Travel

Maria (Masha) Rolnikaite

Sankt Peterburgas, Rusija

Maria Grigorjevna Rolnikaitė kartu su vyru gyvena jaukiame dviejų kambarių bute viename iš naujųjų Sankt Peterburgo rajonų. Prieš mūsų interviu ji labai rekomendavo perskaityti jos parašytą knygą „Tai yra tiesa“. Vienas knygos skyrius vadinasi „Turiu jums tai papasakoti“. Iš tiesų, tai Marijos Grigorjevnos dienoraštis, kurį ji rašė būdama Vilniaus gete, o paskui dviejose nacių koncentracijos stovyklose. Knyga buvo išversta į daugelį kalbų ir išleista visame pasaulyje. Ji suteikia žmonėms galimybę sužinoti siaubingą tiesą apie tas dienas.

Nuo pirmųjų susitikimo minučių mus sužavėjo Marijos aiškus protas ir drąsa. Apie tai galima spręsti iš jos išvaizdos, kiekvieno žodžio ir nuomonės. Masha yra geranoriška, humoro jausmą turinti ir aplinkiniu pasauliu besidominti asmenybė. Masha dažnai nurodydavo faktus, aprašytus jos knygoje: ji nenorėjo vėl kalbėti apie siaubingas savo gyvenimo detales, nes, pasak jos, kiekvienas prisiminimas paliko randus.

Mano šeimos istorija

Kaip aš augau

Per karą

Po karo

Žodynėlis

Mano šeimos istorija

Deja, nieko nežinau apie pro-senelius ir pro-močiutes. Žinau tik tiek, kad jie visi kilę iš Lietuvos. Tėtis sakydavo, kad jo senelis buvo vandens nešėjas, bet gal jis taip juokavo. Dauguma mano giminaičių gyveno Plungės miestelyje (štetle) netoli Klaipėdos. [Klaipėda yra trečias pagal dydį Lietuvos miestas prie Baltijos jūros, įsikūręs ant Danės upės krantų.] Prisimenu, kad mano močiutės iš tėvo pusės vardas buvo Hana Rolnikienė.

Mano senelį iš tėvo pusės vadino Itsik Abel Rolnik. Lenkiškai „rolnik“ reiškia „ūkininkas“, bet, kiek žinau, tarp mūsų šeimos narių ūkininkų nebuvo. Jis buvo senas religingas žydas, nešiojo barzdą ir laikėsi tradicijų. Turėjo mažą parduotuvėlę. Močiutė Hana buvo gyvybinga ir šmaikšti. Ji pagimdė dešimt vaikų ir visus juos išaugino. Deja, keli vaikai mirė dar prieš karą. Pradžioje parduotuvėlė buvo labai maža: sagos, kaspinai ir pan. Vėliau jie ėmė prekiauti audiniais ir gatavomis prekėmis. Močiutė pasakojo, kad po prekystaliu laikė medinę geldą (tokiose moterys skalbdavo), kurioje gulėdavo kūdikis. Ji koja supdavo tokį „lopšį“ ir tuo pat metu prekiaudavo. Kūdikį  žindydavo mažoji kamarėlėje ir tai būdavo vienintelė jos pertrauka. Štai taip ji augino savo vaikus!

Senelis buvo religingas ir lankė sinagogą. Buvo tylus ir rimtas, o močiutė, priešingai, mėgo pajuokauti. Štai pavyzdys. Močiutė turėjo brolį, gyvenusį gretimame mieste. Jis siųsdavo laiškus visiškai neįskaitomu raštu. Todėl močiutė nusiuntė jam atsakymą: atvažiuok pas mus ir pats perskaityk savo laišką!

1938 metais parduotuvę perėmė mano dėdė Berl (tėčio brolis). Močiutė nelabai pasitikėjo jo komerciniais gebėjimais, todėl juokaudavo: „kai mirsiu, išgręžkite man karste skylę, kad galėčiau pasižiūrėti kaip tvarkaisi be manęs“. 1940 metais parduotuvę nacionalizavo ir močiutė negalėjo su tuo susitaikyti. Parduotuvė buvo jos vaikas, kurį išdrįso iš jos atimti. Valdžia atėmė viską, tad, kai dėdė visam laikui išėjo iš parduotuvės, jis nešėsi tik visiškai nudilusį arbatinuką (šluodami, su juo laistydavo grindis). Dėdė pasakė: „Dabar tai vienintelis daiktas, kurį turime“. Močiutė mirė 1941 metų sausio 3 dieną. Nacionalizacijos kampanija baigėsi 1940-jų rudenį, Lietuvai tapus Sovietine Respublika 1. Močiutė mirė miegodama nuo kraujo išsiliejimo į smegenis. Tuo metu jai buvo 64 metai. Jos širdis buvo tokia stipri, kad giminaičiai spėjo pakviesti mano Tėtį ir kitus močiutės sūnus. Jie atvyko ir galėjo atiduoti motinai paskutinę pagarbą. Per laidotuves Tėtis pasakė kalbą, nors tai nebuvo įprasta. Jis minėjo  močiutės nuopelnus ir už ką giminaičiai yra jai dėkingi.

Kai tėčiui sukako 12 metų, senelis ir močiutė išsiuntė jį į chederį (pradinę mokyklą). Mokykla buvo gretimame miestelyje. Tačiau Tėtis greit mokslu nusivylė ir pėsčiomis grįžo namo. Vėliau jis baigė vidurinę mokyklą ir išvyko į Rygą mokytis gimnazijoje. Tėvai nupirko jam juodą kostiumą ir kaklaraištį ir tik tiek tegalėjo padėti. Tėtis išvyko į Rygą visai be pinigų, uždarbiavo dirbdamas nešiku ir krovėju. Kai kelnės visiškai prairdavo, jis jas lopė karpydamas savo kaklaraištį. Tėtis sugebėjo baigti gimnaziją Rygoje (kažkodėl tai buvo rusiška gimnazija), nusprendė tapti advokatu ir studijuoti universitete Vokietijoje. Jis pasiuntė 12 prašymų į 12 universitetų ir visi prašymai buvo atmesti. Nepaisant to, tėtis išvyko į Berlyną ir sugebėjo patekti į susitikimą su vieno universiteto rektoriumi.

Juokinga, bet pašto ženklas suvaidino lemtingą rolę, padėjusią Tėčiui tapti studentu. Tėtis atėjo pas rektorių, pasakė, kad yra iš Lietuvos ir nori studijuoti universitete. Rektorius paklausė: „Tai jūs iš Lietuvos? Neseniai mes su kolegomis ginčijomės dėl Lietuvos ir Latvijos. Ar tai ta pati valstybė?“ Tėtis atsakė, kad ne, kad jis turi savo tėvų laišką su Lietuvos pašto ženklu. Po šio pokalbio rektorius leido Tėčiui tapti studentu neakivaizdininku. Vėliau Tėtis išlaikė visus egzaminus ir tapo normaliu studentu, mokėsi Berlyne ir Leipcige. Jis baigė teisės fakultetą, vėliau baigė Vokiečių kalbos ir literatūros koledžą, kuriame buvo rengiami vokiečių kalbos ir literatūros mokytojai užsieniečiams. Aš paklausiau: „Tėti, kam?“. Jis atsakė: „Man tai buvo labai įdomu“. Vokiečių kalbos žinios buvo naudingos, nes vėliau mes turėjome auklę iš Vokietijos ir ji su mumis kalbėjo vokiškai. Tai naudinga man ir dabar, po daugelio metų. Vienu metu man rodėsi, kad viską pamiršau, tačiau kai mano knygą išleido Vokietijoje, aš nuvykau ten ir nors prastai kalbėjau vokiškai, tačiau sugebėjau atsakyti į klausimus. Tarp kitko, knygos rankraštį skaičiau jidiš kalba (jų pageidavimu).

Mama buvo namų šeimininkė. Ji turėjo keturis vaikus ir šokinėjo aplink mus kaip kiekviena žydė motina. Ją vadino Taiber Koganaitė.  Neprisimenu Mamos tėvo, bet prisimenu jos motiną. Deja, vardo nepamenu. Močiutė buvo labai religinga. Ji gyveno Telšiuose, bet atvažiavusi pas mus tik sėdėdavo ir melsdavosi visą laiką. Ji taip pykdavo, jei mes nesilaikydavome šabo taisyklių. Mano mamos tėvas mirė prieš man gimstant, jo pavardė buvo Kogan.

Kaip aš augau

Gimiau 1927 metais Klaipėdoje.

Vaikystėje mėgau dainuoti ir svajojau tapti dainininke. Dainavau tiek daug, kad net užkimau. Taip pat rašiau eiles. Būdama devynerių nusprendžiau parašyti romaną ir nusipirkau storą užrašų sąsiuvinį. Romaną pavadinau „Likimas“ ir užrašiau pavadinimą ant viršelio. Pradėjau nuo grafienės laidotuvių aprašymo: karietos, juodos užuolaidos ir pan. Greitai mečiau šį užsiėmimą. Tačiau visą laiką norėjau rašyti. Mokykloje turėjome albumus, į kuriuos rašydavome eilėraščius viena kitai. Vis dar su malonumu prisimenu savo eilėraštį: kai tapsi sena ir tavo senas vyras bus šalia, užsidėk akinius ir perskaityk šiuos žodžius. Lietuviškai tai buvo surimuota ir gerai skambėjo. Taip pat nuo vaikystės rašiau dienoraštį.

Turėjome tarnaitę, nors mama nedirbo. Sekmadienį tarnaitei buvo išeiginė, todėl mes (kartu su mano trimis metais vyresne seserimi Miriam) turėjome pačios tvarkytis kambarius. Būdamos gana mažos, jau turėjome skalbti, lyginti ir siūti baltas apykakles ir rankogalius prie savo uniformų. Taip pat turėjome valytis batus. Jei pramiegodavome, tarnaitė mums padėdavo, tačiau vėliau grasindavo, kad pasakys tėčiui.

Tėtis visur žiūrėdavo tvarkos. Mamos svarbiausias rūpestis buvo mus maitinti. Tėtis mėgdavo sakyti: „Turime duonos, sviesto, pomidorų ir druskos“. Jis taip pat sakydavo, kad mes (mergaitės) turime ruoštis būsimam gyvenimui ir mokytis gaminti maistą iš Mamos. Dirbo tiktai Tėtis, taigi jo finansinė padėtis nebuvo labai gera: jis turėjo 4 vaikus, šeima taip pat laikė tarnaitę. Turėjau jaunesnį brolį Ruvel (gimė 1934 metais) ir jaunesnę seserį Rają (gimė 1936 metais). Kai kažkas paklausė Tėčio, kodėl jis turi tiek daug vaikų, jis visada atsakydavo, kad laukia gimstant sūnaus.

Lankiau žydų vaikų darželį ir vėliau žydų pagrindinę mokyklą. 1940 metais ją uždarė ir aš tapau lietuviškos gimnazijos mokine. Tačiau namuose kalbėjome tik jidiš. Vis dar galiu rašyti jidiš. Būdama gete ir koncentracijos stovyklose rašiau dienoraštį jidiš kalba. Ir dabar aš įvairiomis progomis pabrėžiu, kad mano gimtoji kalba yra jidiš, nors tai stebina aplinkinius. Per gyventojų surašymą [toks sąjunginis SSRS gyventojų surašymas vyko 1989 metais] buvau paklausta apie gimtąją kalbą ir atsakiau, kad tai žydų kalba. Darbuotojas nustebo ir pasakė, kad mano vyras ir aš kalbame rusiškai. Paaiškinau, jog rusiškai kalbame todėl, kad vyras nemoka jidiš. Darbuotojas nustebo, kad moku tris kalbas: jidiš, lietuvių ir rusų. Nesu tikra, kad jis viską užrašė, nes rašė atsakymus pieštuku ir niekas nežino, kas iš tikrųjų buvo parašyta.

Mokėmės lietuviškoje gimnazijoje kartu su seserimi. Tuo metu žmonės laikėsi tradicijų ir gerbė religingus kaimynus. Pasitaikydavo antisemitizmo apraiškų (kai kurie žmonės kaltino žydus nukryžiavus Jėzų), bet valstybinio antisemitizmo nebuvo. Pavyzdžiui, šeštadieniais gimnazijoje galėjome neatlikti užduočių raštu, mokytojai mūsų neklausinėdavo. Žinojome, kad per svarbiausias žydų šventes galime neiti į mokyklą.

Tuo metu mokyklose mokiniai turėjo tikybos pamokas (kol į valdžią neatėjo komunistai). Mūsų klasėje virš lentos kabėjo kryžius. Rytais mokytojas ateidavo į klasę, atsisukdavo į kryžių ir melsdavosi. Visi mokiniai, išskyrus mus, taip pat melsdavosi. Po paskutinės pamokos mokytojas taip pat liepdavo pasimelsti. Budintis mokinys sakydavo padėkos maldą. Man visada būdavo juokinga klausyti Te Deum, jeigu budintis mokinys tą dieną buvo gavęs blogus pažymius.

Mus taip pat mokė žydų religijos pagrindų (kiekvieną penktadienį). Visi 1-8 klasių mokiniai turėjo to mokytis. Vieną dieną susikirtau su tikybos mokytoju, nes jis sužinojo, kad mano tėvas nėra tikintis.   Dar daugiau, per Šabą mokytojas pamatė Tėtį važiuojant namo automobiliu. Tai buvo skandalas ir mokytojas atsisakė rašyti man gerą pažymį. Pagal taisykles, tokiu atveju aš negalėjau būti perkelta į aukštesnę klasę. Tarp kitko, buvau puiki mokinė, tik dailės pamokos man sunkiau sekėsi. Romos katalikų kunigas buvo mūsų klasės auklėtojas, taigi, nuėjau pas jį. Jis liepė mintinai išmokti kelias giesmes. Pagiedojau jas ir jis parašė man geriausią pažymį. Konfliktas buvo išspręstas.

Būdama mokinė, susidraugavau su Burmistro dukra. Prisimenu prancūzų kalbos mokytoją. Ji buvo tikra ponia, lankėsi Paryžiuje kiekvienais metais. Mes, mergaitės, labai atidžiai stebėjime jos aprangą. Pamenate, Tėtis ruošė mus studijoms Paryžiuje ir mokė mus prancūzų kalbos namuose. Buvau pažengusi mokinė, palyginus su mokykline programa. Tad, kai prancūzų kalbos mokytoja tingėdavo mus mokyti, ji sakydavo: „Rolnikaite, skaityk ir versk“. Lietuvių kalba man irgi sekėsi, kaip ir kitos kalbos. Apskritai, mokiausi be ypatingų sunkumų. Yra žydiškas posakis: ji gali atlikti namų darbus stovėdama ant vienos kojos. Žinot, galėjau stovėti ant vienos kojos ir rašyti. Kartą Tėtis grįžo namo ir pamatė mane gulinčią ant sofos, kojomis atsirėmusią į sieną, ir besimokančią istoriją.

Rusų kalboje yra du skirtingi žodžiai „evrej“ ir „žid“. Lietuvių ir lenkų kalbose yra tik „žid – žydas“. Neseniai, mano buvusios klasės draugės vyras pasakė „... ir jūsų tautybės žmogus“. Pataisiau jį: žydas. Supratau, kad žmogus nori pasirodyti internacionalistu. Taip pat jis bijojo įžeisti mano jausmus, bet aš jį pataisiau. Niekada neslėpiau savo tautybės.

Tačiau mokykloje suvokiau save kaip žydę. Pavyzdžiui, lietuvių kalboje labai svarbu kirčiavimas. Jei žmogus klaidingai kirčiuoja žodį, tai reiškia, kad jis blogai kalba lietuviškai. Mūsų mokytojas diktuodavo, mes turėjome pagauti žodžių kirtį iš klausos. Aš sugebėjau rašyti iš klausos. Buvau vienintelė mokinė klasėje, gaudavusi geriausius pažymius. Ir mokytojas pasakė apie mane: „Lietuvių kalba nėra jos gimtoji, bet ji rašo geriau už jus visas“. Taigi, kartais mes suvokdavome, kad esame skirtingos. Bet niekas mums to nesakė į akis.

Tėtis pasitikėjo mumis. Plungėje buvo tik vienas automobilis su vairuotoju ir daug vairuotojų. Mūsų gimnazija buvo toli nuo namų, beveik priemiestyje, prie kapinių. Buvo baisu eiti namo vakarais ir Tėtis duodavo pinigų pasisamdyti automobilį. Jis tik prašė važiuoti namo kartu. Mano sesuo jau buvo suaugusi ir jos, jaunos panelės, eidavo ir kažką diskutuodavo, o aš turėjau tyliai sekti iš paskos.

Susigalvojau programą: vykti į Paryžių su seserimi ir ten stoti į universitetą. Sesuo buvo trimis metais vyresnė. Turėjau daug mokytis mokykloje, bet kartais ilgam užtrukdavau čiuožykloje ar per ilgai užsibūdavau su draugais. Tokiais atvejais Tėtis sakydavo: „Kai nuvyksi į Sorboną, tavęs paklaus. Ką atsakysi? Manau, atsakysi tik tiek žino tavo Cypka“. Kažkodėl jis vadino mano draugę Cypka. Bet jis niekad nebaudė manęs ir neskaitė pamokslų. Kai ketindavome vėlai grįžti iš vakarėlių, niekad nemeluodavome. Tėtis neliepė grįžti nustatytu laiku, jis tik mūsų laukdavo. Manau, kad jis nemiegodavo ir laukdavo atsidarant durų.

Aišku, kai į valdžią atėjo sovietai, mes turėjome pamiršti Sorboną. Beje, močiutė jau ruošėsi duoti pinigų mano studijoms, o dėdė, kuris gyveno Prancūzijoje, ieškojo pigaus nuomojamo buto Paryžiuje mano seseriai ir man. Deja, mūsų planai žlugo. Prie komunistų valdžios mūsų gyvenimas visiškai pasikeitė.

Kalbant apie žydiškas tradicijas, mano senelis ypač griežtai jų laikėsi. Todėl šventėme Pesachą ir aš visada klausdavau tų 4 klausimų. Po to gaudavau vieną kilogramą riešutų. Kartu su močiute uždegdavome Šabo žvakes. Nors Mama nebuvo labai religinga, kaip ir Tėtis, ji laikėsi kašruto: atskirai laikė mėsą ir pieno produktus. Kai senelis aplankydavo mus, jis arbatą gėrė tik su uogiene, nes buvo laikoma, kad stiklinės nenaudojamos nei pienui, nei mėsai. Kartu su močiute eidavome į sinagogą ir mačiau, kad vyrai ir moterys joje būna atskirai. Močiutė melsdavosi. Kai per Roš ha-šana pučiant šofarą atsiverdavo dangus, kad žmonių prašymai eitų tiesiai į jį, visi verkdavo, o mes su seserimi nesuprasdavo kodėl. Per Jom Kipurą žydai melsdavosi už savo mirusiųjų atminimą ir močiutė neleisdavo man ir seseriai būti sinagogoje. Beje, gete nebuvo sinagogos, tik kambarys maldoms. Ir rabinas draudė melstis už žydų, kuriuos fašistai išvežė į Panerius 2, atminimą. Jis manė, kad tai nuodėmė, nes kai kurie iš šių žydų galėtų būti gyvi. Kartais atsitikdavo taip, kad po šaudymų kai kurie žydai likdavo gyvi, išsikapstydavo iš po lavonų ir grįždavo į getą. Pradžioje fašistai šaudė nesitaikydami ir žmonės krito žemėn tik sužeisti. Tačiau vėliau jie įsakė užpilti duobes gesintomis kalkėmis, kad niekas nebegalėtų išlipti.

Mano tėvo brolis Berl dirbo parduotuvėje, apie kurią kalbėjau. Mano teta (jo jaunesnioji sesuo) nutekėjo į Rygą ir buvo tenai nužudyta gete. Jos vyrą nušovė tarp pirmųjų žydų vyrų. Ji turėjo du vaikus (vienas iš kurių buvo kūdikis), todėl negalėjo dirbti. Jie mirė tenai iš bado. Daug vėliau dvi moterys iš Rygos mums apie ją papasakojo.

Kitas tėvo brolis buvo Mikhėj. Jis baigė gimnaziją ir išvyko į Paryžių, visiškai nemokėdamas prancūzų kalbos. Jo pirmieji laiškai buvo labai liūdni ir melancholiški. Tačiau po metų jis įstojo į Sorboną. Jis buvo labai talentingas. Vėliau jis tapo žinomu advokatu ir jo kolegos netikėjo, kad jis nėra prancūzas: tuo metu jis jau puikiai kalbėjo prancūziškai. 1938 metais jis sugebėjo atvykti į savo sesers vestuvių ceremoniją. Į Rygą jis važiavo per Vokietiją ir mes visi jaudinomės dėl jo, nes Hitleris jau buvo valdžioje.

Mano dėdė Berl (parduotuvės savininkas) buvo ištremtas į Sibirą 3 kartu su savo šeima. Jie grįžo atgal tik 1956 ar 1957 metais. Vėliau mano dėdė, teta ir jų dukra mirė. Jų sūnus dabar gyvena Izraelyje.

Plungė buvo puikus mažas miestas! Buvo didelis kunigaikščio Oginskio (kompozitoriaus Oginskio, sukūrusio įžymųjį polonezą, giminaičio) rūmų parkas. Parkas buvo atviras visiems. Parke buvo čiuožykla, kurioje mes čiuožinėdavome. Mieste buvo daugybė medžių.

Kai Hitleris atėjo į valdžią, per radiją transliavo jo kalbą. Kadangi tik mes turėjome radijo imtuvą, kaimynai atėjo pasiklausyti kalbos. Mano mažojo brolio auklė, vietinė lietuvė mergina, nesuprato Hitlerio ir keikė jį, kadangi Hitleris trukdė vaikui miegoti.

Tėtis labai gailėjosi, kad mes gyvename mažame Plungės mieste, kaimo vietovėje. Jis norėjo, kad mes gautume gerą europinio lygio išsilavinimą. Tačiau 1940 metais pagal Molotovo – Ribentropo paktą 4 Vilnius vėl tapo Lietuvos sostine ir mes persikėlėme tenai. Tai išgelbėjo mums gyvybę, nes vėliau per okupaciją (per karą) 1800 Plungės žydų buvo suvaryti į sinagogą, nuvesti už miesto į netikinčiųjų kapines ir sušaudyti. Fašistai siūlė žydams paneigti judaizmą ir taip išsaugoti gyvybes.

Kai kurie jauni žmonėms taip ir padarė, bet vis tiek visi buvo sušaudyti. Plungėje sušaudymo vietoje stovi paminklas. Pinigus paminklui surinko sušaudytų žydų giminės ir Plungės sovietiniai vadovai leido jį statyti. Įrašai paminkle yra jidiš, lietuvių ir rusų kalbomis.

Prieš karą mūsų šeima buvo gana didelė. Tačiau mano senelis, močiutės sesuo, jos vyras ir dvi dukros, ir mano tėvo pusbrolis žuvo Plungėje. Mano dėdė (mamos brolis) buvo nužudytas mažame Telšių mieste. [Telšiai – Lietuvos miestas 200 kilometrų nuo Vilniaus.] Kai Telšių žydus varė į žudymo vietą, jis sugebėjo pabėgti. Tačiau fašistai jį pagavo ir nušovė, taip sakant, individualiai. Jie privertė jį išsikasti kapą. Vėliau keli lietuviai liudininkai pasakė mums, kad jis išprotėjo: jis suprato, kad kasa sau kapą ir pakvaišo (tačiau to neįmanoma įrodyti). Mano teta, jo žmona, ir dvi dukterys žuvo Šiaulių gete. [Šiauliai yra Lietuvos miestas.]

Tėtis suskaičiavo 49 mūsų šeimos narius, kurių netekome per karą: jo ir mamos pusbroliai ir pusseserės, seserys, vaikai...

Iš mūsų šeimos tiktai Tėtis (jis buvo fronte), mano vyresnioji sesuo Miriam ir aš likome gyvi. Miriam buvo Vilniaus gete 5, tačiau sugebėjo išgyventi.

1943 metų rugsėjį hitlerininkai atsitraukė ir Raudonoji Armija priartėjo prie Smolensko. Tuo metu Miriam pavyko pabėgti iš geto. Ji tikėjosi rasti žmonių, kurie ją paslėptų ar parūpintų jai padirbtus dokumentus. Ji netgi tikėjosi padėti mums (savo šeimai) pabėgti iš geto. Tuo metu situacija gete buvo gana rami, bet netrukus pasirodė hitlerininkai. Jie perskaitė gestapo viršininko įsakymą evakuoti žydus iš Vilniaus geto. Žydai turėjo būti perkelti į dvi darbo stovyklas: viena buvo Estijoje, kita Lietuvoje. Evakuacija vyko labai greitai, viskas baigėsi per keturias valandas. Todėl aš nieko nežinojau apie Miriam iki 1945 metų.

Per karą

1941 metų birželio 22 dieną prasidėjo karas 6. Tą pačią dieną bombardavo Vilnių. Sovietų armija kovėsi atsitraukdama. Hitlerininkai beveik užėmė miestą. Mano tėvai žinojo, kad fašistai nekenčia žydų. Buvo ir kita priežastis nerimauti: mano tėvas bendradarbiavo su sovietų valdžia. Tėvai nusprendė pasitraukti į šalies gilumą, kur užpuolikai negalėtų mūsų pasiekti. Tėvas nuėjo pirkti bilietų, o mes (Mama ir keturi vaikai) likome namuose jo laukti. Mes laukėme labai ilgai, žiūrėdami kaip žmonės su daiktais, sovietų tankai, mašinos ėjo ir važiavo pro mūsų langus. Galiausiai nusprendėme eiti į geležinkelio stotį ir surasti Tėtį. Stotyje sužinojome, kad daugiau traukinių nebus, tai buvo siaubinga nelaimė. Žmonės pasakojo vieni kitiems apie paskutinį traukinį, kuris buvo subombarduotas netrukus po išvykimo. Tėčio neradome ir nusprendėme eiti iš miesto, tikėdamiesi pagauti mašiną. Tačiau eiti buvo sunku, vargino kaitra, ypač 5 ir 7 metų vaikus. Taigi, ėjome kurį laiką, paskui pasukome atgal namo. Čia sužinojome, kad, kol mūsų nebuvo, Tėtis grįžo namo ir vėl išėjo ieškoti automobilio. Fašistų kariuomenė užėmė miestą tą pačią naktį. Tėtis negrįžo.

Vienas iš pirmųjų naujos valdžios įsakymų buvo iškabintas ant restoranų ir kavinių durų „Žydams neleidžiama“. Nuėjau į mokyklą atsiimti vyresniosios sesers Miros mokyklos baigimo pažymėjimą ir kitus dokumentus. Mokykla buvo purvina ir apgriauta. Berniukas iš 9-tos klasės priėjo prie manęs ir pasakė: „Eik lauk! Nesmardink mūsų mokyklos!“. Tačiau tuo momentu mūsų mokytojas Jonaitis pašaukė mane. Jis paspaudė man ranką, paklausė, ko atėjau, nuėjo kartu su manim į raštinę ir padėjo surasti mokyklos baigimo pažymėjimą ir mūsų gimimo liudijimus. Šis žmogus mums daug padėjo vėliau, kai buvome gete. Jis davė mums maisto ir pinigų, pats rizikuodamas gyvybe.

Greitai hitlerininkai įvedė savo pinigus ir liepė užregistruoti visus radijo imtuvus. Vėliau jie įsakė visiems žydams nešioti specialų ženklą: geltoną kvadratą ir apskritimą su raide J viduryje. Kartu su Mama padarėme šiuos ženklus iš senos geltonos lovatiesės. Žydai privalėjo atnešti į komendantūrą pinigus, aukso dirbinius ir papuošalus. Tačiau buvo labiau gąsdinančių naujienų: ginkluoti patruliai areštuodavo vyrus miesto gatvėse ir vesdavo į kalėjimą. Pradžioje žmonės manė, kad iš kalėjimo vyrus gabendavo į Panerius (į darbo stovyklą), bet greitai paaiškėjo, kad Paneriuose jokios stovyklos nebuvo, ten žmonės buvo šaudomi.

Liepos 21 dieną, lygiai mėnuo po vokiečių įsiveržimo į Vilnių, man sukako 14 metų. Apsivilkau mėlyną šilkinę suknelę (be jokio ženklo ant jos) ir atrodžiau labai graži! Karo pradžia reiškė mano vaikystės pabaigą. Tik dienoraštis siejo mane su ankstesniu gyvenimu. Rašiau dienoraštį būdama mokine (tokia buvo mada) ir tęsiau tai per karą. Gete trūko popieriaus, tačiau mes įsikeldavome į tuščius butus, kuriuose galima buvo rasti senų užrašų knygų. Vieną dieną gavau buhalterinę knygą ir apsidžiaugiau radusi joje tuščių puslapių. Dabar stebiuosi, kad niekas tuo metu nesijuokė iš mano bandymų rašyti kronikas. Priešingai, mano giminaičiai sakydavo „Maša, ar apie tai parašei?“. Visi miegojome kartu ant grindų prie lango. Laikiau savo užrašus ant palangės. Mama dažnai sakydavo: „Išmok tai mintinai! Tavo užrašai pakartos tavo likimą“.

Kitas fašistų įsakymas uždraudė žydams vaikščioti šaligatviais (galėjome eiti tiktai gatve) ir važiuoti bet kokiu transportu, įskaitant automobilius.

1941 metų rugsėjo 6 dieną fašistai uždarė keletą siaurų gatvių miesto centre ir iškraustė visus jų gyventojus. Žydai buvo priversti persikelti į jų namus. Tokiu būdu atsirado Vilniaus getas. Mūsų šeima taip pat persikraustė tenai. Mes gyvenome sugrūsti su kitomis šeimomis: 18 žmonių mažame kambaryje. Neužteko vietos miegoti. Viena mergaitė miegojo ant stalo, kita – po stalu. Buvo mergaitė, kuriai reikėjo miegoti vonioje. Mama pradėjo dirbti siuvimo dirbtuvėje. Mums išdavė maisto korteles ir į dieną gaudavome tik 125 gramus duonos ir truputį juodų žirnių. Buvo uždrausta įnešti maisto į getą. Jei kas taip padarydavo, tai  kainuodavo jam gyvybę.

Gete fašistai dažnai vykdė specialias akcijas, t.y. gaudė žmones mirties bausmei. 1941 metų rudenį tokios akcijos buvo gausiausios: 3-5 tūkstančiai žmonių būdavo nužudomi per kiekvieną akciją. Vėliau, kai gete liko tik reikiamas skaičius amatininkų, fašistai pradėjo bauginti žmones netikėtomis kratomis. Kareiviai įsiverždavo į bet kurį butą ir pradėdavo jį krėsti. Jie labai stengėsi rasti drabužių be geltonos žvaigždės ar kitaip iškeptos duonos (gete kepdavo specialią duoną, atrodančią kaip molis). Jei tokių dalykų rasdavo, visus buto gyventojus išsivesdavo. Tikrai niekas jų daugiau nebematė.

Fronto naujienų nuotrupos mus retkarčiais pasiekdavo. Su dideliu malonumu sužinojome, kad vokiečiai atsitraukė nuo Maskvos ir jau paliko Kalininą [miestas prie Maskvos, dabar Tverė]. Vokiečių armija patyrė didelius nuostolius, o kareiviai labai kentėjo nuo šalčio. Todėl hitlerininkai nusprendė juos šiltai aprengti mūsų sąskaita: jie įsakė sunešti į komendantūrą visus kailinius, kailines apykakles ir kailinius rankogalius. Ir vėl buvo grasinama mirties bausme tiems, kas nepaklus.

Getas buvo tarsi maža valstybė. Gete buvo įvairios įstaigos, atsakingos už maisto kortelių ir kambarių (tiksliau, kampo kambaryje) paskirstymą. Buvo specialus skyrius, besirūpinantis našlaičiais (buvo organizuotos kelios internatinės mokyklos). Buvo mokyklos ir netgi gimnazija mokiniams, tačiau ši stovėjo pustuštė: ne todėl, kad nebuvo mokinių, bet todėl, kad jie visi dirbo. Buvo kalėjimas, ligoninė, vaistinė su skurdžiu vaistų pasirinkimu. Gete buvo netgi pogrindinė organizacija, kovojusi prieš fašizmą. Vieną dieną trys šios organizacijos aktyvistai I.Kaplan, A.Khvoinik ir A.Big sužinojo apie geto likvidavimą ir nusprendė pabėgti į mišką nutekamuoju vamzdžiu. Deja, po žeme jie pasiklydo ir išlindo miesto centre. Kareiviai juos pagavo ir pakorė. Kai mano knyga buvo paruošta pirmajam leidimui, redaktorius pasakė: „Žmonės, kuriuos išvardinote, nebuvo partizanų sąrašuose, išbraukite šį epizodą“. „Bet jie buvo organizacijos nariai“ – nepasidaviau aš. Redaktorius buvo neperkalbamas: „Rytoj jie ateis reikalauti specialios pensijos!“. „Nesijaudinkite, jie neateis: fašistai juos pakorė“ – raminau jį. Tačiau tuo metu aš nė negalvojau apie būsimą knygą ir netgi apie savo galimą išlikimą.

Fašistų persekiojimui nebuvo ribų. Vieną dieną jie surinko iš geto visus senus žmones. Sakė, kad nori juos vežti į sanatoriją geresniam maitinimui ir gydymui. Giminaičiai įtarė kažką negero ir atsisakė senukus išleisti. Tada senukai buvo išvežti jėga. Juos tikrai gerai maitino ir fotografavo pirmas dvi dienas. Paskui visus sušaudė.

Pavasarį susiradau darbą. Daugiausiai dirbome už geto ribų. Iš pradžių dirbau seno turtingo ūkininko laukuose. Kasdien turėjau nešioti šimtus kibirų su vandeniu augalų laistymui. Vėliau pradėjau dirbti mezgimo dirbtuvėje, kur moterys primegzdavo pirštinėms pirštus. Vėliau perėjau į baldų fabriką šveisti slides.

Taip mes gyvenome gete, kentėdami badą bei šaltį ir laukdami mirties. Atrodo keista, bet gete buvo choras. Aš jame dalyvavau. Dainavome hebrajų ir jidiš kalbomis. Choro vadovas taip pat įkūrė simfoninį orkestrą. Tik keli muzikantai išgyveno: jie buvo laikomi mažiausiai naudingais ir fašistai pirmiausiai nužudė juos. Tačiau orkestras atsirado ir kartu su choru paruošė pasirodymui Bethoveno Devintąją simfoniją.

Su dideliu malonumu sužinojome, kad hitlerininkai paskelbė trijų dienų gedulą dėl savo armijos pralaimėjimo prie Stalingrado. Vėliau sužinojome, kad Charkovas [dabar Charkiv, Ukraina], Rostovas prie Dono ir daug kitų miestų buvo išvaduoti. Tačiau visi tie miestai buvo taip toli nuo Vilniaus!

Žmonės sužinojo, kad aplinkiniuose miesteliuose (štetluose) hitlerininkai nušovė apie 3 tūkstančius vietinių žydų. Daug partizanų grupių atsirado kaimyniniuose miškuose, tad hitlerininkai bijojo, kad vietos žydai būtinai susisieks su partizanais. Taigi jie nusprendė dalį žydų sušaudyti, o kitus suvaryti į Vilniaus ar Kauno getą. Tačiau vėliau jie persigalvojo ir visus juos nužudė. Tik keliems pavyko pabėgti; jie įsigavo į mūsų getą ir papasakojo kaip tie žydai buvo sušaudyti miške prie didelių iš anksto iškastų duobių.

Tuo laiku mano seseriai Mirai pavyko pabėgti iš geto. Keli geranoriški žmonės pažadėjo slėpti ją. Greitai visi geto gyventojai prarado darbus. Getas tapo visiškai izoliuotu nuo pasaulio. Tačiau iš gandų mes sužinojome, kad Vilniaus geležinkelio stotyje atsirado užrašas JUDENFREI (tai reiškė, kad mieste nėra žydų). Tačiau iš tikrųjų mes dar buvome gyvi! Supratome, kad prasidėjo atgalinis skaičiavimas.

Vieną rugsėjo vakarą visiems geto gyventojams buvo pranešta, kad juos evakuos į dvi darbo stovyklas Estijoje ir Lietuvoje. Evakuacijai skirta tik viena diena. Mums buvo leista pasiimti šiek tiek drabužių.

Mano brolis Ruvel gete išmoko skaityti. Jis labai tuo didžiavosi ir sakydavo, kad Tėtis džiaugsis. Ruvel nuliūdo, kad mes pasiimsime tik drabužius, ne knygas. „Ką aš ten skaitysiu?“ – paklausė jis. Mama atsakė: „Skaitysi, kai atgausime laisvę“.

Pagaliau buvome pasiruošę išvykti. Gatvėse buvo daug žmonių. Minia buvo niūri. Kartu su kitais pasiekėme geto vartus ir išėjome. Po kurio laiko priėjome daubą ir mums buvo įsakyta sustoti. Didelė minia žmonių ten lyjant praleido naktį. Kitą dieną hitlerininkai liepė žmonėms lipti iš daubos. Jie leido žmones pro vartus po vieną ir Mama liepė man eiti pirmai. Kareivis sugriebė mane pastūmė į šoną. Mama ir du vaikai liko už vartų. Bandžiau sugrįžti pas šeimą ir staiga išgirdau, kaip Mama maldauja kareivio neleisti manęs atgal. Ji sakė, kad esu jauna ir galiu gerai dirbti. Tada ji suriko man: „Gyvenk, mano vaike! Bent jau tu!“. Ji truputį pakėlė vaikus, kad galėčiau juos pamatyti. Aš pamačiau. Paskutinį kartą gyvenime!

1700 žmonių, ir aš tame tarpe, buvome nuvaryti į geležinkelio stotį ir įsodinti į traukinį. Atvykome į koncentracijos stovyklą prie Šiaulių.

Prasidėjo mano stovyklos gyvenimas, kurį sunku pavadinti gyvenimu. Naujai atvykusiems buvo išdalinti drabužiai. Aš gavau šilkinę balinę suknią, papuoštą dirbtine raudona gėle ir su gilia iškirpte. Praėjo daug laiko, kol susiradau adatą ir truputį pataisiau suknelę. Dirbau statybose. Turėjau kapoti akmenis ir stumdyti sunkius akmenų pilnus karučius. Badavome, buvome persekiojami ir mušami, jautėme mirties skausmą. Stovykloje kabėjo užrašas „Gyvename ne tam, kad dirbtume; dirbame, kad gyventume“. Hitlerininkai rengdavo taip vadinamas atrankas, t.y. rūšiavo žmones vėlesnei mirties bausmei. Iki šiol nesuprantu, kodėl likau gyva: jie ketino išžudyti visus, jaunesnius nei 18-os ir vyresnius nei 30-ies.  Man buvo 17, bet tikriausiai mano kortelėje įsivėlė klaida. Tuo metu Sovietų armija artėjo prie Rygos: girdėjome sprogimus ir bombardavimą ir matėme danguje lėktuvus. Tikėjomės, kad mus greit išvaduos, bet vietoj to vokiečiai perkėlė mus į Vokietiją (į Štuthofą). Jie pervežė mus kariniu garlaiviu (pakrautu kažkokia įranga) – į šaltį.

Štuthofo koncentracijos stovykla buvo viena iš seniausių: ją pastatė lenkų geležinkelininkai 1938-1939 metais. Stovykla priminė vergų turgų, kadangi ūkių savininkai ateidavo čia darbininkų. Turėjome nusivilkti drabužius ir rodyti darbdaviams savo raumenis. Dėl klaikaus badavimo visi kentėjome nuo vočių. Pasakiau vokiškai „Ich bin stark“ (esu stipri) ir rodžiau raumenis, nors nebuvo ką rodyti. Pusaklis senas ūkininkas pažiūrėjo į mane ir pasiėmė į savo fermą. Ten dirbau maždaug keturis mėnesius. Miegojau kiaulidėje su kiaulėmis. Savininkas užrakindavo mus nakčiai, neturėjome jokios laisvos dienos. Tačiau man pasisekė, nes galėjau nuvogti kelias bulves nuo kiaulių ėdalo savininkui nežinant. Jis mums savaitei duodavo duonos kepalą ir grasindavo: „Jei blogai dirbsite, nusiųsiu jus atgal ne į stovyklą, o tiesiai į krematoriumą“.

Lapkričio mėnesį, po derliaus nuėmimo, grįžome į stovyklą. Nebedirbome už stovyklos ribų dėl šiltinės epidemijos. Mes negaudavome pakankamai vandens, todėl valgydavome nešvarų sniegą. Aš taip pat susirgau šiltine. Po kurio laiko, tikras stebuklas, pasveikau. Kaimynai pasakojo man, kad, kai gulėjau be sąmonės ant grindų, garsiai dainavau ir keikiau vokiečius kiek galėdama. Susigėdau: „Mano Tėtis buvo advokatas, mūsų šeimoje niekas nesikeikė..“.

Staiga, kai visi jau praradome viltį išgyventi, vokiečiai liepė evakuoti tuos, kurie gali pereiti į kitą stovyklą. Negalėjau vaikščioti, tačiau žinojau, kad tie, kurie neatlaikys, bus nužudyti. Todėl iššliaužiau ir ėjau. Tai buvo mirties kelias. Mano nelaimės draugės palaikė mane; jos sakė, kad būtų gaila palikti tokią jauną merginą. Pakeliui aptikome apsnigtus bunkerius, pilnus bulvių ir burokų. Nei smūgiai, nei šūviai negalėjo mūsų sulaikyti. Mes puolėme ant žemės, kapstėme sniegą ir žemes sustingusiomis rankomis ir nusičiupome po buroką. Kai ėjome toliau, keli kaliniai liko nušauti gulėti ant sniego. Naktis praleisdavome pakelės pašiūrėse. Mano kojos sutino, bijojau nusiauti batus. Vėliau supratome, kad vokiečiai išsiuntė mus tolyn nuo artėjančios Raudonosios Armijos.

Vieną naktį mes buvome suvarytos į didžiulę daržinę ar arklidę. Vėlai naktį išgirdome, kad kažkas beldžia į duris „Ei, moterys, išeikite, Raudonoji Armija jau čia!”. Iš pradžių niekas nepatikėjo, galvojome, kad tai provokacija: vokiečiai norėjo priversti mus išbėgti ir nušauti į nugarą. Nė viena iš 700 moterų nepajudėjo. Balsas tęsė: „Jei esat kvailos, tai ir toliau čia sėdėkit!”. Ir išnyko. Mums tai buvo neįtikėtina! Kareivis pasakė tankistams apie mus. Jie tanku išlaužė duris ir moterys išbėgo iš daržinės. Negalėjau vaikščioti, net pakilti. Gulėjau ant grindų ir laukiau kol būsiu sutrypta. Pagaliau Raudonosios Armijos kariai įėjo į daržinę. Jie pakėlė mane ir ant rankų nunešė į kaimą. Apkabinau juos ir pirmą kartą pradėjau verkti. Ašaros riedėjo skruostais. Vienas kareivis pasakė: „Neverk, sese, atkeršysime už tave!”. Turėjau tik vieną mintį: aš išgyvenau! Tai buvo 1945 metų kovo 10 diena.

Kai 1945 metais grįžau iš koncentracijos stovyklos į Vilnių, miestas buvo sugriautas. Neturėjau problemų su kaimynais. Darbe (dirbau Vilniaus savivaldybės meno skyriuje redaktore) mano viršininkas Banaitis buvo labai padorus žmogus ir atsižvelgė į mano emocinę patirtį dėl mano tautybės. Jis sakė: „Nesijaudink, čia mes nekreipiame dėmesio į tautybes“. Nepajutau jokių antisemitizmo apraiškų. Tarp mano kolegų, vyriausias buhalteris buvo žydas, direktorius – taip pat žydas. Kitą darbą gavau Vilniaus valstybinėje filharmonijoje, ten buvo daug žydų, lenkų, lietuvių. Jų neapykanta rusams vertė juos maloniai elgtis su vietiniais žydais.

Po karo

Kai grįžau į Vilnių, po visų karo išbandymų, atsitiktinai gatvėje sutikau Tėtį. Jis jau žinojo, kad Miriam liko gyva. Po karo ji pradėjo studijuoti Vilniaus Universiteto teisės fakultete.

Dabar ji gyvena Klaipėdoje. Jos vyras tragiškai žuvo, nuskendo, kai jai buvo 39 metai. Ji turi du sūnus ir penkias anūkes. Ir, nepaisant amžiaus, vis dar dirba. Kartu su vaikais, sesuo kas metai aplanko mūsų miestą Plungę liepos 18-ą - Plungės žydų sunaikinimo dieną.

Deja, pasibaigus karui Tėtis prarado viltį, kad jo žmona ir vaikai Raja ir Ruvel liko gyvi. Visa tai pagreitino jo mirtį. Manau, jis buvo nelaimingas. Pusė metų prieš mirtį jis išėjo iš darbo, nes gydytojas pasakė: „Jei toliau dirbsite, krisite negyvas!”.

Po karo leisdavome daug laiko Palangoje kartu su Tėčiu. Jis dažnai prisimindavo praeitį. Kartą prisiminė, kad, kai buvome vaikai, jis susirgo, bet vis tiek su temperatūra nuėjo į savo kontorą dirbti, nes norėjo parodyti mums, kad reikia kovoti, reikia dirbti. Pasakiau, kad tuo metu mes nieko nesupratome. Tėtis taip pat dažnai aiškino mums kaip svarbu būti išsilavinusiam. Ir vėl, tuo metu, aš negalėjau jo suprasti. Kai į valdžią atėjo Hitleris, maniau, kad svarbiausia yra turėti rankose ginklą.

Tėtis manė, kad ligoninė ir kalėjimas yra vietos, kur žmonės gali gyventi. Jis turėjo puikų humoro jausmą. Aš taip pat pradėjau rašyti komiškus apsakymus. Kai mano pirmoji knyga buvo išspausdinta Maskvoje, Miša Raytiz, Lenino premijos laureatas, parašė mano knygos įžanginį žodį. [Lenino premija SSRS buvo viena iš aukščiausių apdovanojimų piliečiams už pasiekimus mokslo, technikos ir meno srityse. Lenino premija teikiama kasmet nuo 1925 metų.]

Mano antroji knyga buvo išleista 1967 metais. Taip pat išverčiau Sajanovo pjesę. Jis buvo rašytojas, Stalino premijos laureatas. [Stalino premija SSRS buvo viena iš aukščiausių apdovanojimų piliečiams už pasiekimus mokslo, technikos ir meno srityse. Stalino premija buvo teikiama kasmet nuo 1939 metų]. Tuo metu visos rašytojų Stalino premijos laureatų knygos turėjo būti išverstos į SSRS respublikų kalbas. Verčiau sunkiai, nes prastai mokėjau rusų kalbą (niekad jos nesimokiau). Kartais negalėdavau žodyne rasti autoriaus parašytų žodžių. Nepaisant to, sugebėjau išversti ir pristatyti pjesę per stojamuosius egzaminus į Literatūros technikumą. Tapau studente.

Kalbant apie pirmąsias valstybinio antisemitizmo apraiškas, galiu paminėti Solomono Michoelso nužudymą 7.

Taip pat prisimenu, kad tuo metu buvo rasta nužudyta mergaitė. Man tai buvo taip siaubinga, kad nusprendžiau nebevažinėti miesto transportu, bet visur eiti pėsčiomis, nes bijojau būti keleivių sumušta: buvo kalbama, kad mergaitę nužudė žydai, nes jiems reikėjo jos kraujo macams gaminti. Buvo tikrai baisu.

