Travel

I, Emma Frantsevna Nikonova was born in Vitebsk in 1931. My maiden
name is Babitskaya. My father and I lived in Veliky Luky, Mogilev and
other cities where he worked as a vet.
After my father was arrested in 1938,we do not know whether, 
he was executed because we never received an official document.

I returned to Vitebsk with my mother and younger
brother, Edward.
 

We settled in my grandfather's private house in the
center of the city. By the time the war started,
I had completed the third grade of primary school.

My family background

During the war

Growing up

Husband and children

Recent years 

My family background

My grandfather and my mother's father, Movsha Yankelevich Zheleznyak
was born in Vitebsk in 1885. I do not remember the date; after 1942 he
celebrated it on May 20, because it was on this May Day in 1942 that the
partisans rescued grandfather from the occupation of Vitebsk.

Grandfather began his independent life when he was ten-years-old by
working odd jobs. His father owned a cart-horse and worked as a private
carrier. When grandfather was still a little boy he wanted to become
independent and he began to study house painting. At first he was a helper
and then he even worked in a higher position: painted churches and tall
houses. With time grandfather became well respected as a house painter and
before World War II he worked in this field at the bristle factory in
Vitebsk. My grandfather's life during Soviet rule was that of a typical
working person, who had adapted himself to the regime, worked honestly and
skillfully and did not get involved with politics.

Other than cheder, grandfather did not receive any other education.
However his outstanding ability appeared most of all in creative work.

He wrote many poems, in which he showed his relationship to the
society around him and events in his family. Grandfather had a great
voice, bass, and sang in an independent choir, and successfully performed
at Olympic Contests for which he more than once received awards, presents
and travel packages to the sanatoria. He loved to recall with pleasure how
at one competition in Vitebsk he was heard by the famous opera singer,
Reizen. "If you had studied singing," the singer said to grandfather, "you
would have become the second Shaliapin."

A decent material status allowed grandfather to build his own house
and to give all three children a higher education. Both daughters became
doctors and his son
graduated from the Polytechnic Institute.

During the Second World War, to escape the Germans, the family fled
east in evacuation. Grandfather took with him grandmother, his oldest
daughter (i.e. my mother), my brother and me. We lived in evacuation in
Krasnokamsky region of Bashkiria. There, grandfather worked as a watchman
on a collective farm since mother as a veterinary doctor was not in the
position to earn enough money on her own to feed the family.

Grandfather's sociability, kindness and disposition towards people,
his ability to work with his hands, and natural sense of humor and gift for
singing allowed him to become "one of the guys" everywhere that he worked.
But, despite the fact that grandfather always worked in a collective of
many nationalities, he remained true to his Jewish heritage. Before the
war he and grandmother attended synagogue as regularly as possible and kept
all Jewish traditions and customs. Of course grandmother tried to feed the
family Jewish dishes. Between them they spoke only Yiddish.

After the end of the war when our family moved to the L'vov region,
city Drogobych, grandfather returned to his earlier profession of painting.
He sang in a choir at the Palace of Culture as long as he could and died
in Drogobych in 1975.

My grandmother, Rakhil Shmuilovna Zheleznyak was born in Vitebsk in
1889 in a poor family. She did not receive any kind of education.
According to everyone who knew her she was very beautiful in her youth.
Grandmother never worked; she kept the house. She was calm, nice, easily
forgiving, and agreeable with anything that grandfather suggested or
decided. She was practically his shadow. Grandmother raised her
grandchildren with tenderness. Grandmother died in 1963 in Riga, where she
had gone to visit her youngest daughter the doctor, Rebecca.

The Zheleznyaks had three children. The youngest daughter, Rebecca
Movshevna Deviatova (maiden name- Zheleznyak) was born in Vitebsk in 1914.
She graduated from the medical institute in Vitebsk and immediately became
a regular army doctor in 1938. In the first days of the war she left for
the front and finished the war in Germany. Aunt Rebecca got married to
Major Dmitry Deviatov and lived with him after the war in Riga. The
youngest of the children, Yakov, was born in 1921. Later he was accepted
into the Leningrad Industrial (later Polytechnic) Institute and was called
to the army as a student to fight on the Finnish front. In 1941 he
defended Leningrad; he was in the artillery. Then he fought in different
battles and made it to Berlin. He is now 80 years old and lives in Nizhny
Novgorod.

Two or three of Movsha's brothers lived abroad, and I can not
remember their names. Grandad was in correspondence with them, but later he
stopped wring them, because after each one he was summoned to the "First
Department". The so-called First Departments were an inseparable part all
enterprises, all educational institutions and so on. Their employees were
assigned with the task of periodical checks of trustworthiness of every
worker, student, et cetera.

My father, Franz Ludvigovich Babitsky, a Pole, was born in 1904 in
the village Zavala of the Borisovsky region in Belarus. In 1926-1931 he
studied in the veterinary institute in Vitebsk. It was there that he met
my mother and they married in 1930. Upon graduation from the institute,
father worked as a vet in the Red Army. This work required traveling a lot
and thus mother, also being a vet took the children and followed father:
first we lived in Veliky Luky and then in Mogilev. 

During the war

My parents were not members of the Party, but they were active in
public life, as everybody was then. My father was a military vet, a major
by rank. We used to live in military garrisons, always moving from town to
town, at least once a year. We lived in Mogilev, in Veliky Luky and in many
other places. The families of the military would only socialize with each
other, not with civilians. It was considered good form to regularly visit
the House of the Red Army: play billiards or take part in amateur
performances. Mama would combine her work as bacteriologist with family
duties and active participation in the ladies' council [a social
organization of officers' wives]. She was involved with amateur
performances, organized festivals for officers' children. I can remember
one occasion. Once Mother was commissioned with acting as an old lady in
one play. She was only 20 years old then and they made her up as a wrinkled
old woman and put a wig on her head. Mother allowed me to sit in the
performance hall among the adults. But when I saw Mommy on stage, I cried
bitterly and shouted: "I don't want my mother to be so old and ugly!" A
burst of laugh interrupted the show.

In March 1938 father was arrested because of a wild accusation: it
seemed like he participated in selling off army horses. Mother addressed
various offices, including the Department of Domestic Affairs, the higher
Soviet and traveled to Mogilev, Smolensk, and Moscow. But all her efforts
were in vain - the verdict was: "10 years without the right of
correspondence." It was 20 years later that people of my generation learned
what was hidden behind the words of this saying. After many of Mother's
attempts at appeals, one official in anger warned Mother: that if she keeps
at it she will be in the same place her husband is. To that mother
answered in an outburst: "It is still not known if you yourself will be
sitting in your soft chair for so long." After that conversation mother
waited every night for them to arrest her, but thank God this did not
happen. The achievement and bravery of my mother in conversations with
investigators never failed her in her whole life.

We later learned that father was executed in 1938. The Military
Tribunal of the Belorussian Military District rehabilitated him in 1957
"for the absence of the alleged crime." I do not know where he's buried.
The answers to the many questions of my mother have been either evasive or
unintelligible.

My mother - Esfir Movshevna Babitskaya (maiden name- Zheleznyak) was
born in Vitebsk in 1910. After the completion of high school she was
accepted into the Vitebsk Veterinary Institute, which she graduated from,
as father did, in 1931. That is where they met and married. Mother gave
birth to two children: me in 1931 and my brother Edward in 1935, and in the
course of a few years she worked in her field in Veliky Luki and Mogilev,
where father served. 

Growing up

I was born in 1931, when Mother was in the fifth year at in her
institute, and Grandma would bring me every day for her to feed me. I was
fed under the stairs, away from people's eyes. Mother used to joke - I
graduated from the institute together with her. I remember they lived very
peacefully with Father. No outbursts of anger, no scandals, no offences.
The family atmosphere was very calm. But immediately after father's arrest
she was fired from work and she with two small children moved to Vitebsk to
her parents. There she succeeded in finding work as a doctor- as a
bacteriologist in a medical institute in the department of infectious
diseases, which was located in a hospital for infections.

Before moving to Vitebsk, our living and financial conditions were
typical for a family of a regular military officer of that time. Our flats
were provided by the state, but they were separate flats, not communal
apartments. That was considered luxury then - your own separate flat.
Father's salary and Mother's wages allowed for a nanny for my brother and
me. Mother worked as a vet-doctor, and later as a bacteriologist.

I studied music, I had friends from my father's colleagues' families.
I remember Vitebsk as a beautiful town, there were many trees and mainly
wooden one-storied and two-storied buildings. Multi-storied buildings were
very few. I liked that town for its cleanliness and a tranquil rhythm of
provincial life.

Grandfather's house was located in the very center of Vitebsk in a
quiet populated lane. Grandfather built it in the beginning of 1930s for
Grandmother and himself. He knew that grandchildren would be coming, and so
he built 3 extra rooms, a kitchen and several larders. Some relatives like
his younger sister Manya and her husband Motya helped him. Motya was a beer
seller, and beer was then bought by three-liter bottles and consumed at
home. It was not customary to drink beer from mugs in street cafes like
they do nowadays.

Grandfather's house was wood, with a brick foundation. The house was
different from the neighboring ones because it was finished by Grandfather
himself, and he was a top-class house painter. Granddad used to do
everything with his own hands. I can clearly remember the beautiful
ornaments and decorations. Every guest would admire his work. Of course it
pleased Grandfather and us very much. There was an orchard near the house.
There were many flowers too, and a vegetable garden behind the flower beds.
Grandmother was very keen on flowers. When the guests would be leaving she
would give everyone an enormous bouquet of flowers.

We were a close family and were regularly visited by Grandfather's
sister Manya, her husband Motya and their kids: Lazar, who later became a
lawyer, and Sonya (she became a doctor). All their family was lucky to
leave for Nizny Tagil at the outbreak of war. They stayed there after the
war was over.

Before we came to Vitebsk a two-storied school was built in front of
Grandfather's house, and I became a pupil of that school. It was school #
22, named after Stalin. For some reason it was customary to give new
schools the leader's name. School # 10, where Uncle Yakov was studying, was
also called "Stalinskaya". I went to that school until 1941. When the
Germans occupied the city, they established their headquarters in it.

The kitchen was the center of our family life. Everybody used to
gather there - Mother, her younger sister Rita, a student of medical
college, brother Yakov, Grandfather's friends and acquaintances and their
children from Lekkert Street not far from our place.

Grandmother was so hospitable that she would be bored if there were
no guests for several days. Rita's friends, students, and Yakov's
classmates could be regularly found in our garden. They used to prepare
their homework and get ready for their exams there. Grandmother liked them
a lot. She kept waiting for them as if for a festival and used to treat
them to all sorts of treats. Grandmother was an excellent Jewish cook: she
was always making traditional stuffed fish, teigl, strudel, tsimes and
flezel. Besides, she kept kosher. The Jewish holidays were lively,
wonderful afffiars and always so noisy. We celebrated Purim, Hanukkah,
Pesach and other holidays. Grandmother always baked her own matzo.

Grandfather Movsha was the head of the family. He was the bread-
winner, earned good money and resolved all current problems. It is
noteworthy that the family could not sit down at the dinner table until
Grandfather returned home from work, even if we were very hungry. We had to
wait for him. The best piece of meat, even if the only one, would go on his
plate and he was always the first one to be served. That was our family's
way to pay tribute to our bread-winner.

There were more than 22,000 Jews in Vitebsk before the war. There was
a synagogue too. (editor's note: dozens of synagogues were closed after the
1917 revolution). Of course many Jewish people who were communists feared
to go there. But Grandfather was a simple house- painter and he regularly
visited it. He went there more often then Grandmother. He sang in the
synagogue choir and helped with maintenance work - he would paint,
whitewash and climb if necessary - he was not afraid of heights.

I remember there was a municipal theater in Vitebsk. We used to see
plays there, but they never presented anything Jewish. Public transport
consisted of streetcars only. When I came to Vitebsk for a short time after
the war, I couldn't even recognize it. The city was not only restored, but
rebuilt anew and per new designs - now you could see multi-storied
apartment blocks, administrative buildings, Houses of Culture. Vitebsk
became a big city, and its transportation system was well developed.

During my first years in school I was not an excellent pupil. I am
embarrassed to say that I was always up to mischief, played tricks and even
fought. But I had a very good handwriting and was always summoned up to
the blackboard when something had to be written. I had a talent for music.
In Vitebsk a Polish lady Maria Antonovna came to us to give me musical
lessons. She made friends with my mum. I was disobedient and hid in the
garden, I did not want to study. Mum was very upset. She tried to play with
me, sat beside me to encourage music lessons. She loved music, unlike me.
They had no piano at home and she used to go to her relatives to learn to
play. The piano appeared in our house only when my parents got married. It
was not a simple piano. It was an instrument by the famous firm "Bekker",
which my parents have bought on an auction. It belonged to the pre-
revolutionary governor of Vitebsk.

I sang in a school chorus. I participated in all holidays, and
Grandmother made me festive dresses for school. I perfectly remember my
first teacher, she was loved by all children. She always wore brown
clothes. In our class there were many Jewish children, but I can not
recollect any anti-Semitic actions.

Before the very beginning of the war Mum had taken us children to
Aunt Rita, her sister, for vacations. Rita was a military doctor in 1941
and lived in a hospital in the town of Lenele near Vitebsk. There, on June
22, we learned about the war. Rita's military colleagues took us by car to
Orsha, and there we managed to get on a train to Vitebsk. The following
week the Germans entered the city.

When the Germans captured Minsk in the first days of the war in 1941,
the family of Movsha Yankelevich Zheleznyak did not leave the city, due to
the fact that my mom could not leave the sick in the hospital. And without
her my grandfather and grandmother did not want to be evacuated.

The situation in Vitebsk became was frightening. Having retreated,
parts of the Red Army blew up factories in the industrial zone of Vitebsk
on the opposite bank from our house as well as the bridge spanning the
Dvina. Germans continually bombed the city and from their airplanes fired
machine guns along the streets. Fires broke out in all the regions of
Vitebsk.

People abandoned their homes. Our family hid in one of the ravines,
but grandfather returned home to put out the fire in our house. He poured
water and sand on it. On our street only three buildings were left whole,
including grandfather's house. Grandfather sheltered all the neighbors,
fed them his stored food, and gave them clothing and bedding. Jumping ahead
a little, I will say that our very grateful non-Jewish neighbors saved
grandfather's entire family in the time that followed.

July 10, 1941 German forces entered the city. Before the war 22,000
Jews lived in Vitebsk. After the occupation German propaganda portrayed
Jews as culprits of World War II and enemies of Germany. The destruction of
Jews in Vitebsk began with the order that all Jews should be registered
within two days and whoever does not do this could be shot. The following
sign appeared: "All Jews, from the age of 10 years, must sew yellow
symbols on ones clothing. One on the chest and the other on the back." My
mother did not obey the order. The next order was that all Jewish men must
show up for the work of cleaning the street, since the Germans said that
Jews were also the culprits of the fire in Vitebsk. All those who showed
up were sent to work for two days and then 400 men were sent to the Tula
ravine and shot as the punishment "for the burning of Vitebsk".

All remaining Jews were ordered to move to the other bank of the
Dvina, but were allowed to have only one trip's worth of belongings with
them. Since the bridge was destroyed the only way to cross was by boat.
The Germans placed criminals from the local population on the oars and they
carried women, children and the elderly out to the middle of the river and
threw them from the boats and drowned them. Those who tried to save
themselves were hit with the oars. Germans on the shore took pictures of
these scenes and together with the local police joked and laughed. In this
manner, several thousand people were murdered. The Jews who remained alive
were forced into the building of a local club, put barbed wire around it
and placed a post with the sign "Ghetto, beware of infection!" Germans
guarded the ghetto around the clock. It was forbidden to talk with the
imprisoned. At night drunk Germans would come and rape girls before their
mothers' eyes. The people in the ghetto did not receive any food and were
so weak that it was senseless to guard them. Even if there was a desire to
escape they did not have enough strength to do so. From our bank we could
watch how the prisoners moved and others, not moving, lay among the wreck.

Up to 60 people died daily in the ghetto. In some time according to
a fight against an epidemic, all those still alive were taken away in cars
to a ravine in Tula. At the same four or five cars came up to the ravine.
The people in them were tortured and shot while the rest waited their turn.
Children were thrown into pits alive. All in all 22,000 Jews were
murdered in Vitebsk. How many survived and left to evacuation, I do not
know.

Grandfather decided that he and grandmother needed to obey the
order and move to the other bank on the Dvina. Their neighbors, the
Meshkovskys, led grandfather across and found a quiet place. Later
grandmother was taken with our neighbor Sofia Andreevna, who waved her
passport and yelled that there were only Russians in the boat. Thus she
saved our grandma. But the neighbors did not take grandfather and
grandmother to the ghetto. They hid them at their acquaintances, the
Kukhts, in their private home at the edge of Vitebsk.

Later mother decided to take her parents back because it was feared
that someone could turn them in although the neighbors sheltering them were
decent people. Our neighbors, the Valukasys brought the elderly couple
home once again.

The winter of 1941-1942 was cold and our neighbors the Meshkovskys
helped us to escape from death by starvation. They were not Jewish. They
sold or exchanged our things for food in villages 50-80 km outside the
city. It was still possible while the Germans had not robbed the farmers
down to their last straw. The Germans then took everything from them-
vegetables, bread, pigs, and birds. I remember that the in addition to the
Meshkovskys, other neighboring women sold and exchanged our things.

The children of the neighbors gathered empty metal cans around the
German camp and brought them to us. Grandfather soldered them and the
neighbor children sold our mugs at the market.

Also at the very beginning of the occupation, when our family was not
registered, based on mother's decision, grandfather tore out a cellar in
the house, and a bed covered the entrance. Over the bed was a carpet. In
response to a slight knock at the door or a noise on the courtyard
grandfather and grandmother hid in the cellar. We lived with this fright
for 11 months.

Mother did not look Jewish and she was able to find work in a
hospital, where she met the doctor of the tuberculosis ward, Ksenia
Sergeevna Okolovich. This doctor helped get Russian passports for mother,
grandfather and grandmother. In addition to her, other people who had a
connection with the partisans helped in the processing of documents.
Okolovich helped to save many Jews and Soviet prisoners of war. In 1941-
1942 she forged documents for approximately 100 people and in April 1942
took a large group of Soviet prisoners of war to the partisans.

When massacres occurred in the city mother sent my brother and me to
relatives, the Zhizhnevskys, in the neighboring village, the name of which
I do not remember. There we were fed well, bathed in the tub, and rode
bicycles. But soon mother took us back to the city. During this time a
few girls from the partisan group spent the night in our home as they were
going to Vitebsk on assignment.

In the spring of 1941 Okolovich told mother that all of us needed to
leave Vitebsk immediately and go to a partisans' regiment, from which we
would be sent through the battlefront line. Mother agreed and the
underground workers began to prepare the needed documents and permits,
known by the name "ausvais" (editor's note: from the German ausweis).
However, unexpectedly mother's parents rejected to the idea. They believed
that since no one had yet turned them in they would rather stay and risk
it. They said they didn't want to give up their home and their
possessions. Mother was so angry that she grabbed a long stick and started
smashing glasses and dishes. Grandmother and Grandfather agreed to leave
with us..

The first to leave with the partisans was Grandfather, in May 1941.
He was led to the most partisan of the groups, 15km from Vitebsk. After a
few days Grandmother also left with the partisans. Mother and I were the
last and we left on our own, accompanied by no one. We were met just
outside the city and there we met grandmother and grandfather. Mother had
helped a few women doctors hide from the Germans in Vitebsk. Now with the
help of Okolovich and underground people, they were all given documents
and they joined partisan groups.

When we, having crossed through the front line, arrived to Bashkiria
in August 1942, we hardly had any clothes to wear. I had nothing to put on
to go to school. And in winter it was up to -30/- 40 degrees cold. For the
first half a year I didn't go to school at all. Other children used to
bring the tasks to me, and I would do everything at home.

Grandfather and mother each had 30 thousand Soviet rubles with them:
before we left Vitebsk our neighbors bought things from us. During the
first check in the partisan regiment NKVD officials took our money from us.
Then we left for Gorky and met Grandfather there and from there we were
evacuated to Bashkirya. Grandfather worked on a collective farm as guard
and mother as a guest veterinarian. We had neither money nor clothing.
Mother wrote a complaint to Lavrenty Beria1 about the confiscation of 60
thousand rubles from us by executives of his department. My mother's
actions were very brave for the time, but this was like my mother- a person
of principle and without fear. In regard to my mother's complaint, believe
it or not they returned every last kopeck to us. 

After the war

After the war in a letter from Vitebsk my mother was notified that a
few days after we left to the partisans, the Germans came to our home and
asked about the location of doctor Babitskaya and her children.

I remember having changed very much during our time in the east
during the evacuation. I became an excellent pupil. Mum was so loved at her
work that everyone tried to help us with clothes. Somebody had given us a
coat, another person presented a fur cap, yet another - a pair of valenki
[a kind of felt footwear]. And in the second half-year, from February, I
started to go to school in warm clothes. But I was embarrassed over the
huge cap and used to take it off before reaching the school.

In Bashkirya I completed the fourth and fifth grades of secondary
school and during that period my mother worked as a bacteriologist in a
hospital and Grandfather - as a watchman in a collective farm.

In 1944 all our family moved to Krasnodar Territory, now this place
is called Apsheronsk. Mum worked in a veterinary hospital there. I finished
10 classes of school.

I finished each class with an honorary diploma, but I received no
medal. I got "4" for the composition. I want to explain why that happened.
Mum advised me not to tell anybody about Father, but just say that he
simply died of an illness. But I did not listen to her and told them that
he was arrested. And a colleague told Mum that "your daughter was not
given the medal because she is the daughter of an enemy of the people". The
school years are still fresh in my memory because of a wonderful chorus,
where I sang. We went to collective-farm fields to work. We sawed fire wood
in the forest, and took it to the city for heating.

In Bashkiria for the first time I felt anti-Semitism. When we arrived
there and went for a walk with my brother, neighbor's children ran and
shouted: "Jewish muzzles! Jewish muzzles!" (referring to our noses). But
in Apsheronsk it was even worse: Mum was given a two-room apartment within
the hospital territory as the head of the laboratory. Grandfather and
Grandmother lived with us. But it appeared that one of the doctors of that
hospital liked the apartment very much. And once he got drunk, and with an
axe and tried to break into our apartment at night, shouting: "Get out of
here, Jews! It's my apartment!" He would have hacked us to death if other
doctors hadn't come and calmed him down.

In Apsheronsk Mum met Efroim Altman. He was also from Poland, like my
Daddy, but a Polish Jew, who was sent with a Polish labor regiment to
resbuild Apsheronsk. He courted Mum for a long time and, at last, made her
a proposal. Mum did not dare to say "yes." I was small and did not
understand adult problems, I told her every day that she should wait for
Father. I was sure that he would return in 10 years, as it was written on
his verdict. Once I even ran away from home, another time I announced a
hunger-strike. What could I say: I was very upset. Certainly it was not
Efroim's fault; any man would be an enemy in the place of my father. My
rough and negative reaction to Mum's marriage must be explained by the fact
that I remembered and continued to love Daddy, and in Mother's acceptance
of a new husband would be the betrayal of his memory. But both Mum and
Efroim demonstrated patience, and at last I surrendered. I understood my
mistake and valued this man very highly. He did not receive a higher
education in Poland, but was very well-read. He knew several Jewish authors
by heart, cited the Jewish Wars by Josephus, and he knew the history of all
confessions. He had read all the published literature on Zionism, on
Judaism, and constantly told us about what he had read. All my knowledge on
religious topics I have received from Efroim.

Efroim was very religious. Like all convinced people he would educate
Mum on these issues. He elucidated her on the history of all confessions.
Mum arranged for us children to take part in these conversations. I
understood the meaning of what Efroim told us only much later. Then I
listened to it as to some interesting legends or myths.

He kept trying to persuade Mum and all of us to emigrate to Israel
after 1948, or join our relatives in Poland or America or Argentina. He
corresponded with his relatives, and they even sent invitations for us. His
brothers lived in all these countries. They grew rich and everyone
succeeded in their own businesses. And he was a beggar in Apsheronsk. Not
having a higher education he had to work as a simple worker in warehouses.
Mum was convincing him that his rich relatives would not want to support
us, that we didn't know languages, and we could not expect anything good if
we moved abroad. But from time to time she too was dreamt of emigration.
And eventually it turned out that while she studied in her institute, the
time had come when it became impossible to leave Russia or even maintain
serious contact with friends or relatives abroad. Until now I regret that
we didn't listen to Efroim then. Now I know how right he was about Zionism
and Judaism and the state of Israel. In our family it was Efroim's son
Vladimir who had eventually left for Israel, as well as my younger brother
Edward, and my granddaughter Natasha.

Later, when I lived with my family in Leningrad, Efroim came with
Mother a few times to visit us in the city and in our summer cottage. They
spent a few summers there with my step-brother Vladik. And when Vladik's
daughters were born, they came with them for the whole summer.

As I said, Grandfather saved our house from fire in 1941. Still, by
the end of war, the house had burned down. Our neighbors wrote and told
us. Mum and her parents decided not to come back to Vitebsk, and from
evacuation they went to the unfamiliar Western Ukraine - to Rovno, and then
to Drogobych. In Rovno we lived less than a year. We didn't like it there
and moved to Drogobych, where we stayed.

When the family moved to Drogobych in Western Ukraine from
Apsheronsk, Efroim welcomed this decision, since it was nearer to the
border with Poland. And as soon as we arrived to Drogobych, he started
trying to persuade Mum to leave at least for Poland. He did not believe
that anything could change in the USSR, or that public anti-Semitism would
disappear, and he was deathly afraid of Stalin, believing that the destiny
of Jews in this country was predetermined. Here it was not my fault that
Mum decided not to go to Poland then. The explanation was very simple. Mum
had settled in rather well and received an apartment, which was very lucky
at those times.

I entered institute very easily. I passed all examinations with
excellent marks and received a room in a hostel. There were many problems;
we were often cold and hungry, but youth can overcome all this! I was very
actively engaged in sports gymnastics.

By the time of Stalin's death I already knew a lo. Mum had many
friends with the same fate as hers. Their husbands or brothers had vanished
as well. When Daddy was arrested, Mum tried to hide this fact from me, but
I would pretend that I was sleeping and listened to her conversations with
friends. When Stalin died, not a tear fell from my eyes. I despised those
who cried. I loved Father very much and hated those who had executed him:
Beria, Ezhov, Yagoda and the whole company. I trusted Mum, and told her
that I hated them. And Mum, as a doctor, feared that too much hatred would
accumulate in my soul.

In 1954 I graduated with honors from the Leningrad Engineering
Institute. The specialization of architectural engineering became the
specialization for my whole family. My husband graduated from the same
institute as well as both of my sons and one daughter-in-law.

"The Doctors' Affair" had directly touched Mum. In 1952 she worked in
Drogobych as the head of a bacteriological laboratory. They threatened to
fire her, but they didn't; they only lowered her in rank because she worked
very well. Still, conditions for her and her Jewish colleagues in this
hospital greatly deteriorated. Then the chief physician of another
hospital, who respected Mum, asked her if she would become the head of a
similar bacteriological laboratory. She started working there immediately.

Certainly, I, as any other citizen of the USSR, perfectly knew that
Jews could get jobs only by acquaintance or due to very outstanding
abilities. In the design institute of shipbuilding, where I had worked most
part of my life, a colleague had confidentially told me that there was a
secret instruction not to hire Jews at all, with an exception of relatives
or if by recommendation. For me it was like a thunder among the clear
skies! In the Institute of Construction Engineering, where I studied in
Leningrad, 50% of those enrolled must have been Jewish as were many of the
teachers.

To tell you the truth, when I was a student, there was a particular
case connected with anti-Semitism. We were very good friends with a Russian
girl, Katya Ruchkina, we shared the hostel room, cooked meals and did
everything together, being what they call "bosom friends." And suddenly
Katya started avoiding me and grew so cold. I couldn't understand what
happened, and only years after graduation did I run into a friend who told
me what the story was: she told me that someone had told Katya that I was
Jewish on maternal side. And Katya's family was infected with anti-
Semitism: "I can't beleive it, I have never thought that Emma was Jewish!"
she was to have said. Back then and now I can not understand why we were
considered people of lowest grade. In Bashkiria I also couldn't comprehend
the reason - why they where throwing stones at us and offending us only
because we were Jews.

