura! Mişi nu i-a spus mamei, dar veştile se răspândeau repede printre evrei, ca şi acum, şi mama a aflat toată povestea. S-a speriat, bineînţeles, şi a venit la Bucureşti într-o clipită. A intrat în curtea taberei, l-a văzut pe Norbi Weinstein, prietenul meu, care era mereu la noi în casă aşa că îl cunoştea bine, şi a strigat: „Norbi, hol van Pişta?!” [Norbi, unde e Pişta?!] Şi Norbi, deşi nu înţelegea de ce era aşa de disperată mama dar dornic să o ajute, a dat ochii roată. Abia atunci s-a liniştit mama, pentru că şi-a dat seama că dacă Norbi se uita în jur după Pişta al ei, atunci sigur Pişta trebuia să fie acolo, măcar în stare să meargă!

Dar Cultura a trebuit să fie dizolvată, când a venit legea care abolea toate organizaţiile de tineret cu excepţia UTC-ului [Uniunea Tinerilor Comunişti] în 1948. Dar atunci eram deja bine organizaţi, cu toată instrucţia militară pe care o primisem pentru kibbutzim, şi trebuia să păzim tabăra în nişte foişoare, fie iarnă sau vară. Ţin minte că eu eram singurul care avea o pereche de mănuşi îmblănite, imense, era singura pereche din toată baraca, şi toată lumea le împrumuta când era de gardă. Eu aveam şi o dună pe care mama mi-o adusese când venise la Cultura, era aşa de bună în nopţile reci. Şi în acea noapte, când s-au răspândit veştile despre noua lege, Norbi şi cu mine, care eram consideraţi „duri”, am fost trimişi să fim de gardă la ghereta de la poarta principală. Conducătorii de la Cultura s-au gândit că evreii de la CDE [Comitetul Democratic Evreiesc], care nu erau sionişti, vor veni şi vor încerca sa ia din tabăra tot ce ar fi putut. Când am ajuns la gheretă, ţin minte că erau două paturi suprapuse, şi Peter a ales să doarmă în patul de sus; şi mie mi-ar fi plăcut, cel puţin până când i-am auzit pe cei care plecau, care dormiseră acolo înaintea noastră: i-au spus lui Peter: „Prostule, o să te înăbuşi ca un câine de căldură acolo!” Chiar şi azi ne mai amintim şi râdem despre patul de sus, Norbi şi cu mine: „Te înăbuşi ca un câine!”. În orice caz, poarta a fost încuiată, şi în faţa porţii am pus grape cu ţepii in sus, astfel încât dacă ar fi venit cu maşini sau camioane să le spargă cauciucurile şi să nu mai poată pleca. Şi într-adevăr, în acea dimineaţă, pe la ora 6, un camion plin de oameni de la CDE a venit şi au vrut să intre în tabără. Eu şi cu Peter am ieşit cu bâtele, am dat alarma, au mai venit şi alţii, şi am stat acolo câteva minute uitându-ne lung unii la alţii. În final cred că au înţeles că nu e de glumit cu noi, şi nici de luptat, pentru că s-au întors şi au plecat. După nici o jumătate de oră, au venit oamenii de la Joint, au luat din tabără ce au putut, şi ne-au spus să ne împrăştiem ca potârnichile, în linişte şi nu în grupuri, spre casele noastre.

A părut o eternitate perioada cât am stat la Cultura, a fost plină de evenimente. Am mers când eram în clasa a şasea de liceu (pe atunci erau 8 case de liceu), în 1948, aşa că aveam 16 ani, şi totul a durat câteva luni, nu mai ştiu exact. A fost interesant că părinţii m-au lăsat să merg, deşi tata era foarte strict în ceea ce privea educaţia mea, aşa că vă puteţi imagina ce sentimente sioniste avea.

După Cultura, nu am mai putut fi un elev de liceu obişnuit; simţeam că nu mă mai potriveam în acel mediu liniştit, aşa că am terminat liceul în particular. Dar pentru asta trebuia să lucrez, pentru că doar muncitorii puteau lipsi de la ore şi să vină doar la examene. Aşa că m-am angajat ca muncitor la fabrica Schil [fabrică de unelte din Braşov]; nu aveam nici un fel de experienţă la început, dar mi-a plăcut să lucrez, aşa că am ajuns să fiu responsabil de un depozit de scule. Am lucrat timp de doi ani, până am terminat liceul. Nu a trebuit să învăţ prea mult, pentru că nu exista ca un profesor să pice un tânăr muncitor. Ţin minte un episod cu prietenul meu Brauning, care era şi el muncitor, ca şi mine. Aveam examen la matematică cu profesorul Goia, un renumit profesor din Braşov la vremea aceea; obişnuia să cheme la tablă patru studenţi şi să le dea să facă un exerciţiu. Primul din grupul nostru ştia ceva din materie, dar s-a împotmolit; al doilea student a mai mâzgălit nişte cifre pe tablă, dar n-a putut să termine exerciţiul. „Continuă dumneata!”, i-a spus profesorul lui Ini Brauning. „Dar ştiţi...nu ştiu!”, răspunde Ini. Atunci profesorul arată către mine. Dar Ini spune: „Nici el nu ştie!” „Şi cum de ştii dumneata?!” îl întreabă profesorul. „Am învăţat împreună!”, răspunde Ini. Şi el a răspuns cinstit, Ini era aşa amuzant tocmai pentru că credea ce spunea, nu o spusese în bătaie de joc! Din fericire, profesorul a gustat gluma, a spus: „Duceţi-vă dracului!” şi ne-a dat la fiecare un 5, aşa că am trecut examenul.

După ce am terminat liceul, am mers la facultatea de biologie din Cluj-Napoca în 1950. A trebuit să dau un examen de intrare, şi nu eram bine pregătit, pentru că ultimii doi ani îi petrecusem muncind, nu învăţând. Aşa că mama a venit cu mine la Cluj, şi am stat în două case ale unor familii de evrei. I-am găsit cu ajutorul mamei, care şi ea fusese studentă la Cluj. Şi unchiul Arnold ne-ar fi putut ajuta, dar nu a fost necesar. Mama a stat cu mine cam o lună, până am dat examenul. Am început nişte meditaţii cu un asistent universitar; era un tip de treabă, dar amândoi ne-am plictisit de învăţat destul de repede, aşa că am decis să mergem să învăţăm în aer liber, la ştrand ca să fiu mai  precis! Dar am învăţat, şi am luat examenul (e drept, nu printre primii) fără nici un ajutor de la unchiul meu Arnold, care era pro-rector la universitatea Babeş-Bolyai; nu am vrut să mă folosesc de această relaţie. În primul an de facultate am fost un student mediocru, dar începând cu al doilea an am fost un student bun, toate notele mele erau: „excelent”. Am picat un singur examen, anatomie comparată, dar nu pentru că nu aş fi ştiut materia. Era ultimul examen din sesiune, şi profesorul vroia să meargă într-o excursie aşa că a replanificat examenul cu trei zile mai devreme decât fusese stabilit. Eu eram şeful grupei mele de studiu, iar restul grupei a stabilit să nu dea examenul, drept protest, şi asta a fost decizia finală. În ziua examenului, am mers primul la răspuns, urmat fiind de cei mai buni studenţi (era în ordinea notelor). Eram un student bun, aş fi putut lua examenul, dar am vrut să fiu solidar. Aşa că am tras un bilet din teancul din faţa profesorului, nici nu m-am uitat la subiect şi l-am dat înapoi. Studentul de după mine a făcut la fel, toţi au făcut la fel, până la unul anume, Daisa îl chema. Profesorul l-a „corupt”, adică l-a încurajat să spună ceva, orice, şi Daisa a înţeles că profesorul îl va trece, nu conta ce spunea, doar ca să dea o lecţie şi a spargă grupul. Daisa a cedat, a luat un „suficient”, şi după aceea, grupul s-a spart, bineînţeles, când ceilalţi studenţi au văzut că pot trece şi ei. Aşa că singurii care au picat au fost cei mai buni studenţi din grupă, alţi câţiva şi eu, care fuseserăm primii! Ironic, după facultate, l-am întâlnit pe Daisa şi era un fervent sindicalist. Avea caracterul potrivit pentru acea slujbă. Din câte ştiu eu, eram singurul evreu dintre toţi colegii mei.

Îmi plăcea biologia, dar nu tot ce ni se preda, majoritatea erau porcării sovietice. Îmi aduc aminte de Lepeşinskaia, care era renumită pentru că infirmase teoria lui Virhoff: teoria spunea că o celulă se poate naşte doar dintr-o altă celulă, şi ea a dovedit contrariul cu fotografii, cum din materie organică s-au format celule care au format un ou. [Olga Borisovna Lepeşinskaia, născută în Rusia în 1871, a pretins că a observat formarea celulelor în gălbenuşurile şi ouăle păsărilor şi peştilor şi de asemenea în procesele de vindecare ale rănilor.] Dar după câţiva ani s-a dovedit că tot ce făcuse marea Lepeşinskaia s-a numit trişare, pentru că ea pur şi simplu inversase pozele care ilustrau cea mai simplă şi naturală degradare a unui ou în materie organică dezorganizată şi le-a prezentat drept descoperirea secolului în biologie.

Studiam şi teoriile lui Lişenko [care explică că agricultura socialistă are nevoie de o teorie biologică profundă, al cărei plin avânt ar trebui să înlesnească recolte mari şi stabile] şi ale lui Miciurin [care reneagă genetica şi legile eredităţii, invocând principiile teoretice ale lui Marx, Engels, Lenin şi Stalin; a fost fondatorul „darwinismului creativ sovietic”]. Dar am avut noroc şi cu nişte profesori buni, cum ar fi profesorul Preda, care aparţineau „adevăratei şcoli de modă veche” (asta se întâmpla în 1951-53 când nu avuseseră timp să schimbe toţi profesorii). El ne preda, într-un mod, subversiv, adevărata biologie. Comuniştii considerau teoriile lui Mendel idealiste, dar Mendel avea perfectă dreptate, după cum ştiinţa a dovedit-o mai târziu. [Mendel teoretiza că pentru fiecare trăsătură, un individ are doi „factori”, sau gene, unul de la fiecare părinte. Fiecare copie a factorului este numită alele. Două alele pot sau nu să conţină aceeaşi informaţie. Când diferă, alela cu informaţie dominantă va fi exprimată.]. In orice caz, profesorul Preda ne-a predat un curs splendid despre teoria lui Mendel, cu dovezi, şi a încheiat cu: „Aceasta este teoria lui Mendel, şi nu este adevărată!”

Tot timpul cât am stat în Cluj, nu am avut absolut nici un contact cu comunitatea evreiască de acolo; religia nu mă interesa deloc, ca viitor biolog credeam că există o oarecare falsitate în asta. Mai mult, aveam alte hobbiuri. Mereu am fost un sportiv pasionat, cel puţin până când am mers la facultate, când la ceva a trebuit să renunţ, nu puteam face sport şi să învăţ în acelaşi timp. Aşa că am renunţat la înot, deşi am fost campion regional şi în lotul de juniori al ţării, şi tot ce mi-a rămas a fost tenisul de masă. Am devenit campion universitar în Cluj la tenis de masă în timpul facultăţii. Nu m-am simţit niciodată respins de colegii mei pentru că eram evreu, de fapt cred că mulţi nici nu ştiau, majoritatea veneau de la ţară şi nu erau la curent cu fostele probleme cu evreii. Ţin minte că o dată colegii au mers chiar la colindat la nişte profesori de Crăciun, lucru care nu era chiar permis, şi m-au chemat şi pe mine; am mers cu ei.

N-am avut niciodată probleme cu comunismul pentru că eram evreu, dar nu am menţionat în nici un CV faptul că fusesem un fervent sionist la Cultura, n-aveam nici un motiv să fac asta.

După ce am terminat facultatea, am avut o repartiţie la Oradea ca profesor de ştiinţele naturii, dar eu nu aveam chemare spre aşa ceva, astfel încât am ales să stau acasă cu părinţii. Am stat un an, cred, până când tata, care era sever, s-a săturat să mă vadă că nu fac nimic, a apelat la nişte relaţii pe care le avea şi m-a angajat în Sfântu-Gheorghe [oraş din apropierea Braşovului] la o companie de apă minerală, ca şef de laborator CTC [Controlul Tehnic de Calitate]. Erau tot felul de oameni în Sfântu-Gheorghe, ţin minte că eram burlac şi eram considerat o partidă bună, un „akademikus” [academician în maghiară], şi că nişte femei încercau să îmi arate ce bine sunt situate, folosind expresia „a felso tizezer”, care vine din o expresie englezească în vogă în acel timp la New York: „the upper ten thousand”. Era ceva absolut ridicol, având în vedere că toată populaţia din Sfântu-Gheorghe era de 8000 de suflete.

Mi-a plăcut să lucrez acolo, şi după o vreme am fost numit director al laboratorului. Apoi după ceva timp a fost o reorganizare, şi am fost numit inginer şef. Am fost foarte surprins, la fel ca toată lumea. Asta era ceva interesant, pentru că de obicei evreii nu erau numiţi în posturi de conducere, şi mai mult, fără să fie membri ai Partidului Comunist; eu eram evreu, şi nu eram un membru de partid. Asta la momentul numirii, pentru că secretarul de partid a apărut în biroul meu la o săptămână după aceea, cu cererea mea de intrare în partid. Eram confruntat cu o dilemă, pentru că aveam o familie şi doi fii: dacă n-aş fi semnat, aş fi pierdut totul, nu doar noua slujbă, dar şi cea dinainte; dar implicarea mea în partid nu a însemnat niciodată mai mult decât a avea carnetul de  membru.

Viața mea

M-am căsătorit în 1957 cu Maria Maftei, pe care am cunoscut-o aici, în Braşov. Ea studiase coregrafia la Cluj în acelaşi timp cât am studiat eu biologia, dar nu ne-am întâlnit niciodată acolo. Nu este evreică, este româncă, şi nu este deloc religioasă, este ca mine, aşa că nu am avut o nuntă religioasă. Şi ea are o poveste interesantă: când a fost mică, locuia cu părinţii ei undeva în Moldova, în Roman cred, şi apoi s-au mutat la Burdujeni [judeţul Suceava], toţi ceferiştii erau mereu pe drum atunci –tatăl ei era şef de gară acolo. La un moment dat tatăl ei a fost trimis într-un loc în Basarabia, nu ştiu exact unde. Când au început ruşii ofensiva, toţi ceferiştii, împreună cu notarii şi cu profesorii, oamenii importanţi de acolo, au primit un vagon în care să-şi încarce toate bunurile şi cu care să meargă în România. Dar exact atunci a venit 23 august, germanii au oprit trenul, au mai ataşat câteva vagoane cu armament la tren, l-au preluat şi nu au mai oprit până la Salzburg, în Austria. Acolo au fost POW cred, erau într-un lagăr, tatăl ei a trebuit să lucreze la căile ferate austriece, şi mama ei, împreună cu alte câteva femei care aveau maşini de cusut, au fost nevoite să coase uniforme germane. Soţia mea avea 9 ani atunci, şi pentru nouă luni – perioada cât au stat acolo, din 1944 până în 1945 – a studiat cu alţi prizonieri români, care erau profesori. Când a vizitat Salzburgul, a regăsit locul în care au fost ţinuţi prizonieri; astăzi este un hotel. Soţia încearcă să obţină o pensie de la guvernul austriac, dar este greu să dovedească că a fost acolo, când avea doar 9 ani. Părinţii ei au murit, ceilalţi care au mai fost acolo au murit şi ei (doi trăiau în Braşov); are doar o fotografie pe care o avea pe permisul cu care putea să folosească în adăposturile anti-aeriene când erau bombardamente.

Avem doi fii, Dan, născut în 1958, şi Adrian Petrea, născut în 1960. Am avut şi o servitoare în casă, pentru o vreme, am ajutat-o chiar să se căsătorească bine; ţin minte o fată, era o fată de la ţară, dar foarte dulce şi bună, care s-a căsătorit cu cineva de la fabrica Electrica, un director care venea pe la noi prin casă. Mama a ajutat-o să-şi facă rochie de mireasă, de toate, şi a devenit o adevărată doamnă, cu o situaţie mult mai bună. Tot acest timp am locuit cu soţia mea în Braşov, dar făceam naveta în fiecare zi la Sfânt-Gheorghe pentru lucru, şi am făcut aşa timp de 26 de ani, când am început să lucrez în Braşov.

Mama era casnică, dar când am plecat la facultate, în 1950, şi-a luat o slujbă la anticariatul din oraş (Braşov) – pe atunci era singurul din oraş – pe care a ajuns să-l conducă pentru multă vreme. A fost un incident amuzant care o priveşte pe mama când lucra la anticariat, incident care a devenit o anecdotă bună printre toate librăriile din ţară. În acele timpuri, sub comunism, în orice magazin intrai, şi cereai ceva, răspunsul standard era: „N-avem!” Asta era realitatea. Aşa că un domn mai în vârstă intră în anticariatul mamei şi întreabă: „Aveţi cărţi în greaca veche?” Răspunsul a fost: „N-avem.” Bărbatul, probabil conştient că ăsta era răspunsul standard, a încercat încă o dată: „Ştiţi greaca veche, elena...” „Ştiu, domnule, dar nu avem.” „Dar doamnă, limba veche greacă, in care a fost scrisă Iliada şi Odiseea...” „Ştiu, domnule!” a răspuns mama şi a început să recite primele versuri din Iliada, în greaca veche. Bărbatul a rămas înmărmurit: a roşit, s-a înclinat, şi a spus: „Vă rog să mă scuzaţi, stimată doamnă!” Şi a continuat să se încline şi a mers aşa, cu spatele la uşă, până a ieşit.

Deşi tata era un sionist fervent, nu a vrut niciodată să facă Alyiah el însuşi; e un paradox, dar avea legături foarte puternice aici, era foarte ataşat de casa lui, de familie; totuşi, susţinea foarte puternic cauza sionistă. Tata a murit în 1978 şi a fost înmormântat în cimitirul evreiesc din Braşov, iar mama a murit după el, la ceva vreme, în 1985. Şi ea este înmormântată în cimitirul evreiesc. Nu a fost nici un rabin la înmormântări, doar un Minyan, şi eu am spus Kaddish.

Nu-mi păsa de regim; îmi păsa de afacerile companiei. Compania mergea bine, şi îmi place să cred că asta se datora şi mie. În acele timpuri, erau două feluri de conducători: cei care deveneau conducători pentru că erau foarte activi ca membri de partid, şi cei care deveneau conducători pentru ă era nevoie de ei. Îmi place să cred că eu am fost unul dintre cei din urmă. Bineînţeles, înjuram printre prieteni, despre problemele cu mâncarea şi cu căldura, dar nu am fost un revoluţionar. Ascultam Europa Liberă acasă, toată perioada comunistă.

Deşi am fost instruit pentru aliyah la Cultura, nu mi-am depus niciodată dosarul ca să emigrez. Eram căsătorit, şi aveam deja copii. Şi nu vroiam să-mi las în urmă părinţii, căminul a fost ca o ancoră pentru această familie.

Nu am avut niciodată probleme cu comunismul, dar soţia mea a avut, pentru că Securitatea a vrut să o racoleze ca informator. La acea vreme eu lucram ca reprezentant de export al Ministerului Agriculturii pentru judeţele Covasna, Braşov şi Sibiu, aşa că lucram în export, şi eram şi evreu, iar ei erau probabil interesaţi în comunitatea evreiască din Braşov. Aşa că ea a primit vizite de la un ofiţer al Securităţii, care bineînţeles că s-a recomandat cu un nume fals, în repetate rânduri, şi care a făcut presiuni şi ameninţări, cum că dacă nu ar fi colaborat, eu mi-aş fi pierdut slujba. Asta ar fi fost o problemă, amândoi copii studiau medicina la Cluj şi aveam nevoie de bani să-i întreţinem, dar soţia mea a spus un „nu” hotărât. Nu s-a întâmplat nimic după aceea, nu mi-am pierdut slujba. Soţia mi-a spus că după revoluţie l-a văzut pe acest ofiţer pe stradă, venind spre ea; când a recunoscut-o, acesta imediat a traversat strada şi a dispărut.

În 1987 eu eram în centrul oraşului. Am auzit că a izbucnit un fel de scandal, aşa că am ieşit, nu se putea să fie scandal fără să nu fiu eu de faţă. Am ajuns în faţă la Modarom [clădire din centrul Braşovului], unde erau deja miliţieni, şi am văzut cum sediul judeţean al Partidului Comunist era vandalizat, oamenii dinăuntru aruncau pe geam dosare, portrete ale lui Ceauşescu. Am stat acolo până când am fost forţaţi să mergem acasă. Când a izbucnit revoluţia din 1989, eram tot în centru, pentru că soţia mea preda balet acolo. Când am auzit zgomotele, am ieşit afară. Am stat în piaţa centrală din Braşov, şi am ajuns să îngenunchem cu ceilalţi şi să cântăm. Apoi s-a format o coloană care a început să mărşăluiască spre sediul Securităţii. La vremea aceea, lucram deja în Braşov, şi am fost foarte surprins să văd în coloană nişte colegi care erau vestiţi ca fervenţi activişti strigând în acelaşi rând; ne-am zâmbit unii altora şi am mers mai departe. Coloana s-a împărţit în două, şi noi am ajuns la porţile din spate ale Securităţii, iar eu şi soţia mea eram în primul rând, lucru pe care nu-l intenţionasem deloc. Ţin minte că au fost deschise porţile, şi, n-o să uit niciodată, era un biet nenorocit de gardă, un soldat, nu un securist, nici măcar nu vorbea bine româneşte, era ungur. Era mort de frică, şi nu spunea nimic. Şi cineva s-a repezit la el, strigând. L-am oprit, şi i-am spus că e doar un simplu soldat şi că ar trebui să-l lăsăm in pace. Cred că am fost destul de convingător, pentru că l-au lăsat să plece; era palid şi abia stătea in picioare. Când am intrat în curte, ceilalţi erau deja acolo (intraseră pe poarta cealaltă); cineva a început să arunce hârtii din birouri. Am stat acolo o vreme, apoi am mers acasă. Nu ne-a fost frică de împuşcături, împuşcăturile au început abia în acea noapte, când s-a transmis la radio că oamenii ar trebui să meargă în centru să păzească nu ştiu ce, şi au fost împuşcaţi; a fost pur şi simplu o cursă, revoluţia avea nevoie de eroi.

Nu mi-am crescut copiii în nici o religie, dar amândoi se identifică ca evrei foarte puternic chiar, aş putea spune. Nu sunt religioşi, dar sunt evrei în orice altă privinţă. Şi soţia mea, care este creştină, e o foarte bună evreică! În timpul războaielor din Israel, ea era mai îngrijorată ca mine pentru oamenii care erau acolo, cunoştinţe de-ale noastre. Avem rude acolo, era unchiul Arnold care a murit în 1993, mai este o rudă de-a noastră, Judith Sandberg (noi îi spunem Juţi), o nepoată a bunicii materne, care a fost mamei ca o soră, pentru că părinţii ei au murit când ea era foarte mică, şi a fost crescută de bunica mea. Am vizitat-o în 1975, locuieşte cu familia într-un sat lângă Tel Aviv, în Kiryat Shmuel. Fratele soţului ei a fost Moshe Sandbar, care a fost guvernatorul Băncii Naţionale a Israelului. Am văzut o mulţime de locuri cât am fost în Israel, chiar mai mult decât au văzut Juţi şi familia ei, pentru aveam o mulţime de prieteni acolo – prieteni care plecaseră din Braşov -, care m-au dus în excursii. Am călătorit prin deşertul Negev, şi am ajuns până la Muhammad Rashid (în Yemen). Şi când m-am întors,
nu am avut probleme cu poşta, să ţin legătura cu rudele mele de peste hotare în timpul comunismului.

Înainte de 1989, soţia mea obişnuia să vopsească ouă de Paştele creştin, dar era ceva pur simbolic, voia doar să aibă nişte ouă roşii în casă. Am avut şi pom de Crăciun de Crăciun, cred că este un obicei foarte frumos; am făcut-o mai mult pentru copii, când erau mici, pentru că altfel s-ar fi simţit frustraţi că alţi copii au unul şi ei nu. Am mers la sinagogă doar de Yom Kippur şi de alte sărbători mari, dar nu în fiecare sâmbătă.

Trebuia să particip la marşuri în timpul comunismului, de 1 Mai sau de 23 August – la urma urmei eram directorul unei întreprinderi de stat. Câteodată eram invitat şi în tribune. Viaţa în timpul comunismului era destul de simplă pentru noi, eu şi soţia lucram, mergeam la cinema, la teatru şi la concerte foarte mult. Obişnuiam să o privesc pe soţia mea dând lecţii de balet, era foarte interesant.

Fiii mei nu au avut niciodată probleme în timpul comunismului pentru că erau evrei; erau foarte deschişi şi oamenii îi plăceau; şi casa noastră era deschisă tuturor prietenilor lor. Adrian a călătorit mult, în Anglia; a lucrat pentru o organizaţie non-guvernamentală sub tutelă britanică, nu ştiu cum se numeşte, şi acum a fost recrutat de Banca Mondială. Acum călătoreşte cu munca prin Bulgaria şi Rusia. Nici el nu s-a gândit să facă aliyah; am vorbit despre asta, dar amândoi au legături prea puternice aici; au aici familii, iar prieteniile au fost foarte importante pentru ei. Prietenii lor le sunt ca fraţii. Nurorile mele sunt ambele doctori: soţia lui Adrian este Rodica, şi soţia lui Dan este Nadia. Nu au avut nunţi religioase, Rodica şi Nadia sunt creştine ortodoxe, s-au căsătorit doar la primărie. Nepoata mea cea mare, Oana, are 22 de ani, şi este studentă a Bucureşti, studiază filologia; cealaltă, Dana, este încă în liceu. Ele sunt fiicele lui Dan. Fiica lui Adrian, Diana, este în clasa a cincea. Soţiile fiilor mei nu sunt evreice, şi nici nepoatele, deşi am văzut că nepoata cea mare poartă la gât un lănţişor cu magen David, care a aparţinut mamei mele. Am fost fericit să văd acest lucru. Dan, fiul meu mai mare, care a fost doctor, a murit într-un accident de maşină în 1997. [Nota editorului: subiectul este foarte dureros pentru dl Guth şi nu doreşte să discute despre acest lucru]. Ne întâlnim in timpul vacanţelor de vară, când nepoatele au vacanţă şi nurorile şi Adrian au concediu, dar asta nu e foarte des.

Cred că viaţa s-a îmbunătăţit după 1989, există o libertate a vorbirii care este importantă – nu am ştiut niciodată să-mi ţin gura. Dar cuvintele se uită uşor, şi nu contează prea mult. Astăzi sunt vicepreşedinte al comunităţi evreieşti de aici, din Braşov. Am devenit implicat în comunitatea evreiască în 2000, când am fost ales secretar al comunităţii şi apoi vicepreşedinte. Eu mă ocup de toate chestiunile administrative ale comunităţii, de imaginea ei: cea mai mare parte din timp mi-o petrec delegând sarcinile, şi supraveghind activităţile.

Nu respectăm sărbători acasă, fie ele evreieşti sau creştin-ortodoxe, şi soţia nu sărbătoreşte Paştele sau Crăciunul. Vrea doar să-mi aduc aminte că e Maria şi să-i iau un cadou de ziua ei de nume. Astăzi duc o viaţă destul de retrasă; nu ies prea mult în lume. Sunt la comunitate doar atunci când lucrez, altfel prefer să stau acasă cu soţia mea.

Prefer să mă consider un conservator mai degrabă decât un neolog, pentru că termenul de „neolog” a fost folosit pentru prima oară de maghiari. Când sinagoga neologă a fost construită în Braşov în 1901, era maghiară. A devenit română doar în 1919, după tratatul de la Trianon, dar îşi păstrează numele original. În orice caz, ceea ce maghiarii înţelegeau prin neolog este ceea ce noi înţelegem azi prin conservator; de fapt înseamnă acelaşi lucru, doar numele diferă, iar eu prefer să mă numesc un conservator. A fi evreu pentru mine nu are nici o conotaţie religioasă; înseamnă tradiţie. Am simţit identitatea iudaică prin sionism, nu prin religie. Dar sunt mândru de asta, niciodată în viaţa mea nu am ascuns faptul că sunt evreu.

Stefan Guth
Brasov
Romania
Interviewer: Andreea Laptes
Date of interview: September 2003

Mr. Guth is a 72-year-old man, who in spite of his old age appears both imposing and witty; talking to him makes one feel that he is ageless, especially when he talks about his youth, his pranks as a boy. He likes jokes, even at the other’s expense, and he demands to be accepted the way he is. He lives in a three-bedroom apartment in a house with his wife, Maria, who seems to share his youthful mind and has the body of a ballerina. He is a very cultivated man; you can see that by the antiques and art objects he keeps in his living room. But moreover, you get the feeling that he is a man who lived to the fullest everything life threw at him: he gets all passionate about sports, about injustice, about writers, about love, about politics, and there seems to be no thing he hasn’t tried.

My family background
My parents
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
My time at Gordonia
Cultura
My college years
Married life
Glossary

My family background

My paternal grandfather, Guth, was a clerk at the Hungarian consulate in Belgrade. I don’t know his first name because I never got to know him; he died when my father was still very young. I don’t know if he died in Belgrade or in Oradea, and when exactly. I only knew my paternal grandmother, Serena. After my paternal grandfather died, she remarried a Jew named Schwartz. My grandmother didn’t dress traditionally, but she observed Sabbath and lit the candles on Friday evenings. She spoke Hungarian; I don’t remember if she spoke Yiddish as well. However, I only saw her a few times because she lived in Oradea and my family lived in Brasov, so back then, in the 1930s, the distance was huge. I remember that when we visited her she was nice to me, like every grandmother I guess, but that’s all I remember about her. I never knew her second husband, he also died very young. When I met my grandmother, she was already a widow for the second time.

My father, Iuliu Guth, also had a sister, Bella Honig, nee Guth. She married a Jew named Miklos Honig. Miklos was the administrator of the restaurant of the fanciest hotel in Oradea, Pallas, and Bella was a housewife. She had two sons, Otto and Tomi Honig; Otto was four or five years older than Tomi, and he published several poems in magazines, he was considered a very talented poet.

My grandmother had another son from her second marriage, Felix Schwartz, born in 1912, who was my father’s half-brother. Felix studied medicine here in Romania, I don’t know in which city, and in 1939 I think, he emigrated to France. I knew him briefly, I was only eight years old then. I remember, however, that one time he had to come and visit a person, a neighbor of ours who lived upstairs, when she was sick. He allowed me to watch him at work. I was interested in his job. During the war, Felix was part of the Maquis 1, the French resistance movement during the German occupation, and after that he practiced medicine at Le Havre University. He had a wonderful villa on the Cote d’Azur. He was married to Renee Schwartz, but he had no children. His only heir was I. But it was impossible for me to inherit that house during the communist regime, in 1980 when he died, so I think he donated it to the Jewish community there.

After Felix had been in France, he bought his mother the house she had always dreamt of, as my father told me: a big house in Oradea with a walnut tree in the courtyard. My grandmother occupied only two rooms and the kitchen, the other two apartments in the house were being rented out. She never had a servant as far as I know, she was used to doing the housework herself. She didn’t grow anything in the garden and she didn’t raise animals; but she always had walnut jam, made from the walnuts in the garden. I went to Oradea 15 years ago, and I was curious if the house would still be there: it was, and the walnut tree was huge.

My maternal grandfather, Emanoil Lobl, lived in several villages near Fagaras [in Brasov county]: in Venetia de Jos, Vistea de Sus, Scoreiu [Sibiu county], with my grandmother, Hannah Lobl, nee Fendrich. My grandfather didn’t have any siblings, but my grandmother had two sisters, Ida Goldstein and Helen Grundfeld [nee Lobl]; their husbands were Jewish and they were both housewives.

My grandfather had a restaurant in Scoreiu, after which he could afford to move his business to Fagaras. His restaurant there was called Mercur and it soon became the most popular restaurant in the city. It had a big courtyard and a garden where the guests could eat outside during summer. My grandfather told me that it happened one time – it was Hungary’s national holiday [20th August], an important holiday in Fagaras as back then it was under Austro-Hungarian rule – that the whole upper crust of Hungarian society in Fagaras came to celebrate this holiday in his restaurant, in the summer garden.

A band of musicians, gypsies, was brought in to sing the Hungarian anthem. Gypsies were very good musicians, they could play anything by ear, and of course they knew the Hungarian anthem as well. However, they weren’t extremely reliable, you couldn’t trust them not to drink too much at a party, so they were locked into two rooms: their instruments in one room, and the gypsies in the other, so that they wouldn’t get drunk before singing in front of the guests. But one of the gypsies was struck by terrible diarrhea, and desperate because there was no toilette, he rushed into the room with the instruments and relieved himself in the helicon, the big blowing brass instrument that keeps the rhythm. Of course the helicon was stopped up as a result. And when they came out to play, the poor gipsy who blew the helicon couldn’t make one sound come out of it. My grandfather told me that the conductor was all red with anger, his eyes were bulging out of his head, and he was waving his fists at the poor gipsy with the helicon who couldn’t keep the rhythm. So the gipsy blew as hard as he could, and blew the excrements on all the guests sitting in the first row! The scandal was terrible, terrible! Nobody knew who was responsible for that, except the gipsy of course who had used the helicon as a toilette, but he kept his mouth shut.

My grandfather found out later who it had been, but he said nothing. He didn’t have problems with the authorities, although the restaurant was his, because nothing against him could be proven. Moreover, Mano bacsi [Uncle Mano], as my grandfather was called, was a very witty, light-hearted man, and everybody in Fagaras loved him. Only after World War I, when Transylvania was returned to Romania [after the Trianon Peace Treaty] 2, did the guilty gipsy come out and said that it had been him, and he became a small-town hero for a while because he was responsible for that incident and most of the people in Fagaras didn’t sympathize with the Hungarians!

I never got to know the famous Mercur. When I visited my grandparents they had a smaller restaurant, in the center of Fagaras, near the bank. I don’t remember its name, but everybody said, ‘Let’s go to Mano bacsi!’, that’s how he was known in town. The restaurant was in their house: two large rooms were sort of a pub, where people had a mug of good cold beer, for which my grandfather was famous, and there was another room where people could eat. In the back, there were two more rooms were my grandparents lived.

My grandmother was a housewife, but she had a lot of things to do: she was in charge of the restaurant’s kitchen; she was supervising everything. The cooks and the servants were cooking her recipes, and she herself cooked wonderfully. I still remember one of my favorites, borsostokany [in Hungarian]. It was pepper veal stew, I can still see it being served in deep plates, with a lot of dark peppered gravy and meat, it was awesome! Every Sunday morning the upper crust of society in Fagaras came to Mano bacsi for this famous stew, served with a mug of cold beer. This was the Sunday ritual in Fagaras, for Hungarians and Romanians alike, it was in the Sunday program as certain as the minyan is for Jews in the Saturday program!

I stayed with my grandparents a lot, all my holidays when I was in elementary school were spent there. I had a lot of friends there, and it was also there that I learnt to swim and to fish in the Olt River. My grandmother was busy with the restaurant, but she always found time to pamper me, so I was rather spoiled as the only grandson. She followed my every whim, cooked my favorite dishes. But that didn’t happen very often because I had the restaurant’s menu to choose from. I remember I liked to play the waiter and serve the clients myself. Grandma and grandpa were so proud to see me going to the tables with the white napkin on my arm. People liked me, or at least I think they did, and they kept congratulating my grandparents for the wonderful grandson they had! I was 11 years old back then, because I know I was in elementary school.

My grandmother was more religious than my grandfather, she observed all the traditions: she cooked kosher food for the family, and she would have liked the restaurant to be kosher as well, but of course it wasn’t possible. I didn’t observe the kashrut, I was always tasting from every pot in the restaurant’s kitchen. They both observed Sabbath, and went to the synagogue on Saturday, and my grandmother lit candles on Friday evenings. I went with them to the synagogue on Saturdays, and I remember there was a tennis court near the synagogue, where we kids would gather and play. I remember seeing two young Jewish ladies playing tennis there who were putting on the most incredible airs and graces! The one who served called out, ‘Plaaaay!’, in a shrill voice, and the other answered, ‘Ready!’.

My maternal grandparents weren’t politically involved. It’s interesting that, although they lived in Hungary, or to put it more precisely, in Transylvania under Hungarian rule, they didn’t speak Hungarian. They spoke Romanian, and Yiddish between themselves, when they didn’t want me to understand them. In fact, my grandfather sympathized with the Romanian regime: I remember he told me that when he had the restaurant in Scoreiu, there was another incident. There was a pole, or a tree in the courtyard, and on 10th May [later called Victory Day] 3, Romania’s national holiday, somebody hoisted the Romanian flag on that tree. The scandal was imminent, of course, and this time my grandfather knew who it had been; he was part of the plot, but he didn’t say anything. The gendarme, the csendor [in Hungarian] had to come, in his uniform with the cock feathers on his helmet, climb on the tree and take the flag down. They even wanted to cut the tree down, but they changed their mind, it seems, because they didn’t do it. They investigated who it might have been, but with no result.

My parents

My mother, Estera Guth, nee Lobl, had an elder brother, Arnold Lobl, born in 1902. Arnold lived in Turda and then in Cluj-Napoca, where he was married to Zita Lobl; I remember she was named after an Austro-Hungarian princess, but I don’t know who exactly. [She was the last Empress of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Archduke Karl Franz Joseph married Princess Zita of Bourbon-Parma in 1911.] He emigrated to Israel and that’s where he died in 1993. They have two children, Lucia and Andrei Lobl, who live in Israel.

My father, Iuliu Guth, was born in Belgrade, where his father worked, in 1902. After he died, he moved with his mother and her second husband, Schwartz, to Oradea. He graduated from commercial high school in Oradea, where he studied in Hungarian. He met my mother, Estera Guth, in Fagaras, and after they married they came to live in Brasov. My mother was born in 1907 in Sibiu county, near the village of Scoreiu, and she studied in Cluj [Cluj Napoca], at the Tarbut Jewish Lyceum 4, also in Hungarian. She always considered that period, 1920-1924/5, her ‘golden times’: she enjoyed high school very much; she was a star in that place, very, very popular, and from what I understood, her Jewish and Zionist feelings there were very strong. My parents spoke Hungarian to each other.

They got married at the synagogue in Fagaras in 1930. It wasn’t an arranged marriage, but they probably got to know each other in the Jewish circles, because Brasov is close to Fagaras. My father told me that he had made a huge blunder at the wedding: he was a quiet, well-red man, and there was an elderly fellow who was making quite a scandal. And my father asked my mother’s best friend, Sari, ‘Who is that causing all the scandal?’ ‘My father!’, she replied. ‘No, I know Tig bacsi, I meant the one next to him’, my father tried to explain. ‘That’s my brother!’, she answered.

My father worked as a proxy for the Romanian Banking Society in Brasov, which was actually a branch of a German bank. It was an important position; he had the authority from the general managers of the bank to take decisions in their name.

My parents weren’t very religious at all. My mother wasn’t religious, but she always lit the candles on Friday evenings and said the blessing, something she had learnt from her mother. But there was no challah in our house, and the food wasn’t kosher. My father led the seder, and said the prayers, and I think before Pesach there was a big cleaning. But we didn’t dress up for Purim; that was something the Orthodox Jews were doing. These are about all the Jewish traditions kept in my parents’ house. My father worked on Sabbath and didn’t observe the kashrut, but he did observe all high holidays. He was a Neolog 5, but he strongly identified himself as a Jew and he was a fervent Zionist. I remember that my mother had a ketubbah, and that my father kept a violet velvet sack with a magen David embroidered on it, with the clothes for his funeral, his tallit and his siddur. My father was never in a political party, but we had the Keren Kayemet 6 box in our house, and anybody who came to our house had to put something into it.

My father had been a member of Ivria 7, one of the first Jewish organizations in Brasov, which became Zionist only later. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was a key person there. He never talked much to me about it, except that they used to play football. I think my parents had an exclusive circle of friends: they were entirely Jewish. My mother was a very open person, and very sociable, she was well known in Brasov, at least in the Jewish circles. My father was a good friend of Feiler Dezideriu, who had been with him in Ivria and later became the president of the Jewish community in Brasov during World War II. He also knew Citrom Molnar, who became the president of the community under communism.