Parašiau straipsnį į Literaturnaja Gazeta. [Literaturnaja Gazeta buvo savaitinis literatūros ir politikos laikraštis SSRS.] Pavadinau straipsnį „Kur link tu eini?“ Rašiau, kaip vieną karo dieną sovietų kareiviai išlaisvino koncentracijos stovyklos kalinius ir išnešė mane ant rankų. Jie sakė: „Neverk, sese, niekas neleisime tavęs skriausti“. O po kiek laiko tapau prilyginta žmonijos priešams, žudikams ir kosmopolitams. Paskutinis mano sakinys buvo toks „Kodėl dabar tylite? Pažadėjote nebeleisti manęs skriausti, bet dabar tylite“. Aišku, tuo metu tie kareiviai buvo gana pagyvenę, bet juk jų vaikai ir anūkai galėjo būti tarp skustagalvių.

Sausio 27 dieną radijo reporteris paskambino ir pakvietė mane dalyvauti programoje (mane rekomendavo Laisvės Radijo 8 reporteriai, kuriems kelis kartus daviau interviu). Atėjau, tai buvo gana keista radijo transliacijų stotis, įsikūrusi vieno kambario bute. Reporteris paaiškino, kad daugiausiai jie dirba jūrininkams, taigi programas transliuoja naktį, nuo 1 iki 2 valandos. Tai buvo Aušvico koncentracijos stovyklos išlaisvinimo diena (tačiau atrodė, kad reporteris nieko nežino apie Holokaustą) ir Leningrado blokados nutraukimo diena. Reporteris paklausė: „Kaip turėčiau jus pristatyti klausytojams?“

„Esu prozos rašytoja ir buvusi geto bei dviejų koncentracijos stovyklų kalinė.“ (Nemėgstu visiems sakyti, kad esu Sovietinių rašytojų sąjungos narė, nes manau, kad Čechovas 9 ir Dostojevskis 10 buvo rašytojai, ne aš.) [Sovietinių rašytojų sąjunga buvo SSRS profesionalių rašytojų organizacija.] Jis paklausė „Ką?“. Supratau, kad jis nieko nežinojo apie getą. Jis pakvietė mane prie mikrofono ir paprašė papasakoti apie save. Pradėjau nuo vokiečių okupacijos ir kai prakalbau apie getą, jis paprašė: „Gal galite paaiškinti klausytojams, kas yra getas“.

Paaiškinau, bet supratau, kad aiškinu ne tik klausytojams, bet ir reporteriui. Tada jis paklausė: „O kuo buvote apsirengę?“ – „Negi nežinote, ką dėvi kaliniai, dryžuotus drabužius.“ – „Ar jie duodavo kaliniams apatinius?“ – „Sunku pavadinti tą skudurą apatiniais.“ 

Jis suprato, kad klausimų man geriau neuždavinėti. Baigiau savo monologą ir pradėjau kosėti, tad reporteris pasiūlė man arbatos. Nuėjome į virtuvę. Jis sakė, kad jaunai atrodau, nors tiek daug iškentėjau. Tada paprašė papasakoti apie higienos sąlygas stovykloje. „Ar suvokiate, apie ką klausiate? Aš keturias dienas išbuvau be sąmonės, tada iššliaužiau iš barako nusiprausti veido nešvariu sniegu.“ – „Ar gavote kokią nors medicinos pagalbą, pavyzdžiui, aspirino?“

Tas aspirinas mane pribaigė! Pasakiau: „Kodėl kalbate apie kažkokį aspiriną, jeigu visą parą veikė dujų kamera ir krematoriumas. Žmones ten vežė mirti!”.

Išėjau iš tos radijo stoties su jausmu, tarsi prarijusi varlę. Reporteriui buvo apie 30 metų, jis buvo žurnalistas, tačiau klausinėjo manęs ar koncentracijos stovyklose kaliniai gaudavo aspirino! Žinote, kas man šioje situacijoje padėjo? Tai buvo vokiečių žurnalistas iš Austrijos, paskambinęs mano po 2 ar 3 dienų. Jis gyveno Grace (mūsų budelis Franz Mourer irgi buvo iš Graco). Tas žurnalistas man pasakė, kad žino apie Mourer, kad jis buvo baudėjas Vilniaus gete. Tarp kitko, mano knygos austriškame leidime yra epilogas su žodžiais „Šiai knygai reikia Austrijos atstovo parašyto epilogo, nes dauguma paminėtų budelių buvo austrai“. Žurnalistas dalyvavo teismo procese prieš Mourer. Jis sakė, kad auditorija palaikė Mourer, nes dauguma iš jų priklausė SS-Verfugungstruppe.

Vokiečių žurnalistas puikiai kalbėjo rusiškai. Jis pasakė man, kad mirties nuosprendis Mourer (maždaug prieš 10 metų) buvo gana pagarbus. Žurnalistas norėjo atskleisti tikrąją Mourer esmę, bent jau po mirties. Todėl jis ieškojo gyvų liudininkų. Internete jis rado informaciją apie mano knygą ir nusprendė mane aplankyti. Daviau jam Mourer nuotrauką ir du jo įsakymus apie draudimus žydams.

SSRS turėjau pati rūpintis savo knygomis. Eidavau į Leningrado centrinį knygyną ir PRAŠIAU jų paimti mano knygas prekybai. Pradžioje jie leido atnešti penkias knygas. Vėliau paskambinau jiems ir paprašiau leisti atnešti dar dešimt. Tačiau vadybininkė atsiprašė, sakydama, kad naujasis direktorius leidžia priimti tik penkias knygas iš autorių. Ji pridėjo, kad jei knygos nebus parduotos per du mėnesius, jas grąžins autoriui.

Pergalės dieną 11 buvau pakviesta kalbėti dviejų kartų susitikime. Salė buvo padalinta į dvi dalis: buvę apsiausto Leningrado 12 gyventojai ir kaliniai vienoje pusėje ir mokiniai kitoje pusėje. Renginio vedėjas paprašė manęs paruošti savo knygą su autografu mokiniams. Jie apgailestavo, kad nupirko tik penkias knygas, nes knygyne daugiau nebuvo. Tada pasakojau savo istoriją klausytojams (juk žinote, kokie tai skausmingi prisiminimai).  Man uždavė daug klausimų, tame tarpe ir šį: „Ko tikitės iš jaunosios kartos?“ Atsakiau: „Visos mano viltys siejasi su jais“. Salė man plojo.

Peterburge yra Buvusių nepilnamečių koncentracijos stovyklų kalinių asociacija. Jos nariai pradėjo gauti reparacijas iš Vokietijos. Pernai metais, rugpjūčio pradžioje, dešimt buvusių kalinių iš Maskvos ir dešimt iš Peterburgo buvo pakviesti apsilankyti Vokietijoje. Bet suprantate, tik aš kalbėjau su žmonėmis Vokietijoje. Mūsų grupėje buvo įvairūs žmonės: vieni nieko nežinojo, kiti buvo per maži, kad kažką prisimintų. Buvau jau patyrusi kalbėtoja: prie sovietų valdžios mane kviesdavo kalbėti į gamyklas ir tam buvau pasiruošusi. Taip pat priklausiau Sovietų literatūros propagandos skyriui. Žodis „propaganda“ skamba baugiai, bet iš tikrųjų skyrius organizavo rašytojų susitikimus su skaitytojais.

Kažkas pajuokavo, kad Sovietų rašytojų sąjungoje buvo daugybė žydų, bet tik viena žydė.

2003 metais Prancūzijoje atsiėmiau specialų Holokausto atminimo prizą, pasirašytą Rotšildo. Jis turėjo sakyti kalbą, bet tą dieną chuliganai kažkur priemiestyje padegė sinagogą. Todėl, deja, mes nesusitikome ir Rotšildas atsiuntė man savo kalbos rusišką vertimą. Jis rašė, kad premija skiriama kartą per metus nuo 1998 metų ir pirmą kartą istorijoje ja buvo apdovanotas asmuo iš šalies, einančios demokratinės visuomenės link.

Tarp gerai žinomų politinių įvykių, galiu paminėti Vengrijos įvykius 13 ir Stalino mirtį. Tiesą sakant, neturėjau laiko gilintis į politiką. Visada daug mokiausi mokykloje, technikume ir pan.

Kai mano knyga buvo išleista, valdžia labai didžiavosi įrodžiusi, kad antisemitizmo pas mus nėra. Suprantate, tuo metu labai norėjau, kad knyga būtų išleista (iš vienos pusės) ir supratau, kad valdžiai pasitarnauju kaip figos lapelis pridengiantis jų antisemitizmą (iš kitos pusės). Jie išleido knygos apžvalgą ir ją išplatino. Jie sulaukė daug prašymų dėl knygos iš kitų šalių ir pradėjo pardavinėti žurnalinį knygos variantą (žurnalas „Zvezda“) už dolerius. Aš, aišku, negavau nieko: iki 1973 metų Sovietų Sąjungoje nebuvo autorinių teisių.

Įdomu paminėti, kad kaip knygos autorė aš turiu keturias skirtingas pavardes. Pagal pasą esu Rolnikaitė, Izraelyje hebrajiškai ir Varšuvoje jidiš kalba jie vadina mane Rolnik. Paryžiuje jie pažinojo mano dėdę (ant namo, kuriame jis gyveno, sienos kabo atminimo lentelė), todėl ten mane vadina Rolnikas (norėdami parodyti giminystės ryšį). Žinote, Maria Rolnikas Lietuvoje reiškia tą patį, ką Maria Ivanovas – moteriškas vardas plius vyriška pavardė. O Čekoslovakijoje mano pavardė pavirto į Rolnikassova. Taigi, aš turiu keturias pavardes kaip kokia nusikaltėlė! Erenburgas 14 buvo pirmasis, paklausęs apie mano vardą, kai su juo susitikau: jis manė, kad esu Miriam. Toks mano sesers vardas. Kai paklausiau Tėčio apie savo vardą, jis paaiškino, kad kai Mama laukėsi, ji norėjo sulaukti berniuko. Tuo metu mirė mano tėvo senelis ir tėvo tėvas paprašė jo pavadinti naujagimį Mošele. Taigi, gimus mergaitei, jie ją (mane) pavadino Maša (Maria). Viskas buvo labai paprasta ir kartu sudėtinga!

Karui pasibaigus iškart pradėjau studijuoti. Mano draugės sakydavo „Kodėl leidi laiką vakarinėje mokykloje? Eime į šokius! Reikia vesti vaikinus iš proto! Turime ištekėti! Aš atsakydavau: „Ne, neliksiu be mokslo tik dėl Hitlerio okupacijos, nė už ką. Tapsiu išsilavinusia“.

Todėl ištekėjau gana vėlai, jau būdama 32-jų. Mano vyras gyveno Leningrade, todėl po vedybų persikėlėme tenai. Mano vyrą vadino Semion Saveljevič Tsukernik. Jo tėvo vardas buvo Saul, bet dokumentuose rašė Savelij. Ištekėjau 1959 metais, prieš 45 metus. Pradžioje gyvenome komunaliniame bute 15 Majakovskio gatvėje. Bute buvo 8 kambariai ir 6 savininkai. Kai Prancūzijoje manęs paklausė apie mano butą, aš sąžiningai atsakiau, kad šešios šeimos gyveno kartu viename bute. Vertėja sustojo ir paklausė manęs, ar turėtų tai versti. Ir aš atsakiau, kad taip, nenorėjau klaidinti prancūzų, nors supratau, kad susitikime gali būti pašalinių ausų.  Per paskutinį susitikimą Prancūzijoje salė atsistojo man įėjus. Buvau susijaudinusi, taip susijaudinusi, jog ėjau praėjimu visa drebėdama. Žmonės man buvo labai malonūs. Po susitikimo, prie manęs priėjo vyras ir pradėjo liesti mano veidą. Paaiškėjo, kad tai aklas mano dėdės draugas, jis pasakė: „Jūsų stiprus smakras, visai kaip Mikhejaus“. Tą dieną man padovanojo didelę puokštę rožių.

Pasakiau jiems, kad kitą rytą išvykstu į Leningradą. Papasakojau, kad Leningrade yra paminklinės Piskariovo kapinės [Piskariovo kapinėse palaidoti per blokadą mirę Leningrado gyventojai]. Pasakiau Prancūzijos žmonėms, kad jų gėles nunešiu tenai. Taip ir padariau. Užuodžiau sniego ir rožių kvapą, buvo nuostabu. Tai įvyko 1967 metais.

Dabar esu Karo veteranų, buvusių Leningrado blokados gyventojų ir geto kalinių draugijos narė ir Buvusių nepilnamečių koncentracijos stovyklų kalinių asociacijos narė. Mes kartu švenčiame žydiškas šventes. Taip pat švenčiu mūsų išlaisvinimo iš fašistinės koncentracijos stovyklos metines. Kai ta diena, kovo 10-oji, artėja, mano atsiminimai atgyja. Prisimenu ilgą kelią iki stovyklos ir kaip kareivis stumia mane į duobę ir labai stiprų vėją. Prisimenu, kad norėjau užmigti ir miegoti kaip negyva iki pat tų baisių dienų galo. Teisybę sakant, visi mano baisūs prisiminimai liks su manim amžinai.

Žodynėlis

Maria (Masha) Rolnikaite
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Olga Vladimirova
Date of interview: February 2006

Maria (Masha) Grigoryevna Rolnikaite lives together with her husband in a cozy two-room apartment in one of the new districts of Saint Petersburg.

Before the interview, she strongly recommended to read the book This Is the Truth written by her. One of its parts is called I Have to Tell You This. In point of fact it is a diary Masha kept being in Vilnius ghetto and later in 2 fascist concentration camps. The book was published all over the world in many languages. It gives all people an opportunity to get to know terrible truth of those days. 

From the very beginning of our meeting we are astonished at Masha’s strength of mind and courage. You can judge about it from her appearances, from every word and opinion of her. She is a person of affability, humor, and great interest to outward things.

Masha often appealed to the facts recorded in her book: she did not want to tell terrible details of her life again, because (according to her) each of those memoirs left its mark on her.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

Unfortunately I know nothing about my great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. I know only that they all came from Lithuania. Daddy used to say that his grandfather was a water carter, but possibly it was a joke. Most of my relatives lived in the small shtetl Plunge near Klaypeda. [Klaypeda is the third large city in Lithuania, it is situated near the Baltic sea on both sides of the River Dane]. I remember that my paternal grandmother’s name was Hana Rolnikene.

My paternal grandfather’s name was Itsik Abel Rolnik. In Polish rolnik means a farmer, but as far as I know there were no farmers among our family members. He was an old religious Jew wearing beard and observing traditions. He was an owner of a small shop. My grandmother Hana was very vigorous and witty. She gave birth to 10 children and brought all of them up. Unfortunately not all of her children survived: some of them died before the war. At the beginning their shop was very small: buttons, ribbons, etc. (dry goods). Later they added fabrics and finished articles. Grandmother told me that under the counter she had a wooden bucket (where women used to wash linen). In that bucket she kept her baby, she rocked that makeshift cradle with her foot and sold goods at the same time. The only break she had was a short time in small pantry to breast-feed her baby. That was the way she brought up her children!

My grandfather was religious: he attended synagogue. By nature he was very silent and sedate, and my grandmother (on the contrary) was very witty. Here is an example. She had got a brother who lived in the neighboring city. He used to send her letters, but wrote a miserable scratch. Therefore my grandmother sent him the following message: come to our place and read your letter!

In 1938 the shop passed into the hands of my uncle Berl (my father's brother). Grandmother did not rely on his ability to be engaged in commerce; therefore she poked fun at him: ‘After my death, make a small hole in my coffin, so that I will be able to watch you doing without me.’ In 1940 the shop was nationalized and my grandmother could not stand it. That shop was her brainchild and they dared to take it away from her. Authorities took away everything, so when my uncle left the shop for ever, he was carrying in his hands a worn through teapot (they used it to water the floor while sweeping). He said ‘This is the only thing we possess now.’ Grandmother died on January 3, 1941. And nationalization campaign was finished by autumn of 1940 (when Lithuania became a Soviet Republic 1). She died in her sleep from cerebral haemorrhage. At that time she was 64 years old. Her heart was so strong that relatives had time to send for Daddy and other sons. They arrived and had time to pay the last tribute to her. Daddy made a speech during the funeral, though it was not customary. He spoke about her merits, about what relatives were grateful to her for.

Grandmother and grandfather sent my father to cheder, when he became 12 years old. It was situated in the neighboring small town. But Daddy quickly got disappointed in it and came home afoot. Later he finished a secondary school and went to Riga to study in gymnasia. Parents were able to buy him a black suit and a tie and that was all. He went to Riga having no money. Therefore Daddy worked as a porter and as a loader. When his trousers became full of holes, he made patches from his tie. He managed to finish that gymnasia in Riga (for some reason it appeared to be a Russian gymnasia). Daddy decided to become a lawyer and study at a university in Germany. He sent 12 applications to 12 universities and received 12 refusals. Nevertheless he left for Berlin and managed to press for an audience with one of rectors.

It is funny that a postage stamp played the decisive role in the way he became a student. Daddy came to that rector, said that he was from Lithuania and wanted to enter the University. The rector asked ‘Are you from Lithuania? Recently we had differences with my colleague regarding Lithuania and Latvia. Is it the same state?’ Daddy answered that it was not true, that he had a letter from his parents with a stamp of Lithuania. After that the rector allowed Daddy to become an external student. Later he passed through examinations and became an internal student. He studied in Berlin and Leipzig. He graduated from the faculty of law and later from the College of German Language and Literature which prepared teachers of German language and literature for foreigners. I asked him ‘Daddy, what for?’ And he answered ‘It was very interesting for me.’ But the knowledge of German language appeared to be very useful, because later we got a nanny from Germany and she spoke German with us. It is useful for me now, too (many years later). Some time ago it seemed to me that I forgot everything. But when they published my book in Germany, I went there and spoke poor German, but managed to answer questions. By the way I read my manuscript in Yiddish (according to their request).

Mom was a housewife. She had four children and trembled over us like every Jewish mother. Her name was Tayber Koganayte.

I can’t recall my Mom’s father, but I remember her mother. Unfortunately I can’t recollect her name. She was very religious. She lived in Telshe, but when she visited us, she used to be sitting and praying all the time. She also was very displeased if we broke rules during Shabbath. My mother's father died before I was born, his surname was Kogan.

Growing up

I was born in 1927 in Klaypeda.

In my childhood I liked to sing and wanted to become a singer. I sang so much that even had got problems with my throat. I also wrote verses. At the age of 9 I decided to write a novel and bought a thick writing-book. I called my novel Destiny and wrote the name on the book cover. I started with funeral ceremony of a countess: carriages, black curtains, etc. But I gave it up quickly. Anyway I wanted to write all the time. At school we used to have albums where we wrote rhymes to each other. I remember my verses (it is still a pleasure for me): when you become an old woman and an old man is beside you, put on your glasses and read these words. In Lithuanian it was rhymed and sounded well. I also kept a diary since my childhood.

We had a housemaid, though Mom did not work. Sunday was the housemaid’s day off; therefore we (together with my elder sister Miriam, who was 3 years older than me) had to clean our rooms ourselves. Being rather little, we had to wash, iron and sew white collars and cuffs to our school uniform. We also were obliged to clean our footwear. If we got up late, our housemaid helped us, but later she terrorized us ‘I’ll give a report to your Daddy!’

Daddy kept an order everywhere. Mom’s chief concern was to feed us. And Daddy used to say ‘We have got bread, butter, tomatoes, and salt.’ He also told us that we (girls) had to get prepared for future life, to learn to cook from Mom. Daddy worked alone, therefore his financial situation was not very good: he had got 4 children, his family also had a housemaid. I had a younger brother Ruvel (he was born in 1934) and a younger sister Raya (she was born in 1936). When somebody asked Daddy why he had so many children, he always answered he was waiting for a son.

I visited a Jewish kindergarten and later a Jewish junior high school. In 1940 it was closed and I became a pupil of a Lithuanian grammar school. But at home we spoke only Yiddish. I still can write in Yiddish. In ghetto and in fascist concentration camps I kept my diary in Yiddish. Till now I always indicate in different forms that my mother tongue is Yiddish, though I astonish people around me. During the general census [that all-Union national census was carried out in 1989] they asked me about my mother tongue and I said it was Jewish. The employee was surprised and noticed that my husband and I spoke Russian. I explained that we spoke Russian because he was not able to speak Yiddish. The employee was surprised that I knew 3 languages: Yiddish, Lithuanian and Russian. I am not sure that he wrote it down, because filling the questionnaire he used a pencil, and nobody knows what was written there later.

We studied at Lithuanian grammar school together with my sister. At that time people observed traditions and respected religious neighbors. There were manifestations of anti-Semitism (some people blamed Jews for nailing Christ to the cross), but state anti-Semitism did not exist. For instance every Saturday in our grammar school we had the right not to fulfill written tasks, teachers did not ask us. We knew that during the main Jewish holidays we were allowed not to go to school.

At that time at schools pupils were taught religion (before the communists came to power). In our classroom a crucifix hang above the blackboard. In the morning our teacher used to come into the classroom, turn his face to the crucifix and pray. All pupils prayed, too (except us). And after the last lesson the teacher also ordered pupils to pray. A pupil on duty had to say grace. For me it was always funny to listen to Te Deum, if the pupil on duty managed to have got bad marks that day.

They taught us basics of Jewish religion, too (each Friday). All pupils from the 1st till the 8th form had to study it. One day I clashed with the teacher of religion, because he got to know that my father was not religious at all. Moreover during Sabbath he saw my Daddy going home in a cab. So it caused a scandal and the teacher refused to give me a good mark. According to rules, in that case I was not allowed to be moved up into the next form. By the way I was an excellent pupil (only Art lessons were difficult for me). A Roman Catholic priest was our form-master, therefore I went to him. He ordered me to learn by heart several sacred songs. I sang them and he gave me an excellent mark. The conflict was settled.

When a schoolgirl, I made friends with a daughter of Burgomaster. I remember our teacher of French language. She was a real lady, she visited Paris every year. We (girls) watched her dresses very attentively. You remember that Daddy prepared us for studying in Paris and taught us French at home. I was an advanced learner in compare with our school program. Therefore when our French teacher was too lazy to teach us, she said ‘Rolnikaite, read and translate.’ Lithuanian language also came easy to me (other languages, too). In general I studied without special difficulties. I know a Jewish saying: she could do homework standing on one foot.  You know, I was able to stand on one foot and write. Once Daddy came home and saw me lying on the sofa (my feet on the wall) and learning history.

In Russian there are 2 different words: a Jew and a Zhid. And in Lithuanian, as well as in Polish, they have only Zhid. Recently, my former classmate’s husband said ‘…and a person of your Nationality’. I corrected him: Zhid. I understood that he wanted to show himself an internationalist. He was afraid to hurt my feelings, but I corrected him. I never concealed my Nationality.

However at school I identified myself as a Jewess. For instance, in Lithuanian language accentuation is very important. If a person makes wrong accent in a word (especially in numerals), it means that he speaks poor Lithuanian. Our teacher dictated, and we had to catch the words by ear, and the accent was very important! And I managed: I wrote by ear. I was the only pupil in our class who used to get excellent marks. And our teacher said about me ‘Lithuanian is not her mother tongue, but she writes better than all of you.’ So you see that sometimes we realized that we were different. But nobody told it to our face.

Daddy trusted us. In Plunge there was only one car with a driver, and a lot of cab drivers. Our grammar school was situated far from our house (almost in suburb), near the cemetery. It was frightful to come back home in the evening, and Daddy gave us money to hire a cab. He only asked us to come back together. My sister was already grown-up, and they (young ladies) were going and discussing something, while I had to follow them silently.

I had a program in my mind: to go to Paris together with my sister and enter a University there. My sister was 3 years older than me. I had to work hard at school, but sometimes I stayed on a skating rink too long or spent too much time with my friend. In that case Daddy used to say ‘When you come to Sorbonne, they will ask you questions. What will you answer? I guess you will tell them only what your Tsypka knows.’ For some reason he called my friend Tsypka! But he never punished me or moralized. When we were going to be late home from different parties, we never told lies. And Daddy never ordered us to come back at a certain time, he only waited for us. I guess he did not sleep and waited till the door opened.

Of course when Soviets came to power, we had to forget about Sorbonne. By the way my grandmother was already going to give money for our studies, and my uncle who lived in France was ready to find a cheap boarding house in Paris for my sister and me. But our plans failed. Under Communists our life changed completely.

Regarding Jewish traditions, it was my grandfather who observed them especially strictly. Therefore we celebrated Pesach and I always asked those 4 questions. After that I used to get 1 kg of nuts. Together with my grandmother we lighted Sabbath candles. And though Mom was not very religious (as well as Daddy), she observed kashrut: separated meat and dairy food. And when my grandfather visited us, he used to drink tea only with jam, because glasses were considered to be not for dairy and not for meat. Together with my grandmother we went to synagogue, and I saw that men and women were separated there. Grandmother prayed. When on Rosh Hashanah blowing of the shofar opened the sky to let people’s requests go straight there, everybody cried, and my sister and I did not understand the reason. During Yom Kippur Jews prayed in memory of dead people and grandmother did not allow me and my sister to be present in the synagogue. By the way, in ghetto there was no synagogue, only an apartment for praying. And rabbi forbade praying in memory of Jews taken by fascists to Ponary 2. He considered it to be a sin, because some of them could be alive! Sometimes it happened that after execution by shooting some Jews remained alive, got out from under corpses and came back in ghetto. At first fascists fired without aiming and people fell down only wounded. But later they gave an order to cover ditches with burnt lime, so that no one was able to get out.

My father's brother Berl worked in that shop we already spoke about. My aunt (his younger sister) got married in Riga and was killed there in ghetto. Her husband was shot among the first Jewish men. She had got 2 children (one of them was a baby), therefore she could not work. They died there from starvation. Much later 2 women from Riga ghetto told us about her.

Another father's brother was Mikhey. He finished his grammar school and left for Paris knowing nothing about French language. His first letters were very sad and melancholic. But a year later he entered Sorbonne. He was very talented. Later he became a well-known lawyer and all his colleagues were surprised that he was not French: by that time he spoke excellent French. In 1938 he managed to arrive to the wedding ceremony of his sister. He crossed Germany to reach Riga, and we all worried about him, because Hilter was already in power.

My uncle Berl (the shop owner) was exiled to Siberia 3 together with his family. They managed to get back only in 1956 or 1957. Later my uncle, my aunt and their daughter died. Their son lives in Israel now.

Plunge was a very nice small town! There was a large park of prince Oghinsky (relative of that composer Oghinsky, an author of the famous polonaise). The park was open for everyone. In the park there was a skating rink, where we used to skate. There were a lot of trees in the town.

When Hitler came to power, they broadcasted his speech. As radio receiver was only in our house, neighbors came to us to listen it. And the nanny of my little brother (a local Lithuanian girl) did not understand Hitler and used bad words, because Hitler disturbed the child who wanted to sleep.

Daddy was very sorry that we lived in a small town Plunge, a country town. He wanted us to get good education of European level. But in 1940 according to Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 4 Vilnius became Lithuanian, and we moved there. And it saved our lives, because later during occupation (during the war time) 1,800 Jews of Plunge were gathered in the synagogue, taken out of town to a cemetery for atheists and executed by shooting. Fascists suggested Jews to deny Judaism to save their lives.

Some young people did, but nevertheless all of them were shot. In Plunge there is a monument on the place of execution. Certainly it were relatives of those Jews who gathered money for it, and Soviet authorities of Plunge permitted it. Inscription on the monument was written in Yiddish, Lithuanian and Russian languages.

Before the war our family was rather large. But my grandfather, the grandmother's sister, her husband with two daughters, and my father's cousin perished in Plunge. My uncle (my mother's brother) was killed in a small town Telshe. [Telshe is a town in Lithuania, situated 200 km far from Vilnius.] When Jews of Telshe were carried to the place of execution, he managed to escape. But fascists caught him and shot individually, so to say. They forced him to dig a grave for himself. Later some Lithuanians (witnesses) told us that he had gone mad: he understood that he was digging a grave for himself and went crazy (but it is impossible to be proved). And my aunt (his wife and 2 daughters) were killed in Shaulay ghetto. [Shaulay is a town in Lithuania.]

Daddy counted 49 members of our family lost during the war: his and mother’s cousins, sisters, children …

In our family only Daddy (he was at the front line), my elder sister Miriam and I survived. Miriam was in the Vilnius ghetto 5, but she managed to survive.

In September 1943 hitlerites retreated and the Red Army approached Smolensk. At that time Miriam managed to escape from the ghetto. She hoped to find some kind people to hide her or make false documents for her. She even hoped to help us (her family) out of the ghetto. At that time the situation in the ghetto was rather calm, but soon hitlerites appeared there. They read out the order of Gestapo chief about evacuation of Jews from the Vilnius ghetto. Jews had to be moved to 2 camps for work: one in Estonia, another one in Lithuania. Evacuation went off very quickly: everything was finished in 4 hours. Therefore I knew nothing about Miriam until 1945.

During the war

On June 22, 1941 the war 6 burst out. The same day Vilnius was bombed. The Soviet army started its running fight. Hitlerites were just about to occupy the city. My parents knew that fascists hated the Jews. Besides they had another reason for anxiety: my father had cooperated with the Soviet authorities. Parents decided to leave for some place far inland, where invaders would not reach us. Father went to buy tickets, and we (Mom and 4 children) remained at home waiting for him. We waited very long, watching people with their belongings, Soviet tanks, motor vehicles walking and driving by our windows. At last we decided to move to the railway station to find Dad. At the station we got to know that there would be no more trains: it was a terrible misfortune. People informed each other about the last train which had been destroyed recently by bombing immediately after its departure. We did not find Dad and decided to walk out of the city hoping to catch a car. But it appeared to be a hard task to walk being languid with the heat (children of 5 and 7 years old did not manage). So we walked some time, and then went back. There we found out that in our absence Daddy came home and left again to search a car. Fascist armies entered the city that very night. Daddy did not return.

One of the first orders of the new authority was the order they posted up on the restaurants and cafe doors: ‘No Jews allowed’. I went to our school to receive the school-leaving certificate of my elder sister Mira, and other documents. The school was dirty and ruined. A boy from the 9th grade approached me and said ‘Get out! Stop stinking at our school!’ But at that moment Yonaytis, our teacher called me. He shook hands with me, asked me what I came for, went to the school office together with me, and helped me to find the school-leaving certificate and our birth-certificates. That person did much for us later (when we were in the ghetto). He gave us food and money, risking his life.

Soon hitlerites put into use their own money and ordered to check in all radio receivers. Later they ordered every Jew to wear a special sign: a yellow square and a circle with letter J inside it. Together with Mom we made those signs out of an old yellow coverlet. Jews were obliged to bring to the commandant's office money, gold goods and other jewelry. But there came more frightening news: armed patrols arrested men in the city streets and put them into prison. At first people thought that from prison men were carried away to Ponary (to a labor camp), but soon we found out that there was no camp there, in Ponary people were executed by shooting.

On July 21, a month after Germans came to Vilnius I reached the age of 14. I put on a blue silk dress (no sign on it!) and seemed to be so beautiful! Beginning of the war was the end of my childhood. Only my diary connected me with my previous life. I kept my diary being a schoolgirl (it was in fashion!) and I went on doing it during the war. In the ghetto there was shortage of paper, but we used to occupy old apartments and it was possible to find some old writing-books. One day I was presented an accounting book, and I was happy to find blank pages in it! At present I am surprised that at that time nobody laughed at me when I tried to be a chronicler. On the contrary, my relatives used to ask me ‘Masha, have you written about it?’ We all slept together on the floor near the window. I hold my notes on the window-sill. Mom often said ‘Learn it by heart! Your notes will repeat your fate.’

The next order of fascists forbade Jews to use sidewalks (they were allowed to move only along roadways) and all kinds of transport, including cabs.

On September 6, 1941 fascists enclosed several narrow streets in the city center and moved all inhabitants away. Jews were forced to move to their houses. That was the way Vilnius ghetto appeared. Our family also moved there. We lived penned up together with other families: 18 persons in a small room. There was not enough place to sleep. A girl slept on the table, another one slept under the table. There was a girl who had to sleep in the bath. Mom started working at a sewing workshop. We were given ration cards and received only 125 grammes of bread and some black peas per day. It was forbidden to bring food into the ghetto. If somebody did, it could cost him his head.

In the ghetto fascists often carried out special actions: i.e. taking people for executions. In autumn of 1941 those actions were the most mass ones: 3-5 thousand people were executed during every action. And later when only the necessary number of handicraftsmen remained in the ghetto, they started terrifying people by unexpected searches. Soldiers rushed into any apartment and arranged a search. They did their best to find clothes without the yellow star, bread baked differently (in the ghetto they made special bread that looked like clay). If they found it, they immediately took all inhabitants of the apartment away. Certainly nobody ever saw them again.

Some news from the front line seldom reached us. With great pleasure we got to know that Germans ran away from Moscow and already left Kalinin [a city near Moscow, now Tver]. The German army suffered heavy losses and its soldiers suffered from frost very much. Therefore hitlerites decided to dress warmly at our expense: they ordered us to bring to the commandant's office all fur coats, fur collars and fur cuffs. And again death penalty was promised for those who refused.

The ghetto was some sort of a small state. In the ghetto there were different offices responsible for distribution of ration cards and rooms (or rather corners in the rooms). There was a special department taking care of orphans (several boarding schools were organized). There were schools and even a grammar school for children, but it was half empty: not because there were no children, but because they all had to work. There were a prison, a hospital, a drugstore with a poor set of medicines. In the ghetto there was even an underground organization which fought against fascism. One day 3 activists of that organization I. Kaplan, A. Khvoynik and A. Big got to know about liquidation of the ghetto and decided to leave for the forest through a drain-pipe. But unfortunately they lost their way underground and got out in the city center. Soldiers seized them and hang. When my book was ready for the first publication, the editor said ‘People you named were not listed as partisans, eliminate this episode.’ - ‘But they were the organization members’ I insisted. But nothing could move him ‘Tomorrow they will come to ask for a special pension!’ - ‘Do not worry, they will not come: fascists hang them’ I calmed him. But at that time I could not think about the future book and even about my possible survival.

Persecutions of fascists knew no limit. One day they took all old men away from the ghetto. They said they wanted to bring them to a recreation house to feed and treat. Relatives became suspicious and refused to let them go. But old people were taken away by force. They were really fed well and photographed during the first 2 days. And then they all were executed by shooting.

In the spring I found a job. For the most part we worked outside the ghetto. At first I worked on the fields of an old rich person. I had to carry hundred buckets of water a day to water plants. Later I started working at a knitting workshop, where women added fingers to gloves by knitting. Later I went to a furniture factory to polish skis. 

That was they way we lived in the ghetto: dying from starvation and cold, and waiting for death. It seems strange, but in the ghetto there was a chorus. I was its member. We sang in Hebrew and in Yiddish. The head of the chorus also created a symphonic orchestra. Very few musicians survived: they were considered to be the least useful and fascists killed them first of all. But nevertheless the orchestra appeared and together with chorus prepared the Beethoven's Ninth symphony for performance.

With great pleasure we got to know that hitlerites went into mourning for 3 days: they grieved about their armies defeated near Stalingrad. Later we knew from rumors that Kharkov [now Kharkiv, Ukraine], Rostov-on-Don and many other cities had been liberated. But all those cities were situated so far from Vilnius!

People got to know that in the neighboring shtetls hitlerites shot about 3 thousand local Jews. A lot of partisan groups appeared in the neighboring woods, therefore hitlerites were afraid that local Jews would certainly contact them. So they decided to execute a part of the Jews, and to move the rest of them to the Vilnius or Kaunas ghetto. But later they changed their mind and killed all of them! Only a few men managed to escape; they penetrated into our ghetto and told us how those Jews were shot in the wood near the large holes dug beforehand.

At that time my sister Mira managed to escape from the ghetto. Some kind people promised to hide her. Soon all inhabitants of the ghetto lost their jobs. The ghetto became completely isolated from the world. But nevertheless from rumors we got to know that at the Vilnius railway station there appeared an inscription JUDENFREI (it meant that the city was free from Jews). But in fact we were still alive! We understood that the countdown had begun.

One September evening all inhabitants of the ghetto were informed that they would be evacuated to two working camps: in Estonia and in Lithuania. Evacuation would last only 1 day. They permitted to take a small number of clothes with us.

My brother Ruvel learned to read in the ghetto. He was very proud of it, and used to say that Daddy would be pleased. Ruvel was afflicted that we were going to take only clothes (no books). ‘What shall I read there?’ he asked. Mom answered ‘You will read when we get our liberty.’

At last we got ready to leave. There were lots of people in the streets. The crowd was gloomy. Together with other people we reached the ghetto gates and went out. After a while we reached a ravine and were ordered to stop. There the large crowd of people spent a night in the rain. Next day hitlerites ordered people to get out from the ravine. They let people out through the gate one by one, and Mom ordered me to go first. A soldier seized me and pushed aside. Mom and two children remained behind the gate. I tried to get back to my family and suddenly I heard that Mom begged the soldier not to let me back in. She said that I was young and could work well. Then she shouted to me ‘Live, my child! At least you alone!’ And she lifted children a little so that I could see them. And I saw them. For the last time in my life!

1,700 people including me were moved to the railway station and took aboard the train. We arrived in a concentration camp near Shaulay.

My camp life began, however it could hardly be called a life. Newcomers were given clothes. I got a silk ball-dress. It was decorated with an artificial red flower and had very low neckline. Long time passed until I managed to get a needle and alter the dress a little. I worked at the building site: I had to peck stones off and push heavy tubs full of stones. We suffered from terrible starvation, persecution and beating; we felt pain of death. In the camp there was an inscription ‘You do not live to work, you work to live’. Hitlerites arranged the so called selections, i.e. sorting of people for subsequent execution. Till now I do not understand why I remained alive: they were going to kill everyone younger than 18 and older than 30. I was 17, but probably there was some mistake in the card index. In the meantime Soviet armies were already near Riga: we heard explosions and bombardments and saw airplanes flying in the sky. We hoped to be liberated soon, but instead Germans forced us to move to Germany (to Stutthof). They transported us by a military steamship (it was loaded with some equipment) - in the cold.

Shtutthof concentration camp was one of the oldest: it was built by Polish railwaymen as early as in 1938-1939. The camp reminded a market of slaves, because owners of farms used to come there. We had to strip to the skin and walk by employers showing our muscles. We were covered with abscesses because of terrible starvation. I said in German ‘Ich bin stark (I am still strong)’ and showed my muscles though there was nothing to be shown. A nearly blind old farmer looked at me and took me to his farm. There I worked about 4 months. I slept in the pigsty together with pigs. The owner locked us at night, we had no days off. But at the same time I was lucky to get there: it was possible to eat some potatoes from the pigs’ ration without the owner’s knowledge. He gave us a loaf of bread for a week and used to warn ‘If you work badly, I’ll send you not back to the camp, but directly to a crematorium.’

In November after harvesting we got back to the camp. We did not leave camp for work because of typhus epidemic. We got to know that there was fire in the gas chamber, therefore hitlerites poisoned the so-called soup (it was something like warm water, and it was a fortune to find a small slice of rotten cabbage in it) they fed us with. They did not give us enough water, therefore we ate dirty snow. So I got ill with typhus, too. But after a while I got better (by a miracle!). My neighbors told me that when I was lying on the floor unconscious, I sang loudly and abused Germans left and right. I felt ashamed: ‘My Daddy is a lawyer, nobody in our family used bad language…’

Suddenly when all of us lost hope to survive, Germans ordered to evacuate those who could walk to another camp. I was not able to walk, but I knew that those who did not endure torture would be killed. And I crawled out. And I walked. It was the road of death. My companions in misfortune supported me; they said that it was a pity to leave such a young girl. On our way we managed to perceive snow-covered bunkers full of potatoes or beet. Neither kicks nor shots could stop us. We fell down, raked snow aside by benumbed hands, broke off the ground and snatched beet away. When we left, several prisoners remained on the snow killed. We spent nights in sheds en route. My feet swelled up. I was afraid to take off my boots... Later we understood that Germans took us away from the advancing Red Army.

One night we were put into a huge shed or a stable. In the deep of night we heard that someone was hammering on the door ‘Hey, women, get out, Red Army is here!’ At first nobody believed, we thought it was a provocation: Germans wanted to force us run out and kill by shooting in the back. Nobody of 700 women moved. The voice continued ‘If you are so silly, go on sitting here!’ And he disappeared. It seemed to us unbelievable! That soldier told tank crews about us. They used a tank to break the door, and women ran away from the shed. I could not walk, could not get myself up. I was lying on the floor and waiting to be trampled underfoot. At last Red Army men came into the shed. They lifted me and carried me to the village in their arms. I embraced them and started crying (for the first time!). Tears were rolling down my cheeks. One of those soldiers said ‘Do not cry, sister, we will stand up for you!’ And I had only one idea: I survived! It happened on March 10, 1945.

When I returned to Vilnius from the concentration camp (in 1945), I saw the city in ruins. I had no problems with my neighbors. At my work (I was an editor at the Vilnius Municipal Arts Department) my chief Banaytis was a very decent person and he paid attention to my emotional experience regarding my nationality. He said ‘Don’t worry, here we pay no attention to nationalities.’ I didn’t come across any manifestations of anti-Semitism. Among my colleagues there was a chief accountant - a Jew, a chief manager - also a Jew. My next job I got at the State Vilnius Philharmonic Society: there were many Jews, Poles, Lithuanians. Their hatred against Russians forced them to be nice to local Jews.

After the war

When I returned to Vilnius after all ordeals of the war time, I met Daddy in the street by chance. He already knew that Miriam remained alive. After the war she became a student of the Faculty of Law at the Vilnius University.

Now she lives in Klaypeda. Her husband tragically died: he drowned when she was 39 years old. She has got 2 sons and 5 granddaughters. And she still works (notwithstanding her age). Together with her children my sister visits our town Plunge every year on July 18 (the day of execution of Jews in Plunge).

Unfortunately after the end of the war Daddy lost hope that his wife and children Raya and Ruvel remained alive. All that hastened his death. I guess he was unhappy. Half a year before his death he left his work, because a doctor said ‘If you go on working you will fall down dead!’

After the end of the war we spent a lot of time in Palanga together with Daddy. He often recollected the past. Once he reminded that when we were children, he got ill, but nevertheless (having running temperature) went to his office to work, because he wanted to show us the necessity of struggle, the necessity of work. I said that at that time we understood nothing. Daddy also often explained to us that it was very important for a person to become educated. Again, at that time I could not understand him. When Hitler came to power, I thought it was only important to have a rifle in your hands.

Daddy considered a hospital and a prison to be places where people can live. He was full of humor. I also started with comic stories. When my first book was published in Moscow, Misha Raytiz, a winner of Lenin premium wrote a foreword to my book. [Lenin premium in the USSR was one of the highest forms of encouragement of citizens for their achievements in the field of science, technique and arts. Lenin premium was awarded annually since 1925.]

My second book was published in 1967. I also made translation of Sayanov’s play. He was a writer, a winner of Stalin premium. [Stalin premium in the USSR was one of the highest forms of encouragement of citizens for their achievements in the field of science, technique and arts. Stalin premium was awarded annually since 1939.] At that time all books of writers who were awarded Stalin premium, had to be translated into languages of the USSR republics. While translating, I suffered much, because my Russian was poor (I never learnt it). Sometimes I could not find author’s words in the dictionary. But nevertheless I managed to translate it and presented the play at the entrance exams at the Literary College. I became its student. 

Regarding the first manifestations of state anti-Semitism, I can mention murder of Solomon Mikhoels 7.

I also remember that at that time a murdered girl was found. It was so terrible for me that I decided not to use municipal transport but to walk everywhere I needed, because I was afraid to be beaten black and blue by passengers: they said that the girl was killed by Jews who took her blood to make matzot. It was really terrible.

I wrote an article for Literaturnaya newspaper. [Literaturnaya newspaper was a weekly literary and political edition in the USSR.] I named that article Whither Goest Thou? There I wrote that one fine day during the war Soviet soldiers liberated prisoners of a concentration camp and carried me out of it in their arms. They said ‘Don’t cry, sister, we will never let you be offended.’ So after a time I became a companion-in-arms of enemies of people, murderers and cosmopolitans. My last sentence was the following ‘Why are you silent now? You promised never let me be offended, but keep silence now.’ Of course, by that time those soldiers were rather elderly, but in fact their children and grandchildren could be among skinheads.

On January 27 a radio reporter called me and invited to participate in broadcast program (I was recommended by Radio Liberty 8 reporters, where I gave a talk several times). I came there: it appeared to be rather strange broadcasting station situated in a one-room apartment. The reporter explained that for the most part they worked for seamen, therefore they broadcasted at night (from 1 till 2 o’clock a.m.). It was the day of liberation (but that reporter seemed to me to know nothing about the Holocaust), the day of raising the blockade of Leningrad. The reporter said ‘How shall I introduce you to our listeners?’

‘I am a prose writer and a former prisoner of the ghetto and two concentration camps.’ (I didn’t like to tell everybody that I am a member of the Union of Soviet Writers, because I consider Chekhov 9 and Dostoevsky 10 to be writers, not me). [Union of Soviet Writers was the organization of professional writers of the USSR.] He answered ‘What?’ And I understood that he knew nothing about the ghetto. He invited me to the microphone and asked to tell about myself. I started from German occupation and when I mentioned the ghetto he said ‘Will you please explain to our listeners what the ghetto was.’ 

I explained, but realized that I was explaining it not only to the audience, but to the reporter, too. Then he asked me ‘And what were you dressed in?’ - ‘Don’t you know that we wore prison clothes, the stripes.’ -  ‘Did they give prisoners underwear?’ - ‘It was difficult to call that sacking underwear.’ 

And he understood that it was better to ask me no more questions. I finished my monologue and started coughing, therefore the reporter suggested me a cup of tea. We moved to the kitchen. He said that I looked youthful, though I had suffered so much. Then he asked me the following ‘Tell me about sanitary conditions in the camp.’ - ‘What are you talking about, I wonder? As for me, four days I was unconscious and then crawled out of the barrack to wash my face with dirty snow beside it.’ - ‘Did you receive any medical assistance, for instance aspirin?’

At that moment I was absolutely drooped with that aspirin! I said ‘Why are you talking about aspirin, if a gas chamber and a crematorium functioned round the clock. People were brought there to die!!!’

So I left that broadcasting station and it seemed to me that I had swallowed a toad. That reporter was about 30 years old, he was a journalist, but he asked me if they gave prisoners aspirin in a concentration camp! Do you know who helped me in that situation?! It was a German journalist from Austria, he called me 2 or 3 days later. He lived in Graz (our executioner Franz Mourer was from Graz, too). That journalist told me that he knew about Mourer, that he was an executioner in the Vilnius ghetto. By the way in the Austrian edition of my book there is an epilogue which contains the following words ‘This book requires an epilogue from an Austrian, because the majority of the mentioned executioners were Austrians.’ That journalist was present at the legal proceedings against Mourer. He said that the audience sympathized with Mourer, because most of them were from SS-Verfugungstruppe.

That German journalist spoke excellent Russian. He told me that death notice of Mourer (about 10 years ago) was rather respectful. The journalist wanted to unmask Mourer (at least posthumously). Therefore he was searching for an eye-witness. In the Internet he found information about my book and decided to visit me. I gave him a photo of Mourer and two orders of him regarding prohibitions for Jews.

In the USSR I had to take care of my books myself. I used to go to the main bookshop of Leningrad and ASK them to take my books for sale. At first they allowed me to bring 5 books. Later I called them and asked their permission to bring another 10. And the goods manager told me apologizing that the new director ordered to take only 5 books from authors. She added that if the books were not sold during 2 months, they would be returned to the author.

On the Victory day 11 I was invited to speak at a meeting of two generations. The hall was divided into two parts: the former citizens of the besieged Leningrad 12 and the former prisoners on the one side and schoolchildren on the other one. The presenter asked me to prepare autographed copies of my books for the schoolchildren. They were sorry to have bought only 5 books (there were no more books in the bookshop!). Then I addressed the audience with my story (and you know that each recollection is painful)… They asked me many questions, including the following one ‘What's your attitude towards young generation?’ And I answered ‘I rest my hopes upon them.’  The whole room applauded.