I liked my profession. I was lucky to work in good collectives. I was
only irritated by the fact everyone was now and then summoned to "The First
Department" and asked where one was during the war, about the fate of one's
close relatives, etc. I was terribly scared of the chief of the First
Department, and avoided running into him in the corridor. When I was
applying for the job, I was afraid that I'd be declined if I wrote the
truth. Therefore, I did not confess that my father had been arrested. This
all took place, I should say, before the mass rehabilitations. Before that
I did not write in the questionnaires that I was in evacuation either, but
that we had stayed in the region. 

Husband and children

My husband, Nikolai Nikonov was born in 1929 in Tula region. We got
married in 1956 and have not separated since. He's got no anti-Semitic
feelings to anybody at all. He is very kind, soft, sympathetic man, devoted
to his family. He has been building and repairing bridges in Leningrad all
his life.

Our children do not feel themselves as Jews, although my
granddaughter definitely does (she's daughter of our elder son Natasha).
She not only has left for Israel without any influence from our family,
but decided not to come back to Russia. Now she is a student and she is 22
years old.

My eldest son Aleksei was born in Leningrad in 1957. He and his wife
Galina work as architectural engineers. They have two children: Natasha
(born in 1979) lives in Israel, and Masha (born in 1983) lives and studies
in St. Petersburg in the same engineering institute. My younger son,
Vladimir, was born in 1967 and is an architectural engineer and lives in
St. Petersburg. He is divorced and his son Ivan in three and a half years
old. Our younger son Vladimir divorced his wife when their son was only 1.5
years old. It's a big misfortune for all of us, especially for my husband.
Nowadays all his life is focused on our small grandson. 

Recent years

My younger brother, Edward Babitsky was born in 1935 and graduated
from the technical school. He served in the navy fleet. He currently
lives with his family in Israel. My stepbrother, Vladimir Altman was born
in 1950 and is a welder by profession. He has now immigrated to Israel
with his family. These families are friends there and often spend their
free time together.

I visited them not long ago and took away with me wonderful
impressions of the Israeli government and the decent lifestyle of my
brothers. In addition, my granddaughter Natasha loves living there. .

[Impressions from the first minutes of meeting Emma Frantsevna
Nikonova: modest, quiet woman. This is how those people usually look who
lived a calm, moderate life not filled with violent events. However the
impression quickly changes during the story of Emma about her un-childlike
sufferings, happening to her during her childhood up to and in the period
of the Holocaust. This once again supports the well-known truth:
"Appearances are deceiving." Despite ailments and early disabilities, the
memory of Emma kept all the details and events, connected with the arrest
of her father in 1938 and his death that year, the eleven months of living
in Fascist hell, the escape from that hell, the prosperous period on the
battlefront, and the chronology of family events occurring during that
period. Life to some degree rewarded Emma Nikonova. Except for her
father, all of her relatives remained whole and unhurt. She has a great
husband and devoted sons. Emma and her spouse Nikolai Nikonov live apart
from their children, but play an active role in the raising of their
grandchildren.

Being Jewish on her maternal side and Polish on her father's lineage,
Emma acknowledges her belonging to the Jewish nation, as the only evidence
of a genetic connection with her mother and ancestors. In order to get a
sense of this she often visits Hesed and very grateful to it's workers for
the help she receives as a disabled person and also for the opportunity to
use the hospitality and cultural programs of Hesed.]
-----------------------
1 Lavrenty Berya - Marshal of the USSR, the closest friend of Stalin, one
of the organizers of mass repressions of 1930-50-s. Executed in 1953.

Sima Shvarts
Kiev
Ukraine
Date of interview: January 2002 Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya

My name is Sima Markovna Shvarts. I also have a Jewish patronymic - Yankel- Mordkovna Shvarts. I was born in the town of Rzhischev, Kiev region, on 19th January 1914.

My mother's parents, my maternal grandparents, were Ilya and Chaya Vainstein. Grandfather Ilya was a teacher. He died before my birth, but my mother told me a lot about him. He was a highly educated man, but I don't know what institution he finished. I know that he taught grammar and arithmetic. My mother said that my grandfather also knew French. At their house he had a special big room equipped for teaching children. There was a big wooden table. Children would come, sit around that table, and grandfather would sit at the head of the table. This is how he taught. During the break, grandmother would give them something to eat, then they rested, and then grandfather would continue teaching. He taught in Yiddish. Grandfather was totally involved in his teaching work. He gathered poor Jewish children from his town; he found around 30 of them. He taught them free of charge. I can't even tell you exactly where the family got money from - my mother never discussed this question with me.

My grandfather died unexpectedly in 1912. At that time his children already lived in different cities: in, Dnepropetrovsk, Kiev, and Zhitomir. On Passover grandfather always invited all of his children to his house, both married and single ones. On the day he died they also came to his house, and the house was richly decorated by my grandmother. The whole town went to see how Ilya's children came to visit him. So, everything went wonderfully during the day. That night they all went to bed, and grandfather had a stroke and died. Grandmother Chaya was a housewife: she cooked, cleaned the house, took care of the children and kept order.

They had seven children: one son and six daughters. I don't remember when they were born, but I can name them all. The eldest daughter was Etya, then came their son Naum, then Dvoira, then my mother, Risl, then Chaika, Rakhil, and Fruma.

At that time, even though our family was not rich, none of the women worked outside the house. When they got married, their husbands provided for them. The year before my birth, only two elder sisters and the brother was married. Those who were younger than my mother were still single. They were seamstresses. Two of them lived in Dnepropetrovsk and one in Kiev.

My mother Risya Shvarts was born in Rzhischev in 1885. She only completed a Jewish junior school. Her family was very poor and didn't have the money to pay for the education of their children. Besides, my mother had to help grandmother with the housework and take care of her younger sisters. Later, when she got married, she couldn't study because she was busy. I was born in 1914 and my father was called up to the army at the beginning of World War I.

My father, Yankel-Mordko Shvarts, was born in Rzhischev in 1883. I never knew my father because he was killed in the war. I know that he worked as a roofer. I still have a silver spoon that he once brought for me. Once when he was working on the roof of a house, he found this spoon in the attic. He brought it home and said: 'Our little daughter should eat only from this spoon until she grows up'. So, I still have this spoon.

My parents got married in 1913. They lived together for only one year. When the war broke out, my father was called up to the army and stayed in Rzhischev for some time. He was wearing the army uniform, but had a chance to see his friends and wife. I have some pictures of him from that period. Later, when he was sent to the front, he wrote to my mother, but then his letters stopped coming and he didn't return from the war.

In Rzhischev we lived in my mother's parents' house. I can vaguely remember that house because I was only four years old in 1918, when we moved to Kiev. I remember that there was one big room and two bedrooms. As I mentioned before, grandfather used the big room to teach children. There was also an attic where they kept winter clothes and shoes, as well as the kosher kitchen utensils [for Passover].

According to my mother's stories, my grandparents were very religious and strictly observed the kashrut, Jewish traditions and holidays. But I don't remember any of these things. I know only that on holidays, especially on Passover, grandfather tried to get all his family together under the roof of his own house.

My father's parents had a better life financially than my mother's parents. My father's father owned a business that dealt with the loading and unloading of goods to and from ships that docked in Rzhischev. Grandfather's name was Mordko Shvarts, and grandmother's name was Rakhil Shvarts.

My father was the eldest child in the family. He had brothers, Ruvim and Naum, then a sister Manya, then brothers Shmilek and Menachem, and then sisters Etya and Liza. I am not sure if they were born exactly in this order, but I think so. The brothers helped their father in his business. They also had a store and sold things there. Women certainly didn't work outside the house. Before getting married they helped their mother, and after getting married their husbands provided for them - this was a tradition in all Jewish families.

I remember the house of my father's parents because mother took me there for the summer holidays when we were already living in Kiev. There was a large thoroughfare in Rzhischev that led to the market, and the main square in the town was a market, where all people came together. Grandfather's house stood in a small street right next to that thoroughfare.

I have a photo where all grandfather's grandchildren are together. He gathered all of them for summer holidays. They had a big house with an orchard, and children were delighted to spend their summer holidays there. Of all the children I was the only girl who went to school. The rest were too young, as far as I remember. Grandfather gathered not only his grandchildren, but also his daughters and daughters-in-law, who brought their children to him. There was enough room for everyone.

He had a very good orchard. Grandfather loved us very much, so he allowed us to pick the flowers and eat all the fruit. I remember that we felt wonderful at his house because both grandfather and grandmother were very kind people.

My father's parents were also religious. They kept the laws of kashrut and always celebrated Sabbath. I remember how grandmother lit candles [on Friday night] and grandfather prayed. When they had to go to the table, he also went to the dining room and prayed there. Even though he taught us to believe in God, we often mocked him and laughed, unfortunately. That is why he would turn his back on us, pray looking in the other direction, then sit at the head of the table with all of us around the table, and grandmother would bring food.

My grandparents always went to the synagogue - it was like a law for them. I know that grandmother said she had to go up to the second floor where all the women prayed, while grandfather stayed on the first floor. I also remember that I told her that it was unfair, that grandmother should stay on the first floor because it was easier for her. And they laughed at me. The synagogue was a sacred place because mostly Jews lived in that town.

Grandfather always wore a yarmulka. He also had a tallit that he put on during the prayer and tefillin that he put on his right hand and head according to the Jewish tradition. My grandmother was rather fat, but very active. She had time to do everything around the house. She wore a wig and sometimes a kerchief because, according to the Jewish tradition, all married women are always supposed to cover their heads.

When I came to visit them in the 1920s, my grandparents no longer worked. Some Ukrainian girls came to help them take care of the garden, the fruit trees and flowers; my grandparents always told them that their grandchildren would come in summer and they would want to 'eat something tasty'.

At that time relations between Ukrainians, Russians and Jews were wonderful. I know it because later in Kiev my mother told me that every time she heard somebody saying the word 'zhyd' [kike], she always said, 'How can they! For so many years we lived with wonderful people, Ukrainians, in Rzhischev. They even said our names in Yiddish.' For, in those times if someone was called Chaim, it was pronounced as Chaim [the Jewish way of saying it], and not as Efim or something else. So, my mother was outraged by the fact that people could change so quickly: you have wonderful relations with someone and suddenly these relations are broken.

The Ukrainians who lived in Rzhischev highly respected the Shvarts family because they were very kind people. Their house was always open to whoever wished to come in. Sometimes old, poor people would come in, and grandmother would never throw them out, no matter what their origin was (Jewish or Gentile). First of all she would feed them at the table. That is why our families were so highly respected in the community.

I remember almost nothing of our life in Rzhischev before we moved to Kiev, but I can vividly remember the Jewish pogrom. Maybe I remember it so well because I was in stress because of the fear. One night, when the light was put out (there was no electricity then) and we went to bed, suddenly we heard whistles, noise, and clatter. Bandits came to the town on horses. I don't know if they went to every house, but they knocked at our door. When nobody answered, they broke the window, opened the door, entered and asked, 'Who lives here?' When nobody answered them again, they set fire to somebody's blanket on the bed and it began to burn. I remember my mother was terribly scared. She asked them, 'What do you think you're doing? Can't you see that a child is sleeping here?' I don't remember what happened next because I was very scared. Mother took me to another room. I think the adults gave the bandits some money, and they left and went to another house.

This was one story. Another one of this sort took place during the day. I mean, nobody gets really scared during the day. People go outside if they need to. And the streets were very narrow then, so that people could come to one another's house easily. So, one Jew was walking down this street. A bandit caught up with him from behind on a horse, took out his sable and hit the Jew on the head with his sable. The man's head flew away, while his body made two more steps forward and only then fell down. It was a terrible picture that is still before my eyes. I was 3 or 4 years old, but I can still remember it vividly. Fortunately, none of our family suffered during the pogroms or the Civil War 1.

In 1918, when mother realized that my father had died and she was left alone, we went to live in Kiev. Mother had to earn her living, and it was impossible to find a job in Rzhischev. When we first moved we didn't take my grandmother. She joined us later because she couldn't stay alone. In the beginning she managed to live alone because her children, mother's sisters, came to visit her all the time. We thought they would take her to live with them. But they didn't do that, so my mother said, 'Please, she will live with us here.' On the one hand, it was very good that grandmother lived with us because I loved her very much, but on the other hand, our life was hard because only my mother was working in our family.

My mother's good friends had children living in Kiev. They lived in Rzhischev, and when their children grew up, they moved to Kiev. We took a ship to Kiev along the Dnepr River. These friends met us and took us to their house. They had a little house with three rooms. They gave us one room, where my mother and I, and later grandmother Chaya, lived. These people helped my mother find a job. At that time underwear was not sewn at factories, but at home. My mother was very good at this, even though she never studied how to sew. But she could sew a good shirt or a bed-sheet. So, these people found her clients, my mother would go to their homes and get orders. There she was fed, received money and food for her work. This is how we could make ends meet.

We paid nothing for our flat. My mother simply helped the landlords around the house, washed for them, cleaned the house, but they didn't want us to pay. I don't know where they worked, but I'm sure they worked somewhere. Their house was small with no electricity. The toilet and water was outside. There was another flat in the house where a Ukrainian family lived. I don't remember them well, but I remember that we had friendly relations with them.

I was often ill, maybe due to lack of food. I had huge furuncles all over my body. That is why I went to school only in 1921, a year later than I should have. It was a Russian school. I don't know whether there were any Jewish schools around. At home, mother and grandmother spoke Yiddish. (Back then I understood everything they said, but didn't speak much Yiddish. Now, regrettably, I've forgotten everything.) But then my mother said that I should study only in a Russian school, so that I would later be able to study at a university and find a job.

The school I went to was a mixed school, both boys and girls studied there. There were Ukrainian, Russian and Jewish children there. But I don't remember that anyone would offend anybody else for national reasons. Most of our teachers were Russian or Ukrainian, but they treated Jewish children very well; they treated me even in a special, warm way because I was fatherless.

My favorite school subject was mathematics. I also liked physics and literature. I liked to read a lot, even though we didn't have many books at home, but my friends brought me books; we also went to the children's library. I was a Young Octobrist 2. Then I was a pioneer. I remember one interesting situation. Back in Rzhischev, mother pierced my ears and bought me small golden earrings. I wore these earrings all the time. But when I joined the pioneers, we would go to the Pioneer House and children would tease me, saying that a young pioneer should not wear golden earrings. I came home in tears and told my mother that I shouldn't wear the earrings. Mother told me, 'If you began to wear them, you should continue'. But I lost one earring soon after that. I didn't want to lie to my mother, but I was afraid to go home. Finally, I came home and said, 'Mom, I lost one earring'. She said, 'You didn't lose it, you did it on purpose!' No tears, no arguments of mine, could persuade her that I really lost it accidentally. I took off the other earring and the children stopped teasing me. Later, when a special system for changing gold for clothes and food was set up in the USSR, my mother sold my earring and bought me a sweater. [the interviewee is referring to the Torgsin stores.] 3

Grandmother came to Kiev when I was in the 3rd grade, that is, in 1923. Grandmother was religious, so after her arrival we began to celebrate all the Jewish holidays at home. We had no kosher kitchen utensils [for Passover] and were not able to boil it long enough to make them kosher. But my mother would wash them carefully, then hide them and take them out right before the holiday. On Passover we always bought matzah. There was a small basement not far from us; it was very deep, so its windows were below street level. Matzah was secretly baked in that basement and sold through one of the windows. My mother and I would go to buy matzah there. During the 8 days of Passover mother would not allow me to eat regular bread at home. She would say, 'If you really want to eat bread, go to your friends' house, but you can't eat bread at home'.

I remember once the day before the fast on Yom Kippur, when our family was going to have a good dinner in order to fast the next day, I went for a walk with some girls. Mother told me, 'Don't forget, you need to be home for dinner in time'. Well, I was late, and neither my mother nor my grandmother had a chance to eat dinner. They were both nervous, and I was punished. I remember it for my whole life. I also remember that mother and grandmother celebrated other Jewish holidays as well. But they didn't light candles because we had no money to buy them and no place to put lit candles. We lived very poorly.

On Saturday mother never went to work. She didn't go to her Jewish or even Russian clients, but she always warned them, 'I'm not coming tomorrow - it will be Saturday'. At home she also tried to do nothing on that day, only what was necessary, but on Saturdays we always had good lunches. Even though our life was poor, mother always tried to save some food for a good Saturday lunch.

When I was older, my school friends would often visit me, and mother's sister, Basya, who lived in Kiev then, took grandmother Chaya to live with her, because our flat was too crowded. But grandmother didn't live long after that. She died soon after, around 1928.

We had a good company at school. We all liked going to theaters and museums. We went to the Russian and Ukrainian drama theaters. We also celebrated every Soviet holiday: 1st of May, October Revolution Day 4, etc. On those days we had no classes at school, so we would go for a walk. Every family tried to fix a good lunch and invite guests. We also liked going to demonstrations on these holidays.

Among my mother's siblings Rakhil, Basya, Chaika and Fruma were also in Kiev. Fruma was still single. She got married a few years later and her husband took her to Moscow.

After finishing the 7-year school I entered the cooperative technical college. I studied at the department for library studies for three years. At that time we never thought of people's nationalities. At our technical college there were Jewish students and students of other nationalities. But this question never worried us. I only remember we had a Ukrainian student who always spoke Ukrainian, so all the teachers always told him to speak Russian. All teaching in our college was done in Russian.

At that time we lived in another place. The husband of my mother's sister Rakhil was a high-ranking party worker. At that time there were many private houses. So, this man told us that there were several flats owned by somebody called Parkhomovsky in Zhilyanskaya Street. And Rakhil and her husband had no flat in Kiev. So, he went to Parkhomovsky, intimidated him with something and said that if he didn't give him the flats, they would be confiscated from him. So, Parkhomovsky gave him two flats - their family stayed in one, and my mother and I, in the other one. They had two sons, Boris and Mark Kamenkovich. They were younger than I but we were good friends. We remained friends for life.

When I went to college, there was a military unit right across the street from our college. We went to dance at each other's clubs: we girls went to dance at theirs, and they came to dance at ours. This is how I met my future husband. I was 19 years old then, and he was 26. He was from a Jewish family. My husband's family comes from Gomel in Belarus. At that time they were living in Kiev, and my husband served in the army. His name was Litman Veksler. His father worked at the construction site of the Kiev central train station. My husband's parents were very good, wonderful people. They received me very nicely and made friends with my mother.

They had five children. They were born into a very poor Jewish family, in a some small shtetl called Gomel in Belarus. My husband's parents were religious, kept all traditions, and went to the synagogue. My husband was the eldest son; he had a sister Roza, brother Grisha, a sister Sonya and brother Izya. Only Izya is still alive today. He lives in Kiev. He celebrated his golden wedding, the 50th anniversary, last year.

When I finished college he went to my mother to ask for permission to marry me. It was very solemn. He brought flowers - he knew that both my mother and I loved flowers very much. To have at least two small flowers in a vase was like a law for us. Even though we were poor, having flowers at home was our hobby. So, after that we got married. It was in 1933. There was no wedding ceremony or anything like that. He came from work, told me to wait for him. Then we went to the registration office, from there we went to his parents, who cooked a regular lunch. We had no wedding rings, no special dresses. Everything was very simple. I think we did it in such a way because we were very poor.

My husband was still serving, but very soon, in the autumn, he was demobilized. He was given a room in a communal apartment 5. We had a big room in a communal flat. We had three neighbors, a common kitchen and a toilet, but we got used to living with neighbors. My husband only had secondary education, but he was a highly educated man. He worked at a woodwork factory as the chief of the shift. Then he was transferred to work for the city executive committee as chief of some department. We continued to live in our room, even though my husband would have been able to get a flat adequate to his office. But he was very modest and considered it indecent for a party member to ask for the improvement of his living conditions. His mother told him, 'Litmanke (she called him Litmanke), why don't you take care of getting a new flat?' And he answered her, 'Mom, I shouldn't do that now. The time will come when I'll get one, but not now.' That's how it was.

My husband wasn't paid much. He received the 'party maximum' - the sum that was the maximum limit for him to earn as a party member. The sum was not very large, but we didn't demand much, so it was enough for us. He had been a member of the Communist Party since the 1920s, so he was a man who believed in communism. Throughout his whole life he believed in the ideals of communism. He didn't know, and didn't want to know, what really happened in our country, and thought that everything happened because it was meant to.

I entered the Kiev Construction Institute. When I finished the 1st year I gave birth to our daughter Mira, whom we called Lyalechka, in 1935. But I didn't quit my studies because my mother and mother-in-law helped me and this way I could continue my studies.

At this time political repression and arrests [the so-called Great Terror] 6 started. I knew all about it. There was one situation. My husband's friend, Iosif Kaplunov, a Jew, occupied a high military office. Then he was accused of doing something illegal. My husband's friends told my husband, 'Stop talking to Iosif because you will suffer too'. But we were friends with the Kaplunov family. So, my husband was warned that he shouldn't visit him any more. But he still continued to meet Iosif's wife in some deserted streets in order to learn something new about Iosif's fate after his arrest. Iosif was released soon; he didn't spend too much time in prison.

In general, we certainly knew that people around us were arrested, but my husband never discussed such questions with me. He said I was too young and I had other things to take care of. I think he simply wanted to spare me. I was a Komsomol 7 member and trusted everything I heard, absolutely everything.

We celebrated all Soviet holidays. Our favorite holidays were 1st of May and October Revolution Day. My husband's friends and colleagues would come with their spouses, and we would throw a party, sing songs, listen to the gramophone, and dance. We didn't keep any Jewish traditions, we didn't even think about it. My mother lived with us, and she continued to buy matzah every Passover, but I don't even know where she got it. We didn't have any kosher kitchen utensils [for Passover] at home and kept bread on Passover, but my mother always had matzah.

We knew that there was fascism in Germany and that the war broke out in Europe. But we believed that the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 8 guaranteed that our country would never be engaged in a war, so we were not ready for the war. For us, just like for the millions of Soviet people, the beginning of the war was absolutely unexpected.

So, in June 1941 my husband rented a dacha for us outside Kiev, in the village of Ukrainka. It was not the first time we rested there. On Saturdays my husband came to visit us. He had a special car that served him from work, and he spent Sundays with us. But on Saturday, 21st June my husband didn't come to the dacha, and we were waiting for him all Sunday morning. We had no radio at the dacha; neither did we receive newspapers there. Later, dacha landowners came home very sad and somewhat lost. We were in a wonderful mood and I turned to them with a smile, asking what happened. They told us that war had broken out. I ran to the Dnepr shore to find a boat that would take us to Kiev. We immediately gathered our belongings and went to the boat, but the boats were already gone - instead there was a great crowd of people who wanted to leave.

My husband came then. He had already been mobilized and had a paper that said, 'called up on the first day of the war', but he didn't wear his military uniform, and came to take us. So, we went home, he put on his military uniform and went to the military enlistment office. However, he stayed in Kiev for a long time. He worked at the pontoon-bridge battalion. They defended approaches to Kiev from the Dnepr River. He called us every day. But a short time later, about a week-and-a-half, my husband came home and said we needed to evacuate.

By that time I had already graduated from university and was working (I found a job right before the war). I worked at the Kiev highway construction department. I evacuated with this organization. In July we left by regular train. I evacuated with my daughter and mother. We were taken to Dnepropetrovsk. My mother-in-law (my father-in-law was no longer alive) remained in Kiev and evacuated with the family of her other son. When we reached Dnepropetrovsk, we were told that we couldn't go any further because the railway had been heavily bombed.

My mother's elder sister, Etl, lived not far from the train station in Dnepropetrovsk. When we arrived there, one of my mother's sisters, Chaika, was already there with her daughter. Our mood was awful, we were crying. We spent only two or three days there, then bombing raids on Dnepropetrovsk began. Etl's husband put us on a ship and sent us further on. He remained in Dnepropetrovsk because he was deputy director of a major plant. We went eastward together with aunts Etl and Chaika. I can't remember all the details of our evacuation now, but I remember that it took us more than two weeks, first by ship, then by different trains with long stops. We were often bombed. It was horrible, but I was young and I felt responsible for my mother and my daughter. That's why I did my best to keep myself under control. Finally we arrived in the town of Kokand in Central Asia.

When we arrived in Kokand [Uzbekistan] we were received nicely. We were immediately settled in different flats. We didn't have any jobs yet, but our living conditions were quite satisfactory. Very soon I wrote to my husband to our home address. His unit was stationed in Kiev and he was able to visit our flat sometimes, hoping that I would write to him. He received my letter, wrote me back to Kokand and thus we established communication, which, unfortunately, was short because I stopped receiving letters from him in the winter of 1942.

When I learned that Kiev was occupied by the Germans, it caused me great sorrow. My husband was still alive, I was still receiving letters from him, but this news brought me a lot of sorrow. There was a loudspeaker at the central square of Kokand, which looked like a big black plate, and all the people ran there to listen to the latest news. I would often run there too. That's where I heard that Kiev was occupied. I didn't listen to it any more, but ran home crying, 'Mother, Lyalechka, Kiev has been surrendered, Lyonya is no longer alive', even though my husband was still alive. I think I had that terrible feeling that he would die soon. And my little daughter told me, 'Mom, don't worry. You will become my mother and father together'.

My husband was killed somewhere in Sumy, Ukraine. There were a lot of units of the Soviet army there, and they were all bombed, even without fighting. I received a paper that said that my husband 'is reported missing'. I realized that he was killed because otherwise he would have found us after the war.

We were in Kokand in evacuation during the whole war. The attitude of the locals towards us was very warm. I was working at the office of the canteen because they needed literate people. We ate at the same canteen. We didn't starve, but I had a feeling of insecurity, when there was no husband behind my back, when everything was bad. As soon as Kiev was liberated, we received an invitation for the three of us that we could go to Kiev. At that time it was impossible to go home from evacuation without a special invitation. We came to Kiev but had no place to live. The very next day after the Germans entered Kiev, bombs left by our soldiers began to explode all over the city. Kreschatik, the main street of Kiev, was blown up, and our house was blown up - one of the first because a German office was located next to it.

Boris Kamenkovich, the son of aunt Rakhil, with whose family we had lived, came to Kiev at that time. Before the war Boris (who danced very well) had been taken into a famous dancing band and spent the whole war in it. They went to every front and performed there. After the war the band stayed in Moscow. As soon as Kiev was liberated, all the Kiev residents in that band went to their native town for a few days. That's when we saw Boris. He came to our house, wearing his uniform and looking very important in it. Other people were living in the flat and all our furniture was missing. They got so scared when they saw him! Boris asked them, 'Tell me, who took our furniture. I need to get it back before my parents come back to Kiev'. And he was able to collect a wardrobe, a bed, chairs and a table - a lot of furniture. He took it back to his flat. We settled there and lived there until his parents came back.

Then the department that I was working in gave me a room. We settled there, but the very next day there was a knock on the door - its former residents came. I didn't let them in for several days; we didn't go out for several days so that they would not occupy it in our absence. Then we were given a room in Pechersk, but the same story was repeated there. Our department was given a plot of land in Gorky Street for construction, and I was given a room there. But until the construction of that building was finished, I lived with the secretary of our party organization, Viktor Korshenko. He was an extremely kind man, who had pity on my daughter and me.

In the autumn of 1947 we finally moved into our own flat. By that time, almost all of our relatives who had lived in Kiev before the war returned to Kiev: my mother-in-law, mother's sisters Rakhil and Chaika.

My husband's brother Izya fought in the war, then fought against Japan, and then he stayed in the Far East. Samuel also remained alive, but their third brother died defending Moscow.Practically all the members of our large family were evacuated and then returned to Kiev. Only the husband of Klara, Chaika's daughter, Leva, didn't want to evacuate. He said, 'I speak German well and I will make friends with them'. So, he stayed and was killed in Babi Yar 9. He alone from our large family was so self-confident that, as a result, he was shot in Babi Yar.

I continued to work in the highway construction department. It was then turned into a ministry. I worked there for the rest of my life till my retirement. In 1945, I joined the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. It was entirely my wish: my husband was a real Bolshevik, I was a Komsomol member, and so it was my sincere desire.

The attitude towards the Jews changed everywhere - in Kiev and not only in Kiev. But I think I was lucky in this regard. A man called Mikhail Dovgan was my boss; he was a very good man and I experienced no anti-Semitism at work.

I remember Stalin's death very well. We lived in a communal apartment, and the two other rooms in that flat were occupied by the family of a general who returned from the front. When Stalin died, the general entered my room. He was a little drunk and very upset. He asked me, 'Sima Markovna, how are we going to live now without Stalin?' And even though I took Stalin's death calmly, I also sensed his anxiety.