The Jewish community in Brasov consisted of about 6,000-7,000 Jews in the interwar period. We did have functionaries, we had Rabbi Deutsch, two hakhamim, and these are only the ones I remember, I wasn’t very religious when I was young. There were two synagogues, one Orthodox and one Neolog, just like the community was split in two. But after the communists came to power, the two communities united. Today only the Neolog synagogue is open.

Growing up

I was born in Brasov in 1931. The first house we lived in was rather big, and it had a huge garden, more of a hayfield with wild flowers actually because nobody planted anything in it. I used to play there, run, catch butterflies; it was heaven on earth! We lived on the ground floor of the house, and there was probably another family living upstairs because the house was two-storied. I don’t remember the tenants, I was too little. We had three big rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. The furniture was modern back then, my father bought it after he married my mother. I still have that furniture in my house now, but it’s considered rather antique today.

My mother looked after me, but I also had a Fraulein [governess]; it was an elegant and fashionable thing for upper class Jewish families, to keep a Fraulein. We always had one or two servants in the house as well. I don’t remember the Fraulein’s name; she was a young Saxon woman, about 19 years old, whose job was to be around me all day long and talk German to me. As a consequence, I learnt German better than any other languages I ever learnt, but unfortunately I forgot some of it because I haven’t practiced it in a while. But my mother used to tell me that when I was three or four years old and got up at night because I was thirsty, I didn’t say, ‘Egy pohar vizet kerek szepen’ in Hungarian, I said, ‘Bitte ein Glas Wasser!’ [Please give me a glass of water!] in German. Of course I spoke Hungarian as well, which I learnt from my parents, but until I went to kindergarten, I couldn’t speak a word in Romanian. I learnt it at kindergarten for the first time. My mother reproved me rarely, she only muttered when I did something wrong. My father was more severe, he was raised differently, but by the time I grew up times had changed, and I wasn’t the most obedient child in the world; actually, I wasn’t obedient at all! So, of course, there were sparks between us from time to time.

We moved from this first house when I had to start elementary school, and my father decided to send me to the Jewish elementary school, which was far away. So, me moved into another villa to be closer to the school, where we occupied the ground floor and also had three large rooms. There was a Hungarian living in the basement; he was the janitor. On the ground floor there was us and another Hungarian family I think, and upstairs there were two Jewish families, Ehrlich and Smuck. My family wasn’t exactly on visiting terms with the neighbors, except the Smucks: my mother was a good friend of Mrs. Smuck, and she became my teacher later, in the second grade. I was a friend of Miki Ehrlich, who was the nephew of the other Jewish family; we played together. He was my classmate later, but we had known each other since we were small kids.

We had books in our house, but not religious ones, except the siddur that I remember my father had. And my parents never advised me what to read, and they didn’t have to because I was a fanatic when it came to reading. The books from the house were soon not enough, I started exchanging books with my classmates; I devoured books, anything from classics to The Dox Submarine [weekly serial about the adventures of a German submarine that had got out of control]. I read both in Hungarian and Romanian.

I was a bit shocked when I entered the first grade of the Jewish elementary school because I got to know a category of Jews I had never met before: the Orthodox Jews, who, with their look, their payes, appeared stranger to me than my Romanian buddies I played out in the street with. Of course, we got along well, but I still made friends with the Neologs: it wasn’t something premeditated, but I think the life styles were just too different: they prayed all the time, we read all the time, we didn’t have many things in common except school. I didn’t have any favorite subjects, I was more fond of the breaks. But I was a good pupil, even if I didn’t study at home: I caught up during classes; I remember my mother used to call me, ‘the first of the boys’, because I was the best pupil from the boys’ side, but there was a girl, Cica Nagy, the daughter of Citrom, the president of the community, who was better than me.

The school was in another wing of the Neolog synagogue, and I studied there until 1939 I think, when some new Jewish kids came to our school, not because they wanted to, but because they had been thrown out of the state school due to the anti-Jewish laws in Romania 8. I remember that when I was in the second grade, I went with my class to march on 10th May, even though we were a Jewish school; I remember my friend Miki Ehrlich had a wonderful photo taken then, us marching as watchmen. It was 1939 I think, probably the last time it happened. I was in the 3rd grade I think, in 1940, when we had to leave the building, and the school was moved to another place, into the courtyard of the Orthodox synagogue, where we finished two more grades. I remember a teacher from the 1st grade, Biri neni [Aunt Biri]: she hit me on the palm with a bamboo stick, I don’t remember why, but I probably deserved it. After two years we had to move from there as well, and the Jewish community rented a house somewhere else, and I went there until I finished elementary school, which was four years. High school, however, lasted for eight years.

I started high school in 1942, but of course Jews weren’t accepted to state high schools, so I went to the Jewish high school: it had an industrial profile, but it was just the name, nothing more. We only had to have a workshop, where we had to file different pieces of metal. The first assignment was to file a piece of metal in a perfect, 90-degree rectangle. I remember one teacher, Engler, who wasn’t in good relations with my father, I don’t know why. But fact is that he gave me the most terrible piece of metal to file into a rectangle. We had like ten such assignments that year, but I finished the year still filing on that lousy piece of metal. I passed the grade, at great pains, but I did. Engler was full of hot air, he didn’t realize that what he was teaching wasn’t very important. The other teachers were Jews from Brasov as well as Engler, but they were cultivated people.

During the war

It was probably at the beginning of World War II when my paternal grandmother and my father’s sister and her family were deported to Auschwitz. [Editor’s note: The deportation in Oradea took place in May and June 1944; 27,215 Jews were deported.] My father was very fond of his sister Bella, and when the war broke out, he waited for them to come to Brasov. But he waited and waited and nobody showed up. And after a while the news that Jews from Transylvania had been deported to several camps by the Hungarians started to spread. So my father, after all the waiting, was somewhat expecting to hear the worst. That was the case, unfortunately; the only one who came back was Miklos Honig’s brother, Bella’s brother-in-law, who had also been deported to Auschwitz. He survived, and he brought the news that all the others were dead. Their names are mentioned in a book, The Jews from Oradea, a book about the horrors of the Holocaust. [Terez Mozes: Varadi zsidok, Ed. Literator, Oradea, 1995.]

I also studied English at home during the war, with a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Pelin, she was a judge’s wife. Her English was admirable, and after she taught me the basics, we had so much fun: I remember reading together Jerome K. Jerome’s book, Three Men in a Boat, with the subtitle ‘To Say Nothing of the Dog!’ She knew how to raise my interest in what we were reading, not just in the language itself.

During World War II, we had to move again from the villa, which belonged to a Jew. I don’t know exactly what happened, but we were evicted, actually all Jews who had good houses were evicted, and we had to move near the railway station. It wasn’t a very fortunate location that one, because they started bombing the railway station and the Seewald mill [mill in Brasov, later called Horia, Closca and Crisan], and we were exactly in the middle of the area that they bombed; we were very lucky to survive. I remember it was the Orthodox Easter when the bombing took place, and we were in a ditch in the courtyard were we lived, trying to take shelter. And my father told me, to calm me down; ‘Recite Shema Israel and nothing will happen to you!’. I did, I started reciting, I knew that from school. And because the bombing didn’t stop, my father sent my mother and I to live in Stupini [a village 5 km from Brasov], in a rented house for a while, until it was over. But ironically, we had barely moved there, when the air force was moved to Stupini, to a nearby field. But we didn’t have any more problems. My father didn’t come with us, he had to stay in Brasov and work. He eventually lost his job at the bank because of the anti-Jewish laws, the bank was German and of course all anti-Semitic decisions taken in Germany were implemented here as well. He had to work at the black market, doing some bookkeeping for different companies so that we could make a living.

I myself didn’t suffer from anti-Semitism as an individual, but I had problems with my classmates from the Jewish elementary school. The Hitlerjugend 9 started to be popular among young boys in Brasov, especially Germans or Saxons. The Honterus High School [high school in Brasov named after Johannes Honterus, where all the classes were taught in German] was near our school, and when we finished our classes and were on our way back home, they were already organized in groups and started fights. We were only two or three, so we usually got kicked, but we were no milksops either, we hit back as hard as we could. These fights happened rather often. And one boy from their band did something really ugly one time, he poured boiling hot water over us, from the balcony where he was living. That one we remembered, and after 23rd August 1944 10, we, some Jews, paid him a visit: we knocked on the door, pushed his parents aside and beat the hell out of him. Of course, he kept quiet after that, the former German sympathizers didn’t know how to make themselves invisible in that period!

During the war, my uncle Arnold Lobl, who was an underground communist, was incarcerated here, in Brasov, in Fekete Var [Black Castle], which was a political prison. That was in 1941-1942 I think. He escaped with my father’s help; when he was fired from the bank my father received, however, a large sum of money as a compensation. All that money was used to bribe a commissary, who closed his eyes and so my uncle could escape. After his escape he took refuge in Turda, where he led the communist underground movement. After 23rd August, he became the secretary of the Communist Party in Turda, and brought his parents from Fagaras to live with them. My grandmother died there in 1953, and after her death grandfather came to live in Brasov, where he died in 1960. Uncle Arnold had studied political economics in Basel, Switzerland, and he had graduated Summa Cum Laude, so he was appointed university professor in Cluj; after that he became pro-rector of the Babes-Bolyai University there.

Post-war

When the war was over, I went to an ordinary state high school. And back then, we had religion classes in high school, and because we were Jews, we had two classes a week here, in the synagogue’s building, with Rabbi Deutsch. Once a week he taught us two hours, with one small break between them. I can tell you, the prophet Habakuk I will never forget! There was a big fuss about it. The story goes like this: Deutsch bacsi was deaf, almost deaf. And he always wore a hearing aid, with something in his ear and a round thing on his chest, with a battery in it. But we kids knew he didn’t hear well with it either because he always said, ‘Quiet, children!’ when we didn’t make a sound, and when we were noisy, he didn’t say anything. He tried to conceal the fact that he didn’t hear well, but we figured it out. And whenever he asked us something he had taught us about, we only moved our lips and that was it! Deutsch bacsi would say, ‘Good, Iovan, good!’

I had a good friend, Kurt Sapira, his father was a famous doctor here in Brasov. And one time, during the first class, Deutsch bacsi asked Kurt something. Kurt knew, of course, that he didn’t hear well, so he just mimed, moved his lips, and he was off the hook. After the break, the first person he calls out is I. And he asks me about the prophet Habakuk. ‘Habakuk it is!’, I said to myself and started to move my lips. And Deutsch bacsi said, ‘Yes, yes’, and drew closer and closer to me. And when he reached a convenient distance, he slapped me so hard that I thought my head would fly right off my shoulders! Who the hell knew Deutsch bacsi had changed his batteries during the break! The row that followed was terrible, he called my mother to the synagogue, told her how I had made fun of religion, and so on. Of course my mother could hardly restrain herself from bursting out laughing, and at home my parents made a lot of fun about the whole situation; they didn’t punish me. They just asked me how hard the rabbi slapped me! My father used to call Rabbi Deutsch ‘aldott rossz ember’ in Hungarian, that is a blessed wicked man; Rabbi Deutsch was very respected and feared, but unfortunately not very liked in the community in Brasov.

I went on vacations with my parents, I remember going to Tusnad [a spa resort in the vicinity of the superior gorges of the Olt river, upstream, 32 km from the town Miercurea Ciuc, having at its sides the massifs Harghita and Bodoc]. And when I was little, before I went to school, I remember my parents sent me to a camp for Jewish kids, Bruderlein I think was the name, near Oradea. It was during the summer, and I liked it, there were a lot of kids to play with, we learnt Jewish songs. But when I grew up, when I was in high school, I was happy when my parents left on vacation for ten to twelve days, to the seaside or the mountains, I don’t remember the places, and I was home alone. Of course, my friends and I took over the house, and one day before my parents came back the place was a mess! So, I summoned four or five of my friends and we cleaned it so well that my mother was surprised how good the house looked!

My father was worried once that I might become too religious because me and my friends were taking part in Oneg Shabbat celebrations organized by the rabbi, but he soon realized that it would not rub off on me: it was simply about a circle of friends and more things to do for me. We met once or twice a month with the rabbi, but we didn’t do anything special, except the regular Shabbat ceremony. The rabbi talked, we were bored and couldn’t wait for him to finish so that we could go out and play. One time we carved our initials in the synagogue’s brick wall; even though it has been restored, you can still see it there: GS, 1948.

My time at Gordonia

In high school I became involved in a Zionist organization, Gordonia 11. It was a left-wing social-democratic organization, but not an extremist one. My father had nothing to do with me becoming a Zionist; the truth was very simple: I played ping-pong, and Gordonia had the best ping-pong table in town. So I started to go there, and the whole gang followed me there. And we stayed there, we were very united and Gordonia started to have a very good reputation. One very important role that it played was that we made contact with young Jews from Bessarabia 12, from Cernauti, like Manin Rudich, Melitta Seiler, Erika Seiler and others. We were so united at Gordonia, we could hardly remember who was from where. This was an important role of the Zionist organization back then, in the early 1940s. And I remained a social democrat in my political convictions ever since.

At Gordonia, we had classes about Jewish writers, Jewish politicians, about the political situation every week: it was before 1948, before the state of Israel was established, that we talked about the Balfour Declaration 13; we were well informed. I took part in other activities as well: Gordonia had a camp at Sacalaz [village in Timis county]. It was a camp for training future sheliachim and I was sent there to train to be a sheliach for the moshav. The moshav was a summer camp where you did a lot of sports, where you received a Zionist education and also some paramilitary training. There was another training camp in Moldova, but the Jews there were from all over Romania, from Transylvania, from Moldova and from Wallachia, and we were all very different.

It appeared that the Jews from others regions had already had some paramilitary training because they knew the orders in Hebrew. We, the Jews from Brasov, didn’t know any of that. And at one point, my friend, Noru Weinstein, and me had to join a column and rehearse marching with the others. We didn’t know how to march, so we stayed behind the column and just tried to do what the others were doing: we had the best intentions. We made a few moves, and then suddenly there was an order in Hebrew, which of course we didn’t understand, and everybody went left, and all of a sudden we were leading the column! We marched a bit, then there was another order and the column turned right, except us, we kept on marching straight forward. There was a huge scandal, the halfwit leading the instruction thought that we wanted to mock him; we tried to explain to him in vain that we didn’t know the orders. Unfortunately, there was this resentment on the part of the Jews from Moldova towards the Jews from Transylvania, and they wanted to send us, Noru and I, back home. But when the news spread, all the Jews from Brasov threatened they would leave with us; and after that, all Jews from Transylvania wanted to leave with us, so they eventually had to let us stay. They needed a good football team anyway, and that was Hacua, the team from Brasov. No need to say we won the football contest at Sacalaz.

Cultura

After Sacalaz I went to Cultura 14 in Bucharest. Every Zionist organization from all over the country had its own hut there. We received military, paramilitary training and we were also trained for agriculture. The living conditions weren’t very good, we lived in wooden barracks, there were 30 people and we had to share the toilette and the shower. Food was never enough and it wasn’t very good. My friend, Peter Neuman, and I signed up for viticulture, we figured we would get to eat a lot of grapes! There were different classes you could sign up for, viticulture, horticulture, grain farming and so on. So we took these viticulture classes, but we didn’t see any grapes: the hunger was terrible. To be honest, I think there was a lot of stealing going on: whenever some supervisor from Joint 15 would come, there was good food, but the rest of the time, if you got your hands on a piece of bread and some onion, you were lucky. Maybe it was something planned, this thing with the hunger, maybe they wanted to see how much we could take.

There were seven of us from Gordonia, but five went home. I stayed with Peter Neuman. I was a big surprise for most people because I was a spoiled child, nobody thought I would last. But I did. I remember one time, Peter and I had to unload a truck full of fruit gems. And after we finished, our reward was a can of fruit gem. We could hardly wait to eat it, but when we got back to the hut, Butu Sames, who was the sheliach for Gordonia, saw it, and we had to share it with everybody. We only got a teaspoon of gem for all our work, but it was an important lesson.

The five who went back were a bit ashamed that they did, so they started telling everybody how terrible the conditions were, and, so that everybody would understand the ‘horrors’, that even I, Pista, fainted [Pista is Stefan’s nickname]. It was true, but I didn’t faint at Gordonia, like Misi Mendelovici said. It was like this: we were allowed to leave the camp from time to time, and one time we went to a football match in Bucharest. We went there by tram: and the tram was full, the smell of sweat was terrible, and just then somebody near me farted. It turned my stomach and I passed out for a moment, I was indeed a bit of a sensitive guy when it came to things like that. And this was the famous fainting Pista, that is I, had at Cultura! Misi didn’t tell my mother the whole story, but the news among Jews spread rapidly, just like it does now, and my mother found out the entire story. She got scared, of course, and came to Bucharest in the twinkling of an eye. She entered the courtyard of the camp, saw Norbi Weinstein, my friend, who was always in our house so she knew him well, and she cried out, ‘Norbi, hol van Pista?!’ [Norbi, where is Pista?!] And Norbi, though unaware why she was so desperate but willing to help, started to look around. That’s when my mother finally relaxed, because she figured that if Norbi was looking around for her Pista, then her Pista had to be there, at least able to walk!

Cultura had to be dissolved, when the law abolishing all youth organizations except the UTC [Young Communists’ Union] was passed in 1948. By then we were rather organized, with all the military training we had had for kibbutzim, and we had to guard the camp in some barracks, be it winter or summer. I remember I was the only one with a pair of huge fur-lined gloves, the only pair in our hut, and everybody borrowed them when they were on guard. I also had an eiderdown my mother brought me when she came to Cultura; it was so useful during cold nights. And that night, when the news about the law spread, Peter and I, who were considered to be ‘tough’, were sent to be on guard at the sentry-box at the main gate. The leaders of Cultura thought that the Jews from the CDE [The Jewish Democratic Committee], who weren’t Zionists, would come and try to get as much from the camp as they could.

When we reached the sentry-box, I remember there were two overlapped beds, and Peter chose to go sleep in the upper bed; I would have liked that too, at least until I heard the ones who had slept there before us tell Peter, ‘You fool you will choke from heat like a dog up there!’ Even today we remember and laugh about the upper bed, Norbi and I: ‘choke like a dog!’ Anyway, the gate was locked, and in front of the gate we put harrows with the prongs up, so that if cars or trucks came, they would puncture their tires and wouldn’t be able to drive away. And indeed, that morning, at about 6 o’clock, a truck full of people from the CDE wanted to get inside the camp. Peter and I came out with clubs, whistled the alarm, some others came as well, and we stood there for a few minutes staring at one another. Finally I think they understood that we weren’t to be trifled or fought with, so they turned around and left. No more than half an hour later, the people from Joint came, gathered from the camp what they could, and told us to spread like partridges, quietly and not in groups, to our homes.

It seemed an eternity the period I spent at Cultura, it was that full of events. I went when I was in the 6th class of high school in 1948, so I was 16 years old, and it lasted for several months, I don’t know exactly. It was interesting that my parents allowed me to go, although my father was very strict about my education, so you can imagine the Zionist feelings he had.

After Cultura, I couldn’t go back to being a quiet regular high school student; I felt I couldn’t fit into that quiet environment, so I finished high school in private. But for that I had to work, because only workers were allowed to skip classes and only show up at exams. So I got a job as a worker at the Schil factory [hardware factory in Brasov]; I was totally inexperienced at first, but I liked to work, so I ended up being in charge of the tool warehouse. I worked for two years, until I finished high school. I didn’t have to study much because there was no way teachers were to spur a young worker.

I remember an episode with my friend, Ini Brauning, who was also a worker, and I. We had a maths examination with professor Goia, a renowned teacher in Brasov at that time; he used to call four students to the blackboard and give them an exercise to solve. The first from our group knew something about the subject, but he got stuck; the second student scribbled some figures on the blackboard, but he couldn’t finish the exercise. ‘You go on!’, the professor told Ini Brauning. ‘But…you know, I don’t know!’, Ini answered. Then the professor points at me. But Ini said, ‘He doesn’t know either!’ ‘How do you know?!’, the professor asked him. ‘We studied together!’, Ini answered. And he answered truthfully, Ini was so funny because he meant it, he didn’t say it as a mockery! Fortunately, the professor enjoyed the answer, said, ‘Go to hell!’ and gave each of us a ‘5’, so we passed the exam.

My college years

After I finished high school, I went to the Faculty of Biology in Cluj-Napoca in 1950. I had to take an entry examination, and I wasn’t very well prepared because I had spent my last two years working and not studying. So my mother came to me to Cluj, and we stayed in two houses, whose owners were Jewish families. We found them with my mother’s help, because she had been a student in Cluj. Uncle Arnold could have helped us as well, but it wasn’t necessary. She stayed with me for about a month, until I took the examination. I started some preparations with a university assistant; he was a nice fellow, but we both got bored of studying pretty quickly, so we decided to go study in the open air, at the swimming pool to be more precise! But I did study, and I passed the examination – true, not among the first – without any help from my uncle Arnold Lobl, who was the pro-rector of the Babes-Bolyai University. I didn’t want to use this relation.

In my first year of college I was a mediocre student, but beginning with the second year I was a good student, all my grades were ‘excellent’. I only flunked one exam, comparative anatomy, but not because I didn’t know the subject. It was the last exam of that session, and the teacher wanted to go on a trip and rescheduled the exam for three days earlier than planned. I was the chief of my study group, and the rest of the group decided not to take the exam as a protest, and that was our final decision. On the day of the exam, I went first, followed by the other good students. I was a good student, I could have taken the exam, but I wanted to stand by the others. So I picked a note from the stack the professor had before him, I didn’t even look at the subjects and gave it back. The student after me did the same, all did, up to a certain student, Daisa was his name. The professor ‘corrupted’ him, that is encouraged him to say anything, and Daisa understood that the professor was about to let him pass, no matter what he said, just to make a point and break the group. Daisa gave in, got a ‘sufficient’, and after that, the group broke, of course, when the other students saw they could also pass. So the only ones who didn’t were the best students from the group, some others and I! Ironically, after college, I met Daisa and he was a fervent trade union activist. He had the right character for the job. As far as I know, I was the only Jew among all my colleagues.

I liked biology, but not everything they taught us there, most of it was Soviet crap. I remember Lepeshinskaya, who was famous for proving Virhoff’s theory wrong: the theory said that a cell can only be born from another cell, and she proved the contrary with photos, how from organic matter cells were built to form an egg. [Olga Borisovna Lepeshinskaya, born in Russia in 1871, claimed to observe the formation of cells in egg-yolks of birds and fish and also during the process of wound healing.] But it was proved some years ago that all the great Lepeshinskaya did was cheat because she simply inversed the photos taken from the most simple and natural degradation of an egg into unorganized organic matter and presented it as the break-through of the century in biology.

We also studied the theories of Lisenko and Miciurin. [Lisenko believed that socialist agriculture needed a profoundly biological theory, whose full swing would enable it to have big and stable harvests. Miciurin, who was the was the founder of ‘creative soviet darwinism’, abjured genetics and the laws of heredity, invoking instead the theoretical principles of Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin.] But we were lucky that we had some good teachers, like professor Preda, they still belonged to the ‘old true school’. This was in 1951-1953, they didn’t have time to change all professors. He taught us, in a subversive manner, true biology. The communists considered the theories of Mendel to be idealistic, but Mendel was perfectly right, as science proved later. [According to Mendel’s theory an individual has two ‘factors’, or genes, for each trait, one from each parents. Each copy of a factor is called an allele. The two alleles may or may not contain the same information. When they differ, the allele with the dominant information will be manifested.] Anyway, professor Preda held a splendid lecture on Mendel’s theory, with proof, and ended with the words, ‘This is Mendel’s theory, and it’s not true!’

All the time I was in college in Cluj, I had absolutely no contact with the Jewish community there; I had no interest in religion; as a future biologist I thought there was falseness in it. Moreover, I had other hobbies. I’ve always been a passionate sportsman, at least until I went to college, when I had to give something up because I couldn’t study and do sports at the same time. So I gave up swimming, although I had been a regional champion and in the youth batch of the country, and all I had left was table tennis. I became university champion in Cluj at table tennis during college. I never felt rejected by my colleagues because I was a Jew, as a matter of fact I don’t think many of them knew, many came from the countryside and weren’t familiar with all the past problems with Jews. I remember one time they went carol-singing to some professors at Christmas, a thing that wasn’t really allowed, and they asked me to join them, and I did.

I never had problems with communism because I was a Jew, but I never mentioned in any of my résumés that I had been a fervent Zionist at Cultura, I had no reason to do it.

After I graduated I had a repartition at Oradea as a teacher of natural sciences, and I had no calling for that, so I chose to stay at home at my parents’ house. I stayed at home for a year, I think, until my father, who was strict, got tired of me doing nothing, used some relations he had and had me hired in Sfantu Gheorghe [a town in the vicinity of Brasov], by a mineral water company, as chief of the CTC [Technical Quality Control] laboratory. There were all sorts of people in Sfantu Gheorghe. I remember I was still single and considered a good catch, an ‘akademikus’ [academician in Hungarian] and that some women tried to show me how well they were situated, and they used the expression ‘a felso tizezer’, which comes from an English expression in vogue at the time in New York: ‘the upper ten thousand’ [the ‘high society’]. It was absolutely ridiculous, considering that Sfantu Gheorghe had no more than 8,000 souls.

I liked the job there and after a while I was appointed manager of the laboratory. After a while there was some kind of reorganization and I was appointed chief engineer. I was very surprised, and so was everybody else. That was very interesting because Jews weren’t usually appointed for managerial positions, and moreover, without being a member of the Communist Party; and I was a Jew, and I wasn’t a party member. At least at the time of the appointment, because a week later the party secretary showed up at my office with my application for entering the Party. I was facing a dilemma because I had a family and two sons: if I hadn’t signed it, I would have lost everything, not just the new job, but the former one as well, so I signed it and became a party member; but my involvement in the Party was never more than having a membership card.

Married life

I got married in 1957 to Maria Maftei, whom I met here in Brasov. She had studied choreography in Cluj at the same time I studied biology, but we never met there. She isn’t a Jew, she’s a Christian, and she isn’t religious at all, she’s like me, so there was no religious wedding. Maria has a rather interesting story herself: when she was small, she lived with her parents somewhere in Moldova, in Roman I think, and then they moved to Burdujeni [Suceava county], the railway men were always on the road back then – her father was chief of the railway station there. At one point her father was relocated to a place in Bessarabia, I don’t know exactly where. When the Russians began their offensive, all railway men, together with teachers and notaries, the important people from those places, got a wagon to load with their belongings and go to Romania. But 23rd August came exactly then, the Germans stopped the train, attached a few more wagons with armament to the train, took over and didn’t stop until they were in Salzburg, in Austria.

There they were POWs I think, they were in a camp, her father was forced to work for the Austrian railways, and her mother, along with other women who had a sewing machine, was forced to sow German uniforms. My wife was nine years old at the time, and for nine months – the period they were there, from 1944 to 1945 – she studied with the other Romanian prisoners there, who were teachers. When she visited Salzburg later, she found the place where they were imprisoned; today it’s a hotel. She is trying to get a pension from the Austrian government, but it’s hard to prove that she was there, when she was only nine. Her parents are dead, the others who were there died as well; she only has a picture that she had on the permit, which gave her the right to use the air-raid shelters when there was a bombing.

We had two sons, Dan, born in 1958, and Adrian Petrea, born in 1960. We kept servants in our house for quite a while, and we even helped them marry well; I remember one girl, a country girl, but very sweet and kind, who married a man from the Electrica factory, a manager who came to our house. My mother helped her with the wedding dress and all, and she turned into a fine lady, with a much better financial situation. All this time I lived in Brasov with my wife, but I was commuting every day to Sfantu-Gheorghe for work, and I did so for 26 years, until I started working in Brasov.

My mother was a housewife, but when I went off to college, in 1950, she took a job at the town’s second hand bookshop – back then the only one in town – which she ended up running for a long time. There was a funny incident involving my mother as a librarian, which later became a good anecdote in all the bookshops in the country. In those times, under communism, you entered whatever shop, asked for something, and the invariable answer was, ‘We don’t have any’. It was true. So an elderly gentleman entered my mother’s bookshop and asked her, ‘Do you keep any books in ancient Greek?’. The answer was, ‘We don’t have any.’. The man, probably aware that that was the standard answer, tried again, ‘You know, the ancient Greek, Hellene’ ‘I know, Sir, but we don’t have any’ ‘But ma’am, the ancient Greek language, in which the Iliad and he Odyssey were written… ’ ‘I know, Sir!’, answered my mother and started to recite the first verses from the Iliad, in ancient Greek. The man was stunned. He blushed, bowed, and said, ‘Please excuse me, dear madam!’ And he kept on bowing and walking with his back to the door until he went out like this.

Although my father was a fervent Zionist, he never intended to make aliyah himself; it is a paradox, but he had very strong bonds here, he was very attached to his house, to his family. However, he supported the Zionist cause quite strongly. My father died in 1978 and he was buried in the Jewish cemetery here, in Brasov, and my mother died some time after him, in 1985. She is also buried in the Jewish cemetery. There was no rabbi at the funerals, only a minyan, and I recited the Kaddish.

I didn’t care about the regime; I cared about the affairs of the company. The company went well, and I like to think that it was like that thanks to me as well. In those times, there were two kinds of leaders: the ones who became leaders because they were very active as party members, and the ones who became leaders because they were needed. I like to think I was one of the latter. Of course, I cursed among friends about the heating and food problems, but I wasn’t a revolutionary. I listened to Radio Free Europe 16 at home, all throughout the communist period.

Although I was trained at Cultura for aliyah, I never filled in the emigration papers. I was married and we already had children. And I didn’t want to leave my parents behind, the home was like an anchor for this family.

I never had problems with communism, but my wife did because the Securitate 17 wanted to recruit her as an informer. By that time I was export representative of the Ministry of Agriculture for the counties of Covasna, Brasov and Sibiu, so I worked in foreign trade, and I was also a Jew, and they were probably interested in the Jewish community in Brasov. So she was repeatedly visited and pressured by a Securitate officer, who of course introduced himself under a false name, under the threat that if she wouldn’t collaborate, I would lose my job. It would have been a problem, both my children were studying medicine in Cluj and we needed money to support them, but my wife said ‘No’ and that was definite. Nothing happened after that, I didn’t lose my job. My wife told me that after the Romanian Revolution of 1989 18 she saw this officer in the street, coming towards her. When he recognized her, he immediately crossed the street and disappeared.

In 1987 I was downtown. I heard that there was some kind of scandal outside, so we went out into the streets; there couldn’t be a scandal without me present! We ended up in front of Modarom [a building in the center of Brasov], where there were already militiamen, we saw how the headquarters of the county Communist Party organization was being vandalized, files and portraits of Ceausescu 19 being thrown out of the windows by the people inside. I stayed there until we were forced to go back to our homes.

When the Revolution of 1989 started, I was also downtown because my wife taught ballet there. When we heard all the noise, we went outside. We stayed in the central square of Brasov, and we ended up kneeling with the others and singing. Then there was a column that started to march towards the headquarters of the Securitate. By that time I worked in Brasov, and I was very surprised to see in the column some colleagues who were known as fervent activists shouting in the same column; we smiled at each other and went on.

The column split in two, and we reached the back gates of the Securitate, and my wife and I were in the first row, which we hadn’t at all intended. I remember that the gates were opened, and, I’ll never forget, there was a poor wretched soldier, not a Securitate, on guard, he didn’t even speak Romanian very well, he was a Hungarian. He was scared to death, and he didn’t say anything. And someone rushed at him shouting. I stopped him, I told him that he was just a simple soldier and that he should leave him alone. I think I was pretty convincing because they let him go, all pale and barely standing. When we entered the courtyard, others were already inside; they had entered through the other gate. Somebody started to throw out papers from the offices. We stayed there for a while, and then we went home. We weren’t afraid of shootings, the shootings started only later that night, when they broadcast on the radio that people should go downtown to guard I don’t know what, and they were shot at; it was a simple trap, because the revolution needed heroes.

I didn’t raise my children in any religion, but they both identify themselves as Jews very strongly, I might say. They aren’t religious, but they are Jews in every other respect. And my wife, even though she is Christian, makes an excellent Jewish woman! During the wars in Israel [the Six-Day-War 20 and the Yom Kippur War 21], she was more afraid and more worried than I was, about the people there, and our acquaintances. We have relatives there, there was Uncle Arnold who died in 1993. And there’s another relative of ours, Judith Sandberg, we call her Juti, a nephew of my maternal grandmother’s, who was more like a sister to my mother, because her parents died when she was small, so she was raised by my grandmother.

I visited Judith in 1975, she lives with her family in a village near Tel Aviv, in Kiryat Shmuel. Her husband’s brother was Moshe Sandbar, who was the governor of the National Bank in Israel. I saw a lot of places in Israel while I was there, even more than Juti and her family did, because I had a lot of friends there – friends who had left from Brasov – who took me on trips, sightseeing. I traveled through the Negev desert, and I got as far as Muhammad Rashid in Yemen. And when I returned, I never had problems with mail during communism.

Before 1989, my wife used to paint eggs on the Christian Easter, but it was something purely symbolical, she just wanted to have some red eggs in the house. We also had a Christmas tree on Christmas. I think it’s a beautiful custom but we did it more for the kids, when they were little, because otherwise they would have felt frustrated that other kids had one and they didn’t. I went to the synagogue only on Yom Kippur and other high holidays, not every Saturday.

During communism, I had to take part in marches, like on 1st May and 23rd August – I was the manager of a state company, after all. I was sometimes invited to tribunes as well. Life under communism was rather simple for us, my wife and I worked, we went to the cinema, to the theatre or to concerts a lot. I also used to watch my wife teach ballet lessons, it was very interesting.

My sons never had problems under communism because they were Jewish; they were very open and people liked them; and our house was always open to all their friends. Adrian traveled a lot, to England; he worked for a non-governmental organization under British supervision, I don’t know its name, and from there the World Bank recruited him. Now his work takes him to Bulgaria and Russia. He never thought of making aliyah. We talked about it, but their bonds here were too strong; they had their families here, and their friendships have always been extremely important for them. Their friends are more like brothers. My daughters-in-law are both physicians; Adrian’s wife is Rodica, and Dan’s wife is Nadia. Their weddings weren’t religious, Rodica and Nadia are Orthodox Christians, they only got married at the city hall. My elder granddaughter, Oana, is 22, she is a student in Bucharest, she studied languages; the other one, Dana, is in high school. They are Dan’s daughters. Adrian’s daughter, Diana, is in the 5th grade. My sons’ wives aren’t Jewish, and neither are my granddaughters’, although I saw that my elder granddaughter was wearing a necklace with a magen David, which belonged to my mother. It made me happy to see that. Dan, my elder son, who was a physician, died in a car accident in 1997. [Editor’s note: the subject is very painful for Mr. Guth and he doesn’t want to talk any more about it]. We get together during summer holidays, when my granddaughters are on vacation and my daughters-in-law and Adrian leave from work, but it’s not very often.

I believe life has got better since 1989, there’s a freedom of speech, which is important – I was never good at keeping my mouth shut. But words are easily forgotten, and they don’t make a lot of a difference. Today I’m vice-president of the Jewish community here, in Brasov. I became involved in the Jewish community in 2000, when I was first elected secretary of the community, and then vice-president. I’m in charge of all the administrative matters of the community, of its image: I spent most of my time delegating others, and supervising all the ongoing activities.

We don’t observe any holidays at home, be they Jewish or Orthodox Christian, and my wife doesn’t celebrate Easter or Christmas. She only wants me to remember that she is Maria and that I always get her a present on her name day. Today I live a private life; I don’t socialize much. I’m at the community only when I work, otherwise I prefer to spend my time at home, with my wife.

I prefer to consider myself a conservative rather than a Neolog, because the term ‘Neolog’ was first used by the Hungarians. When the Neolog synagogue was first built in Brasov in 1901, it was Hungarian. It became Romanian in 1919, after the Trianon Peace Treaty, but it kept its original name. However, what the Hungarians understood by Neolog is what we understand now by conservative; they practically mean the same thing, only the name is different, and I personally prefer to call myself a conservative. Being Jewish for me has no religious connotation, I’m not a religious man; it means tradition for me. I have experienced Jewishness through Zionism, and not through religion. But I’m proud of it, never in my life did I think of hiding the fact that I’m a Jew.

Glossary

Katalin Kallos Havas
Kolozsvar
Romania
Interviewer: Attila Gido
Date of interview: May 2003

Katalin Kallos Havas and her husband live in a house they bought four years ago in the Gyorgyfalvi district of Kolozsvar. The rooms are imbued with pipe scent. Her husband’s favorite pastime is smoking his pipe. This scent, the old books of the study and the modern computer give the house a special atmosphere. Katalin spends most of her retirement at home and occasionally goes to the Jewish community to meet her friends. When she is at home, she usually reads or tends the flowers in the garden. Katalin has a graceful and kind-hearted nature, and in spite of her advanced age she is mentally very fresh. However, she only remembers selectively the period prior to the Holocaust. She only has fractions of memories about her family and childhood; the way she explains it, she wanted to start a new life when she came back from deportation; to forget the past that carried memories of the loved ones she lost.

My maternal grandmother, I don’t remember her name, was originally from Upper Hungary [which is part of Slovakia today], from Trencsenteplice, which was mostly inhabited by Neologs [1]. She and my grandfather, I don’t know his name either, moved to Dés [RO: Dej; DE: Desch;] before World War I, and their children were all born there. My maternal grandparents were Neologs; they observed the high holidays and used to go to the synagogue, but weren’t religious. They didn’t keep a kosher household either. They had modern ideas about life. I only knew one of my grandparents, my maternal grandmother. She was left a widow early. She had to bring up and marry off her five daughters, which was really hard because they each needed a dowry. After her husband died she became a businesswoman, which was quite unusual in those days. She had a lumber warehouse, opposite to where the courthouse was at the time. The workers she employed were Christians. She brought up and married off her daughters using the revenues of this business. Of course, they had to marry suitors who were content with a smaller dowry. The girls got betrothed through a matchmaker, and their marriages were arranged by their parents. My mother and her little sister were the youngest ones, and their marriages were love matches.

My mother’s eldest sister, Elvira, got married and moved to Budapest. She had one child, Denes, who killed himself at a young age. Elvira perished in Auschwitz. The next oldest sister was Iren, who got married and moved to Brasso, which was then part of Hungary [following the Trianon Peace Treaty] [2]. Iren and her husband, Grosz, were wealthy. A baron called Grodl had a lumber mill and a sawmill near Brasso, in Kommando. Uncle Grosz was the foreman for the baron and they stayed there all summer, and spent the rest of the year in Brasso. As a child I spent all my summer holidays at Aunt Iren’s in Kommando, and those were the happiest days of my life. They didn’t observe the religious holidays either. Nobody in the family was religious. They had two sons, Laci and Geza. Aunt Iren emigrated to Israel with Laci and her daughter-in-law after World War II. Laci now lives in Nazareth. Geza remained in Brasso and started a family there. Iren died at the age of 94 in the early 1970s.

My mother’s third sister, Sari, got married to a Yugoslav man, from a place that was then Southern Hungary [Voivodina] [3]. I only know that they were amongst those shot into the Danube by the Hungarians [during the Novi Sad massacre] [4]. They had two daughters. The younger one, Lili, got married and moved to Italy, before World War II, and that’s how she escaped deportation. The older one, Edit, was deported to Auschwitz, but she came home. She married a Yugoslav Jew called Rosenberg and emigrated to South Africa at the end of the 1940s. Then they moved to Israel, then to Holland. Edit’s husband was a construction engineer, and specialized in building sugar factories. My mother, Vilma, was the fourth daughter. She was born in 1896. Etus was my mother’s youngest sister. She married in Dés, and emigrated to America in 1918 or 1919.

My father’s parents were born and lived in Dés. All I know about them is that they were observant and had a furniture transporting business, but I don’t even remember their first names. Their last name was Selig. My father had five brothers and sisters: four boys and a girl. My father, Jeno Havas, was born in 1892. He and one of his brothers, Marci, were the ones who took the surname Havas. They both served in the Austro-Hungarian army and they probably Magyarized their names there. However, I don’t know exactly when and why. The sister and the other brothers kept the name Selig. Out of all them, only my father graduated from college. He became a lawyer, whereas the others only graduated high-school and all worked in the transportation business, without exception.