In Petersburg there is an Association of the Former Minor Prisoners of Concentration Camps. Its members started to receive amends from Germany. Last year (in the beginning of August) 10 former prisoners from Moscow and 10 ones from Petersburg were invited to visit Germany. But you see, it was only me who spoke to people everywhere in Germany. Among the members of our group there were different people: one of them knew nothing, another one was too little to recollect anything. And I was an experienced speaker: under the Soviet regime they used to invite me to different factories, and I spoke to people readily (I knew that I had to). I also was a member of a Circle for Propagation of the Soviet Literature. The word propagation frightens people, but actually the circle arranged meetings of writers and their readers.

Someone said for a joke that in the Union of Soviet Writers there were hundreds of Jews, but only one Jewess.

In France (in 2003) I received a special prize In Memory of Holocaust, signed by Rothschild. He had to deliver a speech, but unfortunately that day hooligans set fire to a synagogue somewhere in the suburb. Therefore we did not meet (unfortunately!) and Rothschild sent me the text of his speech translated into Russian. There he wrote that that premium had been awarded since 1998 once a year, and for the first time in its history it was awarded to a person from the country which was on its way to democratic society.

Among the well known political events I can mention Hungarian events 13 and Stalin's death. To tell the truth, I had no time to be engaged in politics: I always studied hard at school, at my college, etc.

When my book was published, authorities were very proud that they proved to have no anti-Semitism. You see, at that time I wanted my book to be published very much (on the one hand), and understood that I acted as a fig leaf for authorities to cover their anti-Semitism (on the other hand). They published a review and circulated it. They received a lot of requests for the book from different countries and started selling its magazine variant (Zvezda magazine) for dollars. Of course I got nothing: till 1973 in the Soviet Union there was no copyright.

It’s interesting to mention that I have four different surnames as an author of those books. According to my passport I am Rolnikaite, in Israel (in Hebrew) and in Warsaw (in Yiddish) they called me Rolnik. In Paris they knew my uncle (there is a memorial plaque built into the wall of the house where he lived), therefore I was called there Rolnikas (to show our relationship). You know Maria Rolnikas in Lithuanian means just the same as Maria Ivanov - a woman’s variant of the first name plus a man's variant of the surname. And in Czechoslovakia they transformed my surname into Rolnikassova. Hence I have 4 surnames as a real criminal! Erenburg 14 was the first person, who asked me about my first name when I visited him: he thought I was Miriam. And it was my sister whose name was Miriam. When I asked Daddy about my first name, he explained that when Mom was pregnant, she dreamed to give birth to a boy. At that time my father's grandfather died and my father's father asked him to call the newborn boy Moshele. Therefore when a girl was born, they called her (me) Masha (Maria). All was very simple and very complicated at the same time!

After the end of the war I immediately started my studies. My friends (girls) used to say ‘Why are you spending your time at this evening school? Let’s go to dance! We must drive boys crazy! We are eager to get married!’ I answered ‘No, I won’t stay illiterate because of Hitler’s occupation - not for the world! I will become educated.’

Therefore I got married rather late: at the age of 32. My husband lived in Leningrad, therefore after marriage we moved there. My husband’s name was Semen Savelyevich Tsukernik. His father’s name was Saul, but Savely according to his documents. It happened in 1959 (45 years ago). At first we lived in a communal apartment 15 in Mayakovskaya Street. There were 8 rooms (6 owners). When in France they asked me about my apartment, I was honest: 6 families lived together in our apartment. The interpreter stopped and asked me if she had to translate my words. And I said yes, I was not going to set the Frenchmen wrong, though I understood that at that meeting some third eyes could be present. And at the last meeting in France the audience rose when I came in. I was confused. I was so much confused, that walked along the aisle all of a shake. People were very kind to me. At the end of the meeting a person approached and started touching my face. He appeared to be a visually impaired friend of my uncle, he said ‘Your chin is strong-willed, like that of Mikhey.’ That day I was given a big bunch of roses as a present.

I told them that the next morning I was leaving for Leningrad. I explained to them that in Leningrad there was Piskarevskoye memorial cemetery. [Piskarevskoye memorial cemetery was a burial place for the Leningrad citizens during blockade of Leningrad.] I told people in France that I was going to carry their flowers there. So I did it. I smelled the snow and roses: it was fantastic! It happened in 1967. 

At present I am a member of the Society for War Veterans, Former Citizens of the Besieged Leningrad and Ghetto Prisoners and also a member of the Association of the Former Minor Prisoners of Concentration Camps. There we celebrate Jewish holidays. Besides that I use to celebrate anniversaries of our liberation from fascist concentration camp. When the date (March 10) is near, it comes to my mind again and again. I recollect our long walk to the camp, and the soldier pushing me down into the ditch, and a very strong wind. I remember that I wanted to fall asleep and be sleeping like a log till the end of those terrible days. You know, to tell the truth, all my terrible memoirs will stay with me for ever 

Glossary:

Dupnista

Bulgaria

Interviewer: Dimitar Bozhilov

Date of Interview: July 2005

Ida Alkalai is a very polite, hospitable and warm, elderly lady. Her home is modestly furnished and is located on the central street of the town. She likes doing housework and is pleased with the recent renovation of her kitchen. She’s very attached to her family and relies on her husband’s opinion. She thinks that old people shouldn’t meddle into the lives of their children unless the children need it. Some years ago both her children left for Israel and her husband and she are very sad about it and are thinking whether they should follow them.

I come from the Sephardi Jews 1, who were banished from Spain in the 15th century 2. My mother’s family is from Kyustendil. My maternal grandfather’s name was Estrel Elazar and my grandmother’s name was Sara Elazar. My grandfather was a tinsmith and had a workshop in Kyustendil. My grandmother was a housewife. They were nice and modest people. We spoke with them in Bulgarian and Ladino 3. I can speak Ladino. I saw my maternal grandfather very rarely. I don’t remember him very well because he died when I was very young.

After my maternal grandfather died, every year my grandmother came from Kyustendil to spend two to three months with us so that she wouldn’t be alone. She lived by herself in Kyustendil. She was a talkative and easygoing woman. Unlike her, her sister, whose name was Reyna, was very strict and aristocratic. She wasn’t very talkative and looked very serious. I’ve vague memories about them from the time of my visits to Kyustendil. My grandmother was a little bit stooped and wore a kerchief, under which she had a braid. When I was a child, I visited my grandmother almost every year. I traveled by bus. Kyustendil was a beautiful town with nice mineral water spas. There were rich and very poor Jews living there. I usually visited my mother’s brothers and sisters when I went to Kyustendil on my summer vacations. I was still a pupil then. I had a very good time. We went to restaurants and had walks around the town. They asked me to sing and I did gladly.

My mother, Matilda Shekerdjiiska, was born in Kyustendil. She had three brothers and two sisters. The eldest one, Nissim Elazar, was a cobbler in Kyustendil. I don’t remember his wife. My mother’s second eldest brother was Estrel Elazar. He was a tinsmith in Kyustendil. His wife’s name was Vintura. They had four children, who left for Israel during the mass aliyah 4. They were very beautiful girls. I remember the names of two of them: Marika and Sarika. My mother’s third brother was Rahamim Elazar. He worked as a tailor and lived in Sofia. His family also left for Israel. I don’t know any details.

My paternal grandfather’s name was Haim Shekerdjiiski, and my grandmother’s name was Kadena Shekerdjiiska. My grandfather was related to Emil Shekerdjiiski, but I don’t know their exact relation. [Shekerdjiiski, Emil Mois (1912-1944): journalist, writer, literary critic. Born in Dupnitsa. A communist functionary and member of the Bulgarian Communist Party since 1932. Studied at ‘Kliment Ohridski’ Sofia University, as well as architecture in Belgrade (Serbia). Contributor to a number of Bulgarian newspapers and magazines. During World War II he was a partisan (with the nickname Stefan) in the Kyustendil squad. Killed as a partisan in a firing with the police in 1944.] I’m not sure where they were born, most probably in Dupnitsa. We never spoke about that. I only remember that four families in addition to my grandparents lived in the house in Dupnitsa, in which I was born. Apart from my father, the families of some of my father’s brothers also lived there.

When I was a child, probably at the end of the 1920s, my paternal grandparents left for Gyurgevo near Sapareva Banya, which is about 20 kilometers from Dupnitsa. My grandfather had a grocery store there. He sold everything: sugar, oil, flour, butter, ironware. Sapareva Banya is a resort village with a nice mineral water spa. Once, my grandfather decided to try the mineral water spa in Sapareva Banya and a bull passed through there, attacked and stabbed him. That’s how my grandfather died.

My grandfather liked his grandsons more than his granddaughters. He didn’t like me much because I was a girl. He didn’t pay much attention to me. He was a strict man. He was also quite a big man. He dressed in plain town clothes: he usually wore trousers and a jacket. I don’t remember him having a beard. After my grandfather died, Grandmother Kadena came to live with us in Dupnitsa. She lived alone in a room in the attic. She was a humble and short woman. Sometimes she had lunch with us or with some of my father’s brothers. I remember that she often sat on the big balcony and spent her time there.

My father’s name was Zhak [Haim] Shekerdjiiski. He was a dealer of second-hand clothes and goods. He had a small warehouse behind the house. He sold his goods there. He didn’t have a shop. My mother helped him. Villagers came and bought what they needed. They knew him and asked for him. That helped us during the time of the anti-Jewish laws, when Jews were forbidden to do business 5. Despite the bans the villagers continued to buy goods from us. We weren’t poor. My father went to Sofia every week and brought us nice food. But that was before the war [World War II]. After that my father got sick and stopped going to Sofia. We couldn’t afford to have a maid. My mother sewed custom-made clothes and my father’s business wasn’t too successful. We were a nice modest family. From my father’s brothers only Uncle Aron and Aunt Liza had a maid.

My father had five brothers and a sister: Buko, Aron, Adolf, Daniel, Nissim and Matilda. Uncles Aron, Adolf and Daniel lived in our yard. We were a very united family. Uncle Buko lived elsewhere and Uncle Nissim was in Sofia. Uncle Buko lived in the Jewish neighborhood. He had three sons: Haim, who was blind, Josko and Nissim. Haim was a basket-maker. All my father’s brothers were dealers. Uncle Buko sold flour. Uncle Nissim sold clothes in Sofia. Uncles Aron and Adolf also sold flour. Uncle Adolf went to Gyurgevo to help my grandfather, but after an accident he came back and became a dealer.

The eldest brother was Uncle Buko, and then my father was born. Aron was the third child, Nissim the fourth, Adolf the fifth, Daniel the sixth and Tanti [Aunt] Matilda was the youngest. She got married and lived in Sofia, but she didn’t have any children. Uncle Nissim’s wife was from Sofia. I don’t remember her name. Uncle Buko married Zumbul, nee Shimon, from Dupnitsa, Uncle Aron married Liza from Samokov, Uncle Daniel married Ester from Kyustendil, and Uncle Adolf married Vita, who was born in Sofia. Some of those families left for Israel. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the names of all my cousins and relatives. Uncle Daniel and Aunt Ester lived in Dupnitsa. They had two children: Rahamim, who became a professor in pharmacy in Sofia and Dinka, who became an accountant in Sofia.

There were a lot of Jewish houses in the center of Dupnitsa, but there was no Jewish neighborhood there. It was located not far from the center along the [Jerman] river 6, which passes through the town. There was no difference between the Jews living in the center and those along the river. You can’t say that those in the center were richer. We had a Jewish school called ‘Eliachi Hadjidavidov’ [Eliachi hadji David was a famous corn-dealer in Dupnitsa.]. The building of the Jewish municipality, the synagogue, which was massive and old, and the Jewish bank ‘Bratstvo’ [Brotherhood] 7 were in the center. The bank was governed by the Jewish municipality. It supported mostly Jews, and gave them credit for the purchase of apartments or education. Nissim Alkalai, my husband Aron Alkalai’s father, was a teller in that bank and was paying a mortgage there. We had a chazzan and shochet, who was in a separate building. Before the mass aliyah, after the state of Israel was founded [the big aliyah in 1948], the Jews in Dupnitsa were around 2000.

Our house had two floors and a big balcony. It was in the center of Dupnitsa, very close to the building of the Jewish municipality. It was built by Grandfather Haim. Each family had their own entrance. The house was old but the living conditions were good. There were two buildings in the yard. My family’s apartment was in one of the buildings and consisted of two rooms and a kitchen. We had water and electricity. We didn’t have a radio. One of the buildings faced the street and there were small shops on the ground floor. We lived in that building, but in the rooms facing the yard. The other building was further out in the yard. My father’s brothers, who lived in Dupnitsa, had separate shops with warehouses. All the shops were on the main street of the town.

My mother, Matilda Shekerdjiiska, nee Elazar, was born in Kyustendil. I suppose that my father saw her when he went to Kyustendil and that’s how they met. She worked as a seamstress. She had her own sewing machine. When I graduated from the vocational school, I started helping her with the sewing. She didn’t observe Sabbath because she had to work on Saturdays. I have seen her sew on Saturdays. But my grandmothers observed Sabbath very strictly.

My parents were humble people. They respected each other and loved us, the children, very much. My brother was also very modest. We never gave them much trouble. They weren’t very strict, but raised us warmly and lovingly.

My parents communicated mostly with Jews. Their environment was Jewish. They spoke more of Ladino than Bulgarian. In the past I heard people saying that Jews spoke Bulgarian with an accent. The interesting thing was that there were Bulgarians in the Jewish neighborhood who spoke Ladino. Their environment was Jewish, they communicated with Jews mostly and that’s how they learned Ladino. Some Bulgarians knew Ladino very well, because they had learned it when they were kids, during their games with the Jewish children. When I was a child, I was friends with all the children in the neighborhood, both Jewish and Bulgarian. We got along very well.

We had both Bulgarian and Jewish neighbors. During the Jewish holidays we welcomed our Bulgarian friends. Whole families came to visit us. My mother’s meals weren’t very different from the traditional Bulgarian cuisine, which includes a lot of vegetables and meat. But there were some differences, for example, Bulgarians didn’t make leak balls. My mother made very nice rice with chicken, okra with chicken, hotchpotch with aubergines and meat, pastries with cheese, minced meat, leaks, and spinach. She also made very nice crackers. My mother was a very good housewife. Grandmother Kadena also cooked very well.

All my father’s brothers got along very well. I saw my father and his brothers gather with friends and play poker. We were united. My mother gathered with her Jewish friends at home. I had a very good friend, Dinka, who was the daughter of Uncle Daniel. We played a lot along the river near the Jewish neighborhood. When we were a little older, I made her watch from the balcony whether Aron, my future husband, would enter the confectionery opposite the street so that I would go there to see him. Those were nice years. My husband and I met at a ‘jour:’ that’s how the gatherings of young people were called then. ‘Jours’ were for all young people, both Jews and Bulgarians. But my friends were Jews. ‘Jours’ were made in the houses. We listened to popular music and danced.

My husband and I flirted and grew closer to each other. We went out for about a year before we got married. We went together to restaurants and bars in Dupnitsa, but only after 9th September 1944 8. The synagogue was near our house. Jews visited it regularly. There was a small stream with drinking water in the yard. Weddings were also done there. My father didn’t go to the synagogue as he wasn’t religious. He liked doing the shopping. He was very good at housework and his business. Even during the greatest crisis in fascist times [during World War II] he managed to support our family. Every year we prepared winter supplies: raw and boiled pickles, flat sausages from mutton and pork. When I was a child, there was a small building next to the synagogue and we took hens there to be slaughtered by the shochet. But sometimes my father put on an apron and slaughtered the hen in the sink at home. Later when I got married, we asked someone from our Bulgarian neighbors to slaughter the chicken.

I studied in the Jewish school until the fourth grade. I think that there was also a nursery [cheder] at the Jewish school. It was for children up to pre-school age. We had a teacher at the Jewish school called Monsieur Revakh, who was very strict. He taught us Ivrit. When we didn’t know our work, he hit us with a small pencil and made us stand in the corner facing the wall. I wasn’t very good at Ivrit. Monsieur Revakh did his best to teach us the language, but I think we weren’t very hard working. There were also female teachers in the school who were Jewish. There was a stage at the Jewish school. We gathered in a big hall there to dance and party. The Jewish school was the only school in town which had a stage. On that stage I sang in the school choir.

Dupnitsa was a relatively developed town for its times. When I was a child there were carriages and buses to the nearby villages. I have traveled by carriage. There was a narrow-gauge line passing near Dupnitsa.

There were Jewish organizations in the town. The most popular were Maccabi 9 and ‘Saznanie’ [Conscience] 10. I was a member of Maccabi. I don’t remember doing gymnastics or any other sports. The association ‘Saznanie’ was a cultural and educational organization. There was a choir, library and theater group. They were all housed in the building of the Jewish municipality in the center of town. I also saw Bulgarians visit the ‘Saznanie’ community house. I don’t remember Maccabi having some concrete activities. We just gathered to see each other. Most of the Jews were members of ‘Saznanie.’ They had a rich cultural program. They put on opera performances, concerts and theater plays. They were much visited by the Jewish community in the town. You can say that the ‘Saznanie’ community house organized the cultural life of the whole town. My family also went to opera and theater performances.

When we were young, we often went to the theater and cinema. The movies were very popular and tickets were sold out quickly. The cinema was at the place of the military club in the center of the town. After my marriage we still went to the theater and cinema.

When I was a child, my parents and I often went on vacation by cart to Sapareva Banya. That is the village with the mineral water spa where my grandfather died. We usually spent 10-15 days there. My father hired a cart with a coachman; we took some luggage and went to Sapareva Banya. Usually only my family went, but sometimes we also took along other Jewish families. In Sapareva Banya we usually rented a private lodging during our stay. We did that once a year. Later, when I got married, my husband and I went to seaside resorts every year. I also often went to mineral water spa resorts.

When I was a child, we always celebrated Pesach and the other high Jewish holidays such as Frutas 11 and Chanukkah. On Pesach we weren’t allowed to eat bread. We strictly observed that for eight days. There was matzah and boyos [small flat loaves] on the table. We celebrated Pesach by ourselves. Usually some of my father’s relatives also visited us. My mother prepared a holiday dinner. We made burmolikos 12 from matzah. We put the matzah in water, then kneaded it, added eggs, and fried it in hot oil. We then dipped them in sugar syrup and ate them with a boiled egg. We also made pastel [pastry with meat]. We didn’t have separate dishes for Pesach, but before the holiday we cleaned the entire cutlery, and the house.\

When my father and uncles gathered at my grandfather’s for Pesach, the ritual was more closely followed. Firstly, they washed their hands, then said a prayer, and read the Haggadah. The observation of the rituals was done mostly by our grandparents. When I got married, my husband and I didn’t follow the Jewish rituals. After the mass aliyah in 1948-1950, not many Jews remained here.

On Yom Kippur, even nowadays, I observe the tradition of not eating anything from the evening of the previous day until 6pm the following day. I also do nothing on that day. On Frutas besides citrus fruit, my mother baked sunflower seeds, peanuts and hazelnuts. We all loved nuts at home and my father often bought them. On Purim we had small purses and went to our relatives who gave us coins. I went to my uncles and each of them put a lev in my purse. Children in fancy clothes also came and their parents gave them presents. There was a tradition on that day to give money to the children. That tradition is still being observed today. On Chanukkah there was a tradition for us to eat halva 13 and sweet things. The halva was made at home. We had a candlestick with eight candles and every day we lit a new one. Now we also have a candlestick for Chanukkah.

After three classes in a junior high school I enrolled in the vocational school in Dupnitsa. When I graduated from the junior high school, I wanted to study in a high school. Then my mother told me that I had to learn a craft and enrolled me in the vocational school. There I learned sewing and worked with my mother for some time. Sewing was what we did for a living. My mother sewed dresses and when I graduated from the vocational school I started giving her some advice. There were Jews and Bulgarians among my mother’s clients. I graduated with a master’s certificate in sewing. That was shortly before 1939. In school I didn’t have problems because of my origin. I remember that during the war [World War II] some Germans, civilians and military, were accommodated in the vocational school. I don’t know why. But they didn’t treat us badly.

At the beginning of the 1940s, when the anti-Jewish laws were adopted, we were very worried. My father continued working. He was close to a lot of villagers, who kept on buying goods from him. Otherwise, all the Jewish workshops, bank and organizations were closed. During the internment of Jews in 1943 14 in Sofia, a family of four came to live with us. That was the Kohen family. They were my mother’s relatives. We had a kitchen, living-room and one more room. We gave them the living-room. They stayed with us for some months.

From my father’s brothers only Uncle Daniel had a radio, a ‚Telefunken.’ During fascist times they hid it so that no one would see it. There was an order to confiscate all Jewish radio sets. We listened to the news on the war. During World War II, Uncle Rahamim, my mother’s brother, was interned from Sofia to Dupnitsa and lived at our place. I remember that he was with us during the bombardments. [On 13th September 1943 the British-American troops bombarded the Bulgarian towns Stara Zagora, Gorna Oryahovitsa and Kazanlak, as Bulgaria was allied with Germany. On 30th December 1943 they bombarded Sofia. In this air raid 70 people were killed and 95 wounded. The biggest air raid was in Sofia on 10th January 1944. 750 people were killed and nearly the whole city center was ruined]. He watched the planes passing through the sky and told me in Ladino that those were stars up there.

In January 1944 there were bombings in Dupnitsa. There were destroyed buildings. When we heard the sirens, we would all climb a hill near the town so that we wouldn’t get hurt. All the people from the town went there. As far as I know the American planes that went to Romania, I don’t know for what reason, didn’t throw their bombs, and when they were going back they threw their bombs over other parts of Bulgaria. It was good that they threw most of their bombs in the field. Before Uncle Rahamim came to us, he was in a labor camp in Kailuka 15 near Pleven. He was caught going outside during the forbidden hours and that’s why he was sent there. There was a fire at the place where the Jews were imprisoned and ten Jews died. My uncle survived. He lived in Sofia and died there.

When we weren’t allowed to go out, because we were being prepared for deportation 16, my father went out to sit for a while in front of the door. Then a fascist-oriented neighbor hit him and ordered him to go inside immediately. We weren’t allowed to go out even in front of our houses. There were shops with notices reading, ‘Forbidden for Jews.’ There were special shops for Jews. But we didn’t have notices on the doors of our houses. There were people in Dupnitsa who were against Jews even before the war. But most of the people supported us.

We got along very well with most of the Bulgarians. When we were about to be deported in 1943, all our belongings, everything which was stored for a girl who will get married such as sheets, towels, clothes, blankets, we gave to Bulgarians. But when they told us that we wouldn’t be deported, the Bulgarians gave us our belongings back. Then we had to stay in our houses and weren’t allowed to go out. Probably they waited for the trains to arrive to get us deported to the concentration camps.

The Aegean Jews, who were killed in the camps, passed through Dupnitsa 17. Some of those Jews spent a few days in Dupnitsa in some warehouse and the Bulgarians brought them food. I also remember that during fascist times Bulgarian friends visited my husband’s father to take him out to a friend’s house, when Jews were forbidden to go out after 8pm. He would take off the star [the interviewee means the yellow star worn obligatorily as a badge by Bulgarian Jews] 18 and they would hide him while walking on the street. During the war there was a curfew and we were allowed only to walk along the river.

On 9th September 1944 the partisans came to Dupnitsa from the Rila Mountain. I was at the square where a lot of people from the town had gathered. There wasn’t any fighting in the town, only the outright fascists were arrested and imprisoned. The authorities changed, the political prisoners were freed and we were very happy. There were speeches in the square.

My husband, Aron Alkalai, and I were very much in love. We have known each other ever since our adolescence. We had a large Jewish company. We got together and went to the cinema. We met at a hill near the town. He was very handsome and they called him ‘the baron.’ I was a very merry girl and sang very well. In September 1944 Aron went to the war front 19. He had enlisted as a volunteer. Then I gave him a lighter as a gift. Before that he had given me a bracelet. I had prepared my gift beforehand and hid it from my parents. Lighters were quite different then and we called them ‘tsigarnik’ [from ‘tsigara’ - ‘cigarette’ in Bulgarian]. I was very worried when Aron and my friends went to the labor camps 20 and after 9th September 1944, to the front. But the Jews in Bulgaria felt obliged to take part in the war against fascism and enlisted as volunteers. We got married in 1945. We only married before the registrar. I think that there were no religious weddings then. After we got married, Aron insisted that I shouldn’t work, so I stayed at home for some years. I did the housework and looked after our two children.

My husband was also born in Dupnitsa. He graduated from the vocational school in the town. He has a master’s certificate for a cobbler. His father, Nissim Alkalai, was a much respected man in the town. He worked as a clerk in the Jewish Bank until it was closed in 1940. His family members were very intelligent. His uncle, Mois Alkalai, was a headmaster and teacher in the Jewish school and the chairman of the Jewish municipality in Dupnitsa during World War II 21.

During the mass aliyah all my uncles left for Israel. That was the mass emigration of Jews from Bulgaria to Israel. My husband and I also wanted to leave. We did whatever my husband said. He didn’t want to leave because of his parents, because they had also decided to stay. It was very difficult to emigrate then because there was no one there to help you. You traveled by steamboat then. The people who emigrated packed their luggage in wooden boxes, so that they could use the wood to make sheds when they arrived. Now, with the help of relatives there, it’s much easier. It’s difficult to find a job in Israel, but it’s different from our times. Thanks to our older son, Nissim, our younger son, Zhak, managed to find a job. My father didn’t want to leave because of me, because my husband and I decided to stay. My parents also stayed in Dupnitsa and died here. Now my husband and I regret not leaving, because now we are alone without our kids, who are in Israel. We didn’t regret our decision earlier. We love Bulgaria and didn’t feel the need to emigrate. We often corresponded with our relatives in Israel. Now we keep in touch with my children by phone. The last time we visited Israel was four years ago.

In 1954 I started work in the Galenov Factory in Dupnitsa producing medicine. I started work when the factory was founded. My colleagues were very nice. Some of them were Jewish. The job wasn’t easy, we had quotas to fulfill.

I was respected at my workplace. I worked there for 21 years. It was later transformed into ‘Pharmahim.’ I retired from there with a small pension. I was easygoing and sang a lot. I was in the factory choir and had some solo performances in the community house of the town. I was also a soloist in the choir. I know songs in Ladino, which I learned from my mother.

After 9th September 1944 my parents stayed in the house where I was born. We continued to celebrate the Jewish holidays, but we didn’t get together with them, but with my husband’s family. My brother, Josko, often visited us. My uncles and aunts, who lived there, before they left for Israel, always got together on holidays.

My brother’s name is Josko Shekerdjiiski. He’s a little younger than me. He was born in 1927 in Dupnitsa. He also studied in the Jewish school. As a child he worked for my cousin, Haim Shekerdjiiski, with whom he made baskets. Then my brother graduated from a technical school, in food processing. After 9th September he started work in the shoe factory in Dupnitsa, where he worked until he retired. My brother’s wife is Olga who was born in Sofia. They have two children: Madlen [Madlena] and Zhak. Their family moved to Israel in the 1990s. The children were the first to go. Then they invited their parents. Zhak graduated from a technical school in communication equipment in Sofia and worked as a technician in Israel. Madlen is a nurse. My brother feels nostalgia for Bulgaria and visits Dupnitsa every year. But this year he and his wife aren’t in very good health and won’t come. Their children are happy in Israel. I think they went there for economic reasons.

After September 1944 we didn’t go to the synagogue, although it was opened. But after, most of the Jews immigrated to Israel from 1948 to 1950. It was then closed and used as some kind of a warehouse. Later, unfortunately, it was demolished and the Home of Techniques was built in its place. As far as I know the synagogue was built in 1599. I don’t know who made the decision to demolish it. The decision was made in Sofia. The Jewish organization in Dupnitsa didn’t stop working though.

After we got married, our two children were born: Nissim and Zhak. They weren’t raised especially in the spirit of the Jewish traditions, although after 9th September 1944 we continued to celebrate the Jewish holidays. You can say that they know the Jewish traditions well. We always celebrated Pesach. We lived with the family of my husband. His father read the Haggadah. The other holidays weren’t very strictly observed, probably only Yom Kippur, when we fasted. Our children don’t understand and can’t speak Ladino.

Zhak graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Dupnitsa and was assigned to work as a teacher in Dalgopol [near Varna]. There he met his wife Zhechka, who is Bulgarian. They got married before the registrar. When he came and told us that he chose a wife from Dalgopol, my husband and I didn’t object. The parents of my daughter-in-law came to us in Dupnitsa and approved us as the family in which their daughter would live. My daughter-in-law is very nice. They have a son, Aron.

Our older son Nissim is an electrical technician and was promoted to director of a telephone technical office in Sofia. There he married Roza, who is Jewish. They married before the registrar and the next day they went by themselves to the synagogue and had a religious wedding. They have three children: Kristina, Ronit and Suzana.

Nissim immigrated to Israel about twelve years ago. He learned Ivrit very fast there. Now he speaks it fluently. Zhak also left with his family a couple of years ago. My older son emigrated mainly because his wife wished so. He had a good job in Sofia as a director. In Israel he now works as a supporting technician. His wife wanted to emigrate out of curiosity and patriotic reasons. My younger son emigrated due to economic reasons because his salary as a teacher was very low.

My children were raised among Bulgarians. There are no other Jews in the neighborhood, where our house is. My children got along with the Bulgarians very well. We got on very well with our neighbors both before and after 9th September 1944. We were also welcomed by them. We can’t complain about anything. Our environment was mostly Bulgarian. When our sons were born, we celebrated the brit milah. But we didn’t celebrate their bar mitzvah. My mother-in-law sang songs in Ladino and Bulgarian to my children. I also sang to them.

It’s difficult for me to comment on the political events in Bulgaria and abroad in recent years. Now life is more expensive, but people have more opportunities. Although our pensions are small, thanks to Joint 22 we can cover our expenses. What I think about are my children. They ask us to go live with them all the time, but we haven’t decided yet. We have prepared our documents, but at our age it’s very difficult to go to another country, in which we would understand nothing.

Now I do only housework. I spend my time mostly at home. Sometimes I meet with the women from the Jewish municipality in the Jewish club. We celebrate birthdays and Jewish holidays, mostly Pesach.

Kofman Raikhchin
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Olga Egudina
Date of interview: May 2006

I met Kofman Wolfovich in his cozy and hospitable apartment. It was rather difficult for me to settle the date of our meeting because Kofman Wolfovich leads a very active life. Meetings with friends, trips out of the city, visits to the synagogue - he has time and energy to do everything.

He speaks slowly and in low tones. Like a painter’s brush, his words draw for us first scenes of his childhood which he spent in a small provincial town, then terrible episodes of war. It is a great pleasure to meet Kofman Wolfovich and listen to him. No doubt we are very lucky that he agreed to share his memories with us.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary 

My family background

I remember nothing about my great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers. I did not see them alive and I do not remember any stories about them.

The most distant relatives whom I remember are my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather. To tell the truth, I met my grandmother only several times. She lived in Turov town in Belarus, not far from us and came to visit us sometimes. Her name was Tsipere. Our family lived in Petrikov town (60 kilometers far from my grandmother’s place). Our towns were very much alike. At that time in Belarus there were many small towns where a great part of population was Jewish. There it was customary to give people nicknames according to the name of place they came from. For example my father was called Velvl de Babunichi (i.e. Velvl from Babunichi). Babunichi was a small village in Belarus. So now I know that my father was born in Babunichi. Only judging by his nickname I could understand where my father was from. Regarding my grandmother, I remember that she had a domineering disposition in the town. Her husband died early in life and I do not know how she earned for living. She had only 2 children. I say only, because at that time poor Jewish families used to have much more children. You know that nowadays a family with 2 children is considered to have many children.

Unfortunately I remember nothing about my father’s sister: I even forgot her name. I remember only that she and her husband lived in Baku [now Azerbaijan]. I also remember almost nothing about my mother’s parents. I was named in honor of my mother's father. So it becomes clear that he had died before I was born. He was a manager of woods at a rich Polish landowner Tadeush. Father told that sir Tadeush liked to play chess with my grandfather. My grandfather was a good player, but just in case (not to provoke wrath of sir Tadeush) he gave him odds. And the landowner used to discover his intentions and say ‘Oh you, cunning Jew!’ My grandfather had 16 children. I do not remember their names and details of their biographies. My information is most scanty. One of them was lost during the Russian Civil War of 1918-1920 1, the other one fell a prey to pogroms. Two of them emigrated to America during the first years after the Revolution of 1917. My parents corresponded with them till 1947, then their correspondence was interrupted, and I was afraid to recommence. I already studied at the College (it was in 1947), when I received a parcel from our American relatives. It contained clothing: unprecedented luxury in those times. But my College friends said ‘Be careful!’ - It is strange that nothing happened after that parcel: do you know how it was called? It was called relations with people who left abroad! Therefore I even did not thank them for the parcel. Sure, I am ashamed for it, but persons who lived in this country at that time can understand it.

Parents of my father were religious and my father inherited religiousness from them. He studied in cheder and later in yeshivah.

Sister of my father was younger than him; I do not remember her name. She lived in Baku (now Azerbaijan) together with her husband. She had 2 children.

I was born in 1924 in Petrikov town and lived there till the beginning of the war, when I was 17 years old.

Petrikov was a small town (its population was about 5,000). There lived quite a lot Jews: 1 Jewish school among 5 ones in total. I studied at that school during 7 years. The school was not just a traditional Jewish one, but Soviet-Jewish: they taught us in Yiddish, but never discussed religious topics. In our town there were woodworking plant and brickworks, therefore sidewalks were made of planks and roadways were made of bricks. I do not remember any consolidated Jewish community in our town. There were 2 synagogues: for men and for women. My father visited the synagogue regularly till 1937. There were no special Jewish residential areas in our town: people of different nationalities lived where they liked. Most Jews of our town were handicraftsmen, but I also remember many Jews in the government's employ.

The town was built on the River Pripyat, which became notorious all over the world for the Chernobyl disaster. [Chernobyl disaster was the largest damage of nuclear power station in the history of mankind: it resulted in atmospheric contamination in all European countries, and in particular the river Pripyat was poisoned.] Because of the original relief, the town was divided into 2 parts: upper and lower one. At first we lived in the lower part (low-lying lands) of the town. Every spring high water flooded that part of the town. Water reached window sills. It was impossible to stay at home. Therefore all members of our family moved (by boats) to our neighbors - Byelorussians, who lived a little bit higher. Sometimes we had to stay at our neighbors for a fortnight. Herefrom it becomes clear that our relations with neighbors were the most kind despite of nationalities. During my life in Petrikov I never came across any manifestations of anti-Semitism. I both never faced it myself and never watched anything of that kind regarding other people. Everybody respected one another, respected other's culture and religion. Many Russians and Belarussians spoke Yiddish.

In our house there were 3 rooms. We had no water or electricity supply. The house was heated by Russian stove 2, we used it also for cooking meals. We had rather large vegetable garden, which helped us very much: as who should say, it fed us. We always had a cow.

Several years later, when my father’s salary increased a little we managed to buy a house in the upper part of the town. At that time I was 7. In our new house there were 5 rooms and it seemed to us a palace. Parents placed a room at the boys’ disposal (to go in for photography). It was all that could be desired! There we also had a large vegetable garden and a large apple orchard.

My father worked as a supplier. He went round the neighboring villages by cart and bought dried mushrooms, berries, dressed skins and so forth. On the territory of the town market my father had a special room, where people from the neighboring villages could bring agricultural production and sell it to my father, earning some money for it. Later all products were put on sale.

Our family was very loyal politically, my parents never criticized actions of authorities, and at least they never did it in presence of their children. My father was always very interested in politics, both foreign and internal. He was a talented public speaker. When he started talking about something, people gathered around him (wherever it happened) to listen to his speech. I remember that during the civil war in Spain 3 my father made a fiery speech (I guess inspiration found him at the town market). The import of his speech was to hand land in Granada to peasants. [‘…To hand land in Granada to peasants’ is a citation from Granada, a poem by Michael Svetlov. Michael Svetlov (Sheynkman) was a Russian Soviet poet. He was born in 1903 and died in 1964.] Father suggested contributing to relief fund for Spanish republicans. And people immediately started collecting money.

Great Terror 4 did not leave our town aside. I remember quite well the following episode: in our kitchen stove at our place father is burning certificates of honor which he was awarded with during many years of his work. From conversation of my parents I understand that these certificates were signed by various important figures already shot by that time, and it is better to get rid of them to get out of harm's way.

At school every morning was begun with a question: ‘Whose father was arrested this night?’ It was very seldom when nobody was taken away. And you understand that it happened in our small town!

Celebration of Russian religious holidays always came to the same end: some Russian neighbor came running to us to save herself from being beaten by her drunk husband. On revolutionary holidays (November 7 5 and May 1) they arranged demonstrations, which I always participated in. [May 1 was the state holiday in the USSR: the Day of the International Solidarity of Workers.]

Our family observed kashrut. Several Jewish women used to buy a ram by clubbing together and take it to shochet. They did the same with hens. They used to send children for easier purchases. Before Pesach women made matzah by turns in every Jewish house. It turned out that Russian stove just touched the spot for making matzah.

My father was born in 1890. His name was Velvl (Wolf) Raikhchin. He finished cheder and yeshivah. Father participated in the World War I, was taken prisoner, moved to Germany and worked there for a German burgher as an assistant on his farm. He lived there for about 3 years, having kept warmest memoirs about the owner. These memoirs nearly cost him his head, when the Great Patriotic War burst out 6. But I am going to tell you about it in due time.

After my father was delivered from captivity, he arrived in Petrikov. I do not know the reason why he chose Petrikov: I guess it was the nearest settlement larger than his native village. He began working as a supplier. Later he became a manager at the regional food products warehouse. A special building was constructed for it. It was large and made of bricks. In this country people always lacked food products (both during war and peace time). Therefore a person who was a master at a food products warehouse always (so to say) stood high esteem of everybody around. For example, a municipal official came to him and asked his assistance in buying a bottle of vodka. Well, was it possible to refuse? But father tried to decrease this sort of contacts to the lowest notch. By the way, thanks to my father’s position we sometimes had an opportunity to go by a lorry which delivered food products to shops.

Father tried to teach me religion and tradition, but unfortunately I was interested in it very little.

My Mum was born at the end of 1890s. Her name was Haya, nee Fridman. Most probably she was born in Poland. By the time of father’s return from the front line, she already lived in Petrikov, and I don’t know how she had got there. Their marriage was arranged by matchmaker (shadkhan). They got married in 1921. Their wedding took place in the synagogue according to tradition (chuppah, etc.).

Mum was very kind, very attentive and full of love to her children. We often got ill and she nursed us, regardless of her own health. She had to keep large house and vegetable garden, take care about the cow. All this adversely affected her health and Mum died an early death from heart disease: she was a little over forty. It happened in 1940. I remember that during her funeral ceremony father suddenly said ‘Nobody knows where our bones will lie.’ You know, his words appeared to be prophetical: neither he, nor his elder son happened to be buried beside her.

Father was much more strict than Mum. His life was also not easy. He assumed obligations for hard work at home. He had to saw and cut fire wood, to bring water for vegetable garden! He never beat his children, but sometimes he gave us fits.

Mother tongue of my parents was Yiddish. We all spoke only Yiddish at home. Naturally I considered Yiddish to be my mother tongue, too. When I entered College, I had to fill in a questionnaire, there I wrote Yiddish regarding my mother tongue. The Head of the 1st department sent for me and said ‘You’d better change it for something better.’ [In the USSR 1st departments were responsible for keeping vigilant watch over loyalty of employees. The 1st department of each institution was closely connected with NKVD 7 and KGB 8.]

My father visited synagogue regularly. Mum went there very seldom and children never did it. Moreover, at our Jewish school there was a group named Light Horse. To my shame I was its member. We had to go along the streets and look into windows to find people celebrating Pesach or Shabbath. We were obliged to explain them their mistakes.

At home we celebrated all Jewish holidays and every Shabbath. You know, as is customary at Jewish house, you can be hungry all the week long, but on Saturday you will have chicken, gefilte fish, etc. on your table. As for me, most of all I liked Pesach. I liked both meal and action with asking questions, searching afikoman, etc. All boys of our family were circumcised, but parents did not arrange bar mitzvah for us: there came a time when it was dangerous.

At home we never had any assistants. To tell the truth, all children from early age did everything to be best of their ability.

Financial position of our family was more than modest. Only father earned money, having 4 children. I know it for sure that without vegetable garden and the cow we would be not able to survive.

Members of our family had no idea about holidays. On days off father brought us to woods. Woods around our town were very good; they were very close to houses. We liked to collect mushrooms and berries very much, they were of great use for our family in winter: we used to dry mushrooms. I do not remember Mum making jam: I guess sugar was too expensive.

My parents never wore traditional clothes. They always put on very modest secular clothes.

At home there were only religious and children's books. Number of religious books was great. When I studied at the Jewish school, we read books in Yiddish written by Jewish children's writers. Later we began to read in Russian and in Belarus language. We had no system in reading: there was nobody to advise. For example, Mum never read books. As for me, I was an active reader of school library. I was interested in books of cognitive character: reference books, encyclopedias. I borrowed them from our school library. Father subscribed for the Der Emis (it means The Truth) newspaper in Yiddish. It was published in Moscow. Besides father always demanded that children should bring daily newspapers (central and Belarus). So every morning we ran to a newsstand to buy lots of newspapers. When I grew up a little, I began reading Pionerskaya Pravda children’s newspaper.

One of mother’s sisters lived in our city (I do not remember her name). She often visited us. She was much more educated, than my parents, therefore we liked to have a talk with her on different topics, we asked her about everything and she answered our questions willingly.

Growing up

When I was little, I did not attend a kindergarten, I stayed at home with Mum, my brothers and my sister. I do not remember Mum amusing us by doing something special. But we were in good health. We always had what to do about the house and in the vegetable garden irrespective of age: weeding, watering, destruction of caterpillars and Colorado beetles, protection of vegetables and fruit from crows, and again weeding.

I went to school at the age of 6. I was not a child prodigy, but I had an elder brother (he was 2 years older than me). We attended cheder together with him. To tell the truth cheder was at our place: melamed visited us at home. In 1930 authorities started struggle against religion 9 and parents stopped inviting melamed. It was time for my brother to go to school, and there was no place for me to go, therefore parents sent us together to the same class. Our school was Jewish, all subjects were taught in Yiddish. Russian was taught as a foreign language. At our school there was a very good director Pachevsky. Teachers were qualified and respected children. I was very good at chemistry. I remember a teacher of mathematics: a real dragon, but a square shooter and a very good teacher. And our director taught us both Russian and Yiddish. By the way they studied in yeshivah together with my father in their time. And one more: in Leningrad I studied in the same students’ group with the nephew of our director. It's a small world, indeed!

Besides my school I had many hobbies. In our town there was a special institution named Children's Technical Station. I attended there groups of aircraft modeling and radio one. There were a lot of sports groups, too. I went in for track and field athletics at the stadium. Most friends of mine were my schoolmates: some of them were elder, others were younger than me. During our studies in the groups teachers spoke their mother tongues: sometimes Russian, sometimes Belarus language, and sometimes Yiddish. I never went anywhere for vacation.

I was an Oktyabrenok 10, and a pioneer 11, and a Komsomol member 12.

In 1937 when I finished the 7th class, our school became extinct as a Jewish one. [In 1918 Soviet authorities permitted national minorities to teach their children at schools in their mother tongue. But in 1938 they issued an edict ordering to teach all schoolchildren in Russian.] It became Belarussian. There came a lot of children who finished rural seven-year schools. Teachers started teaching in Belarus language, and Russian was still taught as a foreign language. Here I’d like to tell you that my sister studied at our Jewish school her first three years, and then parents sent her to a Russian school, though by that time our Jewish school still functioned. You see, parents understood that studies at a Jewish school give no good outlook for a child. Other parents understood it too and stopped sending their children to the Jewish school.

Now I’d like to tell you about my brothers and sisters.

My elder brother Paltiel was born in 1922. He did not come back from war: he was killed in 1944 in Lithuania. My brother was prodigy. At school he was interested in physics, mathematics, and astronomy. He studied at different circles together with me. He was my first and best friend. I am sure Paltiel could have achieved much, but he was killed so early in life. He left for front from Petrikov. Later we left for evacuation and knew nothing about him (he knew nothing about us, too). At that time a radiobroadcast was devoted to people bereaved of their relatives. Thanks to that broadcast, my brother found us, and we corresponded till the day of his death.

My sister Sofiya was born in 1926 in Petrikov (like all of us). She studied at Jewish school, then at Russian one. After the end of the war she returned to Petrikov. They found a groom for her in Bobruisk (oh, that everlasting fame of shadkhanim!). That person (his family name was Zaichik) was a loyal supporter of soviet political regime all his life long. He held a high post in the national education institution. When authorities started struggling against cosmopolitism 13, he was dismissed and sent to a school in the suburb of the town as a teacher. Soon he became a director of that school. But as soon as it became possible to emigrate to Israel, he immediately got ready for a trip to Israel. People tried to persuade him to stay here, he was offered different posts, but he was inexorable. He said ‘I cannot live in the country which treated me that way.’ They left in 1979 with their 3 sons. My sister did not study anywhere after school, but she managed to master profession of bookkeeper without any assistance.

My second brother Isaac was born in 1928 in Petrikov. By the beginning of the war he finished only 4 classes. When we reached the terminal of our evacuation (Uzbekistan), my sister got fixed up in a job as a bookkeeper. She was very sociable, quickly began speaking Uzbek language, enjoyed esteem and love of local residents. One day an Uzbek made a strange request: he asked her to let our younger brother Isaac go with him. He was engaged in supplying activity, as our father did in Petrikov. He had to go from one distant mountain village to another, therefore he needed assistant. So my brother spent with him all the time we were in evacuation. We saw him only occasionally. He enjoyed his life, did not miss us very much, and made a lot of new friends. After evacuation my brother returned to Petrikov together with us, but soon he remained there alone: I left Petrikov for study, Sofiya got married and left for Bobruisk, and Daddy had already died by that time.

After a while Isaac moved to Sofiya (to Bobruisk), but it turned out to be uncomfortable for him. I suggested him to come to my place in Leningrad. He arrived and some time we lived together with him in our hostel, but he had no residence permit 14. Therefore he found a factory where they gave that sort of permit and a place in a hostel. It was a factory for processing leather. My brother finished secondary school without attending lectures, and entered Technical School for light industry employees. [Technical School in the USSR and a number of other countries was a special educational institution preparing specialists of middle level for various industrial and agricultural institutions, transport, communication, etc.] After the Technical School he graduated form the Textile College and worked at one of the Leningrad factories. In 1988 he left for Israel together with his son (his wife had died by that time).

During my childhood we were friends mainly with my elder brother. We were together all the time: at school, at home - everywhere.

During the war

But now we’d better go back in June of 1941. My brother and I finished the 10th class. We felt like quite adult and important. Several days we spent walking around the town together with our former schoolmates talking about our future and making plans. On June 22, 1941 (Sunday) at noon I heard some noise in the street. We had no radio at home, but our neighbors heard Molotov’s speech 15 and ran out of their houses. By the way, early in the morning on June 22 many citizens heard drone of airplanes and bursts of bombs, but everybody thought it was military exercise.

Next day we together with all our classmates went to the local military registration and enlistment office. [Military registration and enlistment offices in the USSR and in Russia are special institutions that implement call-up plans.] They enlisted almost every boy, except me: I was the youngest (only 17 years old). My brother Paltiel was among the called up boys.

I joined the Komsomol Battalion. Its task was to go round the neighboring villages and ask peasants, whether they noticed enemy spies. I was given a nearly blind horse and a rifle that dated back to the time of civil war. I did not manage to find a spy.

Day by day the front line approached our town. There appeared first victims: people occupied in building protective constructions around the town, were shot from planes.