So, we lived with my mother and my daughter. My daughter went to school. They had a class of mixed nationalities and they never had any problems; relations between children and teachers' attitude to Jewish children were wonderful. My daughter was very good friends with our neighbor's daughter, who was Ukrainian. It was a whole Ukrainian family, but our relations were good. These neighbors were the first in our house to buy a TV set, so everybody else would go to their flat to watch it. They would often come and invite my mother too.

Until her last days my mother kept Jewish traditions to the best of her abilities. She didn't go to the synagogue because it was too hard for her, but she had a prayer book at home and she tried to do nothing around the house on Saturday: she would prepare everything on Friday evening. On Saturdays we always had a special dinner. On Passover we always had matzah.

When my daughter finished school, she didn't really want to enter the Road- Transport Institute. But at that time it was hard for Jews to enter universities. So, the secretary of the party organization, Korshenko, at whose house we once lived, helped us - he went to the director of the Road- Transport Institute and asked him to accept my daughter. She passed her exams with not very good marks, but she was privileged because her father had been killed in the war, so she was admitted. Sometimes I think it would have been better for her not to have entered there.

My mother died in 1956 and my daughter in 1957. She was a very good student, she liked her studies; she finished the first year and then the second year. Everything went well and she was very happy. Then she went to the third year. After the third year she and other students went to practice. Their practice was near Odessa, where the Kiev-Odessa highway was built; it was closer to Odessa. At that time I was in a health resort outside Kiev - I just took advantage of the fact that my daughter was at the practice. A few days later, Korshenko came to pick me up by car. 'Sima Markovna, let's go to Kiev!' And he looked very energetic. I told him immediately, 'What happened to my daughter?' He said, 'Nothing serious!' I demanded, 'Tell me immediately!' I couldn't move. So, he put me in his car and took me to Kiev. On the way he told me that my daughter had been hit by a car and was now at the Institute of Neurosurgery. When I came to Odessa my daughter was no longer alive. In Odessa she was put into a coffin and the coffin was put on a truck. So, I took my only daughter, my only joy and meaning of my life, to Kiev. I buried her next to my mother, and I always think about how good it was that my mother had not lived to see the death of her granddaughter. I was left alone. I never married again. I devoted all my life to work and fellowship with a few friends.

I have already told you about my cousin, Boris Kamenkovich. He became a very famous man in Kiev's theaters - he was the chief ballet master of the Opera Theater and of the Ukrainian Drama Theater. He was married to a stage director, famous in her circles, Irina Molostova. Everybody treated him nicely in the theater. Last year, when he celebrated his 80th birthday, a special celebration was organized in the theater in his honor - many Ukrainian workers of culture were invited; his son came from Moscow (he works there in a theater, too). Unfortunately, Irina Molostova died several years ago. When my cousin Boris introduced me to his friends he always said, 'This is my cousin Sima - an iron lady'. Boris died very recently, and I was left absolutely alone. His brother Mark lives in Germany.

My parents' brothers and sisters died a long time ago. My cousin Bronya Shvartser lives in Israel; Hannah, in America. Some other relatives live around the world. Only my husband's brother Izya still lives in Kiev.

Many of my relatives and friends moved to other countries for good, but I had made up my mind on this question a long time ago - the remains of my dear daughter are buried here and I will always live here. 'My daughter, you are a part of me', says the inscription on her tombstone.

Recently, it became possible to communicate more with the Jews, to take part in Jewish life. While I was relatively healthy I often visited the Jewish charity center, the Hesed, attended Jewish concerts, read Jewish newspapers. Today I need more help, and Hesed helps me and takes care of me. In conclusion I would like to say that despite the fact that my life has been very hard, I am a person who has never looked at the material side of life, and I believe I was very lucky in this life to meet many good people, both among my friends and among my relatives. I've never felt really lonely.

Glossary

Bedriska Felixova
Brno
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Zuzana Pastorkova
Date of interview: November 2004

Mrs. Bedriska Felixova lives in a three-bedroom apartment in her home town of Brno. She has been a widow since 1994. Her two sons live on their own, but since they also live in Brno they visit their mother frequently. The interview took place at the premises of the Brno Jewish community, located at 3 Kapitana Jarose Avenue. Mrs. Felixova is a very affable and intelligent woman with a good sense of humor. In 1942, at the age of seven she was deported to Terezin, so her descriptions of the Holocaust are as seen through the eyes of a child. She gained much information about her childhood and the life of her family and relatives before World War II from her mother, with whom she lived upon their return from the ghetto until her death in 1973. Mrs. Felixova was very willing to be interviewed. She did ask us, however, to restrict it to only one sitting, due to the fact that reminiscences of the Holocaust and of those dear to her that she lost greatly disturb her.

My family background
Growing up in Brno
During the war
Liberation
Post-war
Married life
My relatives
Glossary

My family background

My grandfather on my father's side was named Burgmann. Unfortunately I don't remember his first and Jewish name. He was born in Uhersky Brod in the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My grandmother's maiden name was Jana Burgmann, nee Schoen and she was also from Uhersky Brod. After their wedding they stayed in their home town and moved into a small house. They had two sons: Bedrich and Gustav. Grandfather, however, soon died and was buried in the local Jewish cemetery.

I don't know much about Grandfather Burgmann. He probably only finished elementary school, but I don't remember what he did for a living. Grandma told me that he played the violin beautifully during services in the synagogue. My grandmother probably also just studied in elementary school. Their mother tongue was German.

After her husband's death my grandmother moved with her two children to Brno, where living conditions were better. Without any support or financial help she bought a three-bedroom apartment at 3 Orlova Street. She got along well with both her Jewish and non-Jewish neighbors. Grandma was a very hard- working woman. She ran a textiles store from her apartment and sold bedding, underwear, tablecloths, trousseaus and so on. She called it a 'white goods' store. At home she had a servant named Annie who cooked, cleaned and did the shopping. Grandma closed her business before World War II once her two sons moved out and started their own lives.

I never met my grandfather; I don't even know what he looked like or how he dressed, because my parents and my grandmother never told me. My grandmother was small and plump and always dressed well. She wore long skirts typical for those pre-war times, a decorative white collar and a hat. I don't think she wore hats for religious reasons, for she wasn't a religious Jew. Grandma's hair was of very poor quality. Sometimes she would take us grandchildren for walks in the park in Luzanky. While all others had normally arranged hairdos, her hair would be messed up by the wind, so she was always frizzy despite a great number of hairclips with which she tried to tame her hair. My mother told me that when I was born, Grandma stroked my head and said: 'The poor girl is going to be unhappy, because she's got my hair.'

My father's mother wasn't a religious Jew. She wasn't an atheist, but didn't live strictly according to Jewish laws either. I think that like every person to whom fate hasn't been kind she in the end lost her faith. Her husband died quite early on; she became a widow at the age of 39. In the year 1928 her younger son Bedrich also died, as a result of a heart defect. These losses broke her faith. She observed Jewish holidays desultorily and went to the synagogue only on the major holidays. She didn't have a kosher household. Mom remembered that once her future mother- in-law invited her for lunch and placed before her a plate of sauerbraten. Mom at first hesitated, because at home they kept kosher, but in the end she ate it. She later enthusiastically told her parents that it was quite tasty. Despite the fact that grandma didn't strictly keep Jewish customs, she moved about in predominantly Jewish circles; she was a member of the Brno Jewish community and the Maccabi 1 sports club.

As to my grandfather's siblings, no one in my family told me anything about them. On the other hand, I know plenty about my grandmother's siblings. Grandmother had a sister named Hermina and a brother, Moritz. Both were born in Uhersky Brod but moved to Brno where they had better living conditions. Aunt Hermina was a tall, dark-haired, very pretty and elegant lady. She married Mr. Kohn, a rich Jewish widower who was in the lumber business. Before World War II there were only two wealthy Kohns in Brno - 'lumberman' Kohn and 'brickman' Kohn, who owned a brick factory. Widower Kohn had two children from his previous marriage. People first felt sorry for them that they were orphans, and when he remarried, they said that they had a wicked stepmother. I don't believe that Aunt Hermina was unkind to them; I'm sure it was only gossip.

Uncle Moritz was the director of the Brno Eskomptni Bank. He married some German woman who literally ran away from him after the occupation of Bohemia [see Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 2. In 1942 Aunt Hermina and Uncle Moritz along with me, my parents and my paternal grandmother were transported to Terezin 3. Since at that time they were both over 70, life in the ghetto was very difficult for them. Aunt Hermina died from pneumonia three weeks after our arrival and Uncle Moritz died shortly thereafter. They had an undignified death, dying neglected on dirty straw mattresses, covered by a dirty blanket. Whey you move an old tree to a new and moreover worse place, it usually ends badly.

My grandfather on my mother's side was named Herman Baru. He was born in Damborice, most likely still in the days of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Grandmother was named Gizela Baru, nee Heska. Her Jewish name was Gitl. She came from Podivin in Southern Moravia. Both completed at least elementary school. Grandfather then became apprenticed as a tailor. I don't know how they met, but they settled in Brno. They had three children: Otto, Bedrich and my mother, Regina.

Grandfather worked as a tailor in a tailor's shop which he most likely owned. He probably had some employees, but my parents didn't tell me anything about it. Grandma was a housewife. She sometimes got a few geese from her home town of Podivin, which she fattened up in the entrance hall of their apartment in Brno. To make money on the side she then sold the fattened kosher geese to local Jews. My grandparents lived in an apartment behind today's main train station, on a street then named Stiftgasse, now Nadacna. They lived in humble conditions and didn't have a lot of money. Despite having empty pockets, they behaved with a certain moral noblesse. My mother and her brothers were very lucky to be able to grow up in surroundings where family came first.

Both my grandparents' mother tongue was German, which they spoke among themselves and their children. However, Grandfather could read Hebrew and prayed according to Hebrew prayer books. I remember Grandpa being of slight, thin build and that he parted his hair in the middle. He was very good-hearted, like every proper grandpa. My grandparents dressed like the majority of the city's residents and didn't show their Judaism by the way they dressed. Unfortunately I don't know what my grandmother looked like because I was born after her death [she died in 1934].

My mother's parents were religious Jews. Grandfather went to the synagogue every Friday, Saturday and during Jewish holidays, and Grandmother regularly baked barkhes. During Pesach they always observed the dictated procedures and courses; Grandfather led the seder and someone from the family read from the Haggadah at the ceremonially set dinner table. Of course, during Passover we ate matzot or matzah dumplings, chicken and so on. My grandparents also observed Yom Kippur, during which according to custom they always fasted, as they saying goes, come rain or shine. My mother's parents ate strictly kosher. I suppose that they either bought kosher meat from a kosher butcher in Brno or had it brought from Podivin, where my grandma was from. My grandparents were very conscious of their Judaism and followed their convictions and belief in the raising of their three children. They were members of the Brno Jewish community and moved about predominantly in Jewish social circles.

My grandparents died before World War II. My grandmother was tormented by the tragic death of her son Otto, who died as a result of injuries he suffered in a car accident. In 1928 she had a stroke, was half paralyzed, and my grandfather took care of her together with my mother for six and a half years. She died in 1934. My Grandfather died in 1941 in an old age home on Starobrnenska Street. Unfortunately I don't remember my grandfather's siblings. Grandma likely had two sisters who lived in Podivin, but I never met them.

My mom and grandmother often told me about my great-grandmother. Her married name was Heska, but I don't remember her first or Jewish name. She lived in the town of Podivin in Southern Moravia. According to oral tradition Podivin was founded by some Jew named Podiv. My mother remembered that during her childhood about half of the town's occupants were Jews. By the time she met my great-grandmother she was already a widow who made a living by raising kosher geese. She apparently only finished elementary school, but she was a very wise, capable woman with a dry sense of humor, which maybe I inherited from her. My grandmother used to tell us that her mother's education was the university of life.

My great-grandmother was a very religious Jewess; she kept the Ten Commandments and Jewish rules and laws. She ate strictly kosher, regularly attended the synagogue and observed all Jewish holidays. When my mother was small it seemed strange to her that she would call her neighbors on Friday evening and Saturday to come and switch off and on her lights. My great- grandmother raised her three daughters according to Jewish religion. This was passed on to my mother from grandma, my mother to me and I try to raise my sons the same way. My great-grandmother died in Podivin and was buried in the Jewish cemetery, which still exists today. Only Hebrew writing is visible on the gravestones, so I don't even know where exactly her grave is. In the attendance hall on the cemetery grounds, however, there is a list of Jews that lived in Podivin at the end of the 19th century and in the 20th century, and my great-grandmother's name is among them.

Growing up in Brno

I spent my childhood in Brno. Before World War II the city had a population of around 300,000 [Editor's note: according to the 1921 census Brno had 227,313 inhabitants, 10,866 of who were Jews. In 1930 the population was 271,521]. Though I don't exactly know how many Jews lived there at the time, I do remember that most Jewish families lived in the city centre. The Brno Jewish community was composed of mainly so-called liberal but also Orthodox believers [see Orthodox communities] 4. Our family belonged to the liberal Jewish population. Orthodox Jews were a minority. They used to go to the Orthodox synagogue on Krenova Street. [Editor's note: the so- called Polish Temple, built in 1883, enlarged in 1886. Religious services were held there until WWII. In 1954 it was converted to a graphics studio and later served as a warehouse.] They were more religious than 'liberals', they more strictly observed Jewish laws and regulations. I suppose that they also dressed accordingly. Personally though, I've never met an Orthodox Jew.

We used to go to a smaller synagogue [the so-called New Synagogue, built during the years 1905-06, which stood on Ponavka Street, and was demolished in 1986]. I don't remember much about it, because I was still a small child at that time. I think it was built from red bricks. Apparently it was in the Communists' way, because they had it torn down. A third synagogue, which stood behind today's main train station, was burned down on 16th March 1939 [the so-called Big Synagogue, built in 1853-55 on the corner of Spalena and Prizova Streets, burned and demolished by the Nazis]. To commemorate this tragic incident one street in Brno was named Spalena [Burned]. I currently go to a former Orthodox synagogue [the so-called New Orthodox Synagogue on 13 Skorepka Street, a functionalist building from the years 1935-36, built by architect Otto Eiler, and to this day open for religious services].

Each synagogue had a different rabbi. I remember only a cantor who had an amazing voice and everyone listened to his beautiful singing with delight. Mother used to reminisce that Brno also had a mikveh. My grandmother on my mother's side maybe used to go there, but my mother certainly didn't. She used to say 'Nothing's better than your own bathroom.' Brno also had a Jewish high school. The only difference between it and state schools was that the students were Jewish.

Jews in Brno were mainly merchants and businessmen. Many of them were clerks. My father was also a clerk. Jews owned many textile factories and wholesale businesses, I remember for example the owner of a textile factory, Mr. Stastny. Up to the end of World War I [1918] the city was quite Germanic. This means that German was spoken more than Czech. Many factory owners were originally Austrians. Brno had a German theater and a German Center, which was completely shot to pieces in 1945. Before World War II the city had a more old-world look and I liked it more than I do now. Jews but even other residents were closer to each other than nowadays.

My father was named Gustav Burgmann and his Jewish name was Gedalie. He was born in Brno on 8th October 1897. My mother's maiden name was Regina Baru and her Jewish name was Rivke. She was born in Brno on 16th August 1901.

My father went to schools where German was the instructional language. He successfully finished business school and got a job in Brno with this uncle Kohn [Aunt Hermina's husband], who was in the lumber business. He had various functions there; he did the accounting, administration, in short he was a jack of all trades. In those days there were no computers, accounts were written in longhand into ledgers and my father always had everything in perfect order. He was very skilled and had beautiful handwriting.

My mother went to elementary and town school. [Editor's note: a part of the educational system before 1945. This type of high school was created according to statute XXVL/1893. A condition of study in town schools was completion of 4 grades of elementary school. The school could be founded by the state, but also by towns.] After that she became apprenticed as a seamstress. She opened a ladies' dressmaking shop in Brno and after her wedding employed two or three seamstresses. She had a good reputation in town, but never had time for me. Mother loved dressmaking; she used to say: 'During sewing I forget about the entire world.' In December 1928 though, her mother had a stroke and my mother was forced to eventually close her business, because she had to take care of her mother along with my grandfather.

I don't know how my parents met, because they never talked to me about it. I think that Jewish origins certainly played a role in picking out a partner. They were married in Brno in the Big Synagogue behind today's main train station on 19th February 1927. They had a proper Jewish wedding. I don't know who led the bride under the chuppah, but it was customarily either her mother or future mother-in-law. My mother never told me anything about the wedding party afterwards.

My parents spoke German to each other, but only Czech with me. My father was a big Czech patriot. He was tall and slender, with dark hair, and was always impeccably dressed. He wore spectacles and had a prudent air about him. He had a very mild nature. My mother was a very pretty, dark-haired woman and of a shorter build. She didn't like the latest fashion trends but dressed tastefully and was always clean and neat. She wore typical city fashion of the time. She was a very witty and wise lady. She belonged to those that make their mark in the world and I think that she was well- liked.

Right after they married my parents moved out and bought a three-bedroom apartment at 32 Akademicka Street. There was a bedroom, living room, dining room, children's room, kitchen and bathroom. We heated with an American stove that had the logo 'hitling' on it. The apartment was tastefully furnished; in the dining room we had beautiful furniture made of walnut. My father knew a lot about wood, as he worked for his uncle, who was in the lumber business. For her part my mother liked nice things for the display case. My parents were relatively successful and belonged to the upper middle class. Mother had a maid who helped with the housework, cleaning, cooking and shopping. You see, in the beginning Mother didn't like cooking very much. I don't remember if our maid also lived with us, but she certainly ate with us at the same table.

Our neighbors weren't Jewish, but we never experienced any anti-Semitism from them. We moved from Akademicka Street to an apartment on Malsova Street, where we had central heating. After the occupation the Germans moved us together with other Jews into an apartment at 26 Legionarska Street [today Kapitana Jarose Avenue]. From there, on 31st March 1942 we went directly onto a transport, which was on its way to Terezin.

My parents read mainly literature written in German. They had some books at home, but certainly not a lot. Father was more partial to newspapers. He subscribed, I think, to Svobodne Slovo [Free Word] but otherwise he read all the dailies. Mother rarely looked through the daily papers; she preferred to read historical or factual literature.

When she was single Mother loved opera and operetta. Her neighbor, who was an opera singer, more than once gave her a ticket to the Brno opera when there was a free seat available. This neighbor was named Maria Jedlickova, but performed under the stage name of Maria Jedlica. Her patron was some Jewish factory owner. She made it as far as the Metropolitan Opera in New York and became the first promoter of Janacek's operas. [Janacek, Leos (1854-1928): Czech composer, professor at Brno Conservatory, prominent folklorist. Janacek's compositions met with marked success at international festivals in Salzburg, Venice and Frankfurt. His works exceeded the artistic and intellectual sphere of Czech environs.]

My parents were never politically active. They were members of the Jewish Maccabi sports club. As a young girl Mother regularly went to gymnastics and father enthusiastically devoted himself to football. [Editor's note: in 1921, the Jewish Football League of Czechoslovakia was founded during a meeting of Jewish sports organizations.] My father was maybe active in some Jewish group or in the Jewish community, but I doubt that he would have had some sort of function. My parents predominantly met with their childhood and school friends. Their friends were mainly Jews and members of the middle class. Besides this they met with Aunt Hermina and her husband, Mr. Kohn, at least twice a week. I liked it a lot at the Kohn's. Their apartment was furnished with beautiful antique furniture. I remember how our whole family used to go on trips and how we would sleep in summer apartments that some farmer would rent to us. We used to go for walks in the countryside. In Brno we often spent our spare time in the park at Luzanky. Dad knew every nook and cranny of Brno. He liked it here a lot, and I think that today he could easily make a living as a tourist guide. Sometimes he liked to go to some cafe. He wasn't a layabout; he had only one coffee, one cigarette, and went home.

My parents were liberal Jews. They didn't keep the kashrut and went to the synagogue only on the major Jewish holidays. Dad really just stood there, but Mom always brought her prayer book. I don't remember whether we observed Sabbath before the war, but I do remember that on Saturday afternoons my mother's friends, who were very conscious of their Judaism, would come to visit. After my grandmother's death [on mother's side], my grandfather regularly came to my parents for Passover and led seder. Mother told me how my hungry father impatiently waited for his father-in-law to end the ceremony and prayers, so he could start eating. We kept Chanukkah in a simple fashion. Every day, of eight in all, we would light only one candle and then would move it to a different place on the candelabra, the so-called chanukkiyah. Mother was very tidy and that silver candelabra was very hard to clean. For that reason we only used one candle. We never had a Christmas tree. At Rosh Hashanah we went to the synagogue.

Father's only brother was named Bedrich Burgmann. I assume that he was born in 1903, because he was six years younger than my father. Uncle Bedrich was a big athlete and was a member of the Maccabi Jewish sports club. I don't think he was a religious Jew. He realized who he was, but almost never went to the synagogue. He advocated Zionism. He died in Brno of a heart attack in 1931 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Brno. My grandmother [on father's side] wasn't able to come to terms with his premature death. She convinced my parents to name their next child Bedrich, after my uncle. However, I was born instead, so I got the name Bedriska.

My mother had two older siblings. Her oldest brother was named Otto and the middle one Bedrich Baru. Both were born in Brno, Otto in 1899 and Bedrich in 1900. Uncle Bedrich finished business school and worked as a clerk. After the occupation in 1939, in the Bohemian and Moravian Protectorate anti-Jewish laws came into force [see anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 5. The breaking of one law was fateful for Bedrich. He went to one cafe for a coffee, but the SS were doing a sweep there and they immediately dragged him off to a transport. He likely died in 1941 in Mauthausen.

Otto Baru studied at the Faculty of Medicine at Masaryk University in Brno. He became an outstanding eye doctor. He married Ruzena Kohn. In 1926 they had a daughter, Helena Baruova. Uncle Otto died very young, at the age of 29. Mother told me that he died in a car accident in October 1928. He was hurrying to work in Znojmo, and while passing the main cemetery in the direction of Moravia he drove into an unlighted pit. He died as a result of his injuries after being taken to the hospital. My grandmother [on mother's side] never recovered from his death. In December 1928 she had a stroke and half of her body was paralyzed.

My cousin Helena, whom our whole family calls Lenka, was deported to Lodz ghetto 6 in Poland. She managed to survive, and after the war she married Ervin Krumholz, a native of Ostrava, whom she had met in Prague. Two years after the war they had a son, Dany. In 1948 they emigrated to Israel, where they lived about a year. But Ervin couldn't get used to the hot climate, so they both left for Canada and settled in Toronto. Ervin worked as an auto mechanic and Helena worked for years in a Canadian travel agency. The Krumholzes are quite religious Jews. They go to the synagogue regularly; they can even pick which one they want to go to, because in Toronto there's a lot of them. Ervin died in 2003. To this day Helena and I write to each other in Czech. She's quite talkative and still commands her mother tongue perfectly.

My name is Bedriska Felixova, nee Burgmannova. I inherited my Jewish name, Gitl, from my grandmother [on mother's side]. I was born in Brno on 17th January 1935. My mother gave birth to me at home with the assistance of a midwife.

My mother didn't want to have me at first, and wanted to go for an abortion. My father, however, wouldn't hear of it. He had a very mild and peaceful nature; mother saw him lose his temper only twice, and it was always because of me. The first time he made a scene was when she wanted the abortion. He told her that he knew what he was doing. He was sure that he was going to have a daughter. Mother's relatives also persuaded her and in the end she agreed. Father was right, and they had a daughter. The second time Father lost his temper was when he began shouting in Terezin when someone wanted to hurt me. I don't remember exactly what it was about. Only his words remain engraved in my memory: 'God's justice is slow but sure. You'll pay for everything in the end.'

When I was little my mother spent most of her time with me, but my grandfather [on mother's side] was there as well. Sometimes our maid Anicka took care of me. Later they enrolled me in the state nursery school. Almost immediately I had to leave though, because of the anti-Jewish laws. My mother remembered how the teacher sorrowfully told her that she couldn't help, because I was Jewish.

In the Jewish community [in Brno] on Legionarska Street, as it was called then [today's Avenue of Kapitan Jaros], an interim Jewish school was opened. I spent only the first grade there, because in 1942 my parents and I were transported to Terezin. I got to spend only nine years in all with my father, because he died in Auschwitz in 1944. But already as a young girl I felt that we were very close.

My brother was named Otto Burgmann after my uncle [mother's brother] who died in a car accident. Unfortunately I don't remember his Jewish name. He was born in Brno on 17th November 1928. He went to the state elementary school in Brno, which he didn't finish due to his premature death. We liked each other, but of course like all small children we often teased and tormented each other. I don't remember him much, because we didn't have a lot of time together. I was only four when he died. He got appendicitis, but doctors diagnosed it incorrectly. He died in Brno on 9th February 1939. They buried him in the Brno Jewish cemetery. My mother used to tell me that after his death several men would meet in our flat to pray for his soul. Mother was in mourning, she sat shivah, but my father probably didn't.

During the war

After the annexation of the Sudetenland 6 by the German Reich, my parents suspected what was going to happen with us. After the occupation the Germans expropriated all Jewish property, including Uncle Kohn's wholesale business. Because my father was a very capable clerk, they let him work a few months more in his job. At the beginning of 1941 they however moved him to a building at 31 Legionarska Street, where he wrote up lists of people intended for transport. An armed Gestapo officer stood watch over him all day to make sure that he didn't leave even one name off the list. I remember how exhausted and devastated he used to be when he came home.

I was too young [in 1939, when World War II broke out], I was only four and my parents didn't want to confuse me. Mother explained the situation by saying that bad people had come, who wanted to harm us. I was mainly affected by the fact that I had more things forbidden than allowed. I felt quite limited. I wasn't allowed to go to a normal state elementary school. In the building where the Jewish Community was located, a provisional Jewish school was opened, and there I absolved only the first grade [see Exclusion of Jews from schools in the Protectorate] 7. I couldn't go to the park, or to the puppet theatre. My mother wanted to spare me the response 'you're not allowed', so she always told me: 'you can't'. I therefore spent most of my time in our apartment. I remember my mother crying uncontrollably when she was sewing the yellow Star of David on my dress.

In 1942 I, along with my parents, my grandmother [Jana Burgmann] and her siblings were put on a transport to Terezin. At first they gathered us in the elementary school on Merhautova Street, the next day they transported us to the main train station. We were transported to the concentration camp in passenger trains. They transported us all over Bohemia; we must have detoured all the way to 'Kamchatka'. In Terezin they immediately separated the men and women. For about a year I lived with my mother and grandmother in the so-called Podmokelsko barracks, and then the Dresden barracks. Father lived in the Sudetenland barracks.

My mother's trade of seamstress saved her life. She was ordered to sew German army coats. She was always honest and hard-working, but that didn't apply very much to those German uniforms. When her thread ran out, she threaded a new one into the needle, but didn't continue sewing in the place where she had stopped. Often she left a nice big unsewn patch in the jacket's underarm.

My grandmother was a very determined and tough woman. She came to Terezin at the age of 70 and everyone admired her tenaciousness. In fact she even volunteered for work. She liked me a lot, she called me her Pipushka. Smaller children in the ghetto had no schooling at all. Despite this my grandmother tried to give me at least some elementary education. Usually we sat on a bench in the park, Grandma taught me how to count and we would read from Babicka [Grandma] by Bozena Nemcova [1820-1862, Czech writer]. I have that book to this day as a remembrance.

My grandmother had problems with her gall bladder already before World War II. In those days a gall bladder operation was unthinkable, doctors prescribed a special diet. Of course, in Terezin that was impossible. Her health gradually got worse and she ended up in hospital. I also became ill at that time, so I was unfortunately a witness to her dying. Just before her dying breath, the nurse threw me out and said that I should wait outside for my mother, who sat by my grandmother's death bed up to the end. Grandmother died in 1943. Her funeral was very undignified. It seemed to me as if the Germans were making fun of it. It wasn't really a proper Jewish funeral, only a sort of farewell. In the barracks courtyard stood the rabbi, behind him my parents. After the ceremony her body was taken away to the crematorium, burnt, and the ashes ended up somewhere in the Ohra River.