The boys weren’t religious. One of them lived in Galac, another one in Arad, and a third in Braila. Only my father and his younger brother, Marci, remained in Dés. His oldest brother, Jozsef, whom we all called Jasszi, lived in Dés with his family for a while. He was an illegal communist already, as early as 1933, and was imprisoned for quite a while. During those periods his wife, Edit, and their children lived at our house in Dés because they had no other source of income. His wife was originally from a landlord’s family from Kapjon. Kapjon is a couple of kilometers away from Kolozsvar. His daughter’s name was Zsuzsi. Since my father was a lawyer, he helped out Jasszi many times, getting him out of prison. At the end of the 1930s they moved to Galac, and then, after World War II, to Bucharest. As a member of the Communist Party since 1933, he was expelled from the Party in 1945. Only after he died, in the 1960s, was his name cleared, thanks to his daughter’s intercession.

My father’s second oldest brother, Gyula, lived in Arad. The third oldest brother, Bumi, lived in Braila. He was born after my father, in the middle of the 1890s. I don’t know, I don’t remember his real name because they moved out from Dés very early, and he died in World War II. I think his wife’s name was Regina. As far as I know they had no children. My father’s other younger brother, Marci, was shot in the lungs in World War I and died shortly afterwards. He had a wife and two sons. One of his sons was also called Marci.

My father’s older sister, Szerena, married a religious man and she remained religious. Her husband, Suranyi, worked in the transportation business. They had a large courtyard, and in it they had carriages and horses. As far as I remember, they had large carriages, and in the early 1900s they transported the statue of King Matthias to Kolozsvar. [Editor’s note: The King Matthias statue group from Kolozsvar was set up in 1902 in the main square of the city. The work representing the Hungarian king, Matthias, and his generals is one of the most important works of the sculptor Janos Fadrusz.] They lived in Dés, had a daughter and a son. The entire family perished in Auschwitz.

Around 1930 there were 3,000 Jews living in Dés. There were more Neolog than Orthodox Jews, they had their own synagogue and several places of worship, but I don’t remember the ratios. In Dés there was a Jewish area around the Neolog synagogue, where the poorer Jews, who rented their homes, used to live. The wealthier Jews lived spread out in different areas of the town, and had their own houses. We never had a house of our own, and I don’t really know why, but it wasn’t too important to have a house of one’s own. We only had a vineyard, jointly with my father’s sister and his younger brother, in Bungur, where the ghetto was in 1944. Bungur was in fact a forest in the outskirts of Dés. The arable lands and vineyard nearby were named after it. The ghetto though was set up in the forest, in the open air.

My parents never talked about how they met, nor about their marriage. They got married in 1916, and my oldest brother Gyorgy was born a year later. I was born in 1922. When I was a child, my parents were amongst the wealthy middle-class. They dressed according to the middle-class fashion of that period; they used to go to get-togethers, and had an active social life. Their circle of friends was very diverse; it didn’t matter whether someone was Jewish or Christian. As far as I remember they were both very good-looking. The family called my father ‘laughing eyes.’ He was a jolly and funny man. My parents weren’t strict. They never forbade my older brother or me anything. We lived in a very beautiful house on the bank of the Szamos River in Dés. A large household lived in the family house, which had plumbing and electricity. We all had our own rooms. The laundry and the kitchen were in the basement, and the food was brought to the dining-room with an elevator. We had a housemaid, a cook and a Fräulein, that is, a governess. The servants were all Christians and they lived in our house. It was my mother’s principle that everybody must work for their bread, therefore we children had some duties around the house; even though there were people who could have done it for us, we had to do them. We cleaned up, helped out around the house and had to keep our closets tidy.

I was already a good swimmer by the age of five. My father taught me to swim by throwing me into the deep waters of the Szamos in Dés, at a spot where even he couldn’t touch the bottom. Then he said, ‘Now come out’, and I did. I discovered that the water kept me afloat, and I learnt to swim. I was a tomboy and I had quite a lot of fights. That’s why the family called me ‘Fiupista’ [boy Pista]. I had a cousin, Marci, who was the son of my father’s younger brother, Marci. He was a year older than me. He used to come to our house quite often, but he always left crying because I always beat him up.

My parents weren’t religious. We didn’t light a candle on Fridays and didn’t keep a kosher household either. On Pesach we used to spend the seder at my aunt Szerena’s place.

We spoke Hungarian in the family. Our mother tongue and culture was Hungarian. Neither of our parents spoke Yiddish. We had a large library at home. My parents read a lot, but it wasn’t them who led me to read. I just had the bookshelf there, so I read. We didn’t have any religious books, but literature. I learned German when I was three from the Fraulein, who was a Saxon girl from the Brasso region, and I knew Gothic characters at the age of seven. Now I know only a few of them. At the age of seven I could already read and write in Hungarian. From the age of 11 I read regularly, and at 13 I was already reading Zola. [Zola, Emile (1840-1902): French writer and critic, leader of the naturalist school.]

My older brother, Gyorgy, read everything that fell into his hands. He took piano lessons from a private teacher who used to come to our house. Gyorgy’s closet looked like a little girl’s; everything was in place. He was the ‘golden haired child’ in the family because he was tidy. My parents always nagged me because even though I was a girl, I was very untidy. I was on bad terms with my brother for quite a long time. I was around 15 when we became very good friends. We had no secrets from each other. He enlightened me on many subjects. Our close relationship remained very strong even after he got married. His wife was really annoyed about this; she was jealous of me. Gyorgy used to tell me more than he told her. His wife, Rozsi, was a Jewish girl, originally from Maramaros, and they got married in 1943. She was still a medical student then. Their marriage was a simple civil one, without any religious ceremony. They didn’t even organize a party afterwards.

I attended a Romanian middle school. There was no independent Jewish school in Dés. There was a school for boys and one for girls, with well-trained teachers. In the school they didn’t make us feel different because we were Jewish, although there were many Jews in the school. I didn’t feel I was despised or treated like an alien. My favorite subject was mathematics, and I was only interested in what was related to mathematics: physics, chemistry and logic. We used to go to the theater, concerts and movies with the school. On several occasions they took us to the Romanian theater in Kolozsvar. The first opera I saw was Carmen. I was 14 then. I couldn’t understand a word they sang, but it was all new to me and I liked it.

My maternal grandmother lived with us until the early 1930s. Due to the economic depression it became harder and harder to make a living. My father was the manager of a bank in Dés then. The bank went bankrupt and with it we lost a considerable part of our wealth. My father then returned to his career as a lawyer, but he didn’t make enough money. Therefore my grandmother decided to move to Brasso, to live with her other daughter, Iren. I was around eight or nine then. Because of the difficulties we had to sell the most valuable things from our house: furniture, porcelain and crystal. As our poverty grew we moved into smaller and smaller apartments. It was very useful for us that my mother knotted Persian rugs because from the 1930s until our deportation it practically supplemented the family’s income. In Dés, it wasn’t the thing for women to earn money, neither in the Hungarian, nor in the Jewish upper-class families, and my mother felt quite uneasy amongst her friends because she worked. Her friends began to turn away from her. They visited and invited her fewer and fewer times.

Finally, in 1936, when I was 14, we moved to Kolozsvar. My older brother, who was 19 then, was already a student in Kolozsvar. There were no cars in those days, so we moved to Kolozsvar by train. My father remained in Dés and only came to Kolozsvar in 1939. I think there was a conflict between my mother and my father. They never argued in front of us, so we, children, didn’t know anything about what was going on between them, but during the three years they lived separately, he very rarely visited us in Kolozsvar. At first we lived at the beginning of Pata Street [today Nicolae Titulescu Street], then we moved to the center, into the courtyard of the current puppet theater on Kiraly Street. Later, we were deported from there. When we moved to Kolozsvar, I attended one more year in a Romanian middle school [5] . All in all I attended four years in middle school. My older brother was a student and he gave lessons, while my mother took in students, but it was still not enough to maintain the family. With the help of Aunt Iren from Brasso, my mother bought a stocking ladder-mender in 1938 and took on jobs. From then on we lived in somewhat more normal conditions.

I did a lot of needlework; I had good manual dexterity. I learned to sew in the public trade school, and then I worked for a Christian lady. Her name was Mrs. Veress, and she and her husband were supposedly of noble descent. We were on very good terms, and she valued me. Instead of the normal three years, I became her assistant in 1939, after only two years and then she gave me a salary already. The workshop was in the main square and had only two rooms. Five or six of us worked there. The customers were mainly Mrs. Veress’ acquaintances, but there were other customers, as well. When the Hungarians came, in September 1940 [the start of the so-called ‘Hungarian times’] [6], we made Hungarian gala-dresses for many customers, including some countesses, and decorated them with real pearls. I was by then chief decorator with pearls. For instance I put pearls on the dress of Koleszar’s daughter. Koleszar was the best ophthalmologist in Kolozsvar. While the three of us lived together, until 1939, my mother did the accounts for the family. We all put our salaries together, and at the end of the month she gave a third to each of us. We could do anything we wanted with our share.

I was 17 years old when Poland was invaded. We found out about it from the newspaper. The Romanian laws also reflected the changes. The anti-Jewish laws [7] taken by the Goga-Cuza government [8] in 1938 were further intensified by the royal dictatorship installed in February of the same year. In 1939 the number of Jews in the professional classes was increasingly restricted: it was harder and harder for Jewish lawyers and engineers to find a job.

I was a sportswoman - that’s what I was interested in. The Jewish community from Kolozsvar had a sports club, the Hagibor [Hebrew: The hero], which had several sections: soccer, Ping-Pong, tennis, water polo and fencing. Hagibor had many young and reputed athletes. There were, for instance, the Eros brothers. The younger brother of Laci Eros, Csibi, was a foil fencer and even took part in European Championships. Laci was a sabre fencer and a water-polo player. My cousin from Brasso, Geza, married the sister of the Eros brothers. They brought me into the Hagibor. At the end of the 1930s, the Hagibor won the national Ping-Pong championships. I was on that team, and so was one of my girlfriends, Eva Weisz. I was placed first in Ping-Pong at the Balkan Championships in international doubles with Sari Kolozsvari, in 1939. There were no Christians at Hagibor, except for one athlete, a Ping-Pong player called Vladone, who used to come to our club. We were happy to have him. I think he even won the national championships. Because I was one of the best defensive players, I also trained with the boys, including Vladone. The president of the Ping-Pong club was Farkas Paneth. I did fencing and Ping-Pong, both competitively, but I had no special success in fencing. Our fencing trainer was Jeno Mozes. He perished in Auschwitz. He was an outstanding technician. While we were allowed to compete, we attended each other’s games. I was pursuing other sports as well: skiing and swimming, but these were only for fun, and after 1940, when the Hungarians came, we had to stop. The anti-Jewish laws prohibited the athletes of Hagibor from participating in any competition, so we couldn’t compete. [After the entry of the Hungarians to Transylvanian, anti-Jewish laws of Hungary came into effect here as well.] [9]

My friends were from the Hagibor. One of our friends, Marcell Roth, whose father was a wealthy pharmacist, had a phonograph. He had beautiful classical music and opera records. One afternoon every week, we gathered to listen to music. There were people among us who were connoisseurs of music, and talked about the piece we were listening to. We knew all the great composers, symphonies and operas. In another circle of friends we used to talk about books, and everybody talked about what they had read most recently. Due to the limited possibilities we had after the Hungarians came, that’s how we lived. We used to go on trips with our friends, but not very long ones. For example one day we went camping at Lake Cege with tents and returned home the next day. [Lake Cege is some 60 km from Kolozsvar, in the direction of Dés.]

I had a Jewish boyfriend called Dery, whose parents were furriers. They had a house at the end of Donat Street, on the banks of the Szamos, and every summer we went there to bathe. Their garden gave onto the Szamos, so we weren't bothered by anybody while bathing.

The Jewish youth from Kolozsvar was seriously involved in the leftist underground movement. My older brother, for example, was an illegal communist as a student from 1938, but he already had connections with the communists from 1936. He was a regular member, he had no special position in the communist organization. The Communist Party was banned by the Romanian authorities already in the 1920s. From then on it operated in secret, illegally. That’s why its members were called ‘illegalists’. I came in contact with the communist movement in the trade school on Pap Street, where the communists often gave lectures. They usually didn’t talk about their ideology, but the practical part of socialism, about how it should be implemented. My brother Gyorgy brought me to one of these lectures, and later I went there by myself. One of the speakers was a Jewish medical student, Odi Neumann. I attended these lectures each week, and that’s how I learnt about communism. Thus I never had any contacts with Hungarian communists because I only moved in Jewish circles.

My brother and I were atheists already from a very early age, we believed in communism and that someday all citizens would be equal. We believed in the progress of mankind, and we didn’t leave our sorrow and difficulties for God to solve. We had to resolve them ourselves. Regardless of religion, we had a Jewish identity and were proud of it. We knew about the Zionist movement. There were many different factions, including a left-wing one. My brother had an eye on such a left-wing Zionist organization, the Hashomer Hatzair [10], but this was liquidated in 1938.

Before 1940 I raised money for the underground organization Voros Segely [Red Aid] from its sympathizers. There were many wealthy young people who wouldn’t dare to become communists, but sympathized with the movement and backed it financially. This all went on in secret. Communism was spreading, especially within the student circles. After the Hungarians came [in 1940] I even took part in distributing leaflets. We encouraged people not to let the others exploit them, and to put up some resistance at work.

There were cells in Kolozsvar, but I didn’t know who their leaders were. [Editor’s note: the communists were organized in small groups called cells.] We only knew one person, who gave us instructions. Everybody had such a contact person, and we called them ‘the contacts.’ My brother’s contact was a Christian boy called Zoltan Kiraly, who was taken to forced labor in 1941, to the Russian front. My contact was a boy from Dés who lived in Kolozsvar. I knew him as ‘the Hollender boy’. I didn’t know anything else about him. He was caught by the police in 1942 or 1943. He was imprisoned in Szamosfalva – the prison for communists –, then he was beaten to death. Laci Farkas was also imprisoned there. He was of Jewish origin. I met him at the end of the 1930s. He was originally from Kolozsvar but operated in Dés. The illegal communist organization from Kolozsvar sent him there to help in organizing the communists.

When the Hungarian armed forces marched into Kolozsvar in fall 1940, my father was very happy at first. He had waited for Hungarian rule to return, because he had fought in World War I for the army of the Austro–Hungarian Monarchy [the KuK army] [11], and he even received a decoration. Even though we knew that there were anti-Jewish laws in effect in Hungary, we wanted to live there because our culture and mother tongue was Hungarian. But they quickly made us feel unhappy that they’d come, even more than the Romanians had before. My brother felt it for the first time, when in 1940 law students attacked him with sticks at university. He was studying to become a chemist and was preparing for his doctorate. He came out of the laboratory holding vitriol in his hands, when they surrounded him and beat him. When he came home his face was so swollen up, he looked like a horse ‑ that’s how hard they beat him. From then on they made us feel we were Jewish.

At the beginning of 1941 my job was terminated. When the Hungarians came in 1940, my boss’ husband was appointed mayor of Dés, and the workshop was relocated there. Due to the anti-Jewish laws I couldn’t take any other job, so I worked illegally here and there. It paid off for the owners to employ people illegally, because that way they didn’t have to pay the corresponding taxes and health insurance. And the inspections weren’t severe.

During the war my father worked as legal adviser at a bank, I think it was the Agricultural Bank. Its headquarters were above the then EMKE pharmacy. I don’t know what EMKE stood for, but the citizens still call the building that. Back then we called it the sinking house, because its front became cracked and started to sink. I think my father was dismissed in 1944, but I don’t know where he worked afterwards. My mother then worked as a stocking ladder-repairer. There was a Jewish store with a workshop. My mother rented a small place there; she installed her machine there and worked on her own account. The owner had a very nice employee, and the owner transferred the store and the workshop to him by deed – I think it was in 1944 – after the Jews weren’t allowed to have stores anymore. Since my mother wasn’t employed there, but only rented the place, she wasn’t thrown out and could work there until her deportation.

The period following March 1944 was very difficult for us due to the restrictions, which we had to acknowledge because there was nothing we could do about them. We weren’t allowed to buy things in Christian stores and we were only allowed to walk on the streets within specific hours. I don’t remember exactly when we had to start wearing the yellow star [12], but it was probably in the spring of 1944, when the Germans came. [Editor’s note: The invading German forces marched into Kolozsvar on 27th March 1944. Wearing the yellow star was made obligatory on 31st March.]

We heard nothing about the deportations. Even those who went to the Jewish community regularly didn’t know anything. Only a very small group, the leadership, found out about it, just before people were put into ghettos, from the Polish Jewish refugees who came to Kolozsvar. They brought the news, but nobody believed what they said. Even though some of them had escaped from Treblinka. We knew the Arrow-Cross men [13] were dangerous. We were getting news about people being beaten, killed, shot into the Danube, but the people at the Jewish community calmed us down.

There were public announcements on walls regarding the date the Jews would be taken to the brick-yard, and what they could bring along. After one or two days, on 3rd May, the gendarmes came. When they showed up at our house, everybody’s bundles were already packed up. We left everything in the house as it was: furniture, pots, everything we owned. All we were allowed to take with us – food, some clothes and valuables – was packed in our bundles. They put my family – my parents, my brother and myself – on a truck, along with the other Jewish inhabitants of the house, and took us to the ghetto set up in the brick-yard. Many Christian citizens were happy they took us away, because we left many things behind, and everybody could have their share of them.

The brick-yard is still there, near the Irisz housing estate, close to the railroad. We spent three weeks in the ghetto, in terrible conditions. I don’t remember us cooking anything, since we had nothing we could cook in or on, and we had no electricity. I don’t remember whether we had a communal kitchen. I don’t even remember whether we had the possibility to clean up, there were no toilets. They gathered quite a lot of people there, the entire Jewish community of Kolozsvar. Every family had some three or four square meters of space, regardless of how many members they had. There were no chairs there to sit on; we couldn’t do anything. There were things to lie on, which we could take up and sit on. We were kept in the brick-yard.

They said they wouldn’t take us out of the country, but that we would be scattered in different regions of Hungary to work, everyone in his professional field, if possible. They announced that it would be better if the doctors and engineers went with the first transport, to take up their jobs. And since my sister-in-law, Rozsi, was a doctor, and my brother an engineer, my family went along in the first transport. They squeezed some one hundred people into a cattle-car. When we saw through a small hole, the name Csap [today Chop, Ukraine], we knew that was it; we were going to Poland, because Csap was past Hungary. The Hungarian gendarmes escorted us to Csap, where they handed us over to the SS troops. By the time we arrived at Auschwitz, many of us had already died. We couldn’t lie down, only sit or stand, and if one wanted to stretch a bit, another member of the family had to stand up. There was no water, no toilet, we only had a slop-pail, which was a tin can, in the corner. One had to get through to it to relieve oneself, in front of the others. It was inhuman.

In Auschwitz the Germans waited for us with dogs. They forced us off the cars, then they split us up: men and women were put in separate groups. There was no possibility to say goodbye to your family. Everything was driven by the element of surprise, leaving us no time for anything, neither to think, nor to say anything. They took us, the ones left alive, to the wash-room, the real wash-room. They stripped us naked, then took us to a room where they shaved all our hair off to protect us against lice. Slovak Jewish girls did this. I asked the girl who cut my hair when I would see my mother again. She pointed out the window and said, ‘Do you see that smoke? That’s your mother coming out.’ They were terribly angry with us because we were still sleeping under silk quilts while they were satisfying the needs of the German soldiers on the front, and then they were brought to build Auschwitz. They had already been in the camp for four years, so we found out immediately from them, what was to come.

The most horrible thing in Auschwitz was that we had absolutely nothing to do. We sat all day long and recited poems or sang; everybody showed off with whatever they could, to get through the day. The most horrible thing was the idleness. There was no possibility of work. There was Lagerstrasse [Camp Street], some blocks and nothing else. There was no way out from Lagerstrasse. Even free passage between barracks was restricted, and going to the toilet was limited, too. Since we had no medication, many died of different illnesses, and diarrhea was the most dangerous one. Quite a lot of athletes, especially the big-bodied ones, perished first, even though they were sportsmen, because their organisms couldn’t take starvation.

My sister-in-law was working in one of the barracks opposite, the Rewier. This was the barracks for the convalescents. I was able to go there just a few times. Even she, as doctor, couldn’t move around freely, she had to stay in the Rewier barracks. She was very pessimistic. After a while I didn’t even want to meet her because she kept saying, ‘Why are you struggling? Can’t you see there’s no end to this, nobody will leave here alive?’ But there one needed all the optimism one could get to try to live, and she always demoralized me. She became obsessed with finding my brother, and left slips everywhere she went and asked everybody about him who came to her for examination. Of course, he was nowhere to be found. There was an SS hospital corpsman who went from camp to camp, inspecting them; he was responsible for the entire district, including Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald. I don’t know if my sister-in-law and he became friends or what happened, but she asked this man to take with him some slips, which said, ‘I’m looking for Gyorgy Havas.’ My brother was working in Niederorshel, a smaller camp in Buchenwald. One day the corpsman found him, and my sister-in-law was beside herself with joy, and from then on she sent a package to my brother every month – because this corpsman made his tour monthly. So they knew each other’s whereabouts. I only found this out later, after we came home. By the way, a French man included this story in his book as an interesting case to prove that not every German was a murderer, even if they wore SS uniforms.

The wife of Laci Farkas and I were Stubendienst [room orderlies]: we distributed the food. We were responsible for two or three bunk-bed groups. There were nights when the so-called Blocksperre or curfew was in effect, that is, we weren’t allowed to circulate between the blocks. We got out at the back of the block onto the car track because we were curious to see why it was Blocksperre. These were rare occasions. Then we saw three trucks taking naked gypsy children, screaming and crying, to the gas chambers. They knew where they were going because until then the gypsy families had been together. There were no other children in the camp because they were separated from their parents and taken to the gas chambers already at the initial selection. I don’t know whether those gypsies were from Hungary or Romania or from somewhere else. We didn’t know anything about them.

There were Czech Jews in Lagerstrasse, next to us, also with their families. They were wearing their own clothing and their hair wasn't cut off. They were brought from Theresienstadt [14]. The Germans were showing Theresienstadt to the foreigners to see how they were treating the Jews: the inmates lived in houses and wore their own clothing. Their hair wasn’t cut off and they looked human. We watched as they selected people, men and women, fit to work. Then they took them away in one transport. The others were left there, and they threw their medicines and everything they had over to us – there was only a wire fence between us and them. They knew where they would be taken, so they didn’t need anything. The next day they were taken to the gas chambers.

An organization called Todt [15] – I don’t know what this acronym stood for – came there all the time. It selected people for different jobs and sent them to different locations in Germany. I also got into such a working group. This happened in October 1944. They took me to Silesia to dig tank-traps. Digging tank-traps wasn’t really a job for women, especially ones in as poor shape, as we were.

When the Russians were closing in – we could already hear the gunfire – they sent us off on foot. We walked for 2,000 km. We entered Germany in Dresden, then we set foot on Czech soil at Marienbad. This was the westernmost point of Czechoslovakia. Those who tried to escape were captured, brought back to the group and shot dead in front of us. When we arrived in the first town, Domazlice, the Czechs behaved in such a way that one could feel there was a chance to escape. By then we had had nothing to eat for six days, and we were starving. The Czechs threw food from the windows into the street for the groups, and as we went further into the town there was some sliced bread and apples put in the middle of the street. They put out any food they had around the house, for us to eat. Despite all this no one tried to escape, although there were opportunities to do so. Only one person went missing. In the next village I thought the captives would beg for food and I decided to try to escape then. I escaped in Nevolice. The SS soldiers who were escorting us were quite far from each other, and I went up behind the first SS soldier in line in order to be as far as possible from the next one. I broke out of line and ran away through an alley. By the time the next soldier arrived there and started shooting, I was already well away, and as the other captives spread out, they had to deal with them. This happened on 24th April 1945.

There was a girl from Munkacs who escaped with me, without any prior arrangement. Her name was Bozsenna. Fortunately she spoke perfect Czech, Russian and Hungarian. A single Czech lady let us in. I don’t know where her husband was. The women had all been left alone, there were only a few men in the village. They needed the labor. But I only weighed 36 kilo, so I wasn’t fit to work. She accepted us only out of mercy. It was astonishing to see that a simple countrywoman knew how to feed us, and keep us alive. Many had died after liberation due to exactly that reason – they didn’t restart eating properly. For example there was always a pot of white coffee on the stove, and she didn’t let us drink water. If we were thirsty, we had to drink the coffee because it was more nutritious. I put on 12 kilo in two months, so by the time I took off for home I weighed 48 kilo.

The Americans came in on a jeep, with four soldiers on it. I don’t know what rank they were. They drummed up the people of the village in the center of the village. One of them stood up in the car and said in Czech, ‘You’re free.’ Two days later, on 8th May 1945, when the war ended, we went to the town, to Domazlice. The reception of the refugees was already organized there. They set up temporary accommodation in boarding schools and schools. The Americans supplied us with medication, as well. Bozsenna and I decided not to stay in the temporary accommodations but to go and look for a job in the town. We first looked for a house that had a barn. When we peeked into the courtyard, we saw a young person in a wheelchair. We thought this place surely needed some help. Bozsenna, who spoke good Czech, asked the woman whether she would accept us to work for her for board and lodging. She answered that she would, because she had a big garden and raised some animals, so she needed the help. Then Bozsenna and I went back to the boarding-school accommodation and announced to them that we had found an employer and we would like to give up our places, and told them to give them to others.

When we went back to the house, the woman said she had changed her mind and could only accept one of us. Bozsenna spoke Czech, so she chose her, but she recommended me to the neighbors, the Kicbergerovas. They spoke German, so we understood each other. Even in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined taking a bath that same day, and, furthermore, in hot water! The family worked in the transportation business and they had a son and two daughters. The two daughters didn’t live there, as they were married. The son lived upstairs. He had a separate room and kitchen, but he ate downstairs with his parents, and he also used to listen to the radio there. He had a girlfriend his mother didn’t like because she was older than him and was using him. It took only a few days for him and me to become friends. He told me once there were no girls in Czechoslovakia one could talk with about books, literature or music, but that he could do it with me. His mother was very happy when she saw what good friends we became. She wanted to adopt me, and even inquired at the authorities to see what the procedures were for that. However, I wanted to go home to Kolozsvar as soon as possible. One day the woman asked me who I was, but I didn’t say anything. I told her I could say anything, because there’s no way they could check it, so I preferred to say nothing. The Czech family initially employed me to help out around the house, but they didn’t let me work. They were very nice people. I spent a month there.

Bozsenna, the girl I escaped with, got acquainted with an American soldier and they became friends. She remained in Domazlice. What happened to her after I left, I don’t know. I set off for home with three other people from Kolozsvar – two women and a man – when the first trains left. One of the ladies was called Teri Hirsch, the other one was her younger sister, Ibi. The man’s name was Ocsi Schonberger. Even after we came home we kept in touch. They all remained in Kolozsvar. The Hirsches took some jobs, while Schonberger went to university.

The trains were still running sporadically in May. The railroads had been blown away, so there was very little traffic. It was extraordinary how the Czechs treated us. My hosts from Domazlice loaded us up for the trip with fried doves and a large loaf of bread. They even gave us a map of Europe, which later turned out to be of big help, for the destinations the trains were running to, were written on them with chalk. Everything going south-east was good for us. We got on a train, traveled somewhere and waited at the station for another train that would take us in a suitable direction. It was summer, it wasn’t cold outside, so we had no problem with spending the nights outside. We only had the Russian soldiers to fear because they were very aggressive. At each station there was a Red Cross unit, and they gave us tea or coffee, bread and food. The Czech people were very nice to us. On the train people saw who we were, stood up and gave up their seats to us. In Slovakia people treated us like dirt.

I traveled for three weeks. I arrived home on 4th July 1945. The local Jews were waiting for me at the station. How they came to be there I don’t know. Maybe they had been in forced labor camps because they had been sent home in 1944. They were closer to the front, so they were liberated earlier than we were. When I arrived home, I had nobody and nothing. From my family only me, my brother and his wife survived the Holocaust. There were some very poor people, but they all had a plate, a pot, a spoon, a fork, a sheet, a pillow and a blanket. When I came home, I didn’t even have those things; I had absolutely nothing. I had only the clothes on my back, nothing else. This is how I had to start a new life. I was unable to accept or imagine how I could continue with my life, so I decided I had to forget, and I blocked many things out of my memory. But this plan worked too well. I didn’t forget what I wanted, but many things from my childhood.

We were all lost and didn’t know what to do. Those who were left all alone and had no place to go were accommodated in the former Peter-Pal villa [16]. The villa was on the banks of the Malomarok [the mill-course], almost on the corner of Pap Street. That was used as accommodation. The meals were given away in the same place, three times a day. I was in a lucky position because when I arrived there was a boy and his mother at the station. They were looking for the boy’s fiancée, who had been deported. They were asking everybody about her. I knew her by chance and told them I met her back in Auschwitz, but I knew nothing else. They then decided I shouldn’t go to the Peter-Pal villa, but to their house. They had a big house on Kossuth Lajos Street, with four or five rooms, but there were only the three of them staying there: the boy, his mother and his father. They asked me to ask a couple of decent children I knew to come there because they would take them in. It was in their best interests to do that, because this was in the house-requisition period, and any apartment occupied by too few people was taken away. Even if they did it in their own interest, they were very fair to us.

The father, Uncle Friedmann, was of Jewish origin and his wife was Christian. Uncle Friedmann was a member of a sect called The Children of Jesus, and they even had a priest. Their objective was to rope in Jewish children and to baptize them. I think they were part of the Protestant Church, but I don’t know that for sure. He tried to convert us all, but he couldn’t convince anybody from the house. Apart from that they were very nice to us and we were nice to them, too, and when Uncle Friedmann was left all alone, without any financial means, all of us who had lived there helped him out, usually monthly with anything we could. We tried to thank him for having given us a home. We even called the house the ‘Friedmann hotel’.

I went to our former house on Kiraly Street, but it was occupied. They weren’t at all happy when they saw me. They didn’t even let me in. I told them we had been deported from there and we’d left all of our furniture behind. They told me they had received an empty house. There was nothing I could do to claim it back, and no one to turn to. Those days nobody tried to reclaim anything.

Two of my father’s brothers were still alive, one of them in Galac, the other one in Arad. The one from Braila, Bumi, died of a heart attack before 1945. As for the others, they never returned from Auschwitz. After I came home they both invited me to visit them. I spent two weeks in Galac and another two weeks in Arad, and that was all the contact we had. They told me that after Kolozsvar was liberated, but before I came home, they tried to recover some of the things we’d left behind. They managed to rescue some bed-room furniture, a gas-stove with four burners, a large carpet and a commode. My brother and I split those between us. He kept the gas-stove and left the rest to me. My uncle from Galac, Jozsef, moved to Bucharest in the 1950s. I always visited him when I went to Bucharest. My brother kept in touch with them, since by that time he was living there, as well.

When I arrived home I knew absolutely nothing about my brother. I first received news that he was alive in August. His wife worked in Auschwitz as a doctor right until the liberation. After that she was taken to another camp in Bergen-Belsen, and she continued to work there as doctor. When Buchenwald was liberated, my brother got a bike, and along with one of his doctor friends – who was also a Havas, Andor Havas – went to Bergen-Belsen. In the meantime my sister-in-law got typhoid, and my brother had to wait until she got better. His friend came home, though. I didn’t know Andor Havas, but when he arrived home he looked me up in Kolozsvar and told me my brother was in Bergen-Belsen and would come home in two weeks’ time. Andor Havas later died on a plane while flying to Israel. He had a heart attack when he was quite young.

When my brother came home he joined the Party and immediately got himself a job in Kolozsvar. He became chief engineer at the pharmaceutical factory. In 1948 he was promoted and sent to Bucharest. Transylvanians were hunted because they were good professionals, and he became the executive manager of the national pharmaceutical industry. He had ministerial rank for twelve years. But then, in the 1960s, he was almost thrown out of the Party, and he was sacked from his job. The reason for this was that one of his colleagues emigrated to Israel and my brother was suspected of giving away secret information about the Romanian pharmaceutical industry to him. They thought the information was then sold in Israel. The pharmaceutical factory in Iasi was built in that period, and it was the first place in the country where penicillin was manufactured. They accused my brother’s friend of industrial espionage and my brother of being an accessory. This was all a fabrication. In the end my brother remained in the ministry as quality controller. He retired from there for health reasons, the result of the beating he had taken from the law students in 1940-1941. He still lives in Bucharest. He has a daughter, Eva, who emigrated to America. His wife, Rozsi, died of cancer.

Immediately after I arrived home, in 1945, I joined the Communist Party. It was the obvious thing to do, since I had had connections with the communists even before the war. They wrote in my party book that I had been a member of the Party since 1943, but I only became an actual member when I came home. I had nothing against them writing 1943, though, I didn’t really bother about it.

I met my husband, Miklos Kallos, in Kolozsvar at the Dezsisz [Democratic Jewish Youth Union], right after I came home. This was the meeting place for the Jewish youth. He was originally from an observant Orthodox family from Nagyvarad. His family wasn’t large; he didn’t even have brothers or sisters. Before Auschwitz he was religious, too. His father was employed at the synagogue. My husband used to help his father out in his work. Even though he was Orthodox, he attended elementary school in the school of the Neolog community of Nagyvarad. He graduated from the Jewish high-school. He even attended talmud torah. They studied in Hungarian, so he spoke Romanian with great difficulty, and he had a strange accent. At home they spoke Yiddish, but he grew up with Hungarian culture.

My husband was deported from Nagyvarad at the age of 17, along with his family, and he was the only survivor. He only spent three days in Auschwitz, then he was transferred to Buchenwald. After liberation he was taken to a hospital and spent three weeks in a sanatorium. I don’t know exactly where this sanatorium was, somewhere around Buchenwald. After deportation he was left all alone. When he came home he joined the Communist Party and became an atheist. None of his relatives were left alive, so he had nothing to do in Nagyvarad. He came to Kolozsvar because here he had all the friends he had made in the camp.

He finished two grades in one year and graduated from high-school in Kolozsvar, based on the Voitec-law [17]. He did a lot of reading and studying. In 1947 he was accepted to the Philosophy Department of Kolozsvar University, and in 1948 he was already a trainee at the university, even though he was only a 2nd-year student. He was by then working at a Jewish newspaper, the Uj Ut [18], a paper from Kolozsvar. The editorial office was in the house next to the Neolog synagogue, and Samuka Kahana had been its chief editor from 1945 already. All I know about Samuka is that he came from a very strange family, originally from Brasso. There were three Kahana brothers, one of them was upper middle-class. He was the owner of the Brassoi Lapok paper even before the war. Samuka Kahana was a communist and worked as journalist before the war. He had a Christian wife and two sons. Both of his sons are journalists, and they live in Bucharest and work for different newspapers today. The third brother, Mozes Kahana, was a writer. He lived for a long period in the Soviet Union as a writer. Then he came back and died here, in Transylvania.

Our wedding was a regular civil one, without any religious ceremony. We got married in 1949. I got on my bike and went there from the factory because our wedding was scheduled for noon. We went to the registrar, we said our ‘I do’s and I went back to the factory. That’s how it happened. One of the witnesses was Andor Bajor [19], and we invited him for lunch. I don’t know who the other witness was, because we needed two witnesses. My husband and Andor Bajor were class-mates at university. They were members of ‘the coach and five’, that’s what they were called back then at Bolyai University. The others were Sandor Toth [20], Samu Benko [21] and Tibor Szarvadi, of Szekler origin, who died later. He and his wife went for a trip in the Fogaras mountains, got lost and they perished there. Erno Gall [22] was older, he was a different generation, but was good friends with my husband, since they both came from Nagyvarad.

In 1946 I was working in a co-operative called Victoria, I was knitting: I organized the housewives so they knitted at home. I took the orders at the co-operative and distributed the work, then I put together the clothes. There was a strait-laced communist there who declared that employing housewives was exploitation, therefore the co-operative shouldn’t do that. We had lots of orders, and somehow had to fulfill them. That’s why in 1947 I left the co-operative, got a license and worked this way for six months. I managed to finish the jobs I undertook at the co-operative, legally, declaring everything. That’s why in 1952, when the Party cleaned its ranks, I was excluded as a class-alien. They justified their decision by saying that in 1947 I had pursued an activity that exploited people. In 1956 they took me back saying there was no better communist than me.

In 1948, thanks to some influential friends, I was employed at the Somesul knitwear factory as a simple seamstress. The factory was on the estate next to the law courts, in a courtyard. Back then it was only a very small workshop, and the owners of the factory – they were denounced as exploiters – were picked up together with their equipment from there in 1948. This was the basis for the new factory, including the Ady hosiery. [Editor’s note: In the interwar period one of the most important factories in Kolozsvar was the Ady hosiery. Its manager was a man of Jewish origin, Jeno Laszlo.] There were 98 employees there all in all. Then a printing house operated there, and I don’t know what’s there now. I don’t think I’d even recognize the building. The factory operated only for two months there, then it was relocated to Monostori Street. Its name was changed to Varga Katalin. Everybody I knew who worked there was Jewish. The foreman was a communist woman called Gizi Mezo. She was a member of the illegal Communist Party even before World War II. Her husband was Jewish. The chief engineer, Ella Rosenfeld, was a communist with Jewish origins. But it was of no importance whether one was Christian or Jewish.

Since my husband already had two half jobs, we had no problems making a living, and I let them put me to work on any machine they wanted. Usually people didn’t like to go from one machine to another, because learning to handle the new machine meant material loss. I didn’t mind that, though. I worked on every special machine in the factory.

I became pregnant in 1949, and in 1950 I gave birth to a boy, Peter. In this period the Varga Katalin factory was given a house at the back of its courtyard that gave onto Furdo Street. The management decided to set up a day nursery there and entrusted me with organizing it. I didn’t know, of course, how that was done, but I bent to the task. Organizing became my actual profession. This was my job in my first month of pregnancy. I managed to get a doctor, like no other day nursery had, and a cook who loved children. I don’t know how I managed to gather such a collective that made the day nursery of the knitwear factory the best day nursery in Kolozsvar. My older son, Peter, was raised in this day nursery. Five weeks after I gave birth, I returned to work in the factory. Organizing the day nursery was only to make it easier for me.

In 1950, when I returned to the factory, I became head of department and I was involved in a lot of good things. Back then Banseg was used in the production of knitted dry goods all over the country – these were machines for manufacturing textiles. Its use is similar to a buzz-saw in carpentry, only that it has a more delicate cutting blade. Manual cutting is an extremely difficult job, and isn’t accurate enough. I knew where I could find a Banseg in Kolozsvar, so I went to the Flacara factory; I made friends with the manager and obtained an old machine from them. I took it to the Varga Katalin and tested it. It turned out we could make finished goods with it, we could tailor the material tied together in bundles. This significantly improved quality and productivity. This method was then spread all over the country. I always loved figures, even now I like to play with them. I created a system that allowed identification of each bundle – the textiles came in bundles of twelve on the conveyor belt. So when I went to the factory in the morning, I looked at the production reports from the previous day and I knew where to find everything. I knew if there was a backlog, and where an adjustment was needed. This system was taken up to Bucharest and was spread in the other factories, as well. Anyhow, I was always trying to think up new things.

Before I was thrown out of the Party I was the party secretary at the Varga Katalin. I never spoke about the party leaders, I never praised them. I wasn’t interested in those things, but I was living and working in accordance with the communist principles. I always fought for the rights of the workers, to give them work, to ensure their salaries, I attended to absolutely everything. But I knew by then this system could neither solve the Jewish problem, nor the social problems. After Stalin died and Khrushchev [23] disclosed the situation within the Soviet Union, we came to realize that the same was happening here. Until then we were full of hope and thought we were the generation of sacrifice, and later it would all take a turn for the better. I still believed in communism, but I saw the mistakes of the communist regime, and I had a much more critical approach.

In 1952, when the Party cleaned its ranks, I was expelled from the Party as a class-alien. In 1953 I began to work in the trade union and I organized the mutual-aid society without any help from the government. This was just coming into fashion then. Every person who joined paid a minimal amount of money each month. Any member could get a loan if they had been a member for more than three months, but initially they could only request the sum they deposited thus far. The interest on those loans was minimal. This society had grown to such an extent that it was possible to borrow serious amounts of money. Some people borrowed for one year, others for two, but they had to pay the same minimal interest, and that was of great help to everybody. There was another mutual-aid society at the university, and my husband participated in it. We bought our car using it and paid it back in monthly installments.