Soon the town started preparing for evacuation. One of officials of high rank in our town was our relative: his surname was Zaretsky. He convinced Jews to evacuate. But my father refused flatly, he told everybody that when he was in captivity during the World War I, the owner of the farm where he worked was very good to him. Many Jews of Petrikov also considered life under Germans to be much better in compare with Soviet regime. I guess that many Jews were saved thanks to the following circumstance: after occupation of Poland [on September 1, 1939 Germany invaded Poland] through our territory there passed many Jews forced to leave their native places. From their stories it became clear that times had changed completely and that Jews would not expect anything good in case of German occupation. Therefore many Jews of Petrikov started preparing for evacuation. My father had a good reason not to leave: he considered himself standing sentinel, because products from his food warehouse were delivered to neighboring woods for partisan groups.

On July 5 the first barge with evacuating people left (among them there were communist party workers with their families and plenty of luggage). Early in the morning on July 19 Zaretsky came to our house on horseback. He talked to my father in Yiddish:
- Velvl, leave immediately, save your children.
- I cannot do it, I keep the keys from warehouse.
- Give me the keys and make all ready for leaving. In half an hour I’ll send a lorry to you.
So we moved to the station. There was a heated goods van, ready for departure. [A heated goods van was a freight car adapted for transportation of people.] That was the way I went by train for the first time in my life.

Later we got to know that about 400 Jews remained in our town. Later all of them were executed by shooting.

At first we arrived in a collective farm in Tambov area 16. There we (several families from Petrikov) started working in the field. Less than in a month it became clear that Germans approached quickly, therefore we decided to go farther to Uzbekistan. Our way was long and painful, but at last we found ourselves in Samarkand area, in some kishlak. [Kishlak is a rural settlement in Central Asia.]

My father started working as a shepherd, my sister got fixed in a job of a bookkeeper, and I already told you about my brother Isaac. As for me, I started working at the anti-malaria station. I was obliged to go round the local residents and distribute anti-malaria medicine. I was usually cheered by the following: ‘Doctor is here!’ I also had to spray oil over the surface of water reservoirs to destroy malarial gnat-worms. I guess I managed my task, because during my work there were almost no cases of malaria. The malicious irony of fate was hidden in the fact that when I already was at the front line (in 1943), my father got ill with malaria and died.

Once on my way a batman-rider found me and handed over a call-up paper from the local military registration and enlistment office. It happened in August 1942.

But I got to the front line not in a day. At first they sent me to Samarkand to take a course organized for inexperienced soldiers. After that course I was put down for allowances as a soldier of regiment ready to leave for the front line. But for some reason the regiment departure was postponed, therefore I was sent to Ashkhabad to School of Junior Leaders. A lot of junior commanding officers were lost at the very beginning of the war, therefore there was lack of that sort of officers. I finished that School and (as I had secondary education) was sent to the courses for commanders of middle level. I spent in Andizhan 3 months studying there. After that I waited for appointment for several months and at last was detached for service at the Reserve officer regiment of the Western front. They informed me only about its staff location: it was in Tula. So I left for Tula. It happened in April 1943.

I do not remember why we made the first stop in Yasnaya Polyana. [Yasnaya Polyana is a homestead of Lev Tolstoy 17. In 1941 during 2 weeks it was occupied by fascists. They placed there a German military hospital. Fascists buried their dead soldiers near the tomb of Tolstoy. Crosses with swastika stroke our eyes.

In Tula I found the army headquarters not without difficulty. There I was told that I was appointed the commander of the rifle regiment #529 (army #50). So I had the only aim: to find that regiment in the fields of action. And I started having a haversack and a document which allowed me to get C. ration. From time to time I met fellow travelers, sometimes I saw local residents who were coming back to their liberated settlements. On the front road junctions I saw direction signs like Smirnov’s Disposition or Artamonov's Disposition. That was the veiled way to name military units. I hardly found out that Artamonov's Disposition was the very place I needed. At last I got there after many days of wandering.

My platoon was located on the fringe of the forest. At that time operations were of local character. We had to suppress centers of resistance of retreating Germans. Thanks God, our losses were not bad. Soon we passed to the offensive, which was over by the end of September. Last fights which took place several kilometers away from the left coast of Dneper, were especially bloody. In my platoon there remained less than half of soldiers’ number. In order to get prepared for the following fights, we stopped in the wood near the front line (near the River Pronya). It was interesting to watch the way people immediately rendered that forest habitable: there appeared tents, dugouts, earth-houses. These earth-houses saved many lives when the enemy airplane started bombing. No people were killed, but 4 horses were lost. Suddenly bombardment stopped for some reason. We went on living there, and lived even comfortably: besides field-kitchens we had a bath-house, a hairdresser's, a place for repair of uniforms. Soldiers watched films. But all the time we kept the army regulations strictly. I used to set a guard in the zone of our regiment. One evening I was walking from one post to another and heard a hail ‘Stop! Who’s coming?’ I had no time to answer and heard the report of a gun. The bullet twanged in the air a centimeter away from my ear. Later the soldier confessed to be asleep at the switch. He awoke from dream and fired a shot automatically. We did not punish him.

Fresh forces were young people from liberated territories, who reached call-up age during the years of occupation. But sometimes we came across adult men: deserters and polizei soldiers. [During the Great Patriotic War people in occupied territories called a local resident serving in fascist police a polizei.]

Their fate was decided by special services.

They lacked boots for new soldiers, therefore some recruits joined the ranks wearing bast shoes. [Bast shoes are Russian country wicker footwear made of bark of young deciduous trees].

Meanwhile they set us the next task: to force a crossing over the river and attack enemy troops on the high opposite bank. They gave each soldier a new submachine gun and two reserve cartridge-drums.

One day before the dawn they gave us combat 100 g of vodka [this portion of vodka was usual for soldiers of the Soviet army before a fight]. Rockets Katyusha started their two-hour preparation fire. [Katyusha was informal name of the soviet rocket launcher mounted on a lorry. In 1941-1945 during the Great Patriotic War they played an important role in operations.] So the soldiers crossed the river and pinned down on the opposite steep bank.

On a signal the platoon went in to the attack. Fascists fired at us using all kinds of weapon: guns, mortars, machine guns. Suddenly a shell explode in front of me, I smelled burning and fell down. By that time our soldiers captured enemy’s emplacement, but bombardment went on. After a while sanitary instructor found me and tried to take me away from the battlefield alone. I said ‘It’s useless, leave me here, call hospital attendants.’ He answered ‘I have no right to leave you here alone; I am obliged to take an officer to the hospital alive or dead.’ Probably he meant the order, notorious as Not retreat a step. [In August 1942 Stalin signed an order #227 more known as Not retreat a step, which allowed commanders and special groups to shoot soldiers who retreated without an order. They considered injured people who remained on a battlefield to be retreating, too.]

But he did not manage to move me alone, therefore he hardly dragged me into the deep shell-hole nearby and threw branches over me. It happened early in the morning. It became already dark, when I heard a voice ‘Comrade commander!’ By that time I lost my voice and could not respond. After a while a sanitary instructor and 4 hospital attendants came across me and carried me to the hospital.

It is difficult to imagine hospital if you never saw it. It was a huge tent with operational tables standing very close to each other. At each of them surgeons struggled against death. They sawed off hands and legs, disinfected the intestines which dropped out of the abdominal cavity. Surgeons had no idea about day or night time. They spent all the time at the tables. In my body they found 9 shell splinters. They managed to extract only some of them, the others are still inside my body. They immediately made blood transfusion. Later in hospitals they made it several times more and each time they named the donor. My saviors were women from Vologda, Kostroma and other places of Russia - women exhausted by starvation and uncertainty about destinies of their relatives, who replaced their fighting husbands at workplaces. My gratitude to all of them!

So I had to stay in the front hospital for a month: I was non-transportable. Later I was moved to hospitals in Klimovichi, Tula, Kazan. In the Kazan hospital I spent 6 months. I’ll never forget concern shown for injured men by medical personnel: from a nurse up to the chief medical officer.

While I was in evacuation, studied and was at war, I never came across any manifestations of anti-Semitism. But in hospitals sometimes I felt some anti-Semitic tinge. Injured people liked to tell funny stories about Jews, where Jews were shown in unfavorable light. Now I understand that they had no malicious intent, some of them probably knew nothing about Jews. But at that time it was very unpleasant to me, because I never came across something similar earlier.

In May 1943 I left the hospital walking on crutches and having a certificate of disabled soldier and 2 government awards: Order of the Great Patriotic War (I Class) 18 and a Medal for Military Merits 19.

I reached the kishlak in Samarkand area, where my sister lived. By that time my father was already dead. My sister (who worked as a bookkeeper from the beginning of the war) taught me accounting. I got fixed in a job at the office which was engaged in purchase of grain, and worked there quite successfully. We lived in that kishlak in a very interesting premise: a long wattle and daub house divided into compartments. Formerly (when in Uzbekistan polygamy was authorized) each compartment was intended for one of the wives of the harem. So we lived in one of those compartments till the end of the war. When the war was finished, we decided to return home (to Petrikov). In August 1945 we started our trip.

After the war

The town did not suffer severe destructions. Our house remained safe, but it was impossible to live in it: doorframes were taken out, floors were partly disassembled. We decided not to repair our house, but to sell it and to rent a smaller one: by that time our family was no more as large as it was before the war burst out. In the town there appeared Jewish families, but they were families which returned from evacuation. I already mentioned that fascists executed by shooting all Jews who remained in Petrikov. I started working as a bookkeeper. In the town there was a newspaper Stalinskaya Pravda. Rose Shusterman, a young lady and my schoolmate was an editor-in-chief. She helped me to become an employee at that newspaper. I worked in several places more as a part-time worker therefore I managed to earn for living.

In our town there were no anti-Semitic manifestations (neither before the war). Once I had to work as a teller before elections to the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union. I made speeches at different meetings and incited people to vote for the block of communists and at-large candidates (at that time they called it this way). My electoral district included an orthodox church. I went there and asked the priest to invite his parish to vote. He understood my request. Later he often visited me at home, especially when I was ill. In Petrikov people paid no attention to nationalities or religious traditions.

But I did not want to work as a bookkeeper all my life long. Therefore I decided to go to Leningrad to study. I wanted to study at the College for Cinema Engineers, but I got to know that they had no hostel for nonresident students. So I chose the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics. [The Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics was founded in 1930.] I arrived in Leningrad and filed my documents. My certificate was full of excellent marks, therefore I was taken in without entrance examinations. I studied there for 6 years and showed interest in future profession. I had a lot of friends, but I never paid any attention to their nationality. So I cannot tell you, which of my friends was Russian and which one was Jewish. The same was during all my life. For example my close friend (we were friends since we were students of the 3rd course) was Russian. We made friends according to our interests: someone was at war (it was possible to talk to him about war); the other one was my fellow countryman, etc.

After graduating from the College they sent me 20 to Kharkov to work at the factory which belonged to sensitive areas of national defense: it had no name, but only a number - 201. [In the USSR numbered institutions worked on confidential, usually military subjects.] In 1950s in the USSR there appeared a new industry branch - rocket production (our factory was founded in connection with it). That sphere of knowledge was not only new, but also a priority one, therefore they invited only intelligent graduates. At first they suggested me to go to Komsomolsk-on-Amur, but I wanted to go to Kharkov: it seemed to me that I could find very interesting work there. The factory manager came to Leningrad himself to find young specialists. He looked through my documents and agreed to take me. In total 10 graduates from our College were sent to that factory and 4 of them were Jewish.

At the factory I wanted to work at the design office, but they sent me to a workshop as a foreman. Today it is an open secret that our factory worked out and produced radio equipment for rockets (both ground, and on-board). We sent our production to Dnepropetrovsk, where they assembled rockets.

Here it is necessary to tell you that by the moment of my arrival to Kharkov I was already a married person. Among the students we associated with I met a girl whom I fell in love with at once. To my pleasure, she returned my love. She studied at the Pedagogical College named after Hertzen (department of Russian language and literature). We got married in Leningrad immediately after presentation of my degree work. Maiden name of my wife was Ginzburg, her name is Natalia Alexandrovna. She was born in Leningrad in 1929. During the 1st year after our marriage we lived separately: I left for Kharkov to work there, and my wife had to study at her last course. We visited each other on vacations. Later she graduated and moved to my place (to Kharkov). She worked at the Ukrainian school and had a good reputation.

In Kharkov they were obliged to put a room at my disposal, because I was a young specialist. Therefore I got a room in the two-room apartment (the other room was occupied by my young colleague and his young wife). We lived in harmony: no quarrels, no conflicts. I worked in Kharkov 4 years and decided to return to Leningrad, but it appeared to be not so simple. They told me that I worked at the defense industry enterprise and would go on working as long as they needed. The factory manager had a domineering disposition and was very competent. During the war he arranged work of evacuated factories in the Urals and was awarded honorary title of Hero of Socialist Labor. I held him in high respect and did not want to come into conflict. In the meantime in 1956 some changes were made in the labor legislation, and the procedure of dismissal became simpler. Here I’d like to tell you that I am pleased with the Kharkov period of my life: my work went well, I was valued according to it and people held me in respect.

We moved to Leningrad and settled down in the communal apartment 21 in my wife’s room. By that time we were already a family of 3.

The only child of us was our son Alexander; he was born in Kharkov in 1955. He finished his high school having good marks. After school he entered the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics. Since his childhood he was very sickly, and I know it from my own experience that a student of the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics had to do everything in his power to manage. He had to fulfill strong requirements, study many difficult subjects, make plenty of drawings, etc. Therefore having finished the 1st course, my son decided that he would not be able to pass through exams and left the College. He started working as a draftsman (he had enough time to master it at the College) at the Army Medical College. [The Army Medical College was founded in 1798.] Later he trained for a new profession of repairman of medical equipment and entered Military Mechanical College. [Military Mechanical College in Leningrad was founded in 1875.] He graduated from it studying by correspondence. [Correspondence course allowed students to study and work simultaneously.] On graduating from the College he wanted to remain at the Army Medical College, but to work as an engineer. But they refused, and everybody understood that the reason was the so-called item 5 22. Therefore he continued to work there holding his previous post, which did not require to have higher education.

In 1990s he decided to change profession and entered Polygraphic Technical School, which he finished with excellent marks. [Technical schools appeared in the USSR to prepare employees of middle level for industrial, agricultural and other organizations.] Since then he works as a proof-reader at different publishing houses. He is a highly respectable worker: because of his engineering education he can make various scientific texts ready for publication. He is married, but unfortunately they have no children.

We did not bring our son up as a Jew. Certainly he knew that he was Jewish. You see, it is rather difficult to forget about it living in the Soviet Union. As soon as you do, they will remind you. Later I’ll tell you how my son helped me in my Jewish affairs.

Having returned to Leningrad, I started working in one of institutions which belonged to sensitive areas of national defense (now it is named the Institute of Distant Radio Navigation). It was easy for me to find job, because of my previous working experience: a person from Kharkov special institution was welcomed everywhere in our sphere. I worked there 40 years up to my pension: I retired on pension in 1997, by that time I was 73 years old. There were no manifestations of anti-Semitism at our institute. You see, its director was a person who always took Jews into his institute. And in fact in the USSR there were times when it was not easy for a Jew to be employed. Once a personnel manager of our institute told the director that he was not able to take in a guy because of the item 5 22. Director answered ‘Well, then it is necessary for me to go to the local Party committee and let them explain me what item 5 means.’ And that guy was immediately taken in, because in fact the instruction not to take Jews was secrete. As for me, I remember some insignificant troubles, but in comparison with the situation at other organizations it was trifle, not worth speaking about.

One day a large group of 150 persons were going to be presented with government awards for some successful work. Placing of awards was up to the institute administration. I was recommended for Order of Honor, but the local Communist Party committee did not approve it. As a result, I was awarded only a medal. And during the Six-Day-War 23 at one of our meetings they decided to hold up to shame Israeli aggressors. I stood up and said that it was not an aggression, but a preventive action of the country surrounded by hostile neighbors. Immediately I was called a nationalist, and they stopped inviting me to meetings for half a year. You may consider it strange that despite of all this I speak about absence of anti-Semitism in our institute. Be sure that in comparison with other Soviet institutions we (Jews) enjoyed an earthly paradise in our institute. I often made business trips. We often sailed by ships on the Baltic Sea and tested our equipment.

My wife worked at school, but she retired on pension much earlier than me: it happened in 1979, when she was 50 years old. You know that school teachers have the right to retire before the generally accepted pension age. [In the USSR and Russia women retire on pension at the age of 55.]

In summer we never went to the south. Our son was often sick, and doctors did not recommend us to change climate. We used to rent a room somewhere in Leningrad region and spent summer time there. My wife had long annual leave and spent there all summer together with our son, and I managed to be with them only during one month.

To tell the truth, when I became a pensioner I was bored for lack of an occupation. And I had a friend, a Jew. In contrast to me, he knew much about the Jewish life of our city: he visited Hesed Avraham Welfare Center 24 and the synagogue. He spent his free time working at the Nadezhda factory: a small factory at Hesed Center producing wheelchairs, crutches, canes and other things useful for elderly and disabled people. Understanding my low spirits, my friend brought me to that factory. I liked to be there and started working as a designer. I received no money for my work: we all were volunteers. I worked there about 7 years. I made business trips. It was interesting for me, because I made myself useful. But later everything changed there: they started doing business and I did not like it. They started paying workers, while when I came there for the first time, there worked only volunteers. It seemed to me, that after that something very important disappeared, the spirit of workers group changed and I did not want to work there any more.

As soon as I began working at the Nadezhda factory, I identified myself as a Jew. You understand of course that I am joking now: I never forgot about it, but before I knew nothing about the Jewish community of the city. In Hesed I got to know that at the synagogue there was a group for studying basis of Judaism. I went there and found it good. I have been studying there already for several years. We begin at 9 o'clock in the morning with a pray (chief rabbi is at the head of it). I like listening to rabbi singing, I like his pretty voice. Listening to him, I always recollect my father praying. After praying there come teachers from yeshvah. They tell us about the week’s Torah portion, Jewish holidays, and history of our people. We study in homelike atmosphere: people argue, ask questions. Most of the group members are pensioners.

And earlier I visited synagogue very seldom, even not every year. We did not celebrate Jewish holidays, did not observe Tradition. But since 1980 we celebrate Seder at home. Our family is not large (we have no relatives), but we invite our friends and in total we gather about 20 persons. Natalia Alexandrovna prepares snacks, and I am responsible for spiritual part. We do not observe kashrut strictly, but we never eat neither pork, nor sausage.

About 8 years ago together with my friend Rem Altshuller we decided to found an organization devoted to memory of Holocaust victims and history of Jewish heroism. That was the opportunity for my son to render us invaluable assistance: he found for us interesting information in different libraries, spent many hours searching in the Internet. At first we wanted to organize our work at Hesed, but its director said no. Please don’t ask me why: I do not understand it. Sephardi organization lodged us. Their rabbi Rabaev put a room at our disposal. There functions an exhibition and a library. Pupils of Jewish schools, Jewish businessmen often visit us, and they like our exhibition.

During all my life I had friends of different nationalities. It never came into my mind to choose friends according to nationality. Some of my friends married Russian girls, and their Russian wives became my friends. I don’t know if it was possible for me to marry not a Jewess, but I chose my wife thinking not about her nationality - be sure! We have no relatives in Leningrad after departure of my brother.

Now I’d like to tell you what I think about the major events in our country and in the world. During the Doctors’ Plot 25 I was in Kharkov. Moral environment was painful. People claimed that there were cases of assaults against doctors (fights and beatings). Heads of our institute started eliminating Jews from the Party and even discharging them.

When Stalin died, I considered it to be a disaster for Soviet people. I was afraid that all capitalist countries would attack the USSR and tear it to pieces. In the central square of Kharkov there was a meeting: people came on their own, nobody invited them. Almost everybody cried. And one of my colleagues came up to me and said ‘Have you heard that Yossi has died?’

I can’t explain it, but I paid no attention to the Hungarian events 26. First, we had just moved to Leningrad and I had enough to worry about. Second, I had no company to discuss it with, and from the Soviet newspapers it was difficult to understand something. And regarding throw of tanks to Czechoslovakia 27 I understood everything well: the USSR had no reason for that. By that time I already had friends and discussed the situation with them in details.

During the Israeli wars [23, 28] my sympathies were completely on the side of Israel.

I took the news about Perestroika with enthusiasm. We often listened to Radio Liberty 29 through the noise [in the USSR they used to jam western radio broadcasts by means of special devices], therefore we knew what happened in the world and understood the way war-lords were going. When Gorbachev appeared 30, I was glad that he was trying to break this dangerous tendency.  

I already mentioned about my connections with the Jewish community of Petersburg. We receive food packages from Hesed Center for holidays. I never received any help from other organizations.

Glossary:

Berta Mazo
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Marina Denissyeva
Date of interview: January 2006

Berta Evseevna Mazo is an amazing person. Recently she celebrated her 90th birthday, but she retained the use of her faculties. She is still very emotional and mentally agile. Berta lives with the family of her elder daughter in a small cozy apartment in the center of St. Petersburg. As she is in poor health, she never leaves home alone. Nevertheless Berta loves theater and does her best to get there as often as it is possible. During conversation it seems that Berta revisits everything she tells about. And her memoirs are filled with emotions.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

I was born in 1916 in Krucha shtetl of Vitebsk region [now Belarus]. My parents were Yevsey Yakovlevich Mazo and Maria Efremovna Merport. In fact I know nothing about my ancestors. I never saw my great-grandparents, and nobody told me anything about them.    

My paternal grandfather’s name was Yakov Samuilovich Mazo. I do not know where he was born. He died in 1930s in Leningrad. And my paternal grandmother’s name was Lubov Mazo. I do not remember her patronymic, I also have no information about the place of her birth, but to my opinion, she came from Poland. She died earlier than grandfather: in 1928 in Malaya Vishera [a small town near St. Petersburg]. Our family moved there from Krucha when I was under 3 years old. There my grandmother and grandfather had got a house. They used to follow the plough and earned their leaving by agriculture (I think so, because in fact they had got no profession). I remember that they had got a large garden. In that garden there were different trees, including apple-trees. They kept a cow. My paternal grandfather was a handsome man with a long beard. He knew Jewish history, Yiddish and Hebrew very well, therefore people in the synagogue held him in high respect. He used to read much; he had got a lot of Jewish books, including different prayer books. I still keep some of them at home. Children used to come to our place to study Hebrew, including me and 4 my cousins. It was not a school, he taught children for his delectation (nothing else). We studied Hebrew (it was linear learning), and I remember some words till now.

My paternal grandparents were very religious. They spoke both Yiddish and Russian with each other. My grandmother was a housewife; she was a real cordon bleu. At their house there was a Russian stove 1, and she baked there wonderful rolls (I liked them very much!). There was no need in assistants, because grandparents had got 3 daughters, and all of them helped about the house. As far as I remember, there was no electricity or running water. They observed all Jewish traditions, including kashrut. They attended synagogue and celebrated Jewish holidays. Grandparents wore everyday clothes (grandmother usually put on a skirt and a jacket, and she did not wear a wig). They never discussed political problems, and were members of no organizations. In Malaya Vishera there was a large Jewish community: Jews of different professions lived in different city districts. Of course my grandparents communicated with other Jews. Among them I remember a dentist (he lived with his family in a two-storied house near the river) and a therapist. I do not remember their neighbors, because grandparents’ house stood apart from others and their next-door neighbors lived rather far from it.

Parents of my mother lived in Ukraine (in Kharkov). They moved there from Krucha of Vitebsk region. My maternal grandfather’s name was Afroim Merport. My maternal grandmother’s name was Fruma Merport. I do not know where they were born. They both died before the war burst out. They had got an apartment in Kharkov, but I can’t recall it very well, because I visited them in Kharkov rarely. When I became a student, I went to Zaporozhye for practical training, and on my way there I visited my maternal grandparents in Kharkov. I remember that grandfather worked: once he came to our place on business trip. I do not remember his profession exactly, but I know that he was engaged in something connected with timber-rafting. And my maternal grandmother did not work, she was a housewife.

Yes, my both grandmothers were housewives: they had got a lot of children and it was necessary for them to cook meals for everyone! My maternal grandparents were less religious, than parents of my father. They used to wear up-to-date clothes, but observed kashrut and celebrated all Jewish holidays. Their neighbors were very good people (not Jews, as far as I remember). Those neighbors had got a girl, whom we made friends with. Unfortunately I know little about my mother’s parents: she did not tell me much about them.

I was born in 1916 and was under 3 when we left Krucha, therefore I remember nothing about the place. But I remember that on our way through Minsk [the capital of Belarus] we went out from the train. We saw people in German uniform on the platform. Probably Mom explained me that they were German, because I remember well myself shouting ‘Nemtsy, nemtsy! (Germans, Germans!)’ Probably I pronounced those words assonant with German ‘Nimm, Nimm! (take, take!)’, because those soldiers laughed and ran after me. Mom told me that story. We arrived in Malaya Vishera and lived there till 1928. I lived with my parents separately from my paternal grandmother and grandfather.

My father’s name was Yevsey Yakovlevich Mazo, and my mother’s name was Maria Efremovna Merport. Daddy was born in 1883, and Mom in 1893 (she was 10 years younger). They both came from Krucha shtetl. They got acquainted in Krucha and then got married. I remember I read one of old letters that ‘…Yevsey is going to marry Maria…’ Most probably they had their wedding ceremony as was customary (no chuppah).

My Mom was a very beautiful woman and a good housewife. Among her traditional dishes there were tsimes 2, stewed carrots, and cholnt [meat with potatoes]. And she baked tasty pies. Later I started baking traditional karavay (round loaf) [traditional kind of pastry] myself, all my family members liked it very much. They used to ask me about it, and at present my daughters do it themselves. Here is the recipe: pour sunflower-seed oil into a deep frying pan and put the prepared small pies in it, side by side. The small pies cake together and make one big pie consisting of small pies. Later it is good to eat it dividing small pies from the big one.

In Malaya Vishera we lived not richly, but we had got a cow - our real mother. We called her Burenka. Parents stored up fodder for her, let her out to fields, met her back, and milked. I was brought up milk-fed. In my childhood I was a plump child with rosy cheeks, and my aunt, Liya Yakovlevna called me a bun. We lived in one big room. Grandfather had got a small shop (he sold different small items there), but the shop had different entrance. We also had got a kitchen, but no bath-room (we used to wash in the river). There was a hayloft, where we kept hay for our cow. Our furniture was ordinary. There was no water supply and we heated the house by means of stove. Certainly, we had got no assistants: everything was made by ourselves. My parents had neither an orchard, nor a vegetable garden.

At home we had got a lot of different books, including fiction, science, and religion. My Mom was an educated person (but I do not know in what sphere). She worked in a library, therefore our family members read much: she made us free of her library. I read much, especially fiction. Till now I remember by heart several fragments from Eugeny Onegin [the best known poem by Alexander Pushkin 3]. My parents also read newspapers regularly, but I do not remember which ones. For the most part my parents spoke Russian, but they knew Yiddish and spoke it to each other when it was necessary to keep something from me. Nevertheless they celebrated all Jewish holidays, including Sabbath. Kashrut was not strictly observed, Daddy visited synagogue not often (the same with Mom). Parents were not active members of the Jewish community, they were ordinary persons of narrow interests.

Parents never discussed political problems at home, but I remember that they held Lenin 4 in great respect. And when he died, it was very terrible: steam locomotives hooted; people showed fussiness. In Malaya Vishera there was a club, parents liked to go there to watch concerts. About military service of my father I know only that he served as a musician somewhere in the south (in Tashkent [the capital of Uzbekistan] region): he played the trumpet. Sometimes parents left Malaya Vishera to visit Leningrad, later they started taking me with them.

At that time my cousin Alexander already lived in Leningrad. He was a lawyer and lived in Belinsky Street. We often visited him; I often stayed at his place. My cousins were very nice to me, I was their only sister. They were very cheerful and loved music (especially Lasar, my elder brother). They took me to theatres, for instance to the Theater for Young Spectators and Maryinsky Opera and Ballet Theater. My cousins Lasar, Solomon, Alexander and Grigory were sons of my aunt Bella Yakovlevna and her husband Efim Shlionsky. Parents kept in touch with all my aunts: Liya Yalovlevna also lived in Belinsky Street (she was a doctor), and Anna Yakovlevna lived in Sestroretsk [a suburb of Leningrad], she worked in a drugstore as the pharmacist. For some period of time she lived with us at our place. All of them were my father’s sisters. They all finished some technical school in Vitebsk [a town in Belarus]. We often met together on different occasions, went for a walk together. Anna Yakovlevna and Liya Yakovlevna did not get married.

Daddy also had got 2 younger brothers Moissey Yakovlevich and Israel Yakovlevich. Moissey worked with peltry-ware. He had got no children. Israel lived with his family in a small town near Vitebsk and worked in a drugstore. He had got a son Semen.

My mother had got 3 sisters (Rachel Efremovna, Liya Efremovna, and Mera Efremovna) and a brother Moissey Efremovich. Rachel was my favorite aunt, we were knit together by common interests. She was killed by Germans in 1941. Liya lived in Sverdlovsk, she had got no children. Mera and her husband Alexander Nezhevenko lived in Novosibirsk, he worked there at some institution as a manager of a household. They had got a son Oleg. Moissey died before the war of stomach cancer. He had got a daughter Bella (her husband’s name was Vladimir Karetnikov). Their daughter Elena Vladimirovna lives now in St. Petersburg, and their son Yury Vladimirovich, a doctor lives in the Far East.

In Malaya Vishera I did not attend kindergarten. Later I became a pupil of an ordinary school (there were no Jewish schools). I played with my schoolmates, read much, but when my younger sister appeared, I was engaged in taking care of her. I remember that together with my classmate we went to buy ice-cream, and there on cornets we found different names written down (it was funny!). In Malaya Vishera authorities often arranged cheerful fairs with different contests and Petrushka [a national comic personage] shows. In the summer we used to swim and bask in the sun. I remember how I learned to swim: Daddy bought 2 wind-balls and tied them together. I went to swim. I swam, and swam, and swam - and suddenly noticed that my balls floated away, but I was still swimming! That was the way I learned to swim.

For the most part it was my Mom who took care of me. At school literature was my favorite subject. We studied German language. Our school principal Bashmachnikov was very good. He was a very interesting person. He held studies of theatrical circle, I attended it and we often appeared on stage. I also took part in performances: I recited poems. Some of them I remember till now, for example, a fable by Demyan Bedny [a Soviet poet] Christ Has Arisen! The fable told about a cunning priest:

A cunning priest Ipat was afraid to loose his money. One night he put his money into a trunk and hid it behind the altar. He wrote on it ‘This trunk contains Christ’s body’. But an artful sexton took away the priest’s money and added to the inscription the following: ‘There is no Christ’s body here, because Christ has arisen!’  A diddler deceived another diddler!

There also was a circle for amateur photographers. In our class there were Jewish pupils, but the atmosphere was always very friendly. I keep no negative memories. I was engaged only in studies at school and circles and helped Mom about the house. I can’t recall very well my school friends from Malaya Vishera, except Lyalya and another girl with whom we went to a New Year party. After school I used to spend time with my cousins.

Later we moved to the house on the opposite side of the street. Family of the well-known bass singer Efrem Flaks lived there. My Mom was a friend of his sister Maria Borissovna, and I was a friend of his little son Boris. They were Jews, but not very religious.

In 1927 my sister Serafima Mazo was born. When we moved to Leningrad, I was a pupil of the 5th form. It happened in 1928. Grandmother and grandfather remained in Malaya Vishera, and after grandmother's death in 1929 grandfather moved to our place. He died before the war and was buried at the Preobrazhensky cemetery. We lived in Leningrad in a large two-room apartment until we left for evacuation (in 1941). In one room we lived four together with our parents and my sister, and the other room was occupied by my aunt Anna Yakovlevna (you remember that she was not married).

Growing up

In Leningrad I studied at a very good school near the October concert hall. The school was rather interesting. Our teacher of physical culture was Ivan Edmundovich Kokh. He also taught fencing at the College of Physical Culture named after Lesgaft, fencing was his profession. He was a remarkable teacher. I also remember our teacher of literature, she always created a friendly atmosphere in the class. At school I had a friend (we are still friends) Raisa Lukoshkova, nee Bleksmit. In our class there were several Jews. I remember Sonya Kamenkovich: she often invited us to her place, she played piano, and we sang. By the way, our singing-master was also very good. Later she married Alexey Antonov, a chief engineer at the Space Equipment Corporation. Now they live in Moscow and we keep in touch.

Besides my school studies, I was engaged in music lessons: a teacher came to our place. Later my sister started studying piano with Klara Efimovna Stolyar. My sister was talented and quickly left me behind, though she was younger than me. So I gave it up. My friends and I spent free time skating in the Tavrichesky garden [a big garden in the center of St. Petersburg] or preparing for school parties: we usually put different performances on the stage (once I recited Christ Has Arisen there!). Together with my parents we used to go to Sestroretsk for summer vacation (later I started coming there with children). Once when I was a pupil of the 7th form, I was in a pioneer camp 5. It was situated near Luga [a suburb of St. Petersburg]. There was a large lake and a small part of it was enclosed for little children. As for us, we used to get out of it and swim to the opposite bank of the lake (it was great!). Our PT teacher swam together with us. On the opposite side of the lake there was a tower, all children used it to jump down into the water. I was very much afraid of diving and never did it, though children tried to persuade me. A friend of mine was very good in diving. At that camp I was some sort of a pioneer leader. 

Living in Leningrad, we continued celebrating all Jewish holidays. For Pesach we always bought matzot and did not eat bread (by the way at present we also try to observe this tradition). I always visited synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. My favorite holiday was Simchat Torah. It is the last day of Torah readings: Jews carry Torah scrolls and dance everywhere, even in the streets. I consider it to be the most cheerful holiday. Inna, a daughter of my cousin finished a choreographic school and used to dance at Simhat Torah. At present she works at LENFILM [a film studio in St. Petersburg]. And her elder sister Natalia works at the Conservatory. They are children of Lasar Efimovich, who was a lawyer. He was a very interesting and clever person. His wife’s name was Marina Stepanovna Kuindzhi. And Solomon Efimovich was a pharmacist. Some time they lived in Sestroretsk and worked there. Alexander Efimovich (whom I loved very much!) graduated from the Polytechnical College, mechanical faculty. And Grigory Efimovich was lost during the war.

I finished my school and entered the Polytechnical College, faculty of industrial transport. At the College we often arranged dances, and I liked to dance very much. I also remember that when we were students of the 1st course, they taught us to march. Those studies were only for girls and other students called us Death Battalion (as a joke). In summer we used to go for practical studies. Once we (about 15 students) went to Magnitogorsk, there at a metal works we were engaged in time-keeping. We also went to Zaporozhye [in Ukraine], there we did the same, moving by steam locomotives wigwag.

During the war

I got acquainted with my husband Mikhail Borukhzon at our College (he was 2 years older than me). He was born in 1914 in Ukraine (in Varnavitsi shtetl). Later his parents together with him moved to Vinnitsa [a town in Ukraine]. His father’s name was Akiva, and I do not remember his mother’s name. In Vinnitsa he finished a Jewish technical school, where he studied Yiddish. He knew Yiddish very well and considered it to be his mother tongue. We got married after graduation from the College, in 1939. I worked at the PROMTRANSPROEKT institution [a designing organization for transport industry]. In 1940 my Mom died. Our elder daughter Mara was born in 1941. In summer of 1941 we rented dacha near Tosno [a suburb of St. Petersburg]. At that time Daddy worked in Tosno, and my husband worked in Kolpino. War burst out when my elder daughter was about 5 months old. We left almost everything and managed to escape before Germans occupied Tosno. We went to evacuation with my sister (she was 13 at that time), my baby daughter and my Daddy.

We went from Tosno in a heated goods van. [A heated goods van was a freight car adapted for transportation of people.] There were two-tiered plank beds in the van. Emotional shock resulted in disappearance of my breast milk, therefore it was necessary to take it from special canteens on our way, warm it and give to my daughter. We arrived in Perm. Initially we had to go to Chelyabinsk with my factory coworkers, but we went to Perm, because our neighbor and her family had moved there earlier and wrote us that it was very good to live there. At first we could not find her there, but then I met her near the railway station by chance. She took us to her place for a while. Not to lose touch with my husband, we decided that he would write us to Perm (to be called for). And you probably know that Mariinsky theatre was also evacuated from Leningrad to Perm. By the way, many years later I got to Perm on business trip and found it to be changed much.

Soon after arrival I found a small room for rent and we moved there. It was situated very far from the center. Therefore it was necessary to walk long to reach the canteen and get milk for my daughter.

Our room turned to be very cold: the stove did not function and the window was broken. That winter there was terrible frost. My daughter was a baby and I had to wash her linen in cold water. The only plus was that the linen was frozen and my baby got it extremely clean. It was no good to live in that room, therefore I started searching for something else. It appeared to be not easy task: all places were occupied already. At last I found an apartment very close to the center and rather warm, but again it was told to be occupied. Then I went to the Communist Party Committee and explained that I had to take care of my sister and a little daughter and described awful conditions we lived under. Then they allowed us to move there. Owners of our new apartment had got little children, so my sister cheered up. There I managed to unswaddle my daughter for the first time, and she began to stir her arms and legs (before that she was swaddled all the time). Soon she started walking. So in the new apartment it was much better for us. On our way to Perm we got acquainted with Emma, a woman also going to Perm with her little daughter. Emma was a doctor. In Perm she began working and helped us very much: she wrote prescriptions for infant food. At the special canteen I received milk, porridge, kissels, etc. It was enough to feed both my daughter and my sister.

Later I became a school teacher. I taught drawing. At the school lunchroom I used to take meals (they had very good products: different sausages, second courses, etc.). I brought meals home and we ate it. At that school I worked till spring of 1942, but then we had to leave for Sverdlovsk. It happened because my husband was transferred from Izhorsky plant [a large diameter pipes plant] to Uralmash [a heavy machine production facility]. He visited us in Perm on his way to Sverdlovsk, but he could not take us with him at that moment. So we moved to Sverdlovsk when he settled in the new place. His apartment was very small, but later we received a new room in the attic. At that time all attics were equipped for habitation. Our room was about 16 square meters large and we lived there five together. We had a round stove for heating. The room next door was occupied by a woman with a daughter: very pleasant people, not Jews. We made friends with them. On a lower floor there was situated a military school. Every morning its cadets sang a song ‘My dear Belarus, my beloved Ukraine!’ My Mara learned it by heart and sang it, too.

In 1944 I gave birth to my 2nd daughter (we still lived in the attic). Lubov was a child full of play: all days long she stood holding on to the back of her bed and shaking it. Later (at last) we got a good apartment in a good house of Sverdlovsk (on the 3rd floor). There were 2 large rooms, balconies, central heating, and a bathroom. Things got better. There we had a neighbor who kept goats. Goats spent day time in the shed near our house, but every evening our neighbor dragged them into our bathroom, because she was afraid they could be stolen. One night one of her goats chewed up our linen put out to dry. We also got a small garden-plot, but we managed to grow nothing there, there were only mosquitoes. Later we received another one and cultivated potatoes, carrots, onions - a lot of vegetables.

After the war

Members of our family started their way back home (to Leningrad) in 1948. Serafima went first. She settled at my aunt Liya in Belinsky Street. She entered the Leningrad College of Foreign Languages, which was situated in Smolny [Smolny is a complex of buildings in St. Petersburg used as a residence of the city administration]. I remember that at that time we sent her potatoes from Sverdlovsk. Daddy was the next one to leave for Leningrad. He found out that our apartment was occupied by some people, but he managed to evict one room from its unlawful possessor. So we returned to Leningrad to that room. My husband remained in Sverdlovsk for some time, but at last they called him back to Leningrad.

During the war from our relatives there were killed my aunt Rachel, my cousins Grigory (he was lost at the front line) and Israel. When we arrived in Perm, we met there my cousin Bella Moisseevna with her daughter and son. My maternal grandparents died before the war burst out. Mera and her husband Alexander Nezhevenko left for Novosibirsk. Liya was in Sverdlovsk. Rachel and her husband Vladimir lived in Kharkov: her husband hid her from Germans, but someone gave her up, and Germans killed her. I know nothing about the fate of Vladimir.

So among my relatives only aunt Rachel was killed because of her nationality. Among my husband’s relatives we lost his parents and his sister (her name was Rachel, too). They lived in a small town Shpikov [in Ukraine]. In the beginning of the war they were ready to leave, but Germans got them off the train. It happened probably in 1942. We got to know about it only in Sverdlovsk: we received a letter. I read it and hid: I was afraid to show it to my husband. Later he found it by chance and cursed me out for my silence. Several years later we (together with my children) visited cemetery in Shpikov: there we found common graves and a monument. In Shpikov my husband’s cousin lived with her family and we often visited her in summer before the war burst out.

While we were in evacuation, a family from a destroyed house lived in our apartment in Leningrad. Almost no furniture remained in it. Later a husband of the woman died, and she remained alone in one of our rooms. Of course, it grieved me to see the changed city after our return: I saw a lot of destroyed houses. I know not much about the destiny of my college friends: some of them left, some of them remained in Leningrad. Victor Zhuk, for example, survived during the blockade of Leningrad, and his mother died.

We returned to Leningrad and at first I did not work, but later I started working and at last came to PROMTRANSPROEKT and worked there until my retirement on pension. My elder daughter became a schoolgirl. Daddy went on working (he died in 1952). And my sister studied at a college. Later she got married to a Jew. His name was Vladimir and by now he already died. Vsevolod was the only son of them. My sister taught English language at the Radio Polytechnical School.

We all lived in one room: not large, with 2 big beautiful windows. Our neighbors Elena Mironovna Chashnik and her parents lived in the same house, but later they moved to Petrogradskaya side [a district of St. Petersburg].

All our relatives from Ukraine left for America and live there now. We never visited them, but corresponded with each other. Distant relatives of my father live in Israel. Maria, a doctor works near Haifa [a city in Israel]. My cousin Alexander graduated from the Polytechnical College and was sent to Moscow. There he got married. I visited him several times.

I was in Israel only once (in 1996): when I accomplished 80 years, I was invited by my friend Serafima Epstein. Unfortunately she is not alive now; she was 10 years older than me. We were good friends. When she lived in Leningrad, I often visited her. She lived in a large apartment with her parents and a little son.

We always tried to bring our children up in the spirit of culture, to make them useful for our society. We often visited concerts at the philharmonic society, different museums and observed all holidays with great pleasure (including Jewish ones: we even made matzot ourselves).

After school my elder daughter Mara entered the College of Intercommunications named after Bonch-Bruevich. There she got acquainted with her future husband. Later they worked together at a plant. And my younger daughter Lubov entered the Radio Engineering Technical School №1. Later Lubov became a musician: she graduated from the Conservatory. Her husband Yakov Gull is a research worker in the sphere of biology. My daughters had got one son each. Mara’s son is a musician (a violinist), and Lubov’s son is a museum worker. My elder grandson had got 2 children (a son and a little daughter), and my younger grandson had got 1 son. So I have got 3 great-grandchildren.

After the end of the war we went on keeping in touch with our relatives. Political situation did not have great influence upon us. Everything was quiet and stable at our working places. We kept an eye on political events, but never discussed them at home. Neither me nor my husband (he was always held in great respect by his coworkers) ever came across any manifestations of anti-Semitism.

We continue keeping in touch with our relatives in America: recently they sent us very interesting photos by e-mail.

I am in touch with members of the Jewish community. While I was able, I often visited Hesed Avraham Welfare Center 6: studied Yiddish, attended interesting concerts, took part in different excursions.

Glossary:

Milka Samuel Ilieva
Ruse 
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Patricia Nikolova 
Date of interview: September 2004

Milka Samuel Ilieva is a cordial, sociable and calm person. Her restless spirit, however, was a witness to stormy and contradictory political and life turning events. Her sense of humor as well as her natural kindness have saved her many times from the despair that awaited her at every single step. So many nuances of the Jewish character and Jewish spirit are reflected in her life story, that it looks more like a screenplay than real life. That’s why her words are wise, precise and sincere. Her jokes keep hidden a lot of unarticulated grief and hidden bitterness. 

I’m a descendant of a Jewish family from the Sephardi 1 branch that came from Spain more than five centuries ago. As is well known, most of the Jews expelled by the Spanish Queen Isabella in the 15th century settled on the Balkan Peninsula 2. My ancestors had a similar fate. Unfortunately, I know almost nothing about my grandparents, because they died before I was born. And what’s more, I made the mistake of not asking my parents for details about them. However, I know that my parents, Ventura Samuel Mashiakh and Samuel Moshe Mashiakh, were born in Nis, Macedonia [Editor’s note: Nis is in today’s Serbia and Montenegro.]. They met in Nis and then the two families, Shamli and Mashiakh, decided to move together to Sofia. So it was in the Bulgarian capital that my parents got married, in 1910.

We were a merry big family of ten members. Eight of us were only the kids: five sisters and three brothers. Mois was the first, born in 1911, followed by Ester in 1913, then Albert in 1915, Nissim in 1917, Sara in 1920, Venezia in 1922, Jina in 1925 and lastly I was born in 1928. We lived poorly, I would say, but our life was very spiritual and amusing despite this. What’s for sure is that we never lacked a sense of humor.

My father was very religious, but we, the kids, didn’t manage to preserve this religious spirit. Our life made us atheists. Maybe this was because we lived in poverty and everyone in the family had to start working at a very early age. Our life was hard; we saw all the injustice around us and that provoked a strong social sense in us rather than a religious one. But at least when we were young we observed all the Jewish holidays with my father. He used to tell us a lot about them. We strictly observed the kashrut at home on Pesach, and on the eve of this great holiday, all of us used to help my mother with the big cleaning up. [Editor’s note: She probably means that they had a traditional kosher meal for Pesach and maybe other holidays too but didn’t observe the ritual rules for the rest of the year.] Nobody was allowed to bring bread home during Pesach. As a matter of fact, there were no religious books in Ivrit [Hebrew] at home. I have also no information on whether my father was a member of a Zionist organization, although he must have been a convinced Zionist. What’s more important, the Jewish rituals observed on high Jewish holidays made our family really united.

I’ll never forget how we used to celebrate Purim. There was a very nice song for Purim of whose origin I know nothing. The specific point about it was that every new stanza began with a letter in accordance with the order of the Hebrew alphabet. My sister Sara sang it marvelously. On Purim my father would always tell her, ‘Sarika, please, kerida… [‘dear’ in Ladino] and she would start singing. The feeling was remarkable. I remember visiting Sara in her kibbutz during my last journey to Israel in 1990. I cannot recall the name of her kibbutz. Her job was to patch up clothes on a machine and the people loved her. So we, the three sisters, went to see her. I remember she lived in a small neat room; she also had a toilet and office in her room. Well, I went to her and asked her, ‘Sister, please, sing the first stanza of our favorite Purim song.’ She was 80 then. When she started singing something happened to me. I rushed out of the room in tears; I just couldn’t stop crying. I remember we were a very warm, united, extraordinary family.

After my mother gave birth to me, she got paralyzed from rheumatism. She sat on a chair and was no longer able to stand up. Then they decided to ‘sell me’ to some rich relatives of my mother, her cousins. In those days it was routine for the poor and fertile Jewish families to give one of their children, usually the youngest one, to a relative childless family. In exchange, the well-off family offered financial support to the poor one. As far as I know they were trading with clothes. Since my mother was paralyzed, a woman had to come to wash and swaddle me. My brother Nisso [Nissim] helped her do that. He was eleven years old then. Once he came back from school and saw a car in front of the house. Let me mention that it was 1928. Automobiles weren’t a usual thing to see even in the capital. Right at this moment, they were preparing the baby’s napkins at home to give me to these people.