As a child I couldn't understand that I could move about only in Terezin and couldn't cross its boundary. They left me with my mother, but older children lived in a so-called 'Kinderheim' [German for children's home], where they received an albeit secret, but more regular education. Our diet was terrible. We got unchanging soups and sauces, beet broth, barley stew and so on. To this day I can't stand to even look at barley. My father was assigned a job in food distribution where he was responsible for distributing bread rations. In the beginning we used to see him each day at noon or in the afternoon for one or two hours. He would either come to where we were living or we would meet somewhere in the town on the street. Then he supposedly left for work from which he never returned. In those days we had no inkling that in Poland there were other concentration camps where Jews were dying in horrible conditions. Father likely died in Auschwitz in 1944.

Liberation

On 7th May 1945 at around 9:30 in the evening the Russians arrived in Terezin. The Germans had run away about three days before their arrival. All of a sudden we were in no man's land, we had no idea what was or wasn't happening. Shots and explosions which at that time carried to us all the way from Prague all of a sudden ceased and a strange quiet came over the camp. In the evening we were slowly falling asleep when we heard some sort of metallic sound. With us was the master seamstress under whom my mother had had her dressmaking exams. She ran off to see what was going on. She returned out of breath: 'Girls, the Russians are here!' Both started crying and Mother tore off my star, almost taking my dress with it.

The next morning we went to have a look into town. The main square was packed with Russians lying around and also tanks, which had evidently been making that strange metallic sound the previous evening. Looking at one soldier my mother said to me: 'Look, he's sleeping.' I could have done whatever I had wanted; those soldiers were so tired, that had I sung or shouted in their ears they would have slept on. We returned to our accommodations. In the afternoon the master seamstress came and said that women shouldn't go out at all, so those men wouldn't rape them. After two or three days even this danger ceased.

Trains with prisoners from the liberated concentration camps began arriving at Terezin train station full of wretches that had been forced to take part in the death march. Being a little girl, I ran about between those wagons searching for my dear father. He wasn't to be found, however. Out of the wagons tumbled emaciated people, the living along with the dead. The dead were buried right there in the Terezin cemetery and the ill were treated in the local hospital by Red Cross workers. Many of them were so exhausted that they couldn't even say their name and would only lifelessly show their arm, where their ID number was tattooed. While I was running back and forth between the wagons hopelessly searching for my father, a family friend saw me, and immediately berated my mother that I could catch some disease there. The thing is that typhus had begun spreading. Shortly thereafter I fell ill. A doctor came to see me, and said that it didn't look like typhus, but more like tonsillitis. I got a poultice, and tea with lemon for the first time in five years, and that doctor said to me: 'Little girl, show me what you're capable of.' Well, I guess I was capable, because I'm still alive.

Post-war

In June of 1945 my Mom and I got a ride on a truck to Prague. We spent the night with a friend, Petr Bondy, who had also survived the Holocaust in Terezin. Then we took a train and returned to Brno. Before we left Prague my mother wrote our former building superintendent when we would be returning. We got off the train in a Brno suburb, because bombing had damaged the railway to the main train station. Mrs. Matouskova was already there waiting for us. When they were tearfully hugging each other, she asked: 'And where's the little one?' I was hiding behind my mother's skirt. She looked at me in horror, because at the age of eleven I weighed maybe at the most 16 kilograms. I was all arms and legs, with only a nose and big eyes sticking out of my face. 'I'll fatten you up,' she comforted me. She made poppy seed cakes, but the poppy seeds made me nauseous, because my stomach had shrunk from long years of hunger.

Mrs. Matouskova let us stay with her because Mother couldn't find us a place to live. Mr. Matousek offered to accompany her. He worked as a traffic cop and was a mountain of a man. When they finally came to the front of the line, the official told Mother that they didn't have any apartments available. Everyone already had someplace, only we didn't have our own roof over our heads. At this moment, however, dear Mr. Matousek intervened: 'Well what are you thinking?! How long am I supposed to be saddled with this woman and her kid? How long am I supposed to support them?! I couldn't care less; I've only got one salary. So they'll go out on the street, big deal!' Mother started to cry, the official left the room and Mr. Matousek whispered in her ear: 'I hope you don't think that I would throw you and the little one out. Do you want a place to live? Of course you do. OK, so I had to act out this little scene.' Thanks to him we in the end got a three-bedroom apartment that had belonged to some Germans at 16 Erbenova Street.

I have no idea what happened with our pre-war apartment, and with the furniture that we had left there. Mother wasn't interested in it at all; she didn't want to return there because of all the memories. We met selfless people that helped us, but there were also those that hurt us. My grandmother's former maid Anca didn't show herself in a good light in her memory. Before the war Grandma hid some Persian carpets with her, which she denied having upon our return from the ghetto. She invited my mother for coffee, sat her down, and through half-opened doors to the next room my mother saw my grandmother's carpets on the floor. Mrs. Anca, coming into the room with a tray, immediately closed the doors. Of course she lied to my mother and said that everything had been stolen by the Russians. Mother didn't even finish her coffee, ran out of the apartment and never met with her again.

After World War II my mother got some financial reparations from the state and had a widow's pension. She stayed at home and never worked again. In reality she didn't even want to work in a collective and have people around her. I remember that she never even went out before the afternoon. She always waited for me to get home from school. Up to her death in 1973 we lived together in the three-bedroom apartment at 16 Erbenova Street.

My mother may have thought of emigrating, but her feelings for her native land were evidently stronger than the desire to settle in a new place. What's more, she didn't have the strength anymore to start over. Politics didn't interest her very much. Even though she had grown up in relatively poor conditions, in a working class neighborhood, she didn't agree with Communism. I remember her saying: 'My Lord, they can have endless meetings, but the poor will stay poor.'

After World War II I resumed my unfinished schooling at the state elementary school in Brno. After that I went to a town school for four years and finally studied for three years at medical school. I graduated successfully. My favorite subjects were Czech and literature. During the Communist regime we didn't have many authors to pick from; we read the works of Julius Fucik 8 and similar writers. I was mainly interested in historical novels, factual literature or well-written travelogues. Our history and Czech teacher was a fair and very wise man. He once said something that was very courageous for the 1950s: 'Remember children, today anyone can be an author, even Antonin Zapotocky 9.' I never felt any signs of anti-Semitism in school. I don't know what may have been said behind my back, but no malice because of my Jewish roots was ever shown in front of me. In the 1950s I used to take English lessons. I thought command of this worldwide language would be useful. Under Communism, though, this lost all perspective, because they saw it as the language of the hostile West. My efforts came to nothing, because there was nowhere I could make use of my new abilities.

We had an excellent collective at medical school. I made many friends there, most of which weren't Jewish. To this day we meet every five years. In May of this year [2004] we met for the 50th anniversary of our graduation. Our meetings are enchanting and very pleasant.

My dearest friend was a Jew and was named Zuzana Weiszova. She was the daughter of an academic painter, Professor Ungar. Some of his paintings, which he painted in the Terezin ghetto, managed to be saved. Most of them are presently in Yad Vashem 10, one or two are on exhibit at the Brno Museum and a few hang in Zuzka's apartment. Zuzka and I saw each other regularly from 1945 until her death in February 2004. Since we were both nurses, our profession brought us closer as well. When we were young we liked immensely to go on walking tours in the country. Almost every weekend we would go on a trip to the mountains. I loved long walks through nature. I liked to explore every chateau, castle or church. I didn't mind that I was of a different faith; to me churches were historical sites or works of art. To this day I'm still friends with Mrs. Weber from Kyjov, whom I had already fleetingly met when we were children in the Terezin ghetto. However, it wasn't until after World War II that we started to see a lot of each other. We're both members of Chevra Kaddisha. In spite of the great distance that separates us, we visit each other occasionally.

Married life

I met my husband, Milan Felix, in Brno after World War II. He'd seen me around and apparently liked what he saw. The first time we met was at our mutual friends' where he came for coffee 'by chance' at the same time as I. I was relatively glad that my chosen one was Jewish. I didn't want that one day someone would hold it against me that I was a Jew. We were married at the Brno city hall in 1960. Since we were both older, we didn't want a big wedding. We invited only my mother, a colleague and her mother, and the Ulmers, close friends of my husband.

My husband was named Milan Felix and his Jewish name was Mordecai. He was born in Hodonin in 1923. His mother tongue was Czech. He went to the state elementary school in his home town, and there he also became apprenticed as a pastry cook. His ambitions were however interrupted by World War II. In 1942 Milan was deported to Terezin, where he stayed only three days. From there he went to Auschwitz-Birkenau and other concentration camps.

After World War II he didn't return to Hodonin, because his entire family died in the Holocaust. He settled in Brno and continued his studies, ending up as a cook. He basically had to make it on his own. His only support was from his friend Ulmer, whom he had met in Terezin, and who held a protective hand over him until the end of his life. My husband changed jobs several times, but he was always employed as a cook. His last job was in one company canteen in Brno, and in 1985 he retired.

My husband was an only child, born to older parents. His father was named Max Felix and his mother Irena Felixova. Both were from Hodonin. My father- in-law owned a textile shop in Hodonin and my mother-in-law was a housewife. From my husband I know that they were quite religious Jews and raised him according to the Jewish faith. Both died during the Holocaust.

After I finished my medical school studies, on 1st October 1954 I was offered a job as a dental assistant in Nove Mesto in Moravia. After three quarters of a year, in about the middle of May 1955 I returned to Brno, where I got a nursing job in a dental clinic. In the course of time I worked in several clinics; the last one was in Kralove Pole. I liked my work very much, though in the last two years I slowly began to lose patience with my patients. I went into retirement in 1987. I worked as a nurse for 32 years and no one said anything bad to my face regarding my origins. When someone asks me what nationality I am, I usually say: 'I'm a Czech Jew'. I'm not at all ashamed of my Jewishness, but I'm also a proud Czech. Though I'm quite saucy, I don't like to provoke people, because I think that it would eventually come back to me. I always try to speak in a way that no one is insulted or hurt. I know for a fact that insults aimed at Jews would hurt me.

I have two sons: Jan and Michal. Jan was born in Brno on 18th July 1960 and got his Jewish name Gedalie after his grandfather [on mother's side]. Michal was also born in Brno, on 14th May 1966 and got the Jewish name of Michael.

Jan studied at VUT [Technical College] in Brno. These days he has his own company and works as a design engineer. My younger son is a professional gardener and enthusiastic stamp collector; he collects old stamps and postcards. Both of course have been conscious from a young age that they are Jews. We raised them so that they could freely develop their own opinions and philosophy. Our older son has a somewhat lukewarm relationship to Judaism, while the younger one feels it more deeply and shows more interest. He doesn't since go to the synagogue often, but regularly takes part in activities and events organized by the Brno Jewish community. To this day he doesn't celebrate any Christian holidays. He doesn't have a Christmas tree, because he feels that all those uselessly cut down trees are a waste.

After our wedding my husband and I lived along with my mother in the three- bedroom apartment at 16 Erbenova Street. We didn't belong to the wealthier of families, but as long as we didn't go hungry and barefoot, we were content. We didn't have a car, but didn't miss it. I spent my spare time on second shift in the kitchen, as the saying goes. My husband loved billiard, and was a member of a billiard club. I always said that I didn't marry Felix, but billiard. In spite of this our marriage lasted 35 years. Here and there I took the children on a trip. Sometimes my husband came along, but walking tours didn't interest him much. On Saturday we usually visited with my good friend Zuzana Weiszova. My husband's friends were mainly his billiards 'colleagues'.

My husband would buy all sorts of newspapers and read everything, beginning with sports. Less often he would read some book; usually he read humorous things like The Black Barons [a book by Josef Skvorecky, whose publication and reading was forbidden during the totalitarian regime]. I preferred factual literature and historical works. During socialism I didn't subscribe to any newspapers, because they always wrote about the same things. Around 1968 I did find the Literary News to be of interest [originally a monthly devoted to literature and cultural reportage of the European Literary Club; the paper ceased publication in 1967]. These days I buy Mlada Fronta [daily paper published in Prague since 1945].

We lived with my mother until her death in 1973. Because of this she had a big influence on our daily life and the keeping of Jewish traditions. Mother remained a believing Jew even after World War II. She prayed very earnestly, but she didn't keep Jewish rules to the letter. She reached the conclusion that religiousness is useless when a person has lost his loved ones and especially in such a cruel fashion. She celebrated all Jewish holidays and tried to commemorate them at least with traditional holiday foods. Holiday meals didn't have to be kosher, but she would usually roast a goose, duck or chicken. For Yom Kippur she kept the required fast. In her later years her worsening health didn't permit her to fast so extensively. She talked me into keeping the fast as well. Once I became ill and so she told me: 'Why should you fast, you've gone hungry enough [in the ghetto].' From that time at Yom Kippur I fast only until noon. For Pesach we used to eat matzot and matzah dumplings. For Chanukkah we lit candles and the children got presents. We never had a Christmas tree. I'm not a religious Jew, but I still don't have a Christmas tree. Mother convinced me to go to the synagogue with her. I remember her German prayer book from which she prayed. For me the services didn't mean as much. I visited the synagogue mainly out of respect for my ancestors. I couldn't understand how God could exist, when I saw so much evil and unhappiness around me.

My mother died in Brno on 20th June 1973. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Brno according to Jewish customs. She was prepared for her final journey by a member of the funeral brotherhood [Chevra Kaddisha], Mrs. Dita Fastlova, who formerly worked as a nurse. First she ceremonially washed the body, then covered it with a sheet, leaving only the face uncovered. Finally they put the deceased in a coffin, which was immediately closed. I remember how she said a few words to console me: 'Your mother was nice-looking even after death.' The funeral service was led by our friend, Mr. Hynek Vrba, who in those days was the acting cantor in Brno, and the funeral speech was held by another of our friends, Mr. Bedrich Hoffenreich.

My husband died in Brno on 15th October 1994. We buried him in the Jewish cemetery and his gravestone bears a Hebrew inscription. I don't remember what this inscription means, because I can't read Hebrew. But I left it there out of respect for the memory of his parents, who were religious Jews. I always commemorate anniversaries of the deaths of my loved ones by lighting a candle on their grave.

My older son Jan married Iva Filova, who isn't Jewish. Of course my husband and I had wanted him to marry a Jewish girl, but we didn't protest. We reached the conclusion that the important thing is for him to find a partner that suits him. I think that Iva has a positive relationship with Judaism. In fact once she was at the synagogue with us for Chanukkah, and she liked it very much. However, at home they don't celebrate Chanukkah; they have a Christmas tree. Even so, Jan doesn't really take Christmas that seriously, religion as such doesn't have much meaning for him. I also have two grandchildren, 18-year-old Lucka and 12-year-old Karel. This school year Lucka will graduate from high school, and Karel is in elementary school. We haven't talked to them about Judaism yet, we don't want to confuse them with religion. Once they grow up, they'll decide what they want to be themselves. My younger son hasn't married yet.

After World War II we went from one totality to another. We felt like we were in a cage. During the Fascist regime the Germans persecuted us, but during socialism we harmed ourselves. I was never politically active. I remember how the show trial with Rudolf Slansky ended [see Slansky trial] 11. In 1952 I was still in medical school and didn't know much about politics. On top of that, it was unpleasant to see how they sentenced that former functionary of Jewish origin to death. We didn't even talk about it in public for fear that someone would report us.

In the beginning my husband and I used to march in the May Day parades, because participation in these events was controlled. Sometimes I would accompany the children in the lantern march during the October Revolution celebrations [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 12. So I at least got out a bit in the fresh air. We very much wished to live as people. Of course it was never possible.

The Velvet Revolution 13 in 1989 was a moving experience for me. I looked forward to the fact that we would finally be free, that we would have freedom of speech and that there wouldn't be shortages of goods. The whole family, except for me, went out into the streets and jingled their keys. [Editor's note: during the Velvet Revolution people symbolically expressed their dissatisfaction with the Communist regime by jingling their keys during demonstrations.] As if I suspected that it was going to go awry in the end. These days I'm quite disappointed with the results of the revolution. It seems to me as if it's the same people sitting in the government, just wearing different coats.

The situation of Jews began to gradually improve after the Velvet Revolution. After 1989 in Brno a formal council was formed within the Jewish community, we were able to speak freely about Israel and could travel there without any problems. I didn't get to Israel until 1998, when the Brno Jewish community organized a seven-day tour. I liked it there, but I couldn't live there. You shouldn't transplant an old tree.

My relatives

Some of my relatives settled abroad. My father's cousin, Tomas Burgmann, escaped before Hitler's rise to England and settled in the city of Leeds. He opened a store with women's wear. He was very kind to us and during the Communist regime he constantly supported us. He would regularly send clothes from his shop, or if he was in Tuzex [an exclusive shop with foreign goods that weren't normally available in Communist countries], he would bring us Tuzex vouchers [currency used for payment in Tuzex], in short he was always giving us something. We used to send each other letters, but he also visited us several times. I don't think he would have ever moved back, but in his way he couldn't forget that he was a Czechoslovak.

My husband and I visited Uncle Tomas only once, in 1964. We stayed with him for 14 days. We had to leave our older son Jan at home with my mother as insurance that we would return to our country. First we took the train to East Germany, then West Germany, across Belgium and then across the La Manche channel to Dover, where we transferred to a train to Leeds. Already during the trip we were surprised at life in the West. Everything we saw, everything we touched was new to us. Germany, a country that had been totally defeated, was much more developed than our country. In Leeds we found well-kept streets and buildings, shops full of goods and customers. People weren't afraid at all, they could say whatever they wanted; they could even shout it. They were truly free. I was quite ashamed of my crudeness. When we were getting out of our taxi in front of our hotel in Leeds, a hotel employee wanted to take in my luggage, and I started a tugging match with him over it. The hotel elevator in those days already had an automatic sensor, and I wanted to exit it every time the doors opened. In short I felt stupid. The sales ladies in every store were constantly asking what they could do for me. In one drugstore I bought ten lipsticks as gifts for my co-workers. The sales clerk was quite bemused by my request, but she wrapped each lipstick in a separate wrapper and then put them all into a bag. It was quite a difference from the situation in Czechoslovakia.

To this day I still correspond with my husband's sister, Ruth Felixova, who emigrated to Mexico in 1948. She got married, but kept her maiden name. In fact she used to cook in some kosher kitchen. She visited us in November of this year. I've never been to Mexico.

After the war my husband and I immediately registered with the Brno Jewish community. My husband was a so-called passive member, and I started to be more actively interested in it only after the revolution in 1989.

In 1994 Mrs. Holmes asked me to replace her in Chevra Kaddisha. Within the funeral brotherhood women and men work separately. Only members of the same sex can prepare a dignified Jewish funeral for the deceased. Older Jewish women who had devoted themselves to this ritual gradually left, and only three of us remained: I, Mrs. Weber from Kyjov and Mrs. Antonina Militka from Brno. Our task is to ritually wash the body of the deceased, dress her in clean clothing and then put her in a coffin, which is immediately closed. These tasks are performed in a special room. During the preparations the men pray for the deceased in the anteroom. The closed casket is then carried into a room where a public parting ceremony takes place. Finally the casket is buried. To this day I'm not sure how I managed to get through the first funeral. I remember that they were burying Mrs. Machova, and because I was afraid I took a few tranquilizers. In time I got used to it. Because I'm a native of Brno, I recognize most of the women and it's psychically quite difficult for me. In spite of this I'm willing to perform this function, because I think that each one of them deserves a proper burial according to Jewish beliefs.

After 1989 I got some financial compensation from the Claims Conference and from the Czech-German Future Fund 14 for persecution and imprisonment during World War II. It's at least a small reparation for the suffering I endured that has improved the quality of my everyday life. Though it's a nice gesture, it will never replace that which I lost during the Holocaust.

Glossary

Makhlia Khalzova
Lvov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: December 2002
 

We, I and Alla, the older daughter of Makhlia Khalzova, who accompanies me, are climbing up a spiral staircase to the second floor. We find ourselves in a tiny and very cozy and clean apartment. We are getting a hospitable reception. Makhlia treats us to delicious chicken neck stuffed with nuts and mushrooms. Makhlia is very pleased about a possibility to tell the story of her life. Her daughter Alla takes an active part in our interview adding details to her mother's story. Makhlia has no education. She cannot read or write, takes no interest in political events and doesn't watch TV. However, she has a vivid memory and expressive speech habits. She speaks a mixture of Ukrainian, Polish, Russian, Yiddish and some Hungarian, I guess. She used a mixed language with words from several languages while the main language she speaks is Russian. Since she has no education it's hard to say that she really speaks another foreign language. She is the embodiment of solid philosophy and wisdom of life.

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

My father's family came from Lvov, an industrial and cultural center at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century. It had a population of 300,000 people: about one third was Polish and about the same number Ukrainian and the rest of the population was Jewish, Romanian, gypsy and Moldavian. Jews resided in the central neighborhood of Lvov. They were involved in trades and crafts. There were poor and rich Jewish families. There were several synagogues, cheders and yeshivot. Lvov belonged to Poland until 1939 and life there was quiet and wealthy.

My paternal grandparents were born in Lvov some time around 1850. My father's mother Laya Ostrover inherited from her father a jewelry store in the center of the town. She was the head of the family. She was a fat arrogant woman with a strong character. She had no education, but she was good at counting and could always take advantage of her skills. Her husband Leib Ostrover was about 10 years older than my grandmother. He was a Hasid 1. He wore payes and never cut his beard. He was far from his wife's business life. He spent days praying, or having long discussions on religious subjects with other Hasidim. My father was a small boy - he only remembered that several Hasidim came to see his father.

My grandparents spoke Yiddish in the family and observed Jewish traditions. However, if business required working on Saturday or other Jewish holidays Laya did what she had to believing that God would forgive her. My grandmother's store was in the same house where they lived. There are still such houses in Lvov that are called 'Polish' since they were built for Polish lords. My grandparents' big dark apartment was luxuriously furnished and decorated with mirrors and carpets. There were housemaids from poor Jewish families. On Saturday and Jewish holidays Ukrainian girls came to do the housework. They were a wealthy and well-known family in Lvov and I saw the house where they lived, but I don't know any details about their life.

My grandparents had two children: a daughter Golda and my father Yoino. Since my grandmother had no education herself she didn't find it necessary to give education to her children. She thought that the melamed that came to teach the children Yiddish and Hebrew was sufficient. She believed that making money was more important in life than any education and that reading books was a sheer waste of time. Laya found a match for her daughter Golda to marry through a shadkhan. Her husband was a rich merchant of Guild I 2 from Moscow. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in Lvov. A rabbi from Moscow came to the wedding. After the wedding Golda, who for some reason changed her name on her wedding to Genia, moved to her husband in Moscow and I have no more information about them. After my grandfather died before World War I Laya moved to her daughter in Moscow. In 1918 Lvov and Kosov, where my father lived later, were located beyond Russia and the families couldn't be in touch. In 1940 the Soviet troops came to the towns and my father tried to find his family, but failed. In June 1941 the Great Patriotic War 3 began. I never saw these people.

My father was born in Lvov in 1873. He got Jewish elementary education at home. An old melamed from cheder taught him. He wore a yarmulka. From the day he came of age my father wore a wide-brimmed hat, a typical hat worn by Hasidim, and payes and grew a beard. My father learned to play the flute and horn and could sing Jewish songs very well. My grandmother Laya hoped that her son would take over her business in due time, but my father took more interest in books and music. However, he had to obey his mother and he got involved in business, though unwillingly. My grandmother also wanted my father to marry a Jewish girl from a wealthy family, but she couldn't find a decent fiancée for him.

My mother Leya Schwarg, if my memory doesn't fail me this was her name before marriage, was born in the town of Bobrka near Lvov in 1877. Her mother died when my mother was two years old and her father Sender Schwarg died of typhoid when she was twelve. My mother remembered that her father owned a small store, but she couldn't remember what kind of goods he was selling. They were a poor family and lived in a small lopsided house in Bobrka.

My mother's older sister Esther was born in 1872. She was 17 when their parents died. She probably couldn't provide for my mother and my mother had to go to work as a nanny for a Ukrainian family. Esther married a Jewish man, who was visiting his relatives in Bobrka, a worker from Lvov, and they had three daughters: Zocia, Lyusia and Lisa, and a son - Stanislav. Stanislav became an actor in the Jewish theater in Lvov. Esther died from a disease in early 1930. Her husband lived with Stanislav and was a sceneshifter in the Jewish theater. His daughters were married and lived in Lvov with their families. They all perished during the Great Patriotic War in Yanovski camp 4.

My mother told me that she even was a laborer in a church for some time before she came to work for a Ukrainian family. My mother said that this family treated her nicely. She lived with them for several years. [Editor's note: Makhlia cannot explain how a Jewish girl came to serve in a Ukrainian family when it was more common that Jewish girls worked for Jewish families.] She did the hardest work in the house and lived in a storeroom and the family wasn't interested in her outlooks. My mother was smart and she learned to read and write from teachers that came to teach the Ukrainian children. She also had some knowledge of French and German. She was eager to study and always stayed in the room during classes. She ate what she was given and during Jewish holidays she was allowed to go to Jewish families that observed the kashrut and Jewish traditions.

When my father was 22 he went to the small town of Bobrka on business. Ant there he met this 17-year old Jewish girl who worked as a nanny for a wealthy Ukrainian family: my mother. She was very pretty and my father liked her a lot. My father knew that his mother would never give her consent to this marriage since the girl came from a poor family and had no dowry. My father kept visiting her in secret. He arranged for a wedding to be conducted by a local rabbi. He needed money for the wedding, which he took from his mother without telling her. My parents had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. When my father brought his wife home his mother just said, 'You've married her - now live with her where you want and how you want'. She disinherited her son and never again took any interest in him and his family. My grandmother was the head of the family and grandfather didn't have a say.

In 1894 my mother and father settled down in the village of Pistyn near Kosov, 150 kilometers from Lvov. [Editor's note: Pistyn village was located on the bank of Pistynka River, a tributary of the Prut]. The native population of the village, the Hutsuls [an ethnic group of Ukrainian people living in the Carpathian Mountains] and Jews lived side by side peacefully and their cultures intertwined with one another. Hasid songs and folk dances have tunes and patterns similar to hutsul 'kolomyika' tunes [a quick duple-time Polish dance].

My parents rented a house in Pistyn. They never had a house of their own since they were a poor family. They rented a typical house for that area: it was a big wooden house with two verandahs, a kitchen in the yard in a separate building, a kitchen garden and a well. My father paid the rent of 50 rubles per month. My father worked at the wood cutting facility that became a factory on a later date in the town of Sniatyn, 20 kilometers from Pistyn, where he rented an apartment with other workers. There were ten to twelve workers in a room without any comforts. They slept on plank beds. They worked from 7am till 7pm. My father got very tired.

Growing up

The owner of the factory was a religious Jewish man and his employees were mostly Jews. They didn't work on Saturday or Jewish holidays. My father stayed in Sniatyn on weekdays, but came home on Friday evening and brought us little gifts and herring that we all liked. My father washed himself after he came home and put on clean clothes to start the celebration of Sabbath. My father said a blessing to the children and Holy Saturday, and my mother lit candles and said a prayer over them. My mother made a festive dinner: stuffed chicken neck, chicken broth and potato pancakes. After dinner my parents sang Jewish songs. We, children, loved this time of warmth and coziness. Ukrainian women came to stoke the stove on Saturday. My parents never even struck a match. We went to the synagogue with our parents on Saturday, where my parents prayed. I used to sit beside my mother. I asked her, 'Jews were the first people, weren't they, Mother?' and she replied, 'That's right, girl. Jews have no land of their own now, but it will be different in the future. There will be a frightening time, but there will be a time when there will be only Jews on Earth and there will be one king. The Lord has sent Moses to save the people and Moses will complete his mission'. That was what my mother told me. There were no guests invited for Sabbath dinner, we had no relatives and our neighbors didn't often come to see us. We ate and rested. There was only our family. My parents took a rest on Saturday.

The first girl in the family, Olia, born in 1897, died when she was two years old, but I don't know what caused her death. My parents said she was a very pretty girl. The next child Khaya, born in 1904, finished the local grammar school for Jewish and Ukrainian children. Khaya became a dressmaker. She married Zeilek, a Jewish man and they moved to Kalush near the town of Stanislav [Ivano-Frankovsk at present], 200 kilometers from our village. They had two sons: Shleima and Pasyu. Khaya's husband was a communist and was involved in the underground movement. He struggled for the Soviet power in Western Ukraine. He had heart problems. When the Germans came in 1941 he died of a heart attack on that very day, I guess, it was an infarct. Khaya buried him and decided to get to the town of Stry where her husband's friends lived. All we found out from their neighbors was that they had to go through a forest that they entered and disappeared.