In 1959, when I left the Varga Katalin, I spent one year at home. I joined a co-operative that allowed me to work at home. I did embroidery, and this way I supplemented the family’s income. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I had to stop working because my older son had some problems at school and had to stay at home. He was too bright compared to his classmates and was disturbing the classes. Someone had to stay with him to prevent him becoming a delinquent. At home Peter used to sit in his father’s lap all the time. I don’t know how my husband managed to work while his son was sitting in his lap, continually asking questions. My husband was working with the typewriter, and in the meantime our son learnt every letter on it. The director of the day-care told my husband, ‘Your son is our greatest help, but he is the examiners’ nightmare.’ The trainees of the kindergarten-teacher school were examined in the day-care of Bolyai University. For example one day a Szekler girl was being examined and she had to tell a story. As she was telling it, and talked about an automobile, she kept saying ‘oetoe’ instead of auto. My son, of course, interrupted her saying it’s not ‘oetoe’, but auto. He used to interrupt the examinees, so they often got confused. The same happened in primary school. He was too bright and he wasn’t too ashamed to show it. He could already read and write when he started school. He was disturbing the teacher, always interrupted the classes. And at parents’ meetings I had to listen to all this. The teacher was desperate. He finished the primary school on Teglas Street.

After we got married we lived in different places. My brother, before he was transferred to Bucharest, got a one-bedroom apartment as chief engineer, and in 1949 he left it to us. Before the war the house belonged to a wealthy jeweler called Stossel. To get to the apartment one had to go through a beautiful courtyard with pine trees. The courtyard and the house are now owned by Flacara clothes factory. The apartment was very small: it had one room, plus a small bathroom and a toe-hold of a hallway. We installed a rangette in the bathroom, and we cooked on it. Our son Peter was born here in 1950. After four years we moved to Budai Nagy Antal Street, into another one-bedroom apartment. We told them we would like to have another child, but there wasn’t enough room there, and if they gave us a larger apartment, we could have a child after nine months. Indeed, nine months after we moved out from there, in 1955, our second son, Gyorgy, was born. This apartment was in a peasant house with no plumbing on Szamoskozi Street. The neighborhood wasn’t developed and organized at all, it was almost village-like. When my husband went to work from there, he had a pair of shoes and a clothes brush in his briefcase, because if there was rain, the mud was up to his chin, and otherwise his trousers were dusty up to the knees. We lived there for three years, until 1958.

Finally, in 1958, we got our new house in the center of the city. My husband, beside his teaching job, was working as an activist. He became a county activist, he was responsible for Hungarian culture. He verified the operation of the Hungarian media and theater in Kolozsvar, and his approval was needed for them. Basically this was the reason we could move. This apartment was on Deak Ferenc Street, on the corner. The windows gave onto the statue of King Matthias, in the center of the main square. It was a beautiful apartment, of course it had its disadvantages. It was built above the bank where my father worked prior to his deportation. The living-room, which gave onto the statue of King Matthias, was made to the size of the bank’s council-room. It was 36 square-meters, and it was a beautiful large, bright and sunny room. The air vent of the bathroom gave onto the kitchen. The kitchen was so small that everything was installed on the walls and only one person could come in at a time. That is, it had an area of two square-meters at the most. We had one more room that was also beautiful, it gave onto the courtyard, and a long hallway. That’s all we had, but it felt like heaven.

By the time we moved to Deak Ferenc Street, our life was easier. I began to work again. The city hall had all kinds of companies, and one of them, the ‘munca la domiciliu’, that is, ‘work at home’, had a ready-to-wear department. I was employed there as technical leader. This was an independent company, but later it merged with Chimica Company, now called Napochim. Working at home meant that we employed more than 200 women who weren’t able to go to work due to their family or health condition, but could do sewing. We also had a tailor workshop, and we parceled out work from there. The management thought I was an excellent organizer. The company had a leather section that made watch-straps. They told me to take over leadership of that section, too. I told them that wasn’t my profession, and I didn’t know anything about it, and if I didn’t know something, I couldn’t lead it, because I wouldn’t know what to expect from people. Fortunately I had a very good foreman, an outstanding professional. He was a Hungarian man, but his name was Muresan. He told me not to mind, he would teach me anything I needed, I should just take over the leadership of that section: ‘The company needs you here, so be it. Don’t do anything, I will teach you everything.’ And indeed, he taught me everything about leather.

The company also had a trunk-making workshop. There were four people working there, and the company asked me to take that over, too. I didn’t want to, of course, because I was already working twelve hours a day, but in the end I accepted. One day one of the city leaders had to travel abroad and we had to make some trunks for him. He got the raw materials from Herbak factory, and we had to manufacture it, of course, for free – that was the way it worked then. I said I wouldn’t do it. The comrade had a higher salary, so he had enough money to pay for our work. I would have it made, but I’d have to pay my men for it. I’d hand over the finished trunks to the warehouse, with all the official documents, and from then on they could do whatever they wanted with them. My employees had a small salary, and I wasn’t willing to put them to work just because the comrade needed some trunks. I had a real argument with the manager over this issue, because he said the comrade’s request couldn’t be refused. So I told him, ‘You know what, you have already loaded me with all kinds of stuff, and I can’t take it anymore, so I’m leaving.’

When the managers of the Drumul Nou and the Flacara companies heard I wanted out – I don’t know how they found out – they came to me. [Drumul Nou and Flacara were clothes factories.] The manager of Flacara came to me and told me they wanted to open the ladies’ wear department and they wanted me to join them. Until then they only had a men’s wear department. The production manager from Drumul Nou, a man called Sztojka, came to me and asked me to go to work for them because they had good working conditions there. A car was waiting for me in front of the house and they were ready to show me the factory. He was a very adroit man and talked me into it. So I went to Drumul Nou. Later he became the president and we worked very well together. I was charged with organizing the ready-to-wear clothes department at Drumul Nou. Initially we worked for Bucharest and made beautiful things using Greek materials. Then the IC-COP was established in Bucharest to deal with the international relations and co-operations. Then we began to work for Quelle. Later another German company came to work with us, it was a smaller company from Dusseldorf; they already worked with delicate commodities. The technician of that company was a lady of my age who used to spend four months in Kolozsvar twice a year. She assisted the entire process of production, shipment – everything. We worked for them for 15 years. Even now two sections of Drumul Nou are working for them. I retired from there in 1979.

During this period, in 1978, we exchanged our apartment on Deak Ferenc Street for a three-bedroom second floor apartment on the corner of Zola and Dozsa Gyorgy Streets. We moved from there to our current house in 1999.

We had all kinds of friends; we made no distinction. During the communist period I didn’t experience anti-Semitism. On the other hand, we avoided talking about the Holocaust. We didn’t even talk to our children about what had happened to us. However, we let them read everything related to the Holocaust, we let them become what they wanted to be. We didn’t influence them in any way. For instance, we had nothing against them marrying Christian women.

My older son, Peter, was a musician, he graduated in flute at the Conservatory and became a music teacher. Currently he lives in Bucharest and works as a translator for the Hungarian broadcast of Romanian national television. He translates from Romanian into Hungarian and from Hungarian into Romanian. He is often employed as a simultaneous translator by the Hungarian embassy. When Viktor Orban [24] visited Bucharest for the first time, Peter was the translator. The mother of Peter’s wife, Nora, is Romanian, and her father is Hungarian. They divorced early on because her mother forbade them to speak Hungarian at home. My daughter-in-law understands Hungarian, and she’s also forced to because we are quite indiscreet with her – not on purpose, of course because we are on quite good terms, but we spontaneously talk in Hungarian. She always understands what we are talking about, but can’t speak Hungarian. My grandson from Bucharest doesn’t speak Hungarian. His name is Robert and he was born in 1976. My son scolded us for not teaching him Hungarian, because he spent his summer holidays with us here in Kolozsvar. We couldn’t teach him because we didn’t spend enough time together for that.

My younger son, Gyorgy, is an engineer. His wife is a Hungarian Christian; her name is Marika. They live in Nagyvarad. They have two daughters: Renata, born in 1989, and Patricia, three years younger. They are both baptized and will confirm. I asked my son, ‘What does the minister think about you bringing your daughters to scripture lessons, you being a Jewish husband?’ He said the minister is very intelligent, has a high rank and they are on very good terms with each other. He told me, ‘Whenever I take my daughters there, we usually chat for 20 minutes. We respect each other. He doesn’t want to convert me, we don’t speak about religion.’ His wife’s parents are religious, they insisted on baptizing the children. And in order to preserve peace within the family, my son had nothing against it. He said, ‘When they grow up they will think and act at their own discretion, anyway.’ None of my sons are interested in religion. They are aware of their Jewish origins, but they don’t observe the Jewish traditions.

We considered those who emigrated to Israel brave people because they dared to start a new life again. We didn’t consider ourselves brave people. Another reason for us not being brave was that, after all, my husband was a university professor and I had a fair job, we were both respected and we were simply afraid to start a new life. Not to mention that both our sons have professions that couldn’t bring them prosperity in Israel. I never thought about emigrating. I went to Israel for the first time in 1968 and visited Aunt Iren and her son. I was curious to see Israel and how people lived there. I loved everything I saw. I had friends all over the country. It didn’t take me long to tour the country, since it’s not too large. I even traveled through the desert as I visited Eilat. Both my aunt and her son died. I only have friends there now. We are even more concerned with the situation there than the Israelis. We are in permanent contact with our friends.

I was a member of the Jewish community even before 1989 – I was in contact with it. I was an active member in the sense that I did some social work, I used to visit the elderly. I didn’t mind that the Party didn’t like this. The Jewish community was an officially recognized organization anyway, so they had nothing to comment on. My husband wasn’t a member though because he taught at the Department of Marxism, and this was incompatible with life within a religious community. Besides, he was very busy, he was completely absorbed by teaching. Neither of us was religious. This was an odd situation: the Jewish community isn’t in fact a religious organization, just a Jewish organization, regardless of its members’ religiousness. The community has members who converted to Christianity and there are wives or husbands who are members even though they are Christians.

Following the Revolution of 1989 [25], our attitude towards religion didn’t change. I usually go to the synagogue twice a year: when we pray for the dead and when we commemorate the deportations. The other occasions when I go to the synagogue are not religious, but cultural events. My husband still isn’t a religious man, but despite that he goes to the synagogue to pray each Saturday morning to have the minyan. He speaks perfect Yiddish because his family used to talk in Yiddish at home. He can read the Torah, and that’s quite rare these days. My husband was the president of the Jewish community for four years, from 1997 to 2001. He goes to the community to help out, even though he has too little strength and time for it. He still lectures at Babes–Bolyai University; there are still doctorates under his guidance.

I had a Jewish acquaintance who had two sons. The younger one had to be seven or eight when he asked his father, ‘Tell me, dad, will people become Jewish when they get old?’ Because that’s how it is, as people get older they feel increasingly attracted back to Jewishness. I have a very good lady-friend who is Christian. Her son is a doctor and he read every book about the camps. He was very interested in the Jewish community. She told me she had to have some Jewish ancestors because her son had inherited it. Finally she found out that the mother of her father, that is, her grandmother, was Jewish. Those who were never interested before or never considered themselves Jewish somehow began to be attracted. The same happened to me. I’m still not religious, but for me my Jewish origin is growing in significance. I was raised in the Hungarian culture, my mother tongue is Hungarian, but I consider myself Jewish.

Glossary

[1] Neolog Jewry: Following a Congress in 1868/69 in Budapest, where the Jewish community was supposed to discuss several issues on which the opinion of the traditionalists and the modernizers differed and which aimed at uniting Hungarian Jews, Hungarian Jewry was officially split into to (later three) communities, which all built up their own national community network. The Neologs were the modernizers, who opposed the Orthodox on various questions.

[2] Trianon Peace Treaty: Trianon is a palace in Versailles where, as part of the Paris Peace Conference, the peace treaty was signed with Hungary on 4th June 1920. It was the official end of World War I for the countries concerned. The Trianon Peace Treaty validated the annexation of huge parts of pre-war Hungary by the states of Austria (the province of Burgenland) and Romania (Transylvania, and parts of Eastern Hungary). The northern part of pre-war Hungary was attached to the newly created Czechoslovak state (Slovakia and Subcarpathia) while Croatia-Slavonia as well as parts of Southern Hungary (Voivodina, Baranja, Medjumurje and Prekmurje) were to the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians (later Yugoslavia). Hungary lost 67.3% of its pre-war territory, including huge areas populated mostly or mainly by Hungarians, and 58.4% of its population. As a result approximately one third of the Hungarians became an - often oppressed - ethnic minority in some of the predominantly hostile neighboring countries. Trianon became the major point of reference of interwar nationalistic and anti-Semitic Hungarian regimes.

[3] Voivodina: Northern part of Serbia with Novi Sad (Ujvidek, Neusatz) as its capital. Ethnically it is the most mixed part of the country with significant Hungarian, Croatian, Romanian, Slovakian population as well as Roma and Ruthenian minorities (and also a large German population before and during World War II, which was expelled after the war). An integral part of Hungary, the area of present day Voivodina was attached to the newly created Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians (Yugoslavia after 1929) at the Trianon Peace Conference in 1920. Along with Kosovo it used to be an autonomous province within Serbia between 1974 and 1990, under the Yugoslavian Constitution.

[4] Novi Sad massacre: From 21st-23rd January 1942, a small rebellion near Novi Sad served as a pretext for the slaughter of Jews and Serbs in Novi Sad by the Hungarian armed forces. The action initially started as a fight against the local partisans, but later it became a retaliation in which mostly innocent Jews and Serbs were killed. Total curfew was ordered, Jewish homes were searched and pillaged, and their occupants were murdered in the streets. On 23rd January more than 1,400 Jews, including women and children, and 400-500 Serbs, were deported to the Danube, shot and thrown into the river. The remaining Jews of Novi Sad were killed in forced labor camps and in Auschwitz. Outraged by the massacre, the regent of Hungary, Miklos Horthy, ordered an investigation into the mass killing. Those responsible for the raid were tried in court, but the German authorities brought them to Germany, where they joined the German armed forces. After the war the Hungarian authorities handed them over to the new Yugoslav government and they were executed.

[5] Middle school: This type of school was attended by pupils between the ages of 10 and 14 (which corresponds in age to the lower secondary school). As opposed to secondary school, here the emphasis was on modern and practical subjects. Thus, beside the regular classes, such as literature, mathematics, natural sciences, history, etc., modern languages (mostly German, but to a lesser extent also French and English), accounting, economics were taught. While the secondary school prepared children to enter the university, the middle school provided its graduates with the type of knowledge, which helped them find a job in offices, banks, as clerks, accountants, secretaries, or to manage their own business or shop.

[6] ‘Hungarian times’ (1940-1944): The expression ‘Hungarian times’ refers to the period between 30 August 1940 - 15 October 1944 in Transylvania. As a result of the Trianon peace treaties in 1920 the eastern part of Hungary (Maramures, Partium, Banat, Transylvania) was annexed to Romania. Two million inhabitants of Hungarian nationality came under Romanian rule. In the summer of 1940, under pressure from Berlin and Rome, the Romanian government agreed to return Northern Transylvania, where the majority of the Hungarians lived, to Hungary. The anti-Jewish laws introduced in 1938 and 1939 in Hungary were also applied in Northern Transylvania. Following the German occupation of Hungary on 19th March 1944, Jews from Northern Transylvania were deported to and killed in concentration camps along with Jews from all over Hungary except for Budapest. Northern Transylvania belonged to Hungary until the fall of 1944, when the Soviet troops entered and introduced a regime of military administration that sustained local autonomy. The military administration ended on 9th March 1945 when the Romanian administration was reintroduced in all the Western territories lost in 1940 - as a reward for the fact that Romania formed the first communist-led government in the region.

[7] Anti-Jewish laws in Romania: The first anti-Jewish laws were introduced in 1938 by the Goga-Cuza government. Further anti-Jewish laws followed in 1940 and 1941, and the situation was getting gradually worse between 1941-1944 under the Antonescu regime. According to these laws all Jews aged 18-40 living in villages were to be evacuated and concentrated in the capital town of each county. Jews from the region between the Siret and Prut Rivers were transported by wagons to the camps of Targu Jiu, Slobozia, Craiova etc. where they lived and died in misery. More than 40,000 Jews were moved. All rural Jewish property, as well as houses owned by Jews in the city, were confiscated by the state, as part of the ‘Romanisation campaign’. Marriages between Jews and Romanians were forbidden from August 1940, Jews were not allowed to have Romanian names, own rural properties, be public employees, lawyers, editors or janitors in public institutions, have a career in the army, own liquor stores, etc. Jewish employees of commercial and industrial enterprises were fired, Jewish doctors could no longer practice and Jews were not allowed to own chemist shops. Jewish students were forbidden to study in Romanian schools.

[8] Goga-Cuza government: Anti-Jewish and chauvinist government established in 1937, led by Octavian Goga, poet and Romanian nationalist, and Alexandru C. Cuza, professor of the University of Iasi, and well known for its radical anti-Semitic view. Goga and Cuza were the leaders of the National Christian Party, an extremist right-wing organization founded in 1935. After the elections of 1937 the Romanian king, Carol II, appointed the National Christian Party to form a minority government. The Goga-Cuza government had radically limited the rights of the Jewish population during their short rule; they barred Jews from the civil service and army and forbade them to buy property and practice certain professions. In February 1938 King Carol established a royal dictatorship. He suspended the Constitution of 1923 and introduced a new constitution that concentrated all legislative and executive powers in his hands, gave him total control over the judicial system and the press, and introduced a one-party system.

[9] 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%, 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.

[10] Hashomer Hatzair: ‘The Young Watchman’; A Zionist-socialist pioneering movement founded in Eastern Europe, Hashomer Hatzair trained youth for kibbutz life and set up kibbutzim in Palestine. During World War II, members were sent to Nazi-occupied areas and became leaders in Jewish resistance groups. After the war, Hashomer Hatzair was active in ‘illegal’ immigration to Palestine.

[11] KuK (Kaiserlich und Koeniglich) army: The name ‘Imperial and Royal’ was used for the army of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, as well as for other state institutions of the Monarchy originated from the dual political system. Following the Compromise of 1867, which established the Dual Monarchy, Austrian emperor and Hungarian King Franz Joseph was the head of the state and also commander-in-chief of the army. Hence the name ‘Imperial and Royal’.

[12] Yellow star in Romania: On 8th July 1941, Hitler decided that all Jews from the age of 6 from the Eastern territories had to wear the Star of David, made of yellow cloth and sewed onto the left side of their clothes. The Romanian Ministry of Internal Affairs introduced this ‘law’ on 10th September 1941. Strangely enough, Marshal Antonescu made a decision on that very day ordering Jews not to wear the yellow star. Because of these contradicting orders, this ‘law’ was only implemented in a few counties in Bukovina and Bessarabia, and Jews there were forced to wear the yellow star.

[13] 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 was 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 upon 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. 

[14] Terezin/Theresienstadt: A ghetto in the Czech Republic, run by the SS. Jews were transferred from there to various extermination camps. It was used to camouflage the extermination of European Jews by the Nazis, who presented Theresienstadt as a ‘model Jewish settlement’. Czech gendarmes served as ghetto guards, and with their help the Jews were able to maintain contact with the outside world. Although education was prohibited, regular classes were held, clandestinely. Thanks to the large number of artists, writers, and scholars in the ghetto, there was an intensive program of cultural activities. At the end of 1943, when word spread of what was happening in the Nazi camps, the Germans decided to allow an International Red Cross investigation committee to visit Theresienstadt. In preparation, more prisoners were deported to Auschwitz, in order to reduce congestion in the ghetto. Dummy stores, a cafe, a bank, kindergartens, a school, and flower gardens were put up to deceive the committee.

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

[16] Peter-Pal villa: House in Kolozsvar/Cluj, where the Gestapo set up its headquarters in April 1944 during the German occupation of the city. The house was later nationalized by the communists. After 1989 the villa was transformed into an apartment building.

[17] Voitec-law: named after communist minister of education Stefan Voitec, and adopted in 1946. According to this law all those (regardless of their nationality) who had to interrupt their studies during World War II could take exams and apply for high-school or university following an accelerated procedure.

[18] Uj Ut (New Way): Hungarian weekly published by the Jewish Democratic League between 1949-1953.

[19] Bajor, Andor (1927-1991): Writer, publicist and literary translator known for his satiric works and humorous sketches. He was a professor of philosophy at the Babes-Bolyai University and worked as an editor for the National Literature and Art Publishing House. He was a member of the editorial board of the only officially allowed children’s paper for native Hungarians in socialist Romania. Bajor was a prominent personality of the Transylvanian Hungarian community.

[20] Toth, Sandor (b. 1919): Transylvanian Hungarian philosopher. He was professor of philosophy at the Babes-Bolyai University of Kolozsvar/Cluj from 1949 to 1985 and he was an editor of Korunk, the most important Hungarian periodical published in Transylvania under the communist regime, in 1957-1958. He was an eminent member of the intellectual circles of Kolozsvar. His main area of research was the problems of the intellectual and political life of the minorities in interwar Romania and the theoretical questions of nationhood. He emigrated to Budapest in 1988 and has been teaching at the Budapest University.

[21] Benko, Samu (b. 1928): Research fellow in history and president of the Transylvanian Museum Society, the former ’Academy of Science’ for native Hungarians in Romania. He was a professor at the Babes-Bolyai University between 1949-1952, and, from 1953 a researcher at the Institute of History of the Romanian Academy of Sciences in Cluj. Benko was editor of Korunk, the most important Hungarian periodical published in Transylvania under the communist regime, from 1957-1958. Since 1990 he has been a full-time researcher at the Transylvanian Museum Society.

[22] Gall, Erno (1917-2000): Writer and philosopher. He was professor of philosophy at the Bolyai University (later Babes-Bolyai University) of Cluj from 1949 and its rector from 1952 to 1956. Between 1957 and 1989 he was editor of Korunk, the most important Hungarian periodical published in Transylvania under the communist regime. Gall’s interest in the issues of nationalism, national identity, minorities, ethnicity and the intellectual elites of ethnic minorities led to several studies of great interest.

[23] Khrushchev, Nikita (1894-1971): Soviet communist leader. After Stalin’s death in 1953, he became first secretary of the Central Committee, in effect the head of the Communist Party of the USSR. In 1956, during the 20th Party Congress, Khrushchev took an unprecedented step and denounced Stalin and his methods. He was deposed as premier and party head in October 1964. In 1966 he was dropped from the Party's Central Committee.

[24] Orban, Viktor: Politician, president of the Young Democrats’ Alliance since 1993 (Fidesz; called FIDESZ - Hungarian Civic Union since 2003). He was Prime Minister of Hungary from 1998 to 2002, leading a government of alliance of center-right parties (Young Democrats-Hungarian Civic Party, Independent Smallholders’ Party, Hungarian Democratic Forum). After the 2002 general elections, his party has been in parliamentary opposition.

[25] Romanian Revolution of 1989: In December 1989, a revolt in Romania deposed the communist dictator Ceausescu. Anti-government violence started in Timisoara and spread to other cities. When army units joined the uprising, Ceausescu fled, but he was captured and executed on 25th December along with his wife. A provisional government was established, with Ion Iliescu, a former Communist Party official, as president. In the elections of May 1990 Iliescu won the presidency and his party, the Democratic National Salvation Front, obtained an overwhelming majority in the legislature.

Bluma Lepiku
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: March 2006

I conducted this interview with Bluma Lepiku at her home. Bluma lives in a one-room apartment in a new residential compound in Tallinn. Her apartment is very clean, cozy, and full of light. Bluma is short and plump. Her black wavy hair with gray streaks is cut short. She has bright and young eyes. After her husband died, Bluma has lived alone. Her relatives passed away a long time ago, and Bluma is very lonely. Her forced loneliness is a hard burden on her. Due to severely ill joints she spends most of her time at home, and this causes a lot of suffering to her. She even complained to me that she begins to forget words having nobody to talk to. Bluma is sociable, very spontaneous and lively. She finds everything in the world interesting. She was very interested in hearing about Ukraine. Bluma reads and thinks about what she has read a lot.

My family history 
Growing up
Going to school 
During the War 
After the War
Glossary

My mother and her family did not come from Estonia. My maternal grandmother, Dora Gore, and my grandfather Gore were born in the Russian Empire, but I don't know the exact place of their birth. My mother Luba, nee Gore, her sister Fanny and her brothers Samuel and Lev were born in the Russian town of Yekaterinoslav [in 1926 Yekaterinoslav was given the name of Dnipropetrovsk, which is currently one of the largest administrative centers in Ukraine. It's located 400 km east of Kiev]. My mother's Jewish name was Liebe. My mother was born in 1897.

I don't know when my mother's brothers and her sister were born. I can't even say for sure, whether they were younger or older than my mother. I would think that Samuel and Fanny were older, but there is nothing I can say about Lev. I never met him. All I know about him is what my mother and grandmother told me. Regretfully, I've forgotten a lot. I am 80 years old already and my memory often fails me now.

My mother's family lived in Yekaterinoslav before the 1900s. When Jewish pogroms 1 started in Russia, they decided to move to where it was quieter. I have no information about my grandfather. I don't know what he did or how he died. He might have become a victim of pogroms. At least, my mother's family moved to Estonia without him. It was my grandmother and her four children. Though Estonia also belonged to the Russian Empire, but Jews lived a very different life in Estonia than in other areas of the Russian Empire. The Pale of Settlement 2 was not applicable in Estonia. Jews were not restricted as to the area of residence and were treated as equal members of the community.

There were no Jewish pogroms in Estonia. There were no restrictions with regard to education or career applied to Jews. Jewish young people from all over Russia came to study at Tartu University. There was not only no quota 3, but there were even Jewish students' corporations. [Editor's note: Students of Jewish origin studied in Tartu University since the end of the 19th century, and they had their associations and corporations. The student's money box was established in 1874, and in 1884 the academic society with the name of Akademischer Verein für jüdische Geschichte und Literatur (Jewish Academic Society of History and Literature). Jewish students formed the 'Hacfiro' society. There were two corporations: 'Limuvia' and 'Hasmonea.' The 'Limuvia' was a secular organization, and the 'Hasmonea' was Zionist oriented. Since there were relatively few numbers of Jewish students at the university, their organizations were small. In 1934 the Academic Society listed 10 members, the 'Hacfiro' - 20, 'Limuvia' - 43, and the 'Hasmonea' - 30 members. The societies owned large libraries: the 'Limuvia' had about 3,500, the 'Hasmonea' - 1,000, the Academic society 2,000, and the 'Hacfiro' had 300 volumes. Jewish students also had a cash box. This was the first Jewish students' organization in Estonia. The purpose of the cash box was to support Jewish students from poor families. Wealthy Jewish families made annual contributions to the fund, and the board distributed the amounts among needy students].

There were many wealthy Jewish families in Estonia, and they made contributions to the cash box to give talented students from poor families an opportunity to pay for their studies. This was not the case in any other areas of the Russian Empire. Jews have always been treated nicely in Estonia. Perhaps, this was why my mother's family decided for Estonia. They settled down in Tartu, the second largest city in Estonia.

My mother hardly told me anything about her childhood. I don't know how they managed without their breadwinner, but my grandmother managed to raise her children all right. They managed to get some education. At least, my mother, her sister and brothers could read and write. My mother's older brother Solomon was a sales agent. He supplied popular Czech imitation jewelry to local stores. My mother's older sister Fanny moved to America at 17. My mother attended hat making trainings and one year later she became a skilled hat maker. All I know about my mother's bother Lev is that he was regimented to the army at the beginning of World War I and disappeared at the front. His family kept hoping that he was captured or wounded and was in hospital, but he never came back.

My mother's family was religious. My grandmother was a believer. She observed Jewish traditions and raised her children to respect them. The whole family went to the synagogue 4 in Tartu on Jewish holidays. They also celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home and followed the kashrut. Each family member spoke fluent Russian since they had arrived in Estonia from Russia. However, the language they spoke at home was Yiddish. In Estonia all of them learned Estonian, including my grandmother. Though Russian was an official language in Estonia like everywhere else in the Russian Empire, the majority spoke Estonian, their mother tongue.

When my mother and her brother Solomon began to earn their own living, my grandmother moved to her older daughter Fanny in America. My grandmother corresponded with my mother and Solomon telling them about life in America. She was telling my mother that she should visit them in America. My mother finally decided to take the trip. This happened during the First Estonian Republic 5, after the war for independence was over 6, i.e., in 1920. My mother decided she would visit her folks and see whether she would be interested to move to America for good.

She had to get to Tallinn from Tartu to go on from there. Her brother traveled a lot, and he told my mother there was a little Jewish restaurant and an inn in Tallinn where my mother could stay overnight, if necessary. Solomon had stayed there himself on his numerous trips. He told Mama she should stay there as well. This was how my parents met. My mother came to the inn and told the owner her name, Gore. The owner of the inn and the restaurant, my future grandmother, Dora Reichmann, asked my mother if Solomon Gore was related to her. My mother told her that Solomon was her brother. The owner liked my mother a lot.

My mother heard someone playing the violin at the restaurant. It was beautiful. She asked who was playing so beautifully. The owner replied that it was her older son Yankl. She showed my mother into the restaurant where she introduced her to her son. They fell in love at first sight and there's no need to say that my mother cancelled her trip. She stayed in Tallinn and then went back to Tartu. Shortly afterward my mother and father got married. They had their wedding party in my grandmother's restaurant. It was a traditional Jewish wedding with a rabbi and a chuppah. After they got married my mother moved to Tallinn.

My father's parents came from Tallinn. My grandmother's sister, Martha Fridlander, also lived in Tallinn. She divorced her husband before I was born. I didn't know him. Martha had a son. His name was Hermann. He was tall and handsome. Marta was worried that he was single. I didn't know my father's father, Mendl Shumiacher. My father was born in 1897. His younger brother Michail was born in 1900. Their father died, when they were still very young.

My grandmother remarried. I don't remember her second husband's first name. His surname was Reichmannn. My grandmother had his portrait. He was a handsome man with moustache. They didn't live long together. Reichmannn died in a tragic accident. He was an electrician. One day he was killed by an electric shock. My grandmother never remarried again. She rented a house and opened a kosher Jewish restaurant and a small inn for traders and sales agents. When her business developed and she could afford it, she bought the building from its owner. The family resided in a rental apartment.

My grandmother was a terrific cook. I don't know a better one. Her inn and restaurant were always full, and a number of men proposed to my grandmother, but she refused all of them, since none of them wanted her children. They were talking about getting married and as for the children, they wanted to discuss this issue later. However, my grandmother did not agree to leave her sons on their own even for the time being. So, she never remarried again. She dedicated herself to the restaurant and her sons.

My father and his younger brother were very good at music. They studied at a gymnasium, but my grandmother could not afford to pay additionally to teach them music. It was too expensive. However, both of them wanted to learn music. Somehow, though I don't know how they managed it, they learned to play the violin. My father started earning money, when he was still very young. There were musicians playing the music during silent film screenings. My father played the violin at the movie theater. This was his good luck. A teacher of music took notice of him and offered him free classes. He lived in Tartu and convinced my grandmother to let her son move to Tartu to take music classes. His teacher taught my father diligently, and when my father improved enough to continue on his own, he came back home.

Perhaps, it's not proper to say this about one's own father, but there was no other violinist like my father in Tallinn. Who didn't know Shumiacher! My father could not afford to study at the conservatory, but he became a skilled musician. He put his whole heart into music. My father played in the largest restaurants in Tallinn: Astoria and Linden. Many visitors went to the restaurant just to listen to Shumiacher playing. My father's brother Michail also became a good violinist.

After the wedding my parents rented an apartment from Penkovskiy, a Jewish owner. We had a three-room apartment with stove heating. It was nice and warm. I remember piled stoves in our rooms. The piles were polished so thoroughly that one could look in them like in a mirror. There was one stove to heat two rooms: my parents' bedroom and the children's room. There was another stove in the kitchen, and it also heated the dining-room.

My father earned all right and could provide well for his family. My mother didn't work after her wedding. My older sister Mena, their first child, was born in January 1922. After my baby sister was born, my mother's mother came from America. She lived with my parents helping them to take care of the baby. I was born in October 1926. I was given the name of Bluma.

Growing up

My grandmother stayed with us a little longer before moving to Tartu where her son Solomon and his family lived. Solomon married Yida, an Estonian Jewish girl. In 1922 their son Michail was born. My grandmother died in Tartu in early 1940. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tartu according to Jewish traditions.

We spoke several languages at home. My grandmothers and my parents communicated in Yiddish. Besides, my parents taught my sister and me German and Estonian. Actually, we learned Estonian playing with other children, and our governess Jenny was teaching us German. We also spoke Russian at home. Young girls from Pechory, a Russian town located on the border of Estonia and Russia, used to take up housekeeping jobs in Estonia. We also had one such housemaid. We heard our mother speaking Russian to her. My sister picked some Russian, but I couldn't speak any Russian.

Our father was not involved in raising the children or any household duties. My mother was responsible for raising the children and keeping the house. My father brought money home, and it was my mother's part to take good care of it. My mother was always alone at home at night. My father played at night-time. My mother and my grandmother became good friends. They went to theaters and concerts together. My grandmother liked my mother dearly. However, my two grandmothers did not get along. This is the case, when they say they were at daggers drawn with one another.

My mother was raised to strictly observe Jewish traditions. My father was not particularly religious, though his mother was a very religious woman. We followed the kashrut at home. My mother did the cooking herself, and all food was kosher. As for my father, he did not follow the kashrut. He had meals at restaurants and told us he commonly ordered pork carbonade or chops with fried potatoes and a shot of vodka. He believed having a delicious meal was more important than kashrut. As for my mother, she followed the kashrut strictly. We never had pork at home: we only ate beef, veal and poultry.

My father ate this kind of food at home. My mother was religious. My mother and my grandmother went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. There was a large choral synagogue 7 in Tallinn. Men were on the lower floor, and women sat on the balcony. Mama always celebrated Sabbath at home. She made a festive dinner, lit candles and prayed.

On Saturday afternoon my grandmother invited us to a festive lunch. My grandmother was a terrific cook, and I still cook what I liked eating at my grandmother's. She always made Jewish kugel with ground potatoes, onions, pepper and spices, all mixed and baked in the stove. I remember how my grandmother's kugel was rolling in fat, and when taken out of the stove, it was 'shedding' the drops of goose fat like tears. Kugel and chicken broth - this was so delicious! I think Jewish cuisine is the most delicious. My grandmother also made potato latkes, fried pancakes. My grandmother served them with bilberry jam. It goes without saying that there was gefilte fish, stuffed goose neck and the herring forshmak.

There were sweets, too. My grandmother made teyglakh, rolls from stiff dough with raisins. Alcohol was also added into the dough. They are cooked in honey with spices. They taste delicious. We also liked aingemakht from black radish. Ground black radish was also cooked in honey with spices. This was a festive dish, and we liked it as well. As for common meals, my father used to make ground black radish with goose fat.

We visited my grandmother to celebrate Jewish holidays. The whole family got together. My mother's younger brother Michail, my grandmother's sister Martha Fridlander and her son Hermann, my grandmother's friends also joined us. There were at least 15 people sitting at the table. All traditional Jewish food was on the table.

We always had matzah on Pesach. My father conducted the seder. He broke the matzah into three pieces hiding the middle part, the afikoman, under a cushion. One of the children, whoever managed first, was to find the afikoman and give it back for a ransom. I remember once finding the afikoman. I received a bag of walnuts in return. We celebrated all Jewish holidays. On Purim my grandmother made very delicious hamantashen pies filled with poppy seeds with raisins, honey and walnuts.

On Yom Kippur my grandmother and my mother observed the fast. They spent a whole day at the synagogue. When they returned, they could have the first meal of the day. They usually had some fruit for a start and then had a meal about two hours later. I remember this. We also celebrated birthdays. My grandmother used to make a bagel for each birthday member of the family. They were beautiful bagels! They were decorated with oak-tree leaves made from dough, sprinkled with sugar powder and ground almonds. Bagels of this kind remained fresh for a week. My grandmother made her last bagel shortly before she died in 1948.

My father did not take part in raising his children, but we obeyed him implicitly. He could shush us just frowning or looking at us with a definite expression. We were never beaten or told out. The most severe punishment for me and my sister was when our father told us to stand in the corner. Our parents treated us with strictness. I remember that I liked dangling my legs, when sitting at the table. When my father noticed this, he made me go to stand in the corner. When everybody else had finished eating, I was allowed to sit at the table to eat.

It would have never occurred to my sister or me to disobey our parents, snarl at them or demonstrate disrespect. Things like that never happened. When we went out, Mama always told us at what time we had to be back at home. If we were ever two or three minutes late, we were not allowed to go out next time. My mother and father wanted to know our friends and where we went. However, we were never restricted in our choice of friends. I was never told to only make Jewish friends. I had Jewish, Estonian and Russian friends. What mattered for our parents was that my friends came from decent families and behaved properly.

There were wonderful winters in Tallinn before the war. There was a lot of snow in winter. The snow was white and clean. There were few cars, and the air was clean. My friends and I liked sleighing from the hill in the Old Town on the side of the Liberty Square. We liked walking in the park and along the narrow streets of the Old Town. Our family spent the summer months in Piarnu, a resort town. My father played in the orchestra in Piarnu, and my mother, my sister and I enjoyed our vacation there. I have beautiful memories of our stay there.

Jews had a very good life at the time of the First Estonian Republic. There was no anti-Semitism. Jews suffered from no restrictions in Estonia. The only restriction, as far as I can remember, was that Jews could not hold senior officer's positions in the army. However, I don't think this was so very bad, since they were free to engage themselves in any other sphere of activity. They were free to receive higher education and become teachers, lawyers and doctors. Lots of Jews were engaged in businesses. They enjoyed the same employment rights as Estonians. What was important was how skilled one was and how well one could perform, but one's origin was of no significance, really.

In 1926 Jews were granted the cultural autonomy 8 unlocking even more opportunities. There was no everyday anti-Semitism either. Routinely anti- Semitism can only evolve, when the government shows connivance. It can only develop, when it is not terminated, and there was no such ground in Estonia.

Going to school

My sister studied in a Jewish gymnasium in Tallinn. There were two gymnasiums sharing one building on Karu Street, though they both had the same staff and director, Samuel Gurin. In one gymnasium subjects were taught in Hebrew, and in the other one in Yiddish, while Hebrew was just another subject. My sister studied in the Yiddish gymnasium. When my time came to go to the gymnasium, I went to the Yiddish one. It was quite a distance from our house and my mother took me there in the morning and met me after classes.

We had very good teachers, indeed. Gurevich taught us music and religion. He was a wonderful teacher and a chazzan at the choral synagogue in Tallinn. Gurevich told us interesting tales from the Bible, the Torah. He brought a concertina to our classes to accompany us, when we sang.

Unfortunately, I only studied one year at the gymnasium. I fell ill with diphtheria and missed a number of days. I was to go to the second grade the following year. I went to the Estonian general education school near our house. Boys and girls studied together at the Jewish gymnasium, but this school was for girls. There were wealthier and poorer pupils at school. I also had friends from wealthy or poor families. This was of no significance for my parents. We retained our friendship. Unfortunately, many of my friends have passed away. And I keep in touch with those, who are here, we call each other and see each other occasionally.

My father insisted that my sister studied music. We both attended piano classes, but it was impossible to practice at home, when our father was there. God forbid, you play a false note. Father made a real blow-up yelling that no good musicians will come out of us. This was the worst oath he could think of. Therefore, Mama was always watchful that we did not sit at the piano, when Father was at home.

My father's younger brother Michail Shumiacher was also a violin player. He had no family. Regretfully, this was my grandmother's fault. Michail lived together with Ilze, an Estonian woman of German origin, for 13 years. Ilze was a very beautiful and intelligent woman. She knew 15 languages and worked as an interpreter in an embassy. She had a son from her first marriage. His name was Otty.

Michail and Ilze loved each other and wanted to get married, but my grandmother was strictly against this marriage. She had no complaints against Ilze, but one: Ilze wasn't of the Jewish origin. My grandmother believed that Michail had to marry a Jewish woman. My father and his brother respected their mother so much that it never occurred to Michail to disobey his mother and do what he believed was right. My grandmother kept introducing him to Jewish girls, but Michail only wanted Ilze. Otty hated Michail. When a child I thought Otty felt so because he was a fascist, but when I grew up, I understood that Otty believed Michail to be the source of his mother's suffering. I don't know what this was about.

In 1939, when Estonian residents of German origin started moving to Germany at Hitler's call-up, Ilze and Otto left, too. I remember how Michail came to see us then. He was very upset and told my mother that all he needed to say was, 'Ilze, stay,' and Otty would have left for Germany alone. However, he couldn't have said this, because my grandmother would not have recognized Ilze. He never saw her again, and Michail never got married. He dated women, but never stayed long with one.