My brother entered and shouted, ‘Mother! What’s that car doing here?’ Are you going to separate us? Don’t give Milka away! I’ll fill my pockets with pebbles and I’ll break this car’s windows, mind you…’ And he started filling his pockets with pebbles. And it was exactly what my mother had waited for, ‘We will not give her, go away, that’s it!’ That’s how she abandoned her decision.

Another curious fact is that all the children from my family studied in Bulgarian schools. It was only me who studied in the Jewish school, because my parents had decided firmly to send me to Israel, where my father’s sister planned to adopt me. It was a normal thing in the Jewish families then; if some of the relatives are childless, the next of kin, who have many children, give one of theirs to them so that the childless family may bring it up as their own. I was the youngest and because of that, they decided to give me to my father’s sister. This never happened, though.

My maternal grandparents were Avram Shamli, and I don’t know my grandmother’s name. I know really nothing about them. Most probably, they were poor. My paternal grandparents, however, Moshe and Venezia Mashiakh were well off. I know that they set up a sugar processing plant when they emigrated to what was then Palestine in 1930. They produced chocolate sweets there. That’s all I know about them.

My mother was something like a martyr for me. She took great care of us, but we were eight children in the family. Although she was illiterate she always knew how to be kind to us, how to bring us up, what to feed us, so that we would be healthy. She was strict about cleanliness despite the poverty in which we lived. It was easy for an infection to spread, as we were many people in the family. She would take us to public baths at least two times every week, either to the one on Slivnitsa Boulevard in our district, or to the central public baths near the city’s central market hall. Wednesdays and Fridays, just before Sabbath, were the bath days. We had to wash our hands, legs, necks and faces every time we entered the house. My sister Sarika [Sara] often bathed us in a washtub in the yard on Wednesdays. My mother had her do this and she took it as a very important obligation. She used to rub us to death, as if we were as filthy as pigs. That raised bursts of laughter. 

I remember market days in Sofia very well. On the eve of Sabbath, on Fridays, I would always accompany my mother when she set off to the market. I’m speaking of Georgi Kirkov 3 market that’s still functioning in the [then] Sofia residential district Iuchbunar 4. [Today this market is called ‘zhenskia Pazar,’ meaning ‘woman’s market.’ It is the central open market of Sofia.] For me it was the greatest pleasure in the world. My mother liked shopping for long hours; she also loved bargaining with the sellers. Then I helped her bring the products home. All the sellers were my favorite. The mere abundance of vegetables, oranges, tangerines, and everything made me feel happy. 

As I’ve already mentioned I can’t recall anything about my father’s parents. I only know that when they moved from Nis to Sofia they built a huge house for my parents. So, the whole family – the eight kids, my parents, and my father’s parents, lived together in this house. Our house was situated in the poor Jewish district Iuchbunar near Bet Am 5 and the [Great] Synagogue 6. We lived on Odrin Street, while the Jewish school was nearby, at the corner of Osogovo and Bregalnitsa Streets. The yard of our house was also big. We didn’t breed animals but we had a bungalow there that we let out. My eldest brother lived there for some time when he got married, just before the Law for the Protection of the Nation 7 was introduced. Our house was really big, according to the criteria of the time. If we look at it now, it’s just a normal two-storey building.

There were three rooms on the ground floor, and a wooden staircase led to the upper floor where there were two rooms: a bigger and a smaller one. All the eight kids slept in the big one. The smaller one was for my parents. My parents slept in one bed, my brothers in two beds and we, the four sisters, had two mattresses, each of us had a special place one after the other according to our age. Directly on the floor. My place was at one of the ends of the mattresses, since I was born last. And because it was difficult for me to get sleep, I often crept into my parents’ room and I slept underneath their bed. Usually, everyone got up early in the morning, and began to look for me. Finally, they understood I liked sleeping underneath my parents’ bed. I must have been five or six years old then.

I remember that we used to read a lot at home. And we always sang when we went to bed, when we got up, when we felt bad, when we were happy – we always sang. We had arranged our own family choir; there were ten of us after all. We sang in two parts. The second part was of course for men, and we, the women sang the first part. I remember, for example, that my eldest brother was a tenor. My sister Sara was an incredible soprano and could have had a professional career in music, if she had had the opportunity. The others were altos. My parents also took part in our singing. So, without any exaggeration our choir sounded beautiful.

I remember that in our yard a big and picturesque willow grew. During summers, my family used to install a table below the tree and we had our meals there every day. And when we finished with the food, we cleared the table and started singing the most beautiful songs we knew. We sang in Ladino and in Bulgarian. We sang [Bulgarian] folk songs: ‘Kito, girl’ and the now so-called ‘old city songs’ which were in fact modern Bulgarian chansons, called ‘Bufoon’s song.’ We also sang traditional [Ladino] Jewish songs: ‘Adio kerida’ [Goodbye darling], ‘Ande stavne amor?’ [Where are you my love?], ‘Nigna sos de basha djente’ [Girl, you are of an inferior birth], ‘Ken me va tomar a mi?’ [Who is going to marry me?], etc. Of course, my mother knew many songs in Ladino. Mind you, my parents were from Nis, so they knew also many Macedonian songs. [Editors note: Nis is located in Serbia, not in Macedonia.] From Macedonian ones, my favourite was ‘Zapali se Shar Planina’ [The Shar Mountain Started Burning], especially when my mother sang it.

These days I have discovered a hidden, inherited talent in me. I need to hear a song only once to remember it. Every spring, when Pesach was nearing, my mother used to beat out all the carpets, brush and wash everything. She had the furniture taken out, leaving only a table and a chair in the house so that she may reach the ceiling more easily. And she herself painted it. From as young as I can remember, I used to stay around to help her. I carried a bucket of paint, dipped the brushes and then handed them to her. And she would sing all the time. I would remember all her songs. She used to sing as much in Ladino as in Macedonian dialect.

This talent of mine was, however, as much an advantage as it was a disadvantage. I remember Uncle Avram who liked playing tricks on the people around him. He earned his living by making flypapers. Uncle Avram knew that I remembered every song from the first hearing and once decided to play a trick on me. He called me to teach me, say, a very beautiful song. I was quite small and quite enthusiastic about all that. I was eight or nine years old then. He started singing a ribald song and I didn’t know what it was about, ‘Lies down Lola under the quilt, what to say I know not of.’ I came back home and still being at the door I started singing it, content that I had just learned it. My brother, who had never beaten me all my life, slapped me in the face immediately. I got scared and started crying, ‘What’s that for? Why are you beating me?’ And he said, ‘You shouldn’t sing everything you hear from Uncle Avram!’ And he was right. At the same time, my sister Vinka [Venezia] sang an old chanson, it was a popular tune of the time, ‘I live to lo-o-o-ve…’ - very popular it was. And so I started singing it at the top of my voice the following day, ‘I li-i-i-i-ve to lo-o-o-ove.’ It was ridiculous.

The songs I knew in Ivrit I’d learned in Hashomer Hatzair 8. We used to sing a lot there, too. There was a very nice song. It began with, ‘O, ani-i-i itayavti, itaya-avti-i-i…’ We were taught to sing polyphonic music so that it sounded really beautiful. We were divided into two groups. When the first group, consisting of boys, started singing alone the whole first stanza and in the moment when they began the second stanza with a slightly different melody, the second group joined, starting from the beginning and singing simultaneously with the first one. And it always turned out very nice. I remember us singing songs like: ‘Ine ma tov uma naim shevet achim gam yachad’ [literally from Ivrit: ‘how nice and cozy it is, brothers, staying together’], or: ‘Sham baerev…’ [From Ivrit: ‘There, in the evening…’], and so on. It was a wonderful time.  

It wasn’t by chance that I mentioned Hashomer Hatzair. When I was as young as seven, I was a member in this Jewish youth organization. I remember very clearly that as early as 1935 Hashomer Hatzair looked after the poor kids, among whom I was, too. We were all from the poor Jewish neighborhood of Iuchbunar. Our fathers were workmen. We studied at the Jewish school where we received free coats and shoes because of our poverty. We were supported economically there, while in Hashomer Hatzair the help was spiritual. And this was more important. They helped us grow up as personalities. This organization gave a meaning to my life. They not only recommended us what to read, I’m speaking of literature with very high artistic values, but also excellently entertained us with games stimulating the sense of unity in our community. Besides, the older boys and girls played the violin for us, so that we could get acquainted with music. For example, the well-known musician Klara Pinkas often played the violin for us.

We studied astronomy as well. And when we turned twelve we started studying Horel’s ‘Sex Question’ [It was then the most popular and highly respected reading for adolescents.] and let me say, not in separated groups of boys and girls, but all together. To put it in other words, they taught us to be friends, and to be united. It often happened that we gathered all our money, about a lev or two per child, and ‘ahot’ [sister in Hebrew] Karola, the girl who was looking after us, she had to make sure we observed the required discipline and she also taught us, distributed them: ‘This is for cinema, this for sweets, and this is for ‘Shkembe Chorba’ [tripe-soup, non-kosher].’ We all loved this Oriental meal.  

All my friends then were Jewish girls, whom I was with at the Jewish school and Hashomer Hatzair: Mati Yomtov, Sarika Shamli, Dora Benvenisti and others. Afterwards they left for Israel and since then we have met by chance, well advanced in years, and we have even made out who was who. But back in my childhood years, I was always with them. We had a favorite game called ‘semanei derekh’ [literally from Ivrit: ‘traffic signs’]. We walked in Borisova Garden, the big park in Sofia’s suburbs [today this park is in the city center] separated in groups. The first group had to start before the second one, they walked and from time to time they had to put some signs, for example arrows made out of twigs, to show the direction, or they made some kind of a funny obstacle. Or they improvised a swastika, again made of twigs that meant ‘danger.’ And the ‘danger’ turned out to be a puddle for instance. Or they drew a square and a number in it with chalk. If the number was ten for example the second group had to seek for something hidden at a distance of ten steps from the square. We sought, sought and finally found pink sweets wrapped in a paper.

We often went to the Byalata Voda area, which is on Vitosha [a mountain near Sofia]. We were scouts there. We were separated into two groups: boys and girls. And we arranged fantastic competitions. We ran with our legs in sacks. Liko [Eliu] Seliktar was irreplaceable as an organizer of these games. We were taught how to light a fire in open nature, how to cook and so on. My childhood was absolutely calm. Up to the moment when the Germans invaded Bulgaria and the Law for the Protection of the Nation and the Law for the Protection of the State were introduced.

My father was a brush-maker. He made special shoe brushes and brushes for clothes. In fact, he did the hard work of the brush-making handicraft. When I was a child, I often saw him drilling holes in a board with a drill, where the threads were to be fixed after that. And this board was very thin and delicate and a single false movement could have broken it. But he was a master. I know that the owner of the workshop for brushes on Nis Street, where my father worked, was called Persiodo [Precious]; he was а Jew, too, but I can’t remember his first name now. That’s why he paid my father a substantial amount. His daily wage was 100 levs. Every day at lunchtime, when I was back from school, I carried to my father the meal that my mother had prepared for him. I took home the empty dishes and he would give me his wage to take home to my mother and always gave me a lev. These simple things made every day a holiday for me.

Apart from being a great master, my father was also a very good man. He never slapped any of his children. And he sang beautifully. I adored him. Every day when he came back home I used to wait for him with a basin filled with hot water, because he worked standing all day long and his legs got swollen. I always expected him eagerly and when I saw him approaching with five loaves of rye bread in his hands I rushed and gladly grabbed the bread. After that we used to go to my parents’ room on the second floor. There my father dipped his legs into the hot water and I washed them for him. I was a young child then. This procedure was repeated every single day. I loved him very much, and he loved me, too.

I lost my father very early. He died on 31st December 1939. The reason for his death was that he had a lot of stress then. My sister Ester was to get married. She had match-makers who had found her a boy. In those days, however, it was a big problem for Jewish girls to get married. Every Jewish girl had to have a trousseau, a big trousseau, let me say. But a girl also had to have dowry. And we were poor. My father loved my sister so much that he bought her a ‘Singer’ sewing machine [a very popular one for its time; German sewing machine], he made her a big trousseau and gave her 30,000 levs in dowry, which was a huge amount of money then. And that brought him to ruins. He had taken a loan from ‘Geula’ bank and when the policies started to arrive, he got sick. They threatened to throw out our belongings into the street, take our house and so on. His anxiety created a tumor in his stomach. They told him it was non-malignant, but he had to undergo an operation. And he didn’t want to. So that’s how he passed away. When my father died and the policies continued coming, my sister exchanged her wedding ring at a pawnshop for some money to pay at least the first policy. From then on we lived in complete poverty, especially during the Law for the Protection of the Nation, but somehow we stoically coped with everything. 

I remember very well the Sofia Jews’ demonstration in protest to the government’s decision for interning us 9. It was on 24th May 1943 10. At that time I was already 15 years old, but I was not a member of the Union of Young Workers 11, in contrast to my sister Jina, who was. Well, on this day I was just walking down Klementina Square with my sister Jina when we met acquaintances from the Jewish community. They informed us that they were going to organize a manifestation addressed to King Boris III 12 and against his decision for our internment. After that, the whole Jewish community gathered in the synagogue. And our procession started from there to Klementina Square. We reached Father Paisii Street, near Bet Am. And suddenly mounted police appeared in front of us. A severe scrimmage followed while we, the kids, fled away in all directions. I remember that I started running from Father Paisii Street and I stopped as far as Osogovo Street, in the Jewish school. Then I hid with a friend of mine. The police started visiting the Jewish families, from house to house, and they arrested all the Jewish men. Not before long, they interned us. 

Our internment was painful. We were each given the right to carry with us only 30 kilograms of luggage. We left for the railway station in order to catch the train to Shumen, where we were to be interned. It was my mother, Vinka, Jina and me. The other two sisters, Ester and Sara, had already been married: in Stara Zagora and in Sofia respectively; while my brothers were sent to forced labor camps 13. When we arrived in Shumen, several hundreds of Jews, we among them, were accommodated at the local school’s gym-hall. And a commune cauldron of food was installed there.

In that confusing situation, we were sitting desperately, my mother, my sisters and I, in the gym-hall’s crowd, when Vinka, who was 20 then already, took the initiative and said, ‘Mum, we won’t live here.’ And we started asking for lodgings. So we came across some Turks who lived near the Tumbul mosque [the main mosque in Shumen, built in 1744, also the largest in the Balkans]. It was just opposite the local Jewish school. Well, these Turks told us they could accommodate us in one of their rooms upstairs. We were six of us in that room: my mother, we, the three sisters, and one of my mum’s cousins with her daughter. We immediately started looking for jobs. We had to dig, wash, clean and all that stuff. We quickly registered ourselves at the Jewish community in the town, where they prepared a list of people like us who wanted to work. So, through the Jewish community we were sent to a ranch of 200 hectares of land. It was situated in the village of Panayot-Volovo. The owner was Ivan Praznikov. Both my sister Jina and I worked there. We dug, harvested and did all kinds of agricultural work there. My elder sister became a seamstress.

After 9th September 1944 14 we finally came back to Sofia. Then I was already 17 years old. We lived in absolute poverty. We found our house overgrown with weeds and grass. The doors and windows were levered out. The furniture had been robbed. A gaping house. We looked at each other and started crying frantically. We were only the three of us. As we were crying, Vinka said, ‘There’s no use in crying. Let’s get things moving.’
We started tearing up the weeds. We cleaned the yard, but the problem was where we were going to sleep for the night. My mother had brothers in Dorbunar [literally from Turkish: ‘Four wells’. ‘Dort’ stands for four, while ‘bunar’ means well, but in every day life people usually don’t pronounce the ‘t’.], a residential district neighboring Iuchbunar. They had come back to Sofia from their internment before we did. And they told us, ‘Until you submit the documents to have the house restored and get help from the municipality, come and stay with us.’ We stayed for a while with our uncles. The house got restored quite quickly in fact; doors and windows were installed. We whitewashed the house, disinfected, cleaned everything and moved in. We gathered our entire luggage in a single corner, because we didn’t have any furniture, we didn’t even have beds. We slept on quilts on the floor.

Just before our internment, my first and second sister, Ester and Sara, who already had their own families, had been working hard. There was a special kind of home-employment for women then. My third and fourth sisters worked for a textile factory. I worked with them. I sewed buttons on shirts, a multitude of shirts every day, so that eventually I didn’t even look at the button’s holes; I knew them by heart. I could finish 60 shirts a day. My third sister got married in Ruse. Vinka’s husband Shlomo was in a forced labor camp during the internment, but he fled to Shumen, where he met my sister and they got married after 9th September 1944.

My brothers succeeded in getting married to the women they loved. In contrast to my sisters, let me say. My elder brother married Olga; his love from the school years. In the beginning, they lived with us. My second brother’s wife’s name is Ani; she lives in Israel. Her father was a grocer; they lived in the Jewish neighborhood, near our place, at the corner of Opalchenska Street and Stamboliiski Boulevard. My younger brother married the girl he loved, also from his childhood. They lived in a bungalow attached to our house in Iuchbunar in Sofia.

Shortly after 9th September 1944 I got married, too. It happened that I had an arranged marriage with an ex-political prisoner; his name was Sason Panizhel. He was a nephew of my sister’s mother-in-law. Once he went to visit his aunt and then he happened to see me there. They arranged a marriage for us and I accepted only because I wanted to get rid of that poverty. My co-existence with him lasted for three years [1945-1947] and it turned out to be real hell.

He took me to Ruse. Yet during the first week, I realized what I was in. But I was still an innocent child brought up with books. I idealized everything. I cried all the time; I just couldn’t stop. Soon my daughter Tinka was born in 1947, and because of her I managed to put up with this nightmare for three years. Our house in Ruse shared the same yard with Dragomir Assenov [a well-known Bulgarian writer of Jewish origin]. Besides, we lived with my husband’s mother, Estel Panizhel, who was close to my mother. His sister was a friend of my sister’s; in Sofia we lived near each other. I lived with him and was in incessant fear. He had acquired some habits in prison that I couldn’t stand. 

Sason’s mother was a martyr. And his father wasn’t a good man. I remember him as a very perverted person. And he had passed his perversion to his son. For him, a woman was just a tool for satisfying primary instincts. I was disgusted. Besides, he even reached out his hands to harm me. During that time his cousin, Luna Djain, and I became friends. She often told me, ‘How can you put up with him?’ and I answered, ‘What can I do? Where can I go?’ My parents and my sisters and brothers had all immigrated to Israel by then. And I had nobody in Sofia. Where could I go? Then Luna said to me, ‘You can come and stay with me.’ We lived close to her place then. And one evening when the situation became extremely unbearable, I decided to run away. Just as I was: in a nightgown.

Of course, the situation worsened. At first, he didn’t want to get divorced. He used to go to the kindergarten to pick up our kid. He used it as a lure to make me come back. I was terrified and I let my daughter stay at their place, but I tormented myself with this. I would go to him to ask for my kid, he would let me in, lock the door, beat me, and then chase me away bleeding. Of course, the kid witnessed these scenes and also got disgusted with her father. Luna asked me, ‘Leave him, leave him alone for three days and you’ll see, he can’t handle it with this kid. Why are you going there? Want to get beaten again?’ I was obstinate, though. And everything happened again and again. One day I decided to listen to Luna’s advice. I went there neither the first day, nor the second, and on the third day he came shouting, ‘Take this tag with you, it’s yours!’ That’s what I wanted to hear. And it was over. Afterwards I lived in an even worse condition with my daughter, in complete poverty. We had only my salary as a typist for a living, which was not high at all. At least, I always had some butter to spread on a slice of bread for her.

In 1952 I met my second husband, Georgi Iliev. The same year I found a job with the Regional Council. Georgi worked there, too. He was single and I was in the process of getting divorced. What I liked about him was that he was serious and modest. We got married in Ruse in 1953. Some very big troubles followed on the part of his relatives. The reason was that I was divorced and had a child. His relatives had the mentality of villagers and couldn’t put up with this. Even his father, who had been sent to Germany as a very qualified professional, he worked in the local locomotive plant, said after he came back, ‘It doesn’t matter if she’s divorced; she has a child. But she’s a Jew!’ However, I knew what a wise Jew should do. I stayed silent and waited. I thought this was their viewpoint. I couldn’t press my position on them.

Many years passed before we went to visit them. Until the day my husband’s uncle, who was studying law in France, came back to Bulgaria. He came to visit us. Our son was still a baby then. We sat at the table and started talking, and we talked for long hours, we talked sincerely to each other. He told me a lot of things about France. I don’t know what he said to his sister, my husband’s mother, but after two days she rang the doorbell. I invited her as if we had last met two hours ago. So, step by step they started to invite us to visit them. 

Years passed and my mother-in-law died. She didn’t suffer for long; she passed away within a day. It was 1963. The old man remained alone. My father-in-law sold his house and he had to come to stay with us until we had an apartment built. My father-in-law was born in one of the neighboring villages to Ruse, Chervena Voda, which was very riotous after 9th September 1944. In that village the local inhabitants started to make fun of him. They used to tell him, ‘Well, well, Ilia, what happened at the end? A Jewish daughter-in-law, and God knows what else, but a Jewish daughter-in-law is going to look after you, as it turns out.’ And he said, ‘I hadn’t known her. She’s decent. She’s not like us.’ That’s how he spread the fame of me in that village. I looked after this man for 20 years.

My daughter Tinka has two daughters: Rossitsa and Tanya who suddenly decided to leave for Israel after 10th November 1989 15. After my granddaughters immigrated to Israel, my daughter also went there. She has been there for ten years already and lives in Bat Yam. Her second daughter moved to Tel Aviv, while her elder daughter came back to Bulgaria. Rossitsa’s children are called Adam born in 2003 and Maya in 1997. Her husband’s name is Zoar, an Arab Jew, and an intelligent boy.

My son Iliycho [Ilia] Georgiev Iliev was born in 1953 and finished his secondary education at the Ruse music school. We knew he had the talent for music, but we didn’t expect that he would get addicted to music. This way he outlined his own fate. After that, he graduated from the Conservatory [in Sofia], specializing in violin. There he met his wife, Svetla Nikolaeva Toteva, who was also born in Ruse. She’s a cello player. Between 1980 and 1992 they were both members of the [Ruse] Opera orchestra. Then a Brazilian impresario came to the Ruse Opera; I don’t know how he persuaded them, but in 1992 twelve members of the orchestra decided to leave for Brazil to strengthen their orchestra there. Off they went and it’s now twelve years I haven’t seen them. That’s what I feel heavy at heart about. In fact, Iliycho went first and two years after him, his wife and two children, Milena and Nikolay, went to join him. They gave birth to a third child there: Victor. 

I have been to Israel seven times. The first time was in 1982 when I went alone. My second visit took place in 1986. From 1989 on, I have traveled to Israel once every three years. I’m impressed that it becomes more and more beautiful there. I like the people, too. My brother-in-law is a Sabra. [Literally cactus fruit in Hebrew, Sabra became the name for the native Jewish inhabitants of Israel. The self perception of Israelis is of the cactus fruit, that is rough and thorny outside and warm and sweet inside.] A wonderful person. Every morning he smiled at me, saying, ‘Miluka kerez kadiyko? Uno Kadiyko? [From Ladino: Milka, would you like a cup of coffee? A coffee?] And he prepared for me a special coffee from selected sorts. His name was Herzel Karmel. He was my sister Jina’s husband. I married before her, even though according to the tradition it was her turn to get married since she was elder than me. He was head of the municipality’s transport department. He was our cousin; his and our fathers were brothers. However, as we know, marriages between Jewish cousins are allowed. As a matter of fact, his surname was Mashiakh. But the people in Israel made fun of this so much that he decided to officially change his surname to Karmel. [‘Mashiach’ means ‘Messiah’ in Hebrew.]

I have experienced every possible misadventure: internment, ghetto, poverty, anti-Semitic regulations, disgraceful yellow star 16, curfew, and so on. So I celebrated 9th September 1944 as liberation. However, I can’t say I accepted 10th November 1989 as liberation, too. Before this date, there were a lot of things I liked. For example, there was more freedom to speak of your ethnical origin; at least, this is my opinion. Less antagonism. More economic safety and social stability. Before, there was a certain category of people, ‘active fighters’ against fascism. They received this date with hostility. Before that, they felt themselves as aristocrats, but this date dispelled their halo. I have never been an ‘active fighter.’ And I didn’t feel any hostility. I can’t say conditions of life changed for me, because I was already a pensioner when the democratic changes in Bulgaria took place. 

I retired in 1983. Until then I worked in the Human Resources Department at the Agriculture and Mechanical Engineering Institute in Ruse. I was at a very good self-dependant position and after that I started receiving a nice pension. I had another 15 years length of service before that. So my total length of service runs to 35 years, although I started working as young as a child during the Law for the Protection of the Nation.

The events that took place in Bulgaria after 10th November 1989 didn’t fascinate me. I’m for the tolerance. I never argue with friends in the organization [Milka is speaking of the local Jewish organization in Ruse called ‘Shalom’]: if one supports the Union of Democratic Forces or the Bulgarian Socialist Party, I’m simply not interested in that. Just the other way about. I try to respect other people’s opinions. My sister, who came back to Bulgaria for a while after 10th November 1989, listened to what people were commenting then and told me, ‘Milka, the people here are mad!’ Herzel and I vote with different bulletins. He’s for the conservatives and I’m for the liberals. But should we argue about that at home?’ I think this is the right way of thinking.

Glossary 

 Josif Kamhi
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Dimitar Bojilov
Date of interview: October 2004 

Josif Kamhi welcomes us in his newly-renovated home in the center of Sofia, inherited from his father and located very close to the Jewish Community Center. He has dedicated his life to technical sciences and has made significant contributions to the technical development of a number of industrial companies. His designs are widely sought and are considered the best even nowadays. He is retired now and spends his days doing housework and visiting the home of the Jewish Community in Sofia.

My family background

Growing up

During the War

After the War

Glossary

My family background

My family comes from Spain. My ancestors settled on the Balkans a number of centuries ago [cf. Expulsion of the Jews from Spain] 1. My paternal great-grandfather, Albert Kamhi, was born in Turkey. He lived there for some time and at the end of the 19th century came to Sofia. I suppose that happened before the liberation of Bulgaria 2, in 1878. My paternal grandfather, Perets Albert Kamhi, was born in Sofia.

My father’s house was on Pozitano Street in the center of Sofia. When I was a child, my grandparents, some of my father’s sisters and my father’s family lived there. I remember vaguely that my great-grandmother – my grandfather’s mother – also lived with us. One of my father’s sisters, Adela, was very kind to us and loved us very much. Unfortunately she was deaf-mute.

The house, where I was born had two floors, and each floor had two rooms and a small kitchen. There was also a big yard with some trees which we climbed all the time. My paternal grandparents lived on the upper floor and we on the ground floor. My mother took care of the housework and cooked on a stove using wood. We had a toilet inside the house. We had electricity and water. I lived there until I was eight years old. Then my father bought by installments the apartment in which I live now.

My paternal grandparents also moved to live in another place, in the Batlova Vodenitsa district. This district is very close to the Jewish neighborhood Iuchbunar 3. That place was not far from the center of the town and from our new apartment.

I remember that my grandfather loved gathering the grandchildren and offering us pieces of water-melon. There was a big yard and a well, where he placed the water-melons to cool. He also liked to drink 100 gram of rakia 4. My grandmother, Dora Kamhi, also indulged us and made us delicious cakes.

They dressed in fashionable city clothes – my grandmother wore long dresses and my grandfather put on coats. They were not religious and I never saw them going to the synagogue. One of the houses next to them was owned by Bulgarians and the other by Jews. They got on very well with all neighbors. There was a mezuzah placed high on the door of my grandfather’s house. There is a mezuzah now in our home, too.

My grandfather Perets Kamhi had a butcher’s, which he probably passed on to my father. It was on Klementina Blvd, present-day Stamboliiski Blvd and on Paisii Street. I do not remember if they sold kosher meat. My father was forced to move from that store, because he had only rented it. Another butcher took the store, probably by offering higher rent. He continued selling meat and working with the customers that my father had attracted.

My father opened another butcher’s but it was further away from the center and he did not have so many clients. So he went bankrupt. That happened around 1940. He started work in a factory processing leather. Before he went bankrupt, my father earned good money. When he moved the shop, our financial situation worsened. At that time we also had to pay a big sum every month as installment for our new apartment. We managed to pay all the installments by 9th September 1944 5.

My grandfather rarely came to visit us in our new apartment, but when he came they always sent me to buy 100 gram of rakia from the tavern in the neighborhood. Once my grandfather asked me to buy something else besides the rakia. But I forgot and came back only with the drink. Then he joked that someone should have bumped into me so that I would remember.

Mostly my brother and I did the shopping in our family. We preferred Zhenskia pazar [‘Women’s Market,’ the central market in Sofia] and the grocery store near our house.

My father had two brothers and three sisters. The eldest one was Matilda, who married in Sofia and no longer lived in our house when I was born. The others were Jacques Perets Kamhi, who died in the 1920s, Samuel Kamhi, who had a shop for shoemaker’s materials, and Sara and Adela, who I think were married to Jewish merchants.

We lived separately and did not visit each other very often. Mostly my father’s sisters visited us. All except for Jacques left for Israel during the Mass Aliyah 6 between 1948 and1950. My family kept in touch mostly with Adela, who was deaf-mute, Sara, and my mother’s sister Luisa.

My family often told us a story involving the husband of my father’s sister Sara. Once he hired a cart and porters and went to a textile store during the weekend. He broke open the shop, loaded the cart with textiles and drove away. He was caught and sentenced, but it seems that he spent little time in prison.

During the Holocaust they were interned to Ruse 7. After 9th September 1944 he committed some crime again, this time while at work in the police, and he was sacked. During the totalitarian regime they left for Israel and as far as I know they got divorced there.

My mother Berta Kamhi also worked but from home. She had a sewing machine and made handkerchiefs and singlets. We, the children, helped her. My brother Perets Albert Kamhi and I went to the central market and sold the so-called ‘ikonomia’ – very fine sand, which was used in dish washing. We offered it packed. We also sold toothpicks, paint and shoelaces. We sold them by going from house to house, and we got the goods from the merchants who owned shops.

My mother’s parents lived in the center of Sofia in a two-story house. It was owned by my mother’s brother, Nissim Koen, who was relatively rich, because he had a factory for leather processing. Their living standard was higher than ours. My mother’s brother lived on the first floor and his mother on the second floor. My mother and I often visited them.

My mother had three brothers and three sisters. The eldest was Bohor Koen, who was a merchant and had six children. Next were Nissim Koen, whom I already mentioned, Miriam, Liza, who had an ironware store with her husband David, Matilda and David, who left for Palestine in 1926. They all had families and children but I have met only David’s son Yoske, whom I met during my visit to Israel in 1985.

During the Jewish holidays we did not gather with other families. Everyone celebrated in their own house. When we lived with my father’s parents, we gathered on Pesach. In 1934 we moved into our present apartment, and my mother made the preparations for the Jewish holidays.

We observed the Jewish traditions to some degree. During Pesach it was obligatory to eat only matzah, but that meant that we should buy it. The matzah I bought was finished on the second day, and we had to buy more. But they asked me to buy bread and gave me a dark bag so that the neighbors would not see me buying bread.

We did not observe Sabbath because we were short of money and we had to work on Sabbath. They gave us a big packet of handkerchiefs which had to be ready in a number of days and we worked on them the whole day. My mother did the sewing and when she took a break, we worked instead of her. We took pieces of cloth which we folded at the ends and the handkerchief was ready. Before my mother married, she had bought a Singer sewing machine for 20 golden levs. She sewed for herself and for her family.

We did not make special meals for the holidays. But for Pesach we always had matzah and burmolikos, which was made from matzah and eggs and was then fried. It can also be covered with jam. Maybe because my father worked in a butcher’s, I did not like meat much. There were meatballs, cheese pastries and cakes. My paternal grandmother made a very nice sponge-cake. When my father had the shop, we always had good meat on the table, but when he went bankrupt, we did not eat meat much.

Before the holidays my brother and I often went to sell small goods on the streets and earned enough money to buy some stuff to eat. Once we bought smoked fish and surprised our parents in a pleasant way by arranging the table.

We could not afford to go on vacation. But my father often took us on excursions to Vitosha [mountain near Sofia]. Once, when we did not have any money, we went on foot from Sofia to Boyana Lawns [a region in Vitosha]. The distance is around 10 kilometers. We carried food, spent the whole day there and returned by tram. We really must have been in a bad financial state if we could not afford to go there and come back by tram.

Growing up

When I was a child, I was sent to a nursery in the central Jewish school. We learned songs and games there. In Sofia there were two Jewish schools. One of them was in the center and the other in the Jewish neighborhood in Iuchbunar. I was not very good at foreign languages there. I was not able to learn Ivrit well, neither French, nor any other languages.

Ivrit was taught after the fourth grade in the Jewish school. We started with general subjects in Bulgarian – natural studies, history. Honestly speaking, we did not learn spoken Ivrit there; we only read texts from the Talmud. We did not have any foreign teachers. Our Ivrit teacher’s name was Margolis. I did not know any Ivrit before I started going to school.

There were two classes in the school. The rich children studied in one of the classes. I studied in the other one together with the poorer children and those from the Jewish orphanage. But there were many excellent students in our class. I was best at maths. We studied for seven grades in the school.

I was a member of the rightist organization Betar 8. In fact, I understood nothing about politics. It so happened that the brother of a classmate of mine was chairman of Betar and he gathered a group of us and made us members of Betar. He told us about Herzl 9 and the founding of the Jewish state.

We studied in the Jewish school for half a day and then we could stay in the yard to play sports. We played various games, mostly tag and marbles. All of my friends were from the Jewish school.

When I graduated from the fourth grade, every following summer I worked as an upholsterer. I mastered that craft soon and applied it at home. We had a small sofa with sagging springs and I repaired it. One of its sides was askew, but it was very comfortable. 

Life was calm when we lived on Pozitano Street. I remember only one occasion when there were many policemen on horses on our street. That must have been in the 1930s. Maybe it was 1934, the year when there was a military coup in Bulgaria 10.

During the War

The outrages against Jews started in 1939 with fascism coming to Bulgaria. In 1940 I was already in high school. There were Branniks 11 walking along the streets, beating us with sticks and breaking the windows of the Jewish shops. After the Law for the Protection of the Nation 12 was adopted, all Jews had to wear a yellow star 13.

In 1942 I became a member of the UYW 14, because the Branniks had started harassing us a lot and the UYW members protected us. They invited me to some meetings and I took part in the spreading of leaflets against fascism. All the time the Branniks tried to beat us.

My brother’s name is Perets Kamhi. He also went to the Jewish school. When he graduated from the 7th Men’s High School, he started working in a foundry producing door handles. Then he was mobilized to a labor camp in 1942 15. I do not know the exact place where he worked, but I know that he built roads. He had to break down large stones into gravel, with which the roads were covered. The work was very hard.

After that my brother was interned with us to Kyustendil. In Kyustendil he was also obliged to do hard labor for free. He did the same job – digging gravel for road construction. My brother was a UYW member in Sofia and he contacted his friends from the capital. Some months later he decided to escape and he became a partisan in the squad of Slavcho Transki. 

My sister Donka worked as a clerk in the post office. After 1944 she did some administrative work for the Bulgarian Army. Now she lives in Sofia. She married a Bulgarian and now they live in a village. They have two children – Beatriche and Ivan.

I was a member of the UYW in high school. We gathered and talked about fascism in Bulgaria. We spread leaflets against fascism. That was dangerous and we hid from the police. We also made a demonstration. That happened on 24th May 1943 16. The UYW organization decided to organize a protest against the internment of Jews and the Law for the Protection of the Nation. At the time of the demonstration it had already been decided to intern us.

A lot of people gathered in front of the Jewish school. There were also speakers. Then we headed for Klementina Blvd [present-day Stamboliiski Blvd.]. We marched towards the center, but when we reached Opalchenska Street policemen on horses surrounded us and dispersed us. A young man and I managed to escape by telling a policeman that we lived in the area. And my friend really lived on Stamboliiski Blvd. We went to his place. Many people were arrested at the demonstration.

At the same time my father worked in a leather processing factory and was on his way back home from work. The police detained him for a while in the afternoon, but when they realized that he was not directly involved in the protest, they released him. They had also arrested some colleagues of his. Their work involved working with chemicals and the smell about them proved that they had been at work. Previously my father had worked for a short time in the leather processing factory owned by my mother’s brother. But at the time of the protest he was working in another one.

On 27th May we received the notice that we were to be interned to the town of Kyustendil. I think that someone came to tell us that in person. At that time we wore yellow stars which showed that we were Jews. I had been wearing such a star since 1940. If we had not worn them, we could have been sent to a concentration camp. We were allowed to keep our houses but most of the Jews sold away their possessions.

We arrived in Kyustendil by train and we were accommodated in the Jewish school. We slept on the floor on blankets which we brought from home. We ate from a big cauldron where they prepared some food for us. Shortly after, I started work. At first I was a waiter in a cafeteria for the meager sum of 20 levs a day – the price of one loaf of bread.

Each evening the interned Jews gathered in the Jewish school and once I was told that I could go and take part in the digging of a river path, which was much better-paid. So, I started working there. The first day I was so tired, I could hardly walk. Then I got used to it and even dug much more than the others.

My father also came to work with me. We could afford better housing and rented an apartment. My brother was in a labor camp and came back at the beginning of 1944. He escaped at the beginning of May and became a partisan.

Soon people found out that my brother was not returning home. One of our landlady’s sons worked in the police. My father was arrested to be questioned about his son. He did not say anything and spent 20 days in the police station, where he was beaten. At that time I was the only one who worked – we had to bring him food to the police station and pay our rent. We managed to keep ends meet because my employer paid me regularly and was a very honest man.

Something interesting happened one day. I had to dig an area one meter deep, seven meters long and four meters wide. But the supervisor deliberately measured the width of my excavation right to its very limits where it was 20 centimeters more shallow. His son also worked there and he probably wanted to write down that his son had completed my work. But the technician saw that, corrected the measurements and paid me the full sum. I was very happy with the organization of labor there.

At the beginning of June 1944 our whole family was interned to Pleven, the Kailuka area, where a concentration camp had been built 17. We were shut in a wooden shed. They put it on fire during the night and my mother was burned alive. My mother had a long dress which got stuck between the boards of the house and she could not get out. I tried to pull her out, but I could not.

We were released on 21st August 1944. We went to Pazardzhik first, to Liza’s place. Liza was my mother’s sister. My father was sent to a labor camp in Enikioy 18. My sister and I waited for our father and our brother to return. My father came back at the end of August 1944 and we celebrated 9th September 1944 there.

Long after 9th September we waited for my brother to appear. There was information that his squad had gone to Yugoslavia with the partisans there. Some men of his team had really gone there after one battle. We hoped that he was there, too. My sister went to Yugoslavia but learned nothing. It seems he had died as a partisan.

After the War

We came back to Sofia and found our apartment completely plundered. We had left the furniture there before we moved. Besides, some man had used the apartment as a storehouse for wood material. He quickly collected his things and left.

In 1946, I graduated from high school and started studying in the Polytechnic [it was named State Polytechnics then and now it is Technical University]. My sister Donka started work as a typist. My father once again started work as a butcher. He retired in this job.

I met my wife, Venezia Kamhi [nee Konorti], in Kyustendil. She was also interned with her family. We went out in the same company. We gathered in the Jewish school in town and had a great time. We married in 1950. I was still a student then. In 1951 I wrote my diploma and a year later I graduated. My diploma was on secondary connotation of a post station. That means distant management and protection of the high voltage of thermo-electric power plants.

When I graduated I started work in the designers’ company ‘Promproekt.’ In October 1952 I had to do my military service and was stationed in Dimitrovgrad. But after 15 days the commanding officer received an order from Sofia that five people had to return to Sofia for a course in radio location. It turned out that I was the only electrical engineer at the base. I went to Sofia and spent three months in the course on radio location, which was taught by a Soviet specialist.

Two more courses on radio location were organized after that and I taught them. One of them was for officers and the other for soldiers. The course was in Chepelare. I taught them for three months.

Then I was assigned to head a repairs workshop. There was a Soviet colonel there, who insisted that I stay on a termed service in the military, and not on a permanent one. He advised me to write that all my relatives were in Israel. I did what he told me and they kept me only one month at that job.

The job in the military was not a promising one. The technical equipment in my base was not good. We were given some appliances to repair, but we could not do it because we did not have any modern equipment.

Once a colonel came with a device to be repaired and got angry with us that it was not ready. I told him that we didn’t have the equipment to identify the malfunctioning part. He said that we did nothing the whole day and we did not need equipment for that. It was not easy to explain to him that we could not do anything without the necessary equipment.

After the service in the army I started work in the designers’ company, which split into two, and in 1957 I continued to work in one of the two new companies – Minproekt, where I designed the electrical installations of the Maritsa mine complex and the Kremikovtsi metallurgic plant. I was happy with my job and working conditions.

We could afford to go on holidays, though we did not have a car. We also went to the mountains and to the seaside. We went to the best resorts such as Borovets and Nessebar [a town in the Black Sea region with a multitude of splendidly preserved Byzantine architecture]. We were given pre-paid vouchers from my work, with which we spent two weeks at the resort.

Once I designed a project for a resting home of the miners in Nessebar on the Black Sea coast. That was the second resting home there. When it was finished, the miners gave our organization the bungalows in front of the station. We used to go there together with five more families from our organization.

At my work I did not have any problems for being a Jew. When I designed the project for the Maritsa mine complex I made model designs so my employers decided to place me in such a department. A model department is a mixed department in which architects and technicians work together on the designs.

We made model mobile electrical connecting posts, electrical boards, designs for companies. The electrical installations in the plant for metal-cutting machines in Sofia were also designed by me. The design was very practical and afterwards many companies from the country wanted to use it.

In the 1970s I continued work in the model department of Niproruda. This is also a designers’ company working mostly in the area of ore output. We had to design the underground electrical installation of a mining complex near Kyustendil. I retired in 1982. Then I started receiving commissions at home to design the electrical installations of various companies, mills and silos. I was much respected as a designer. I also educated young specialists who are working in this area now.

My wife Venezia is also of Jewish origin. My generation of Jews was brought up to sympathize with our fellow men in Israel. She was born in Sofia, but her parents are from Kyustendil. Her family was more religious than ours. Her paternal grandfather was very religious and read books in classical Hebrew. Her parents knew many songs in Ladino 19. My wife also knows some very nice songs in Ladino.

Her brother Mordohai Konorti lives in Israel where he went with their mother during the Mass Aliyah between 1948 and1950 when the government of Georgi Dimitrov 20 allowed Bulgarian Jews to move freely to their new state.

My wife worked as a seamstress after 9th September 1944 and later started making designs for clothes companies such as Osvobozhdenie, Zoya, and Lada.

My daughter Beti was born on 13th July 1952. She studied in a Bulgarian school. After 9th September 1944 the Jewish schools in Sofia were closed. My daughter was raised Jewish and feels Jewish. She did not learn Ivrit, but understands Ladino.

I also tried to raise my daughter in the ‘Jewish spirit’ and encouraged her to have Jewish friends. She also liked to mingle with other Jews. I have always lived in a Jewish environment. I still have Jewish friends from my childhood. My daughter and granddaughter have a wider circle of friends than me.

At that time, in the 1970s, Jews were scattered throughout Bulgaria and my daughter married a Bulgarian. She graduated from the Higher Polytechnical Institute in the specialty thermotechnics, but now she works as a computer specialist.

When my daughter was a child and my wife had to go to work, my wife’s aunt Matilda Miuhas helped us in looking after her. She was very religious. She observed all Jewish rituals and her husband went to the synagogue regularly. Thanks to them my daughter learned Ladino and I did not have to explain to her what it means to be Jewish. Matilda even went to the meetings of the parents’ council at my daughter’s school instead of us.

I have been a member of the [Bulgarian] Communist Party 21 since the 1950s. I approved the intervention of the Soviet Union during the crises in Hungary [in 1956] 22 and Czechoslovakia [cf. Prague Spring] 23. If someone had tried to intervene against the socialist progress in Bulgaria, I would not have approved it.

No period before or after 9th September can match the rate of construction we had then. There were people who suffered from the regime, but no one in my workplace was persecuted. The Niproruda organization consisted of more than a thousand people.

I did not keep in touch with my relatives in Israel during the wars there 24 25. It was not possible at that time. After the wars the Israeli citizens were allowed to travel and they could visit us in Bulgaria. I went to Israel for the first time in 1985. There I met my cousin Yoske, who is the son of my mother’s brother. He is older than me and left Sofia for Palestine before I was born.

During the communist regime, thanks to my wife, we always observed the Jewish holidays – mostly Pesach and Chanukkah. We celebrated them at home and we always bought matzah from the synagogue for Pesach. My wife made almond cookies and burmolikos. The [Great] Synagogue 26 in Sofia was open, but we did not go there. My family was not very religious.

Now we gather at home for Pesach and Chanukkah with my daughter’s family. We prepare a rich table. We have a chanukkiyah. My daughter’s husband is a Bulgarian and during the major Christian holidays my wife and I used to visit them at their place.

After the political changes in Bulgaria from 1989 27 life, in my opinion, became harder. That has not changed nowadays. The situation is very difficult for the retired people and the unemployed. In our designers’ company even the most ordinary draftsman went on holiday at the seaside or in the mountains. We often went to the theater and to the cinema. But nowadays with our small pensions we cannot afford to visit a cultural event.

The change in Europe can be a positive one in the long term, but it is still not such. I cannot see the end of the conflict between the Arabs and Israel and in the Middle East. Young people are still brought up to be terrorists and suicide bombers there.

For fifteen years my wife and I spent every summer in the village of Zhedna, Radomir municipality. There we were involved in agriculture and breathed fresh air. We were even members of the agricultural cooperation and received 500 square meters of land which we cultivated. We planted potatoes, beans, pumpkins, maize, sunflowers, tomatoes and other vegetables. We also had some hens but one day they were stolen. Some years ago we stopped going there.

I mostly spoke in Ladino with my wife’s aunt. When I was on a trip to Cuba in 1955-1956 I had no difficulties in understanding the language there. I designed some electrical part there and the automated system of a company producing raw material for porcelain. I was sent to supervise the process and I had to correct each one of their mistakes.

I have a dictionary in Ivrit at home, but I cannot use it very well. It is a gift from my wife’s brother, who lives in Yafo. My wife has been to Israel five times and she can speak Ivrit a little.

At the moment I spend more time at home, doing shopping and the household chores. My wife is more sociable than me and visits every event organized by the Jewish People’s Home. She also visits the ‘Golden Age’ club and the Ladino club several times a week. There they speak and practice our old Spanish language by singing songs and learning poems.

The Health club is visited by a physician and a gym instructor. I visit the Bet Am 28 only at noon from Monday to Friday when I meet friends from my generation.

Glossary

Maria Koblik-Zeltser
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: July 2004

Maria Koblik-Zeltser is a young-looking woman with long auburn hair dressed in light pants and a sweater. She looks much younger than her age. There are a lot of books and pictures in the apartment. These were given to her husband, a great scientist. She lives in a cozy apartment in a shady street in Kishinev [Chisinau in Moldova]. Maria is brisk and agile. She easily hops on the stool and takes the books and photographs from the top shelves of a bookcase. The first time we met we were looking through albums and photographs, paper clips from medical journals, where her husband’s works were published. During the first day of the interview Maria was somehow embarrassed when the dictaphone was on and felt ill at ease. But later she paid no attention to it anymore, being deeply immersed in her recollections.

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family backgrownd

When I go back to my childhood, the first thing I remember is the town Rezina [80 km from Kishinev], where I was born and where my relatives spent their childhood. Sometimes, I think that it is the most beautiful place in the universe. I must be nostalgic about my childhood. At the beginning of the 20th century Rezina was a little town with a predominantly Jewish population [in 1897 there were 3,182 Jews (85 percent of the total population)]. The town stands on a picturesque place of the steep bend of the river Dniestr. As far as I remember, the town of the 1930s consisted of three long streets, running perpendicular to the river. Almost all the stores belonged to Jews. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the names of the owners. I only remember that one of the cafes was owned by my mother’s friend Madam Stekolshchik, and one of the stores belonged to Mr. Milstein, my classmate’s father.