My brother Alter, born in 1908, came of age at 13. He prayed with his tallit and tefillin on and observed all Jewish traditions strictly. He finished the local school and became a very good tailor. He worked at a shop in Kosov owned by a Jew. He was handsome and intelligent. Alter brought home pictures of Lenin and Stalin and was hopeful for a better life. Alter looked forward to the time when Soviet troops came into town in 1939.

My second brother Idlei, born in 1912, was handicapped: his left arm and leg were underdeveloped. Our father taught him at home after work when he could. Idlei was a very kind and loving boy.

I was born in 1914. I was called Makhlia in the family. Shortly after I was born World War I began and my father was recruited to the army. He had his payes cut. He was a horn player in the troops of the Dual Monarchy. I remember my father coming back home from the war in 1917. My mother kept crying waiting for him. She asked me, 'Makhlia, will Father be back from the war?' and I replied 'Mother, my father has dropped his stick - I meant his horn - and is coming home to us. He will bring us challah'. I spoke Yiddish and didn't have enough words in my vocabulary to express my thoughts, but my mother understood and began to kiss me. Father returned home on that very day. He brought home tinned horsemeat and two small loaves of brown bread. The bread was so hard that my mother wondered how my father could have eaten it - she always baked delicious bread. 'I ate what they gave me', my father replied. When he saw me he exclaimed, 'God, you've grown big!' I hugged and kissed him. I didn't remember him since he went to the war shortly after I was born. I sat on his lap and said 'Dad, show me your teeth. I hope you haven't lost any blowing your horn'. I remember how happy I was to see him. My father was glad to be eating kosher food again, observe Jewish traditions and go to the synagogue. He couldn't do this when in the army. I don't remember whether he told us anything about the war.

My father went back to work at the wood cutting factory. Then, in 1919, my younger sister Itta was born. She was everybody's favorite. She studied well at grammar school. When the Soviet power was established in 1939 Itta went to work as a clerk at the fire department in Kosov.

My mother was a great cook. She bred chickens and took them to the shochet that lived near the synagogue. She only cooked chickens slaughtered by the shochet. Beef became kosher meat only after it was checked by the rabbi. My mother made chicken broth and meat balls from beef. Sometimes she added kolble and sometimes dumplings into chicken broth. On Friday mother made challah. She plaited them very skillfully like no one else. She also made 'Magdeburg pudding' from ground potatoes and she baked pies with nuts and honey and strudels with apples. My mother also made lokshen, very thin noodles. My mother cooked in ceramic pots on a wood stoked stove with an oven that had a tin lid. We ate food with wooden spoons.

We had special fancy dishes and utensils for Pesach. My father made fire to kosher all kitchen utensils and if something went wrong he burned that piece. The rabbi gave his permission to us to keep cereals and the rest of the leftovers were also burnt. I remember only two days in the middle of Pesach when it was allowed to do some work. I remember our family sitting at the table at Pesach. My father gave each of us a piece of matzah with jam and nuts on it and another piece with horseradish. Then he said a prayer standing. My mother put on a dark shawl and lit candles. We sat down for a meal and my father sang songs. It was beautiful. [Editor's note: this is what Makhlia remembered, although it is common knowledge that women do not light candles at seder and wear light colored shawls.]

Father made a sukkah at Sukkot. He made it from planks and we had meals there. Our Jewish neighbors that didn't have a garden made sukkot for their families in our garden. There were usually three or four sukkot in our garden. My father put on a long jacket and a black hat and said a prayer. My mother had her shawl on and boys wore small caps. We had meals in the sukkah through the whole period of Sukkot regardless of the weather.

There was a beautiful stone synagogue in the town. Women were sitting separately from men. At Chanukkah children got money. At Purim money was given to children and acquaintances. Purim was full of joy and fun. At Simchat Torah women and men began their dance at the synagogue in separate areas and then continued dancing together in the yard. There were processions with torches in the village - 'Let them know how Jews enjoy themselves. We are not afraid of anybody'.

Life was quiet and there were no conflicts. Ukrainians called Jews 'zhydy' [kikes] but there was no abuse: this was just the Ukrainian word for 'Jew'. [Editor's note: The word 'zhyd' is abusive in Russian, but not in Ukrainian. In Ukrainian villages 'zhyd' was the definition for a Jew and no other words for Jewish people were known.] My friend Catherine was a Ukrainian girl, my neighbor. We were like sisters. She liked to go to the synagogue with me. We studied at the Polish grammar school together. Half of the pupils were Jewish. There were no Jewish schools in the village, and Kosov, where there was a Jewish school, was seven kilometers from us and that was a little bit too far away. [Editor's note: there was a Jewish vocational school in Kosov that was established in 1898 sponsored by Baron de Girsh and there were Jewish schools where children studied in Hebrew].

Girls were taught Hebrew and Jewish traditions at home and boys studied at the synagogue in Kosov. In grammar school we had classes with a Catholic priest. We sang Ukrainian songs with Ukrainian children and they sang Jewish songs with us. The soul belongs to its people and has its own consolation. However much fun we had at school I didn't enjoy studying. My mother even went to ask my teacher to help me catch up with my studies, but the teacher replied, 'How can we help her if she doesn't want to study and runs away from school'. I didn't like school, but I enjoyed reading Polish love stories. My schoolmates from the Polish school gave me books. I left school after five years of studies. I was an obstinate girl and always did what I wanted. I didn't have any special plans for the future. I wanted to live with my parents and help my mother about the house.

When I was ten I fell and broke my collarbone. Nowadays doctors help with such problems, but at that time my bone knitted in a wrong way and I had my bone sticking out. I felt uncomfortable about it and wore high-necked clothes. I was short and thin and never gained weight no matter how much I ate. I thought that my problem made me different from others and that I was going to stay with my parents for the rest of my life. My brother Alter lived in his master's house in Kosov. I often went to see him and helped him with his work: I stitched buttonholes and sewed on buttons. Sometimes I stayed there longer, though I didn't quite like it there. My brother Alter lived in a small room on the second floor. There was a dirty common toilet at quite a distance from the house or a bucket in the room. His master was Jewish and the attitudes were loyal.

In the 1930s Zionist activists from Palestine arrived and tried to convince my parents to move there. I said to my father, 'Let's go there - why sit here?', but he replied 'No, I can't go there since I have no profession and there are no jobs for laborers there'. My father wasn't young any longer while they needed young employees in Palestine. They invited girls in particular. There were probably not many girls in Palestine. One young Jewish man even wanted to marry me to go to Palestine, but I refused since I didn't want to leave my family. I didn't want to get married either. Besides, we got assistance provided by America: clothing, food and some money that my father received. It was said to be provided by Joint 5. We knew little about it, we just thought that wealthier Jews were helping poorer ones. We didn't know about Zionism or other Jewish movements.

There were Polish executives in Kosov and neighboring areas. They treated Jews well and had Jewish assistants. During a short period Jacob Gardner, a Jewish man, was mayor in Kosov. On the other hand, the Polish population didn't trust the Ukrainian one to hold any key positions in the town. Hutsuls, local Ukrainians, were very good at woodcrafts and carpet weaving. There was a loom in almost every Ukrainian house. Besides carpets they also made sheep wool blankets - 'lizhnyki'. Some Jews also took over carpet making. There was a Jewish carpet making shop with about 40 employees. [Editor's note: Kosov still is a center of Ukrainian folk crafts today.]

We had a loom at home. My mother and I wove carpets and I also liked making picture wall carpets. When my brother brought pictures of Lenin and Stalin and said that they were leaders and we had to keep them in secret I wove their portraits on carpets and hid them. We didn't have information about what was going on in the outer world - in the Soviet Union, in particular. There was only one radio in the village that broadcast programs in Russian that only very few people could understand. However, we had some knowledge about the communist society from newspapers in Ukrainian that were distributed secretly. We believed this was the realm of wealth and justice where all people were equal and there were no rich or poor. Many people looked forward to the establishment of the Soviet power in our area hoping for a better and happier life. Poor Ukrainians and poor Jews looked forward to the coming of the Soviet army. I took no interest in politics and believed my brother Alter who told me about a happy life in the Soviet Union.

Young people were very enthusiastic when the Soviet troops came to where we lived in 1939, while my father and mother were less excited. They were getting older and were afraid of new developments. Shortly afterward Alter was recruited to the army and my mother was so concerned that she even fell ill. I took my carpets with pictures of Lenin and Stalin to the recruitment office and they let my brother go home. They only told him to stay away from anyone who could report on him to higher military authorities. Our town became a district center [Editors note: administrative unit in the Soviet Union]. There were many young military men and there were dancing parties arranged in the evenings. I didn't go to those parties while my sister Itta liked them a lot.

During the War

We lived two quiet years [from September 1939 through June 1941] with the Soviet power. There were no disturbances of Jewish life in Kosov and we went to the synagogue and celebrated holidays as before. My mother and I did the housekeeping and my father was a pensioner. Since I gave portraits of Stalin and Lenin to the military authorities our family was referred to as one of those that were loyal to the Soviet power. Besides, we didn't own any business or get involved in any social activities. Wealthier Jews lost their stores or shops that were expropriated by the state, but we didn't suffer from any suppression. We were in no hurry to even join a collective farm 6.

We didn't have any information about the situation in Europe since we didn't understand radio programs in Russian. That the war began on 22nd June 1941 was a surprise. My father or mother never took any interest in politics and we used newspapers for kindling our stove. Refugees from Hungary, Romania and Poland began to come to Kosov telling horrible stories about German brutalities against Jews. People could hardly believe what they were told, besides, it seemed to be so far away from us. There were a few German families in Kosov - very nice people, and we could never understand for what reasons Germany attacked the Soviet Union and why there had to be a war. We were scared. My mother decided to get food stocks. A few days after the war began my mother gave me 50 rubles to go to my sister Itta, who worked as a clerk in Kosov, to buy sugar. To get to Kosov I had to cross a bridge over a mountainous river. I crossed it and climbed a hill when I heard a terrible roar. I looked back and saw the bridge fly up into the air after it was bombed by a plane. At that moment I realized that I had lost my mother and my mother had lost me. The river parted us forever and there was no way for me to return home. I cried and wailed, but there was nothing to do about it.

Itta and I learned about what happened to our parents after we returned to Pristyn from evacuation in 1945. Our Ukrainian neighbors told us the sad story. When Romanian troops came to the village some local Ukrainian villagers began to rob and abuse their Jewish neighbors Even Romanians came to protect Jews from abuse. In September 1941 the Germans came to the village. On 16-17 October 1941 they captured almost half of the Jewish community of the village to take them to execution in the vicinity of the village. Our father, mother and Idlei hid in the cellar. A 'bukharka' - slang for 'drunkard' - Galia, a local Ukrainian, saw them and began to shout, calling the Germans to 'come here immediately: there is a 'zhydivka' hiding'. The Germans pulled my mother outside by her hair and my father by his beard. Idlei was running after them yelling in Yiddish, 'Don't touch my mother or I will kill you', but the Germans only laughed at him. When they reached the shooting ground the Germans forced my father to bury those Jews that had been shot there. I'm still terrified to think what my father must have felt while burying his Jewish neighbors and acquaintances. Then the Germans put my father, mother and handicapped Idlei into a gas chamber truck and left the truck somewhere. When they were dead, their bodies were thrown out some place - nobody knows where. The rest of the Jews were taken to Kolomyia where they were gradually exterminated. Our neighbors told us this story when we visited Pistyn after the war. They witnessed what happened.

When I reached my sister Itta at the fire department in Kosov in the summer of 1941, they were all preparing for evacuation. This was a military fire unit and my sister was a civilian hired to work there. At that time nationality didn't matter at all. They evacuated and took their people with them regardless of nationality. My sister helped me obtain permission to evacuate with them. I had no documents or clothes with me. We reached Kharkov where I went to work as an attendant in a hospital and Itta worked in the hospital pharmacy. I did all the hard work washing and carrying wounded soldiers, washed blood stained bandages and cleaned the wards and surgery rooms until they began to shine. We were staying in the hospital since we didn't have a place to live. We had to forget our kosher habits and ate what we could get. We stayed in Kharkov until October 1941. The front was getting closer and the hospital moved to a settlement in Krasnodar region [150 kilometers from Kharkov]. I worked day and night in this hospital. The doctors, nurses and patients treated me well.

We often went to the frontline by sanitary train to pick up the wounded. Once we had a wounded German soldier and nobody wanted to help him. I washed him and applied a bandage. When others asked me why I was doing that I replied, 'All soldiers deserve treatment. He must shoot, he has no choice - if he doesn't shoot he would be shot at. You know, he is a German, but he is a soldier and you are solders. Hitler is Satan'. I never kept it a secret that I'm a Jew and I do what I think is right. People appreciated my kindness and told me that I would live to turn 100 years. They called me 'Manechka' like my mother did. Nobody cared that I had no education or that I spoke poor Russian. There were representatives of various nationalities in hospital; nobody cared about nationality issues. There were only thoughts about victory over the Nazis.

I found it interesting to look in the microscope when I came to the laboratory. One Jewish doctor said once, 'We need to employ Makhlia to do testing in the laboratory rather than wash floors. She must do blood testing'. The director of the hospital, a major, liked this idea. I was given 20 hours of training. I had to remember everything by heart since I could hardly write. My trainers said that I was smart since I passed my exam successfully. I learned to do blood testing very skillfully. Our patients always asked for me to take their blood tests. There was another nurse that also took blood tests. Soldiers complained that it hurt when she took their blood, but there were no complaints when I did it.

Vassiliy Khalzov was an attendant and then a medical nurse in this same hospital. He was a Tatar man who came from the Volga area in Russia. He was born in 1919. He was very handy, and he was a great storyteller. We were friends and he proposed to me several times. I couldn't understand whether it was a joke or he was serious and replied that I wished to be a spinster. I hoped to meet a Jewish man, but where was I to find one? So many Jews perished either during the occupation or at the front. Vassiliy often went on trips to the frontline or to escort a patient home. When he came back he used to say, 'Don't be afraid of me, I'm a Jew, too', meaning that the two of us had to stick together and that we were alike in some respect. I was raised in such manner that developed a conviction in me that Jews had to marry their own kind and I wasn't used to thinking about a man of a different nationality.

After the War

The war was coming to an end. We worked 15 hours per day in the hospital, had meals and slept there. Ukraine was liberated in the winter of 1944. Our hospital moved to Lvov in the spring of 1945. I shared a room with my sister Itta in the center of the town. We still had many patients from the frontline. In 1945 my brother Alter, who was demobilized after he was severely wounded, found me. He told me that when the war began Maria, a Ukrainian woman from Kosov, hid him. She was in love with him and would have done anything for him. She even threatened to kill her own husband, who was a policeman and worked for the Germans. Alter ran away from her, crossed the frontline and joined the Soviet army. He was wounded several times and participated in the liberation of Ukraine, Poland and Czechoslovakia. In 1946 Alter married Sonia, the daughter of a rabbi from Wroclav in Poland. I don't know how they met. They had their wedding in Lvov; it was a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and a rabbi. My sister and I made traditional food: gefilte fish and everything else our mother had taught us.

The husband of Sonia's sister was a tailor and my brother became his assistant. In 1946 Soviet authorities permitted the Polish population to return to Poland and my brother and his family moved to Wroclav. Alter always observed Jewish traditions except during his service in the army. My brother had two sons born there. They moved to the US in the 1950s. They live in Chicago now. I never saw Alter again, and he didn't describe what he thought about his life in Chicago. When my brother turned 80 [in 1988] he decided to have a bullet, which he had had for 50 years, removed from his body. He passed away during the surgery. On the day he died his grandson was born and named Alter after my brother. In the early 1950s Maria, the Ukrainian woman who rescued Alter, found me to get information about Alter. I told her that I didn't know where he was as my brother asked me to do. She began to cry and said that she would be praying for him.

My sister Itta married Vershkin, a Russian man, a military, in 1946. They lived not far from us in Lvov. After the war Jews tried to switch to Russian names [common name] 7 to avoid teasing or mocking. Itta changed her Jewish name to Lida, a Russian name. She has three children. Her son Victor lives in Lvov and her daughters married Ukrainian men and moved away: Tania lives in St. Petersburg and Klava lives in Zhytomyr. Itta lives in the vicinity of Lvov. We seldom see each other. Her husband died in the 1980s. Itta has been ill since then.

Vassiliy kept proposing to me, but I just cracked jokes in return. When my brother returned and met Vassiliy they became friends. My brother said to me, 'Makhlia, he is not a Jew, but he is a good man. He won't let you down'. Vassiliy told me that he was also circumcised. [Circumcision is also customary with Tatar people.] Vassiliy always made a good impression on people. I don't know where he studied, but he seemed to know everything. He could discuss any subject and was great company.

My brother and Vassiliy convinced me to marry Vassiliy. Actually, we didn't have a ceremony - we just began to live together in a room in the hospital. I got pregnant. In 1946 I gave birth to three girls. Vassiliy was away taking some patients home. The doctors gave me only one girl: she was the tiniest of the three and weighed only 900 grams. I didn't even see the two other girls and have no idea what happened there, the doctors probably gave them away for adoption for money. What could I do being a weak, hungry and helpless woman with no education? I didn't even know where to get help. There were many childless families after the war. Women wanted children, but couldn't bear them due to the hardships that they went through during the war.

The doctors came to explain the situation to me. They said that Vassiliy was far away and might not come back and I was too old to raise three children. They said the girls were in good hands and would have a good life. This was true - Vassiliy was far away and I didn't even know where. There was a woman doctor - she tried, but was childless for ten years. She begged me to give her my little girl. She was such a tiny little girl, but when I took her to feed she grabbed my breast so greedily. I didn't give her away. I decided to raise her by myself. I named her Leya after my mother, but someone told me that this Jewish name would spoil her life. So I gave her the Russian name of Ludmila, but for myself I called her Leya. Her full name Ludmila is written in all her documents. At home we affectionately called her Leya. Later I also began to call her Ludmila. When Vassiliy returned home he got mad from what he heard. He ran to the maternity hospital demanding his girls. The obstetrician there calmed him down, 'She will have so many children that you wouldn't know what to do with them. The girls are no longer in town. One went to a general's family and the other one to the family of a colonel'. Nobody would tell us where to look for the girls anyway.

That same year, in 1946, Vassiliy and I registered our marriage in a registry office. We didn't have a wedding party. I took my husband's last name - Khalzova. Vassiliy demobilized from the army and began to work at the flour mill factory; he was a mechanic there. He didn't allow me to go to work. I was to look after the children. That doctor was right: our daughter Valentina was born in 1949 and Alla followed in 1953. My husband wanted a boy, but we didn't have one. I didn't want to have many children and had seven abortions.

Vassiliy was a very skilled mechanic and had a lot of work to do. He picked up any work to make more money for the family. Vassiliy was very hardworking and thought that 'a hundred rubles was better than a hundred friends'. [Editor's note: he reversed the Russian saying 'A hundred friends are better than a hundred rubles'.] He was very smart at work and his colleagues said about him, 'he is smart as a zhyd'. Common Ukrainians used to call smart people 'zhydy', there was even some envy to this word. He told me to stay at home and used to say that he would find out how to provide for us. I took good care of our girls: I made clothes, embroidered them and they were always dressed like little dolls.

I didn't celebrate any Jewish traditions after the war - it's not that I forgot them, but somehow I didn't observe any. My daughters weren't raised Jewish. We spoke Russian at home. I just told them about my mother and about our life in the village. When we visited Itta we sang songs that Itta and I remembered since we were children. I cooked the way I was used to. Vassiliy didn't eat pork either. We didn't specifically follow the kosher laws, but we kept meat products separately from dairy products. I might hear the abusive 'zhydovka' while standing in line to buy something, but, as I say, I know how to answer for them to leave me alone. And frankly, I didn't pay much attention to any such demonstrations of anti-Semitism. Life was difficult and common people blamed Jews for their problems, but I always reacted in such manner that they never made another attempt to hurt me.

We lived our life and didn't care about our political surroundings. I remember Stalin's death [March 1953]. I liked him since I was making his portrait - he was a handsome man with a moustache. I cried after him. Vassiliy said when he came home and saw me crying, 'Stop crying; he is not your husband or brother, is he?' I thought that if Stalin had known the true state of things he wouldn't have allowed Jews or Russians or anyone else to be suppressed and offended. Jews and Russians were suppressed in similar ways, and my husband was always ready to come to anybody's help. But Vassiliy said to me that he was there to protect me, not Stalin. He did everything for the family, that's true.

During the rule of Khrushchev 8 there were problems with bread. [Editor's note: in 1962-1963 bread was released to people for special coupons since there were no crops of wheat and they had to stand in long lines for two to three hours to get some bread. This was low quality bread mixed with corn flour.] There wasn't enough bread and it was very low quality baked from corn flour, but I had no problem whatsoever. Vassiliy repaired equipment at the flour mill and we always had flour. I baked bread like my mother taught me. Vassiliy didn't like living in the center of town where there were few trees. He didn't like asphalted streets. We changed our apartment to a house in a quiet green neighborhood. Vassiliy made cages for rabbits. He slaughtered them and I cooked rabbit meat. I tried to tell him that it was sinful to slaughter rabbits that we raised, but he had his own law: it was sinful to steal or kill, but one could eat what was good. He did everything for the family, but he had his own rules that the family had to make up with. My husband worked a lot and we didn't have much free time. We didn't go to theaters. Sometimes my daughter and I went to the cinema; we liked Indian films.

Our girls studied well at school and I decided to go to work. I became a cleaning woman in the nearest polyclinic in 1961. When my husband heard about it he beat me with his belt since he wanted me to stay home. This was the only time he behaved like that; he just got furious when he heard that I wished to go to work. However, I had my own character and I explained to him that our girls were growing up and needed new clothes and shoes and that I was going to make some money for them to have what was necessary. My husband provided everything necessary, but our girls wanted to have nice clothes or shoes, which again Vassiliy didn't quite understand due to his rough character. I wanted to earn some extra money for our girls. I need to say that I always felt comfortable in the family and had a feeling of being protected and the feeling of stability. When I got my salary for the first two weeks I bought my husband a bottle of vodka and he agreed that it was all right for me to go to work. He came to the polyclinic to help me do my work saying, 'I feel uncomfortable that you have to work'. Vassiliy loved me. He died in 1972 - he came home from work, lay down and never woke up. I don't know what happened to him, but he drank a lot. He worked hard and drank hard.

Ludmila finished school and a college. She worked as an accountant at a meat factory. She married Vladimir Voronin, a Russian man. I didn't have any objections to her marriage - he loves her and they get along well. Ludmila has a daughter, Tania, and a granddaughter, Martusia - my great granddaughter. Martusia goes to the Jewish school. She is a very pretty girl. She performs at concerts and studies Hebrew. She says, 'I'm not Ukrainian, I'm a Jew'. Tania laughs, 'I'm also a Jew and so is my mother - we are all Jews'. Ludmila is a pensioner; she goes to Hesed and is interested in Jewish life. She goes to concerts and celebrations. She knows more about traditions than I do. In Hesed they attend classes where they study Jewish traditions, the history of the Jewish people and Jewish literature while I have forgotten most of it.

Valentina finished school and didn't want to continue her studies. She went to work as a clerk at a passport office. She married Zarovskiy, a Polish man. His mother was a cleaning woman at a synagogue and treated Jews with understanding and sympathy. He got a good education to become a lawyer. They have a big apartment in the center of Lvov. Their daughter Irina is a nice girl and very cheerful. She is also a lawyer. Their son Vladek is a student at Lvov University. He lives alone.

My children live in Lvov. They come to see me and help me with the housework. Lvov is a small town and it only takes them 20-30 minutes to get to my place.

I live with my younger daughter Alla. She has a higher education - she graduated from polytechnic college and worked as an engineer at a TV factory, but who needs engineers nowadays? All industrial enterprises in Lvov have been shut down and many engineers have lost their jobs. The state doesn't finance big enterprises. Their equipment is obsolete and they cannot survive in the conditions of market economy. Alla works as a cook in the administration of Jewish organizations when representatives of Joint or other associations visit them - representatives of Jewish communities from other towns. There are also visitors from Israel or USA. She makes delicious Jewish traditional food. She had bad luck at the beginning when she married a Ukrainian man that tortured us. He stole money from us, beat us. He is in prison for assault now. Alla has a wonderful son, my beloved grandson Alexei. He is 26. He works as a manager in a private company in Rovno and is a very respectable man. He comes on a visit with his fiancée every now and then. Alla lives with another Ukrainian man - Misha. He is a very nice man and loves Alla dearly. He helps her to wash bed linen and floors. He is kind to me. He tells me that I shouldn't do anything, but I simply need to do some work. I move about the house, but I don't go out - I will be 90 soon.

We don't observe any Jewish traditions or celebrate holidays at home. I go to Hesed when I get an invitation and when it's warm. I like to be examined by doctors, but I don't need free dinners - Alla makes better food at home. I like seeing other Jews at Hesed. We have a lot to talk about. We enjoy celebrating holidays and singing old songs. When we lived in the center of the town I had Jewish friends, but here there are only goyim. I don't feel like even talking with them. One neighbor here threw stones at my dog - and she is such a lovely and nice dog. I reprimanded him and he said, 'Why is a zhydovka speaking here? You don't have the right to talk here'. I didn't say anything in response. I'm glad that there are Jewish organizations in town that support us. This is due to perestroika 9, when many things changed for the better. People know more about the suffering of our people and their attitude changed for the better.

You know, Jews have always been persecuted. Now there are Arabs living beside Jews. They shoot at our children and hunt for us everywhere. I'm 90 and when I see how they fight with our men I may have a heart attack. What do they want? They want this land, but Jews worked hard to get this land. If I lived in Israel I would have a heart attack. I shall not move from here. My children say they feel all right here. They are half-Jews and don't have this strong spiritual bond with Jews in Israel. As for me, I shall always be where my children are.

I hardly ever see my sister Itta, although she lives in Lvov. We talk on the phone. Only when her children come to visit her we get together. Her daughter Tania tells us how Jews are supported in Leningrad and Klava tells me about Zhytomyr. Jewish communities support their members. They began to learn Jewish traditions when Hesed offices were established in various towns. This was something new and interesting for them. Since my sister and I always told our children about the life of our parents they were prepared to perceive this information with interest and their families show support and understanding of their needs.

I feel that I will die soon - my mother comes to me in my dreams. She says, 'Manya, I'm taking you with me. You've had enough hardships in life. You'll be in paradise with us, it is better here. You will die - you will not suffer, just hear an echo and this will be the end'. Misha, Alla's husband, says to me, 'You don't need to leave this life yet, you have to live longer to look at the sun and people'. Perhaps, I will wait.

Glossary

Renée Molho
Thessaloniki, Griechenland

Renée Molho ist 83 Jahre alt. Trotz kleiner Gehprobleme ist sie eine schöne und elegante Dame. Sie wohnt allein in einer großen Wohnung, die sie früherer mit ihrer Familie teilte. Sie hat einen großen Balkon und ist sehr stolz auf ihre Blumen. Blumen sind überall, fast in jedem Bilderrahmen. Sie erklärte mir, es ist eine Art Anerkennung für den Mann, der ihr das Leben rettete. Sie war während des Interviews sehr emphatisch und klopfte auf dem Tisch. Sie bemühte sich, Griechisch zu reden, aber sie spricht auch Ladino und verwendet nach Belieben englische und französische Wörter. Sie erzählt mit Leidenschaft – sie flüstert vor Angst und wird angespannt vor Wut. Vor nur zwei Jahren hörte sie im Alter von 81 auf, in der Buchhandlung zu arbeiten, die sie zusammen mit ihrem Mann verwaltete. Sie arbeitete seit der Befreiung dort. Sie war für die französischen Bücher zuständig, weshalb der Laden in ganz Griechenland bekannt wurde.

Familienhintergrund

Ich bin Renée Molho; mein Mädchenname ist Saltiel Abravanel. Ich wurde am 9. August 1918 in Thessaloniki geboren. Während der deutschen Besatzung wohnte ich in Israel. Ich spreche Griechisch, Französisch, Englisch und Spanisch [Ladino] und ich verstehe Italienisch.

Ich habe zwei Schwestern: Matilde Dzivre wohnt in Athen und Eda Saporta wohnt in Paris. Matilde wurde 1917 und Eda 1921 geboren. Sie sprechen dieselben Sprachen wie ich.
Alle Familienmitglieder waren spanische Staatsbürger. Wir stammen ursprünglich aus Spanien, aber wo genau weiß ich nicht.