We recalled Ilze and her son again in 1944, when we returned to Tallinn from the evacuation. The owner of the apartment where my uncle had lived before the evacuation told him that when the Germans occupied Tallinn, a German officer wearing an SS uniform visited her looking for my uncle. This was Otty. If my uncle had stayed in Tallinn, he would have killed him for sure.

In the mid 1930s my grandmother's condition grew weaker. The podagra disfigured her hands, and her joints were aching. She could work no loner, so she sold her restaurant. She spent all her time reading the Torah and praying. We often visited her.

During the War

I cannot remember what my parents thought about the Soviet military bases in 1939 9. The adults must have discussed this issue, but there was a solid rule in our family: the children were not to be present, when adults were having their discussions. They did not touch upon policy in our presence. Even when we had guests, we had to leave their company at 9 in the evening. Without any reminder we had to stand up, say 'good bye' to everyone politely and depart into our room. This was the rule. Therefore, we never knew what they were discussing.

In summer 1939 we were on vacation in the country, the town of Algvida. There was a railroad nearby, and a train with Soviet navy men arrived there. They were entertaining, sociable and even arranged impromptu concerts for the locals. My mother found them enchanting, and when she discovered Jews among them, she was delighted. My mother spoke fluent Russian and she could easily talk to the Soviet officers. She met a few of them and was very much interested in what they were telling her about life in the Soviet Union. I remember my mother saying to a Soviet officer, 'How come you've never traveled here before?' At that time we did not know yet what the Soviet regime was bringing to Estonia. In 1940 the Soviet rule was established in Estonia 10. Soviet Armed Forces came to the country. A few months later my mother was saying with horror, 'Why are they here?'

Estonian residents knew about the Soviet Union what they could read in newspapers or hear on the radio. This information stated that the USSR was the country where people were equal, all roads were open to all, healthcare and education were free and all nations lived as one fraternal family. Actually, these were the slogans that we were going to hear every day. In general, Estonians had a friendly attitude towards the Soviet newcomers. I don't know whether they were sincere or just realized that there was nothing they could do about having them in their own country. Anyway, the accession of Estonia to the USSR was undisturbed. The Soviet newcomers were even greeted with flowers.

Oppressions followed soon. They kept arresting politicians and the ones that failed to demonstrate their loyalty to the Soviet regime. The next step was the nationalization. They took away houses, stores and businesses, which became the property of the government. We were happy that Grandmother no longer owned the restaurant. Actually, our family had no other property. My father's 'production tools' were his hands and the violin. Therefore, our family suffered no implications then. Since we had no property we did not belong to the wealthy class of exploiters, according to the understanding of the Soviet authorities. The only change for me personally was that my classmate and I became pioneers 11. However, this was a mere formality for me and the girls. We hardly knew anything about pioneers.

The population of Tallinn grew all of a sudden. The military were the first to come, and then their families followed. They were initially accommodated in local apartments. This was when we experienced living in shared apartments 12. Nobody was accommodated in our apartment, though. Perhaps, they would have been, had there been more time. I don't think my parents were concerned about those on-going arrests. They probably believed there was nothing we should have been afraid of: we were decent people, we did not lie and our father was not involved in any politics. At that time my father was playing in the symphony orchestra at the drama theater.

On 22nd June 1941 Germany attacked the Soviet Union 13 without declaring a war. We had to decide whether we were going to stay or leave. We did not feel like leaving our home. My mother and grandmother were positive that we should stay, but my father said we should leave as far as possible from the place and there should be no doubt about that. His theater was to evacuate and we could go with it.

My mother packed a suitcase for each of us, just in case we happened to travel in different train carriages. Mother packed our best clothes and shoes. She also added our valuables and silverware into or Father's suitcase: a sugar bowl, a coffee pot and the tableware. My mother was hoping that we would be able to trade our silverware for food products, if necessary. However, this was the suitcase that was stolen at the railway station even before we got on the train.

My grandmother, my father's brother Michail and my grandmother's sister Martha went with us. Martha's son Hermann was mobilized to the Soviet army. The theater was to evacuate to Kuibyshev, they were told, but on the way the route changed. The Soviet government was evacuated to Kuibyshev and, of course, we were not allowed to go there as well. We arrived at the Kanash station, Chuvashia [about 700 km north-east of Moscow]. At the evacuation office we were told that our destination point was the village of Shemursha. The musicians of the orchestra and their families were distributed to various locations. In Shemursha we were the only family of an orchestra player, though there were many other people evacuated from their homes. They came mostly from Belarus. There was one family from Estonia and we became friends almost immediately.

We were accommodated in a small house located in the yard of the owner's house. We were the only tenants. There was a big room and kitchen with a Russian stove 14 in it. The stove heated the kitchen and the room. We cleaned the house. I washed the floors using a brush and some alkali solution. We made frilled gauze curtains for the windows. There was no other house with curtains in the village. The locals, when visiting us, admired how clean and cozy our house was.

There were actually many things we didn't know about living in the village. We didn't know how to cut wood, and my mother didn't know how to stoke the Russian stove. It took us some time to get used to doing things of this kind. My mother was trading whatever belongings we had with us for potatoes and flour. We baked potatoes in the Russian stove, and my mother baked our own bread. My sister and I picked brushwood, bringing it home in bundles. Someone delivered a few logs to us, and we cut them for wood for the stove. My mother or my sister never learned to cut wood. My father and I did this job. We had to learn it all. Misfortunes can teach anything.

There was a sauna in the backyard. This was new to us. We had never seen a sauna before. There are no such saunas in Estonia. You undress in the fore room with some straw on the clay floor. Coming out of the sauna, you get dressed standing bare footed on this cold straw. What is surprising is that nobody fell ill once there. I was very ill, when a child. I had probably all children's diseases in Estonia: scarlet fever, diphtheria, chicken pox, etc. And catching a cold was a common thing me, but I never had even a running nose in Russia, even though we came out of the sauna, when it was minus 40 degrees Celsius outside. When we returned to Tallinn, I started catching a cold often again. The climate in Chuvashia was very healthy with bright and hot summers, when it only rained occasionally, and frosty and dry winters.

The locals treated us kindly. We did not starve even during the first year of the evacuation. We have to thank our mother for managing to provide food for us. My mother started making sheepskin hats for the locals from the sheepskin they supplied. They paid with food products: potatoes, cereals, sauerkraut and pickles. At the start of the second year we received a land plot where we planted potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions and garlic. Tatiana, our landlady, had a cow. She brought us a mug of milk every evening. My mother had cuts of fabric with her, and she traded them for butter, poultry and even honey. So, we had everything we needed in the evacuation, and our situation was very different from what others had to go through.

My mother and sister knew the Russian language, while my father and I could speak only a few words at the most. It was hard at the beginning. Mama taught me the Russian alphabet. I tried to read signs in the village. I made a few friends. They were local girls and the ones like me. They spoke Russian to me and before long I picked up some Russian. For a long time I spoke with a terrible accent and put all the wrong accents on words, but in due time I learned to speak.

Back in Estonia I had finished four grades at school, and in the village I went to the local school. It was hard at first, but I improved eventually. Schoolchildren used to write letters to the front. My friend helped me with writing letters. I drafted a letter, she checked and corrected the mistakes and I put together the final version. So, I learned to write without mistakes, eventually. I finished seven grades of a general education school in Chuvashia. I didn't join the Komsomol 15 at my school. They didn't pay much attention to such things there.

My grandmother's sister's son Hermann was regimented to the army before we left Tallinn. He was enlisted to the Estonian Corps 16, which was formed in early 1942. It was deployed in the Yelansk camps near Kamyshov in the Ural, which was not that far from our location. Hermann managed to visit us in our village. He fell ill with diphtheria, and when he was released from hospital, he was allowed a leave. Hermann stayed with us for a short time before he went back to his unit. This was the last time we saw him.

He died a tragic death at the very end of the war. This happened on Saaremaa Island. Herman was captured by Germans. He did not look like a Jew having fair hair and a straight nose. He was tall and spoke native German. Besides, his surname was Fridlander. The Germans thought he was an Estonian German. They did not kill him. When the Estonian Corps advanced to Saaremaa, he managed to escape. When Hermann joined with his unit, they met him with suspicion. They did not believe he was not working for the Germans. They couldn't believe the Germans had not killed the Jewish man. Nobody listened to what he had to say, and he was regimented to a penal unit where he perished. He must have been destined to die, and there is no escaping fate. After the war Hermann's fellow soldier told Aunt Martha about what had happened to her son after the war.

In 1943 my father was summoned to Yarsoslavl where an Estonian state orchestra was formed. My father's brother Michail was also summoned there. My father and Michail went to Yaroslavl. Before leaving they made stocks of wood for the stove. Even when we were leaving there was still a lot of it left. Some time later my father picked us from Shemursha and we headed to Yaroslavl [about 250 km north of Moscow].

My father worked a lot in Yaroslavl. He attended rehearsals, and the orchestra also went on tours to the front line. There was also a ballet and a drama troop. There was even a jazz band in which Uncle Michail was playing. They all gave concerts at the front.

My mother did not go to work in Yaroslavl, but my sister did, though I can't remember where. I finished a course of medical nurses at the medical school in Yaroslavl. I went to work as a medical nurse at the ophthalmologic department at the hospital in Yaroslavl. In November 1944 the Estonian Corps liberated Tallinn. We started preparations to go home. My father was offered a job in the symphony orchestra in Yaroslavl, a nice apartment and salary, but my sister and I insisted on going back to our homeland. We wanted to go back whatever there was in store for us! We could not imagine living anywhere else, but Estonia. So, our family headed to Tallinn.

After the War

We looked forward to getting to our apartment. We already knew that it was not damaged or ruined. Uncle Solomon's son got to Tallinn some time before we did. He served in the Estonian Corps that liberated Tallinn. Michail came by our house and wrote my mother that our apartment was all right. However, when we got there, it turned out there were other tenants living in there. Our Estonian janitor had moved in there. When we opened the door using our own key, he met us with the words: 'Jews, what are you looking for here? Why did you come back in the first place and how come they didn't kill you in Russia? My father asked him what he was doing in our apartment, but he only cursed us in response. To cut a long story short, he didn't let us in our own home. We had to back off.

My mother's friend, whose husband hadn't returned from the front yet, gave us shelter. My father addressed the court to have our apartment back. However, it turned out that there was no way we could force the janitor to move out. He presented the form stating that his son was in the Red Army to the court. As it turned out afterward this form was falsified, but we only found this out many years later. Well, at that point of time we were homeless. After numerous visits to the executive committee 17 and the Central Committee of the Party Mama obtained an authorization for us to move into two rooms in a shared apartment. We lived there a few years. Our co-tenants in this apartment were three other families. We had never resided in a shared apartment before and had to get used to the new way of living.

After the war my mother's sister Fanny found us. She lived in the USA with her family. She was so happy to learn that we survived! We had hardly any luggage, when we arrived in Tallinn. Mama only retained one decent outfit for each of us, so that we had a pair of shoes and a dress each to dress properly to go out. She didn't want people to say that we were a bunch of ragamuffins having come back from Russia. The rest of our clothing was sold or traded for food products. Actually, this was all we had at all. Our apartment and whatever belongings we had left therein were gone. Aunt Fanny started sending us parcels. She sent us sufficient clothes to dress for any occasion. We corresponded until my father was told that this was not safe 18 and our communication faded.

Uncle Solomon's wife returned from the evacuation. Ida and Solomon were evacuated to Uzbekistan. Solomon had poor sight and was not subject to army service. Solomon was a rather credulous man, and this played a wicked trick on him. One day in the evacuation a Polish Jew, an acquaintance of Solomon dropped by asking Solomon whether he might leave a bag full of clothes at his place. It goes without saying that Solomon did not mind. Later it turned out that this bag contained stolen things. The thief had been captured and confessed that Solomon had the bag. My uncle's place was searched. They found the bag and arrested my uncle. Solomon died in prison. Ida worked at a weaving mill in Uzbekistan. She was even noted for her performance. Their son Michail was at the front and survived. They lived in Tartu after the war.

After returning to Tallinn our family observed Jewish traditions. There was no possible way to follow the kashrut, though. Well, we did not buy any pork or pork sausages, but there was no place selling kosher meat. We bought beef, veal and poultry, then. Actually, we did that, when meat became available in stores some time after the war, of course. We celebrated Jewish holidays at home. My mother made matzah for Pesach. We did what was possible. The synagogue in Tallinn burned down in 1944. My grandmother and mother went to a small prayer house on major Jewish holidays. My sister or I didn't go there.

In Tallinn I went to work as a medical nurse in the navy hospital. My sister Mena was a manicurist at a hairdresser's. Our father played the violin in a popular café in Tallinn. Before 1940 it bore the name of Fleishner after its owner, and after the war it was renamed to the Tallinn café. Many people visited the café to listen to my father playing the violin. He played with a small orchestra. People applauded, when he stepped onto the stage.

My father liked Russian romances and musical comedies. He put his whole heart into playing the violin. He had four infarctions because of working so hard. When he died, so many people came to his funeral, as if he had been some celebrity. And my father was a celebrity in Tallinn, indeed. When renowned violin players from the USSR or other countries visited Tallinn, they always came to see my father. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn.

My grandmother returned to Tallinn all right, but her health condition grew worse. She had an infarction and died in 1948. In 1952 my father's younger brother Michail died. He had leukemia and died at the age of 52.

In 1948 Israel was officially acknowledged 19. My father was no Zionist 20, but he was as happy as a child would be. We also felt happy and proud acquiring our own country. The fact that the Soviet Union supported Israel was some reconciliation for making Estonia one of the Soviet Republics. The relationships between the Soviet Union and Israel were quite friendly at the start. Golda Meir 21, the Prime Minister of Israel visited Moscow, and this event was widely covered in the mass media.

We followed what was happening in Israel. We are Jews, aren't we? And every nation sympathizes with its own people. We were proud of the successes of Israel. Who wouldn't be proud? Then the attitude of the USSR toward Israel changed dramatically. The Soviet press kept calling Israel an aggressor. We listened to news from Israel on the Finnish and other Western radios. We were worried about the Six-Day War 22, the Judgment Day War 23. And we were proud, when the little country of Israel won the victory over its offenders.

However, my mother had no intention of moving to Israel. My mother used to say, 'East or West, home is best. Why go to another country? Our home is here and so are our dear ones and friends. Why give up all and go to where we don't know? It might be the case, if we were oppressed to persecuted, and otherwise there's no reason to leave your home.' When in the 1970s large numbers of Jewish people were moving to Israel, I particularly didn't feel like going there.

Poor people of Israel! I don't think they knew they were going to have their hands full with all of them, who were used to commanding and demanding what they believed was due to them. For some reason Soviet Jews thought that Israel owed to them and they kept demanding the benefits, which were granted to the native residents of the country that they had built in the middle of the stony desert. It never occurred to them that they had to contribute something before they were entitled to receive things. They aren't even willing to study the language. They want people to talk Russian in Israel.

Nowadays Israelites, perhaps, understand that they should have constrained their generosity, but can they change anything? Immigrants from the Soviet Union may cause a social upheaval soon... So, for this very reason I was reluctant to move to Israel. I sympathize with Israel a lot. Poor country. They are surrounded with the Muslims thinking of how to destroy them, and on the other hand, there are immigrants from Russia, unwilling to accept the rules of the country and trying to introduce their own rules.

I got married in 1950. I met my first husband, Victor Vatis, at a dancing party at the Palace of Officers. We started seeing each other and got married shortly afterward. Victor came from Odessa 24. His family moved to Tallinn after the war. His mother, Zinaida Vatis, was born into a family of district doctors in Kherson. Zinaida became a medical nurse. She got a very good education. She knew few foreign languages. She spoke fluent French and often spoke French to my father's brother Michail. Her husband, Yuri Vatis, was an accountant. They had two children. Victor, the older one, was born in 1927. His sister Tamara was one year younger.

Victor graduated from a College of Finance and Economics and studied at the Department of Journalism of Tartu University, the extramural department. Though Victor was a Jewish man, my mother did not quite like the fact that he wasn't a local man. However, my parents had no objections to our marriage. We had no traditional Jewish wedding. This was hard to arrange after the war, and besides, Victor was an atheist. We registered our marriage in a registry office and had a wedding dinner with our friends and relatives. Victor had a room in a shared apartment where I moved after the wedding.

Victor was a jealous husband, and insisted that I quit working at the hospital, because many of the patients were young men. I went to work as a medical nurse in the railroad children's recreation center. I got pregnant, and my pregnancy took a complicated course. The labor didn't go normal and the baby was stillborn. After that we started keeping aloof. We were no longer a family. We were just two people sharing a room for some vague reason. We divorced in 1953. However, I retained friendly relationships with his mother and sister. Tamara died young. She had the flu, and it affected her heart. She died in 1980.

I worked in the recreation center for three years. The Doctors' Plot 25 had no implications for me. This period was quite unnoticed in our part of the country. I remember the day, when Stalin died in March 1953. Many employees of the recreation center were not just crying: they were grieving and sobbing, as if they had lost their own father. They were lamenting and sobbing. I did not cry and had no feeling of grief. I could not understand why they were grieving. I was telling them that we are all mortal and one day we will go, too. I though to myself: are they so dumb? Don't they know that Stalin was an evildoer? As it happened, they didn't.

Stalin was mean in his treatment of doctors. It was a good thing he died and they were rehabilitated 26. However, even now many people believe that Stalin was a great person and chief. Well, let everybody believe what one wants to believe. For some people Stalin was an evildoer, for others he was an idol, and this won't change.

In the children's recreation center I contracted dysentery bacillus from children. I could not go to work with the children before I fully recovered, and I quit working at the center. I went to work as a typist at the railroad office. I issued train and load tickets. I thought it was going to be my temporary job, but when I fully recovered, I did not feel like going back to the center. My work there involved night shifts and continuous nervous tension... So I stayed at my new job.

There I met Ilmar Lepiku, my second husband. He was Estonian. He was a loader. We got married in 1962. My mother was no longer with us. She died in 1956. We buried Mama in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. In 1962 we buried my father next to her.

My second husband, Ilmar Lepiku, was born in the village of Aniya, Kharoyusk district, in 1932. His father and mother Ilmara were farmers. Ilmar had a younger brother. His name was Rein. Ilmar finished seven grades at the general education school in the village. He was not fond of farming and went to study at the vocational school at the shoe factory in Tallinn. After finishing it he worked as a shoemaker at the factory and lived in a dormitory, which saved him from the resettlement [see Deportations from the Baltics] 27.

His mother Maria Lepiku and his father were exiled. When the officers came to arrest Maria, her younger son was in bed. Maria had sufficient self- control to cover him with heaps of clothes, and the NKVD 28 officers did not notice the boy. Maria and her husband were arrested, and their son stayed at home alone. His neighbors found him and he stayed with them. They were kind people. Maria was exiled to the Krasnoyaskiy Krai and her husband was taken to the Gulag 29 where he died. Maria returned from exile in 1956. She came back an invalid. Estonians are very hard-working people. Maria worked at an elevator sparing no effort. She had her spine injured. It hurt her to walk. However, she lived to turn 91.

Ilmar worked at the factory until the late 1940s, when he went to work as a loader at the railroad. He earned a lot more as a loader. Ilmar was a sportsman and a very strong man, and hard work did not bother him much. He was very honest. He told me other loaders were stealing, when unloading trains. It was common for Soviet people to steal at work. I saw that, when I was in the railroad staff. I thought then: 'It's none of my business. Let them do what they want.' Ilmar did not even think about stealing things. When he quit his job, his supervisor said he was so sorry that he was leaving. There are few people like Ilmar.

When we got married, I quit my job and went to work as a controller at the Salva toy factory manufacturing dolls with Estonian folk costumes. The factory was located in the yard of our house, which was very convenient. Shortly before I was to retire I went to work at a toy shop. They paid a higher salary to the staff of shops, which was better from the point of view of my future pension. When my retirement time came, I was assigned the highest pension rate in the country, which was 120 rubles.

My husband and I got along very well. They say mixed families face the risk of confrontations due to their national differences, but I believe this all depends on the spouses themselves. Behave decently, respect your spouse's national identity, respect his/her people's traditions, and there are going to be no problems. This is how we believed it was proper. I never heard a mean word spoken by my husband against Jews.

However, Estonian people had no anti-Semitic convictions. There was no anti- Semitism in pre-Soviet Estonia in the past. It was imported to Estonia by immigrants from Soviet Russia. I wouldn't say that all Soviet people are bad. No. Like Germans, for example, besides fascists, there were also German people rescuing Jews during the war. I believe there is no evil nation, there are evil people. This is also true about Jews. Somehow, evil people draw more attention than decent ones.

My dear ones left this world early. My sister died of cancer in 1982, when she was 59. Mena was single and lived alone. My husband Ilmar died in 1992. He turned 74. 14 years ago my dearest person died. I don't know when it is my turn...

In 1985 the Jewish community of Estonia 30 was established. It provides great assistance to all of us. The community supports me. I keep to a strict diet and cannot eat the food they deliver. Therefore, they deliver food rations, and I can cook myself. I try to do everything about the house. The social community staff tell me off for cleaning the windows myself, when I can order this service. What I think is that as long as I can do things myself, why bother people?

I used to visit the community frequently in the past. I attended their events and celebration of holidays. Now walking is difficult for me, and I stay at home most of the time. The community covers some medication costs for me, though I have to spend a lot on medications.

In summer 2005 the government increased pensions of the people, who had been in the evacuation. We were equaled with those, who had been subject to repression, and provided some similar benefits. However, our utility bills are very high. After paying all bills I have 800 crones [about USD70,-] left, and this is far from sufficient. I don't know how I would manage, were it not for the community support.

It's hard to give a simple answer to the question about the breakup of the Soviet Union. In general the life of Jews in independent Estonia 31 has improved. There is no anti-Semitism now, or there's hardly any, I'd say. Nowadays they have job-related age and qualifications restrictions, but no nationality-based limitations. There are hooligans, but they exist in every country. However, they are just a few individuals, but it is not the policy of the country. Our President shows respect to Jews and highly values our community. He visited the community at the Chanukkah celebration recently. This kind of visit was out of the questions in the past.

I would say this happened to be beneficial to some people and failure for the others. The breakup of the Soviet Union is good for young people, undoubtedly. They have free choices. They can study in any country and they can travel all over the world. They have got more opportunities in Estonia, too. There was no entrepreneurship in the Soviet Union. People could only get jobs at the state-owned enterprises. Nowadays any individual can start his/her own business. This is good for the country.

However, pensioners have surely lost a lot. There were low prices and free healthcare in the Soviet Union. This is very important for the people of my age. Now we have to pay for healthcare services and medications. The members of the parliament responsible for lawmaking studied in free Soviet universities. And now they establish prices for higher education. Is this fair?

I know that I have already lived my life, and I'm not the one to have my word in what is going to become of Estonia. This is up to younger people. They are to live in their country and raise their children. What I know for sure is that to have a good life, one has to think about one's country and helping the needy besides taking care of oneself and his/her own family.

Glossary:

Shimon Danon
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Maiya Nikolova
Date of interview: February 2002

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

My family background

The path of my paternal family, after the crusades and the Spanish persecutions, passed through the Mediterranean and Turkey. The ancestors of my father Eshua Danon settled in Odrin [Turkey]. The aftermath of the wars for the liberation of Bulgaria from the Turkish yoke 1 created better living conditions. The economic situation, the relations with authorities, the fact that Bulgarians had recently undergone the hardships of the yoke – and this made them more tolerant and understanding to Jews who had similar fate – made most of the Jewish population that lived in the area of Odrin and Lyule-Bourgas move to the Bulgarian part of Thrace. Many of those Jews were primarily craftsmen, or eventually became traders.

My paternal grandfather, Shimon David Danon, whom I was named after, was born around 1853/55 in Odrin and died in Pazardzhik in 1918/19. He was a craftsman – a leather-worker. I know this, even though he died before my birth, during the European war [WWI]. My grandmother, Simha Danon was also born in Odrin around 1858/59 and died around the same time, also in Pazardzhik. They had both been strongly religious because they came from Spain where the persecutions had been mostly religious. During the Inquisition everyone who did not profess Christian faith had to leave the country. Therefore tradition was the thing that really ‘sealed’ the Jewish community. My father told me that in his family they very strictly observed Jewish tradition, especially Sabbath. Yom Kippur was considered a more important holiday than all the rest. They believed that [every year] from that day on they would start a brand new life, having been forgiven all the bad things they had done. Thus, tradition had a great impact on the relations within the family and outside it, accounting for a better way of living.

Grandpa and granny’s house was made of sun-dried bricks with Turkish roof-tiles. [These are curved tiles, unlike the Bulgarian ones, which are usually flat.] The rooms were painted with various patterns that continued from one room into the other. All the children used to sleep in the bedroom. Both my father’s and my mother’s families were large: there were three brothers and two sisters in my father’s family, and three brothers and three sisters in my mother’s family.

My maternal grandpa Nissim Assa was born in Stara Zagora around 1871/72. I don’t know where and when my granny Dudu Assa was born. They lived in Plovdiv. They had a house before my birth that I don’t remember. Then they built another one, in which an enormous clan used to live – the families of my grandfather and his brother. Their wives had the same names [Dudu Assa]. The land on which the house was built was their property. Whenever a child was born in one of the families, a newly born child in the other family usually followed within 6 months – my mother Ester Danon, born in 1898, matched my aunt Fortuna Assa and so on. If my grandpa’s family had 6 children, doubtlessly my grand-uncle’s family would have 6 also. My grandma died in 1939/40 and my grandpa at the beginning of the 1960s.

The Jewish quarter in Plovdiv, where my grandfather’s house used to be, had a much clearer and firmer distinction than the one in Pazardzhik, where my maternal grandparents lived. About fifty meters away from grandpa’s house was the so-called ‘cortiso’, which means ‘yard’ in Spanish. The houses of some fifty families were situated within that inner space. There weren’t any Bulgarian families there, and Jewish integrity was taken care of.

My maternal grandfather was a religious fanatic. He knew he had to pray and never missed a prayer. He was of those orthodox Jews who were so devoted to religion that every morning and evening they visited the synagogue to pray. There had to be something really unavoidable – some great event – for example, illness, for him to miss his usual visit to the synagogue. He observed the canons of religion without actually understanding its core, without delving into its deep meanings. My grandmother observed religion as far as she was able, as she got paralyzed very early and spent one third of her life in a chair. She had to be looked after. There wasn’t anything particular in the way my grandparents used to dress. They wore normal clothes, nothing especially connected with traditions. 

The strong sense of mutual aid had motivated Jews never to deviate from their Jewishness. For example, when endowments are made, they are not intended for one person only but for the support of poor people in general. Before Yom Kippur, a sacrifice with the slaughtering of birds was performed for the sake of each family member’s health – a cock for men, and a hen for women. [The interviewee refers to the custom of kapores.] In the years before my brother Shemuel Eshua Danon’s birth we used to slaughter 4-5 hens but we couldn’t consume them. It was obligatory for us to give part of this meat to poorer people. Jews who were invited to the synagogue to say the kiddush, were supposed to make matanah after that, which means ‘a gift.’ It was made by the one who had been honored to go up to the almemar. This mutual aid had other material forms. All poor Jews used to study free of charge in the Jewish school. It was also a common practice for all children of poor families to receive clothes that were sewn especially for them for Rosh Hashanah. Shoes, warm clothes and, above all, food had to be provided for the poorer people. There was an organized soup kitchen for the poor children in the Jewish school where I used to study. Each one of them had to receive warm food at lunch. There was an appointed day for every wealthy family, on which the housewife had to provide food for the soup kitchen. Our family was also allotted such a day. There was some kind of a competition for providing better food, or at least food of the same quality that we ate daily at home.

The Jewish community in Pazardzhik numbered some 900-1,000 people. There were about 350 families with 3-4 persons on average. There were streets known as Jewish streets. There were only two Armenian families in our street and one Bulgarian in the next one. It is not true that there wasn’t any anti-Semitism in the Bulgarian circles. There was fear of Jews, as well as envy for the support that we gave each other. The notion that Jews are ‘blood-drinkers’ was constantly imposed on Bulgarian children. [The interviewee refers to the century-old blood libel accusations.] Fights between Jewish and Bulgarian children from close neighborhoods happened quite often. There was always someone who shouted, ‘Why do you drink Christian blood? Why do you slaughter Christians?’ and so on.

My father, Eshua Danon, was a very interesting person. He was a gabbai – this is something like an elder - the first man after the rabbi. People addressed him as a public figure. The gabbai was responsible for solving any problem that proved interesting to visitors of the synagogue. 99 % of the rabbis who read the prayers were not quite aware of what they were actually reading. They used to say the words only by heart, without knowing their meaning. Unlike them, my father knew what he was reading. He used to translate the prayers into Latino [Ladino], as it was the spoken language among Jews. Especially during the family holidays, prayers were usually first said in Hebrew and then in Ladino, which made them clear and understandable for the people present. My father wasn’t a religious fanatic like my maternal grandfather. He made religion somehow close and comprehensible. He ‘updated’ it. He was a progressive man. At one time he even had left-wing convictions. He even participated in the September events [Events of 1923] 2, after which he was wanted by the authorities.

My father’s courtyard in Pazardzhik wasn’t big, but we had fruit trees and a hencoop, in which some 15-20 hens were looked after. My father had various interests, which definitely enhanced the modern development of the village. Pazardzhik was an agricultural region, and there was hardly any industry. In order to improve village life, there had to be some way to make a living. My father took care of this. He organized the breeding of silkworms. Mulberry trees had to be planted, special rooms and pottery also had to be provided. It is true that nothing effective came out of it, but my father was, so to say, the founder of the whole initiative. After that, some 200-300 villagers started do breed silkworm.

My father also cultivated rice, he rented land, hired people, because rice growing was not traditional for Pazardzhik (wheat was usually grown there), and it required a unique approach. Special irrigation ‘cells’ were prepared. The technology that he used was different to the one used in traditional agriculture. My father, who was one of the innovators of the Pazardzhik district, actually introduced rice growing – even though he didn’t make much profit from it.

Later on he started hemp cultivation. All these initiatives didn’t come from the village people, but came from a few enterprising people, one of whom was my father. Hemp growing was very difficult; it had to be reaped, forged out, stapled.

Although it sounds rather unlikely, my father also had a herd of sheep. He had some ideas about changing the old mode of non-profitable sheep breeding. I remember that one of the shepherds he had hired simply robbed him. Every time he came, he responded with the simple ‘They died’ to the question about what had happened with the sheep. At home we had medicines against all sorts of sheep-diseases. My father wanted to make full use of the sheep: for example, to process their fleece into fine, not rough, wool for cloaks. My father, who saw that innovations could bring greater profit than tradition, enthusiastically experimented with lots of things, even though he didn’t benefit much himself. He was an avant-garde thinker.

My father had a good knowledge of French – he could write and speak well, without having studied it anywhere, just due to his own interest. My father never went to bed without turning on the radio to hear the International. And he always cried at it. He imagined that the International would bring the liberation of people all over the world, with equality and respect to their national interests. He also wanted to be seen as an equal among others; therefore, whenever he heard the International, the inspiration usually brought tears to his eyes. At the time of the Holocaust, around 1941, the radio was first stamped and later on we were obliged to give it away. It was as if something had been torn from us.

My father had a medal for bravery from the Balkan war [1912-1913]. Can you imagine a Jew having a medal for bravery, when everywhere Jews were denounced as the most cowardly people – and a ‘faint-hearted’ Jew used to be a byname? My father was a corporal in a battery – 6 men for 1 gun – that was surrounded during the war at the pass of Odrin [in Turkey]. The sergeant major in charge pulled out his sword and cried: ‘Onward - for mother Bulgaria!’ in order to show patriotism, and the Turks killed him. My father was left alone with the 6 soldiers, who wanted to surrender. My father saw that night was falling and tried to raise their spirit. He told them to hold on until it got dark. He examined the area and saw that there was a covered ravine to which they could possibly withdraw. He took the responsibility for the battery and gave orders to carry out the withdrawal. Some had to keep up fire while the rest stripped the gun and divided it amongst each other. And they succeeded in withdrawing to that ravine; and thus, he saved the 6 soldiers and the weapon. He was awarded with a medal for bravery in front of the whole regiment. It was noted that in spite of his bravery, the sergeant major had shown a rather meaningless patriotism – unlike my father, who had done a truly courageous deed by saving the battery and the 6 men, who certainly would either have been captured or killed, if it hadn’t been for him. Because of this medal my father was a little more privileged in comparison to other Jews. When everyone, including me, wore yellow badges, my father wore a yellow button, which was meant to show that the fascist country was somehow obliged to him.

My father’s sister, Roza Sizi, was married to a man more enterprising than my father – Bohor Sizi. Everything that could possibly appear in the town, he had first. He was the first one to have a radio. In his yard there were fruit trees with everything from fig to almond trees. Note that it was the yard of a Jew, who initially was not an agricultural worker. When I entered his yard, I had the feeling that it was a paradise. He didn’t have any farm hands or other workers. He took care of his yard by himself. He even cut logs alone, and for that purpose he had made a special device. He used to joke that he would rather cut two pieces of wood instead of doing gymnastics. And he was among the richest people in town thanks only to his enormous drive.

He knew French very well; he used to read classics in original – Hugo, Eugene Sue. He was definitely the most knowledgeable man. I remember how amazing it was for us, the children, when we saw him listening to the radio with those enormous headphones. In Pazardzhik, where there wasn’t a house higher than 2 floors, he had a 30-meter gantry that could be seen by the whole city. He informed us about what was happening in Brussels, Paris, especially around Munich, 1939, and the invasion in Czechoslovakia. He received newspapers and magazines from abroad. He used to read and translate them for us. He was not a café-admirer but he had some games at home, and visiting his house was always a special event. He was a unique man. I don’t know if genes have something to do with it, but his grandson Alkalai was nominated for a Dimitrov award. [This was one of the highest governmental awards in communist times, named after communist prime minister Georgi Dimitrov]. He invented a machine for tobacco planting, which became known all over the world, as tobacco planting is a very labor-consuming activity. Thus, Bulgaria became a top country in agriculture. When Todor Zhivkov visited Plovdiv, his first stop was usually Alkalai, as he wanted to get acquainted with the latest innovations in the domain of agriculture.

My mother, Ester Danon, was an open-minded person, even though she was deeply religious. For example, she didn’t always observe the custom of not eating pork, but during difficult moments, she always turned to God. My mother was a typical Jewish woman who had to take care of her children. My mother and my father didn’t marry for love – because of those times and an age-difference of thirteen years that separated them. My father got married quite late – in 1921 – because of the wars between 1913 and 1920 [the Balkan wars and WWI]. They certainly had a religious marriage in the synagogue, as secular marriage wasn’t a common practice then. My father was a handsome man, a dandy – he was interested in clothes and fashion. My mother was just the opposite. My father was keen on decorating our house with sculptures and paintings. My mother paid less attention to those things. She loved reading novels instead. We used to read at home. I cannot say that we did it from dusk till dawn, but we were bright and aware of what was to come. During the war we had a chart where we used to mark the events – we were informed, and eagerly discussed everything. My father was a classical music fan. We had a gramophone with records and we used to listen to arias sung by world famous singers. His greatest pleasure was to ‘wind up’ the gramophone and enjoy Rigoletto and Traviata. Such things were not very common for 99% of the people in a town like Pazardzhik.

Growing up

I was born in 1927. I have a sister, Simha Moshe Danon, born in 1923 and a brother, Shemuel Danon, born in 1943. My brother was born ‘thanks to’ the Holocaust, so to speak, because the whole family was gathered in a small room. The house was crowded with exiles from Sofia. When he was born, I was 16-17 years old and our sister was 20. We took care of our brother. The situation was quite delicate, as our sister could already have her own children. My mother gave birth initially thinking that she had a terrible disease. The cancer that the doctors diagnosed actually turned out to be her pregnancy with my brother.

I completed elementary and secondary school in the Jewish school in Pazardzhik. We studied Hebrew and Jewish literature, as well as the Tannakh there. The other school subjects were the usual ones, the same as in the Bulgarian school. Until the 4th grade we also studied mathematics in Hebrew, as well as the Torah. I graduated from high school in Pazardzhik also – but from the Bulgarian one. At that time there wasn’t a Jewish high school in Bulgaria. The Jewish school in Pazardzhik was very interesting. There was a teacher there, Geveret Semo [geveret is Hebrew for teacher], who lived more than a hundred years. She settled in Israel. On her 100th birthday all her former students from Pazardzhik, who lived in Israel, prepared a great celebration. There were really a lot of people – now there are some 30 Jews in Pazardzhik left of the thousand Jews who once used to live there. Geveret Semo was a very interesting person. She only spoke Hebrew with her students. In the end her persistence proved helpful for those who left for Israel, as they had already acquired a considerable knowledge of the Hebrew language.

Every year there were theater performances at the Jewish school that were performed entirely in Hebrew. The spirit of Jewry was conveyed through them. I remember a play in which my sister Simha Moshe Danon participated. The play was staged by a Bulgarian director. A farewell dinner was given in his honor, to which all the actors were invited. It was a grandiose event for the Jews in our town. The play was about the massacre of Jews in Poland. It was around 1939/1940, just before the persecutions against Jews in Bulgaria had started, and when there were rumors about new restrictive laws against Jews [The so-called Law for the Protection of the Nation] 4. This united the Jewish community. To represent the burning of the Jewish houses in the play, newspapers and burning torches were waved behind the stage during the performance. There was a window close to the stage and the fire could be seen from the yard of one of the richest Jews – he used to buy up tobacco and his stores were in this yard – so his workers jumped in to put out the fire.

Around the time I started high school, the anti-Jewish laws had already come into force. Despite that, I enrolled in high school because my father had a medal for bravery from the Balkan war. The law at the time allowed the children of the Jews who had been presented with a medal for bravery to study. At the beginning of the first high-school class I had to sit with the village boys. There were one or two guys from Pazardzhik who were notorious for their bad behavior and unwanted by the other classes. At that time there were both Branniks 5 and legionaries 6 already.

When I started high school, my classmates used to tell me, ‘Hey, you don’t look like a Jew. You are good, you don’t lie, why aren’t all Jews like you?’ Those types of comments were common among the village boys. (As I was a Jew, I studied in the class of the village boys, not in the class of the city boys.) The village boys’ anti-Semitic attitude was rather naive and not based on any material interest, but that of the city boys’ was much stronger because they were sons of merchants and craftsmen who used to compete with the Jews. Envy existed. In my family they used to say: ‘Fine, be good at school, stay among the best students, but never actually be the first.’ My father used to tell me: ‘Even if there is no anti-Semitism, I always put you one point ahead of the others, because when they examine you, they usually take it away, because you are a Jew.’

A deep feeling that our capabilities were underestimated was implanted among Jews. Even in the best times a Jew could not hold a high position in the army, police or in finances. Although we constituted about one-twentieth of the town’s population, there wasn’t a single Jewish police officer, nor was there an army officer, or a city community official. This certainly provoked Zionist interests and it can be said for sure that Pazardzhik was a town with a strong Zionist influence. We had two official Zionist organizations. The first one was Betar. It was more like a political party, a right-wing oriented organization. The other one was the youth sports organization, the Maccabi, which I was a member of.      

I wouldn’t say that I have any particular sports talent but I was athletic and a quite good short distance runner, especially in 100 meters. I was good at it. I have 7-8 prizes from Jewish organization sports events. I was a member of the Maccabi – the Jewish sports organization. At a city competition in short-, and long-distance running I had to compete with the winner of the city boys’ class – one of the Brannik boys – in order to become a representative of the high school. The teacher would never have allowed me under different circumstances, but in this case he had no choice – I was the winner of our class. The guy could never cope with the fact that a Jew had beaten him.

The first time I entered the classroom (I was late because I had to take care of all the high school enrolling formalities), some Brannik boys stood up and said that they were forbidden to share a desk with a Jew. So the richest boy from Malo Konare village, whose brother was a partisan and a political commissar of the partisan detachment in the Pazardzhik district, offered me a place next to him. His name was Rangel Karaivanov. When [during WWII] the rest of the citizens received 300 gr. bread per day, Jews were given 150. Every morning, over the course of several years, Rangel used to pass me half of his breakfast slice of bread under the desk. He didn’t do it out of fear but because he didn’t want to hurt my dignity. When he passed away I said – and I have said it many times – that trees should be planted in Israel in memory of such people, who helped Jews on a daily basis, and not only for those who spoke loudly. Rangel himself was in a much more difficult position because his parents were sent to a camp, as his brother was a partisan. They watched and followed him, and also warned him not to carry out any anti-fascist actions – which he did, anyway.