The market was on Podgornaya Street. It was open for several days a week. Moldovans from the adjacent villages used to come to the market on carts to sell their produce – meat, chicken, grapes and other fruits, vegetables – and to buy the goods they needed – certain groceries, knick-knacks, fabric and dirt cheap souvenirs for children. A large Orthodox church, surrounded by an orchard was located on the square of this street. The bell toll was heard all over the town. There was only one church and there were several synagogues. The first and the largest synagogue was called ‘Itsik and Monek.’ They say it was built by the Jew Monek and his son Itsik. It was a large two-storied synagogue attended by wealthy Jews: entrepreneurs, merchants and intelligentsia – doctors and lawyers. There was also the synagogue of the tailors [synagogue maintained by the tailors’ guild union] and the synagogue called ‘Old and New Synagogue.’ The synagogue was called this because it was a very old building, restored, remodeled and considerably expanded in the late 19th century.

I didn’t know my paternal grandfather. All I know is that his name was Leibl Kozhushnyan, and he was born in the 1840s in Bessarabia 1. I don’t know exactly where he was born. The origin of my paternal grandfather’s name is unknown. Such surnames don’t indicate nationality, but rather craft or the place of origin. In Bessarabia there was the hamlet of Kozhushki, not far from Rezina. The roots of our family are probably from there. I know that Grandfather’s first wife died at a young age, and Grandfather had a son from the first marriage, who lived in the town of Orhei [about 40 km from Kishinev]. I have never seen him. I don’t remember his name either. Grandfather Leibl got married for a second time. His wife was his age. She was born in Kishinev. My grandmother Charna was born in 1847. I don’t remember her maiden name.

Grandfather Leibl was involved in commerce like most of the Jews in Rezina. [Editor’s note: in Rezina a considerable part of the Jewish population engaged in viniculture and tobacco production. In 1925, 200 Jewish families cultivated an area of 1,567 hectares, 1,400 of which were rented.] I don’t know exactly what he did for a living. Grandfather died at the beginning of the 20th century. I know for sure that Grandfather wasn’t alive when the first child of my parents was born in 1909, because my elder brother was named after our grandfather [one of the most common practices is to name a child to honor a relative. Sephardi Jews name their children freely after both living and deceased relatives. However, Ashkenazim rarely name children after living relatives].

Charna and Leibl had four children. My father was the eldest. Then in two or three years two sisters were born: Menya and Riva. Froim was the youngest. Aunt Menya and her husband Leizer Zhovnar lived in the village of Sarateny [about 45 km from Kishinev], not far from Orhei. Leizer owned a lot of land. He was involved in tobacco production. He worked in the field from morning till night all year round. He didn’t hire workers full time, only in winter time he hired a couple of workers for processing of tobacco. Their little family was rather well-off. Menya didn’t have children and she was suffering because of that.

Menya loved us, her nephews and nieces, very much. She really adored us. She invited us to visit her during summer time and gave us all kinds of presents. She also treated her husband’s nephews very well. Her husband had a lot of brothers, who lived in Sarateny and adjacent hamlets. Leizer even adopted a younger daughter of his sister, who was indigent. His step-daughter’s name was Haikele. Menya and Leizer loved her like their own flesh and blood. In 1941, when World War II broke out 2, Меnya and Leizer didn’t manage to get evacuated. They gave their cart to Haikele and her mother. The girl wasn’t able to come back to take her stepparents as the occupiers had already come to the village. Haikele couldn’t forgive herself for their death. She thought till the last minute of her life that it was her fault that Menya and Leizer hadn’t been evacuated.

Father’s second sister Riva lived in Orhei with her husband. I only remember that his surname was Sharf. Riva had five children. The eldest son, Lev, and the youngest, Sholik, became pharmacists. The middle son Abram was a driver. Riva’s daughters Zina and Rosa were married to rather well-off Jews. Zina graduated from the Bucharest University [today Romania], from the Economics department. She lived with her husband in Bucharest. She worked as an economist for large companies. When the Soviet regime came to power in 1940 3, Zina with her family moved to Kishinev. Riva died in the middle of the 1960s and all her children with the exception of Zina left for Israel in the 1980s. Zina and her husband came back to Bucharest after World War II. She lived there for a long time and recently died at the age of 85.

My father’s younger brother Froim, born at the end of the 1890s, was drafted into the Tsarist army [in this period Bessarabia was part of the Russian Empire] during World War I and perished in 1916.

My father, Yankel Kozhushnyan, was born in 1880 in Rezina. Father got only elementary Jewish education at cheder, which was traditional for Jewish families. Nevertheless Father was good at writing in Russian and Romanian. He read a lot of Pushkin’s 4 works and cited them. Father was well up in book-keeping, trade and commerce. Father became a grown-up rather early. When Grandfather died, he became the head and the bread-winner of the family of three women: grandmother and his two younger sisters. Father began to work at a young age. He was an assistant to a salesman and gradually he became a salesman in a large store, owned by a wealthy Jew. Father was a very honest man and the owner of the store totally trusted him. Father learnt a lot from him and began making pretty good money.

Father was very popular with Rezina’s potential brides as he was a modern, young, well-dressed man and a good dancer. When Father decided that it was time for him to get married, he was introduced to my mother by match-makers. Father came to meet my mother in the town of Soroca [about 150 km from Kishinev], where my mother lived. He enchanted her and all relatives and left… He came back in a year and without explaining anything proposed to my mother. It didn’t take her long to say yes. Then Father used to say that he fell in love with my mother at first sight, and it was unexpected to him, but he felt responsible for his younger siblings and left home to tackle things at home and earn some money for the wedding. He planned to come back to my mother.

I didn’t know my maternal grandparents either. They died before I was born. My grandfather Nahman Gitelmaher was born in the 1850s in the town of Soroca. Grandfather was much older than grandmother Menihe. I don’t know Grandmother’s maiden name. I know that she died of cancer at the age of 54, leaving four children behind. Grandfather was a literate man, he worked as a clerk. He didn’t have his own business. Grandfather Nahman didn’t live a very long life, though he managed to marry off his daughters and sons. He died in 1916. Grandfather had been working from morning till night, trying to earn a living for his children. He tried to educate his children as he was literate and educated himself.

The first child born by Menihe died an infant in the 1880s. After that Grandmother didn’t have children for many years. When she was on the verge of leaving for Kharkov [today Ukraine, about 450 km east of Kiev] in 1886, where Grandfather was doing his army service, her neighbors wished her to bring back two children, according to a family legend. Our family always remembered that wish of our neighbors with a smile. Their good wish was realized. In 1887 Grandmother gave birth to twins in Kharkov. The twins were my mother Soibel and her brother Aron. In a year or two a girl, Tuba, was born, then a boy Motle followed his sister. When Grandmother died Mother became the head of the family, though she was only fourteen. She was a real homemaker: cooked food, washed linen, cleaned, helped Grandfather raise his younger children. I don’t know whether Mother got some education. I think she finished a couple of classes in the lyceum [high school]. Mother was very literate: she could read and write in Russian and Romanian. She was an erudite. Besides, Mother was very strong-willed. She was actually the head of the family. She had the last word in decisions made by her siblings and later on my father didn’t take any actions, even connected with his work, without having a word with my mother.

My mother’s family was very religious. After Grandmother’s death my mother, being the head of the family, made sure that the rites and traditions were observed. She prepared the house for Sabbath by herself. Sabbath candles were lit by her. My mother told me that once on Sabbath when she was reading a prayer the curtains caught fire from the candles. Mother was at a loss. She couldn’t interrupt the prayer. Then she started to cry out the words of the prayer, in order to draw attention to herself, for people to see the fire.

Her eldest brother Aron also had another name. He was very feeble and ill in childhood and the rabbi advised to give him another name of Bukka [a protecting name]. He was called Bukka all the time, though it was written Aron in his documents. Aron finished elementary school. Then he went to the lyceum for a couple of years. He became a rather prosperous entrepreneur, though I don’t remember what kind of business he had. He had a wife, Surke, and children. They lived in Soroca. Aron had a large house. There was a club and summer movie house in his yard. All that property belonged to him. He was a patron of the arts. Jewish theater troupes, which came on tour, staged performances in his club. The performances were free of charge. There was no theater troupe in the town.

Aron had four children: the eldest Revekka, the sons Mikhail and Modik and the youngest, Menihe. By the way, all of my mother’s siblings had a daughter named after Grandmother Menihe. Revekka studied for a couple of years in the medical institute in Iasi, but she stopped studying when she got married. Her husband was a pharmacist. She had two sons, whose names I don’t remember. Revekka died at the age of 80 in Israel. It happened a couple of years ago. Mikhail, who had graduated from the institute – I don’t know exactly, I think it was a technical institution in Bucharest – was in the front lines during World War II. Then he lived in Chernivtsy [today Ukraine, about 430 km west of Kiev]. Mikhail was married, but he didn’t have children. He also immigrated to Israel. He died recently. Modik, who was my age, died at the front in 1944. He is buried in a mass grave somewhere in Czechoslovakia. Menihe went there a couple of times. Menihe is not alive either. Aron died in Kishinev in the middle of the 1960s.

Mother’s sister Tuba and her husband Boris Baletnik lived in the Ukrainian city of Pervomaysk Mykolayiv oblast [about 330 km south of Kiev]. Both of them worked in the bar at the station. They had a very modest living. Tuba had four children; I remember the names of three of them –Menihe, Nahman, who died at a young age, and Mikhail, who died in the lines in the 1940s. Having returned from evacuation Tuba, her husband and daughter settled in Soroca. She died in the 1960s, shortly after Uncle Aron.

The youngest in the family, Motle, born at the end of the 1890s, worked for a publishing house after finishing elementary school and vocational school. He had a significant position by the beginning of World War II. He was the director of the publishing house in Soroca. Motle had a wife, Fradya, and three daughters: the eldest Haya, middle Zoya and the youngest called Maria 5. When she was born she was given the name of Menihe. All of them were in evacuation and came back to Soroca after World War II. Uncle Motle died in Kishinev in the 1980s. His daughters passed away as well. My namesake Maria was the closest to me. She also became a doctor. She died in Israel two years ago.

My parents had their wedding in Soroca under a chuppah in accordance with the Jewish rite. They settled in Rezina. Some time later my father opened a drapery store. My parents used to live in rented apartments, changing them every couple of years. The first room of their apartment was always used as a store. In December 1909 Mother gave birth to her first child. The boy was named Leibl after our grandfather. Mother didn’t have children for a couple of years, and then two sons were born, with the difference of one year. Abram was born in 1913 and Velvl in 1914. I don’t know about the life of my family in that period of time. Fortunately, Father wasn’t drafted into the army when World War I started. First, he was the bread-winner of the family with three children and besides he was to take care of his mother Charna. Grandmother Charna lived in Rezina, but not with our family. Father rented a room for her.

In 1918 when the entire Bessarabia, including Rezina was annexed to Romania 6, our family was not much affected by that. Father kept working in the store. He coped with work by himself. He had no assistants. We had a rather modest living. My parents thought that it was the most important thing for their sons to be educated. All of them went to a Romanian lyceum in Rezina. When the youngest was twelve, mother unexpectedly got pregnant. First, she was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do as she was about forty, but the wish to have a daughter was stronger. On 9th December 1926 she understood from her previous experience that she was having labor pains and sent her eldest son Leibl to bring a midwife. Mrs. Paromshchik was the midwife in our town. While the son was thinking where to go, parturition began. That was the way I, the youngest in the family, was born on 9th December 1926. My parents were happy. They had dreamt of having a daughter. In accordance with the tradition in my mother’s family I was named Menihe after my maternal grandmother. However, later on when I was getting my official documents I changed my name to the Russian Maria, as it was more euphonic.

I had a wonderful childhood. My mother was deeply immersed in looking after me and taking care of the house. Father loved me very much as well. In spite of the fact that there were four children in the family, I was raised as an only child, because my siblings were much older than I was. They were interested in other things, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t care for me. They treated me very well, even pampering me sometimes. I didn’t see them very often. When I got a little older they left Rezina to continue their education.

Growing up

One of the things that I remember from my childhood is saying goodbye to my eldest brother. In 1929 he finished lyceum and ranked top among the students, having an exceptional talent in humanities – philosophy and history. Leibl wanted to go on with his education, but he understood that our father wouldn’t be able to pay for it, as there were two more people in the family who needed to go to lyceum, and besides my mother and I were to be taken care of as well. Leibl and three of his friends decided to go to Belgium to enter a university there. Father gave him money only for the trip. My brother wasn’t hurt as he understood that Father did all he could.

The four friends came to the town of Liege. Leibl entered the Pharmaceutical Department at the University. His friends also became students. They lived together in a rented apartment. One Jew from Bessarabia found a job for them. They were lodging in turns at the electric station. Leibl managed to graduate from the institute and began to work. I remember how my parents rejoiced when he sent them his first salary. By that time Abram had graduated from the lyceum and entered Iasi University 7, the Law Department. The youngest son, Velvl, studied in the lyceum in Soroca. Mother’s brother Aron took Velvl to him. Having finished lyceum Velvl entered the Medical Department of Bucharest University. Father had to support two students.

We always lived in a rented apartment. To have our own house still remained a cherished and unrealizable dream for us. Mother spent almost all her time with me. We went shopping together – to the stores and to the market. We enjoyed taking pictures rather often – sometimes the three of us, sometimes the whole family was in the pictures. There were two photography shops. One of them belonged to Golovanevskiy, and the other one belonged to Zilberman. Our family preferred having pictures taken at Golovanevskiy’s. They often took my pictures free of charge and placed them in the window case. They said I was a very pretty child. We took pictures to send them to Leibl in Belgium. He was missing us very much and he couldn’t afford to come home for a visit.

Our family observed Jewish traditions. Father usually wore a cap or a hat; he covered his head with a kippah only while praying. Mother didn’t wear a wig. She covered her head with a kerchief only when she went to the synagogue, and Father wore tallit and tefillin only when he went to the synagogue. Mother stuck to kosher principles in cooking. There were specially marked dishes for cooking dairy and meat, as well as hardware and cutting boards.

Sabbath was a holiday for me when I was a child. On Friday Mother bought a chicken and went to the shochet to have it slaughtered. We also bought fish brought from Kishinev. We bought Sabbath challah in the bakery. Besides, Mother baked her own sweet challah. Not every Jewish family could afford fancy challah made of the premium flour. The dishes cooked for Sabbath were kept in the oven. On Sabbath my parents went to the synagogue. Both of them had their own seats in the large two-storied synagogue, which was the most beautiful one in Rezina. On Saturdays my father’s store was closed. When my parents came back from the synagogue Mother took the warm dinner from the oven and we had a meal.

Rosh Hashanah is the first holiday in the Jewish year. It is very ceremonious. Mother laid the table with the best dishes cooked by her. Gefilte fish [filled fish balls] was one of them. Father enjoyed it the most, saying that it was the tastiest dish. We could hear shofar sounds from the synagogues, and that sound of a trumpet seemed pristine to me and made me think about Palestine, the Jews and their history.

I remember fasting at Yom Kippur. I began fasting early, since eight. [Editor’s note: Usually children under the age of nine don’t fast, then they start fasting little by little. Boys start to fast as long as adults do by the age of thirteen, girls from twelve.] It was my initiative. We had a lavish dinner on the eve of the fasting day. On the fasting day parents didn’t eat nor drink for the whole day. They usually spent this day in the synagogue, praying. Sometimes Mother came home for a couple of hours to take a rest. In the evening Mother laid a table either at home or in the café of her friend where our families got together. It was hard for me to fast. The hardest thing was being thirsty. Once, Mother fainted because of hunger, when she wasn’t very young anymore and ill.

We usually went to my uncle to celebrate Sukkot. He had his own house, where he made the sukkah. Grape vines were hanging down from the roof of the balcony and reached the table where we had dinner during the holiday. The next holiday of Simchat Torah was very mirthful, making young and elder people agile. [Simchat Torah (‘Rejoicing in the Torah’) celebrates the receiving of the Torah by dancing and singing. Drinking is also common during this time.] I remember how the Torah scroll was carried along our streets and followed by the dancing religious Jews. On Chanukkah my mother and I often went to her siblings in Soroca. They gave me very generous presents and Chanukkah money [Chanukkah gelt]. I felt at home in the house of Aron and Motle.

I also liked the Purim holiday a lot. There was a nice impromptu carnival procession in the street. I knew the story of Esther since early childhood. Father told me about Esther, who saved the Jews. Mother made me the costume of Esther. What I like the most was the Jewish tradition to bring presents, the so-called ‘shelakhmones’ [a tray usually filled with sweets and apples]. In the evening the trays with the treats were brought from Madam Stekolshchik and another friend of my mother’s, whose husband was the owner of the mill. We treated them as well. Unfortunately, people started to forget about this tradition in the course of time. Even at the end of the 1930s, only several families kept that tradition. I remember one very religious tailor lived at one end of the town and his nephew at the other one, and when they were carrying the treats to each other, people mocked them saying that the tradition was outdated. I am sorry that this festive mood connected with Purim is gone.

Pesach was my favorite holiday. We were on holiday at school. Bedsides, my brothers Abram and Velvl used to come. Mother got ready for the holiday beforehand. She bought chicken, meat, fish and cleaned the house. There was a present for each member of the family. They had a new coat made for me and ordered new patent-leather shoes for me. The first seder was the most ceremonious one. Father was leaning on the pillows [according to the Jewish tradition the eldest man in the family, the one who conducted seder, was supposed to recline on something soft (usually pillows were used for that), which was the embodiment of relaxation and exemption from slavery], covered with white cloth. Father was wearing festive tallit. Matzah and afikoman were hidden under the pillows. The person who found the afikoman was supposed to get a present. There was traditional food on the table: an egg, a potato, bitter herbs, chicken drumstick and matzah. Apart from the common festive dishes such as stew, gefilte fish, chicken broth there were a lot of dishes from matzah: all kinds of casseroles and tsimes. My brothers stayed with us for the entire holiday period, though they weren’t religious any more. They studied in secular universities in the capital. Like most young people of that time they left home and stopped being religious and following Jewish traditions. Rarely, only when they came home, did they participate in the celebration of Jewish holidays, out of respect for their parents and a tribute to traditions.

When I turned seven, I started going to the Jewish school Tarbut 8. It was a secular school, where along with common subjects, Hebrew, Jewish history and religion were taught. We studied Jewish literature, read and recited large excerpts from literary works. I had quite a good command of Hebrew at that time, but now I don’t remember anything unfortunately. After finishing elementary school I went to State Romanian Lyceum. It was a co-ed, where boys and girls studied. It wasn’t hard for me to pass the entrance exams and I was accepted without any bias. There were a lot of Jews in our class as the town was predominantly Jewish, and there was no Jewish lyceum.

I made friends with Jewish children. Slava Milstein was my best friend. Her father was the owner of a store. I also had a friendly relationship with Mara Gerkovich, whose father was a very wealthy man, a manager of a department of the Jewish bank. One boy, Fima Redka, was also my friend. He lived next door. He was from Kishinev. He came to Rezina with his mother and brother after his father had died. In Rezina his grandfather owned a large grocery store. They were very wealthy people. Fima asked his mother to buy textbooks for both of us to be able to see me more often – at that time people shared books to save money – so we studied together. As far as I remember Fima was always by me. He was a funny red-haired boy. I even taught him to embroider and his embroidery was placed next to mine on the annual exhibitions in the lyceum. I was an excellent student. I got prizes every year. The first prize was usually taken by Mara Gerkovich. As a rule, I took the second or the third, sometimes sharing it with Fima. We received books, school paraphernalia, school bags, backpacks. I had studied there for three years and then the lyceum was closed down.

During that time the position of our family had changed. My brother Leibl sent the money from Belgium regularly and finally Father was able to save money to buy his own apartment. He purchased a part of a house with a basement, which belonged to our distant relative. We had a separate entrance in the house. The apartment consisted of three rooms. As usual, there was a store in the first room. The second was a bedroom with three beds: two for my parents, and one for me, and the third one was a sort of a drawing-room combined with a kitchen. Since we didn’t have a separate kitchen Mother placed the primus [Primus stove: a small portable stove with a container for about 1 liter of kerosene that was pumped into burners] behind the curtain. The next year Father hired some workers and they joined the kitchen with the balcony to our apartment. We had a wonderful yard. There was a chicken coop in the yard. We also had a wine cellar. We didn’t have our own grapes. Father bought them at a cheap price and made wine. We drank homemade wine on Sabbath and on holidays.

The three of us lived in that apartment. Grandmother Charna died in 1935. She was buried in accordance with the Jewish traditions. We were mourning over her. I didn’t go to her funeral because of being ill. I remember my grandmother always being brisk and merry.

The coming year brought certain events to our country and in our family life as well. At that time the Bessarabian Jewish youth was divided in two groups – the adherents of Zionism 9 and underground Komsomol 10 Communists, who were striving for a Soviet mode of life and spreading the ideas of equality and fraternity. My elder brother Abram, who was then living in Rezina, became an active member of an underground Komsomol organization. In Iasi, where he studied at the university, he was seeing a girl and when her parents insisted on the wedding, Abram rejected his bride. He was totally devoted to Communism and reckoned that he couldn’t be tied with a nuptial knot. Mother was really worried and shed a lot of tears because of that. Abram was arrested a couple of times, but he didn’t stay in prison for a long time. He was released in a couple of months. He was banned from living in Rezina after he graduated from the university, because our town was a frontier one, and the Soviet Union was on the opposite bank of the Dniestr. When Abram graduated from university he began to work for a law firm in Kishinev. Then he moved to a little town close to Bucharest. 

Mother knew hardly anything about her younger son Velvl. He finished a couple of years of the medical department. In 1938 Aunt Tuba sent a letter from Ukraine. The letter was written in an allegoric style and mother understood that Velvl had crossed the border and stayed in Pervomaysk at his aunt’s. Our aunt wasn’t able to write long frank letters and forbade my mother to respond to her letters. She didn’t even indicate her address as she was afraid to be persecuted by the authorities 11, but we began to understand those things much later, in the 1940s, when we became citizens of the USSR, when mother was keen to receive letters from abroad with the message about her eldest son.

In 1939 Leibl, who had finally settled in Liege, sent money for Mother and me to come and visit him. I was looking forward to our trip. First, we went to Kishinev. Then we left for Bucharest. In Kishinev my mother and I went shopping and bought fashionable crêpe de Chine dresses and took pictures. We went to Belgium from Bucharest. I don’t remember much about Belgium. Leibl met us at the train station. He was so handsome in a dressy three-piece suite. We were with his fiancée. From the train station we went to some spa and stayed there for a month.

When we came back to Rezina my family decided that I should go on with my studies. In September mother took me to Orhei and I entered a lyceum there. I lived with Aunt Rivka for some time. Then Mother rented a room for me. I shared it with two more girls from the lyceum. I lived in Orhei for a year. My parents often came for a visit. My brother Abram came once. I went home for Jewish holidays. Abram used to come as well. Both of us were at the festive table. Once, mother came on a sleigh to take me home for the winter vacation. She also took one of the lads from Rezina, who also studied in Orhei. I knew him, but I didn’t communicate with him as he was four years older than me. His name was Froike [full name Froim]. On our way there was a blizzard, the road was covered deeply with snow and we had to stay in a village overnight. The host gave us warm tea. When we came back to Rezina, Froike’s mother met us, sobbing, and said that she had lost all hope to see us alive. At that time I liked the handsome and reasonable Froike, but I couldn’t envisage that all my adult life would be connected with him and he would become my husband.

I was only one year in Orhei and came back home. In late June 1940 Soviet troops entered Bessarabia and the Soviet power was established. It was rather peaceful. We went out to meet the Soviet soldiers, marching in the streets. They looked dusty, dirty and exhausted. Mother was worried about Abram as he lived on the Romanian territory. There was no news from him for the whole week. On the seventh day the lady from the telephone station came to us and said that Abram was calling. Mother went to have a talk with him. She came back very happy. It turned out that Abram was able to reach Kishinev and called from there. Mother said that she wouldn’t let this son go away. She left for Kishinev and came back with Abram the next day.

Abram took an active part in social work and soon was nominated the chairman of the municipal council. He had worked there for a month and then he was transferred to the integrated industrial complex and became its chairman. Abram got married two months after coming back to his native town, to a Jewish girl, Genya. She was the secretary of the municipal council. Abram had known her since taking part in the underground Komsomol organization. She also took an active part in that organization. Genya was even in prison with Abram.

Soon after the Soviets came to power they started to fight against the kulaks 12 and carried out nationalization of property. Many owners of stores and other entrepreneurs weren’t only sequestrated of their property, but also exiled to Siberia. Many of our acquaintances were predestined for that. The family of my mother’s friend Slava Milstein, whose father was the owner of the mill, was also exiled. Owing to Abram’s position as the chairman of the municipal council, we were treated loyally. Father was given the opportunity to sell out his goods and after that his store was requisitioned. Even the apartment, purchased with the money earned due to hard work, was to belong to the nation-wide property. We weren’t evicted though, and kept on living in the house which wasn’t owned by us any more.

Mother was crying stealthily, and didn’t want to say anything to Abram, as he considered all actions of the Soviet regime to be right. Father, who turned sixty, worked as a foreman in some enterprise. I went to the eighth grade of the ordinary Soviet school. First, it was hard for me to study as the classes were in Russian. I was surprised that it didn’t take me long to become proficient in Russian. Mother helped me a lot in that, as she was good at Russian. I was a good student. The first year of studies at the Soviet school went by very quickly. I became a pioneer 13 and finished the eighth grade ranking top among the students as usual.

During the war

On Sunday 22nd June 1941 we were expecting guests: my uncle Motle, who worked as a director of a publishing house in Soroca, and his daughter Hayusya. All of us were going to visit Aunt Menya. As usual, Mother got ready to receive guests and baked pies. But the train they took was a couple of hours late. At noon, Molotov 14 held a speech on the radio on the outbreak of the Great Patriotic War. Our get-together with my uncle and Hayusya was very sad. They left almost at once. In three days, Genya, Abram’s wife, gave birth to a girl. She was named Liya after a Communist friend, who perished in a Romanian prison. Germans started bombing the town as there was a bridge across the Dniestr, which was the target for the Germans. Abram decided that we should leave the town and in two weeks the whole family – I, Mother, Father and Genya with her baby – left for Sarateny where Aunt Menya lived. Hardly had we driven a couple of kilometers, as a messenger stopped us and told us to go back. Abram met us and told us to get evacuated immediately. Our things were packed – Genya’s sister had done it for us. My brother gave us a big cart and saw us off from the town. It was 6th July. Genya’s parents and sisters left with our family, Genya with the baby. Abram stayed in town, where he had to form a new volunteer battalion.

We left our home for uncertainty. We went along the bridge [across the Dniestr] to Rybnitsa [about 90 km east of Kishinev] and in a hamlet about 20 kilometers away from Rybnitsa we met Aunt Menya and Uncle Leizer. They were waiting for their step-daughter Haya, who took their cart. We couldn’t even imagine that we saw them for the last time. We were moving very slowly. The infant, who was less than a month old, required a lot of attention. We made frequent stops in Ukrainian villages. I should say that people were very hospitable towards us and treated us very well. We were given warm water in every hut, so we could take a bath and bathe the baby. They gave us milk and bread. Sometimes we had dinner. The food was simple, but it was substantial. I wanted to stay, thinking that the danger wasn’t imminent and we would be able to survive the war in one of those hospitable huts.

We reached Pervomaysk, hoping that we would be able to take Velvl and the family of mother’s sister Tuba. We were told not to go into the town and stopped in some sort of a forest. Genya’s sisters went to the town and found out that Aunt Tuba had already been evacuated. Her neighbors told us that Velvl and Abram who came to Pervomaysk for a visit had left to look for us. In two days, on Friday evening, Abram and Velvl came. Mother was happy in the end – both of her sons were with her.

Abram and Velvl joined us. Abram’s friend, a party member, was with him. They asked to be drafted into the army in the enlistment office in any town we passed by. But Bessarabians were not trusted, and they were told to leave. We reached some station in Donetsk oblast [today Ukraine], gave away our cart and got on a train. It was an echelon with evacuees. It took us a couple of days to get to Rostov oblast, about 1000 kilometers away from home. We were sent to some kolkhoz 15 and given lodging by the family of the chairman of this kolkhoz.

Literally in a couple of days, all men who got off the train were summoned to the military enlistment office. First, they didn’t want my brothers to be in the lines because they were Bessarabians. Abram showed his documents and the Communist Party membership card and managed to convince them that he, Velvl and his friend Iser should be sent to the front. Before leaving, Abram told me that I was responsible for the family. He also hinted that I shouldn’t think of my studies, but go to work to support our elderly parents. My brothers sent a couple of optimistic cards, and in a couple of months we stopped receiving letters from them. We had left the kolkhoz by that time, because the German troops were approaching. However, Genya, her baby, parents and sisters stayed. Her sisters were told to dig the trenches. No matter how many times we insisted, Genya didn’t want to leave her sisters. It turned out that the three of us left – my parents and I. After the war we met two Moldovans, who were with us on the trip and stayed with Genya afterwards. They said that Genya’s father died shortly after our departure, and Genya, her sisters, mother and the baby, Liya, were shot by the Fascists during one of their actions against the Jewish population.

We got to the district center in a cart, and then we went to Stalingrad [today Volgograd in Russia] oblast [today Russia] by train. We came to some sort of a kolkhoz. Tobacco was grown there and my father went to work there. We were given a room with an oven. We were given firewood in the kolkhoz. Our life was getting better. I also began working. First, I was a worker at the sheep farm. There were very few literate people in the village and I became accounting clerk of the firm. I learned how to ride a horse and a two-wheel carriage. I got up at five o’clock in the morning and went to the farm, where the milkmaids milked the ewes, collected the milk and brought it to the delivery point. I didn’t even think of pouring out or sipping the milk, though I was hungry almost all the time. We were given rations in the kolkhoz: oil and wheat. Sometimes they gave us the meat of the dead sheep that had died of disease. We exchanged the things we had taken with us for food products. We lived for half a year in this village. When Stalingrad was being attacked, we moved farther. The chairman of the kolkhoz gave us the best bulls to be harnessed in our cart. We went to Ushakhino, Saratov oblast, and gave the bulls to the local kolkhoz. We still keep that certificate.

In Ushakhino we took the train. It took us a couple of weeks to cross the entire Kazakhstan and reach Kyrgyzstan. We met my cousin Shoilik at one of the stations. He worked for the labor army 16, constructing a canal. Mother found out from him that Motle and his family were in Kyrgyzstan. We saw them much later. For a couple of months we lived in Belovodskoye [today Kyrgyzstan, 4000 km from Kishinev]. Father found a job as a guard. My mother and I knitted kerchiefs and blouses and sold them. It was good for us to take a lot of things from home. Now we were able to exchange them for food. Mother found out where Motle was and we came to him. Motle, his wife and two daughters lived in a village not far from Belovodskoye. They lived at the beet receiving station. My favorite cousin Hayusya died there of meningitis in 1942. She was afflicted with meningitis after typhus fever. I was sent to Frunze [today Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan] to attend the courses of agricultural storekeepers. We were taught how to sort out, grade and pile vegetables. Upon my return I was a forewoman of the vegetable storekeepers.

Then my parents started insisting on my studies. We went to the town of Kant, not far from Bishkek, and rented a room there. Father found a job as a guard at some warehouse. Mother knitted, though it was hard for her, because her eyesight got much worse. I went to school. There were mostly other evacuees in my class. Before I was admitted to the school I had to pass a test. I passed it and was enrolled in the tenth grade. Even though I was two months late, soon I managed to catch up with the rest of the class. I was exceptionally good at sciences: Mathematics and Physics. The physics teacher treated me very well and convinced a Russian teacher to have additional classes with me. Of course, she taught me free-of-charge, because we couldn’t afford to pay her. Thanks to that Russian teacher, I was able to finish the tenth grade with honors. There were a lot of Jews in our class and we were friends. My best friends were Iza Kramarova and Manya Kalmanovich. They also were excellent students. Unfortunately, we didn’t keep in touch after finishing school. I don’t know what happened to them afterwards.

That was the way we lived during the war. Of course, my parents weren’t able to observe Jewish traditions. Father was sorry to have left his tefillin at home because of the rush. He had his tallit and every morning Father prayed no matter where we were. I don’t remember whether my parents fasted on Yom Kippur. Mother said that there was no need for me to fast as I starved for many days in a year.

In spring 1944, when Bessarabia was being liberated, Uncle Motle was called to come back to his Motherland urgently. He left for Soroca, where he became the director of a publishing house. In the fall, when Kishinev was liberated, he sent us a message. In December we returned to Bessarabia. First we came to Rezina. Father’s Moldovan friend Efrem suggested that we live in his house for a while. Although Uncle Motle found an apartment for us in Soroca, mother wasn’t willing to leave Rezina, hoping to find out something about here sons. Nobody knew what happened to Velvl and Abram. One of the guys, who had been drafted with them, said that they were surrounded. He was able to break though, and he didn’t know anything about my brothers. Father came back to his previous work in the enterprise. We were given an apartment.

After the war

Mother insisted on my entering the university. When I was pondering over whether to enter the Teachers’ Training Institute or the vocational school, there was an announcement that the Medical Institute was open in Kishinev. It was my dream. Mother also wanted her children to become doctors. My mother and I went to Kishinev. I submitted the documents. I didn’t have to take entrance exams as I had a secondary school certificate with honors. Only two months later I received the invitation for the classes.

Mother rented a room for me. I shared it with a girl from our town, who also entered the medical institute. The room was dark. We slept on one bed. Nevertheless, the student years were the best period of my life. I had very many friends. I was an excellent student. In spite of the hard life and hunger, which was almost as bad as during the war we managed to save some money to go dancing, to the cinema and theater. My parents moved to Soroca. They didn’t doubt that my brothers had perished. They didn’t know anything about Leibl either because of the Iron Curtain 17, removed only long after the war. In the Iron Curtain period there was no communication between the USSR and the rest of the world.

In the summer of 1949 I was at home on vacation. The lad who was with us, when Mama and I were going to Rezina from Orhei for lyceum holidays, was called Froike in his adolescence. Now he was a handsome young man. Froim liked me very much and called on us rather often. His father, Meyer Berko, had died before the war. His mother Esther and his younger brothers were evacuated. Froim went to the lines in 1941. He met his brother Gersh in the vicinity of Stalingrad. They were even in one squad. Froim went through the entire war. He was in Prague, Budapest and Bucharest. He was in Romania, when the victory was declared.

When the war was over, Froim remained in the army for another year and was demobilized in 1946. His brother decided to stay in the army. Froim entered communications institute in Odessa [today Ukraine]. He had studied for a year or two and got in a car crash. He was afflicted with severe headaches, caused by brain concussion. It was hard for Froim to continue with his studies and he decided to come back to Moldova 18. He was dying to come back to Moldova when we were seeing each other. I had other pals and admirers, but Froim didn’t leave me in peace. He was constantly calling, sending me post-cards. He used to come to see me during weekends. Finally he was transferred to the Physics and Mathematics department of the Kishinev Teachers’ Training Institute. In 1949 Froim proposed to me. My parents lived in Kishinev at that time. Father bought a small apartment in the semi-basement premises. We had a festive dinner on the day of our wedding in my parents’ apartment and on the second day we continued celebrations in the house of my mother-in-law. My husband’s brothers, including Gersh, attended our wedding party.

We moved into our room after the wedding. My husband was transferred to the extramural department. He was hired by professor Sharapov, the leading histologist of the medical institute. My husband turned out to be really talented. He started as a laboratory assistant and gradually became a well-known histologist. Having graduated from the Teachers’ Training Institute he became an extramural student of the Medical Institute. I graduated in 1950. I got a mandatory job assignment 19 in a village. But they didn’t let my husband resign from his work and because of that I was permitted to stay in Kishinev. The same year, in August, I gave birth to a daughter. We named her Anna.

During the first years of our married life we weren’t wealthy; we managed to get by just thanks to my husband’s two jobs. When my baby turned two months old my maternity leave was over, and in accordance with the legislation of that time I was supposed to go back to work. My mother stayed with our little girl. I worked as a psychotherapist. As a matter of fact I changed my working place. The first years of my working experience were marred by the Doctors’ Plot 20, and because of that people were prejudiced against Jewish doctors. There were dreadful articles about the doctors-murderers. It was very unpleasant. In Moldova we didn’t believe what was written in the papers and in the Soviet regime in general. Frankly speaking, I have never come across anti-Semitism.

At the beginning of the 1950s my father finally received the confirmation that my brothers had perished. My father was supposed to have a pension for having lost a bread-winner. Father was paid the pension for several years and bought a two-room apartment with that money. All of us moved into that apartment. We were very friendly. My mother was a homemaker. On Friday she lit the candles just as in the pre-war period. We celebrated major Jewish holidays. Father brought matzah from the synagogue. Unfortunately our happy life didn’t last long. In 1956 mother fainted in the street because of an apoplectic stroke. She was brought to my hospital, but in spite of my efforts and the combined efforts of the entire personnel, she couldn’t be rescued and died.

In 1962 I gave birth to a son and named him Vladimir after my brother Velvl. Froim had to quit his studies after our son was born. He began teaching at an evening school so he could earn more money. Father stayed with us for the whole time, helping me raise my children. In 1969 my father passed away. Froim’s mother died in 1973. My parents and Froim’s mother were buried in the Jewish sector of the city cemetery in accordance with the Jewish rite.

In 1963 there was a joyful event in our family. Leibl finally found us. He had a nice and prosperous life in Belgium. He came to us for a visit. Leibl looked so handsome, as if from another world, which seemed a very thriving world, where there was no war, shooting, evacuation and famine. Leibl was married to a Belgian lady called Mirez. He had a big family. Leibl was a prosperous pharmacist. My brother started to help us with money and came for a visit a couple of times.

In a while we got a good apartment, where I am currently living. We were happy. My husband became a famous histologist. However, he wasn’t able to defend a thesis because he didn’t have a medical education. He collected materials for me to write a dissertation for him, but I physically had no time for that because of my job, work about the house, and raising children. However, I have always been happy, feeling loved and cherished by my husband. Froim was highly appreciated in medical circles. He was invited to attend conferences, hold lectures. He was even offered jobs in the clinics and institutes of such great cities as Moscow and Leningrad.

I used to accompany my husband on his trips. I remember that once a local professor came to the hotel we were staying in Leningrad. He tried to talk my husband into moving to Leningrad. He even asked me to influence my husband. But Froim loved Kishinev very much and really wasn’t willing to leave anywhere. Maybe it was the reason why he was totally against immigration to Israel or the USA, when my friends and relatives were leaving. They left in the 1970s.

Our children were growing up. We paid a lot of attention to them. In summer time we went on vacation together. But Froim refused to go just before leaving. He had to stay as he had urgent scientific issues and theoretical tasks to deal with during his vacation. We were in the Crimea and in the Caucasus. We skied on the Elbrus Mountain, visited capitals of Central Asia, attended museums in Moscow and Leningrad. In one word – we had a full life. We didn’t own a car or a country house, but our life was happy. We met interesting people.

After finishing school my daughter followed in my footsteps. She graduated from the Medical Institute and became a neurologist. Anna was married to a Jew, Grigoriy Sheinfeld, a philologist. However, at first they weren’t happy together in spite of the fact that they had a daughter. They divorced and Grigoriy left for the USA. He started writing heart-breaking letters, asking her to come back to him. Finally, Anna and Ella left for the USA. Grigoriy did the right thing. They are very happy together now. Ella and Grigoriy were wed in a chuppah in one of the synagogues in the state of Alabama.

Vladimir graduated from the Electromechanical Vocational School, entered the institute, but he stopped studying. Now he is working for a private company as a mechanic. He got married and had to quit studies when his baby was born. My son’s wife Svetlana is a Jew, coming from a family, where Jewish traditions are observed. I have two grandsons – the elder Maxim and the younger Alexander. Maxim goes to the Jewish school and Alexander attends a Jewish kindergarten.

In 1989 I went to Belgium to see my brother. He has a wonderful house in Liege. He was a happy old man with a large family: children and grandchildren. Leibl died in 1995.

My husband was ill during the last years of his life. He was feeling the consequences of the old trauma. He died two years ago. Our daughter went back to the USA then, because her husband was seriously ill. I didn’t work at that time, though I worked for 15 years after reaching the age of retirement. I was called upon to work in Hesed 21 as a volunteer. I am currently a volunteer doctor. I have a lot of friends among my husband’s former colleagues and among the Jewish community of Kishinev. I am a member of the Jewish community. I take part in the celebration of the holidays. I celebrate Sabbath. I feel utmost content when I am walking along the street and being greeted by people, with whom I don’t really keep in touch: my former patients. Of course, I don’t remember all of them now. I have been working all my life and restlessly taking care of my family and relatives. In spite of that I can tell you for sure that I have lived a happy life and I am totally entitled to being called a happy woman.

Glossary:

Vera Doroshenko
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Vladimir Zaidenberg
Date of interview: March 2002

I, Vera Doroshenko (nee Shtein), was born on 21 December 1921 in the town of Zvenigorodka Kiev region.

My family background

Growing up

During the War

After the War

Glossary 

My family background

Sergei Mikhailovich Dubov, my grandfather (my mother's father), was born in 1847. His Jewish name was Srul Moishkovich. My grandmother Anna Yakovlevna Dubova was born in 1895. They lived in the village of Stetsovka Zvenigorod province. My grandfather's father died when my grandfather was still a child and his mother married a Russian man. He served 25 years in the tzarist army. He treated my grandfather well. My grandfather learned farming from his stepfather. Before the revolution my grandfather was manager of baron Vrangel's estate (baron Vrangel was an aristocrat, a general in the tzarist army and a very influential man in Russia), and later - of Prince Kuragin's estate (Prince Kuragin also came from an ancient aristocratic family). These families had estates all over Russia and they used to sell them, exchange or put at stake along with all servants. When a landlord was visiting his estate he demanded that all people living around served him. They, for example, had to hunt for pigeons, cook them and serve them as his meal. He would have brought his girls with him, and they were feasting, gambling, etc. My grandfather's landlord would have asked my grandfather to lend him some money to buy his lover a present. My grandfather was a great specialist in sugar beet growing. However, he was paid a miserable salary.

My mother's mother Anna Yakovlevna was a very wise Jewish woman. She was a member of an arbitrary court in her village (this was a public court, dealing with all kinds of everyday life problems). There were three of them in this court (two men and Anna).  Hers was a decisive opinion. She was much respected and her opinion was highly valued. [this was a kind of arbitrary court. It was established in bigger villages. The wisest and most experienced people in the village were elected to this arbitration sitting. They were mostly men at that time, of course. A woman must have had an outstanding personality to be elected into this kind of arbitration. This arbitration was there to resolve all kinds of problems and disputes that people dealt with. For example: somebody refusing to pay his debt to another villager, or any interface and interrelation issues, arguments and disputes.]

They had a huge house with ten rooms. They had an orchard, a pigsty, chicken and a cow. My grandmother had servants. She had a small dairy store in the town of Zvenigorodka. She sent her milk products (milk, sour cream, cottage cheese) there every day.  This business of my grandmother was much support for her family.

At home my grandmother and grandfather spoke Ukrainian and Yiddish. They were fluent in both languages. They were religious people. They observed traditions and celebrated holidays and they honored Sabbath. There were no other Jews in Stetsovka where they lived and there was no synagogue. They went to the synagogue in Zvenigirodka for big holidays like Pesah, Purim or Rosh-Hashanah. My grandma not wore wig. I think that they did not keep koshrut, anyway I never heard of that that in the house was kosher meal.

My grandparents' family was big. They had 9 children. The oldest girl Maria was born in 1885, her brother Samuel - in 1890, Rosa - in 1893, Efim - in 1894. My mother Raissa was born in 1895, and her brother Vladimir was born in1896. These are my mother's brothers and sisters that I knew about. There must have been other children, but I've never been told about any of them. The oldest daughter Maria finished school and got married. She died in 1920 from typhus. My grandparents' sons studied in a commercial college in Zvenigorodka after school. They studied at the accountant department.  My grandfather had to obtain a special permit for his Jewish children to study in the chief town of the province.  My grandparents' children were not raised as Jews. They were growing up among Ukrainian people and they had no idea of the traditions or religion of their own people.  I just think that my grandmother didn't have time to tell them about such things.

When WWI began in 1914 Samuel and Efim were recruited to the guards regiment, as they were tall men. They were privates in the tzarist army until 1918.

My father Leonid Efimovich Shtein was born in 1890 in the village of Gruzkoye, Pervomaysk district, Odessa region. I know very little about his parents.  I know that his father Efim Shtein was a brewer.  My father's mother Rosa Shtein left her husband for some reason after my father was born and was raising her son alone. I believe, they were religious people but my father wasn't raised as a Jew and didn't understand a single word in Yiddish. My grandmother died when my father was 7 or 8 years old. He lived with my grandfather for some time, but then he left home when he was 14 and found a job at the Nikolaev factory. This was a part of the Nikolaev shipbuilding plant. They manufactured equipment for the water mills and windmills.
In 1911 my mother finished school (8 years). Her school certificate gave her the right to teach at school. Her older brother came to Zvenigorodka to take her home by train. At that time young ladies were not supposed to travel alone. My father happened to travel on the same train. He had worked at that factory for several years by then and was a specialist in flour grinding enterprises. He was traveling a lot. He was going on one of his business trips and met my mother on that train. They liked each other and exchanged addresses. They wrote letters to one another for three years and my father often visited my mother. Then he finally proposed to my mother. My grandfather and my mother's brothers liked him and they had no objections to their marriage. In the summer of 1913 my grandmother Anna died from illness and hard work.

My parents got married at the New Year night of 31 December 1913. My father was actually late for his own wedding. He was coming to Stetsovka on a horse-driven wagon and one of the wheels broke. That's why he arrived late at night. My mother burst into tears on seeing him. She said to him "Why are you so late? It's New Year soon, and everything is ready for the ritual, and you got stuck somewhere. I really feel ashamed in front of all these people". And my father said to her "It is no hurry. I'm getting married once in a lifetime. It is no hurry. I managed to arrive before the New Year. I am not late for my own wedding". Mummy wasn't quite happy about my father being in no hurry. They had a wedding following all Jewish traditions. They had a huppah and Jewish musicians. They also invited the rabbi from Zvenigorodka.

After their wedding my father took my mother to the village where he was building a mill. I don't remember what village that was. In 1916 they moved to Zvenigorodka and my father bought a big wooden house with 7 rooms. There also was a an outhouse and a garden. They settled down there for many years. And so they started their cattle and poultry yard and an orchard and a vegetable garden. My mother's father moved to join them in 1916. He wasn't working for landlords any more. He started making wagons and carts for farmers. There was a spot in the yard oft heir house where my grandfather was doing his work. In 1914 my older brother Yakov Shtein was born. In 1915 my parents got another son and the boy was given a name, but he only lived a few weeks. What happened was that at that time my father's father Efim Shtein was visiting my parents. And he happened to drink the breast milk that was meant for the baby. To conceal this fact he gave the baby some cow milk. The baby got sick with diarrhea and died. My parents terminated any relationships with my grandfather. We don't know what happened to him.  In 1920 my older sister Rosanna Shtein was born. I was born in Zenigorodka on 21 December 1921

In 1916 my father was recruited to the tzarist army. In 1917 after the revolution he joined the Red army. What happened was that my father's army was in Petersburg at the time when Lenin was saying his speech on the armored vehicle for 25 hours in a row.  My father was listening to him, and this speech turned him into a convinced revolutionary. Father always sympathized to revolutionaries, and this speech else more bolted its in the faith in ideals revolution. After he returned home in 1918 he became the first Chairman of the Millers' Union in Zenigorodka. His portrait and an article about him were published in the '"Trud" ("Labor") newspaper in Moscow.  In 1920 my father was the leader of the partisan unit in Zenigorodka. This partisan unit was fighting against various counterrevolutionary gangs. There was a gang of Ataman  Gryzlo. This Gryzlo was hiding somewhere near the town. My father found out that some farmers were bringing him food, clothing and even wood. My father went alone to that ravine where he was hiding. When he descended the steep slope of the ravine he saw Gryzlo sitting beside the fireplace. Gryzlo was taken by surprise and my father took away his weapons, tied him and escorted him out of that ravine. After the civil war my father became a miller.  