Meine Großmutter mütterlicherseits hieß Mazaltov Saltiel (nee Saporta) und mein Großvater hieß Samuel Saltiel. Großmutter Saporta wohnte allein in einer Wohnung in einem zweistöckigen Wohnhaus. Im ersten Stock wohnte mein Onkel Sinto und im Erdgeschoss wohnte meine Großmutter. Sinto war der älteste von Omas Söhnen.

Die Geschwister meines Vaters, Joseph Samuel Saltiel, waren: Sinto, dann mein Vater Joseph, dann Onkel Avram, Onkel Mentesh, Ongel Sabetai und dann Tante Sol, die mit [Vidal] Amarilio verheiratet war, Tante Julia, Tante Berta und Tante Bellika.

Onkel Sinto war mit Bella Malah verheiratet. Ihre Kinder waren Samuel, Mathilde, Linda, Rosa, Renée und Alice.

Onkel Avram war mit Regina verheiratet – Tante Regina, wer weiß wie sie mit Nachname hieß. Sie hatten zwei Kinder, Leilia und Mathilde.
Onkel Mentesh hatte mit Rachelle Pinhas zwei Söhne, Samiko und Moris.

Onkel Sabetai war mit Rene, Tante Rene, verheiratet, und hatte Samiko und Julia. Sie waren alle spanische Staatsbürger.

Mein Großvater mütterlicherseits wurde früher Nadir genannt, aber eigentlich hieß er Shabetai. Sie nannten ihn Nadir, weil er ein sehr beharrlicher und intelligenter Mann war. Er stand früher immer um vier Uhr morgens auf, um französisch zu lernen. Immer wenn die Türken eine Rede halten mussten, musste er sie vorbereiten. Er war ein guter Mann und sie haben ihn so gerne gehabt, dass sie ihn Nadir genannt, was auf Hebräisch und Türkisch ‚selten’ heißt. Sie haben ihn immer gemocht und geschätzt. Ich weiß nicht was er beruflich machte, da er schon tot war, als meine Mutter, Stella Abravanel, heiratete. Ich wusste nur von ihm.

Meine Großmutter mütterlicherseits hieß Rikoula Abravanel, geboren Tsinio. Sie wohnte mit ihren Kindern, die Geschwister meiner Mutter. Sie waren David, Pepo, Leon und Mario - alle hießen Abravanel – sowie Rachelle, die mit Avram Haim, der Waschtuchverkäufer, verheiratet war. Sie hatten zusammen fünf Kinder: Lina, Elio, Renée, Nadir und Silvia.
Onkel Pepo heiratete Mitsa Rosengrad. Sie wohnten hier in Thessaloniki und hatten eine Tochter, Rena Abravanel, jetzt Greenup, die heute in Amerika lebt.

Onkel David war ein ehrlicher und wichtiger Mann. Der war Geschäftsführer bei einer großen Tabakfirma, „The Commercial“. Er war nie verheiratet, also war seine ganze Liebe an seine Schwestern, meine Mutter und Tante Rachelle und ihre Kinder gerichtet. Er besuchte uns oft und interessierte sich für uns; er wollte unsere Schulnoten sehen und wissen, wer von uns gut in der Schule war, wer nicht, und warum.

Als der Laden meines Vaters im Brand zerstört wurde, war es Onkel David, der neben ihn stand und ihn unterstützt hat. Er hat ihm sogar das Geld für einen Neustart gegeben. Gleichzeitig hat er für meiner Mutter ein Bankkonto eröffnet, so dass sie sich keine Sorgen mehr machen musste. Natürlich habe ich deswegen ein Faible für ihn. Er war immer für uns da.
Onkel Leon war mit Nini Nahmias verheiratet und hatte zwei Töchter, Riki – Rikoula – und Victoria. Sie waren 5 Jahre alt als der Krieg ausbrach. Er arbeitet auch bei „The Commercial,“ der Tabakfirma, unter der Führung seines älteren Bruders David.

Onkel Mario heiratete Ida. Ihr Vater war Arzt und er hatte in den Pariser Krankenhäuser studiert. Als sie heirateten, gingen sie nach Paris, um mit ihren Eltern zu leben. Doch sie schafften es nicht und kamen nach Thessaloniki zurück. Als die zurückkamen, kamen Idas Eltern nach. Der Vater, der unser Familienarzt war, erklärte uns alles. Ich weiß nicht was Onkel Mario in Frankreich machte. Hier war er Tabakexperte. Sie hatten einen Jungen, Edward, und zwei Mädchen, Renée und Lily Abravanel.

Während der Besatzung versteckten sie sich in Athen und wurden nicht deportiert. Edward war schon tot, weil er während der Eleutherias-Platz-Versammlung Meningitis bekam und daran starb.
Nach der Befreiung flüchteten sie versteckt auf einem Schiff nach Israel. Doch der Onkel Mario hatte kein Glück: er starb auf dem Schiff und wurde über Bord geschmissen. Seine Töchter heirateten in Israel und lebten im Afikim Kibbutz.

Mein Vater, Joseph Samuel Saltiel, wurde [am 5. Juni 1881] hier in Thessaloniki geboren. Er hat Spanisch und Deutsch und selbstverständlich auch Griechisch gesprochen. Er war schön, groß, dunkelhaarig und gutaussehend. Er war nicht sehr lustig; er war ernst, bestimmt ernster als er hätte sein sollen, da er drei Töchter hatte, was ihn störte. Er trug immer Anzug mit Krawatte, Hut, natürlich, und Handschuhe. Er kümmerte sich sehr ums Aussehen und war immer sehr gut angezogen. Ein sehr eleganter Mann.

Mein Vater war nicht besonders mutig und auch wenn er politische Überzeugungen hatte, hätte er sie nie öffentlich preisgegeben. So war er nicht. Doch er war sehr weise. Stellen Sie sich vor, zwei Menschen hätten sich gestritten. Er hätte sich eingemischt und den Kompromiss gefunden, weil er ein sehr gerechter, korrekter und weiser Mann war. Alle hatten Vertrauen in seine Ernsthaftigkeit und Logik. Ein Vermittler war er, kann man sagen. Er hätte gefragt: Inwiefern unterscheiden sie sich voneinander? Warum nicht dies oder jenes machen? Er hätte versucht, ihnen den Sinn zu zeigen und eine akzeptable Lösung zu finden, egal was für ein Problem.

Zuhause wurde nicht diskutiert – nicht über Nachrichten, Aktualitäten, Politik, Gerüchte, was auch immer. Er war nicht für lange Gespräche. Er kommunizierte nicht viel. Ich weiß nicht mehr, ob ich ihn einmal beim Lautlachen gesehen hätte. Er war immer ein bisschen kühl, auch mit Freunden! Er war nicht leicht zu erreichen, doch war ich das Hauptobjekt seiner Liebe.
Er schüttelte niemandem die Hand, nur mit mir hatte er es gemacht. Wenn er musste und es nicht vermeiden konnte, kam er schnell nach Hause, um sich die Hände zu waschen und sie mit Alkohol zu reinigen. Er hatte große Angst vor Mikroben und Verseuchungen aller Art; schließlich starb er an Krebs.

Er war sehr streng. Er wollte gerecht sein und deswegen war er in sich selbst eingeschlossen. Er zeigte selten Zuneigung – an kaum jemanden, ob an seine Frau, weiß ich nicht. Er war introvertiert.
Er war nicht bei der Armee. Damals war die Armee türkisch. Erst 1912 wurde Thessaloniki griechisch. Während der türkischen Zeit musste man nur einen bestimmten Geldbeitrag bezahlen, um den Wehrdienst sicher zu entkommen.

Beruflich verkaufte mein Vater Holz für die Bauarbeit. Er importierte Holz aus Rumänien. Ich erinnere mich noch daran, wie er nach einer Berufsreise wiederkam – er trug hohe Stiefel und einen Mantel mit Pelz drin. Einen Hut aus Pelz hatte er auch. Als er zurückkam, schien er mir – ich war damals noch sehr klein – so groß wie die Tür zu sein. Dieses Bild von ihm trage ich noch; Mein Vater als groß, stark und schön.

Meine Mutter dagegen war einem ganz anderen Charakter. Tante Rachelle, ihre Schwester, war groß und dick, meine Mutter dagegen klein, dünn und sehr intelligent mit einer fröhlichen Ausstrahlung. Sie war immer elegant, immer sehr gut angezogen. Sie war sehr vorsichtig, wurde nie dreckig und trug immer die neuste Kleidermode. Meine Großmutter Abravanel war einmal sehr schockiert, weil sie ein sehr kurzes Kleid trug. Kurz heißt: knapp über den Knie! So war die Mode, also trug sie es.

Sie war sehr klein. Sie hatte eine Schuhgröße von 34. Damals waren Schuhe immer maßgefertigt. Man kaufte keine Schuhe im Laden, stattdessen ging man zum Handwerker. Oft passten die Schuhe nicht so ganz – zu eng oder kurz – und man hatte Hornhaut überall auf den Füßen. Sie war eine glückliche Person und sang viel. Immer war sie am Lachen oder Witze erzählen. Sie las auch gerne.
Weder Kosmetik noch Lippenstift trug sie, doch sie benutzte Gesichtspuder. Ich habe noch eine kleine Kiste davon, gut versteckt, nur um meine Mutter noch riechen zu können.
Ich weiß, dass die Ehe meiner Eltern durch einen Heiratsvermittler arrangiert wurde. Die Heiratsvermittler kannte die Familien und suchte die passenden Töchter oder Söhne im Heiratsalter aus. Kontakt lief natürlich über die Eltern, nicht die Kinder. Man hat damals mit 18, 19, 20 geheiratet. Wenn eine Frau mit 29 unverheiratet blieb, war sie schon eine alte Jungfer.

Damals war es den Neuverheirateten üblich, die ersten Jahre bei der Familie der Frau zu wohnen. Doch meine Eltern machten das nicht, weil meine Mutter keinen Vater mehr hatte und Oma wohnte mit ihren noch unverheirateten Söhnen. Damals war es selten, aus Liebe zu heiraten. Ich kenne keine solchen Ehen. Damals hing es davon ab, was für eine Person dein Gatte oder Gattin war.
Zu dieser Zeit gab es wenige Mischehen. Sehr, sehr wenig. Bei uns sind die Schwestern von Tante Mitsa, Ida Margariti und Silvia, in gemischten Ehen großgeworden und ihre Kinder sind alle Christen. Ich weiß nicht, was die Familie dazu sagte, da ich damals noch sehr klein war.

Familienleben

Als ich klein war, wohnten wir in einem Haus mit großen Garten. Im Garten war das Haus, wo mein Onkel Sinto mit seiner Familie im ersten Stock wohnte und meine Großeltern mit Onkel Mentesh und Onkel Sabetai, die noch nicht verheiratet waren, im Erdgeschoss wohnten. Unseres Haus war klein und stand am anderen Ende des Gartens. Da war ein Wohnzimmer beim Eingang, zwei Schlafzimmer und eine Küche. Im Wohnzimmer und in der Küche wurde mit Holz geheizt; die Schlafzimmer waren kalt. Ein Schlafzimmer war für die Eltern, das andere für die drei Mädels. Matilde hatte ihr eigenes Bett, während Edi und ich zusammen im selben Bett schlafen mussten.

Eda war viel jünger als ich und eine Person voller Freude. Sie war nicht so pessimistisch wie ich. Ich war immer viel zurückhaltender. Eda war immer bester Laune – wie Mutter. Sie hat gerne und viel getanzt – sie tanzte auch diesen russischen Tanz im Sitzen, den Kalinka.

Im Haus hatten wir fließendes Wasser, doch im Hof stand noch eine Handpumpe, die wir fürs Pflanzengießen benutzten. Damals hatten wir auch eine Badewanne – damals nicht üblich. Strom hatten wir auch. Im Garten wuchsen nichts Essbares – kein Gemüse, nur Blumen und grüne Pflanzen. Wir Kinder spielten immer im Garten: fünf Kinder von Onkel Sinto und wir drei. Doch ich saß immer am Zaun und schaute was sie alle machen, weil sie sehr wild waren. Tiere hatten wir keine.
Als wir im Garten spielten, saß mein Opa immer vorm Haus um uns zu beobachten. Da gab es einen kleinen Granatapfelbaum mit zwei Blumen. Er hat gewartet und gewartet, bis die Früchte zeigen. Eines Tages merkte er, wie eine der Blumen anfing zu verblassen. Nachdem Eda eines Tages die Blume abschnitt, merkte sie, was sie getan hatte, und klebte sie mit einer Stechnadel wieder an den Baum. Opa sah alles und war von der Geste bewegt, deswegen wurde sie nicht von ihm bestraft.

Opa hatte eine Hernie und einen riesigen Bauch, deshalb konnte er nicht mehr gehen. Also saß er immer vorm Haus. Er trug immer Andari, weil er wegen seines großen Bauches sonst nichts tragen konnte. Kippa trug er nicht, trotzdem war er religiös. Jeden Freitag versammelte sich ein Minjan bei ihm zuhause, um dort, statt in einer Synagoge, die traditionelle Lektüre zu machen. Ich weiß nicht in welche Synagoge sie sonst gingen.

Mein Vater war nicht dabei. Er bekam nicht von der Arbeit frei. Zuerst wurde am Schabbat nicht gearbeitet, aber später, in 1934, machte die griechische Regierung ein neues Gesetz bekannt, das Sonntag zum offiziellen Feiertag erklärte. Also mussten sie arbeiten, auch wenn sie nicht wollten.

Meine Großmutter war so angezogen wie wir heute. Sie trug nichts von den traditionellen Klamotten der jüdischen Frauen. Ich kenne solche Klamotten nur aus Fotos.
Es waren viele Juden in unserer Gegend. Doch war die Familie so groß, dass wir keine Freundschaften außerhalb dessen suchten. Eigentlich waren alle Juden. Der Lebensmittelhändler, der Gemüsehändler. Sie gingen alle durch die Gegend, um ihre Waren anzukündigen.

Immer als der Gemüsehändler bei meiner Großmutter vorbeikam – bei Großmutter gab es zwei Fenster an der Straße – stand Großvater am Fenster und fragte, „wie viel kostet eine Tomate heute? Ah, zu teuer, kauf ich nicht, verkaufen Sie sie mir für einen billigeren Preis?“ – „Was kann ich für Sie tun, Herr Samuel, wieviel möchten Sie bezahlen?“
Dann sagte mein Großvater den Preis und meine Großmutter, am anderen Fenster, winkte den Mann zu und sagte, „Sagen Sie ja, ja.“ „Ach, was mache ich mit Ihnen, Herrn Samuel? Ich gebe sie Ihnen, aber nur weil Sie es sind.“ Dann nahm Großvater die Waren und Großmutter bezahlte die Differenz vom anderen Fenster, nur um Großvater eine Freude zu machen und ihm die Genugtuung zu geben, er hätte was erreicht.

Durch die Straßen gingen wir nie. Ich glaube die waren alle noch unbefestigt, mit Erde aber keinem Asphalt bedeckt. Ein Auto hatten wir nicht, aber damals gab es schon welche. Pferde hatten wir auch nicht. Wir sind immer mit dem Bus oder Tram gefahren. Eher Tram als Bus.
Wir waren noch sehr jung, als wir das Haus verließen. Wir verließen es als wir zur Schule mussten. Immer als die Schule umzog, zogen wir auch um. Zuerst Konstandinidi, dann Gravias, dann... wir verfolgten die Mission Laique Française.

Im neuen Haus waren wir immer noch nicht ganz allein – das Haus war in einer Straße, in einer Umgebung, voller Juden.

Unser Glaubensleben

Meine Eltern waren gläubig aber keine Fanatiker. Mein Vater ging während den hohen Feiertagen vom Neujahr [Rosch ha-Schana], Pessach, Jom Kippur usw. in die Synagoge. Damals gingen keine Mädchen in die Synagoge, nur Männer. Wir blieben mit Mutter zuhause.

Kaschrut [die jüdischen Speisegesetze] nahmen wir insofern wahr, dass der Metzger Jude und das Fleisch dementsprechend koscher war. Jeden Freitag kam der Metzger zu uns nach Hause und nahm unsere Bestellungen entgegen.

Jeden Freitag las mein Vater Kiddusch [Segenspruch]. Er schnitt uns auch Stücke gebackener Eier [huevos encaminados] und, nach dem Kiddusch küssten wir ihm die Hand und er segnete uns. Das war jeden Freitag. Das Brot kauften wir beim jüdischen Bäcker.

Für Rosch ha-Schana machten wir alles was man dafür machen sollte. Wir aßen das von der Religion vorgeschriebene Essen. Wir machten alles und ich kann mich noch an ein paar Sachen erinnern, die mein Vater immer auf Hebräisch sagte. Die bleiben noch mit mir, obwohl ich kein Hebräisch kann. Mein Vater sprach kein Hebräisch, doch lesen konnte er es. Die Feierlichkeiten für Rosch ha-Schana sind genau wie heute.

Jom Kippur nahmen wir auch wahr. Immer als mein Vater an dem ersten Jom-Kippur-Abend nach Hause kam, mussten wir schon bereit, gewaschen und ruhig sein. Fasten machten wir auch mit. Am Ende des Fastens aßen wir zuerst Süßigkeiten, um uns ein süßes neues Jahr zu wünschen. Danach tranken wir Limonade und aßen dazu Kekse, die wir beim jüdischen Konditorei, Almosnino, kauften. Dann Suppe mit Pasta und am Ende Hühnchen mit Tomatensauce. Limonade trinken wir am Jom Kippur, weil sie anscheinend gut auf leeren Magen ist. So war es in jedem Haushalt. Das war Standardmenü – man findet alles im Buch „Les Fētes Juives“ [Die jüdischen Feiertage]. Niemand hat mir das Kochen beigebracht. Man lernt alles nur beim Zugucken.

An Pessach erinnere ich mich nicht mehr. Wir aßen das Traditionelle. Am ersten Abend Pessachs waren die Brüder meiner Mutter, Onkel David und Onkel Pepo, bei Tante Rachelle und am zweiten Abend waren sie bei uns. Wir feierten dann alle zusammen und lasen Haggada, wie am ersten Abend. Den Seder lasen wir auf Spanisch, da wir unter uns immer auf Spanisch sprachen.
Am Pessach aßen wir Mazze, weil wir kein Brot essen. Mazze ist Brot, das nicht treibt. Jetzt kaufen mir Mazzen von der Gemeinde. Als ich noch ein Kind war, gab es Bäckereien in Thessaloniki, die Mazze machten. Nicht wie heute. Damals war die Juden so zahlreich, dass die Mazze hier hergestellt wurden. Die wurden von den Bäckereien an die Häuser geliefert und die Stücke waren so groß – ungefähr 40x40 cm – dass wir einen speziellen Schrank dafür hatten. Und acht Tage lang – während der ganzen Pessach-Zeit – gab es kein Brot zuhause.

Während Pessach wurde auch Eier gebacken [huevos enchaminados]. Es war damals Tradition in Thessaloniki, Verwandten vor der Pessach-Feier zu besuchen. Die Taschen der Besucher waren schon so voll mit Eiern, dass sie am Ende des Abends mindestens 15 hatten. Wir besuchten die anderen Häuser nicht. Mädels dürften nicht, nur Männer.
Dafür bereiteten wir das Haus mit schönen Sachen vor. Meine Mutter trug ihren Schmuck und die Besucher kamen in ihren Abendkleidern. Das Haus glänzte. Alle hatten Eile, weil sie noch jemanden und noch jemanden und noch jemanden besuchen mussten. Aber zumindest kamen sie und wir sahen uns und verloren nie den Kontakt.

Über die hohen jüdischen Feiertage gibt es viele Bücher. Das, was ich habe, erklärt die Unterschiede zwischen dem Essen der Sephardim und dem der Aschkenasim. Die Aschkenasim essen Gefiltefisch, wir nicht. Stattdessen essen wir „Sasan“ – Fisch mit Sauce.

Während des Laubhüttenfestes [Sukkot] hatten wir natürlich eine Laubhütte. Onkel Sinto, der Bruder meines Vaters, hatte einen großen Balkon, fast wie ein Raum. Dort baute er die Laubhütte und wir gingen alle hin. Da saßen wir, aßen wir, es wurde geredet und war ganz schön.

Mein Vater war bei jeder Feier in der Synagoge. Wir warteten darauf, bis er mit Süßigkeiten wieder nachhause kam und zum guten Glück alle Lichter im Haus anmachte. Er brachte immer ‚baissées’, eine komplett weiße Süßigkeit, die er beim jüdischen Bäcker Almonsnino kaufte, mit. Dann gingen wir alle zu Oma um sie zu küssen und ihren Segen zu bekommen.

Beim Hanukkah-Feier zündeten wir die Channukia an und das war’s. Wir sangen noch und das war’s.

Bat-Mitzwa für Mädchen hatten wir nicht. Aber Bar-Mitzwa für Jungen gab es: unsere Cousins feierten ihre in der Synagoge. Wir waren alle dabei, auch die Mädchen. Wir waren in unterschiedlichen Synagogen, doch es gab eine hier in der Gegend, genau dort, wo wir den Bus nehmen. Bet Schaoul hieß sie. Da, wo wir jetzt hingehen, die Monastiriotin, war bei Vardari und weit weg von uns. Damals gingen wir nicht dahin.

Bis auf die Bet Schaoul, kann ich mich an keine anderen Synagogen erinnern, da die Mädchen nicht sehr oft dahingingen. Für Hochzeiten oder andere Arten Feier gingen wir hin. Es war nicht so wie heute.

Frauen waren auch nicht bei Beerdigungen. Im Friedhof auch nicht.

Meine Jugend

Wir waren ziemlich wohlhabend. Wir hatten ein Dienstmädchen. Wir hatten Dienstmädchen, die bei uns im Haus wohnten. Alle Jüdinnen. Später, kurz vor dem Krieg, war bei uns eine Christin aus Ai Vat. Sonst hatten wir nicht so wirklich Fremde bei uns. Eine namens Sternia mochte mich sehr. Sie verließ uns schon lang vor dem Krieg und ging nach Israel, wo sie heiratete. Während der Besatzung, als ich in Israel war, kam sie mich mit ihren Kindern besuchen.

Mein Vater, wie ich erzählte, war sehr streng und erlaubte uns nicht, das Haus zu verlassen. Ab und zu im Sommer, wenn wir ins Kino wollten – und wir konnten ihn nicht wirklich anlügen – sagten wir ihm: „Wir gehen mit Herrn Saporta ins Kino.“ Herr Saporta war Raf, der Bruder meiner Freundin Tida. Er war jünger als wir! Wir gingen ins Apollon, ein Freiluftkino. Aber nur die Mädchen gingen zusammen ins Kino. Es gab keine Jungen in unserer Gruppe. Wenn mein Vater wüsste, dass Herr Saporta Raf war, hätte er uns nie erlaubt, dahin zu gehen.

Meine Mutter hatte Probleme mit ihren Beinen und ging deswegen im Sommer nach Laganda, ein Dorf nordwestlich von Thessaloniki, wo es eine Thermalquelle gab. Sie fuhr mit der Pferdekutsche dahin und blieb bis sie komplett erholt war. Manchmal ließ sie uns alleine, manchmal brachte sie eine von uns mit. Generell blieb ich zuhause, da mein Vater ein Faible für mich hatte. Alles war ruhig und ich stritt mich mit niemandem. Meine Schwester Matilde und Eda stritten sich immer. Sie waren sowieso leichter aufzureizen, während ich dagegen sehr ruhig war. Doch manchmal streitet man sich trotzdem.
Bis auf die Aufenthalte meiner Mutter bei der Thermalquelle fuhren wir nicht in Urlaub. Unser Haus stand am Meer, deswegen hatten wir nie das Bedürfnis, irgendwo anders hinzufahren.

Ich ginge in die französische Schule – die Lycée Française – hier in Thessaloniki. Ich absolvierte die Mission Laïque Française und ging dann in die amerikanische Schule, Anatolia College. Ich war nie an einer jüdischen oder griechischen Schule. Meine Schwester war an einer griechischen Mädchenschule – die Cschina – deswegen kann sie besser griechisch als ich.

Dann gab es ein Gesetz, das sagte, wir durften so mit der Bildung nicht weitermachen. Alle nicht-griechischen Staatsbürger durften nur zu griechischen Grundschulen gehen. Da wir spanische Staatbürger waren, mussten wir die Schulen wechseln. Matilde war kurz davor, die französische Schule zu absolvieren.
Das hätte auch für mich gelten müssten, doch, weil ich im Verhältnis zu meinem Alter mit meinem Studium schon so weit war, wollte mein Vater sich nicht einmischen, und ich durfte wie geplant weiterstudieren. Ich war in allen Fächern eine gute Schülerin. Ich konnte sie alle sehr gut, doch hatte ich sie weder gemocht noch gehasst.

Eda war dagegen noch sehr jung und immer noch an der Grundschule, also wurde sie sofort an die griechische Schule geschickt. Sie war, wie an der französischen Schule, in der 5. Klasse, doch konnte sie kein Griechisch. Mein Vater fragte bei der Lehrerin, Fräulein Evgenia, und sie bekam von ihr Nachhilfe in Griechisch. Bis Mitte des Schuljahres war sie die Klassenbeste.

Von anderen Religionen wussten wir immer schon. Von ihnen wussten wir, wir sahen sie, hörten sie, sogar im Viertel. An der Mission Laïque Française waren nicht nur Juden.

Wir hatten mit Christen keine engen Verhältnisse. Natürlich gab es christliche Schüler bei mir und ab und zu trafen wir uns außerhalb der Schule, aber keine engen Freundschaften. Nichtdestotrotz hatten wir keine äußeren Merkmale, die uns vom Rest der griechischen Bevölkerung unterscheiden könnten – weder an Klamottenstil noch an Verhalten. Sie konnten uns nicht unterscheiden.

Nach der Schule waren wir auf eine fünftägige Exkursion mit der Anatolia College. Wir waren ungefähr 12-14 Mädchen, drei von uns waren jüdisch. Wir fuhren nach Olympia [bedeutender archäologischer Ort] und dort sah ich wunderschöne Sachen, die ich sonst nicht hätte sehen können, da mein Vater so streng war.

Bücher, die nicht für die Schule gelesen werden mussten, lasen wir nicht. Mein Vater las Bücher über Religion, doch er war kein Fanatiker. Er wollte nur gut informiert sein. Abends saßen wir immer zusammen – jeder bei seiner eigenen Beschäftigung, sei es lernen, sei es lesen oder nähen.

Zuhause hatten wir kein Grammofon. Meine Großmutter Abravanel hatte eins und wir besuchten sie fast jeden Samstag. Dort hörten wir Musik – klassische Musik und was damals sonst en vogue war. Dort waren auch Zeitschriften, weil mein Onkel David nur ernstzunehmende Zeitschriften abonnierte. Bei Oma war immer gutes Essen, Musik, Zeitschriften und Wärme. Wir besuchten Großmutter sehr gern.

Damals waren die Träume ganz einfach – die Träume eines jungen Mädchens. Es war normal, dass man heiratet und eine eigene Familie gründet. Doch ich konnte nicht verstehen, wie wir heiraten werden, weil dafür eine Mitgift nötig war. Ich weiß nicht, ob mein Vater sich drei leisten konnte. Auch weiß ich nicht, ob ich hätte heiraten dürften. Es gab eine Reihenfolge – Matilde zuerst, da sie die älteste war, danach ich und Eda. Deswegen stand Matilde im Fokus. Sie musste immer gut angezogen sein und gut gepflegt aussehen. Das Heiraten hatte damals nichts mit persönlicher Präferenz zu tun – das gibt’s nur ohne Mitgift. Ich kenne niemanden, der vor dem Krieg ohne Mitgift heiratete.

Da wir keine Brüder hatten, hatten wir wenig Kontakt zu Jungen. Erst später, am Anfang des Krieges, als wir im selben Haus mit Tante Rachelle und ihren Söhnen, Nadir und Elio, wohnten, hatten wir das erste Kontakt zu Jungen, ihren Freunden.

Ich wollte unbedingt arbeiten und besuchte nach der Schule einen Kurs zur Stenographie. Dann bewarb ich mich bei einer Ölfirma. Die Aussichten waren gut und ich hätte die Stelle bekommen, wäre der Krieg nicht gekommen.