During the war

Jews began to anticipate that they would have to resettle somewhere else. Around 1941 a ship, which was on its way to Israel, sank in the Black Sea. There were many people from Pazardzhik on board. Mishel Pamukov, who led the Jewish youth organization in Pazardzhik and was one of the most popular Jewish young men, drowned with it. He inspired many people with his nationalist sentiments. I know that he is now honored in Israel. He is mentioned as being one of the founders of the Jewish State in the memorial services that are held there.

It is mere talk that there was no fascism in Bulgaria. The atmosphere was rife with chauvinist tales about Great Bulgaria, Bulgaria above the other Balkan peoples, etc. Back then village boys in the education system didn’t have the opportunities that the city boys had. The village was quite backward compared to the town. There were children who came to school without having seen electricity. They lit their homes with kerosene lamps. In Pazardzhik there was electricity, running water, cinema, theatres – it wasn’t that underdeveloped culturally. Villages were millions of years backward, although there were some very bright and intelligent children, much more gifted than the city kids. For example, our alumni produced two ministers – Todoriev, of energy and Serafim Milchev – of mines. Bulgaria owes much to Todoriev. He is an innovator.

During the Holocaust we stayed in Pazardzhik. I would like to emphasize here that a wrong notion exists that the Bulgarian people saved its Jews. I have a slightly different opinion concerning this. I think that Jews in Bulgaria became more confident about their future not because of Bulgarian society as a whole. I cannot deny that there were quite a lot of Bulgarians who were helping Jews for different reasons. Actually, the ones who used to chase our people were rather shocked by the losses of the Germans on the East front. The more the Red Army approached our borders, the more some people felt ‘close’ to their Jewish compatriots. After the Stalingrad battle they began to fear that retribution would reach them for the things they had done. And they had done awful things. I remember the Brannik boys (only young people) one evening loading up some carts with paving stones and marching in our street. Ours was an entirely Jewish street. There weren’t any Bulgarian families there. There were only two Armenian houses: one in the beginning and one in the middle of the street. The youngsters systematically smashed windows and sashes. They only left out the Armenian houses. First they threw one big paving stone to break the window frame and after that – smaller ones – like a hailstorm. A large paving stone broke our bedroom window. We all lay under the beds because glass and stones were falling down and we feared for our lives. On the same night they attacked the Jewish community building as well. Everything was vandalized and robbed. There was a guy, Gogo Dulgia, who usually carried a whip in his hands. We could only go out from 4 to 6 p.m. It was the only time we could buy ourselves something. Everyone who hired Jews had to get special permission.

On my mother’s side our family suffered great losses. My aunt lost both her sons. Although they had left-wing convictions, they studied in the English College in Sofia. One night, Branniks came to my uncle’s place and blackmailed him to give them several million leva within two hours. As he couldn’t do it, they killed his children on the same night. The monument that was built in their memory has been ruined by Bulgarian neo-fascists.
My brother and my sister are both associate professors. My sister is a senior research professor in medical hygiene. My brother works in the oncology hospital. Until recently he was deputy director, and now he’s in charge of the state register of people with oncology diseases, a very responsible job.

Post-war

I reached the highest levels of power. I was deputy prosecutor-in-chief of the Republic [in communist times]. It means that I was responsible for a whole department in the chief prosecutor’s office. There isn’t a town in Bulgaria that I haven’t visited. There isn’t a prosecutor in Bulgaria who wouldn’t know me. I have appeared dozens of times on TV and radio with my full Jewish name – Shimon Eshua Danon. 

My wife, Anna Danon, is a doctor. I met her in the reading-room of the library of the Jewish community in the 1950s. At that time I was a law student but I also worked there as a librarian. It was a rich library, visited by a lot of Jewish students. There I met Anna and we soon got married – we had a secular wedding. We have one daughter Raia, who is a teacher of Spanish language at the Spanish high school in Sofia. In my adult life I have kept my Jewish identity by regularly observing certain Jewish traditions, like Pesach, for example. As I am a member of the Jewish community in Sofia, I often visit lectures and various events that are organized by it. And, throughout the years, I have maintained regular contact with my mostly Jewish friends. I visited Israel in 1993-1994. It was a visit to my wife’s relatives.

To pretend that there is no fascism in Bulgaria today is nonsense. Now Mein Kampf is sold here without any obstacles. Books are distributed that deny the Holocaust and speak the same way of the Jewry as of the Mafia, claiming that they destroy nations. Anti-Semitism, the international language of fascism, is now gaining power again. ‘Jews on soap’ is written on the walls of the French high school in Sofia – after everything that has happened, after the death of 6 million people. There are skinheads who speak on television about destroying the Jews. If Jews are still emigrating, it’s because – even since the beginning of democracy – anti-Semitism still continues to grow. And, in spite of the propaganda that is spread by some Jewish agencies that in communist times the position of Jews had been very bad, I would even say that it wasn’t bad then. It is bad now. It’s true, for example, that the relatives of some Jews who were living abroad were monitored and watched; they weren’t allowed to hold governmental and state posts. The number of Jews working in the network of the state security system was very limited. And now – for example, Jews in Bulgaria haven’t yet been compensated for their property losses during the Holocaust. On the contrary, and not without the support of famous Jewish circles, a certain policy is now circulated that – can you imagine? – there has never been fascism in Bulgaria. This is an absolute lie. And at the same time they say: ‘We saved you from fascism.’

Principally, the Jewish community exists only when it is necessary. I have the feeling that now it’s stronger – with the emphasis put on the concept of ‘Jewry’ in the community itself because of the need for protection. Recently I was at a meeting where my compatriots, in the presence of the ambassador of Israel and other official figures, said that anti-Semitism continues to grow in Bulgaria. There are authors, newspapers, TV magazines with obvious anti-Semitic sentiments. They say there are no laws to oppose that. I am a jurist and I can tell you that there are texts against pro-fascist activities and racial hatred in our constitution. Because the leading posts of SDS [Union of the Democratic Forces] were held by people with pro-fascist convictions some people prefer to close their eyes.

Glossary

My name is Serafima Nakhimovna Staroselskaya, I was born in Leningrad in 1949. I know about my grandparents from what my parents told me, since I was born after the war and the older generation was eliminated, shot by the Germans. I keep that in mind all my life because it is very important to me.

My family background

During the war

Growing up

After the war

My family background

My grandfather’s name on my mother’s side was Borukh Vigdergaus, and my grandmother’s name was Sima. They lived in the town of Nevel in Pskov province, where a lot of Jews lived. All our kinsfolk came from Nevel and Vitebsk. They were a very united family. Grandfather and grandmother were born approximately in the 1878-1880s. Grandfather's mother (my great grandmother) lived together with them, though she also had sons Grigory, Bentsion and daughter Manya. But grandmother loved Sima very much and said that she wanted to live only with her. Great grandmother was religious; she thoroughly observed all religious rules and the family celebrated Sabbath.

My grandfather’s brothers, Grigory and Bentsion, left Nevel for Leningrad in the 1920s. Grigory got married here, his wife’s name was Lisa. When other young relatives started to come to Leningrad, uncle Grisha and aunt Lisa’s house was always open for them, they were welcomed as if it were their home. They lived in the center of the city not far from the Technological Institute. Aunt always kept a bucket-sized pan on the stove, young people came to visit them very often.  It was in the 1930s, when everyone was always hungry. As soon as one ate, others came, aunt Lisa poured some water into the pan, so that it was always possible to get a plate of soup in her house.

Grandma Sima was very kind and sympathetic, everybody loved her. She was a person easy to get along with. They owned an inn. There were a lot of villages around Nevel and Russian peasants, who brought foodstuffs for sales, stayed at my grandparents’ inn.  As far as I know, they had no education, though outwardly they were very intelligent people. Grandma and grandpa had six children. They had seven  children, but the first girl died. Three sons and three daughters remained. Elder daughter Sarah-Dinah (they called her Sonya at home), was born in 1901.  Second daughter Lyuba was born in 1903. Then brother Semyon (Shlyoma) was born and later Yakov (Yankel) and finally Yefim (Khaim). Last and the youngest was my mom.

Their house was located right on the lakeside of the Nevel Lake. There was a lot of fish in the lake and many years later when we ate fish mom always said: “Now we can only recall the fish we ate in Nevel.” They fished themselves and sometimes fishermen brought the fish to us. Children had fun boating not only in boats but also in wash-tubs out on the water. Boys certainly were very naughty. Though there was a huge fruit garden of their own, they stole apples in neighboring gardens. The house was rather big, the family lived moderately but the children were always full. They kept two cows and lived owing to their own work.  All Jewish traditions were observed by the family: grandma wore a traditional Orthodox wig, Sabbath was strictly observed, there were special Sabbath candlesticks and kosher utensils and mom remembered it all. Matzah was always baked for Pesach.

There were a lot of Jewish houses in Nevel and they were all very different. Mom told me that, unfortunately, many of the houses were dirty and slovenly. Grandma’s house was always very clean and full of flowers. Grandma Soma always dressed very neatly and nicely and differed from the others. That’s why there even appeared an expression “Sima and her kids.” Grandma never yelled at them. She never had anyone to help her with the house and managed everything on her own. All children started to walk barefoot as soon as spring came, sparing their shoes. Festive shoes were worn only on Pesach. Synagogue was attended obligatorily. A certain number of men gathered for a prayer in the houses. All in all, they led their own Jewish township life. My mother spoke Yiddish since childhood, it was her mother tongue and everybody at home spoke Yiddish.

My mother was born in 1915. She has a very interesting name – Kisya. She was given this name in honor of uncle Kushi. The name is a rare one, really. At those times parents gave their kids Jewish names as they wished.  However, when mother obtained her passport during the Soviet time, she was told that there cannot be such a name. They offered her to change her name, to become Kseniya or Yekaterina, but mother insisted that her name remained as her parents had given her. Later since mother was a Comsomol member and worked with difficult-to-bring-up kids, she was called Katya or Ksenya, but basically she lived with the name Kisya, Kisulya.

When mother was a little girl, her elder brothers and sisters began to leave home. They began to move to Leningrad in the 1920s, as a lot of Jews who lived beyond the “Jewish Pale  of Settlement” before the Revolution had done. Mother lived in Nevel up to 1930. She finished a Russian school there and was the last to leave among the other kids. She was 15 years old at that time. Older sisters already had babies and mom’s nephews were 10 years younger then herself.  She even nursed them, because they were always brought for summer to Nevel to stay with grandparents. Only in winter, when everyone left for Leningrad, mother remained alone with her parents.

Her elder sister Soya (Sarah-Dinah) studied to become a seamstress at the age of 13. She sewed women’s lingerie beautifully. It was before the Revolution. Then she left for Leningrad and studied somewhere else. But no one managed to get a higher education. She got married in Leningrad, her husband was a military man and later on he worked at a printing-house till the end of his life. Second sister Lyuba got married at the age of 19. Her husband’s last name was Dernovsky, he also came from Nevel. He was the only person in the family who obtained a higher education. He studied at the Technological Institute in Leningrad, at the department of ceramics and refractories. It was such a starvation year - 1921 and Mikhail attended the Institute wearing only one rubber boot.  When he graduated from the Technological Institute, he was assigned to work in the town of Borovichi, where aunt Lyuba and uncle Misha always lived. A large refractory combine was being constructed there and uncle held an important position at the combine. In general it was a family known to the whole town. They had five kids born.

Mother’s brother Semyon (Shlyoma) finished the Red Commissars’ courses. There was also brother Yakov. He perished on the Leningrad front line; other brothers also participated in the war there. Yakov was the only one who perished. He left two daughters who were born before the war, Galya and Edith.

Mother’s brother Yefim, born in 1912, served in the navy on a man-of-war. Once in 1937 during the massiveStalinist  repressions, he mentioned in one of the conversations that people get orders like badges. Someone denunciated him and he was put into prison. All his family was, at it was called in those days, “incapacitated” and mother became a relative of the “national enemy,” but she never told about this at the place of her work. Later someone noticed her visiting the prison carrying parcels and informed the proper officials. Yefim stayed at Kolyma during the whole war. He got acquainted with a Russian girl, who came there with a Comsomol authorization, and a baby was born to them. They were allowed to leave Kolyma for Borovichi which was incredibly far away, since they were permitted to live only beyond “the 101st kilometer” [1946], and his elder sister Lyuba with her husband lived in Borovichi.

As I already mentioned, mother came to Leningrad in 1930 at the age of 15. It was the most difficult year - dreadful unemployment, so she had to visit the labor registry office all the time. Finally she managed to find a job at the technical school. She worked with machines: with a lathe and a metal machine, she also knew electricity well. She was rather crafty, all in all, besides, she sewed and cooked very well.

One of the brothers had a room on Nevsky prospect, in building # 1, with windows facing the Palace Square. All relatives and friends who came to Leningrad from the provinces, stayed in this room. All mom’s brothers and cousins were very amicable and visited the place very often. Mother lived also with her elder sister for some time. It was a Soviet-custom-type life. When mom came from Nevel, her Comsomol life period started. However, she spoke Yiddish in her midst. She was seriously in love with a Russian young man, but she parted with him, because she had been brought up believing that she should marry only a Jew.

My maternal grandmother died at the age of 43 of cancer. Before the war grandpa got married for the second time. The pre-war time was very difficult, but mom and dad recalled that all relatives were on friendly terms with each other. Bonds between relatives were different from that of contemporary. First of all, even a cousin was considered a very close relative and they helped each other. Mother was great friends with her cousin, Benstion’s daughter, her name was Rosalia. They were of the same age and they had one party dress for two, so they had to go on dates in turn, though there were a lot of admirers. Relatives visited each other often. There were no telephones at that time, but they all lived in the center, never locked the doors, no matter if it was a working day or a holiday.

Mother married Naum Staroselsky (his name was registered in the passport as “Nakhimya”) when she was 22 years old, in 1937. Father’s ancestors came from the town of Gorodok in Belorussia. By the way, the name of Staroselsky derives not from the nationality but from a location. I read about it in a book. Both Russians and Jews could have such a last name. I know less about my father’s parents. I think they were a bit older than my mom’s parents, born approximately in 1870. I do not have any of their pictures. My paternal grandmother’s name was Nekhama, and grandfather’s name was Alter-Shmuil. Though father’s patronymic was indicated in his documents as Adolfovich. I do not know what kind of education they had. I only know that grandma Nekhama was very beautiful and active and grandpa was, as they say, henpecked. Grandma was very enterprising, she was engaged in commerce, though I do not know, what kind of. They were better provided for than my mom’s parents. They owed two houses in Gorodok before the Revolution, a small one and a bigger one. They also had 2 or 3 cows. Everybody in the family worked. However, they were even “dispossessed as kulaks” in the 1930s.

Father (born in 1907) worked since he was a small kid, as he was the only boy. He had 4 sisters. The elder Dora was born in 1905 and Sonya was born in 1912; there was also Ida, who was born in 1913 and died right after the war; Bronislava, born in 1915, is still alive. Unfortunately, I do not know much  about this part of the family.

Father lived in Gorodok approximately up to 1928, because he had to help his parents. Later he moved to Leningrad. He had a room on Basseynaya (now Nekrasova) Street. There was a Jewish club nearby where a lot of young people gathered, so dad lived a Jewish life mostly owing to that. Jewish young people entertained themselves and relaxed there, it was not prohibited at those times--  yet. There was even a peculiar “meeting club.” Dad had a lot of friends. He was a very outgoing and cheerful person. He met mom in one such gathering. He was wounded in the war, lost his health, which had a significant effect on his temper. Mom very often recalled what kind of nature he had had before. 

Before the war mother worked at a mechanical plant. Before 1943 she worked as a secretary in Smolny [Leningrad Communist Center] for two years. When Kirov (a high party functionary) was murdered, everybody was fired and she lost the job. My parents got married on November 7th, 1937. The wedding took place on December 5th, it was the holiday of Stalin’s Constitution Day. Dad wanted to present mom a golden ring, but she told him that Comsomol members do not wear golden rings. So dad gave her a golden watch, which I still keep. They did not have a Jewish engagement ceremony and wedding. A trip to Leningrad was not possible for mom’s parents, so it was difficult to reach our relatives, who lived 40 kilometers from Nevel (in Vitebsk), and they did not see each other for years. The wedding was a fairly typical civil one.  

I am not sure what dad’s occupation before the war was; he was some type of an office worker. He had no higher education. He finished a Russian school in Gorodok, but he spoke Yiddish very well. Dad carried the spirit of Judaism throughout his life. I think that he was a dissident, according to contemporary understanding. Mother was 8 years younger than him and was brought up within the conditions of the Soviet power: she was a Comsomol member and accepted everything connected with this life. Deep in his soul Dad never accepted the Soviet power completely. He admitted some things, but the spirit of the past, the bourgeois spirit, lived within him all his life. We did not really understand it until later. When mother married him, her family did not have a friendly attitude toward him, regardless of the fact that he was a Jew. They were all brought up in the Comsomol-Communist and Soviet conditions, and it seemed to them that dad had a certain “bourgeois touch.” In half a year after mom and dad got married they moved from Nekrasova Street to 85 Sadovaya Street, into a huge communal apartment without any conveniences. In 1938 my sister Nina was born, she was given this name in honor of grandma Nekhama (on father’s side). Mom went to her parents, who lived in Nevel to give birth to Nina. I was born in Leningrad, at the maternity hospital #2, the most famous one in the city.

Every summer before the war mom and Nina went to visit my grandparents; actually, all the grandchildren gathered there for summer.

During the war

War caught them there. Mom decided to go to Leningrad. Grandparents said to her: “Leave Ninochka with us”. Mother hesitated for a long time, but finally took my sister away. Grandparents stayed in Nevel but later decided to leave. They had friends among peasants, who loved them very much and offered them a hiding place in case the Germans arrived. And they did really hide them for two years. I found out about it just recently. I thought that they were executed in Nevel at the beginning of the war. Later, they were either betrayed or someone told them that there were no Germans in Nevel anymore, so they returned back to the town and the Germans grabbed them. I know it happened on September 16th, 1943, because mom always lit a candle on September 16th in their memory. It was a massive execution of the Jews. Some Jews dug trenches, then they were shot and the rest of the Jews buried them. I found pictures of the execution in Nevel at the Hesed Center not long ago. It was a real shock for me to see this big picture of the monument at the place where my grandparents were executed. I only heard from mom before that the place was called the Blue Dacha (summerhouse).

Thus my sister was saved, as mother took her to Leningrad. When the war broke out, children were evacuated from the city with their kindergartens, separately from their parents. So mom sent Nina with the kindergarten. When she had left, mom understood what she had done and got frightened that she had sent a 3-year old child alone. So she left with the last special train to look for Nina, as she knew approximately where to look. She found her in the town of Nikopol. In September 1941 they were evacuated to the town of Belibey in Bashkiriya, not far from the town of Ufa, because two father’s sisters were evacuated there.

Mom told me a lot about evacuation. She left Leningrad together with her friend, who had two kids. They stayed together during the war. It was very difficult to find a place for living in Belibey, though finally they found a 5 meter poky little room, with hoarfrosted walls.  Mom was lucky, because in evacuation she met a good friend of hers, who helped her to get a job at the officer’s canteen. So she always had food. They lived in evacuation until 1944.

My dad lived through two wars: the Finnish and the Great Patriotic wars. He was a volunteer at both wars. He served as a medical assistant having finished special courses. He was not even wounded during the Finnish war.  Later he was at the Leningrad frontline and took part in military operations. I know that he save a lot of people, because even after the war people came to us and dad could not even remember them. They expressed their gratitude to him for saving their lives. In 1943 dad was wounded in his leg. He stayed for half a year in a hospital near Leningrad. The wound was very severe and they thought that the leg could not be saved. But they did save it, though he had to get about on crutches for a long time after. He managed to find mom in Belibey. She recalled the scene – when someone suddenly told her: “Kisya, go meet your one-legged!”

When the blockade was lifted, dad began to write to Leningrad and at the end of 1944 they received a permission to return. When mom and Nina came to Leningrad, the streets were totally deserted. Their room in Sadovaya Street was not occupied fortunately. But everything was stolen. Nobody really pondered on that, everybody was happy to be back home. Mom found a job of a passport office employee and worked there for several years.

All our men relatives participated in the war and the women remained in besieged Leningrad, some managed to get evacuated. Mom’s elder sister Sonya and many other relatives stayed in besieged Leningrad. They almost starved to death when dad returned from the frontline after he had been wounded. He found a dead horse on the way. He managed to get some horse-flesh and brought that meat to his relatives who lived on Fontanka embankment, when they already could not move and lay motionless. There were five of them. Finally they had something to eat. They recalled this story with gratitude all their lives, because dad saved their lives.

Two years after the war ended, in 1947, when dad was in a bad condition after being wounded and had to get about on crutches, he went to get some milk, one tram stop away. He brushed against a woman with his crutch, she called him a “Jewman”, and dad responded something. But the woman appeared to be a militia officer. He was immediately arrested, and dad spent 8 or 9 months in Kresty [Leningrad prison]. It was very difficult to get a permit for him to stay in Leningrad, it became possible only owing to his many orders and war wound. There was a criminal case brought against him, but he was acquitted. It is possible to talk about repressions today. But at that time everything was concealed, so I found out about that case only when I was a grownup. It was a real shock for me. A man, who had done so much for people, who participated in the war! After that dad’s health was undermined. And all this happened because he could not keep silent when he was called a “jewman”.

Growing up

I was born in 1949. I do not remember either my mother or my father young. When I was born, mom was 34 years old, but she really looked rather youthful. Dad was 42. He was very sick after the war wound and his temper changed a lot after the ordeals he survived, he became more reserved and suspicious. I got my name in honor of grandma. When mom registered me, she wanted the name to be written “Sima” in the birth certificate, but she was told that there was no such name and they wrote “Serafima”. I had a lot of cousins, but I was the only one, who resembled our grandma both by appearance and by temper. I also love flowers as much as she did.

Jewish spirit was always present in our family and I understood since childhood that I was Jewish. I had a lot of friends who were Jews only by passports, some even concealed their nationality.

My childhood was hallowed by Jewish holidays and attendance of the synagogue. It was before school. I remember our neighbor Masha, who was a year older than me. We attended the synagogue together with our fathers and not only for praying. It was a place for Jews to meet in Leningrad. Lermontovsky prospect, where the synagogue was situated, was overcrowded on holidays. This synagogue is located in the center of the city and holds more than 2,000 people. Old friends met there. I remember dad, mom and me walked from one group to another, say hello, and our friends always paid attention to how children were growing up. Father always prepared to such visits very solemnly, put on his best suit and a broad brimmed hat. They spoke mostly Yiddish at synagogue. We celebrated Jewish holidays at home but did not observe Jewish traditions thoroughly. Though mom always said that meat should not be mixed with dairy products. So we did not, though not because it was not allowed to, but simply because that was the way it used to be in our family.

I have been to the synagogue recently after the restoration of the building. Everything turned over in my soul when I remembered how the cantor sang when I sat there. I imagined dad and all our friends because the synagogue was never a mere empty phrase for me. When I hear songs in Hebrew, but especially in Yiddish, the “voice of the ancestors,” something stirs inside me, and though I never knew my grandparents, I have a feeling that I see them in front of me.

After the war

I attended the synagogue as a student and never missed a holiday. Simkhat-Torah was the most cheerful holiday. It is a very merry holiday with dancing and singing. Regardless of something happening around us all the time, like someone was expelled from the Institute, someone was arrested, I was not scared and continued attending synagogue. After synagogue services we continued having fun at somebody’s apartment. It was the end of the 1960s, beginning of the 1970s, the time which was later called the end of “Khruschtchev’s thaw” [ the beginning of liberal reforms in the Soviet Union ]

The district where we lived was very international. There were 9 apartments in our house but there was no apartment where a Jew did not live. For instance, our “communalka” had 7 rooms and 3 Jewish families lived in it. People came and went, but there were always at least 2-3 Jewish families. Tatars lived here as well as gypsies. Anti-Semitism was invisibly present, but we, children, always understood each other and played together. Since a lot of Jews lived in Sadovaya Street, people spoke Yiddish very loudly in the street, without any embarrassment. It remained like until the 1960s. Later we began to feel nationalism and anti-Semitism.  No one taught me this language, so I knew only some words, which I heard often. My parents spoke Russian with me, but when they wanted to conceal something, they proceeded in Yiddish. Some words I understood, some not. Though my sister understood Yiddish better than me because she learnt German at school.

There lived a very religious Jewish family in our house, the Golimbevich family. Mendel, the representative of the elder generation, never worked, except at the synagogue. This family always observed Sabbath and all holidays. They had a boy, Izya (Isaac), we were of the same age and were in the same class. He and Mendel wore kipas at home. He was the only one who did not go to school on Saturdays. Teachers were slightly displeased with that, but they finally accepted it, as he was a rather clever boy and studied well, so this did not influence his education. A rabbi visited him at home and he studied the Torah.

It was 1954-1955 and since we were friends, I came to their place often and saw him pray. I remember it very well, though I did not understand everything correctly. They invited me on some holidays, we celebrated Hanukah together, lit the candles and everything was the way it should be. Mendel had 3 daughters, one of them managed to leave to Palestine in 1930 and two other daughters tried to cross the border when the Israel state was established. They were caught and put into prison. One of them had a son named Izya. He remained with his grandparents who brought him up. In 1956 when we were in the 1st grade, his mother and aunt were released from prison. Izya and I were walking home from school and suddenly he rushed up to one of the women crying: “Mom!” I cannot imagine how he recognized her; he hadn’t seen her since he was very small. This family lives now in Israel..

Certainly I faced anti-Semitism in my life and not just once. I remember when at school my classmates peeked at the end of the class register and asked me: “What kind of patronymic you’ve got – Nakhimovna?” I was always busy with public tasks, I was a pioneer and later a Comsomol member. I also remember how in the 8th grade children were chosen to be sent to Artek [famous international pioneer’s camp on the Black Sea]. I was one of the first candidates to go. I was summoned to some commission and asked who my parents were by nationality. I answered that they were Jews. So another girl instead of me went to Artek, who never carried out any public work. It was like a first slap on the forehead for me, and a very unpleasant one.

Then there was another case. School children from Leningrad were authorized to go to the XXII Party Congress to welcome the Congress delegates. It was a tradition at that time. Only six children could go. The pioneer leader of our school, Lyudmila Valentinovna, was to supervise our delegation. She was half-Jew on her mother’s side. Neither me, nor she, were allowed to go to Moscow. Others went instead of us. I do not think I could have hindered someone from something at the Congress, it was absolutely clear that my Jewish origin was the problem. Almost the same happened when our group at the Institute went to Bulgaria. Without me. When I worked at the scientific enterprise and a group of employees was going to Poland, I “reached the district party committee (raykom)” and the commission asked me a question, which had nothing to do with Poland. Everybody was allowed to go and I was told: “Go and prepare yourself”. All in all, there were such moments, and not just a few.

I finished school with a silver medal and entered the Leningrad Technological Institute to obtain a profession of a chemist-technologist. After graduating I worked for 15 years at a Scientific Research Institute; later for 14 years at an environmental preservation laboratory. Being a final-year student in 1971 I had the right to choose the place of my future job, since I was second in the class. However, when before the assignment we were all collected together, our teacher warned us that it was no use to get a job at GIPKH (State Institute of Applied Chemistry) (this warning was meant for the Jews, and there were a lot in our group). Starting from 1972 Jews were not accepted to the scientific Research Institute of Synthetic Rubber, where I was assigned to after graduation.

I met my husband Mikhail Isaacovich in 1970, when I went with my friend to Seliger Lake for winter holidays. My husband-to-be also went there with his sister. We liked each other at first sight. We talked on the phone for a year and a half, then began to go out and married in 1972. Soon after that my husband was enlisted to the army. Nelya was born in 1975.

My husband’s father, Isaac Markovich Lokshin, was a military man and their family had to move constantly from one place to another. Only in 1975 they “settled” in Leningrad. That is why they were less used to Jewish life. My husband did not attend the synagogue like I did when he was young because he could have been fired for that. After graduating from the Aircraft Equipment Construction College he worked at a secret “Vector” enterprise. However, my husband still speaks Yiddish. He graduated from LIAP (Leningrad Aircraft Equipment Construction Institute) by correspondence and continued to work at the same Institute. For the last 10 years, since 1994, my husband has been working in St.Petersburg Department of the “Joint” organization (an American Jewish social welfare organization).

My husband’s grandfather’s name was Zalman Khenkin (he came from Tula). He left for Palestine in 1919. He left his wife and two children in Russia. My husband’s mother, Nekhama-Maryasya Khenkina (my mother-in-law) was not born yet at that time: grandma of my husband was pregnant with her third child, when grandfather left. He left the town of Yefremov near Moscow, there were pogroms, and their family was rich, they owned a jewelry store and Zalman permanently felt potential danger. He left for Palestine hoping that he would be able to settle and send for his family. At first the family kept in touch with him, he wrote letters. But in 1921-1922 the contact was interrupted. Zalman disappeared. No one knows what happened, but it was assumed that some relative, my husband’s grandmother did not want their daughter to leave forever, and interrupted the contact.

My mother-in-law, Nekhama-Maryasya (Lokshina after marriage) grew up without her father, but grandfather’s sister, her aunt, told her a lot about him. He was a very interesting person, a very musical one, he could even play the saw. He was very kind. He loved his wife (mother of my mother-in-law) very much. First 10 years of my married life I was sure that mother-in-law knew her father, as she spoke so much of him. They also led a Jewish life at home. But at the age of 12 she left [interviewer does not know where].  Her parents were also executed during the war in Belarus. She remained without any livelihood. After the war she lived in Leningrad and finished a technical school here. None of her relatives are alive. She got married after the war.

It was possible to find out about Nekhama-Maryasya’s father’s fate at the beginning of the 1990s, when our daughter Nelya got engaged in  Jewish life of the city and began to meet representatives of Jewish youth, who visited Leningrad. I would like to tell about this in detail. When at the beginning of the 1980s a massive departure to Israel started and fewer and fewer Jews remained here, we began to think, what could we do to bring our daughter into a Jewish environment? We never hid our Jewish identity from our daughter (although there were a few friends we never told). I even know families where the children did not even know what their nationality was. So we registered our daughter with the Sunday school at the synagogue. Nelya plunged into Jewish life and made a lot of new friends there. She asked one of them, Avraam, to try and find out something about grandfather’s fate in Israel. When he came home, he placed an announcement in a newspaper, seeking Zalman Khenkin, who had left in the 1920s from the town of Yefremov, Moscow region. And one wonderful evening the phone rang in our apartment. I only understood that the person spoke Hebrew and wanted to talk to Nelya. She was not at home. In a day there was another call and a woman said that she had seen an announcement saying that relatives are looking for Zalman Khenkin. “We are Khenikin, maybe my father was your relative?” She told that her father had died in 1967 and she kept his pictures. In order to find out if it was correct, we sent a picture, which grandmother kept, to Israel.

All in all, it appeared so, that Zalman Khenkin’s trip to Palestine was very long, he was even in Turkish captivity. When he settled in Palestine and his contact with his family was absolutely lost, he got married in 1930 and created a new family. He had two children, son Iser and daughter Shoshana, the woman who called us. We invited Shoshana and her brother to visit us in 1993. In order to meet guests from Israel, the sister of my mother-in-law came from Astrakhan, her name is Irina (they called her Fira at home). She and Shoshana were very much alike. A lot common memories popped up when they looked at their old pictures. Shoshana remembered how her father sometimes took out a casket, where he must have kept letters and pictures, then locked himself in the room and examined them for a long time. When Zalman died, the casket disappeared. Shoshana told us that they had all known about some secret in their father’s life, but he had never told anyone about it. He never even mentioned that there was a family of his left in Russia. She also told us that she had a feeling since childhood that she had a sister somewhere in this world. So it was: she had a stepsister! They both were very happy. Very often relatives now manage to find each other. But at that time, 10 years ago, it was a sensational story! We were all shocked, as well as our friends and our relatives from Israel. Such a big family we have. Both Nelya and grandmother are great friends with Shoshana, and she calls us often. My mother-in-law visited Israel 3 or 4 times.

I would like to add a couple of words about my husband’s aunt Ira (Fira), whom I mentioned above. She was born in 1918. She lived near Moscow before the war, in the town of Pervomaysk. She got married at a very young age, when she was 16. When her husband left for the frontline, she remained alone with her children. Very soon she received a notification about her husband’s death. She was supposed to share the fate of all Jews in town. They were collected together, arranged in columns and led to execution. Germans and Romanians guarded the column. Fira was very beautiful and one of the Romanians liked her. He managed to save her by miracle, pretend that she was Russian (aunt used the name of her killed friend Ira Molchanova). Later when the Red Army forces released Pervomaysk, one of the soldiers, Sergey Levchenko, met Ira, fell in love with her and married her in spite of the three children she had. Then another baby was born. After the war Ira suddenly (when she was walking along the railroad lines) met her first husband!  It turned out that the “death notification” was sent too soon - he was alive and looking for his family! So he had to resign himself and admit that the war and fatal circumstances separated him with Ira and the kids. He left for Odessa. Sergey brought up all kids and loved them all as if they were his own. Their family lived in Astrakhan and Ira worked there as an administrator in a theater. She is now 84 years old and lives with her son in Zhukovskoye near Moscow. 

Now a little bit about my daughter, and how our family returned to its origins. As a child Nelya spent a lot of time with her grandmothers, she learned a lot from them and a lot passed between these generatons.  However, our family never celebrated real Jewish holidays and Sabbath. But the revival of Jewish life and our junction with it commenced at the end of the 1980s. Very quickly and surprisingly for all of us she learnt Hebrew in synagogue so successfully that by the end of the 10th grade at school she began to give lessons to small kids in Sunday school. Apparently certain Jewish genes guided her toward the language. She wanted to be a teacher since childhood and planned to enter the college named after Nekrasov, where students are trained to be educational specialists for children of preschool age. She finished her courses there. Suddenly she was persuaded to go study in Israel. She left and for a year studied at the “Makhon Gold” religious pedagogical college. At that time she began to observe Jewish customs and traditions, to celebrate Sabbath and wear a long skirt. I supported her studies and was glad that she would know the traditions and the Jewish culture very well, though I was afraid a little bit that her religiousness would go too far, that she would become an Orthodox. This fortunately did not happen. Her studies were very interesting and she traveled all around the country within a year.

Having returned to St. Petersburg Nelya became a leader of “Bney Akiva”, one of the first Youth’s Jewish organizations in our city [1990].  At that time there were no permanent offices and they had to rent an apartment. She celebrated Sabbath there according to the proper rules and cooked food. It was a real official job and it was accounted for her as a year of alternative service in the Israel Army, “Shrut Leumi”. After that Nelya decided to leave for Israel for permanent residence. She entered a Pedagogical Institute in Jerusalem, but visited home every year. Finally she married her classmate, Boris Onoprienko, and in 1997 she came home after graduation and started to work at “Adain Lo,” a regional public Jewish organization, where she was very much needed, because Jewish kindergartens, which started to open at that time, had no educational specialists with Israeli certificates.

For the last three years, since 1999 and up to now, I also work as a coordinator of “Yakhat,” a program developed by “Adain Lo” for disabled children. I like the work I am doing now, very much, because disabled children are the category of the society which never really received proper attention in this country.

Sima Staroselskaya is a very active woman with perfect taste, which is proved by cozy home environment and atmosphere, where a lot reminds one of the family history and Jewish traditions (for instance, pictures of relatives, candlesticks and a mezuzah at the entrance to the apartment).  Her family is a very vivid example of Jewish life revival in St.Petersburg: everyone in the family, including father, mother and daughter, work enthusiastically in the city’s Jewish organizations, not by word of mouth, but in actual deed assisting a lot of people, both children and adults to become aware of their belonging to the Jewish nationality. 

Hannah Fischer
Wien
Österreich
Datum des Interviews: Juli 2004 Name des Interviewers: Tanja Eckstein

Dr. Hannah Fischer ist eine Frau, die ihre Lebensziele mit großer Energie verfolgt. Gemeinsam mit ihrem Zwillingsbruder Rafael Erwin wuchs sie in einer sehr ungewöhnlichen Familie auf.

Der Vater war Rabbiner, die Mutter war Journalistin und stand der Kommunistischen Partei sehr nahe.

Das prägte ihr Leben genauso wie die zweijährige Ausbildung als Kindergärtnerin bei Anna Freud, der Tochter Sigmund Freuds, während ihrer Emigration in London.

Am wichtigsten waren ihr immer die Kinder. Trotz spätem Medizinstudium in Wien, trotz hoher Auszeichnungen - im Jahre 2003 erhielt sie von der Stadt Wien die Otto-Glöckel-Medaille - vergisst sie nie die Kinder.

Von 1986 bis 2002 übernahm sie ehrenamtlich und mit großem Engagement die pädagogische Leitung eines Hilfsprojektes mit dem Ziel, saharauische Frauen zu Kindergärtnerinnen auszubilden.

• Meine Familiengeschichte
• Meine Kindheit
• Meine Schulzeit
• Während des Krieges
• Nach dem Krieg
• Glossar

• Meine Familiengeschichte

Mein Bruder und ich sind vor einigen Jahren nach Bratislava in das Stadt- und Landesarchiv gefahren, das sich in der Altstadt neben dem Rathaus und dem Jüdischen Museum befindet. Das Archiv war sehr eindrucksvoll, die Geburten-, Heirats- und Sterbebücher sind so groß, dass sie auf Rollwägen zu den Tischen gefahren werden. Wir haben nach unseren Vorfahren gesucht und fanden Namen und Daten.

Meine Großeltern väterlicherseits hießen Wilhelm und Fanny Fischer. Sie heirateten am 27. November 1881 in Bratislava. Die Großmutter wurde 1853 in Bratislava geboren, ihre Eltern waren Philipp und Katharina Kärpel, geborene Lampel. Der Großvater wurde 1847 in Waag-Neustadt [Nove Mesto nad Vahom, heute Slowakei] geboren.

Er war Privatlehrer und der Sohn von Sara und Latzko Fischer, der eine Schlosserei besaß. Ich vermute, die Großeltern waren sehr religiös, da sie ihren Sohn, meinen Vater, dazu drängten, Rabbiner zu werden. Irgendetwas ist passiert. Ich habe sie nie gesehen, und mein Vater hat nie über sie gesprochen. Vielleicht hat es ja damit zu tun, dass mein Vater viel lieber Gärtner als Rabbiner geworden wäre.

Meine Großeltern hatten drei Kinder: Paula, Bela Max - meinen Vater - und Siegmund.

Tante Paula war mit Heinrich Mandl verheiratet. Sie übersiedelten irgendwann während unserer Kinderzeit von Bratislava nach Wien. Ich glaube, mein Bruder und ich waren schon neun oder zehn Jahre alt, denn ich erinnere mich, dass uns der Weg zu ihrer Wohnung von unserer Mutter gezeigt wurde und wir oft allein zu ihnen fuhren.

Sie wohnten im 1. Bezirk am Fleischmarkt, wo Onkel Heinrich Hausbesorger war. Es war ein schönes altes Bürgerhaus, und ich glaube mich zu erinnern, er war die Nummer 14 oder 16. Einmal hat Onkel Heinrich gesagt, er will uns etwas zeigen und ist mit uns durch eine Eisentür in den Keller gegangen. Wir sind viele Stufen immer weiter hinunter gestiegen, es gab dort unzählige Gänge, die irgendwie gestützt, aber noch gut intakt waren.

Ich würde sagen, es waren mindestens sechs Stockwerke, die, wie uns der Onkel erklärte, zur Stephanskirche führten. Tante Paula war sehr kinderlieb und kochte immer für uns. An Sonntagen gingen Onkel Heinrich und Tante Paula oft mit uns in den Prater. Da sie keine eigenen Kinder hatten, waren wir sicher eine Bereicherung ihres Lebens.

1939 sind sie nach Amerika geflüchtet und haben zuerst in New York, in Brooklyn, gelebt. Wie es ihnen dann in Amerika ergangen ist, weiß ich nicht. Nach dem Krieg gab es noch Briefkontakt zwischen meiner Mutter und Tante Paula. Wann sie gestorben sind, weiß ich nicht; ich hatte keinen Kontakt mehr zu ihnen. Aber sie sind noch nach Miami übersiedelt.

Onkel Sigmund wurde 1889 geboren. Er hat in Bratislava gelebt, seine Frau hieß Lea und sie hatten drei Töchter: Fanny, Aranka und Lida. Die ganze Familie, die ich nicht ein einziges Mal gesehen habe, wurde 1941 in das Ghetto nach Opole [Polen] deportiert und ermordet.