Growing up

I have bright memories about my childhood. I remember our house and Zvenigorodka. I loved my grandfather Serei Dubov, my mother's father. He was living with us and my family called me my grandfather's "little tail".  My grandfather often went to the synagogue and sometimes he took me with him. I was interested in everything and my grandfather used to tell me stories about the Jewish people and religion. There was a rabbi in Zvenigorodka. I even remember the Jewish wedding of my father's friend Brodianskiy. I was so excited when the ride and bridegroom went beneath the huppah. In 1926 the synagogue was closed. [Then new (Soviet) power fought with the religion. In these s were locked nearly all religious temples on the whole Soviet Union.] Our parents were not religious. Neither my sisters nor my brothers or I were raised Jews. I only remember what my grandfather told me when I was a child.

Life was joyful in our house in Zvenigorodka. In 1920s my mother's sister Rosa with her husband and her brother Efim with his family moved to our house. And there was enough space for all of us.  However, Efim soon moved to another town to work as executive director of a sweet beet collective farm.

There lived many Jewish people in Zenigorodka. My parents had many friends that were visiting them. I remember the Rosental family - Manya and Israel. There was also the Kirzner family. They had 3 children. Kirzner was a specialist in manufacture of cereals and flour. There was lawyer Matt, a very highly respected man.  These families were not religious, but they celebrated all Jewish holidays. It was a tradition with us. We visited one another, and had tea parties, made strudels with jam and nuts and cookies. There was no synagogue, but the people celebrated holidays together. The Jews communicated in Ukrainian, using Yiddish words every now and then. They danced waltz, tango, Cracovienne [Public polish dance], polka and freilehs [Public Jewish dance].  My brother Yakov was playing the piano and my mother dancing with her shoes off. I remember other people used to borrow our piano for a Jewish wedding or other holidays.

At some time the authorities decided to build a power plant in Zvenigorodka. My father was appointed director of the construction site and later - director of the power plant. I remember the festive start up of the plant in 1927. This was a great event for Zvenigorodka and the whole town got together to celebrate it. The town gained much from this power plant - power supply to the houses, light posts for lighting streets, cinema theatre.

I went to school in Zvenigorodka, then continued my studies in Uman and Vinnitsa, and finished the 10th form in Kiev. These were ordinary Ukrainian or Russian schools that I went to. There were children of various nationalities in those schools, we didn't care about the nationality then, and we were all equal and friends. I was an active pioneer and later became a Komsomol member. I enjoyed doing social work, like helping other pupils with their studies if they were having problems, participate in collection of scrap and waste paper and study the works of Marxism-Leninism classics.

My father studied at the extramural department of Kiev Polytechnic Institute. His tutor and teacher was German Iosifovich Reizner. He was German. He was the one who was teaching him the profession of a mechanic at Nikolaev plant in 1904, and they remained friends for many years. Reizner moved to Kiev and became a lecturer and he convinced my father to study at the Institute. My father received an engineer's diploma in 1927. In 1933 we moved to Kiev at Reizner's insistence. Reizner's life was tragic. He had a wife and Russian wife and 3 sons. When the Great Patriotic War (So in USSR name WWII) began his sons went to the front and never returned. Reizner and his wife stayed in Kiev. He believed that the Germans wouldn't touch them. But the Germans executed them for the reason that he was working for the Soviet power being a German. Neighbors told my father this story, when he returned to Kiev after the war.

In 1931 our family moved to Uman and then to Vinnitsa. This had to do with his job. This was the period of famine. My father was working for the flour department then and he had to travel to various towns. He was working very hard.  Finally our family moved to Kiev in 1933 at the insistence of Reizner. My father held official positions in the flour grinding industry and we received a two-room apartment in Kiev.

In 1938 when I was 17 and my sister Rosannochka was 18 years old our sister Allochka was born. My mother was 43 and my father was 48 years old. They were very concerned. They thought they were too old for having a baby. But we got a precious gift - a lovely sister.

In 1939 I entered the extramural department of Moscow Planning and Economy Institute. I had a job of a worker at the metalware factory. 

And even then I started thinking about the reality that was contradictory to what was said at the Komsomol meetings and what was written in the books. In the late 1930s arrests of the Party and Government leaders and repression against them began.  Common people were arrested, too.

In 1937 my mother's brother Efim was arrested. This happened as follows. All directors of sweet beet collective farms were summoned to go to Kiev to a meeting. My uncle put on a good suit and a black coat made from good quality English fabric (this was November and it was cold) and went to Kiev. They were arrested at the meeting, and his imprisonment lasted over a year. He never took of his clothes, whether it was winter or summer. He never told us where he was, as he had signed the non-disclosure statement. My mother started visiting this sadly known office in 15, Korolenko street in Kiev (NKVD office). She took her baby and kept going to that office trying to find out where her brother was. They didn't allow her to leave parcels for him but they didn't tell her where he was either. At that time Vyshynskiy was the all-Union Prosecutor. My mother wrote so many letters that one of them reached the Chief Office in Moscow. At the beginning of 1939 a representative of this Office came on a visit to our home. My mother told him about her brother Efim. She told him how during the period of famine (1932-33) the local farmers were growing potatoes, vegetables and pigs on the plot of land that belonged to her brother. All those working for him had their bread and a plate of soup. The reason why my uncle was arrested was as follows. The People's Commissar of Farming at that time was Chernov. In 1937 he was under trial as an enemy of the people. But this Chernov had visited my uncle's collective farm and gave him a bonus in the amount of 2 months' salary for my uncle's good performance. Therefore, the authorities thought that my uncle was with Chernov and was an enemy of the people. Other Chairmen of collective farms were also arrested for the same reason.  They were all released and my uncle returned home. It was almost a miracle. At that time people under arrest disappeared and nobody ever saw them again. It was also impossible to find out anything about them, these people were ever missing. My uncle was crying for a month. The moment he was going asleep he started crying. Our grandfather Sergei Dubov lived in Zvenigorodka. He was 91. He said "I will die when my son is back, when I see my son". Efim returned home, and my grandfather lived for another month and a half and died. He was 92 yeas old. This happened in 1939. My uncle Efim died in 1939, too. He was totally exhausted and had heart problems. He was taken to the hospital of Medical University in Kiev but doctors couldn't save his life.  

During the War

On 22 June 1941 the Great Patriotic War began. My father was of under recruit age. He was appointed director of the food factory in Shintal, Kuibyshev region. I was member of a Komsomol group at my plant, and this group was sent to the Donetsk steppes, this south-east part of Ukraine. We were assisting with harvesting and storing up the grain. All this was sent to the rear immediately, as the Germans were approaching rapidly. We were working very hard from sunrise till the dark. Sometimes we slept at where we were working to save time. Later we were evacuated further on. In 1942 we, young girls (there were 50 of us) were sent to a military plant in Kuibyshev region. This was the aircraft engine plant. Life was very hard there: we were starving. Our ration was 200 grams of bread per day. It was so very cold, especially during night shifts. I worked at the plant from May 1942 till September 1944. I had pneumonia 4 times. It resulted in emphysema of lungs, and I was given invalidity status of group 2. I was 21 years old. I came to my parents in Shantala October 1944. I stayed with them for a short time. I didn't feel quite comfortable with them. My father was working and he seemed to be reproaching me for not working. Perhaps, it only seemed so to me. My father used to say that one had to be a fighter and reach everything in life by oneself. Although he was holding management positions I worked at the most difficult jobs before and during the war. He never suggested that he would help me to find an easier job. I believe he could have helped me if he had wanted to. Mummy was very concerned about Yakov and Rosanna - she had no news from them. And I went to my friend in the town of Ostrogorsk. She worked at the recruitment office there and promised to find me some easier job. But then my parents returned to Kiev and sent me the necessary documents to come back to Kiev. They also sent me an invitation from my previous job with Glavmetiz department. But I didn't go to work there. My clothes were so poor that I was ashamed.
 
My older sister Rosanna had finished a medical high school before the war and got a job at the Sanitation and Chemistry Scientific Research Institute. When the war began she was recruited to the army. On 5 July 41 she came home to say her good-byes. She was wearing a uniform, had the rank of first lieutenant and worked in the regional hospital. She came by car, picked up some of her clothes and left. She had long hair, long plaits. Mummy recalled that she didn't give her a proper comb or our family pictures. Shortly after 4 o'clock on the next morning (6 July) I went to the hospital. I walked from Podol to Kreschatic - there was a traffic jam on the bridge and I had to climb over them. I finally reached the hospital. It was closed. There was only a sentry inside. I shouted to him that I wanted to see my sister and asked him to call Rosanna's name. I hoped that she would hear and come to the gate. But then all of a sudden her closest friend Lisa Galperina came out. She told me that Rosanna wasn't there any more and that her unit had left an hour before. Rosanna was working under the leadership of professor Alekseyev. They were working for defense, looking for the methods to strengthen the immunity system to resist poisonous materials and they were following the front. So, I didn't see Rosanna. I gave Lisa the comb and our photographs. We received one letter from Rosanna. It was sent from Lubny via uncle Volodia. My mother's brother Volodia lived in Kharkov. My mother wrote him a letter with our address in the evacuation for Rosanna and Yakov. Yakov was in the army since 1936. After the war professor Alexeyev visited us in 1947. He was Rosanna's Director. He told us that they were encircled in the vicinity of Lubny and captured by the Germans. In 1942, in February, the Germans brought them to their German hospital in Darnitsa (an area in Kiev - left bank). Alexeyev managed to get an identity card for Rosanna that said that she was Georgian. She did look like a Georgian. That was all information he had about her. He himself gained confidence of the Germans and managed to leave that German hospital. He crossed the front line and joined our army. The professor's wife was a Jew. He forced her to leave Kiev taking their little boy with her when the Germans were almost in the city. He found his wife in the Middle Asia and they returned to Kiev after the war. My mother wrote 376 letters to various authorities, trying to find Rosanna and the only answer she ever got was "Her name is not on the lists of the lost, missing or those that died from the wounds". Rosanna perished.

Rosanna's friend Lisa Galperina also died in the partisan unit. After the war I met Yura Zhigulevich, her co-student at the law department in the University. He told me that he was in the same partisan unit as Lisa and they got into a cordon. Lisa shot herself, but he was captured by the Germans. Later he spent years in the Stalin's camps for being a captive of the Germans. Yura was blamed for betraying Lisa for a long time. He told me that his only fault was that he hadn't been strong enough to shoot himself  like Lisa did.

My brother Yakov Shtein joined the army in 1936. He happened to join the Navy. He participated in ship convoys to Spain. They were taking the children out of Spain and bringing food, bread and weapons there. Their ship sank and they were picked up by another vessel. At 22 Yasha had all gray hair. Then he was on service in a submarine in Baku. When our army advanced to Poland in 1939 their ships also headed to Poland in a detour way. When the war with Poland was over he was transferred to the Baltic Navy.  In 1940 the war with Finland began. This was his 3rd war. The Finnish war was short but the frosts were very severe. The ships were to fire on the Finns. The Finns were firing back and it lasted four years. After the war was over we rejoiced hoping to see Yasha home at last. But they added a fifth year of service in the army. And there was another war on 22 June 1941. Yasha was in Leningrad, in the Navy and on the war again. He survived the blockade of Leningrad.  He was on one of the boats that transported the marines from the center of the city to the open sea. He received the ration of 250 grams of bread and a mash of beet and cabbage leaves per day. It wasn't exactly bread - it consisted of tree rind and a little bit of corns, it was some kind of bread-like stuff. This 250 grams was a military ration, the rest were receiving 125 grams. They spent 6 hours in the smoke screen in the open sea, transporting the military, involved in landing operations, and going back to the port. If they spent additional 6 hours in the sea they received a small piece of fish and a matchbox of goose fat. Goose fat was to be used against chilblains, but they also ate it. He met an engineer there. This man was so exhausted that he was on the edge of death. Yasha shared his piece of bread and thus, saved his life. When the "Road of Life" (The only road that served to deliver food to Leningrad across the frozen Ladoga lake at the night time sneaking under the ground firing) was opened Yasha arranged to have this man taken out of the city. They were mainly taking out women and children. Yasha carried the man to the vehicle on which he left the city and survived. When in 1945 the war was over Yasha was sent to the Northern Fleet on the White Sea. His service ended in 1946. Yasha returned to Kiev and worked in the Town Recruitment Office for two years. He had many awards: The order of the Great patriotic war Grade 2, medal "For Defense of Leningrad", Memorable badge "To Defender of the Kronshtadt fortress and others.

Later Yakov worked as a mechanic at the "Lenin Kuznia" plant. He lived in Kiev and died in 1998. He has two daughters - Rosanna, named after our sister and Irina.

My mother's relatives had a tragic life, too.

My mother's brother Volodia Dubov lived in Kharkov. He had a Ukrainian wife. They had a son, Pavlik, and a grandson. Pavlik and his wife finished an Institute in 1941. I don't know why Volodia's family did not evacuate. When the Germans were in Kharkov they exterminated the Jewish population in the Drobitskiy Yar.  But uncle Volodia was hiding and escaped. Somebody reported on him, and the fascists captured his family to take them to Germany.  Their train was passing Kiev. Two cousins of his wife lived in Kiev. They were Ukrainians and worked as teachers.  Uncle Volodia's wife begged the fascists to let her go say good-bye to her relatives. She came to them and only managed to say that the Germans were taking them somewhere and ran away quickly. This was the last time they were seen.

Aunt Rosa, my mother's older sister, stayed with her husband Semyon Mikhailovich Krivosheyev in Zvenigorodka. Like many others, they thought that they were very old and the Germans wouldn't do them any harm. Semyon was taken along with the other Jewish men. The Germans put out his eyes. Then they put them all in a shed and burned. Aunt Rosa had a friend Sekleta (they were friends from the time when they lived in Stetsovka). She took Rosa to her house and Rosa lived there from 1941 till 1943. She only went outside at night. Only one other woman in this village knew that Sekleta gave shelter to a Jewish woman. Olga helped Sekleta to barter clothing for food. There were no Germans in the village, only the Headman of the village. In 1943 Kiev was liberated and there were rumors spreading in the village that all Germans had gone away. Aunt Rosa cheered up and decided to go home. Sekleta couldn't hold her back. My aunt, thin and exhausted, went along the path across the woods. Then a wagon caught up with her. Sitting on it was her schoolmate Petro. He asked her where she was heading and offered to give her a ride. She asked him whether there were Germans in Zvenigorodka. He assured her that there was none and … took her right to the police office. It was late autumn, cold and snow on the ground, and the Germans were taking her and a group of other captives across Zvenigorodka barefooted and made them dig up their own grave. They shot them and threw their bodies into the ditch. After the war my mother went to Zvenigorodka for the opening of the monument to the victims of fascism. My mother took off her shoes to walk the same path that her poor sister had walked to her death. Petro was under trial after the war, but his sentence wasn't severe, he was released pretty soon and lived his life as if nothing had happened at all.

My mother's brother Samual was in the evacuation. After the war he lived in the vicinity of Moscow and died in early 1970s. 

After the War

After returning to Kiev I got a job of economist at the "Melmashstroy" plant where my father was working. Chief engineer and the Party unit secretary at the plant were Jewish, and they accepted me into their team, because they respected my father very much. I worked there for about a year, then I caught cold that developed into pneumonia. This resulted in heart problems, and the doctors again gave me invalidity grade 2. I couldn't work any more and worked at home sewing whatever people ordered.

When we returned from the evacuation our apartment was occupied. Our former neighbor Nyura and her sister were living in it. They worked at the knitwear factory. The apartment was full of the stolen knitting machines and yarn. They were making stockings and selling them at the market. When my parents came to their apartment they only found a piano of all the furniture that we had and there was a night pot on it. Nyura didn't want to leave our apartment and we had to turn to the court. The court made a decision in our favor.

My father retired in 1960. He died in Kiev in 1976. My mother had died 3 years before, in 1973.

I got married in 1958 when I was 36 years old.  My husband Alexandr Grigorievich Doroshenko was Ukrainian but he respected Jewish people. His mother was an Evangelist and she instilled in him love to the "God's people". My husband was a worker.  He was kind and nice. During the war he was in the evacuation, involved in the military ship repairs. His mother stayed in Kiev. She told me about the horrors that happened in Kiev during the war. She saw how the Jewish people were going to the Babiy Yar.  She always remembered it and repented that she hadn't rescued anyone then. My husband worked at the 37th military plant. He died in 1986.

I didn't face any anti-Semitism during the post-war years in our country, especially the "doctors' case" before Stalin's death, etc. I didn't even read newspapers - this all went past me. Later I worked as a cashier in a movie theater, but due to the hard war years any work was too much an effort for me. I haven't worked since my son was born.

My son Vladimir Doroshenko was born 1960. When he was receiving his passport his chose his nationality as Ukrainian. This was the time when all roads were closed for Jewish people. But he still believes that he belongs to the Jewish nation. He is interested in their history and reads a lot.  My son is married and has a son. His son Yevgeniy was born in 1983. They are both businessmen. Their business is car repairs.
My younger sister Alla married a Jewish man. His name is Milia Maizner. Milia worked as designer. He was involved in design activities of quite a few bridges in Kiev. He wasn't promoted due to his Jewish nationality and they moved to Latvia in 1977. From there Allochka and her husband went to America. That's where they are living now.

In our family we've never discussed emigration. My husband and I have always been interested in the life in Israel, but we have never been there. We've never thought about emigration. Ukraine is our Motherland and we always wanted to live and die here. Besides, our relatives' graves are here.

After the wedding I lived in the workers' neighborhood on the so-called Fisherman's (Rybalskiy) island. There were no Jewish people living there and no anti-Semitism accordingly. Of course, I never mentioned that I was a Jew to avoid any problems. In the recent years I've become closer to the Jewish community via Hesed.  Regretfully, I don't go out, but I read all Jewish newspapers and watch Jewish programs on TV. I always have matsa at Pesah. I try to celebrate Jewish holidays: Pesah, Khanukkah and Iom-Kipur. Basically, I'm trying to lead a Jewish way of life. I am 80 years old, but I feel optimistic. Life goes on.

Glossary
1 "Doctors' Case" - was a set of accusations deliberately forged by Stalin's government and KGB against Jewish doctors of the Kremlin hospital charging them with murdering outstanding Bolsheviks. The "Case" was started in 1952, but was never finished in March 1953 after Stalin's death.

Venezia Kamhi
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Dimitar Bozhilov

After the political changes in Bulgaria of November 10, 1989, life became harder for my family. Everything we had built and fought for started to fall apart. I value Eastern Europe's opening to the world. History goes on. We had capitalism, then socialism, and now a democracy. Life goes forward, and that is how it should be. Changes are natural, but they are very hard for us.

My family background

Growing up

During the War

My family and life after the War

After 1989

My family background

My ancestors came from Spain two centuries ago. They belong to the Sephardi settlers’ group that came to the Balkan Peninsula in the 18th century. My paternal grandfather and grandmother lived in Sofia. My paternal grandmother and grandfather were born in Sofia. My mother's parents were born in Kiustendil, and so was my mother. My paternal grandfather, Mordohai Konorti, was born in the 1840s in Sofia, which was then under Turkish rule. I do not remember exactly what my father's parents' occupation was, because I was a little girl when my grandfather died in 1938. I do not remember my grandmother, Lucia Konorti, either; she died before I was born. She was born in the 1850s and was probably a housewife.

I remember my grandfather Mordohai sitting in the courtyard and reading big books in Hebrew. He used to give me 1 lev every Saturday to buy something for myself – he gave money only to me probably because I was his youngest granddaughter. He spoke Ladino and Bulgarian. He used to wear casual clothes. He didn't work at the time that I remember him.

We used to lay a big table every Saturday after Grandfather came back from the synagogue and the whole family used to gather around it. My mother, Regina Konorti, used to cook chicken soup, chicken with rice and traditional meat pastry. My grandfather used to perform the whole ritual for Pesach. Our neighbors loved to visit us for this holiday because my grandfather and my father were very good singers.

My father had a younger brother and a sister, Baruh Konorti and Buka Konorti. Baruh was a barber. He went to live in Palestine in 1926. He had a lot of difficulties there and he wrote many letters to my father asking for help. He had to leave Palestine and come back to Bulgaria in order to go to Israel in 1949; he settled in Akko.

My mother's parents were from Kiustendil. My maternal grandfather, Israel Lazar, was born in 1872 and died in 1945 in Sofia. He was a merchant. My maternal grandmother, Venezia Lazarova, was a housewife.

All my mother's relatives moved from Kiustendil to Sofia after my grandmother died. My older uncle Buko Lazar got married and gathered the whole family in a big house on Serdika Street in Sofia. This house belonged to an aunt of my mother's; unfortunately I do not remember her name. My older uncle lived there, together with his two brothers and two sisters. My mother also lived there before she got married. Later, everybody moved with his or her families to Israel. Only two sisters-in-law of my mother's kin remained in Sofia. My uncle Albert Lazar got married in 1940 and his daughter was born in 1943. Uncle Buko died in 1942. My youngest uncle, Nisim Lazar, got married in 1946 and he moved to Israel in 1948. Buko and Albert Lazar had a fruit shop. I think my grandfather in Kiustendil had been in that trade, and my uncles inherited that profession from him. Nisim Lazar was in the clothing trade, and Aunt Matilda was a housewife.

My father, Avram Mordohai Konorti, was born in 1900 in Sofia. He had studied in the Jewish school. He spoke Ladino, Hebrew, Bulgarian and a little Italian, because he had been a captive in Italy during World War I. He had a command of Hebrew and Bulgarian, spoken and written. My mother was illiterate. She learned to read and write when my brother and I started school. My father was a carter. He transported goods from the railway station to different factories and shops. I suppose that my mother and father got married in 1921-1922, because my brother was born in 1923. They didn't get married before the registrar; they had only a religious wedding.

My parents wore traditional European clothes. My father used to wear a jacket, trousers and an overcoat, my mother, dresses. There was nothing special about their clothes.

My father went to the synagogue, mostly on holidays. He dressed elegantly. He wore a hat, and he had a tallit. He used to take his Jewish prayerbook and go to the synagogue. We prepared the festive table before his return. The Jewish community wasn't that well organized at that time, as it is now. Then 5,000 Jews lived in Sofia. We are only that many in the whole country now. We had a Jewish community center, Bet Am, a school and a synagogue. The strict organization of Bulgarian Jews now is mostly a consequence of the small number of Jews in the country. The people want to feel Jewish, but, let us admit, step-by-step the Bulgarian population assimilated us.

Growing up

My first home was in the Jewish neighborhood in Sofia, on Dr. Zlatarev and Odrin Streets. The house was destroyed and now there is a block of flats on its place. My daughter lives there now. My father was born in that house. Half of the house belonged to my father and the other half to my aunt. The house itself was not big: a one-story brick house with one large room, one narrow corridor and a small room where my grandfather lived. We had an entry hall where my mother used to cook, and we also received guests there.

We had a big courtyard with a garden and hens. There were flowers in the garden, mostly. The hens lived in the corner of the yard and laid many eggs. We also had a goat whose name was Roska. I was very slim as a child and my parents were told I had to drink goat milk. That’s why they bought the goat. My father was a carter, so we had a horse and a special building for it. All the courtyards in the Jewish neighborhood were connected via small doors and we could go from one house to another without going out on the street. Even during the blockade in 1923 [a year of coups d'etat and curfew] people could go and visit their neighbors. The blockade was so strict in June 1923 that when my mother was giving birth to my brother, Mordohai Avram Konorti, on June 9 [coup d'etat when prime minister Alexander Stamboliiski was overthrown], soldiers came to verify that my mother really needed a midwife before they would let her come to our house.

There was electricity and water in the house. We used coal-burning stoves for heating. The mornings when I got up early for school were very pleasant. My mother used to get up earlier and fire the stove, and it was "roaring" and its light was blazing; it was lovely on the ceiling.

We lived in the Jewish neighborhood on the western side of Opalchenska Street. There were Bulgarians living together with us, of course, and we got along very well. When my mother left for Israel in 1949, she asked our Bulgarian neighbors to take care of me. They have always been very friendly and gentle with me. They used to call me Vizka. After my mother emigrated, they felt somehow obliged to take care of me, as I was not old enough to take care of myself alone. I was only 20 years old.

When I was a child, most Jews were merchants. Of course, they practiced other professions, too. My father, for example, was a carter; there were craftsmen, too. Jewish people belonged mostly to the middle class, but there were very rich people, too – factory owners, tradesmen with big shops. Most people had a good occupation until 1939 when the "National Defense Law" was accepted. After 1939, Jews did not have the right to own shops or have prestigious jobs, and that is when privation and limitations began. The National Defense Law was very harsh on the Jewish people.

There was a Jewish community in the neighborhood. The synagogue was on Osogovo Street. The Jewish school was also there. This building is a school once again and it is a bit larger now. There was a very small synagogue in the school. Many parties were organized in the school, and there was a lot of singing and dancing. This is where I heard the famous singer Mati Pinkas for the first time. I had seen her as a very young girl when she used to visit one of her aunts who lived on our street.

We observed Shabbat. We usually worked during the day, but in the evenings we observed Shabbat. Pesach was my favorite holiday. All the children in the neighborhood used to meet and play with walnuts. We used to arrange carnations and quinces, and they smelled lovely. We spent eight days enjoying a happy holiday. Our neighbors used to visit us on Pesach and everyone used to have their own table. Many younger families used to come to us as they did not know the Pesach ritual. At my house, Grandfather used to perform the whole ritual. My mother used to wash all the dishes with soda in a big cauldron every year before Pesach, and the dishes became really bright. She did that because my grandfather insisted – he was very religious. She used to do that every year – she cleaned everything and after that we brought matzah. During Pesach we used to eat only matzah for eight days, no other bread. After I got married, I did not observe those rituals that strictly anymore.

We used to celebrate Frutas – a holiday of fruits – which is also in the spring, after Pesach. On this holiday seven or nine kinds of fruits are mixed on a big plate. Afterward, we put the fruits in bags and gave them to children. My granddaughter also enjoys that holiday very much. Another holiday when we used to gather was Hanukah. We used to light eight candles on eight consecutive days: the first day, my grandfather lit the candle; the second day, my father; the third day, my mother; the fourth, my brother; and after him, it was my turn to light my candle.

I had a happy childhood. My parents got along very well and the atmosphere at home was calm. I got new shoes and clothes for every holiday. I remember that my father sent my mother and me to the town of Dupnitza to visit his brother, and that was my first journey by train – in the 1930s.

My family was wonderful. My father loved to sing, and he really sang very well. He, my brother and I used to sit on the bed in the bedroom on Sundays and sing songs from songbooks. My father sang songs in Ladino. The texts were very romantic.

I do not speak Hebrew. I have been to Israel five or six times, but I only know some 100 words. I did not study at a Jewish school. I don't know why I started at a Bulgarian general school directly. I graduated from Vassil Drumev primary school, which still exists now in Baltova vodenitsa. Afterward, I studied at High School No. 13 and I graduated night school. I have a very pleasant memory of my first teacher, Mrs. Darina Alexandrova, who came to live in our quarter and used to visit me even after my daughter was born.

As I did not have grandparents living outside of Sofia, I had to spend the holidays at home. In the 1930s, when I was a child, we used to amuse ourselves a lot by going to the Odeon theatre, which was then on Vaptzarov Square. I recall many beautiful weddings in the synagogue. There was an empty space next to our house and the children used to meet and play different games or perform theatrical recitations.

I was only 15 years old when my father fell very ill and was bedridden for a year and a half. My brother owned a brush workshop on Pozitano Street at that time. My father died of cancer. He left us very early.

My brother, Mordohai, is six years older than me. He was born on June 9, 1923. He studied brush-making in a craft school before World War II began. He did not graduate because we were interned outside of Sofia. He went for an exam after September 9, 1944, and he became a master and got the right to open his own shop. He left for Israel, together with my mother, in January 1949. My mother thought that was the way it should be: the mother should go with her son and he had to take care of her. I begged her to stay with me, but she left with him. My brother got married late, after my mother died. He was 40 years old then. Now he has a family and two daughters – each of them has three children.
 

During the War

On May 24, 1943, there was great unrest. Members of the Brannik organization appeared on horses in the town. They did not have any restrictions – they could beat and destroy, and we were very oppressed by them once Hitler started the war. At that time, Jewish young men gathered in the Central Synagogue and organized protests against the National Defense Law. I was a little girl, but my brother and my future husband took part in these protests. These were youth protests mostly; my father didn't take part in them. Right after that, we started to receive notes about the internment. According to these notes, we had to leave for Kiustendil; we had the right to take only 20 kilos of luggage. We started to get rid of our household belongings. The whole neighborhood brought their belongings out to the street to sell them and earn some money, and so did we.

We got the message to leave Sofia on May 24, 1943, and on the 25th-26th, we were already on our way to Kiustendil. There was not enough time to pack properly. We put only clothes and blankets into those 20 kilos of luggage. The officials sent us a message with the date and time we had to go to the railway station. People said we had to be assembled in different towns so that they could easily transport us to the Aegean region. The 11,000 Yugoslavian Jews who were deported there had died. Meanwhile, there were many protests by the Bulgarian public against the deportation of Bulgarian Jews to Poland. A great part of the population protested: religious organizations, the vladika [Bulgarian church leader], Petar Dunov [famous Bulgarian philosopher] who was very close to Czar Boris III. More than 50 members of the Parliament signed a petition against the deportation of Bulgarian Jews to concentration camps in Poland and that's how we were saved.

In Kiustendil, a friend of my mother's took us to her house; that was where we lived. My mother suffered from stomach aches and she was ill all the time, so we had to buy fresh milk for her. But at that time, we didn't have the right to buy even one liter of milk. One of our neighbors offered to buy one bottle from the milkman for us. The courtyards between the houses were separated by low fences, so she could easily pass it to us. She did not realize what could happen if somebody saw her. She took the bottle of milk and passed it to us. Brannik members saw her and came to our house. We did not even have an oven at home. We only had one small hotplate in the corridor, where my mother used to cook. The Brannik members rushed into the house and started to kick the hotplate and spilled the milk. They were very aggressive. Fortunately, this organization stopped after September 9, 1944.

We, the Jews, by God's law, have to help the other Jews. This is a mitzvah. If you have 1 lev only, you have to give it to the poor – never mind this is all you might have. You may give only 1 stotinka [the smallest Bulgarian coin], but you have to help the poor. That is how the Joint works now in Bulgaria – the rich Jews gather money to help the others. This is the core of the mitzvah, to help your fellow men. We do that in our Jewish organization. Tomorrow, for example, I will visit a sick woman. Usually we take 5 or 6 leva from the community funds and give them to the person in need. Every one of us donates 1 lev every three months for sick people, for birthdays and other occasions. I am the treasurer and I report at the end of the year.

At the beginning, when we moved to Kiustendil, we had food from the common cauldron, as did all the newcomers. It was in the Jewish school of the town, where we were settled first. After that we moved to my mother's friend's house. My mother was ashamed to go and get food from the cauldron because Kiustendil was her native town and everyone there knew her. My father also did not want to do that. My brother was often absent from home as he was sent to work somewhere else. I used to take my bag and saucepan and go to the Jewish school where they fed us with beans and potatoes. Life was really miserable in Kiustendil.

When I was a student in the first class, Czar Boris III's son Simeon was born. To mark the occasion all the students got excellent marks. [Six is the highest mark in Bulgaria.] Some even got seven! Another political matter we discussed in the family was Hitler's rise to power. After that, the Jews began to wear special badges. My parents thought that was a Jewish tragedy. When Bulgaria entered the Tripartite Pact – Rome, Berlin, and Tokyo – we started to fear for our lives. We had a foreboding that something terrible was going to happen, that we might not be here now. They were on their way to leaving for the crematoria.

I started to work very young. I began to work during school vacations. I started at a small hatter's shop. I went on working at a hatter's in Kiustendil. I studied the craft in my mother's cousin's shop. I did not like to sew in the beginning, but that became my profession for life. After we came back to Sofia, I started work at a tailoring factory named Osvobozhdenie [liberation] that was built by the Joint. Meanwhile, I studied at a night school. I married my husband, Josif Kamhi, in 1950– the year I graduated.

My family and life after the War

I met my husband in 1943 in Kiustendil, where we were interned. All the young Jews used to meet at the Jewish school in the town. We used to play volleyball or narodna topka and chat in the evenings. Despite the poverty and the persecutions, we managed to have our happy moments. We used to gather in one of the Jewish schools where many Jewish families were settled. Several families used to share one room equipped only with mattresses. We used to carry on philosophical conversations, discuss books. I had my first New Year's Eve without my family. We didn't have enough money then and everyone used to give whatever they could to prepare for the celebration – flour and other products. The girls prepared the meal. I had an admirer in Kiustendil who used to sing songs in Spanish and play the guitar. He used to call me "the goddess of my happiness." Since then, my friends started calling me "the goddess."

When we came back from Kiustendil to Sofia, our house in the Jewish neighborhood had been robbed. Even the windows were missing. I traveled 24 hours on my way back to Sofia alone on a freight train. I thought that my brother would meet me at the station, but he had misunderstood and waited for me on a different railway station. When I got off the train, it started to rain heavily. A carter saw me and offered to take me home. Our neighbors helped me to unpack my luggage. A friend of my mother's, who had already settled, sheltered me at first. In a few days we managed to reconstruct the house; we put in doors and windows and dried my wet luggage.

We started to study and work again. I kept in touch with my friends in Kiustendil. My husband and I got married in Police Department N1, opposite the Rila Hotel in the center of Sofia. My mother and brother had already moved to Israel and didn't attend the wedding. I did not go to Israel in 1949 because I already had a serious relationship with my future husband. I saw my mother and brother again in 1957 when I managed, with great efforts, to buy tickets and take my 5-year-old daughter to Israel with me. That was the last time I saw my mother.

My husband was born on June 29, 1926. My husband's parents were also Jewish. His father was a butcher and his mother was a housewife. His family’s house was on Pozitano Street. He was interned to Kiustendil, just like me. He had been in the concentration camp Kailaka in Pleven. There was arson in the camp. His mother saved him; she told him to run away immediately while she died in the flames. He tried to save her. He tried to pull her away when her long skirts got stuck between the beds. But the roof went down; melted asphalt poured down on her.

My husband studied in a Jewish school; after that he went to a secondary school for boys. He graduated after September 9, 1944. He studied in the mechanical and electrical technical institute in Sofia and became an electrical engineer. After he had graduated, he worked on many different projects. He has always been respected and highly esteemed by his colleagues. He worked on a project for the electrical installation of a factory in Cuba and he spent nine months there.

My husband and I were members of  the Revolutionary Youth Union [formed before the coup d'état of September 9, 1944]. We both thought we had progressive political convictions. Now I think that was a youthful aberration. We shared the same ideals, we lived in privation and worked hard, but gradually I concluded that all this was useless. We used to go on youth brigades every Sunday, we wanted to build a beautiful country, and we wanted Bulgaria to have successful industry. But it all has crumbled to nothing, and now I ask myself why we have wasted our lives that way.

My daughter Beti was born on July 13, 1952. I always tried to bring my daughter up in the "Jewish spirit" and I always encouraged her to have Jewish friends. She herself also wanted to be in a Jewish circle as we, her father and I, did. I have always lived in a Jewish circle. Ever since my childhood, I have had Jewish friends. My daughter and granddaughter have a much wider circle of friends than mine. The Jewish people were quite scattered at the time, so my daughter married a Bulgarian boy.

My aunt Matilda used to look after my daughter. Aunt Matilda was very religious. She observed all the Jewish rituals. Her husband used to go to the synagogue regularly. They both spoke Ladino and my daughter learned a little Ladino from them. Thanks to my aunt and uncle, I did not have to explain to my daughter what it means to be Jewish. I used to tell stories about our life during the war, to my granddaughter mostly. When my daughter was a child, I had to work so Aunt Matilda looked after her. Aunt Matilda even used to go to the meetings of the parents’ committee in my daughter's school.

I started work in the Osvobozhdenie factory after World War II; I worked there from 1945 to 1949. After that – from 1950 to 1955 – I was a librarian in the Jewish students' reading room. I worked as a dressmaker in the Zoya dressmaking factory from 1955 to 1958. Later I worked in a dressmaking establishment named Vitosha, from 1958 to 1968, and after that in the state company Texim until 1975. My next workplace was in the Center for New Goods and Fashion, Lada, and from 1980 to 1982, I worked in a design factory again. I left work in 1982 to look after my newborn granddaughter Anna. I retired later, because in 1982 I was still not at the age required for retirement.

Life became much calmer in the 1950s. Our salaries, homes and work became more secure. That is why I value that period so much. Whatever I dreamed of, I bought it. Now I cannot even think about that. Nowadays, I go short of even the smallest things. My profession, a dressmaker, is valued as “third category” labor; that is why I have a very low pension – only 68 leva. It is good that my husband gets more – 150 leva – so that we can make ends meet. I try not to bother my daughter, because I know that her life is not easy.

I was always afraid that something bad might happen to my relatives in Israel during the wars in 1967 and 1973. All my relatives live there. When I went Israel before, I had to go to the Swiss Consulate to get my tickets certified. I am very happy now that there is an Israeli Consulate in Sofia. I have been to Israel six times. The first time was in 1957, and the last time, in 2000. The last time, a friend of mine provided a whole apartment for my husband, my daughter and me. Every time I go there, all my relatives and friends come to visit us. They all are very friendly, and I feel surrounded with love and attention. I do not have enough money when I travel to Israel, so all my relatives there – my husband's and mine – help us. They even give us money for bus tickets.

People in Israel live with war. When I was there for the third time, the son of my best friend there was a soldier in the army. One day she saw a car of the Red Cross [Magen David Adom] driving to her house, and she ran out, very worried, to see if they had brought bad news about her son. That is how people in Israel live. They worry and fear that something horrible might happen to their children. People there are ready to give anything for their country. They believe in that! My two nieces have been soldiers in the desert for two years. We, the Jews, should have our own country! We are spread all over the world, but when we have our own country we feel safe. Otherwise we could be persecuted and humiliated everywhere. If I were persecuted in Bulgaria now, I would go to live in Israel because this is my land!

I did not have any trouble calling my brother, even during the wars in Israel. I phone him seldom now, as it is quite expensive for me. My brother calls once a month. Many friends and relatives also call us. They are my life and I always keep in touch with them. The war in Israel did not affect my life directly. Anyway there was a certain distant attitude to us because we are Jews. We couldn't organize any events spontaneously. We only had a formal Jewish community since 1989.

People revealed their Jewish origin depending on their profession and their position. For example, my husband's aunt worked in the military services and she had to refrain from pointing out her Jewish origin and saying in which countries her relatives lived. I myself had a very ordinary state job, and I didn't worry about talking about my relatives in Israel at all. My husband and I didn't hide the fact that we had relatives there.

I still observe all the Jewish holidays. I observe Christmas and Easter only when I go to visit my daughter's family; her husband is Bulgarian and they celebrate these holidays. I prepare Easter cakes every year. I live in Bulgaria, after all, and I do not want to feel different in this way. I have a special vessel to boil milk and a special baking dish for almond cookies. I use those dishes not because of religious reasons but for practical reasons only.

After 1989

After the political changes in Bulgaria of November 10, 1989, life became harder for my family. Everything we had built and fought for started to fall apart. I value Eastern Europe's opening to the world. History goes on. We had capitalism, then socialism, and now a democracy. Life goes forward, and that is how it should be. Changes are natural, but they are very hard for us. Parting is something that is very difficult. I was very happy when the Berlin Wall fell and many people could meet again. I know very well what parting means.

We have a special group within the Jewish community in Sofia where we learn Ladino once a week. We meet to read and talk in Ladino. We have a study group in Hebrew at the Jewish organization "Shalom" in Sofia. I don't go to these lessons because they only practice the language there and do not exactly study it. I visit the "health" club twice a week and I am a cashier there. We gather in the “third age" club on Saturdays. The leader of the club has many contacts in the cultural and artistic circles. He organizes different events for us: discussions, celebrations, singing, concerts. I am a very sociable person, and I love talking to people. That is why I attend all the events in the club. I am a member of the volunteer group in "Shalom" that takes care of the sick people in the community.

All the Jews who have very low pensions are supported by the Joint. This foundation helped build a factory that provided Jews with jobs immediately after the coup d'etat of September 9, 1944. The foundation also helped people go on holidays. I have been on holiday in Borowets.

I have met Russian Jews in the "health" club and they told me stories about how they were persecuted and terrorized. I remember how much we trusted Stalin; we thought he was an idol. We did not realize the truth. We were such idealists in the years between 1944 and 1953 that we believed him utterly and didn't realize he was a dictator. We only knew that he had borne the whole brunt of the war. Later we learned that he had built many concentration camps, everywhere in Russia and especially in Ukraine, and many Jewish people were killed there.

Hava Goldshtein
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: December 2002

Hava Goldshtein is an elderly and very ill woman. She lives in a small apartment with stove heating, typical for old houses in Lvov. She is poor and has to keep a tenant – a student that also looks after Hava and her deceased sister’s husband living in this same apartment. Hava has dim memories of some periods of her life.  She had a stroke after her son died that had its impact on her memory. Regardless of this great sorrow Hava is an optimist. She jokes and laughs a lot, but this is laughter through tears.  Her apartment is poorly furnished. Old pieces of furniture were bought approximately in 1950s. She has no books or pictures on the walls. She has old cracked dishes in the kitchen. 

My family background

Growing up

During the War

After the War

Glossary  

My family background

My father’s parents, whom I never saw, Moisey and Golda Goldshtein, were born 1860s,  in the town of Yassy in Bessarabia that belonged to Romania before 1939 1. There was a big Jewish community in Yassy before WWII. There were 10 synagogues, yeshyva, few cheders and a number of stores selling kosher products. Jews were mainly involved in crafts and trade.

My grandfather Moisey was wealthy. He didn’t study in grammar school, may be he went to cheder in the childhood, but he was smart and business-oriented. He was the older son of his parents. He inherited a fur factory and in due time expanded his business and opened a shop and a store in the factory.
Besides, he owned an apartment building in the center of the town for lease where his family lived in a 6-room apartment. The rooms in their apartment were big with stucco molding ceilings, tiled stoves and beautiful furniture. There was a Viennese grand piano ‘Karl Hamburg’ of mahogany tree with ancient candelabra in the living room. My grandmother Golda played the piano. My father said she had a good education unfortunately, I do not know what kind.

My grandparents were religious. Every morning grandfather went to the synagogue near their house. My grandmother went to the synagogue on Saturday. They spoke Yiddish in the family, but they also spoke fluent Romanian.  They strictly followed all Jewish traditions. They bought kosher meat and had chickens slaughtered by a shochet at the synagogue. My grandmother had a housemaid and a cook. One of the girls, a Jew, was responsible for shopping and keeping food stocks for the family. The second girl, Romanian or Moldavian, made dinner on Saturday, stoked an oven and did all work that Jewish women were not allowed to do on Saturday. Before Sabbath the house was thoroughly cleaned. Pillows, blankets and carpets were beaten to remove the dust and floors and furniture were polished. The cook made a Saturday dinner following my grandmother’s directions. They had Gefilte fish, chicken or turkey, rich broth, pastries and cookies. On Friday and Saturday we had kosher wine from stocks in the cellar. Grandfather sat at the head of the table with his tallit on.  My grandmother wearing a fancy dress, wig and a lace shawl lit candles saying a prayer over them.  Then we took to a festive dinner. Our housemaid and cook had a meal in the kitchen. There were also poor Jews that couldn’t afford to celebrate Sabbath invited to a meal. It was an ancient Jewish tradition to serve a meal for the less fortunate Jews. On Saturday grandfather went to the synagogue and my father carried his book of prayers being the oldest son. My father told me this in every detail adding that celebration of Sabbath was the brightest memory of his young days.  

The family celebrated all Jewish holidays according to all rules. They prepared to celebrations in advance. Chickens were purchased and kept in a shed in the backyard. The apartment was cleaned more thoroughly than ever. It was particularly important to clean the house before Pesach. Kosher dishes were taken out of boxes: silver tableware and fancy china. Dinners were lavishly served at Pesach.  Grandfather conducted seder and the older son asked him traditional questions. However, Jews had their problems in Yassy. Romanian authorities suppressed them allowing or banning their trades. Jewish children were not always allowed to study in grammar schools. In the end of 19th century when my father was just a child there was a horrible pogrom in Yassy 2. My grandfather’s family survived hiding in the basement with a heavy lock on the door. 

There were seven children in the family: my father had four brothers and two sisters. The boys studied in cheder, all children finished a grammar school. I know very little about my father’s brothers or his parents.

Duba, my father’s older sister, born in 1890, married a rich Jew from Yassy after finishing grammar school. They had two children. Her husband owned a garment shop. Their son, I don’t remember his name, took over his father’s business. He became a tailor. I have no information about their daughter. My father’s sister Hava, born in 1896, finished grammar school. She was single at the period when we heard from them – before middle 1930s. Regretfully, this is all I know about them.
My father’s brother Srul, born in 1893, was recruited to the Romanian army during WWI and returned to Yassy after the war. He assisted grandfather Moisey with his business and soon afterward grandfather actually left his business to Srul. In 1922 Srul married a local Jewish girl named Feiga. We even have her picture that Srul sent in one of his letters.  Srul and Feiga had two children, but I have no information about them.

I don’t know anything about my father’s younger brother Naum, born in 1898. . Beginning from the middle 1930s we hardly communicated with them, and we got letters from them very rarely. We stopped hearing from them after 1939, and lost track of my father’s family, when the Soviet power was established in Yassy. As far as I know they were all religious people. They never again got in touch with us and I think they shared the fate of thousands other Bessarabian Jews that were exterminated and sent to ghettos and Transnistria 3 where they starved to death or died of diseases.

My father, born in Yassy in 1894 finished cheder and grammar school. My father was very fond of animals (horses, in particular) and became a veterinary doctor after graduating from an agricultural or veterinary institute.  
In 1914 when WWI began my father went to the Romanian army. He was at the front and was captured and sent to a camp for prisoners-of-war in Poltava, a provincial town in the center of Ukraine in 300 kms from Kiev. My father was in captivity between 1915 and 1917. Inmates of the camp worked at road construction. I do not know about a life of the father in the conclusion, he did not like to tell about it. A young girl often came to sell cigarettes to prisoners. This was Sonia Epelbaum, my mother.

Mother was born in the family of Moisey and Frieda Epelbaum in Poltava in 1897. Her father was an assistant forester. My mother’s family was poor. They lived in a small house with thatched roof and one room with a big stove in the middle of it, any part-time farm at them was not.  The house was in the outskirts of the town. My mother was the first and only child. Her mother, my grandmother Frieda died of consumption in 1900. Grandfather Moisey didn’t remarry. Although there was a big Jewish community in Poltava – the Jewish population constituted one fifth of the whole population of the town: 80 thousand people, there were quite a lot synagogues and Jewish schools, grandfather Moisey communicated with Ukrainians for the most part. Perhaps, this was because he spent most of his time in the woods staying on sites where Ukrainian woodcutters worked for few months in a row. He got on well, there was no anti-Semitism among his neighbors and employees. Moisey wasn’t religious, at least I can’t remember him praying or observing any Jewish traditions. He spoke Ukrainian and Yiddish. My mother Sonia also communicated with Ukrainian children. My mother only spoke Ukrainian and didn’t know one single word in Yiddish, her parents speak Ukrainian at home. She didn’t go to school and couldn’t write: she put a cross if she had to sign a paper. The only thing Sonia learned to do before she turned 17 was making cigarettes. She sold cigarettes in town with a box on her neck. She was very pretty and my father fell in love with her at first sight.  I don’t know in what language he told her about his love – my father only spoke Yiddish and Romanian, but they got married in Poltava in 1918 after he was released from captivity. Later they spoke Ukrainian. My father told me that they had a traditional Jewish wedding under a chuppah at the synagogue and then had a civil ceremony at the registry office. Only grandfather Moisey attended the wedding ceremony since there were no other relatives of my parents in Poltava. My parents didn’t tell me any other details.