Mein Vater wollte nicht, dass ich arbeite, doch machte er nichts dagegen, weil wir das Geld brauchten. Sein Laden ist runtergebrannt. Nicht nur sein Laden, sondern auch die ganze Gegend. Das war in der Santaroza-Straße – wo sich all die Holzgeschäfte befanden. Es war mein Eindruck, dass alle dort Juden waren. Das Holz wurde von Juden verkauft. Dort arbeitete auch Onkel Sinto, Onkel Daniel und Onkel Avram. Eigentlich kenne ich keinen Beruf, der nicht von Juden ausgeübt wurde. Sie haben alles gemacht. Nachdem der Aufruhr hier stattfand und sie die Häuser im Campbell-Viertel niederbrannten, gingen diejenigen, die dort am Hafen lebten und arbeiteten, nach Israel. Dort arbeiteten sie am Hafen Haifas mit und sind für seine Entwicklung mitverantwortlich.
Um das Campbell-Viertel zu erreichen, musste mein Vater mit zwei Bussen fahren. Sein Laden war sehr weit weg von zuhause. An dem Tag ging er wie immer sehr früh und meine Mutter stand am Balkon und sah zu, wie er wegfuhr bis er endlich verschwand. Irgendwie spürte ich schon, dass etwas war. Alle hatten damals Angst und der Beweis dafür ist, dass sie endlich weggingen. Zuhause redeten wir nie darüber.

Während des Krieges

Als der Krieg mit Italien deklariert wurde, zogen wir zu meiner Tante Mitsa in der Gravias-Straße. Ich weiß nicht mehr, warum wir dorthin zogen – mein Onkel Pepo und Tante Mitsa waren aus irgendwelchen Grund in Athen. Bei ihnen zuhause waren Okel Leon und die Schwestern von Tanta Mitsa, Silvia, mit ihrem Mann, Herr Margaritis, meine Tante Rachelle mit ihrer Familie, und wir.
Unser Beitrag an den Krieg war das Stricken. Mir machten Socken und Handschuhe für die Soldaten. Wir strickten Tag und Nacht, doch weiß ich nicht an wen die schließlich verteilt wurden. Ich, meine Schwestern, meine Freunde – wir saßen alle rum und strickten für die Soldaten in Albanien. Dort froren sie und als sie zurückkamen, hatten sie gefrorenen Finger und Ziehe. Ich kannte einen namens Saqui, der mit gefrorenen Beinen zurückkamen. Ich weiß nicht ob die amputiert wurden, aber das war damals Thema. Nach dem Krieg ging er nach Israel und kam nie wieder her.
Wir strickten und sangen das patriotische Lied von Vembo : „Blöder Mussolini, keiner bleibt, du und dein lächerliches Land haben Angst vor uns und unseren Khaki-Farben [griechischer Militäruniform].“ Wir glaubten an diese Lieder, sie beeindruckten uns. Vembo war toll und wir sangen mit Leib und Seele.

Nachdem Italien von den Griechen besiegt wurde, kamen die Deutschen, ihre Alliierte, um das Problem zu lösen. Um das Gesicht zu retten! Daran kann ich mich noch dunkel erinnern. Doch weiß ich noch, dass wir bei Tante Mitsa wohnten, als die Deutschen in Salonica eintrafen. Sie nahmen das Haus weg. Alle hatten Angst. Wir mussten ausziehen und schnell ein neues suchen. Als sie das Haus wegnahmen, hatte ich große Angst. Dazu beschlagnahmen sie mein Vaters Geschäft. Dafür bekam er einen Beleg – doch weiß ich nicht mehr, wo er zu finden ist. Wir enthielten niemals eine Entschädigung dafür. Sie beschlagnahmen alle wichtigen jüdischen Läden. Sie waren bei Alvo und entleerten alles. Er verkaufte Badewannen, Fliesen, Sanitärartikel und Drahte. Tagelang wurde alles von deutschen LKWs entleert.

Wir zogen nachher hierhin, in dieses Viertel, direkt gegenüber von da, wo wir jetzt sind. Damals hieß die Straße Mizrahi und nicht Fleming wie heute. Wir mieteten ein großes Haus – gegenüber von Solono, den ich zu der Zeit nicht kannte. Selbstverständlich gab es Essensrationen. Beim Bäcker bekamen wir ein Stück saftiges „Bobota“ [Brot aus Mais; während des 2. Weltkriegs war es das einzige erhältliche und daher Teil der Essensration]. Jedem ein Stück, nicht ein Leib. Die uns verteilten Portionen entsprachen der Anzahl der Familienmitglieder.
Später, als wir im Ghetto mit Tante Rachelle und ihrer Familie waren, machten wir unser eigenes Brot. Ich weiß nicht, wo das Mehl herkam. Die Jungen, Elio und Nadir, kümmerten sich darum.
Wir wussten vom Radio was passiert. Wir hatten ein tolles Radio und konnten alles hören, auch die Vembo-Lieder.

Mit den Deutschen hatten wir keinen Kontakt. Irgendwie, weil wir spanische Staatsbürger waren, fühlten wir uns geschützt. Spanien war schließlich Alliierte von Deutschland. Das erste Mal, das ich einen Deutsche sah, sah ich nichts Böses. Sowas sehe ich nicht beim ersten Blick. Sie sahen alle normal aus. Wie normale Menschen von keiner besonderen Bedeutung. Sie hatten nichts an, was einem zwingen könnte, den Kopf wegzudrehen. Sie waren nicht besonders furchterregend.

Von den KZs wussten wir nichts, weil sie das sehr gut versteckten. Unser Rabbi, der aus Deutschland kam, vielleicht wusste er etwas. Vielleicht wusste er von den Geschehnissen und entschied sich dagegen, darüber zu sprechen. Rabbi Koretz hieß er. Wir dachten, wir gehen nur arbeiten und, dass wir wiederkommen. Die Menschen wurden so getäuscht. Als sie deportiert wurden, gaben sie den Deutschen ihr letztes Geld und nahmen dafür polnisches Zloty oder einen Rückzahlungsbeleg entgegen. Was wussten wir? Von den Konzentrationslagern hatten wir keine Ahnung. Keine Ahnung! Es gab Leute, die aus dem Ausland herkamen, außerhalb von Griechenland, und sie sagten Einiges, doch wir konnten es uns nicht vorstellen. Es war noch alles unfassbar. Wir dachten, sie erzählen Märchen.
Eine Meinung konnten wir uns nicht bilden, weil wir nicht genug wussten, um zu verstehen. Wenn die Mächtigen dich täuschen wollen, machen sie es sowieso. Sie haben die Mittel dazu. Wir wussten nichts und glaubten den Menschen nicht, die zu uns kamen und erzählten. Es war einfach unfassbar. Was sie uns erzählten war schwer zu verstehen, es war nicht echt, es hätte nicht echt gewesen sein könnten. Sie logen nicht, doch wir dachten, sie würden stark übertreiben.

Eine Schulfreundin von mir, Bella, heiratete in Jugoslawien und, als die Deutschen in Jugoslawien einmarschierten, kam sie zurück nach Salonica, zu ihrer Mutter. Sie kam mit ihrer Familie – mit ihren kleinen Tochter Ettika, die sehr schöne rote, sehr rote, Haare hatte – und sie hatten nichts zu essen. Ihr Mann fing an, kleine Sachen wie Knöpfe, Nadeln, Halstücher usw., zu verkaufen. Er ging von Tür zu Tür, um Geld zu verdienen und Brot zu kaufen. Sie hatten kein Brot, aber Bella rauchte weiter. In Israel fing ich auch an zu rauchen und plötzlich dachte ich an Bella und wie sie kein Brot hatte, aber noch rauchen musste. Ich fragte mir, bin ich verrückt? Ich hörte sofort auf.

Bella erzählte uns, dass als die Deutschen kamen sie alles wegnahmen. Sie erzählten uns von Gräueltaten, aber sie erschienen uns damals noch als reine Vorstellungen. Dann kam der Befehl, dass man den Stern zu tragen hatte. Danach trugen alle den Stern. Ich weiß nicht was passiert wäre, wenn man den Stern nicht getragen hätte. Ich trug keinen. Ich war Spanierin.
Dann erteilten die Deutschen den Befehl, dass die Juden in die Ghettos ziehen mussten. In Thessaloniki gab es noch niemals ein Ghetto. Wir zogen wieder um, diesmal mit der Schwester meiner Mutter, meiner Tanta Rashel, und ihren Kindern. Wir gingen ins Ghetto, mit unseresgleichen, doch weiß ich nicht mehr, ob wir als spanische Staatsbürger überhaupt mussten. Wir fühlten uns deswegen mehr geschützt. Als sie anfingen, die anderen zu sammeln, wagten sie nicht, die Spanier anzufassen.

Nina Benroubi war wohl auch nicht im Ghetto. Sie hieß mit Nachname Revah – der spanische Konsul war mit einer Revah aus derselben Familie verheiratet. Der Konsul hieß Ezrati und war auch Jude. Ich habe noch Briefe mit seinem Namen drauf. Manchmal frage ich mich, wie wir das alles schafften – Briefe schreiben, den Konsul und Botschafter besuchen usw.
Am Anfang hatten wir nicht so viel Angst. Nur danach fing es an – als Menschen plötzlich anfingen, zu verschwinden, als wir ins Ghetto mussten, als wir uns nicht mehr frei bewegen durften. Wie kann man keine Angst haben, wenn mein nicht weiß, was am nächsten Tag oder mit einem passieren wird?

Im Ghetto war mein Vater schon krank und meine Mutter schon gestorben. Meine Mutter hatte eine kleine Operation gehabt – ein Polyp musste entfernt werden. Da es während der Besatzung war, brachte sie mein Vater für die OP zu einer Privatklinik. Er war sehr vorsichtig und wollte nicht, dass ihr was passiert, also wusch er sich immer die Hände mit Alkohol, bevor er ins Zimmer ging. Jeder musste sich vorher die Hände mit Alkohol desinfizieren.

Die Operation war ein Erfolg, trotzdem starb die Patientin. Die OP fand während der deutschen Besatzung statt, also kümmerte sich niemand um sie. Niemand kam, um sie zu pflegen oder nach ihr zu schauen, ihr zu helfen oder überhaupt irgendwas zu tun. Sie zog sich also eine Lungenentzündung zu und starb.
Es gab eine Beerdigung, aber ich war nicht dabei. An dem Tag gab es einen schrecklichen Schneesturm. Es schneite ganz viel und war bitterkalt. Die Männer nahmen sie weg und ich konnte sie gar nicht sehen. Sie nahmen sie weg – schnell, weil sie es vor Sonnenuntergang zum Friedhof und zurück schaffen mussten. Sie begruben sie dort. Die Männer der Familie kümmerten sich um solche Sachen. Wir Frauen durften nichts – wir waren nicht bei Beerdigungen oder im Friedhof. Erst heute ist es üblich, dass Frauen bei Beerdigungen sind. Nach der Beerdigung gab es die kria - wir machten alles nach Tradition, weil wir noch eine gewisse Freiheit hatten.

Als die Deutschen uns den Friedhof wegnahmen, musste meine meine Mutter umgebettet werden, indem sie ihre Überreste aus dem Grab rausholten und sie in den neuen Friedhof brachten. Alle waren sehr wütend und hatten Angst. Aber was konnten wir machen? Wir hatten keine Macht, nichts, keinen Weg, um uns zu verteidigen. Wir hatten wirklich Angst, als sie dann anfingen, Menschen zu verschleppen und sie verschwinden zu lassen, sowie die Bewegungsfreiheit zu begrenzen.
Ich musste eh bleiben. Meines Vaters wegen – er war krank. Er hatte Krebs. Es gab eine Periode, wo er jeden Abend Fieber hatte. Als der Krebs schließlich diagnostiziert wurde, war es schon zu spät.
Während dieser Zeit mieteten wir zusammen mit Tante Rachelle ein Haus in der Broufa-Straße. Das war im Ghetto. Ich weiß nicht, wie die Grenzen des Ghettos bestimmt wurden. Wir Mädchen verlassen niemals das Haus. Das Essen kauften wir immer vom Laden im Ghetto.

Die anderen Juden mussten den gelben Stern tragen, aber ich nicht. Ich war spanische Staatsbürgerin und als solche wurde nicht verfolgt. Keiner in meiner Familie trug den Stern, obwohl wir innerhalb des Ghettos wohnten. Ich war ans Haus – an meinen Vater – gebunden. Ich hatte sowieso kein großes Bedürfnis, rauszugehen.
Also mussten Freunde uns besuchen kommen. Eine Gruppe kam jeden Abend rum. Es wurde viel diskutiert, gesungen, gespielt – wir hatten Spaß. Ab und zu spielten wir auch Karten. Wir spielten auch mit dem Nachbar von unten, Isaac hieß er. Während sein Siegeswille sehr stark war, war es uns egal. Einer von uns schaute über seinen Rücken und gab uns ein Zeichen, woraufhin Herr Isaac verlor. Ich glaub wir hänselten ihn nur deshalb, weil uns die Beschäftigung als Ablehnung von all den grausaumen Sachen, die wir derzeit leiden mussten, diente.
Zuhause hörten wir Musik und es kann sein, dass wir dazu auch tanzten. Wir hatten eine Nachbarin mit deutschen Wurzeln und ständig sie beschwerte sich und schrie uns wegen der Musik an. Sie wollte immer, dass wir leise bleiben.

Damals hatten wir Angst, weil man jederzeit weggetragen werden könnte. Ich kenne niemanden, dem das passiert ist. Aber es gab Gerüchte darüber, wen sie erwischt und aus dem Ghetto wegtransportiert hatten. Niemand wusste, was ihnen letztendlich passierte. Einige Tage nach dem Tod meiner Mutter kam die Idee, eine nichtvollzogene Ehe zwischen unserem Vater und Tante Rachelle, der Schwester meiner Mutter, zu schließen, so dass sie die spanische Staatsbürgerschaft bekommt und dadurch geschützt wird. Die Hochzeit fand nicht in der Synagoge statt. Ich weiß nicht mehr wo, wahrscheinlich zuhause. Ich habe noch die Urkunde vom spanischen Konsulat. Niemand wäre wegen einer solchen Ehe in die Synagoge gegangen. Mein Vater war schon sehr krank und lag im Bett. Er tat all das, was ihm gesagt wurde. Also wurde Tante Rachelle Spanierin, aber ihre Kinder nicht. Eine zweite Ehe war damals sehr selten. Die Menschen schieden sich nicht. Sie akzeptierten alles Mögliche, um sich nicht zu scheiden. Nicht wie heute. Damals, wenn eine Ehefrau starb, die eine Schwester hatte, wurde versucht, die Schwester mit dem Ehemann zu verheiraten. Das waren Maßnahmen damit die Familie eng bleibt und niemand allein sein muss.

Das war alles während der Zeit des Freundeskreises, als wir jeden Abend zuhause blieben und die Gruppe zu uns kamen. Nadir und seine Freunde, Solon, Totos und die anderen, waren jeden Abend da. Sie bemühten sich, uns zum Lachen zu bringen. Nadir war von Natur aus ein lustiger Kerl. Sie spielten auch Theaterstücke für uns und wollte uns die Laune heben. So freundeten Solon und ich uns an und später wurde aus unserer Freundschaft Liebe.

Dann sahen wir, wie die Menschen Thessaloniki verließen: Die Menschen, die gesammelt wurden, gingen mit einem kleinen Koffer oder Tasche. Sie gingen los, ohne zu wissen wohin. Als sie zum Bahnhof kamen – wie wir später erfuhren – wurde ihnen gesagt, sie müssen dort ihr Geld lassen, da es am Ankunftsort nicht gültig sein würde. So klauten sie ihnen das Geld. Das erfuhren wir nur aus Erzählungen anderer, da wir zuhause waren und nichts erster Hand erfuhren. Wir wohnten in einem leeren jüdischen Bezirk. Als sie die anderen Juden sammelten, blieben wir in diesem Haus.
Die Italiener waren, im Gegensatz zu den Deutschen, uns gegenüber viel menschlicher. Zu dieser Zeit halfen sie uns. Sie erstellten uns die Scheindokumente, um nach Athen fahren zu dürfen, das zu dem Zeitpunkt unter italienischer Besatzung war. Tante Rachelle entscheid sich dazu mit Elio und dem Rest ihrer Kinder nach Israel zu gehen. Das tat sie in zwei Schritten. Zuerst gingen drei der Kinder – Nadir, Silvia und Rene. Später ging der Rest der Familie – sie und Elio.

Alle unserer Verwandten waren spanische Staatsbürger. Es war den Deutschen also nicht erlaubt, spanische Staatsbürger ins Konzentrationslager zu schicken. Sie wurden trotzdem gesammelt und ins Konzentrationslager geschickt. Später waren sie in einem Lager in Spanien, später in einem in Nordafrika – in Casablanca, Marokko. Dann in Israel. Alle, bis auf meinen Vater, meine Schwestern und ich, weil wir bei dem deutschen Kommandanten um eine Ausnahme baten, da Vater unter Krebs litt. Irgendwie ließen sie uns in Ruhe.

Ein Italiener namens Neri half uns, weil er, als sie für uns kamen, meine kleine Schwester Eda mit Vater in einen Zug nach Athen setzte. Ein paar Tage danach kamen Matilde und ich.
Wir entschieden uns dafür nach Athen zu gehen, als klar wurde, dass wir uns nicht mehr ordentlich um Vater kümmern konnten. Neri arbeitete bei dem italienischen Konsulat und bereitete uns die passenden Dokumente vor. Das machte meine Schwester Matilde mit ihm aus. Laut diesen Dokumenten waren wir italienische Staatsbürger. Die mussten wir sofort an dem Kommandanten des Zuges überreichen.

So fuhren Eda und Vater nach Athen. Nachdem sie wegfuhren, verließen wir die Wohnung und waren dann bei einem Mädchen. Sie hieß Angela und war Nagelpflegerin. Sie bot uns ein Schlafzimmer an und wir waren dort Tag und Nacht mit geschlossenen Fensterläden. Sie war Christin und ihr Vater, der im selben Haus wohnte, wussten nichts von uns. Sie brachte uns Essen und wartete darauf, bis wir auch nach Athen fahren konnten. Wir waren länger als eine Woche da.

Endlich durften Matilde und ich fahren. Wir mussten an einem gewissen Tag und Uhrzeit am Bahnhof erscheinen. Die Italiener waren für den Zug zuständig. Papiere hatten wir nicht mehr, da wir sie dem Kommandanten des Zugs gaben. Der Zug hätte wohl in Plati anhalten sollten, doch hielten die Deutschen den viel früher an, um den zu kontrollieren. Sie hatten wohl Ahnung, dass etwas im Zug passiert. Wir wussten nichts – nicht mal unsere Namen oder Geburtsdaten auf den Scheindokumenten.

Als die Deutschen in den Zug kamen, schliefen wir. Anscheinend kümmerte sich der Kommandant um die Deutschen, gab ihnen die Dokumente. Dann stiegen sie aus. Der Zug fuhr mit einem Waggon voller Juden weiter. Unter uns war auch Rosa, die jetzt in Athen lebt. Ihre ganze Familie war in diesem Waggon. Es waren im Zug junge italienische Soldaten. Einer mochte mich und wollte mich danach in Athen treffen, doch wegen Angst gab es keinen Platz zum Flirten.

Wir kamen in Athen an und gingen in ein Haus in Magoufana, heute Lefki – ein Vorort von Athen. Ein Mönch von dem Heiligen Berg Athos bot uns das Haus an. In der Gegend waren viele kleine Bauernhöfe; der Mönch kam wöchentlich und, während er betete, machte er alle Türe auf, so dass alle in der Gegend ihn hören könnten.
In diesem Haus in Magoufana waren wir nicht allein. Dort war auch Toto und zwei seiner Schwestern. Eine von ihnen wurde später deportiert und kam nie wieder. Die andere heiratete einen Christen namens Mikes, dessen Kinder noch in Thessaloniki wohnen. Toto hatte noch eine Schwester, die eine leichte geistige Krankheit hatte. Sie war nicht mit uns in Athen. Sie wurde auch deportiert und kam nie wieder.

Wir blieben eine Weile in Magoufana. Wir hatten kein Geld. Später bezahlte Paul Noah meinen Beitrag an den Partisanen. Das Haus in Magoufana musste auch wohl bezahlt werden. Aber ich weiß nicht mehr von wem. Normalerweise gingen wir zu Fuß von Magoufana nach Kifissia, eine Strecke von 13km, um Medikamente für meinen Vater zu kaufen. Wir gingen im Dunkeln, mit bellenden Hunden um uns herum und ohne Papiere. Aber bei der Apotheke bekamen wir was wir brauchten.
Der einzige Kontakt außerhalb des Hauses war mit Elios, meinem Cousin, der mit seiner Mutter, Tante Rachelle, in einem Zimmer in der Straße des 3. Septembers wohnte. Als sie nach Israel gingen, verloren wir eine Weile den Kontakt.

In Magoufana war es ziemlich einsam, deswegen fuhren wir, nachdem Elios und Tante Rachelle gegangen waren, nach Athen in ihr Zimmer in der Straße des 3. Septembers, was jetzt leer war. Zuerst wurde Vater dahingebracht und wir liefen die ganze Nacht von Magoufana nach Athen. Gott sei Dank passierte uns nichts!
Dann waren wir in Athen mit Vater. Vater saß immer in einem Sessel und wurde zwischen diesem Sessel und seinem Container im Zimmer transportiert, was als Klo benutzt wurde. Wir drei Schwestern mussten die Toilette im Haus teilen, die einer anderen Familie gehörte.

Eines Abends kam eine Gruppe Verräter mit den Deutschen – ein Quisling-Jude und drei Deutsche – um Elios festzunehmen, der früher dort wohnte. Nicht ihn, sondern uns – spanische Staatsbürger – fanden sie dort. Zu der Zeit wurden alle Spanier schon abgeschoben. Als unsere Situation mit Vater und seiner Krankheit ihnen klar wurde, entschieden sie sich dafür, nur zwei Töchter zu nehmen und eine da zu lassen, so dass sie sich um ihn kümmern könnte.

Da ich mehr Geduld mit ihm hatte, musste ich mit ihm bleiben, während meine Schwestern weggenommen wurden. Sie meinten, sie wollten nur die Papiere kontrollieren. Während solchen Momenten kann man weder denken noch fühlen. Man wird mit dem Schicksal konfrontiert – alles wurde schon entscheiden und man kann nichts mehr machen. Ich hatte den Eindruck, meine Schwestern kommen wieder. Stattdessen, nach einem kurzen Besuch bei der Gestapo, waren sie in den Militärbarracken in Haidari – ein Gefängnis für alle Typen – interniert. Das erfuhr ich erst nach dem Krieg.
Als wir noch alle zusammen waren, kam oft eine Dame – Frau Lembessi – die Ehefrau eines Luftwaffenoffiziers, um uns zu helfen. Sie kümmerte sich auch um Vater und täglich meldete sie seinen Zustand dem Arzt. Am Tag seines Todes war Frau Lembessi 8 Uhr morgens bei uns, weil der Arzt ihr mitteilte, er hielt es wohl nicht länger aus. Er starb genau 13 Tage nachdem meine Schwestern weggeschleppt wurden. Es passierte früh am Morgen, während ich ihm sein Essen im Bett gab. Er wollte den Mund nicht aufmachen. Er drehte seinen Kopf zur Seite und starb.

Frau Lembessi war da. Sie sagte, ich sollte mir keine Sorge machen. Sie informierte den Arzt und kam kurz darauf wieder, um sich um alles zu kümmern. Sie reinigte und bekleidete den Körper. Dann rief sie die spanische Botschaft an. Irgendwann später kamen ein paar Männer im Auftrag der Botschaft. Sie befahlen uns, den Körper zu entkleiden, reinigen und in ein Betttuch zu wickeln. Frau Lembessi versuchte mich nochmal zu beruhigen und ging allein, um das zu machen was sie von uns wollten. Dann warteten wir und sie nahmen den Körper. Sie teilten uns nicht mit, wo sie mit ihm hinfuhren.
Frau Lembessi übernahm schon wieder die Kontrolle und nahm mich mit zu ihr – fast gewaltsam, da ich nicht denken konnte – und sagte mir, dass ich nie wieder in die Wohnung wo mein Vater starb gehen sollte. Am selben Abend kamen die Deutschen für mich – doch ich war schon geflüchtet.

Die Tochter von Frau Lembessi schlief am Boden und ich bekam das Bett. Ich weiß nicht mehr, wir lange ich da war. Sie kümmerte sich sehr gut um mich. Ihr Mann wollte auch, dass ich jenen Mittag einen Wein mit ihm trinke, da ich sehr schwach war. Frau Lembessi ist jetzt eine von den Gerechten unter den Völkern.

Danach ging es darum, wie man das Land verlassen könnte. Toto kümmerte sich darum. Als ich noch bei Frau Lembessi war, war ihr klar, dass Toto mit mir sein wollte, in mich verliebt war. Sie riet mir, ihn nicht zu heiraten, denn für sie schien es als sei er nicht so wertvoll wie ich. Eine solche Liebe fand sie unanständig. Frau Lembessi wusste nichts von Totos Schwester und ihrer geistigen Krankheit.
Toto erhielt Anweisung und wir gingen Karfreitag, nach Ostern, am Abend zu einem Ort, wo von den Widerstandskämpfern ein LKW, organisiert worden war, um uns abholen und nach Evoia bringen. Toto machte alles mit den Partisanen ab.

An diesem Ort kamen alle diejenigen an, die Griechenland verlassen wollten: Unter ihnen war Paul Noah, seine Frau Rita und ihre Tochter Lela Nahmias, die Ehefrau von Moise Nahmias, und noch viele mehr, deren Namen ich schon vergaß. Wir waren alle verstreut; unser Treffpunkt war an einem Kaffeeladen, wo der LKW uns hätte abholen sollten. Ich saß mit Toto in diesem Kaffeeladen und wir warteten und warteten und warteten, doch niemand kam. Irgendwann wurde es klar, dass niemand kommt. Wir waren sehr, sehr enttäuscht und mussten zurückgehen.

Später erfuhren wir, sie hätten es nicht geschafft, alle abzuholen. Die Hälfte ließen sie stehen. Dann erhielten wir die Mitteilung, dass der LKW uns am kommenden Freitag am selben Ort abholen wird. Nochmals gingen wir zum selben Ort, wir trafen dieselben Menschen und endlich stiegen wir in den LKW ein.

Mit dem LKW fuhren wir von Athen bis aufs Land gegenüber von Evoia. Wir fuhren im Dunklen los und es war Nacht als wir ankamen. Alles war sehr dunkel und um nach Evoia zu kommen, mussten wir über das Meer. Die Deutschen hatten einen großen Scheinwerfer und patrouillierten das Meer. Wir stiegen in kleine Boote und mussten sehr still halten und sehr leise paddeln. Endlich kamen wir in Evoia an. Wir kamen im Frühsommer an und es war noch recht dunkel. Mir mussten einen großen Berg besteigen um dort anzukommen, wo die Partisanen waren. Während ich eine gefühlte Ewigkeit laufen musste, bekam ich Blasen an den Füßen, weil ich Sandalen anhatte.

Oben kamen wir in einen großen Raum. Der Boden wurde mit Mosaik oder sogar Marmor gelegt. Es gab stinkende Decken und dort mussten wir schlafen. Es war voll mit Menschen. Alle waren Juden. Juden, die wir kannten und Juden, die wir nicht kannten. Wir versuchten zu schlafen und um 4 Uhr morgens fingen sie an zu schreien, dass das Boot, das uns mit rüber in die Türkei bringt, da ist. Andere mussten schon drei Wochen dort warten und das Boot kam am Abend unserer Ankunft!

Da wir oben auf dem Berg waren, bekamen wir Maultiere, die uns runtertrugen. Natürlich nicht für alle – manche waren zu Fuß mit den Anderen auf den Maultieren. Wir wussten nichts von Maultieren. Die Frauen, die nach „Cowboy“-Art auf dem Maultier saßen, bluteten vor Reibung als wir unten ankamen. Zum Glück saß ich seitlich – im Damensitz mit beiden Füßen zusammen. Ich litt weniger.
Als wir ans Meer kamen, waren zu unserer Überraschung noch mehr Menschen anwesend, bestimmt aus anderen Heimen, und Kinder und alte Menschen – alle Juden. Die Partisanen trugen lange Bärte und ich hatte viel Angst. Sie sammelten uns und wollten uns etwas „beibringen.“ Sie erzählten uns, dass sie einen beim Lügen erwischten und ihm gleich einen Messer durch das Hals zog. Sie sagten uns, „Falls Sie sich überlegen, zu lügen, überlegen Sie lieber zweimal.“

Selbstverständlich waren die Partisanen bewaffnet; und dazu hatten sie noch große lange Bärte und Schießkugeln um den ganzen Gürtel und die Brust herum. Am selben Abend standen wir um 3 oder 4 Uhr morgen auf. Sie riefen uns, weil das Fischerboot kam. Wir waren kaum auf dem Berg. Wir schliefen nur in einer kleinen Decke auf dem Boden. Wir hatten keine Zeit uns Sorgen darüber zu machen, was oder wo wir essen, wie oder wo wir uns waschen oder organisieren können. Wir gingen sofort los. Wir blieben nicht, wie die andere, drei Wochen lang dort.