Mein Vater Max Bela wurde am 26. Juni 1883 in Bratislava geboren und sieben Tage später beschnitten; das geht aus einem Dokument hervor. Er absolvierte in Bratislava ein Rabbinerstudium. Von 1914 bis 1918 diente er in der k. u. k. Armee.

In einem Dokument vom 25. Dezember 1923 an den Vorstand der Israelitischen Kultusgemeinde schreibt er: 'Im Jahre 1914 meldete ich mich freiwillig zur seelsorgerischen Dienstleistung beim Militärkommando Wien und mir wurde die Seelsorge der Heilanstalten des Roten Kreuzes, darunter befand sich auch das Vereinsreservespital 8 [Rothschildspital], übertragen.

Für diese Leistung, wie auch dafür, daß ich der Kultusgemeinde als Vertreter des Spitalseelsorgers Leon Smolensky jederzeit zur Verfügung stehe, hat Vizepräsident Dr. Gustav Kohn S.A. verfügt, dass mir hierfür Expräsidialfond Kr. 100.- monatlich ausbezahlt werden.

Für meine aufopferungsvolle Kriegstätigkeit wurde ich seitens des Militärkommandos mehrfach belobt und seitens des Roten Kreuzes wurde mir in Anerkennung besonderer Verdienste um die militärische Sanitätspflege im Kriege, taxfrei das Ehrenzeichen II. Klasse mit der Kriegsdekoration verliehen...'

Meine Großeltern mütterlicherseits - Daniel und Mina Treu - lebten in Hagen, eine Stadt in Deutschland, in der Nähe von Köln. Den Großvater habe ich nicht gekannt. Ich weiß, dass die Familie eine Lehrer- und Rabbinerfamilie war. Der Großvater war aber Kaufmann und hat ein Geschäft besessen. Ich nehme an, er starb relativ früh.

Die Großmutter Mina Treu wurde 1861 geboren und hat die letzten Monate ihres Lebens bei uns in Wien verbracht. Sie war sehr krank, aber davon habe ich nicht viel mitbekommen. Sie ist am 23. Juli 1932 im Rothschild-Spital im 18. Bezirk gestorben, da war ich sieben Jahre alt.

Vermutlich starb sie an Krebs; in dieser Familie starben sehr viele an Krebs. Sie wurde am Zentralfriedhof begraben und ich durfte bei der Beerdigung dabei sein. Das war meine erste Begegnung mit dem Tod: es gab die Großmutter plötzlich nicht mehr.

Meine Mutter Luise hatte drei Geschwister: Frieda, Else und Max.

Frieda wurde 1897 geboren und war mit Bolek Goldreich verheiratet. Sie hatten zwei Kinder, Daniel und Martin Rafael. Die Familie ist nach 1933, dem Machtantritt Hitlers, nach Palästina emigriert. Frieda starb 1937 in Palästina.

Else war mit Siegmund Samuel Goldreich verheiratet. Sie ist bereits 1929 in Deutschland gestorben. Samuel und die drei Kinder, die in Israel Abraham Na´aman, Schlomo Hans Na´aman und Dr. Dor Na´aman heißen, haben Deutschland kurze Zeit nach Hitlers Ernennung zum Reichskanzler verlassen und sind nach Palästina emigriert.

Max Treu war mit Ida Rosenfeld verheiratet. Sie hatten zwei Kinder, Lutz und Marianne. Auch sie emigrierten nach Hitlers Machübernahme nach Palästina.

Mein Bruder und ich lernten 1994 in Israel viele Verwandte kennen, darunter Joschi Zur, einen Cousin meiner Mutter - ich glaube zweiten Grades - der Forschungen über die Familie meiner Mutter angestellt und ein ganzes Buch zusammen gestellt hat.

Dieses Buch handelt von den Familien Treu und Steinweg. Zwischen den Treus und den Steinwegs gab es sehr viele Hochzeiten. Die meisten dieser Familie sind vor dem 2. Weltkrieg nach Palästina emigriert oder sie schickten ihre Kinder nach Palästina.

Meine Mutter Luise wurde am 21. März 1889 in Hagen geboren.

Meine Eltern haben sich 1923 auf dem 13. zionistischen Kongress in Karlsbad 1 kennen gelernt. Meine Mutter nahm als Journalistin an diesem Kongress teil und mein Vater als Rabbiner der Israelitischen Kultusgemeinde Wien, der für die Spitalsseelsorge in vielen Wiener Spitälern verantwortlich war.

Meine Mutter war bereits 34 Jahre alt, eine berufstätige Frau, die schon längere Zeit als Journalistin gearbeitet hatte. Sie war eine sehr emanzipierte Frau, lebte in der Region um Essen, also in Hagen, Drove, oder auch in Essen, wo genau, weiß ich nicht.

Sie besaß eine höhere Schulausbildung, hatte danach eine Lehre absolviert, Stenografie und Maschine schreiben gelernt und war danach Journalistin geworden. Ich glaube, damals brauchte man als Journalist kein Studium. Sie hat im Rheinland gearbeitet, und hauptsächlich politische Artikel für Zeitungen geschrieben. Irgendwann habe ich mal ein Zeugnis meiner Mutter gesehen. Ich weiß aber leider nicht mehr, wo das war.

Nachdem meine Eltern sich auf dem Kongress kennen gelernt hatten, kam meine Mutter nach Wien, und sie heirateten am 12. November 1924.

• Meine Kindheit

Mein Bruder Rafael Erwin und ich wurden am 27. September 1925 geboren. Meine Mutter war eine kleine, an sich zierlich gebaute, aber doch starke Frau. Sie hatte neun Monate zwei Kinder in ihrem Bauch, die beide bei der Geburt normal gewichtig waren. Das war eine Sensation!

Wir kamen durch einen Kaiserschnitt im 19. Bezirk, in der Kinderklinik in Glanzing, auf die Welt. Mein Bruder wog dreieinhalb und ich dreieinviertel Kilo. Normalgewichtige Zwillinge zur Welt zu bringen ist noch heute sehr selten. Die Narbe am Bauch meiner Mutter ist nie ganz verheilt; wir waren für sie also immer gegenwärtig. Aber auch sonst waren wir ein Geschwisterpaar, das man nicht übersehen konnte.

Zuerst haben wir in einer Dienstwohnung der Gemeinde Wien in der Jagdschlossgasse gewohnt, an die ich mich nicht mehr erinnere. Diese Wohnung hatte mein Vater auf Grund seiner Seelsorgertätigkeit im Versorgungsheim der Stadt Wien bekommen. Er kümmerte sich dort um die jüdischen Pflegefälle und richtete einen Feiertags- und Schabbat- Gottesdienst 2 ein.

Wir mussten aber dann aus der Wohnung ausziehen, weil mein Vater und der berühmte Stadtrat Tandler 3 einen großen Streit hatten. Worum es dabei ging, weiß ich nicht, aber ich kann mir vorstellen, dass mein Vater ziemlich beharrlich sein konnte, wenn er glaubte, im Recht zu sein - ich habe diese Eigenschaft von ihm geerbt. Wir wurden delogiert und sind in eine andere Wohnung gezogen, die sich auch im 13. Bezirk, in der Biraghigasse, befand.

Die Wohnung hatte zwei Zimmer, eine Küche und ein größeres Vorzimmer. Ein Badezimmer gab es nicht, die Toilette - das war ein Plumpsklo - war am Gang. Am Gang befand auch die berühmte Bassena 4, aber später wurde das Wasser in die Wohnung eingeleitet. Für damalige Verhältnisse war das eine gutbürgerliche Wohnung, und wir lebten in einer für Kinder herrlichen Umgebung, denn es gab einen Garten, den wir nutzen konnten, was ein absolutes Privileg war.

Meine frühesten Erinnerungen sind aber nicht an Wien, sondern an Deutschland. Ich weiß den Grund nicht, aber meine Mutter hat meinen Vater verlassen, als wir noch sehr klein waren. Wir lebten in einem kleinen Kinderheim, und meine Mutter hat uns nur an Wochenenden besucht. Sie musste arbeiten, um Geld zu verdienen.

Das Kinderheim lag am Waldesrand, und ich erinnere mich an die Sandkiste, in der wir gespielt haben. Außerdem erinnere ich mich an ein Wohnzimmer und einen gut aussehender Mann in einem lila Anzug, der uns besucht hat.

Diesen lila Anzug habe ich nicht vergessen und meine Mutter hat auch später gewusst, wer der Besitzer des Anzugs war, nämlich ein entfernter Verwandter. Ansonsten kann ich mich an Deutschland und an die Reise hin und - nach zwei oder drei Jahren - zurück, nicht erinnern.

In Wien sind mein Bruder und ich eine Zeit lang in einen Kindergarten der Kinderfreunde 5 in der Nähe unserer Wohnung gegangen. Entweder war es eine Kindergruppe oder ein richtiger Kindergarten, aber es war kein städtischer.

Unserer Wohnung gegenüber war ein ganz großes Grundstück der Israelitischen Kultusgemeinde, das mein Vater verwaltete. Auf diesem Grundstück lebte in einem kleinen Häuschen die einzige andere jüdische Familie in unserer Wohngegend.

Sie hatte zwei Kinder, Sara war schon ein Teenager und interessierte sich nicht für uns, und Numek. Er war in unserem Alter und mit ihm waren wir sehr befreundet. Die Familie ist nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen im März 1938 nach Amerika geflüchtet und wenn Numek Wien besucht, besucht er mich auch immer.

Auf dem Grundstück stand ein ziemlich altes Haus und dazu gehörte ein Garten. Da haben wir von klein auf Unkraut zupfen müssen. Das hat uns weniger gefallen, aber wir hatten dort eine riesige Wiese mit einem kleinen Abhang und Bäume zum Klettern, und das war ein Paradies. Das ganze Terrain gehörte uns und Numek. Im Sommer kamen jüdische Kinder aus dem 2. und 20. Bezirk, um sich zu erholen.

Samstags sind mein Bruder und ich in der Volksschulzeit immer zu Fuß - das war ein längerer Marsch - in den Tempel in der Eitelbergergasse gegangen. Der Tempel ist in der Pogromnacht im November 1938 zerstört worden, heute steht zum Gedenken eine Tafel dort.

Unser Haushalt war koscher, meine Mutter trennte milchiges und fleischiges, das wäre wegen meines Vaters gar nicht anders möglich gewesen. Mein Bruder hielt sich aber von klein auf eigentlich nicht daran. Er aß ohne weiteres Schinken, wenn er irgendwo zu Besuch war. Ich tat das nicht, und auch heute esse ich Schinken nicht furchtbar gerne.

Den Schabbat feierten wir auch, meine Mutter zündete Kerzen an, aber das ging nicht sehr strenggläubig vor sich. Freitagabend und Samstag waren dann die einzigen Tage der Woche, an denen es Fleisch bei uns gab. Das Fleisch brachte der Vater 'aus der Stadt', also aus den inneren Bezirken Wiens, mit.

Gäste hatten wir keine. Mein Vater kümmerte sich um die jüdischen Patienten in den Krankenhäusern, auch am Schabbat und zu den Hohen Feiertagen. Insbesondere zu Pessach 6 richtete meine Mutter in dem alten Haus eine Großküche ein, von der aus meine Eltern die Patienten mit koscherem Essen versorgten.

Da mussten mein Bruder und ich immer helfen, auch beim Austragen des Essens. Es gab ein jüdisches Altersheim in der Lainzer Strasse, das sich unter der Bahn befunden hat. Ich erinnere mich, dass mein Vater dort für die alten Leute den Pessachabend gestaltete, und ich erinnere mich an die Mazzot 7 und an diverse andere Sachen.

Meine Mutter hatte eine Haushaltshilfe, die putzte und kochte. Ein Kindermädchen hatten wir nicht, wir waren aber auch schon sehr früh selbständig.

Unsere Kindheit war sehr, sehr schön und wir hatten viele Freiheiten. Zu Hause waren wir nur selten. Wir hingen an den Pferdewägen, die große Eisblöcke für die damaligen Kühlschränke transportierten, bis uns der Kutscher mit der Peitsche verjagte; wir kraxelten auf der Mauer des Lainzer Tiergartens herum, die damals defekt war, und sprangen auch in den Tiergarten hinein.

In der Waldvogelgasse - die Straße ist ungefähr zehn Minuten von unserem Hause entfernt - gab es ein Kino. Wir haben uns in die Nähe des Kinos gestellt und die Passanten gefragt: 'Entschuldigen Sie bitte, können Sie uns sagen, wo hier das Kino ist?' Die Passanten haben gesagt: 'Na da, geradeaus!' 'Immer wenn wir ins Kino gehen wollen, dann ist es gerade aus!'

Das waren so unsere Amüsements. Des Zwillingspaar Fischer und ihre Freunde! Oder wir sind auf 'Glöckerlpartie' [bei fremden Leuten anklingeln] gegangen. Entweder haben wir dann blöde Fragen gestellt oder wir sind einfach davon gerannt.

Mein Bruder und ich haben aber auch sehr viele Bücher gelesen, oft waren es Bücher für Erwachsene, zum Beispiel das Buch 'Der Tunnel' von Bernhard Kellermann. Das ist ein Roman, der sich unter anderem mit sozialen Problemen befasst. Wir hatten Bücher von Lion Feuchtwanger und Egon Erwin Kisch, aber auch von Erich Kästner, zum Beispiel 'Emil und die Detektive', Mark Twain und Karl May.

• Meine Schulzeit

Unsere Volkschule war in der Speisingerstrasse, das war die zu unserer Wohnung naheste Volksschule. Mein Bruder hat schlecht geschrieben, er hatte eine 'schwere Hand'. Die Lehrerin hat ihn furchtbar sekkiert in der ersten Klasse. Ich habe lange darüber nachgedacht, und ich glaube, dass seine Situation in der ersten Klasse ausschlaggebend für den Widerwillen war, den er die ganze Schulzeit über gegen Schule und alles Schulische hatte, obwohl er hochintelligent war.

In der zweiten Klasse beschloss diese Lehrerin, dass sie keine 'Judenkinder' in ihrer Klasse haben will und wir wurden in die Volksschule in der Lainzer Strasse umgeschult, was ein Glück war, weil der Lehrer, der uns hier unterrichtete, ganz hervorragend war. Zusammen mit dem Numek waren wir die einzigen jüdischen Kinder in der neuen Volksschule.

Wir waren ein ganz normales Geschwisterpaar. Mein Bruder war natürlich stärker als ich und er hat mich oft geschlagen, wofür ich mich dann auf andere Art und Weise gerächt habe. Solange wir in eine Klasse gingen, das heißt in der Volksschule, hat er von mir die Aufgaben abgeschrieben, wenn er sie überhaupt gemacht hat. Und wenn wir uns gestritten hatten, habe ich ihm das natürlich verweigert.

An einem Sonntag sollten wir wieder einmal zur Tante Paula und zum Onkel Heinrich fahren und mit ihnen in den Prater gehen. Unsere Mutter, die sichergehen wollte, dass der Rafael seine Schulaufgabe vorher erledigt, sagte, dass wir nur fahren dürften, wenn jeder von uns seine Aufgabe gemacht hat.

Das Ergebnis war, dass Rafael mit Tante und Onkel in den Prater fuhr und ich zu Hause blieb: Ich hatte die Worte meiner Mutter ernst genommen und irgendetwas noch nicht gemacht. Ich war Vorzugsschülerin und mein Bruder tat gerade genug, um nicht sitzen zu bleiben.

Mein Vater war sehr lieb zu uns, aber für ihn war es schrecklich, dass nicht der Sohn der Erfolgreichere war, sondern die Tochter, denn seine Anforderungen an einen Sohn waren höher, als an eine Tochter.

Er war abgrundtief konservativ - im Unterschied zu meiner Mutter. Hauptsächlich befasste sich meine Mutter mit uns und hat sogar Geschichten für uns geschrieben, zum Beispiel über die Brüder Gracchus 8; das waren sehr fortschrittliche römische Senatoren zur Zeit des Sklavenaufstandes.

Ich bin in einem nichtjüdischen Bezirk aufgewachsen. Wahrscheinlich war der Antisemitismus deshalb besonders stark spürbar. Wir hatten es sehr lustig damals, aber wir waren natürlich von klein auf mit Antisemitismus konfrontiert. Aber wir haben uns gewehrt. Mein Bruder war gut mit den Fäusten - sehr geachtet ob seiner Schlagkraft - und wenn nötig, habe auch ich mich ins Getümmel geworfen.

'Sich wehren' führt meiner Ansicht nach dazu, dass man - nach dem Sprichwort: 'Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stark' - an Durchsetzungskraft fürs Leben gewinnt. Wir haben die Hetze gegen die Juden nicht so arg empfunden, weil das von Anfang an einfach zu unserem Leben gehört hat. Sprüche wie 'Jud, Jud, spuck in Hut, sag der Mutter, das war gut!' sind uns oft nachgerufen worden.

Wir hatten auch gute Freunde, die zu uns hielten, aber es gab eben in der Umgebung auch eine Menge Nazi-Familien. Zum Beispiel waren die Hausbesitzer, die Familie Schindler, illegale Nazis.

Der Mann, ein Architekt, war gestorben und Frau Schindler hatte drei Söhne und eine Tochter. Die Tochter war schon verheiratet, Hermann, der jüngste Sohn war in unserem Alter. Wenn er gerade niemand Besseren hatte, spielte er mit uns. Aber immer, wenn er andere zum Spielen hatte, die auf uns schimpften, schimpfte er mit ihnen gemeinsam.

Er ist mit einem Kopfschuss aus Russland zurückgekommen und ging dann an Alkohol zu Grunde. Der älteste Sohn war ein illegaler Nazi. Er hatte Medizin studiert, war Arzt, und ist aus dem Krieg nicht zurückgekommen. Max, der Mittlere, war damals 16 Jahre alt, war auch schon ein illegaler Nazi und kam 1938, nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen, sofort mit der SA- Uniform daher, am ersten Tag schon.

Im Jahre 1988 sollte ich für das Pädagogische Institut einen Artikel über meine Jugend in Wien schreiben. Da ging ich zu dem Haus in die Biraghigasse. Ich wollte mich in die Stimmung von damals versetzen. Max wohnte noch in der Wohnung seiner Eltern.

Er war sehr freundlich zu mir und anscheinend sehr erfreut mich zusehen. 'Wie geht es Ihnen? Ich erinnere mich noch genau an Ihre Mutter; die hat immer fleißig mit der Schreibmaschine geklappert und der Vater, der ist in der Früh gleich mit Sonnenaufgang in den Garten hinübergegangen.

So fleißige, ordentliche Leute waren das!' Mir wurde ganz übel. Dann hat er sich bei mir beklagt, wie schlecht es ihm geht. Und dann hat er gefragt, was ich mache? Ich habe ihm erzählt, dass ich Direktorin der Bildungsanstalt für Kindergartenpädagogik in Floridsdorf bin. 'Ich habe ja immer gewusst, dass in dieser jüdischen Familie lauter tüchtige Leute sind.

Was macht denn der Bruder?' Ich habe erzählt, dass mein Bruder Direktor einer technischen Firma in Nordamerika ist. 'Na ja' hat er gesagt, 'die Juden bringen's´s halt doch zu etwas.' Ich habe nichts gesagt, hab ihn reden lassen. Als ich mich verabschiedete, dachte ich: Geschieht ihm recht, obwohl er wirklich ein armer Mensch war.

1934 hatte ich eine Serie von Halsentzündungen und wurde vom Arzt der Kinderklinik in Glanzing auf Erholung geschickt. Meine Mutter war seit unserer Zwillingsgeburt mit der Klinik in medizinischem Kontakt; sie haben uns betreut. Glanzing hatte ein Erholungsheim in Rimini in Italien. Das Heim hatte eine absolut autoritäre Struktur.

Es waren viele Nazikinder aus der unteren sozialen Schicht dort auf Erholung und drei Mädchen gefiel es, mich, das Judenmädel, zu sekkieren. Zum Beispiel durften wir nur mit dem Hut hinaus ins Freie, und sie versteckten immer meinen Hut, so daß ich ständig Probleme mit dem Personal hatte, das überhaupt nicht mitbekam, was da vor sich ging.

Einmal am Abend, nach der Bettruhe, habe ich mich zum Bett eines Mädchens geschlichen, mit dem ich befreundet war. Dabei hat mich eine Schwester erwischt und vor allen anderen gesagt: 'Jetzt kommst du auf den Dachboden zu den Fledermäusen.'

Da ich Fledermäuse von meiner Umgebung in Lainz gekannt habe, habe ich mich nicht gefürchtet, ich wusste, dass die nichts tun. Ich habe diese Nacht aber im Krankenzimmer verbracht, und am Morgen haben sich die anderen gewundert, wieso ich so gut aufgelegt war.

Ich habe gesagt, dass ich mich erstens nicht vor Fledermäusen fürchte und zweitens, dass ich eine gute Nacht im Krankenzimmer verbracht hatte. Von dem Moment an war ich die Heldin der Gruppe. Das bekehrte auch die drei Antisemiten, denn sie haben gesehen, dass das, was sie über die Juden gelernt hatten, nicht stimmte.

Meine Freundin Elfi wohnte in der Biraghigasse in einer Villa. Als Hitler kam, haben ihre Eltern ihr verboten, mit mir zu kommunizieren, aber wir haben uns trotzdem heimlich gesehen. Elfi hatte dann auch eine andere Freundin, aber die gefiel ihren Eltern gar nicht, und die Elfi erzählte mir nach dem Krieg, dass ihre Mutter zu ihr gesagt hatte: 'Da wäre mir ja das Judenmädel noch lieber wie die!' Aber das 'Judenmädel' stand dann nicht mehr zur Verfügung!

Mein Vater war ein schöner Mann mit dichten schwarzen Haaren. Solange ich ihn kannte - das war bis zu seinem 58. Lebensjahr - hatte er volles, schwarzes Haar. Es wird erzählt, daßdass sein Haar weiß war, als er nach einjähriger Haft aus Dachau entlassen wurde. Nur während seiner Arbeit trug er 'fromme Kleidung', ansonsten sah man ihm den Rabbiner nicht an.

Er war sicher kein orthodoxer Rabbiner, sonst hätte er die Eigenständigkeit meiner Mutter nicht ertragen. Das würde doch ein Orthodoxer niemals gestatten. Natürlich betete mein Vater jeden Tag, aber ich habe ihn selten dabei gesehen. Wir hatten einen ganz anderen Lebensrhythmus als mein Vater.

Er ist um 4 Uhr in der Früh aufgestanden, hinüber in den Garten gegangen und hat dort gearbeitet, bis er zum Dienst gegangen ist. Als er vom Dienst nach Hause gekommen ist, hat er sich umgezogen, gegessen und ist wieder in den Garten gegangen. Wie er das im Winter gemacht hat, weiß ich nicht.

Mein Vater verwaltete immer unser Taschengeld; wir sparten das Taschengeld, aber ich weiß nicht mehr wofür. Eines Tages kam er strahlend nach Hause, da hatte er für mein Taschengeld einen Rosenstock und für Rafaels Taschengeld Ribislstauden [Ribisel: österr. fFür Johannisbeere] gekauft.

Wir waren acht Jahre alt und man kann sich vorstellen, wie begeistert wir waren, dass wir kein Taschengeld mehr hatten, aber Besitzer von Rosen und Ribislstauden. Das war mein Vater! Er war nicht politisch, aber wenn er politisch gewesen wäre, dann wäre er ein Monarchist gewesen. Er war ein konservativer Mensch und hatte Ansichten, die ins 19.Jahrhundert passten.

In den Urlaub fuhren meine Eltern nie; meine Mutter war aber 1937 in Palästina, weil ihre Schwester Frieda sehr krank war und noch im selben Jahr gestorben ist. Sie hat damals sehr viel über den Konflikt zwischen den Palästinensern und den Juden erzählt.

Sie hat mir den Eindruck vermittelt, dass der israelisch-palästinensischen Konflikt eigentlich von den Engländern angezettelt worden war, denn die Juden hatten lange Zeit mit den Arabern und Christen relativ friedlich zusammen gelebt. Unter der türkischen Herrschaft gab es diese furchtbare Feindschaft nicht. Die Briten verbündeten sich mal mit den Arabern und dann wieder mit den Juden und dadurch kam es zu dieser Aufschaukelung.

Das war die Meinung meiner Mutter und darüber hat sie bereits nach ihrer ersten Palästina-Reise berichtet. Meine Mutter war keine Zionistin, das hätte nicht zu ihrer politischen Weltanschauung gepasst, aber sie hat mit einem Staat der Juden in Palästina sympathisiert.

Nach der Eheschließung mit meinem Vater hat meine Mutter weiterhin als selbständige Journalistin gearbeitet. Sie war politisch sehr aktiv, sie war eine Kommunistin. So hat sie zum Beispiel für die Zeitung 'Die Wahrheit' - das war eine kommunistische Zeitung aus dieser Zeit - einen fast prophetischen Artikel über den Nationalsozialismus und dessen Bekämpfung geschrieben.

Nach 1933 gab sie eine hektographierte Zeitschrift mit dem Namen 'Die Rote Dreizehn' heraus. Im Dokumentationsarchiv des Österreichischen Widerstandes 9 gibt es zwei oder drei Nummern der Zeitung. Darin schrieb meine Mutter über politische Themen. Die Gegensätze zwischen den Sozialdemokraten und Republikanischen Schutzbund auf der einen Seite und den Christlich-Sozialen und der Heimwehr, beziehungsweise der Regierung, auf der anderen Seite, führten in den Februartagen 1934 zum Bürgerkrieg.

Der Aufstand scheiterte unter anderem deshalb, weil der von der Sozialdemokratischen Partei ausgerufene Generalstreik nicht lückenlos durchgeführt wurde. Viele Tote und Verwundete auf beiden Seiten war das Ergebnis. Einige Führer des Aufstands wurden hingerichtet.

Die Angehörigen der Verhafteten standen oft ohne Einkommen da und die Kassierer der Zeitschrift 'Die Rote Dreizehn' sammelten für die Familien der inhaftierten Roten. Es gibt zum Beispiel einen sehr interessanten Artikel über die Frau Münichreiter.

Münichreiter war einer der Führer des Aufstandes, der angeschossen worden war und schwer verletzt auf der Tragbahre zur Hinrichtung gebracht wurde. Es gibt eine Straße im 13. Bezirk, die nach ihm benannt ist. Und da gibt es einen Artikel meiner Mutter, in dem sie berichtet, wie eine der führenden Damen der Christlichen Wohlfahrt zur Frau Münichreiter kam und ihr nahe legte, zur Kirche gehen und um Hilfe bitten. Und Frau Münichreiter sagte dieser Dame ordentlich ihre Meinung. Diese Geschichte schrieb meine Mutter sehr anschaulich.

Am 12. Februar 1934 wurden wir von der Schule früher nach Hause geschickt, weil die Kämpfe begonnen hatten. Zu Hause kletterten wir auf den Nussbaum im Garten des gegenüber liegenden Grundstückes und beobachteten, wie in der Stadt gekämpft wurde.

Im Jahre 1935 fand bei uns eine Haussuchung statt. Sie kehrten die Wohnung von oben nach unten und von unten nach oben, und verhafteten meine Mutter, weil sie für die 'Rote Hilfe' 10 gearbeitet hatte - das waren Kommunisten und Sozialdemokraten, die 1934 in Österreich verboten worden waren.

Es gab keine Verhandlung und ursprünglich betrug die Strafe drei Monate Haft. Aber dann brach in der "Liesl" - so nannten die Wiener das Polizeigefängnis in der Rossauer Kaserne, in dem meine Mutter ihre Haftstrafe absaß - ein Hungerstreik aus.

Man hielt meine Mutter fälschlicherweise für eine der Rädelsführerinnen und sie musste drei Monate länger im Gefängnis sitzen. Mein Vater besuchte sie und machte ihr keine Vorwürfe. Das war wieder sehr anständig von ihm. Um uns kümmerte sich in diesem halben Jahr unser Hausmädchen.

Nach der Volksschule, im Jahre 1935, machten wir am Schuhmeier-Platz, im 16. Bezirk, die Aufnahmeprüfung für das Gymnasium. Damals musste man eine Aufnahmeprüfung machen. Ich bestand die Prüfung mit 'sehr gut' und mein Bruder bestand die Prüfung nicht.

Aber auch ich wurde wegen angeblichen Platzmangels abgewiesen. Das waren Dollfuß-Zeiten 11 und die waren ganz deutlich antisemitisch. Daraufhin sagte mein Vater zu mir: 'Na dann gehst du halt ins Chajes-Gymnasium'. Das war das jüdische Realgymnasium im 20. Bezirk, in der Staudingergasse.

Ich heulte Rotz und Wasser, denn ich wollte nicht zu den Orthodoxen. Ich hatte mir vorgestellt, dass dort lauter Religiöse mit Pejes 12 herumlaufen. Daraufhin sagte mein Vater: 'Gut, dann gehst du in die Hauptschule.' Das wollte ich aber auch nicht, denn ich wollte ja studieren.

Für meinen Vater als Angestellten der Kultusgemeinde war es kein Problem, mich in das Chajes-Gymnasium einschreiben zu lassen. Ich glaube, ich war die 39. Schülerin in meiner Klasse. In dieser Schule war ich dann drei Jahre lang sehr glücklich.

Im Chajes-Gymnasium lernten Buben und Mädchen in gemeinsamen Klassen. Wir waren eine sehr gute Klassengemeinschaft, hatten zwei Klassensprecher, einen Burschen und ein Mädchen als Assistent. Zwei Jahre wurde ich zur Klassensprecherassistentin gewählt.

Der Direktor, Viktor Kellner, war autoritär und infolgedessen auch nicht sehr beliebt. Aber die Lehrer waren wunderbar, zum Teil wirklich fortschrittlich aufgeschlossen und sozial denkend. Jüdische Lehrer, die den Antisemitismus in den Mittelschulen erleben mussten, haben sich gefreut, wenn sie im Chajes-Gymnasium unterrichten durften, das heißt, die Schule konnte sich ihre Lehrer wirklich aussuchen. Unsere Lehrer waren hervorragende Fachleute und überhaupt nicht alle orthodox, wie ich mir das vorgestellt hatte.

Es gab orthodoxe Schüler, es gab die Religionslehrer - die orthodox waren. Im Großen und Ganzen war das aber eine normale Schule, außer, dass wir am Samstag frei hatten und am Sonntag in die Schule gehen mussten. Das war mir natürlich unangenehm.

Ich bin jeden Tag den weiten Weg vom 13. in den 20. Bezirk gefahren: mit den Straßenbahnen 62 und 60, mit der Stadtbahn Wiental- Linie und der Straßenbahn Nummer 5. Jeden Tag hatten wir eine Stunde Hebräisch. Auf Grund der zusätzlichen Hebräischstunde hatten wir immer bis 14 Uhr Unterricht und zweimal wöchentlich auch nachmittags.

An diesen Tagen habe ich Kostgeld von meinen Eltern bekommen. Dafür habe ich mir aber nur eine trockene Semmel gekauft und den Rest für Eis und Bücher verwendet. Wenn ich nachmittags Unterricht hatte, hatte ich eine Pause und in der Zeit bin ich herum gestrolcht, denn der Weg nach Hause wäre zu weit gewesen. Ich war die einzige in der Klasse, die so weit entfernt wohnte.

In der Nähe der Schule, in der Klosterneuburger Straße, hat die Familie Scheer gewohnt. Esther Scheer war eine politische Gefährtin meiner Mutter und ist mit ihr im Gefängnis gesessen. Ihr Mann war Fotograf, ein Künstler und er retuschierte seine Fotografien künstlerisch. Sie hatten eine Tochter, die etwas jünger war als ich.

Ich ging oft zu den Scheers, wenn ich auch am Nachmittag Unterricht hatte. Sie waren sehr nett zu mir und gaben mir auch zu essen. Die Familie Scheer ist rechtzeitig nach Amerika emigriert, nach dem Krieg wieder nach Wien gekommen und hat ein Geschäft eröffnet auf der Hollandstrasse 6. Die Eltern sind in den 50er Jahren gestorben und die Tochter hat das Geschäft übernommen. Sie hat dann aber einen Ausländer geheiratet und ich verlor sie aus den Augen.

Ich hatte den Ruf, eine gute Schülerin zu sein, und so bemerkte der Hebräischlehrer erst zum Halbjahr, dass ich überhaupt nichts konnte. Da habe ich den einzigen Fünfer in meinem Leben bekommen. Das motivierte mich dann wenigstens zu sporadischem Lernen. Wir haben den 'Chumasch' [Pentateuch] übersetzt und das interessierte mich auch. Aber zu mehr als zu einem Zweier hab ich es nie gebracht.

Frau Dr. Stella Klein-Löw [später SPÖ-Abgeordnete zum Nationalrat] war meine Lateinlehrerin. Ihre Nichte Lydia ging in meine Klasse und war ein ähnlicher Fall wie mein Bruder. Sie hat nicht gut gelernt und war immer vom Durchfallen bedroht. Lydia wurde meine Freundin und Frau Dr. Klein-Löw hat mich gebeten, mit Lydia zu lernen.

Lydia verbesserte sich dann auch wirklich und ist durchgekommen. Frau Dr. Klein-Löw war eine wunderbare Pädagogin. Zum Beispiel gab es den Schülerscherz, Kreide auf den Kathedersessel zu schmieren. Sie kam in die Klasse und bemerkte das, nahm ihr Taschentuch, wischte den Sessel ab, zeigte das Taschentuch herum und sagte:

'Seht ihr, das hätte ich jetzt alles in meinem Rock gehabt und dann hätte ich den Rock zum Putzen geben müssen. Habt ihr das gewollt?' Das war eine wunderbare Methode uns klarzumachen, dass das so lustig nun auch wieder nicht ist.

Unser Mathematikprofessor war ein eher autoritärer Typ. Wir nannten ihn die gelbe Brillenschlange und ich hatte sogar begonnen, einen Roman über die gelbe Brillenschlange zu schreiben. Die ersten zwei Kapitel las ich dann der Klasse vor, die sich sehr amüsierte.

Eine Deutschlehrerin aus unserer Schule, Sonja Wachtel, wurde später in Israel eine ziemlich berühmte Schriftstellerin. Sie war sehr fortschrittlich und wir haben bei ihr viel über Literatur gelernt.

Unsere Turnprofessorin Frau Löwenthal war sehr lieb und sehr sozial. Wir fuhren mit ihr auf Schikurse. Ich war eine gute Turnerin, hatte aber keine Schiausrüstung. Da es ihr ein Anliegen war, dass alle Kinder mitfahren, organisierte sie für mich die nötige Ausrüstung.

• Während des Krieges

Unvergesslich ist die Zeit von März 1938 bis zum Schuljahresende 1938 für mich. Das waren meine letzten Monate in Wien vor der Emigration. Da kamen viele Schüler in die Schule, die aus den anderen Schulen ausgeschult worden waren, weil sie jüdisch waren. Ich glaube, wir waren zu dieser Zeit über 50 Kinder in der Klasse.

Die dazu gekommenen Kinder haben mich tief beeindruckt. Die waren alle sehr deprimiert, weil sie zum Teil nicht einmal gewusst hatten, dass sie Juden sind. Sie waren oft aus getauften Familien, christlich erzogen, und auf einmal waren sie Juden. Das werde ich nie vergessen können.

Die ganze Klassengemeinschaft hat sich um diese Kinder gekümmert, wir nahmen sie absolut auf. Aber es gab schon eine Stimmung der Auflösung; mehrere wussten, dass sie emigrieren werden. Es war nur noch eine 'Schule auf Zeit' für viele der Schüler.

Meiner Lateinlehrerin Frau Dr. Klein-Löw ist dann die Flucht nach England gelungen, wo sie als Hausgehilfin gearbeitet hat. Lydia ist die Flucht nach Amerika gelungen. Nelly Szabo, auch eine Freundin aus der Schule, flüchtete ebenfalls nach Amerika.

Ich hatte noch längere Zeit Kontakt zu ihr, aber wenn man sich nie sieht, dann verliert sich das irgendwann. Etlichen aus meiner Klasse gelang die Flucht, aber natürlich nicht allen. Meistens schafften es die wohlhabenderen Familien. Den ärmeren Familien gelang die Flucht oft nicht mehr. Manchmal gelang es ihnen aber wenigstens, ihre Kinder wegzuschicken.

Wie alle jüdischen Kinder ist natürlich auch mein Bruder aus seiner Schule geworfen worden und musste dann im 14. Bezirk in eine Sammelschule für Juden gehen.

Mein Vater hatte in der Nähe des Aspanger Flughafens - dieser Flughafen existierte seit 1912 - ein Grundstück gekauft und bearbeitet. Er hatte es dort gekauft, weil es billig war. Jedes Wochenende fuhren wir also von der einen auf die andere Seite Wiens, nach Eßling, - das war eine lange Fahrt.

Allerdings mussten wir am Schwedenplatz umsteigen, da gab es schon damals das herrliche Eisgeschäft, das es auch heute noch gibt. Wir bekamen jedes Mal ein Eis um zehn Groschen. Ende März 1938 wurde mein Vater verhaftet. Der Nachbar des Grundstückes in Eßling war ein Nazi, das wussten wir. Und dieser Nachbar wollte unser Grundstück haben.

Mein Vater wurde also vorgeladen und aufgefordert, zu unterschreiben, dass er das Grundstück dem Nachbarn übergibt. Mein Vater verweigerte seine Unterschrift mit dem Argument, er hätte das Grundstück gekauft, sei im Grundbuch eingetragen und sähe keine Ursache, es dem Nachbarn zu übergeben.

Er glaubte, als alter Frontkämpfer würde er von den Nazis selbstverständlich respektiert werden. Einen Dreck respektierten das die Nazis. Sie verhafteten und inhaftierten ihn im 20. Bezirk in einer Schule in der Karajangasse. Da wurden die Juden gesammelt und nach Dachau deportiert.

Mein Vater war auf dem so genannten 'Prominententransport' in das KZ Dachau am 1. April 1938. Unter den 150 Häftlingen befanden sich bekannte Politiker und Gegner des nationalsozialistischen Regimes: Christlichsoziale, Monarchisten, Sozialdemokraten, Kommunisten und etwa 50-60 Menschen jüdischer Religion oder Herkunft.

Ab 1936 hatte meine Mutter begonnen, für eine Organisation, die in Zusammenarbeit mit der Kultusgemeinde entstand, jüdische Mädchen als Hausgehilfinnen nach England zu vermitteln. 1938, wenige Tage nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen, hatten wir wieder eine Hausdurchsuchung.

Diese Hausdurchsuchung unterschied sich durch noch größere Brutalität von der ersten Hausdurchsuchung im Jahre 1936. Die scheuten nicht davor zurück, unsere Federbetten auszuschlitzen und viele Gegenstände zu zerstören. Alle Bücher wurden herausgerissen und teilweise zerrissen. Mein Bruder und ich waren dabei.

Das war eine wichtige politische Schulung für uns. Meine Mutter hatte mir einen Packen Papier in die Hand gegeben und mich damit aufs Klo geschickt. Diese Papiere wären gefährlich für sie geworden. Ich zerriss das alles und schmiss es ins Klo; weg war es.

Sie fanden also nichts, was wirklich für meine Mutter gefährlich geworden wäre, aber sie fanden den Koffer mit den ganzen Unterlagen für die England-Aktion. Sie konfiszierten den Koffer, weil sie glaubten, dass sie daraus vielleicht einen Spionagefall oder so etwas konstruieren könnten. Das waren Nazijünglinge, die nicht Englisch konnten und auch sonst nicht sehr gebildet waren.

Ungefähr 14 Tage nach der Hausdurchsuchung wurde meine Mutter zum Bezirksamt auf der Hietzinger Brücke vorgeladen. Sie nahm mich mit, weil sie dachte, in Gegenwart eines Kindes würden die Nazis ein bisschen moderater mit ihr verfahren.

Sie hatte Angst, denn mein Vater war zu dieser Zeit schon inhaftiert. Wir kamen zu dem Obernazi und der fuhr meine Mutter brutal an: 'Je mehr von denen Sie vermitteln desto besser.' Er verhielt sich so, wie man es von einem richtigen Nazi erwartete.

Zum Schluss sagte er: 'Und am besten, Sie nehmen sich gleich eins von diesen Permits 13 selber.' Diese Bemerkung nahm meine Mutter sehr ernst. Sie beantragte sofort ein Permit, nahm einen dieser Hausmädchenposten selbst an und beantragte unsere Ausreise.