My parents couldn’t go to Romania where my father’s family lived since after 1917 the Soviet authorities didn’t allow Soviet citizens to leave the country. My parents rented a room in a basement in the center of Poltava. My parents were very poor. This was a period of famine and unemployment. My mother sold cigarettes and my father got occasional jobs at construction sites.

In 1919 my older sister Sheindl was born and on 24 February 1924 I, Hava Goldshtein, was born.  My grandfather Mosey often came to stay with us, children, while our parents were away. He told us stories and fairy tales about wood goblins, witches and house spirits in Ukrainian. My mother told me that after pogroms made by Denikin troops 4 during the Civil War 5 grandfather did his best to conceal his Jewish identity.  Grandfather never went to the synagogue that functioned in Poltava even after 1917. We didn’t observe any Jewish traditions at home, only father prayed quietly in the corner of the room.

Grandfather died in Poltava in the late 1920s, he was buried in a Jewish cemetery. In 1926 my sister Sheindl went to a Russian secondary school. I don’t even know whether there were Jewish schools in Poltava. Our mother took us to a photo shop in the central street to get photographed just out of curiosity and this was the first time in my life that I was photographed. 

Life was hard in Poltava: my parents couldn't find a permanent job. In 1926 our family moved to Odessa that was not so far from Romania. Mother told me that my father was hoping to cross the border of Romania somehow where his family resided, but he failed. At that time Joint 6 began its activities in the Soviet Union . In 1927 our family moved to a Jewish settlement in the Crimea that was formed with the help of Joint.

Growing up

We settled down in the village of Kalay, Djankoy district. There was Ukrainian, Russian and Crimean Tatar population in this area. People treated us kindly. Jews formed an agricultural cooperative association. We were accommodated in houses (four families resided in one house with a common kitchen), toilets and water were outside, there was no power, they cooked on primus stoves and lighted rooms with kerosene lamps. There were initially 50-80 Jewish families in this area. Joint built cottages in the outskirts of the for them. We bought food products at the village store. Jews worked at the collective farm. All collective farm products belonged to the state.  I remember a big family of the Bershaks that were our neighbors, but I can’t remember other tenants. In few years the cooperative association with a Jewish name became a collective farm named ‘Oktiabr’ [October], and Joint was forced to leave the USSR 6.  There was even a song in Yiddish about Zionists that didn’t like the name ‘Oktiabr’ and left – I can’t remember the lyrics of this song, I didn’t understand the song and my father explained it to me.   In the Crimea life was gradually improving: my father began to work as veterinary and my mother became a milkmaid at the farm. My father was the only vet in the area and often went on trips. He could leave home even at night if his work required – it wasn’t an unusual thing to work at night, besides, my father was a very responsible man. Sometimes he traveled to Simferopol, central town of the Crimea and I went with him – we traveled on a horse-driven coach.  I liked going to a big town with crowds of people, cars, traffic police – this was all knew to me.  In Simferopol father went to the synagogue after he finished his business and purchased medications in a pharmacy. He left me in the yard and sometimes I went upstairs with women companions. There was no synagogue in Kalay and religious Jews including my father and our neighbor Shmul Bershak got together for a minyan to pray. They often got together in our house and Bershak’s son Syunia and I often watched them. We found it funny how they prayed swinging with their talit and tefillin on their heads and hands.  

We began to observe some Jewish traditions in Kalay. My father didn’t eat pork and often argued with mother who didn’t follow the kashrut. Every Friday there was a general cleanup of the house and we, children, got involved in it. We washed the floor, dusted the furniture and scrubbed casseroles and kitchen utensils. We laid the table in a big room and our family and all other tenants of the house got together at the table. Sima, Bershak’s wife or their older daughter Tsylia lit candles, as a rule. Saturday was a working day in the collective farm. We celebrated holidays together. Before Pesach we baked matzah and cooked Gefilte fish, chicken broth, meat stew and made pastries and pudding from matzah flour. Shmul Bershak conducted seder. I remember him sitting at the head of the table and one of the children was looking for a piece of matzah and posed traditional questions about the holiday. At Purim mother and Sima made triangle pies with poppy seeds – the so-called ‘Haman’ ears’ [hamentashen] that we liked.  My father fasted at Yom Kippur and my mother joined him. Children didn’t fast – our father believed that we would learn everything when we grew up. I don’t remember other holidays.
We made dolls from rags, played with a ball and ran in the streets.
My father became an activist in the collective farm: he took part in construction.  My father wasn’t a member of the party, but he was a ‘non-party communist’ as such people were called at the time. He didn’t think he was spiritually prepared to become a communist. My father gave up his idea to move to Romania. He liked communist ideas and liked living and working at the collective farm. Only when my father got a letter from Romania that came through America he stayed in his room in silence for a long while. I don’t know how they found us – perhaps, through Joint.

In few years we received a small house of our own with two rooms, a kitchen and an open terrace. We didn’t have a garden or livestock. Our father provided well for the family and life was inexpensive. There was a plot of land near the house that my father planted with diminutive fruit trees. The most amazing thing was running water in the house: there was a water pump facility built in the village that supplied water to the houses. My mother was very happy about it remembering how during the Civil War and afterward portable water in Poltava was sold from street pumps. 

In 1931 I went to a Jewish school my sister studied. This school was built at the time the Jewish colony was established. It was built at the Jewish neighborhood and was not far from or house. The only difference of this school from others was that teaching was in Yiddish. I learned Yiddish  gradually and my sister helped me. I studied in this school for a year. In 1932 when famine began in Ukraine 7 I was sent to a boarding school for orphaned and homeless children in hope that I would at least be getting some food there All children whose parents were not able to providefor them were admitted to this school. My sister stayed with our parents. These were horrific years when all grain was taken away from collective farmers, there was no food for cattle and my parents had no job. I remember my father and Shmul Bershak took me and Bershak’s younger daughter to the silage facility at nighttime to come there unnoticed. We were tiny and thin girls and my father and Shmul lowered us into the silage pit on a rope tight on our feet where we picked silage: pressed grass prepared to feed cattle. Mother made pancakes that smelled of rot. I remember seeing a cart with dead people when my father was taking me to the boarding school: their swollen legs were sticking from a cover.  The boarding school was in 15 kms from Kalay. We got soup and potatoes and some black buns. This was a Russian secondary school where we studied.

In 1934 when famine was over I stayed at the boarding school and finished the 10th form there, my sister finished Jewish school in 1930. The school was closed in late 1930s. There were Jewish, Russian, Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar children in my class. We never cared about one another’s nationality. We were friends. I became a pioneer in the school, but I took no interest in any public activities.  Besides, I was not quite successful with my studies. I didn’t like reading or writing or mathematics. I much preferred to spend time with animals helping my father and help my mother in the chicken yard and on the farm.

In summer 1936 when I was on vacation at home few men wearing military uniforms came for my father. They searched the house shuffling my father’s papers. They took pictures of my father’s parents and relatives from Romania. I remember that when my father was taken away I held of one of the military’s leg like a tick and he could hardly get rid of me. My father was taken to Simferopol, but he returned home after two months. I don’t know how he happened to escape: in such cases people were charged with espionage and ties with foreign intelligence agencies and they disappeared forever. Father never told us, children, what happened to him and what were charges against him, but he never prayed again and put his tallit away. At that time we stopped receiving letters from his relatives in Romania. Only in 1939 after Bessarabia joined the Soviet Union my father received few letters from his family, but father never responded – he was probably afraid of being arrested again.

In 1938 after finishing school I entered Medical College in Kalay. I finished it in 1940. My schoolmates Sonia Krol and Syunia Bershak – he became an assistant doctor - studied there with me. My older sister Sheindlia graduated from Teachers’ Institute in Simferopol. She worked at a school in Kalay as a teacher of mathematics. In 1938 Sheindlia married Shura Friedental, a Jew, our neighbor. He was a driver in the collective farm. The whole collective farm celebrated the wedding in our yard under the tents. There was no chuppah or religious ceremony at the wedding since Shura and my sister were convinced atheists and Komsomol members 8, but there was Jewish music played and guests danced Jewish folk dances. The newly weds lived in our house. In 1939 their daughter Rita was born.

During the War
After finishing medical college in spring 1941 I became a medical nurse at a school in Kalay the same where my sister worked. I worked there for about half a year until we heard on the radio about the beginning of war on 22 June 1941 9. We didn’t quite understand what was going on – we were convinced that our country was so powerful and a war was something we couldn’t believe might happen or that somebody dared to attack us.

Few days after the war began our village was bombed. In the middle of July 1941 the collective farm began evacuation. The Party district committee assigned my father to stay in occupation and work as a vet in a partisan unit. We bid farewell to father carelessly laughing and cheering one another – we didn’t believe we were parting for long. Newspapers and radio broadcasts were convincing us that the war would be over soon. Shura Friedental, my sister’s husband, was recruited to the front. My mother, my sister and her little daughter and I evacuated with the collective farm. We walked about 100 kms watching the cattle of the collective farm until we reached Kerch. During frequent air raids we hid in wheat fields. There were vehicles passing by, but we couldn’t get a ride since we were responsible for the cattle that belonged to the collective farm. It was hot: there was no water and the grass was dry – the cattle were hungry and thirsty. Bershak’s family walked with us: Shmul, Sima, their son Syunia that was the same age with me and their younger children.  Sima was a sick and very fat woman. She couldn’t walk and was driven on a cart. After another air raid Sima died of heart attack. The men dug a grave in the stony soil, said a prayer and buried Sima. In Kerch we got on a ferry with cattle and other belongings of the collective farm.  Bombardments were continuous in the sea and later we got off in Taman in 600 kms from Kerch where we got on trucks and drove for about two days.  We arrived at the town of Khanlar, Azerbaidjan in the Caucasus, in 900 km from home. We settled down in the village and the cattle was transferred to the local collective farm. 

We were accommodated in local stone houses that were richer and had more comforts than Ukrainian houses. We got a room that belonged to a big Azerbaidjan family. They welcomed us cordially and shared everything they had with us. In Khanlar I was called to the military registry office where I received an assignment to a hospital. I was a surgery nurse in evacuation hospital 1852. There were many patients there and numbers of surgeries during which doctors amputated extremities: legs and arms. Surgeries went on round the clock and nurses had to assist surgeons handling instruments. At first I made mistakes and the surgeon swore. After the surgery he kissed me on the forehead and apologized. It was hard work, but I received food packages and we got meals in hospital. My mother, sister and Rita lived in the apartment worked at the cattle farm in the collective farm. We stayed in Khanlar for about half a year. Germans were approaching the town. We got on a freight train and moved on. We were heading Middle Asia. The trip lasted about 3 months. We stayed at stations for long letting military trains to the front pass by.  Shmul Bershak and his younger children were with us. Syunia was already at the front. 

We came to an aul [a village in Middle Asia] near Chimkent in Kazakhstan in 2000 kms from home where we were accommodated in apartments in the collective farm named after Lenin. There were clay houses with thatched roofs in the village. There was no water or sewerage. Food was mainly cooked on stoves. In summer we spent most of the time outside sleeping in little huts made of vine branches, cooking and having meals in the open air. Summers were hot and dry. Local people and newcomers worked in the collective farm. There was a school, kindergarten, hospital and pharmacy in the village. There were many people from different parts of the USSR there. There wasn’t sufficient space, but they all got along and I can’t remember any national conflicts.  We lived in a very friendly Kazakh family.  We slept all together on straw on the floor in a small room. Our landlords were trying to help us and shared their food with us. It was hard at the beginning before mother began to work on a farm. I also worked at the collective farm: on the farm and in the field. My sister Sheindlia went to work at the kindergarten of the collective farm and her daughter Rita was there, too.  We worked from dawn till dusk, but we were not afraid of hard work. Three years passed. It was most terrible to have no news from father when we knew about barbarity of Germans and their brutal attitude and mass shootings of Jews from people that escaped from occupied areas. Mother kept crying at night reprobating herself for letting my father stay.

In summer 1944 almost at once after Crimea was liberated we moved home. The whole collective farm was returning. We went back by a freight train.  We were given grain by local authorities that we were exchanging for bread and food products on the way.

When we arrived we heard the frightful news. Germans killed Jews in the vicinity of Kalay and my father was among them. People said he was hiding in the cellar, but Sushko, a local policeman, reported on him to Germans. This Sushko was in good relationships with our family before the war. After the war Sushko was sentenced to 10 years in camps. I heard later that some time in 1950, when we left the Crimea, he returned home and lead his life as if nothing had happened. I tried to find my father’s grave. I remember that during one of diggings and reburial of the dead I saw the corps of Manya Tseitlina, our neighbor. She was half-sitting in the pit holding her granddaughter Ida. The child had a soother in her mouth. This horrible scene had such an impact on me that I refused further search of my father’s body.

After the War

I remember celebration of Victory Day on 9 May 1945.  All farmers got together in the center of the settlement in front of the village council building. There were tables installed there and all people brought what they could. Chairman of the collective farm said a speech remembering the deceased including my father. On this day laughter was mixed with tears: it was a happy and a sad day.

We needed to begin life anew. Our house was in place, but it was occupied by the family of Abraham Modergeim. They returned from evacuation before we did and since their house was destroyed they moved in ours. Abraham didn’t want to move out of our house and we had to sue him. We temporarily stayed with Bershak family. Only at the beginning of 1946 the court took a positive decision for us and we had our house back, but those people took with them all our furniture and kitchen utensils. We moved in an empty house, but we were too exhausted to sue Abraham for theft.

Life was more difficult than it was in evacuation. In Kazakhstan we had sufficient food, fruit and vegetables and we did not starve, at least, while after the war there was famine. Germans removed all food stocks before retreating and we didn’t have any grain left for sowing.

Right after arrival we had one trouble after another. My mother got cancer of uterus. She had a surgery in Simferopol and after surgery mother stayed at home. She got tuberculosis that she had had a long time before. This was not the end of our problems. My sister’s daughter Rita became infected with tuberculosis. There was nothing we could do. She died at the end of 1945.

Shura Friedental, my sister’s husband, returned from the war in April 1946. He knew that his daughter died and didn’t even come to our home. Instead, he went to his mother and sisters that lived in another end of the village. Sheindlia that seemed to have turned into stone when her daughter died didn’t say a word when she heard that her husband arrived. I ran to see Shura. I cried and yelled telling him that there was no fault of ours that Rita died, but Shura didn’t even want to listen. He said that Sheindlia was alive, but she failed to save their daughter and he wasn’t going to live with her, they divorced shortly afterward. Shortly afterward Sheindlia moved to Lvov where her friend Sarah lived. Sarah was married to Arnold Tseitlin that came from Kalay.  Arnold’s mother Manya Tseitlina, his first wife Tsilia and daughter Ida were shot by occupants. After he returned from the war Arnold married Sarah and left for Lvov with her. Sheindlia began to live with Sarah and Arnold. She finished an accounting course and went to work.  In some time she married Arnold’s brother Ruvim Tseitlin they lived with Sarah and Arnold, having no other place to live.

I finished a short-term course of vine-growers and began to work at the vineyard. Was a dexterous worker and earned good money. In 1946 Boris Cherniak that returned form the front proposed to me. Boris’ parents Isaac and Gesia came from Byelorussia. They moved to the Crimea in middle 1920s. Boris, born in 1922, was the oldest son in his family with many children. He worked as a driver before the war. After returning from the front Boris’ father became director of a greengrocer store and Boris was director of the buttery in the collective farm.  Their family was wealthy and my mother wanted me to marry Boris. I knew Boris before the war and tried to avoid him. He had the fame of a drunkard and womanizer. I didn’t want to marry Boris. I couldn’t forget Syunia Bershak that was my friend before the war. Syunia didn’t return from the front.

Finally I agreed to marry Boris giving up to my mother and Shmul Bershak.  We had a civil ceremony and a small wedding party for close relatives and friends at our home. I had an ankle long wedding gown made at the tailor shop in our collective farm. There was no synagogue or a rabbi in the collective farm. My husband’s parents insisted that we had a chuppah installed where I was lead by Shmul Bershak. One of older religious Jews conducted the wedding ceremony. This was the first Jewish wedding after the war and the whole collective farm celebrated it.

I put a big tub filled with grain in my room and covered it with bed sheets. This was my bride-bed. My son was born in 1947. We named him Victor. This was a very popular name in those years after Goddess Victoria given in commemoration of victory over Germany.  We didn’t have our son circumcised since there was no rabbi in the village or anyone else, who could do it. Besides, I didn’t feel any need to have him circumcised.

Boris failed to make a good husband. From 2nd half of my pregnancy he began to carouse and went on a spree. He didn’t come home at all sometimes. When our son was one year old Boris left me for another woman. I hated to stay in Kalay: I believed people were pointing fingers at me to say ‘Look, her husband left her’.  In 1949 my mother, Victor and I left Kalay for good. We went to Lvov where my sister lived. Before we left Boris came to apologize. He begged me to stay promising to come back and be faithful, but I didn’t forgive him. I never saw him again. He didn’t support us and Victor never saw him.  I know that Boris stayed in Kalay, but I don’t know how he is now.

In Lvov we stayed some time with our friend Lyova Gershman that also came from Kalay after the war. Later we got an apartment. We lived together: my sister and Ruvim in one room and my mother, Victor and I – in another. Except for few moths when I went to work in Brody, Lvov region and Khmelnitskiy I lived my life in this apartment. We were a close family. My sister and her husband supported me treating him to a meal, giving him toys and clothes, entertaining and spoiling him.  My life wasn’t easy. I went on my first vacation when my son turned 18.  I never had any recreation before: I received my ‘vacation pay’ (I always needed money) and stayed at work.  I got along well with my colleagues. I had Jewish, Russian and Ukrainian friends. We celebrated birthdays and Soviet holidays together. We didn’t observe any traditions or celebrate Jewish holidays. I didn’t remarry. After Boris betrayed me I didn’t trust men and never let any of them to come near me. We stayed at home in the evenings having discussions and drinking tea. Sometimes our friends and acquaintances visited us. I spent time with my son and was busy doing housework: cleaning, cooking and washing. 
After her daughter died my sister didn’t want anymore children. She was afraid that she might lose another child.  Sheindlia and her husband were cheerful and sociable people. They had many friends, went to theaters and cinema and spent vacations in the Crimea or Caucasus.

My mother died in 1957. We buried her at the town cemetery in Lvov.
Director of the factory at the shop of which I worked was Semyon Averbukh. He was kind with me. He understood how hard it was for me to raise a son. Semyon trained me and I was soon promoted to supervisor. We made rubber boots and went to sell them in other towns. We had a multinational collective at work. In early 1950 state anti-Semitism was at its height. Radio and newspapers broadcast news about Jewish cosmopolites and doctor poisoners. One could hear abusive ‘zhydovka’ everywhere in the streets 10, but we had good relationships in our collective. We went on parades on 1 May and 7 November 11 and celebrated all Soviet holidays in our club, had parties drinking and singing Soviet songs.  Semyon was a deputy of the district council and helped many of my colleagues to have their issues associated with housing problems, installation of telephone, giving higher education to their children and arrangements for recreation resolved. Later the shop was converted in a factory and Averbukh was its director. In early 1960s he was arrested and accused of manufacture and sale of ‘left’ products (illegally manufactured product sold through private agents: all profit was received by director and sales agents) and bribing. The court lasted few months. Semyon was sentenced to death and executed. I felt very sorry for him. He was the only person that treated me so kindly.   After he died there was another director appointed. Until now nobody knows whether it was true that he was selling goods in private. 

I took absolutely no interest in any politics. I was too busy with my personal issues. I had Russian and Ukrainian friends and never cared about nationality. When my son grew old I began to spend more time with friends gong to theaters and cinema and reading Soviet  magazines. In late 1970s my sister and I bought a TV and spent evenings watching it. I went on vacation to the Crimea several times.

My son Victor had Jewish, Ukrainian and Russian friends at school.  He wasn’t  great success with his studies, but he was a cheerful and sociable boy. He didn’t face any anti-Semitism.  After finishing school he finished a barber school and became a skilled barber. He was promoted to director of a barbershop.  Victor married a Russian girl Valia.  They had two daughters: Sonia and Natasha. His first marriage failed, though. My son always identified himself as a Jew, but he came to the Jewish way of life after he got Jewish friends at 16 that observed Jewish traditions and were religious.  He could not celebrate holidays at home since Valia teased him about it and happened to not turned out to be - no  be anti-Semitic. The majority of his colleagues were Jews and they didn’t have any objections when Victor became director; they liked and respected him. Perhaps, he wouldn’t have made such good career if he had worked ina Ukrainian collective. In 1992 Victor divorced Valia and married Alla, a Jewish woman. Victor and Alla decided to move to Israel. Victor was always interested in this country and listened to foreign radio stations that were jammed during the Soviet power to conceal the true situation in Israel and the rest of free world from people in the Soviet Union.  Victor and Alla submitted their documents for obtaining permission to move to Israel. I was planning to go with them when Victor fell severely ill. He got arthritis and he was confined to bed. In 1999 my son died. I buried him near my mother’s grave at the town cemetery.

In 1979 I began to receive pension, but I continued working. I retired in 1989 when Perestroika began and our factory became unprofitable. Perestroika didn’t bring anything good into my life. I get miserable pension enough to buy bread.

My sister Sheindlia died in 1986. She didn’t have children. I live in this apartment with her husband Ruvim We wouldn’t survive if it weren’t for the Jewish charity center Hesed. They support us. All elderly Jews get charity meals and free medications. Sometimes they take us to the Daytime center where we can communicate with other old Jews. I observed Jewish traditions only after the war when I lived in Kalay. Recently we began to celebrate Jewish holidays: Pesach, Purim, and Rosh Hashanah thanks to charity organizations. We get together in Hesed where we have visitors who tell us about Jewish rituals and traditions, they say prayers and conduct rituals, make traditional Jewish food, buy special kosher wine at a store near the synagogue. We watch films about Israel and Jews.    We read Jewish newspapers. My granddaughters Sonia and Natasha often come to see us. They celebrate Jewish holidays with us.  Natasha and Sonia identifies herself as a Jew.  Sonia wrote her nationality as Jewish in her passport. She is a member of the Jewish cultural association and sings in a Jewish group. She married a Jewish man. My great granddaughter was recently born and Sonia named her Sarah-Revekkah. Natasha is married to a Russian man. They have a nice family. They don’t have children as yet, but I am sure they will.  Natasha is an accountant in a company. She does not take much interest in Jewish life.  Valia, Victor’s ex-wife was against such tendencies and even didn’t communicate with her daughter for some time, but in due time she resigned herself or pretended that she did. In any case, I am happy that my granddaughters understand and support me.

Glossary

1. In 1812 Russia  managed to annex the  eastern  half of the  Romanian  Principality  of  Moldavia.  From then  until the First World War, the territory  known as Bessarabia  (Basarabia in Romanian) changed hands  between  Romania and Russia  several  times.  After the First World War, Bessarabia  joined Romania, but Moscow never accepted this union.  In June 1940, Moscow  delivered to Bucharest an ultimatum to  evacuate,  in  four  days,   Bessarabia   and  Northern   Bukovina (Bucovina).  Romania  had no  choice  but  to  yield.  The  two  ceded provinces  had an area of 51,000  square  kilometers,  or some  20,000 square  miles and 3.9 million  inhabitants  mostly  Romanians.  It was then Romania's  turn to reject the  settlement and in June 1941 joined Germany and attacked  the Soviet  Union.  In 1944,  however,  the USSR reannexed  the area,  occupied  the entire  country  of  Romania  and, shortly  thereafter,  imposed  a  communist  government  in  Bucharest.
2. During the Civil War in 1918-1920 there were all kinds of gangs in the Ukraine. Their members came from all the classes of former Russia, but most of them were peasants. Their leaders used political slogans to dress their criminal acts. These gangs were anti-Soviet and anti-Semitic. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.
3. Transnistria: Area between the rivers Dnestr and Bug, and the Black Sea. It was ruled by the Romanians and during World War II it was used as a huge ghetto to which Jews from Bukovina and Moldavia were deported.
4. Denikin, Anton Ivanovich (1872-1947): White Army general. During the Civil War he fought against the Red Army in the South of Ukraine.
5. CIVIL WAR 1917-1922 By early 1918, a major civil war had broken out in Russia--only recently named the USSR--which is commonly known as the civil war between the ‘Reds’ and the ‘Whites’. The ‘Reds’ were the Bolshevik controlled Soviets. During this time the Bolsheviks changed their name to the Communist party. The ‘Whites’ were mostly Russian army units from the world war who were led by anti-Bolshevik officers. They were also joined by anti-Bolshevik volunteers and some Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries. During this civil war, the Bolsheviks signed a separate peace with Germany and finally ended Russia's involvement with the world war. 8 to 13 mln people perished in the war. Up to 2 mln. people moved to other countries. Damage constituted over 50 billion rubles in gold, production rate reduced to 4-20% compared with 1913.
6. Joint – World Jewish Distribution Committee), the main task at that period was to provide assistance to Jews that suffered from WWI in Russia and the Dual Monarchy. In 1924 American Jewish united agricultural corporation was established (Agro-Joint). Its purpose was establishment of Jewish settlements in the south of Ukraine and Crimea. They had full support of the Soviet authorities. This was a way to save Jews from poverty and help them regain their civil rights. Thos association funded housing construction for poor Jewish families in the Crimea and provided them with agricultural equipment and tools. By 1934 many collective and Soviet farms in Jewish settlements funded by Agro-Joint were established in the Soviet Union. In 1938 Agro-Joint had to leave the Soviet Union and terminate any activities in the country that was on the edge of war and entered into a treaty with fascists Germany. 
7. In 1920 a deliberate famine was introduced in the Ukraine causing the death of millions of people. It was arranged in order to suppress those protesting peasants who did not want to join the collective farms. There was another dreadful deliberate famine in 1930-1934 in the Ukraine. The authorities took away the last food products from the peasants. People were dying in the streets, whole villages became deserted. The authorities arranged this specifically to suppress the rebellious peasants who did not want to accept Soviet power and join collective farms.
8. Communist youth political organization created in 1918. The task of the Komsomol was to spread of the ideas of communism and involve the worker and peasant youth in building the Soviet Union. The Komsomol also aimed at giving a communist upbringing by involving the worker youth in the political struggle, supplemented by theoretical education. The Komsomol was more popular than the Communist Party because with its aim of education people could accept uninitiated young proletarians, whereas party members had to have at least a minimal political qualification.
9. On 22 June 1941 at 5 o’clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring a war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War.
10. “zhyd” – abusive nickname of Jews in the Soviet Union.
11. October Revolution Day: October 25 (according to the old calendar), 1917 went down in history as victory day for the Great October Socialist Revolution in Russia. This day is the most significant date in the history of the USSR. Today the anniversary is celebrated as ‘Day of Accord and Reconciliation’ on November 7.

Esphir Kalantyrskaya
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer:  Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My grandfather on my father’s side, Abram Persov lived in Pochep, a small town in Briansk region, Russia. This town consisted of two parts: the central Jewish part and the suburbs populated by Russians that were involved in farming. Jews were handicraftsmen, jewelers, tradesmen. There was a church and a synagogue in town. People were friendly and supported each other.  My grandfather was born around 1840s. I don’t know where he was born. He got married in Pochep and lived there. My grandfather was a very good jeweler. His jewelry was in big demand of the local merchants. Even representatives of the noble circles were his customers. My father’s mother Malka was a housewife and looked after the children.  My grandfather had a big house. His shop was on the first floor.  It was a small shop. He didn’t need much space. The rest of the house belonged to the family. They had many children: their older son Pinhus and younger son Samuil and daughters Hana, Riva, Dora, Bertha and Zhenia. They were a wealthy family and could afford a housemaid and a cook. My grandfather’s family was rather religious. At least even in the late 1920s when I knew them my grandfather had a pew at the synagogue, prayed every day and observed religious holidays and traditions.

In the early 1920s my grandfather and grandmother moved to Kiev. They probably did it because the Soviet power took away my grandfather’s house leaving them one room. Besides, there was no profit from jewelry business during the civil war: neither my grandfather nor my father had any orders. They rented an apartment and my grandfather didn’t work anymore.  My grandfather and grandmother died in the early 1930s in Kiev. 

My father’s older brother Pinhus was recruited to the tsarist army and perished during the Russian-Japanese war at the beginning of the 20th century. My father’s sisters got education at home and got married in due time. Some of them lived in Pochep, some – in Pagar and other nearby towns.  I saw little of them and know very little about their life.  I know that Hana’s name after her husband was Agranovich. Her daughter Bluma and her sons Samuil, Lazar and Aron were my friends for many years. Lazar became my sister’s husband.

Hana died before the Great Patriotic War. Her daughter Bluma that lived in the town of Klintsy with her husband was killed during the war along with other Jews.  Lazar and Samuil perished at the front and severely wounded Aron died around 1948. That’s all I know about my father’s sisters and brothers.

My father Samuil Persov was born in Pochep in 1875. Like all boys in the family he went to the cheder and then he studied language and basics of mathematic with teachers at home.  My father didn’t have any document about getting education. But he was an intelligent, well-read and modern man. He followed into his father’s steps and became a good jeweler and a watchmaker.  They said in town that if Samuil repaired a watch it would serve its owner until to the end of his days. My grandfather and my father were very honest people. My grandfather’s customers became my father’s in due time.  However, my father had a different attitude towards religion from my grandfather’s. My father was an atheist although he had finished cheder. He was fond of books, read many Russian classic novels, met with young people and emancipated girls and acted in the amateur theater. He didn’t date Jewish girls and wasn’t going to get married.  When he was 32 he allowed matchmakers to find him a fiancée giving in to his parents’ begging.  My father didn’t like anyone in Pochep. He liked emancipated and educated girls. They were not to be found in the distant Pochep. Girls in Pochep had traditional education and only took interest in the family life and religion.  They brought him a girl from another town.

My father liked Bluma and they got married in 1907. They didn’t tell me any details of their wedding, but it was a traditional Jewish wedding with a huppah and a rabbi.  I don’t know anything about my mother Bluma. I don’t know whether she had brothers or sisters or what her nee name was. The reason I don’t know it is that I left my mother and Pochep when I was very young.  I know that her family was much poorer than my father’s family. My mother had no education and could hardly read.  They spoke Yiddish to one another.  However, my mother and father spoke Russian to us. My father spoke fluent Russian and my mother spoke it with an accent.  My father insisted that we spoke Russian. My mother was a very religious woman. She prayed, followed the kashruth, lit candles on Saturday, celebrated all Jewish holidays and fasted at Yom Kippur. I have dim memories of these holidays. I found it boring to sit and wait until they finish the ritual and prayer and we could start eating.  I don’t remember any joyful activities in our house related to religious traditions.  There was a synagogue in Pochep. My older brothers went to the synagogue with my mother. I was small and didn’t go with them. I don’t remember what the synagogue was like.  My mother went there every week. She always wore a shawl, but she didn’t have a wig. My parents were very different people. My father was a cheerful modern man, reading newspapers and books and having many books and my mother was a sullen woman, interested in nothing but her house, her children and the God.

My parents had a traditional Jewish wedding. After their wedding my parents lived in my grandfather’s house. In 1908 their first baby was born – my sister Luba. My father bought a part of a house for his family not far from his father’s house. 

Growing up

The children were born almost every year. Ania was born in 1911, Grigory was born in 1912 and I was born in 1913. Clara was born in 1914. My younger sister Fania was born in 1917 and my brother Iosif was born in 1918. My father earned well, and we were a wealthy family.  In due time he purchased the remaining part of the house for his family.  I remember that the house seemed huge to me. There were few rooms: a living room, my parents’ bedroom and children’s rooms. I remember beautiful dark furniture and velvet curtains. We had a housemaid, a cook and a nanny. My mother was fully absorbed in pregnancies, deliveries, children bringing up and the house.

My father didn’t change his bachelor’s way of life: he met with friends, went to restaurants and played in the amateur theater. In this theater he met a young Jewish girl Sophia Kazakova.  They were of different age: my father was 43 and she was 18. They fell in love with each other and my father left the house. I don’t know what a divorce was like in those years, but I believe they had to obtain rabbi’s permission. It couldn’t have been otherwise. In 1918 right after my younger brother was born my father divorced my mother and married Sophia.  It was a big scandal in the town. People discussed this divorce and Sophia’s conduct everywhere: at the market, in stores and at the synagogue.  My father left the house and everything in it to my mother and gave her money at the beginning.  My mother had a very hard time: she didn’t leave the house, didn’t even go to the synagogue and hardly paid any attention to us, children.

Sophia’s family couldn’t live through such disgrace that she had married a married man taking away the father from his children. Sophia’s parents told her to get out of their house. Her mother fell ill and died of heart attack. My father and his young wife rented an apartment in the Russian neighborhood of the town.  Only many years later when I grew up I came to understanding of what a hard time my father had. He defied the Jewish way of life in a patriarchal town formed throughout decades by falling openly in love with a young woman.  

My father and Sopiha lived in Pochep for a few years. The revolution of 1917, civil war of 1914-1918 didn’t impact life in our town, fortunately. There were no gangs or pogroms.  Around 1919 my father's parents Abram and Malka moved to Kiev. I believe that my father’s divorce also played its role in my grandfather’s decision to move to Kiev. They didn’t approve of my father’s conduct and sympathized with my mother. On the other hand, they understood my father’s feelings and couldn’t ignore them. However, my grandfather continued writing to my father trying to persuade him to move to Kiev. He believed that life might be easier in Kiev, considering that people didn’t know the story of my father and Sophia.  My father didn’t want to leave his children behind. He loved his children.  He often visited us and my mother allowed him to come and see us.  My father told us about beautiful life in Kiev trying to persuade us to go with him. I always looked for some explanation of why I agreed to go with my father. There must have been several reasons. Firstly, I loved my father and couldn’t imagine living apart from him and of course I must have been driven by my interest towards everything new and unknown, thirst for traveling and new impressions. 

In 1922 my older brother Grigory, my younger sister Clara, my father, pregnant Sophia and I secretly left for Kiev. My mother would have never allowed him to take us if she had known about his plans. My mother didn’t know about it. My father took us away from a walk. We left without any clothes or luggage. My father wrote my mother from Kiev, asking her forgiveness and reasoning with her that her life would be easier with fewer children. I don’t know why, but my mother never tried to find or return us. Perhaps, it was because she was hoping that our father living in a big town would have the opportunity to give us more than she ever could.

In Kiev my father rented an apartment in Podol, a Jewish neighborhood. We lived in Konstantinovskaya street, not far from my grandparents.  In 1922 Sophia gave birth to a boy – Efim and in 1924 her daughter Polia was born. Manya, the youngest, was born in 1933. We lived in a small two-room apartment. My father rented it at first and then he purchased it from the owner. One room served as my father and Sopha’s bedroom and another room was for children. My father took up any job: repairing watches, furniture, doing other repairs in the houses. Later he obtained a patent for manufacture of toys. There were heaps of fabrics, pieces of wood and doll’s heads in our apartment. My father taught us to do small work and we began to help him. Every day we glued, painted things and made doll’s clothes. My father was a very good handicraftsman. He was offered a job at the state factory, but my father refused every time he got an offer. For some reason he thought that those that worked at state enterprises were stealing, while he was an honest man.

After Sopha’s kids were born my father stopped caring for us who were born by an unloved woman.  He hardly ever talked with us and never took any interest in our life. He didn’t want to send us to school as he didn’t want to lose his workforce.  He hired teachers to teach us at home.  We actually received education equal to 4 years of primary school.

My grandfather Abram and grandmother Malka often visited us and invited us to visit them. They wanted to share their warmth with us.  They often went to the synagogue located in Schekavitskaya street not far from us.  My father and Sofa didn’t go to the synagogue. Only Pesach of all Jewish holidays was celebrated at our home. My father just loved this holiday. He baked matsa by himself, cooked delicious food and the whole family sat at the table. We didn’t know the history of the holiday. My father didn’t conduct the sedder according to the Jewish tradition. It was just a fancy family dinner.

Our stepmother treated us nicely. She was a nice woman and felt sorry for us. She made no difference between her own children and us. That was how it happened in my life that I was separated from my mother and my brothers and sisters.

My older brother Grigory and my sister Clara were very close to me. Grigory went to work at the military plant when he was very young. He became a turner apprentice and had to stand on a box to reach his lathe at the beginning. Later he finished a work school (rabfak) 1, technical school at the plant and in due time he was promoted to shop supervisor.  During the war he evacuated to Kuvandyk with the plant. Kuvandyk is a town near Chkalovsk in the Ural. He stayed there after the war. He married Nadia, a Russian girl and lived in Kuvandyk all his life. Grisha died in 1980. His daughters Ania and Luba live in Omsk.

My younger sister Clara worked few years at the same plant as Grisha. In 1934 she married her cousin Lazar Agranovich. In 1935 their son Miron was born. Lazar was recruited to the army at the very beginning of the war and perished at the front in 1941. Clara was in the evacuation with Grisha and me.  In 1942 her younger son Valery was born. After the war Clara lived in Kiev. She never got married again.  Clara died in 1999.

In 1932 I went to work at the knitting garments factory of NKVD (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs). My job was to wind the yarn onto huge bobbins. In 1933 I went to Pochep for my first vacation. I met with my mother for the first time in 11 years. I spent there almost a month. It was a happy and sad reunion. One night my mother came to my bed, adjusted my blanket and kissed me. I cried for the rest of the night. I felt mother’s care for the first time in many years.

My mother told me a lot about this period of life when we were not with her. She didn’t work in the first year after we had left. My grandfather Abram was supporting her. Later she learned to sew and took some work home. She opened a small store. Basically, she got adjusted to life. In 1933 when I met with my mother she didn’t work any longer. Older children were supporting her. That was the only time I saw my mother.  When the Great Patriotic War began my mother stayed in Pochep. She didn’t want to evacuate. Her Russian neighbors gave her shelter for some time, but in 1942 somebody gave her up. Policemen took her to a ravine in the outskirts of the town and shot. All Jews of the town were shot there.

I also met with my sisters Luba, Ania, Fania and my brother Iosif for the first time in all those years. My sisters studied at school and later they graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Briansk.

My older sister Luba worked as the Russian language and literature schoolteacher in Pochep. Later she became director of this school. She married Mikhail Shatukha, a Russian man. After his service in the army Mikhail got a job assignment in Nevel of Leningrad region. Luba followed him. Mikhail Shatukha became secretary of the Nevel Town Party Committee.  In 1937 he was called to Moscow and arrested. He didn’t stay under arrest long. Luba said that it was Lazar Kaganovich 2, one of the Soviet leaders that contributed to his liberation. During the war Mikhail and few other members of the Town party Committee stayed in town to organize underground movement in the rear of the enemy. One of his co-workers turned out to be a traitor. He told Mikhail that he had been ordered to escort him to the partisan unit in the woods. He shot Mikhail in the outskirts of the town. In the morning collective farmers found Mikhail’s body and buried him in secret from Germans. Luba buried her husband at the town cemetery after she returned from the evacuation. After the war the monument to Mikhail Shatukha and other comrades that had perished after the war in Nevel.  Luba died in 1962. Her son Arnold lives in St.-Petersburg.

My sister Ania was also a teacher. She lived in Moscow with her husband Arkadiy Levin and their son Misha.  Arkadiy perished at the front in 1940s and Ania died in the first post-war years. Their son Misha lives in Moscow.

Our younger sister Fania graduated from Pedagogical Institute before the war and worked as a schoolteacher in Pochep. During the war she joined a partisan unit in the Brianskiye woods. In 1942 Fania was told about our mother’s death. She went to Pochep to find out whether it was true.  In Pochep a policeman saw her. He was the man that had proposed to her earlier, but she refused. So, he grabbed his chance to take revenge. He gave Fania up to Germans. They captured and shot her in the same ravine where our mother had been shot. Mikhail’s sister Maria told us about mother and Fania. Maria was in the partisan unit with Fania. Maria survived and met with Luba after the war to tell her what she knew.

My younger brother Iosif finished school and was recruited to the army. He was supposed to demobilize in 1941 when the war began. He didn’t demobilize but became a communications operator. He perished in 1943.

My mother remained religious and observed traditions until the end of her life but all her children grew up to be atheists.  As far as I know, none of my sisters or brothers observed any religious laws or rules.

In summer 1933 I visited my mother in Pochep and in the autumn of this year famine 3 began in Ukraine. I remember dead bodies near the buildings and at the entrances in Kiev. I saw them in the morning. During the day they were removed from streets. I received a food package at the factory where I was working.  Of course, I shared it with my father’s family. They had 3 children. Later I got a job at shoe factory #6. They paid more. I wasn’t a Komsomol member and didn’t take part in public life. But I had many friends: Jews, Russians and Ukrainians. Nobody cared about nationality at that time. To be a good person was sufficient.  My friends and I went to the cinema in Podol, to the beach and for walks. We always celebrated Soviet holidays: 1st of May, October Revolution Day, etc. We went to parades. Several times the factory trade union committee granted me a free trip to a recreation home. I rested at the Belaya Dacha recreation center in Irpen near Kiev. I felt very comfortable and equal to other young people staying there.  I also rested in Kislovodsk, Caucasus, and went to the sea. 

I still lived with my father and Sophia before WWII. Clara lived with her husband and Grigory went to the hostel. I could go to the hostel, too, but my father fell very ill.  He had cancer and was ill for a very long time suffering great pains. I couldn’t leave Sopha alone with him. Father died in 1938. Sopha didn’t remarry.

During the war

On the first day of war - 22 June 1941 4 Grisha’s call up notification was delivered to our apartment. At that time Grisha was at the military training near Kiev. I went there on foot to give him this call up. All employees of the military plant were exempt from service in the army. Grisha went to the military registry office and they released him from service. He went back to his plant to continue preparing equipment to the evacuation. At the beginning of July refugees from Western regions of Ukraine began to arrive in Kiev. They were living in the open air in the botanical garden. They were telling people about the Germans exterminating Jews on the occupied areas. We understood that we had to evacuate. At the end of August we, factory employees, went to dig up trenches near Kiev – Germans troops were coming nearer. One day I stayed at home because I was not feeling well. I didn’t want to go without Clara whose husband was in the army. Grisha obtained a permit for Clara and her child to go with plant. He came back and I told him that I didn’t want to go without Sopha, Polia and Manya. My brother got angry with me telling me that the plant couldn’t take all of us, but he went back to the plant to obtain another permission. He was only allowed to take Manya, the youngest. I remember myself crying when I was saying “good-bye” to Sopha and Polia. Sopha was saying that they would also go to the evacuation, but I knew they wouldn’t. She had no money for that. We went to the evacuation by train. We reached Dnepropetrovsk and it was decided to deploy the plant there. While they were unloading equipment, the Germans came very close to Dnepropetrovsk. We had left on the last train before the town was occupied. Our trip was long. We crossed the Volga on barges. Or point of destination was the town of Kuvandyk near Chkalovsk. The plant was commissioned there.

At first we were renting apartments, but later the plant constructed barracks for its employees.  I went to work at the plant. Clara, her son Miron and our sister Manya were staying at home. Life was very hard. I received 400 grams of bread and Clara and her children received 200 grams each. In 1942 Clara’s son Valeriy was born. She knew already that her husband Lazar had perished and that she was a widow. Life was very difficult, but we supported each other.  When we had nothing to eat Manya and I sang pre-war songs and recalled Kiev. Manya went to school and after school she was helping Clara to grow vegetables in the kitchen garden that we had received. In November 1943 Kiev was liberated and Manya was eager to go home. She was missing her mother and sister in all those years. We heard about shootings of Jews in the Babiy Yar 5 in Kiev, but we still had hope that Sopha and Polia managed to evacuate.  Grisha sent several requests for information to the evacuation center in Buguruslan, but their answer was that Sopha and Polia Persov were not among the evacuated. 

After the war

In autumn 1944 all of us but Grigory returned to Kiev. I was sure that he didn’t want to go back to Kiev, because he believed that Sopha and Polia had perished and that it was his fault. He failed to obtain permission for them to evacuate with the plant as members of his family.

We returned to Kiev and all our suspicions about their fate turned out to be correct. Our Ukrainian neighbors told us that all Jewish population of our neighborhood, including Sopha and Polia, went to the Babiy Yar on 29 September 1941. In few days the postman brought us “death notification” about Fima’s death. So, there was only Manya, my stepsister, left. I have always felt like a mother towards her and felt responsible for her life.

When we returned to Kiev we found our apartments (ours and Clara’s) occupied.  I turned to court. It took me 3 years to return our apartments. This issue could have been resolved sooner if we bribed an official at the executive committee. But we didn’t have any money. During the war everything that we had in our apartment vanished: furniture, clothing and my stepmother’s inexpensive jewelry. In 1946 Clara’s apartment was returned to her, and in 1947 Manya and I received one room of the two that we used to have. 

I went to work at the Kiev meat factory. They paid good salary. I had a difficult task to bring up Manya.  I realized that I wouldn’t cope alone. I had met Grigory Kalantyrskiy, a Jew, before the war. He was ten years older than me and was at the war from first to last day. He had a wife (Lisa) and a daughter (Sima) before the war.  Lisa and Sima stayed in Kiev and shared the fate of thousands of Jews – perished in the Babiy Yar.  Grigory proposed a marriage to me. I didn’t love him at all, I didn’t even like him, but I agreed. He was a butcher at the market, he earned a lot of money and he treated Manya and me well. I agreed for the sake of Manya who I loved with all my heart.  She loved me, too, and sometimes she called me “Mummy”. In 1946 we registered our marriage. We didn’t have a wedding party. My daughter Faina was born in 1947. There were four of us living in one room in Podol. After finishing school Manya finished a technical college and worked as design technician at a plant.  In 1954 she got married and moved out to live with her husband. They lived in Podol near where we were living and we saw each other rather often.  Manya was a sickly woman. She didn’t have any children. She died in 1984 after she had just turned 50.

There have been no more significant events in my life. We were “small” people and anti-Semitic campaigns in the early 1950s didn’t impact our life. Many Jews were fired from their jobs, there were articles published in newspapers against Jews. One could hear abuses addressed to Jews in the streets, transport or in stores, but we tried to ignore them. We didn’t live a happy life. I can’t remember celebrations or laughter in our house. My life consisted of work and routinely chores. My husband took to drinking and began to have rows. He had a stroke and died in 1984.

Faina didn’t even try to enter an Institute after finishing school. The doors to higher educational institutions were closed for Jews at that time. Faina finished a course of typists and went to work. Later she took a course in computer training and got a good job. She is not married.

Naum, one of my numerous cousins, moved to Israel. He described to us the beauties of this country and tried to persuade us to join him. While we were considering this option Naum died. My daughter doesn’t want to go to Germany or USA. She loves Israel, although she has never been there.  She studies Hebrew and is very concerned about the situation in this country.  I believe, she stays here, because she doesn’t want to leave me. I am very old and can hardly move. I think, my daughter will go to Israel when I die. I remain an atheist and I don’t celebrate Jewish holidays, but my daughter buys matsa at Pesach.

I will soon turn 90. I am constantly thinking about the life I have lived. My daughter is at work and I am alone at home. I can’t watch TV due to my poor sight. So, there is only one thing left for me to do; and that is – to think about the past. I have lived my life without love. Perhaps, it is not good. But what is love if it causes so much suffering as it did to my mother and us. 

Glossary