Heute bin ich der Überzeugung, dass dieser Nazi nicht so bösartig war und uns mit seiner letzten Bemerkung einen Hinweis geben wollte. Da aber im Raum noch zwei oder drei SA-Männer anwesend waren, konnte er es nur auf diese brutale Art und Weise tun. Meine Mutter bat mich danach aufzuschreiben, was ich da eben erlebt hatte und irgendwo besitze ich das auch noch.

Mein Bruder und ich sahen unseren Vater nie wieder. Als er aus dem KZ entlassen wurde, waren wir nicht mehr in Österreich. Die Briefe meines Vaters aus dem KZ waren ein erschütterndes Erlebnis für uns, denn die lauteten so: Liebe Liesl, liebe Kinder! Dann war ein großes Stück ausgeschnitten und unten stand:

Es grüßt und küsst euch euer Vater Bela. Ich kann mir nicht vorstellen, was mein Vater geschrieben haben könnte in dem Bewusstsein, dass er in KZ-Haft ist, was er nicht hätte schreiben dürfen. Wir hatten meinem Vater Pakete ins KZ nach Dachau geschickt. Vielleicht hatte er geschrieben, dass er keine Pakete bekommen hat. Ich weiß es nicht, ich weiß es überhaupt nicht. Aber jedenfalls war das etwas, was mir auch sehr eindringlich die Natur des neuen Regimes demonstrierte.

Als ich in die Schule gefahren bin, habe ich in der Innenstadt Juden gesehen, die die Straßen aufwaschen mussten, ich habe die Reaktionen der Bevölkerung erlebt und die offenen Drohungen durchaus ernst genommen. Das war ein eindeutiges Signal für alle, die es wissen wollten.

Es war nicht schwierig, die Notwendigkeit einer Flucht einzusehen, wenngleich wir nicht so ohne weiteres und freudig das Land verlassen haben. Ein Tropfen Wehmut und Angst war auch dabei. Angst, was die Zukunft bringt und natürlich Angst um unseren Vater. Rafael und ich fuhren Mitte September, kurz vor unserem dreizehnten Geburtstag nach London.

Unsere Mutter brachte uns zum Westbahnhof. Ich kann mich erinnern, ich habe dieses Gefühl noch ganz deutlich in mir, ich wusste schon damals ganz genau: Ich komme wieder! Wir wussten, unsere Mutter kommt in zwei, drei Wochen nach, aber wir wussten nicht, dass sie uns früher schickte, weil sie Angst hatte, dass der Krieg ausbricht und wir dann verloren wären.

Viele Kinder mussten ohne ihre Eltern mit Kindertransporten nach England fahren und haben sie nie wieder gesehen. Zum Glück waren wir noch nicht so gescheit, wie wir es jetzt sind. Meine Mutter hat noch die Wohnung aufgelöst, nahm aber keine Möbel, nur Bettwäsche und solche Sachen mit.

Zum Teil verteilte sie unsere Sachen aus der Wohnung an Freunde, denn es war klar, dass mein Vater, wenn er entlassen wird, die Wohnung nicht mehr betraten darf. Unsere Mutter kam zwei oder drei Wochen nach uns, nachdem sie ein Permit für meinen Vater auf der englischen Botschaft deponiert hatte.

Vielleicht aufgrund des Permits wurde mein Vater aus dem Dachau entlassen, aber als er wieder in Wien war - das war im Juli oder August 1939 - existierte die britische Botschaft eigentlich nicht mehr. Offiziell war sie im Urlaub, denn es war ja Urlaubszeit, aber sie kamen nicht zurück, denn der Krieg war absehbar.

Mein Vater hielt sich dann einige Zeit illegal in Budapest auf, wurde aber ausgewiesen und ist nach Wien zurückgekehrt. In Wien lebte er gemeinsam mit anderen Juden in einer so genannten 'Sammelwohnung'. Da man den Juden ihre Wohnungen weggenommen hatte, wohnten viele jüdische Familien zusammen in einer Wohnung.

Ich glaube, mein Vater war im 2. Bezirk. Im September 1940 ist es ihm gelungen, eines von vier Schiffen zu besteigen, die illegal versuchten, Palästina zu erreichen. Im rumänischen Donauhafen Tulcea wurden die Passagiere auf drei Hochseedampfer umgeschifft. Statt wie vorgesehen 150 Passagiere befanden sich - zum Beispiel auf der 'Atlantic' - 1 800 flüchtende Passagiere.

Die Reise verlief sehr dramatisch. Die Mannschaft streikte, forderte mehr Lohn, doch nach über drei Monaten erreichte mein Vater den Hafen von Haifa. Aber nach kurzem Aufenthalt im Internierungslager Atlith bei Haifa transportierten die Briten die knapp dem Tode entronnenen Flüchtlinge mit einem Schiff nach Mauritius.

Mauritius war schrecklich, die Menschen hatten alles verloren, wussten nichts über ihre Verwandten, und viele starben an Tropenkrankheiten. Mein Vater machte sich auf Mauritius ein Stück Land urbar, legte einen Garten an und züchtete Pflanzen, die er dort fand. Er wusste wenigstens, dass wir in England sind und dadurch in relativer Sicherheit.

In London wurden wir vom 'Jewish Committee For Refugee Children' abgeholt und nach Deal gebracht. Deal ist eine kleine Stadt an der Küste in der Nähe von Dover. Dort war ein so genanntes Kinderheim, das von einem Mister Howard geleitet wurde. Mister Howard war Schuldirektor einer einklassigen Landschule.

Er hatte ein großes Haus mit einem großen Garten. In diesem Haus das 'The Glack' hieß, wohnte er mit seiner Frau und seinen beiden Kindern und nahm Flüchtlingskinder auf, deren Eltern dafür zahlten und solche wie wir, die vom Komitee geschickt wurden. Zwischen den Kindern zahlender Eltern und den Kindern vom Komitee machte er einen großen Unterschied.

Wir vom Komitee mussten im Haushalt und im Garten helfen, die anderen waren dieser Pflicht enthoben. Ich habe Wäsche gewaschen, Betten gemacht und zeitweise in der Küche geholfen; Rafael hat im Garten gearbeitet. Natürlich hat uns das aufgeragt. Mister Howard war eine sehr autoritäre Persönlichkeit.

Er nahm uns mit Vorliebe mit in seine Schule, um uns zu demonstrieren, wie er dort über eine Schar von Kindern herrschte. Er hat vor uns die Kinder über die Finger geschlagen, auch um uns zu zeigen was passiert, wenn wir uns nicht fügen. Mrs. Howard war eine etwas freundlichere Frau, die versuchte, unseren Wünschen, zum Beispiel was das Essen betrifft, nachzukommen.

In dem Kinderheim gab es auch einen Tanzkurs, den Mister Howard mit einem Tanzlehrer für die Jugend im Ort organisierte. Weil mehr Burschen als Mädchen kamen, mussten wir Mädchen aus dem Heim zum Tanzkurs. Das wollten wir nicht, wir waren noch zu jung.

Aber das Schrecklichste war, wenn Mister Howard uns die 'Ehre' gab und uns zum Tanz aufforderte. Er war ein starker Pfeifenraucher und hat nach Rauch gestunken, und ich habe das Tanzen mit ihm in allerschlimmster Erinnerung. Das trieb mir die Tanzlust fürs Leben aus.

Mein Bruder hatte in Wien in der Schule keinen Englischunterricht. Ich hatte drei Jahre Englisch gelernt und konnte mich verständigen. Mein Bruder, der in England seinen zweiten Vornamen Erwin annahm, weil er statt Rafael immer Ralf gerufen wurde und ihn das ärgerte, schwieg zwei Monate lang. Er sprach deutsch, sagte aber kein einziges englisches Wort. Nach zwei Monaten sprach er perfekt Englisch.

Genau zu dieser Zeit kamen wir in die 'Central School', das war die Hauptschule im Ort. Mein Bruder kam in die Bubenschule, und ich ging in die Mädchenschule. Das damalige englische Schulsystem sah vor, dass in den Mädchenschulen viel weniger gelehrt wurde, als in den Bubenschulen.

Mädchen lernten zum Beispiel keine Algebra in Mathematik, während der Erwin mit Algebra geplagt wurde. Aber ich konnte ihm helfen, denn ich hatte in Wien gut gelernt. Meine Deutsch- und Geschichtelehrerin Miss Billings interessierte sich sehr für mich und nahm mich unter ihre Fittiche. Sie gab mir Bücher und ich besitze noch heute eines von ihr. Durch sie wurde der Aufenthalt dort für mich etwas erträglicher, denn wir waren unglücklich in diesem Heim.

Unsere Mutter war in London, aber sie arbeitete in einem Haushalt und konnte uns nicht besuchen. Wir haben uns natürlich bei ihr in unseren Briefen beklagt, aber es nutzte nichts, sie konnte uns nicht bei sich haben, das wäre unmöglich gewesen.

An unserem dreizehnten Geburtstag kam mein Bruder zu mir und sagte: 'So Hannah, jetzt sind wir 13, jetzt schlag ich dich nicht mehr.'

Nach einem Jahr ist unser Aufenthalt in Deal sehr dramatisch zu Ende gegangen. Eines Tages musste mein Bruder wieder im Garten helfen und irgendetwas war nicht zur Zufriedenheit des Mr. Howard geschehen, und er hat ihn zur Rede gestellt.

Mr. Howard war wütend und gab meinem Bruder eine Watschen. Nun waren wir so etwas nicht gewöhnt. Mr. Howard war ein kleiner Mann, mein Bruder ziemlich groß und kräftig, und er schlug zurück. Dieses Ereignis war im Endeffekt ein großes Glück, denn es war der Grund dafür, dass wir sehr schnell nach London geschickt wurden.

Allerdings war das auch das Ende unseres gemeinsamen Lebens, denn Rafael kam in ein Bubenheim, und ich kam in ein Mädchenheim. Meine Mutter verbrachte ihre freien Nachmittage natürlich mit uns. Sie hat uns aus den Heimen abgeholt, wir sind gemeinsam eine Kleinigkeit essen gegangen oder in einem Park spaziert und dann brachte sie uns wieder zurück.

Für uns Kinder war das Erlernen der englischen Sprache leicht, aber für ältere Menschen, so wie meine Mutter, war das ein Problem. Einmal zum Beispiel sind meine Mutter, mein Bruder und ich auf der Straße gegangen. Meine Mutter konnte ein bisschen Englisch und hatte auch inzwischen noch mehr gelernt, aber wir konnten es natürlich besser.

Und wir ärgerten sie mit Schimpfwörtern, und sie wollte, dass wir aufhören und sagte aus voller Überzeugung: 'Oh, pipe up! Sie wollte sagen: 'Halt den Mund!' Das trug natürlich noch mehr zu unserer Belustigung bei, denn es heißt: Pipe down! Es entwickelte sich unter den Emigranten das so genannte Emigranto. Das war Deutsch und Englisch gemischt, wie zum Beispiel der Satz: Ich hab schon meine Schule gechangt.

Frau Dr. Gellner, eine Deutsche, die Direktorin des Mädchenheims in London, hatte einen geistig behinderten Sohn. Michael konnte nicht in die Schule gehen. Ich habe mich mit ihm befreundet und begonnen, ihn zu unterrichten. Das war der Beginn meiner pädagogischen Karriere.

Ich beschloss, mich beruflich mit Kindern zu beschäftigen, nachdem ich wegen der Emigration meinen eigentlichen Berufswunsch, nämlich Ärztin zu werden, aufgegeben hatte. Als ich die Aufnahmeprüfung für eine public school in Bristol - die Badminton School For Girls - bestanden hatte und London verließ, übergab ich meiner ehemaligen Lateinlehrerin aus Wien, Frau Dr. Klein-Löw, die sich 1939 als Hausgehilfin nach London gerettet hatte, den Michael, und sie förderte in weiter. 1946 ging sie wieder zurück nach Wien, wurde Mittelschulprofessorin und Direktorin eines Gymnasiums in Floridsdorf.

Sie wurde Mitglied der Parteivertretung der SPÖ, Mitglied des Zentralkomitees der SPÖ, Mitglied des Bezirksvorstandes der SPÖ Wien/Leopoldstadt, war Schulsprecherin im Parlament, und ich war bis zu ihrem Tod im Jahre 1986 mit ihr befreundet.

Diese public schools sind keine öffentlichen Schulen, sondern sehr teure Schulen für die Kinder von Begüterten. Meine Schule war eine renommierte und sehr fortschrittliche Schule. Es gab mehrere Emigranten, von denen ich anfangs die Jüngste war. Wir hatten sehr viele Möglichkeiten Sport zu treiben, es gab ein Schwimmbad, Tennisplätze, Hockeyfelder und vieles mehr.

Die Schule wurde dann, als das Bombardement auf Bristol zu gefährlich war, in ein vormaliges Hotel an der Nordküste von Devonshire in Lynmouth, einem kleinen Fischerort, evakuiert. Das war eine sehr wilde und sehr schöne Gegend dort. Ich erinnere mich, das Hotel war in Küstenähe, wir schauten hinunter aufs Meer und der Abhang zum Meer war bewachsen mit Rhododendron- SträuchernRhododendren-Sträuchern. So etwas habe ich nie wieder gesehen, ein derartig riesiges Meer Rhododendron.

Wir sind dort sehr viel spazieren gegangen. Diese Spaziergänge waren immer so organisiert, dass eine Schülerin einer höheren Klasse für eine Gruppe von drei bis fünf Schülerinnen einer niederen Klasse verantwortlich war. Wir haben sehr viel politisiert, zum Beispiel über den Heß 14 der damals nach England geflogen war.

Sonntag war entweder Kirchenbesuch oder es gab ein Quäker-Meeting. Die Quäker versammelten sich in einem großen Saal und es wurde nicht gebetet, sondern irgendwer schlug ein Thema vor. Wenn es passte, wurde es aufgegriffen und man sprach darüber. Das artete dann immer in politische Diskussionen aus, was natürlich absolut nicht die Absicht der Veranstalter war. Ich ging entweder zu diesen Quäker-Meetings oder spazieren. Für die Juden gab es nichts, weil es zu wenige jüdische Schülerinnen gab.

Anfang Juni 1941 hatte ich die Prüfungen hinter mir und verließ die Schule mit dem Cambridge School Certificate. Wenn man einen bestimmten Notendurchschnitt erreichte, bekam man auch das London School Certificate dazu und konnte sowohl in Cambridge als auch in London studieren. Das Unterrichtsministerium in Wien erkannte mein Zeugnis 1946 als Maturazeugnis an.

Mein Bruder war in dem Knabenheim und ging noch ein Jahr in die Schule. Danach begann er mit einer Lehre als Feinmechaniker in einer großen Fabrik in London. Der Teil der Fabrik, in dem er arbeitete, wurde nach Cheltenham evakuiert, und dort blieb er eine ziemlich lange Zeit. Er besuchte eine Abendschule und wurde Ingenieur.

Danach arbeitete er sich in einer kleinen Fabrik in Wales hinauf zum Direktor. Da war der Krieg schon zu Ende. Er heiratete in London Rosslyn, die Tochter eines jüdischen Spielzeugfabrikanten und nach der Hochzeit arbeitete er mit in der väterlichen Fabrik. Sie bekamen zwei Söhne, Lorenz und Robert, mit denen er mich einmal nach dem Krieg in Wien besucht hat.

Wir gingen in den Rathauskeller essen. Danach machte ich jahrelang einen Bogen um den Rathauskeller. Auch jetzt, Jahrzehnte später, wenn ich dort vorbeigehe, muss ich noch immer an den Wirbel, den diese beiden kleinen Buben dort veranstalteten, denken.

Noch in den 1950er- Jahren wanderten mein Bruder und seine Familie nach Kanada - in die Nähe von Toronto - aus. Sie bekamen noch zwei Kinder, Tamara und Jonathan, und er übernahm dort die Vertretung einer großen Firma, die mit Drehbänken handelte. Er gab sich weniger mit Produktion, sondern mehr mit Organisation von Service und Verkauf, Import und Export, ab.

Die Ehe ging auseinander, seine Frau verließ ihn, aber die Kinder blieben bei ihm. Später heiratete er Marion, eine Kanadierin. Sie war nicht jüdisch und sie bekamen einen Sohn Matthew. Auch diese Ehe ging auseinander. Mit seiner dritten Frau Neisa, die jüdisch ist, lebt er in den USA, in Miami.

Mein Bruder hat in Miami einen großen jüdischen Freundeskreis, aber er ist nicht religiös und in die Synagoge geht er nur zu Konzerten. Er hat Kontakte zur jüdischen Gemeinde, aber er ist sicher ein Atheist. Seine Kinder sind mit jüdischen und mit nicht jüdischen Partnern verheiratet.

Meine Mutter arbeitete nach ihrer Arbeit als Hausmädchen als Spitalsköchin. Das war besser als im Haushalt zu dienen. Sie konnte das sogar, weil sie ja in Wien oft während der jüdischen Feiertage eine Art Großküche geführt hatte. Nach zwei Jahren, sie war auch schon über Fünfzig und die Arbeit war körperlich schwer, bekam sie einen Büroposten. Als sie dann im Büro arbeitete, mietete sie sich eine kleine Wohnung. So habe ich, nachdem ich die Schule erfolgreich beendet hatte, bei ihr in London gewohnt.

Beim jüdischen Komitee sagten sie mir, ich hätte die Chance, bei einer 'gnädigen Frau' einen Posten im Haushalt zu bekommen, da würde ich alles lernen, was man für die Führung eines guten Haushaltes braucht. Das war Kilometer entfernt von dem, was ich mir über meine Zukunft vorgestellt hatte. Ich ging sehr deprimiert von dort weg und begegnete auf der Straße einer Bekannten meiner Mutter.

Die sagte zu mir: 'Du, ich hab gehört, in Hamsted hat Anna Freud ein Kinderheim aufgemacht und sucht junge Betreuerinnen für dieses Heim. Warum gehst du nicht zu der?' Ich hatte keine Ahnung, wer Anna Freud ist, aber Kinder, das klang gut. Also suchte ich im Telefonbuch und ging dann nach 20, Maresfield Gardens, das war die Adresse von Anna Freud und klopfte an die Tür.

Eine Frau, offensichtlich die Haushälterin, öffnete und sagte im besten Englisch: 'Wat du ju wont' - woraufhin ich sofort wusste, dass sie keine Engländerin ist. Das war Paula Fichtl aus Salzburg, die schon in Wien Haushälterin bei der Familie Freud war. Obwohl sie keine Jüdin war, ist sie mit der Familie Freud in die Emigration gegangen. Ich sagte, dass ich gern mit Miss Freud sprechen würde und wurde für den nächsten Tag eingeladen.

Am nächsten Tag führte man mich in die Bibliothek von Anna Freud, das war auch die Bibliothek von Sigmund Freud, ihrem Vater. Diese Bibliothek war ein großer Raum, ziemlich dunkel und mit einigen Totems, die er erworben hatte. Er interessierte sich sehr für solche Dinge. Zwei Damen saßen in dem Raum, die eine war Anna Freud, eine sehr imposante Erscheinung mit sehr interessanten Augen, einem langen Rock und Haferlschuhen [Trachtenschuhe].

Die andere Dame war Mrs. Burlingham, eine Mitarbeiterin und langjährige Freundin von Anna Freud. Anna Freud führte mit mir ein Interview über meine Familie, meine Geschichte, meine Ausbildung und fragte, warum ich mit Kindern arbeiten wolle. Mrs. Burlingham schwieg und lächelte mir ermutigend zu.

Nach einem zweistündigen Gespräch sagte Anna Freud, ich solle am nächsten Tag nach 5, Netherhall Gardens kommen. Ich würde als 'trainee' für die Arbeit mit den Kindern im Heim und zum Lernen aufgenommen. Ich könne auch dort in einem Haus wohnen und würde ein kleines Taschengeld bekommen.

Das Heim wurde von der 'Foster Parents Plan For War Children', einer amerikanischen Stiftung finanziert, und Anna Freud musste jeden Monat einen Bericht über die Arbeit mit den Kindern schicken, die vom Säuglingsalter bis zum Alter von fünf Jahren waren. Damals wurden Kinder in England im Alter von fünf Jahren eingeschult.

Über zwei Jahre habe ich im Heim gearbeitet und gelernt. Das Personal war so organisiert, daß jede Abteilung eine Leiterin hatte und unter ihr arbeiteten die 'trainees'. Von den meisten Kindern hatten die Eltern keine Wohnung mehr, sie waren umgekommen oder ausgebombt.

Diese obdachlosen Kinder schliefen dann im 'Shelter' und das war eine Katastrophe. Sie waren oft krank, wurden eingesammelt und ins Heim gebracht. Für ältere Kinder gab es dann auch ein Heim am Land. Die jüngeren Kinder sollten in London bleiben, weil Anna Freud sagte, diese Kinder brauchen noch den engen Kontakt mit der Familie, die ja manchmal noch existierte. Es war die Zeit, wo jede Nacht die Flugzeuge kamen; die Kinder mussten dann alle unten im Shelter schlafen. Die älteren Kinder auf dem Land blieben davon verschont.

Ich habe sehr viel erlebt in diesen Jahren bei Anna Freud. Das waren - frei nach Gorki, pflege ich zu sagen - 'Meine Universitäten'. Ich habe dort mehr über Kinder gelernt, als später in Wien auf der Universität. Meine Mutter behauptete damals, meine Welt sei mit Windeln zugehängt, weil ich ganz in dieser Arbeit aufgegangen bin.

Nach etwas über zwei Jahren habe ich mir eine andere Arbeit gesucht, weil es mir auf die Nerven ging, immer die Jüngste zu sein. Als Mitarbeiterin wurde ich geschätzt, aber ich wollte schon endlich eine eigene Gruppe leiten.

Zuerst bin ich zu einer Frau, die so etwas wie eine Großfamilie gegründet hatte gegangen, aber die Methoden, die sie anwendete, waren nicht das, was ich mir vorstellte. Theoretisch hatte alles sehr gut geklungen, aber die Praxis sah anders aus.

Dann hatte ich das Glück im österreichischen Kindergarten des 'Austrian Centres' 15 als Kindergärtnerin arbeiten zu dürfen. Dort übernahm ich dann eine Gruppe. Die Fernseh-Journalistin Toni Spira, die Sängerin Lena Rothstein, der Mathematikprofessor Walter Fleischer und viele andere Emigrantenkinder gingen in diesen Kindergarten.

Das war eine fantastische Gruppe, aus allen ist etwas geworden. Viele waren auf Grund ihres Hintergrundes außergewöhnlich begabt, die meisten hatten jüdische Eltern. Als die Deutschen London mit V2-Raketen beschossen, wurde der Kindergarten für ein Jahr nach Schottland evakuiert. Schottland war sehr interessant für mich, es war eine andere Landschaft und die Bevölkerung war sehr nett zu uns.

Kommunistin war ich schon zu dieser Zeit, aber nicht Mitglied, sondern nur Kandidatin. Ich war deshalb nicht Mitglied der Partei, weil ich nicht aufgenommen wurde. Ich war immer in einer Gruppe, in der viel diskutiert wurde. Wir lasen zusammen die Geschichte der KPDSU und kommentierten sie.

Meine Mutter kritisierte die Partei und war mit vielen Dingen nicht einverstanden. Zum Beispiel auch damit nicht, dass gesagt wurde, Tolstoi sei ein Verräter gewesen. Sie war auch sehr kritisch Stalin gegenüber und meinte, dass er Kirow 16 umbringen ließ.

Auch sie wurde nie in die Partei aufgenommen. Im 'Austrian Centre' arbeiteten wir lange an Plänen über die Organisation der Reemigration nach Österreich und wir waren überzeugt davon, dass Österreich nur darauf warte, dass wir so schnell wie möglich zurückkommen.

• Nach dem Krieg

Nach dem Krieg suchte mein Vater uns und meine Mutter suchte ihn. Ich glaube, meine Mutter fand ihn, als er noch auf Mauritius war, denn ich bekam aus Mauritius Post von ihm.

Als ich im September 1946 nach Österreich zurückkehrte, übersiedelte meine Mutter einige Monate später zu meinem Vater nach Palästina. Er lebte in Petach Tikva und hatte zu dieser Zeit schon eine Gärtnerei und ein kleines Geschäft. Er hatte Pflanzen aus Mauritius mitgebracht und war bestimmt glücklich, sich dieser Arbeit widmen zu können.

Ich weiß nicht genau, ob das sein Lebenstraum war, wir sprachen nie darüber, und ich weiß auch nicht, ob mein Vater nach allen seinen Erlebnissen noch der Mann war, den meine Mutter gekannt hatte. Bis 1952 wohnten sie zusammen in Israel; er hatte sein kleines Blumengeschäft und die Gärtnerei, und sie arbeitete als Übersetzerin.

Ich kam nach acht Jahren wieder am Wiener Westbahnhof an. Der war nicht wieder zu erkennen. Er war vollkommen zerstört, nur für den Zoll waren Hütten aufgestellt, das sah sehr trist aus.

Zuerst wohnte ich bei der Familie Graber, bei der ich schon das letzte Jahr in London gelebt hatte und deren Kinder im österreichischen Kindergarten waren. Herr Graber war bei der Englischen Armee und hatte dadurch ein Haus am Küniglberg zugewiesen bekommen; ich bekam ein Zimmer im Souterrain. Das Zimmer war sehr schön und zum Garten hinaus. Ich ging zu 'Kinderland' - das war die Kinderorganisation der Partei - und bat um Arbeit in einem Kindergarten.

Sie sagten, ich soll nach Vorarlberg gehen, dort in einer Fabrik arbeiten und dort die FÖJ 17, die Freie Österreichische Jugend, organisieren. Ich habe gesagt: 'Nein, das tue ich nicht!' Das war das zweite Mal in meinem Leben, das ich mich geweigert habe, etwas zu tun, das ich absolut nicht tun wollte.

Daraufhin wurde mir ein Kindergarten mit einer Gruppe zugewiesen. Das Haus, in dem sich der Kindergarten befand, gehörte einem jüdischen Besitzer. Als das Haus dem Besitzer zurückgegeben wurde, war das auch das Ende des Kindergartens.

Eines Tages traf ich auf der Straße eine Bekannte die mir erzählte, dass sie in eine Schule für Kindergärtnerinnen geht. Das wollte ich auch und ging aufs Wiener Jugendamt. Der Leiter des Amtes, Anton Tesarek, hat sich bereits vor dem Krieg sehr für die Psychoanalyse interessiert.

Als er hörte, daßdass ich zwei Jahre bei Anna Freud gelernt hatte, meinte er, ich soll es probieren. Innerhalb von zwei Monaten habe ich mich als Gastschülerin - offiziell war ich Externistin - auf die Abschlussprüfungen vorbereitet und dann die Prüfung bestanden. 1947 wurde ich von der Stadt Wien als Kindergärtnerin angestellt. Nebenberuflich habe noch ich an der Universität Wien Pädagogik, Psychologie, Philosophie und Englisch studiert und 1952 promoviert.

Auch nachdem ich mein Psychologiestudium abgeschlossen hatte, arbeitete ich weiter als Kindergärtnerin. Daneben erfüllte ich mir einen alten Wunsch und studierte Medizin. Da ich mein Psychologiestudium neben der Arbeit als Kindergärtnerin bewältigt hatte, begann ich auch mit dem Medizinstudium neben der Arbeit und plante, mich nur gegen Ende des Studiums für einige Zeit beurlauben zu lassen. Nachdem ich aber alles gelernt hatte, was mich eigentlich interessierte, habe ich das Studium abgebrochen, denn Ärztin wollte ich ja nicht werden.

Einmal beim Sezieren sezierten israelische Studenten an einem anderen Tisch neben uns. Plötzlich machte einer meiner sehr netten Kollegen antisemitische Bemerkungen über die Gruppe der Israelis. Ich hörte mir das eine Weile an. Als er dann behauptete, er erkenne einen Juden auf zehn Meter Entfernung, habe ich gesagt, dass ich das bezweifle und ihn gefragt: 'Hast du erkannt, dass ich Jüdin bin?' Er war sehr erstaunt! Daraufhin haben wir geredet und ich habe ihn gefragt, wie er zu solchen Auffassungen käme?

Er hat mir erzählt, sein Geschichtsprofessor habe die Schüler in die 'Rassenkunde' eingeführt. Das waren die Lehrer, die in den fünfziger Jahren noch im Schuldienst gearbeitet haben. Ich blieb mit ihm befreundet und wir haben dann natürlich über Antisemitismus und darüber, was während der Nazizeit passiert war, gesprochen. Von all dem hatte er keine Ahnung.

Das war symptomatisch für viele Österreicher damals. Es gab ja auch kaum noch Juden in Österreich. Die wenigen waren entweder unsere Genossen aus der Emigration, die überhaupt nicht religiös waren, oder einige wenige, die aus den KZ zurückgekommen waren. Die Zeit vor dem 2. Weltkrieg war schwer für die Bevölkerung und in solchen Zeiten brauchen sie einen Feind, der an allem Schuld ist. Diese Funktion erfüllten die Juden in der Nazizeit.

Bis 1957 arbeitete ich als Kindergärtnerin, dann als Psychologin für das Zentralkinderheim in Wien. Anfang der 60er Jahre adoptierte ich meinen Sohn Franz Anton, der in diesem Kinderheim lebte. Er war damals 1½ Jahre alt und war am 2. März 1960 in Wien geboren. Er arbeitet als kaufmännischer Angestellter in Wien.

Seit 1967 unterrichtete ich in der 'Bildungsanstalt für Kindergärtnerinnen' Pädagogik und Englisch. Ab 1984 war ich Direktorin dieser Anstalt. Bei uns gab es sicher keinen Antisemitismus, weder bei den Lehrern noch bei den Schülern. Aber ich weiß, es gibt ihn noch heute, er ist einfach nur subtiler geworden. Die heutige Hetze gegen die Ausländer, besonders gegen die Schwarzen, ist an seine Stelle getreten. Jetzt geht die Bevölkerung auf die los, um sich abzureagieren.

In der Zeit zwischen Kinderland, Kindergarten und dieser Anstellung bekam ich ein Stipendium der Israelitischen Kultusgemeinde. Ich bin Mitglied der Kultusgemeinde, weil ich es meinem Vater nie antun würde auszutreten, und unter anderem gedenke ich so meines Vaters. Manchmal bin ich im Tempel, wenn irgendetwas gefeiert wird und ich dazu eingeladen werde. Aber ich gehe nicht aus religiösen Gründen in den Tempel. Als Kind hatte ich einen Glauben, aber die Nazizeit hat mir meinen Glauben geraubt. Wirklich verloren habe ich meinen Glauben, als die Deutschen in Frankreich einmarschiert sind. Wir hatten eine Französisch-Lehrerin, sie war so verzweifelt, begann zu weinen, weil sie alle ihre Verwandten in Frankreich hatte. Dieser ganze Krieg war so schrecklich, da ich dachte: Das kann nicht sein, das hätte ein Gott nie zugelassen. Durch meinen Vater, der bereits 1938 ins KZ deportiert worden war, wusste ich, dass es KZ gab. Aber was dort wirklich passierte, das erfuhr ich viel später und ich dachte, wenn es einen Gott geben würde, hätte er das bestimmt verhindert und nicht zugeschaut.

Ich bin der Meinung, dass die Schilderung der Erschaffung der Welt in der Bibel, aus der Sicht von Menschen vor ein paar 1000 Jahren, grandios ist, denn in Wirklichkeit hat sich die Entwicklung des Menschen genau so abgespielt. Nur passierte das nicht in sechs Tagen, sondern in Epochen.

Wenn man jeden Tag für eine Epoche nimmt, kann man feststellen, das tatsächlich vom Urknall weg bis zur Formierung der Erde und dem Beginn des Lebens im Wasser bis hinauf zum Menschen, alles so gewesen ist. Für mich ist das sehr spannend zu sehen, wie Menschen vor vielen 1000 Jahren die Bibel - man weiß ja nicht, wer das war - Wissen zusammengetragen haben.

Das war im Mittleren Osten, dort entstand die Bibel. Das zeugt davon, dass die Menschen nachdachten, dass sie Phantasie hatten und dass sie gewisse Zusammenhänge erkannten. Das Denkvermögen war da und das Entscheidende ist die Entwicklung der Sprache. Nur dadurch konnte sich all das entwickeln.

Die Religion war eigentlich lange Zeit die Wissenschaft vom Leben, und somit fühle ich mich der Religion verpflichtet. Dass die Religion eine wichtige Rolle im Leben der Menschen spielte und auch heute noch spielt und dass manche Menschen in der Religion in widerlichen Umständen auch wirklich einen gewissen Trost finden, warum sollte ich das ablehnen? Ich stehe zu meinem 'Jude sein', weil die Juden verfolgt wurden und man dem einfach nicht nachgeben darf.

Der Staat Israel ist eine berechtigte Forderung des jüdischen Volkes. Das jüdische Volk hat über die Jahrtausende eine gewisse Identität entwickelt und behalten. Und auf Grund dieser Identität wurde und wird es als minderwertig oder auch als verbrecherisch angesehen.

Ich glaube, dass das jüdische Volk sich nicht in den Grundfähigkeiten von anderen Völkern unterscheidet, wohl aber in seiner Geschichte und in gewissen Einstellungen, die sich aus seiner Geschichte ergeben. Und ich finde es berechtigt, dass die Juden dort einen Staat errichtet haben, wenngleich das 'göttliche Versprechen' für mich völlig bedeutungslos ist.

Aber Juden haben dort immer gelebt und weder die Türken noch die Engländer hatten ein Anrecht auf dieses Land. Meiner Ansicht nach haben die Araber und die Juden ein Recht dort zu leben. Das steht für mich außer Frage und gefühlsmäßig kommt dazu, dass dieses Land meinem Vater die Möglichkeit gab, nach all seinen schrecklichen Erlebnissen endlich in Frieden leben zu können. Ich glaube, der Konflikt zwischen den Israelis und den Palästinensern hätte nicht kommen müssen.

Er entstand durch bestimmte historische Bedingungen. Ich bin überzeugt, dass die kämpferischen Teile der Palästinenser, also Djihad usw., noch heute davon träumen, den Staat Israel zu vernichten, und dagegen habe ich etwas. Ich kann weder diese fundamentalistischen Palästinenser verstehen, noch die jüdischen Fundamentalisten.

Dass Sharon nach langem zu der Teileinsicht gelangte, dass das Vorgehen der Fundamentalisten es für Jahrzehnte verhindert, Frieden in der Region zu erreichen, und dass man irgendwo einen Anfang machen muss, ist beachtlich. Ich finde es beachtlich, dass ein alter Militär diesen Schritt gesetzt hat, das hätte ich nie für möglich gehalten.

Aber daran sieht man, dass der Mensch eben doch lernfähig ist. Dass die jüdischen Fundamentalisten drohen, den Tempelberg zu vernichten, ist eine Katastrophe. Ich meine, es gibt keinen anderen Weg, als sich zu verständigen, aber solange der Arafat da ist, wird das nicht gehen.

Zweimal war ich in Israel. Einmal zu einem kinderpsychologischer Kongress, ich glaube in Haifa, und einmal mit meinem Bruder - vor ungefähr zehn Jahren. Alles was ich erlebt habe, hat mich tief beeindruckt. Ich traf dort Jossi Zur, meinen Cousin zweiten Grades, der in einem Kibbutz 18 im Negev lebt.

Jossi hat viele Jahre über unsere Familie recherchiert und ein ganzes Buch mit Lebensgeschichten, Fotos und Stammbäumen zusammengestellt. Außerdem hat er ein interessantes Hobby: Der Kibbutz hat ihm ein kleines Häuschen zur Verfügung gestellt. In diesem steht sein Teleskop, mit dem er den Himmel beobachtet.

Als ich ihn besuchte, zeigte und erklärte er mir alles, und das war sehr aufregend. Er ist mit einer aus Ungarn stammenden Frau verheiratet und sie haben Kinder. Einmal ging ich sogar mit ihm auf Nachtpatroullie. Sie müssen die ganze Nacht patrouillieren, weil Araber aus Dörfern in der Nähe versuchen, über die Grenze hinweg Kühe zu stehlen. Jossi ist absolut für eine Verständigung, er wohnt in der Nähe von Hebron, und half einem arabischen Dorf die Volkschule für die Kinder zu errichten. Ich bin auch durchs Land gereist und habe mir die alten Kulturstätten angeschaut.

Seit 1986 arbeitete ich, gemeinsam mit der Volkshilfe, an einem Ausbildungsprojekt für saharauische Frauen. Durch eine Delegation aus den Flüchtlingslagern der Polisario 19 in der Westsahara, welche die Bildungsanstalt besuchte, kamen wir auf diese Idee. Das Leben in der algerischen Wüste ist sehr hart, die Kinder brauchen regelmäßiges Essen und die Frauen wollten Hilfe, um richtig mit den kleinen Kindern zu arbeiten.

Ich half gern bei dem Projekt 'Ausbildung von Kindergärtnerinnen für die Flüchtlingslager in der Westsahara'. Ab 1990 förderte die österreichische Bundesregierung das Projekt. Oft, besonders nach meiner Pensionierung im Jahre 1990, reiste ich dann [mindestens sechzehn Mal] für je 14 Tage selber in die Flüchtlingslager.

Österreich ist nach meiner Rückkehr wieder zu meiner Heimat geworden. Ich fühle mich zu Hause, sonst wäre ich nicht hier geblieben. Ich hätte immer noch die Möglichkeit gehabt, irgendwo anders hin zu gehen. Ich bin heute wirklich froh, dass ich in Österreich bin, ich möchte nicht in Amerika leben und England war mir nie ein wirkliches Zuhause. Antisemitismus habe ich die ganze Zeit über gespürt, aber ich habe auch versucht, etwas dagegen zu tun.

Vor zwei oder drei Jahren erhielt ich von der Stadt Wien für meine pädagogische Arbeit die Glöckel-Medaille. Diese Medaille ist ein Zeichen der Anerkennung und Würdigung für meine Leistungen in der Pädagogik. Diese Auszeichnung bedeutet mir wirklich viel, daran habe ich eine große Freude. Aber ich würde das ungefragt nicht erzählen, denn Auszeichnungen, Medaillen und Anerkennungen jeglicher Art sind für mich nicht wichtig. Wichtig war immer nur die Arbeit für und mit den Kindern.

• Glossar:

1 Der 13. Zionistische Kongress, Karlsbad 1923: Der Artikel 4 des Palästinamandates des Völkerbundes verlangte die Gründung einer Jüdischen Körperschaft, der Jewish Agency for Palestine, um 'die Zusammenarbeit aller Juden, die zum Aufbau einer nationalen jüdischen Heimstätte beitragen möchten, zu sichern.'

2 Schabbat [hebr.: Ruhepause]: der siebente Wochentag, der von Gott geheiligt ist, erinnert an das Ruhen Gottes am siebenten Tag der Schöpfungswoche. Am Schabbat ist jegliche Arbeit verboten. Er soll dem Gottesfürchtigen dazu dienen, Zeit mit Gott zu verbringen. Der Schabbat beginnt am Freitagabend und endet am Samstagabend.

3 Tandler, Julius nimmt durch seine anatomischen Forschungsarbeiten einen bedeutenden Platz in der Geschichte dieses medizinischen Faches ein. Noch größere Bedeutung erlangte er [ab 1920] als Wiener Stadtrat für das Wohlfahrts- und Gesundheitswesen.

Er engagierte sich besonders im Kampf gegen die als 'Wiener Krankheit' bezeichnete Tuberkulose und arbeitete am Ausbau der Gesundheitsfürsorge arbeitete. Mit seinem'geschlossenen System der Fürsorge' verwirklichte er das humanitäre Prinzip der Fürsorge.

4 Bassena ist ein in Wien üblicher Ausdruck für eine öffentliche Wasserstelle in einem alten Mietshaus. Die Bassena war nicht nur die Wasserstelle des Hauses, sondern auch allgemeiner Treffpunkt. An der Bassena gedieh vor allem der Tratsch, Bassenatratsch genannt.

5 Die Österreichischen Kinderfreunde sind eine der größten österreichischen Familienorganisationen und entstanden aus der Arbeiterbewegung. Die Kinderfreunde sind eine Vorfeldorganisation der SPÖ.

6 Pessach: Feiertag am 1. Frühlingsvollmond, zur Erinnerung an die Befreiung aus der ägyptischen Sklaverei, auch als Fest der ungesäuerten Brote [Mazza] bezeichnet.