Sie wollten Geld von uns. Sie sagten, alles, was wir haben, sollten wir dort lassen, weil das Geld von nun an für uns keinen Wert mehr hat. Das stimmte nicht, aber die Menschen ließen ihr Geld dort. Ich hatte nichts, was ich dort lassen konnte. Mein Beitrag wurde von Paul Noah bezahlt. Er gab mir auch ein bisschen Geld, weil ich nichts hatte. Ich überhaupt hatte kein Geld, kaum etwas anzuziehen und keine Verwandten bei mir. Ich hatte nichts, gar nichts.

Ich weiß nicht, wie Paul es schaffte – wie er die Partisanen bezahlte. Aber ich weiß, dass er bezahlte und für Toto auch bezahlte. Ich weiß nicht, wie viel das kostete. Toto war derjenige, der sich darum kümmerte. Ich weiß nur, dass ich in Pauls Schuld stehe.

Mit mir im Fischerboot waren Toto und Mois Nahmias. Rita, Paul Noah und ihre Tochter waren nicht bei uns. Sie fuhren früher und alles geschah sehr, sehr schnell. Als wir in der Türkei ankamen, wurden wir schon erwartet.

Schon vor uns hatten meine Cousins und Cousinen – Nadir, Silvia, Rene – sich dazu entschieden, eine eigene Gruppe zusammen mit zwei der Kinder von Noah zu bilden. Sie gingen ebenso mit den Partisanen mit, kamen aber nie an. Wir wussten nicht, ob sie verraten wurden, ob das Boot unterging, wann oder wie sie starben, wer sie erwischte und so weiter, und so fort. Bis heute weiß niemand, was tatsächlich passierte.

Auf dem Boot waren wir im Laderaum eng zusammengepackt. Wir waren ungefähr 30. Als das Boot losfuhr, fing die Menschen an, wegen des stürmischen Wetters am Meer, sich zu übergeben. Wir hatten Eimer und wenn sie voll waren wurden sie ins Meer geleert und wieder zu uns gestellt. Ich hielte es nicht mehr aus. Ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich war nicht seekrank und ging aufs Schiffsdeck, wo ich in einer Ecke saß. Der Kapitän – ein Mann von ungefähr 23 Jahren – damals war ich 20 – fand mich und sagte, dass er seine eigene kleine Kabine hatte, wo ich mich erholen durfte. Dafür musste ich mich gar nicht bemühen. Deshalb reiste ich mit einem bisschen Abstand von den anderen Passagieren. Ich hatte meinen eigenen Raum. Toto war auch nicht mehr im Laderaum und der junge Kapitän erreichte erfolgreich die Küste der Türkei.

Früh am Morgen kamen wir in einem Ort namens Tsesme an. Der Kapitän nahm jeden von uns und trug uns nacheinander zum trockenen Boden, indem er durch die See lief. Als er den letzten von uns darüber trug, erklärte er uns, dass wir 10 Minuten in einer bestimmten Richtung zu einem Ort laufen mussten, wo sie uns abholen werden. Die Sonne war noch nicht auf, als er und sein Boot schon wieder losgefahren waren.

Später kamen griechische Menschen in Namen des griechischen Staates und kauften uns Frühstück in einem Café. Sie waren vom griechischen Konsulat und dort, um uns zu unterstützen. Ich weiß nicht mehr, ob wir überhaupt Türken kennenlernten. Nach dem Frühstück brachten sie uns zum Zug. Ich erinnere mich noch sehr deutlich an den Zug. Sie brachten uns in eine Art Lager, wo Soldaten, Griechen und andere waren. Natürlich waren auch viele Juden dort.

Wir nahmen uns vor, Paul und Rita zu suchen, die auf einem anderen Boot waren. Wir fragten nach ihnen, aber sie erzählten uns, dass sie noch nicht angekommen waren, obwohl sie Griechenland eine Woche früher verlassen hatten als wir. Wir machten uns schon viele Sorgen. Doch eine Woche später waren sie da. Anscheinend hatte deren Kapitän eine Freundin auf einer Insel und fuhr mit dem Boot und Passagieren dahin. Um mit seiner Freundin zu sein, blieb er eine Woche oder zehn Tage auf der Insel, während die Passagiere mit mangelnden Wasser und Essen im Laderaum versteckt blieben. Unser Kapitän war dagegen viel effizienter und sogar tapfer.

Ich glaub der Lager hieß Halep. Beim Ankunft mussten wir duschen und wurden desinfiziert. Die hatten Angst davor, dass wir Flöhe oder sonst was hätten. Vielleicht hatten sie sogar Recht. Dort warteten viele andere Juden darauf, mit der Bahn nach Israel geschickt zu werden.

Kurz nach der Ankunft war da eine rumänische Familie, die mit dem Auto nach Israel fahren wollte und ich wurde gefragt, ob ich mitfahren will. Obwohl ich die Familie nicht kannte, entschied ich mich dazu. Ich dachte: die anderen fahren wohl mit Güterzügen – ich nehme das Risiko an. Also fuhr ich mit ihnen und war in kurzer Zeit in Haifa und dann Tel Aviv. Ich weiß nicht mehr, wie lange wir fuhren. Ich weiß nur noch, dass wir früh morgens losfuhren und dass sie untereinander auf rumänisch sprachen und ich nichts verstand. Als wir in Haifa ankamen, übernahm Sochnut [Jewish Agency for Israel – israelische Einwanderungsorganisation] und brachte uns nach Tel Aviv. Wir waren dort acht Tage mit Sochnut. Ein Neffe meiner Großmutter Saporta wohnte in Tel Aviv. Er hatte dort eine Bücherei. Er hieß Albert Alcheh. Endlich, nach acht Tage Warten, war ich dann bei Lina, einer Cousine.

Nach einer Woche bei Lina kam Samuel Molho mit einem Antrag. Er war irgendwie mit mir verwandt, da eine Schwester meines Vaters mit einem Molho verheiratet war. Er schlug vor, dass ich ihm bei einziehe, da er auf dem obersten Stockwerk ein Zimmer gebaut hatte, wo Paul, Rita, Totos, Mimi Nahmias, und Pauls Mutter und Vater waren. Er meinte, „da dein ganzer Freundeskreis bei mir wohnt, solltest du auch kommen, um Lina nicht zu belasten“. Und so entschloss ich umzuziehen und bei Samuel Molho zu wohnen.

Dort schlief ich im selben Zimmer mit Frau Noah und ihrem Mann und Mimi. Mein Bett lag unter einem anderen und wurde zum Schlafen rausgezogen. Vier Menschen in einem kleinen Zimmer war nicht einfach. Die arme Frau Noah konnte nachts nicht schlafen und weinte wegen ihren zwei verlorenen Kinder, die mit Nadir, Rene und Slyvia verschwanden. Den Verlust konnte sie nicht akzeptieren.
In Tel Aviv gab es einen Thessaloniki-Club, „Le Club des Salonciens,“ und nahmen auf, wen immer sie konnten. Frau Angel, ein Mitglied des Clubs, sagte, dass sie gerne bei ihr zuhause ein Mädchen aus Thessaloniki, die ungefähr so alt wie ihre Tochter wäre, unterbringen würde. Obwohl ich nie bei diesem Club gewesen war, kamen sie mit dem Antrag zu mir. Sie meinte zu mir, dass es dort viel bequemer und ruhiger und was weiß ich noch wäre. Ich dachte, drei wären schon zu viel für dieses Zimmer. Weil ich die Chance hatte, in diesem neuen Ort zu leben – obwohl es weg von Freunden und mit fremden Menschen war – entscheid ich mich dafür und ging dahin. Bei Frau Angel hatte ich mein eigenes Zimmer. Da gab es eine Couch, die zu einem Bett wird. Die Tochter von Frau Angel hieß Nora. Sie war sehr sympathisch und wir verstanden uns schon gut.

In Tel Aviv wollte ich so schnell wie möglich einen Job finden. Ich habe alle möglichen Bewerbungen rausgeschickt. Ich schrieb, dass ich Französisch, Englisch, Spanisch und Griechisch konnte. Ich bewarb mich bei der Post, beim Militärlager, bei der Bank, zu der alle Juden Thessalonikis gingen, die Tida Saportas Cousin gehörte, sowie bei der Zypries-Bank. Der Militär-Lager bot mir eine Stelle an, also fing ich an, beim britischen Militär zu arbeiten. Ich musste 5 Uhr morgens aufstehen, um in einen Militär-LKW zu steigen, der mich ins Lager brachte. Es war weit weg von der Stadt und ich wusste nicht mal in welcher Richtung. Dort tippte ich den ganzen Tag auf einer Maschine. Ich schrieb das, was ich bekam. Ich weiß nicht mehr, worum es in den Briefen ging. Damals trug ich im Gegensatz zu allen anderen im Lager noch Zivilkleidung. Ich weiß auch nicht mehr, wann wir wieder zurück von der Arbeit kamen. Ich weiß nur, dass es extrem erschöpfend war.

Nicht lange nachdem ich beim Militär anfing, erhielt ich eine Zustimmung von der Post und später auch von der Bank. Deshalb kündigte ich den Job beim Militär – und auch weil es so erschöpfend war. Ich hatte die Gelegenheit, dass alles zu ändern. Die Post erklärte im Brief, dass sie mich für die Zensur wollte. Ich hätte die Briefe von anderen lesen und mich melden müssen, falls ich etwas Unangemessenes finde. Ich wusste, dass sowas nicht für mich wäre, und sobald ich das Angebot von der Bank erhielte, ging ich dahin. Die war die Zypries-Bank.

Bei der Bank war ich Sekretärin der Bankgeschäftsführer. Da waren zwei – ein britischer Geschäftsführer und ein zyprischer. Ich hatte einen eigenen kleinen Büroraum neben den Geschäftsführern. Der Rest der Mitarbeiter war in einem Großraumbüro. Der englische Geschäftsführer schrieb die Briefe, ich tippte sie und brachte sie ihm zu unterschrieben. Das und die passenden Akten ablegen gehörten zu meinen Hauptaufgaben. Der zyprische Geschäftsführer beriet mir darin, was ich machen sollte und wie ich mit dem britischen Typ umzugehen habe.

Ich hatte keine festen Arbeitszeiten, da ich immer dann ging, wenn ich mit meinen täglichen Aufgaben fertig war und alles in Ordnung hatte. Das war manchmal um drei oder drei Uhr dreißig, oder vier, je nachdem wie viel ich zu tun hatte. Nach der Arbeit ging ich nicht sofort zu Frau Angel zum Mittagessen, stattdessen ging ich in ein sephardisches Restaurant in der Nähe. In diesem Restaurant konnte ich alleine essen. Er kochte auch wie bei uns. Der Besitzer machte auch gefüllte Tomaten, weil er aus Thessaloniki war, und die Menge und Qualität war immer zufriedenstellend. Dort traf ich mich mit vielen anderen wie wir.

Da ich kein Geld hatte und Paul den Partisanen für mich bezahlte, suchte ich einen zweiten Job. Nach dem Essen im Restaurant ging ich zum Import-Export-Händler, an dessen Name ich mich nicht mehr erinnern kann. Da nahm ich seinen ganzen Schriftverkehr auf. Er erzählte mir was er wollte, dann musste ich es umformulieren und die Briefe ordentlich schreiben. Ich musste mich um alles kümmern.
Normalerweise war ich um 20 Uhr fertig, war aber bis dahin so müde, dass ich keine Kraft mehr für etwas hatte. Deswegen lernte ich niemals Hebräisch. Ich lernte mal eine Woche als ich ankam, aber hörte sofort auf, nachdem ich zur Arbeit ging.

Eines Tages kam der Geschäftsführer zu mir und fragte über meine zweite Beschäftigung. Er fragte, ob es mir schon bewusst war, dass ich für eine zweite Beschäftigung nicht genehmigt war, da ich mit Bankbewilligungen involviert bin. Ich hatte Zugang zu allen Akten und hätte Informationen rausgeben könnten. Ich sagte dem Geschäftsführer, dass, obwohl ich keine Familie hatte, mein Gehalt nicht ausreichend war. Deshalb musste ich eine zweite Stelle suchen. Daraufhin sagte er mir, dass er offiziell nichts über meiner zweiten Beschäftigung wusste. Er war mit der Qualität meiner Arbeit so zufrieden, dass er dafür bereit war, in der Hinsicht die andere Wange hinzuhalten. Später, als ich mit meinem zukünftigen Ehemann verlobt war, weinte er, weil ich gehen musste.

Mit den zwei Jobs waren meine Tage verplant und ich hatte keine Zeit für mehr. Während dieser Zeit ging ich nirgendwohin. Ich ginge nicht in die Synagoge, nicht einmal, und während den Hohen Feiertagen war ich bei Frau Angel. Diese Familie, in der der Mann ein entfernter Verwandter meiner Mutter war, war nicht sehr religiös. Sie spielten immer Karten und ich blieb bei ihnen.
Es gab zu meiner Zeit in Thessaloniki keine „traditionelle“ Juden. Erst in Israel sah ich Juden mit langen Bärten, runden Hüten und schwarzen Gewändern mit vielen Fettflecken. Solche Juden hatten wir auch nicht auf Fotos gesehen. In Thessaloniki war es uns nicht bewusst, dass wir anders vom Rest sein könnten.

Mein Eindruck von den Menschen in Israel war, dass sie aggressiv sind. Wir waren daran gewohnt, dass Menschen sich mehr Aufmerksamkeit geben. Sie kümmerte sich auch nicht um ihr Aussehen. Sie trugen Kurzhosen, die bis zum Knie ging, was wir in Thessaloniki noch nie sahen. Auch die Offiziere trugen solche Kurzhosen. Man gewöhnt sich irgendwann daran und ich muss gestehen, dass sie schon sehr praktisch für das Klima sind. Aber zuerst schien sie mir sehr schäbig zu sein. Manche aus Thessaloniki trugen am Ende solche lumpigen Klamotten, ich nie. Ich hatte ein Kleid und dies war immer sauber und gebügelt. Ich war nie schlecht angezogen. Ich war allerdings nur im Sommer da und ging, bevor der Winter kam.

Mit Israelis hatten wir keinen Kontakt – weder mit Männern noch mit Frauen. Alle unserer Kontakte dort waren mit Menschen aus Thessaloniki, vor allem als ich bei der Bank arbeitete und ein Büro für mich allein hatte – ohne Kontakt zu den anderen Mitarbeitern im Großraum.

Meine Freunde fehlten mir auf jeden Fall, doch waren alle damit beschäftigt, mit Fabrikarbeit o.ä. sich übers Wasser zu halten. Meine Verhältnisse waren zum Vorteil, aber nur dank meinen Kenntnisse der englischen und französischen Sprachen und von Tippen.

Bei der Befreiung war ich noch in Israel. Später erfuhr ich über meine Schwestern. Da ich nicht in Griechenland war, weiß ich nicht wie die Befreiung hier war. Ich erinnere mich noch an freudiges Schreien: „der Krieg ist vorbei! Der Krieg ist vorbei!“ Ich erinnere mich an sonst keine Feier. Wenn man den ganzen Tag arbeitet, weiß man nicht immer was passiert.

Nach dem Krieg

Die erste Änderung war, dass sofort wieder Kontakt mit Thessaloniki entstand. Ich erfuhr, dass Onkel David und Tante Mitsa noch am Leben waren. Briefe waren die einzige Form von Kommunikation. Sie wussten, ich war in Israel und schickten mir Briefe über Albert Altcheh.

Zuerst stellte ich Kontakt mit denjenigen her, die in Griechenland blieben – nämlich meinen Onkeln Pepo und David. Der Rest der Familie wurde von den Konzentrationslagern nach Spanien, nach Casablanca und danach nach in ein Lager in Israel gebracht. Als sie ankamen, ging ich sie dort besuchen.

In Israel mieteten Onkel Mentesh und Onkel Sabetai eine kleine Wohnung. Doch gab es kein Platz für ihre Mutter, meine Großmutter, die dann im Altersheim war. Während des Krieges war Großmutter zusammen mit den ganzen spanischen Staatsbürgern und Rosa, die Schwester von Alice und Linda, kümmerte sich um sie. Das Leben im Altersheim war nicht schön für Oma. Sie war fast taub und machte Geräusche mit den Metalltöpfen beim Toilettengang in der Nacht und die andere „Gäste“ beschwerten sich. Sie konnte nicht genug hören, um vorsichtiger zu sein. Einmal kamen sie zu ihr und fragten, ob sie sich die Haare schneiden lassen mag. Weil sie ihnen weder hörte noch verstand, schnitten sie ihr die langen Haaren ab, die sie ihr ganzes erwachsenes Leben in einem Chignon trug. Als Großmutter ihr Frisur zum ersten Mal sah, fing sie an zu weinen. Sie starb sehr, sehr traurig.

Das einzige, worüber ich nachdachte, war zu meinen Menschen zurückzukehren. Ich sehnte nach der Wärme meiner Familie. Ich wusste, dass Onkel David und Pepo noch lebten. Onkel David heiratete nicht und wohnte mit seinem Bruder Pepo und seiner Frau, Tante Mitsa. Die drei hatten vor sich auf einer kleinen Insel zu verstecken und dort mit ihrer jungen Tochter Rena zu leben. Leider wurden sie auf Lesvos von den Deutschen erwischt und inhaftiert. Doch Tante Mitsa, die aus Wien kam, konnte Deutsch und deswegen kamen sie und ihre Tochter nicht ins Gefängnis. Später auf der Insel verdiente Tante Mitsa ihren Lebensunterhalt damit, Kaffeesatz zu lesen. Ihre Kunden bezahlten sie mit einem Hühnchen oder einigen Kartoffeln, etwas, womit sie überleben konnte.

So war es bis zur Befreiung, als alle nach Athen und später nach Thessaloniki zurückgingen. Da ich während der Zeit noch in Israel war, weiß ich nicht so viel, doch weiß ich, dass sie danach nie wieder mit Kaffeesatz zu tun hatte.

Sie schickten mir Briefe über Albert Altcheh. Sie konnten mich erreichen. Auch die spanische Botschaft in Athen konnte mich erreichen; meine Reisepapiere schickten sie an Ida Arouesti, eine Freundin meiner Schwester Matilde. (Vor dem Krieg hatte Ida eine Cousine, die Selbstmord beging, in dem sie vom Balkon sprang. Um sie zu ehren, ließ sich ihr Vater eine Synagoge bauen, die heute Monastirioton heißt und die größte Synagoge Thessalonikis ist.) So lernte ich, dass meine Schwestern noch leben – wir fingen einen Briefwechsel an. Ich arbeitete zu dieser Zeit noch. Trotz meiner Lust zurückzugehen, wusste ich, dass es meinen Schwestern an Ressourcen mangelte und sie dementsprechend so lebten. Sie waren beide in Athen bei Ida Arouesti und hatte zwischen sich nur einen Mantel. Sie hatten gar kein Geld. Später bekam Eda eine Stelle bei der griechisch-britischen Handelskammer, während Matilde noch arbeitslos war.

Einige meiner Verwandten die nach Spanien gegangen waren, waren schon wieder in Thessaloniki. Onkel Sinto, der Vater von Rene, schrieb mir einen bewegenden Brief, in dem er fragte, ob ich nicht mitkomme und sagte, dass er auf mich aufpassen würde, „Als wärst du meine eigne Tochter.“ Doch seine Frau, Tante Sol, die Schwester meines Vaters, war dagegen. In einem Brief von ihr, schrieb Tante Sol, dass sie vier Söhne hat – Davi, Sumuel, Joseph und Marcel – und sich deswegen nicht um uns kümmern kann. Onkel Pepo und Onkel David meinten, wir durften zu jeder Zeit bei ihnen einziehen.
Zu dieser Zeit zog Solon Molho von der Insel Skopelos, wo er während des Krieges versteckt war, wieder hierher und ging zu Onkel David, um ihn zu erklären, dass er mich liebt und heiraten möchte. Onkel David schrieb mir in Israel und ich sagte seinen Antrag zu. Warum nicht?

Ich kannte Solon aus der Zeit der Besatzung. Wie ich schon erzählte, waren in der Zeit Solon, Totos, Bob und andere Freunde jeden Abend bei uns. Ich hatte deswegen noch Erinnerungen an Solon. Ich stimmte also zu ich bereitete mich vor, nach Thessaloniki zurückzukehren.

Solons Eltern kannte ich sogar vor dem Krieg. Sie hießen Mair und Sterina Molho. Mair war Buchhändler und Sterina war Hausfrau. Ihre Kinder, außer Solon, waren Victoria und Yvonne. Beide Schwestern heirateten und hatten schon Kinder vor dem Krieg. Yvonne, die älteste, war mit Henry Michel verheiratet und hatte einen Sohn, Daviko. Victoria war mit Youda Leon verheiratet und hatte einen Sohn, Niko, und eine Tochter, Nina.

Im Gegensatz zu meiner Familie, waren die Molhos nicht spanischer Herkunft. Die Molho Familie wohnte in einem Haus uns gegenüber. Also kannten sie uns auch. Sterina war auch dafür, dass wir heiraten. Sie war sehr entspannt und gutartig, doch dazu noch eine Realistin. Solon Molho war als Kind sehr gemocht. Er hatte eigentlich einen älteren Bruder, den er nie kennenlernte, da er eines Tages unter dem Bett mit Streichhölzer spielte, sich dabei in Brand steckte und starb. Ich glaub er wurde zwischen den beiden älteren Schwestern geboren.

Als junger Mann war Solon ziemlich sportlich. Er war draußen viel unterwegs – Berge steigen, angeln usw. Er war auch Pfadfinder. Deswegen waren unsere Kinder später Pfadfinder. In seiner Nachbarschaft war der Laden von Thomas, eine Fahrradwerkstatt, wo man Fahrräder ausleihen oder reparieren lassen konnte. Solon war immer dort. Jahre später kam in einer Bäckerei eine ältere Dame auf mich zu und fragte nach Solon. Sie war die Schwester von Thomas und erzählte davon, wie, nachdem Solon ein Fahrrad nahm und los radelte, Sternia immer hinterherkam um Thomas darum zu bitten, auf Solon aufzupassen.

Solons Vater, Mair Molho, war ein ziemlich strenger Mann. Nachdem seine Tochter Victoria verheiratet war, nahm er den 16-jährigen Solon mit in die Buchhandlung, um ihn auszubilden. Der war der einzige Buchladen Thessalonikis mit internationalen Angebot, d.h. englischen, französischen und deutschen Büchern.

Das einzige was ich zu der Zeit seines Heiratsantrags wusste, war, dass er aus einer anständigen Familie kam, die eine berühmte Buchhandlung hatte, und dass er ein enger Freund von Nadir, meinem Cousin, und noch ein Mitglied unserer Gruppe war. Dazu wusste ich, dass er Jude war, von guter Humor zu sein schien und das war’s. Obwohl wir zunächst nichts hatten, kämpften wir zusammen und hatten gemeinsam ein schönes Leben.

Als ich Solon kennenlernte, war er schon mit einem Mädchen namens Dolly Modiano verlobt, aber anscheinend war seine Mutter damit nicht einverstanden. Dolly war später mit jemanden anders verlobt – mit Mardoche. Er hatte viel Geld und sie ging mit ihm weg, so hatte sie das Konzentrationslager vermieden.

Solon war bei der griechischen Armee. Er leistete seinen Militärdienst mit Nadir; deswegen wurden sie Freunde. Er war immer noch bei der Armee als die Deutschen kamen. Ich glaub er war in Sidirokastro [Sidirokastro war eine Festung an der bulgarisch-griechischen Grenze. Sie wurde am 6. April 1941 von den Deutschen angegriffen und drei Tage später eingenommen] Davon ging er zu Fuß zurück nach Thessaloniki.

Solon war damals für die Militärkasse verantwortlich und seine Aufgabe bestand darin, die Inhalte zu vorzuzeigen. Er ging mit anderen Soldaten zu einem Hafen wo sie ein Boot nahmen, das von Flugzeuge verfolgt wurde, dann liefen sie, um nach Thessaloniki zu kommen. Diese Kasse machte ihn sehr nervös, da sie nicht ihm, sondern der Armee gehörte. Er schaffte es, die Kasse an jemanden anderen zu übergeben und kam als Zivilbürger und nicht mehr als Soldat in Thessaloniki an.

Währenddessen waren die Deutschen schon in die Stadt angekommen. Als sie da waren, beschlagnahmen sie sofort den Buchladen. Sie schmissen alle raus – die Besitzer sowie das Personal – ohne die Erlaubnis zu geben, ihre Sachen, gar ihre Jacken, mitzunehmen. Mair Molho schickten sie ins Exil. Ich weiß nicht wo sein Exil war. Vielleicht auf der Insel Ios. Kurz danach wurde er zurückgebracht und gezwungen, sein ganzes Geschäft an einen Kollaborateur der Deutschen, ein Buchhändler namens Vosniadis, für insgesamt drei Pfund zu verkaufen. So „wechselte“ die Geschäftsführung.
Solon blieb in Thessaloniki bis die Deutschen anfingen, Maßnahmen gegen Juden durchzuführen. Direkt nach der Versammlung am Eleutherias-Platz in Thessaloniki, fuhr er in einem Ruderboot weg. Er ruderte nach Evoia und war am Ende in Athen, was unter italienischen Besatzung war. Unter diesen Maßnahmen waren alle Juden im Ghetto und später in den Lagern interniert. Unsere Beziehung war plötzlich zu Ende.

In der Zwischenzeit – als er von der Armee wieder da war und bevor er nach Athen ging – war er jeden Abend bei uns. Zu der Zeit waren wir mit Tante Rachelle, die zwei Jungs und ein Mädel hatte. Mit uns zusammengezählt waren es fünf Mädchen. Die Jungen freuten sich, bei uns zu sein. Da unsere Mutter vor kurzem gestorben war, kamen sie immer zu uns. So lernte ich Solon erst kennen. Er verhielt sich sehr gut!

Nachdem Solon wieder da war, dachte er wohl unbewusst, dass ich schon seine Frau wäre. Wahrscheinlich wegen seiner Mutter, die ihm immer sagte: „Dieses Mädel ist für dich.“ Als er von der Insel zurückkehrte, ging er zu meinem Onkel David, um zu sagen, dass er mich heiraten wollte. Und Onkel David schrieb mir, wie ich schon erzählte. Ich wollte ihn heiraten, weil ich ihn und seine Familie schon kannte und nicht woanders suchen wollte.

Während dieser ganzen Zeit wusste ich ganz klar, dass Toto in mich verliebt war. Also wie hätte ich Solon zusagen könnten? Nachdem ich zusagte, bereitete ich mich vor, zurückzukehren. Es ist auch bemerkenswert, dass mich zu diesem Zeitpunkt ein Cousin von mir in Israel, Leon, auch heiraten wollte - geschweige denn Toto! Aber Solon war meine Wahl.

Wir fanden das ganze Leben in Israel damals etwas eintönig. Der ganzen Zeit gingen wir nicht einmal tanzen! Auf den Straßen sangen wir die griechischen Lieder, die wir kannten. Wir sangen mit viel Nostalgie für Griechenland und in dieser Stimmung sagte ich mir, „Ich werde zurückgehen.“ Ich ließ mich deswegen von niemanden beraten, weil ich schon wusste, was ich wollte. Ich schickte also die Zusage an Onkel David.

Ich freute mich nach der Befreiung sehr darüber, dass Briefe nach und nach ankamen; diese habe ich noch. Briefe von und zu meinen Schwestern, Briefe von Onkel Pepo und, natürlich, die Briefe von Solon. Ich war glücklich. Ich stand davor, meine eigene Familie zu haben und nicht mehr in einem fremden Land oder fremden Haus leben zu müssen. Ich freute mich wahnsinnig auf meine Rückkehr.
Danach besorgte ich die entsprechenden Papiere und fuhr mit Charles Joseph und seiner ersten Frau, Nini, der Tochter eines Cousins meines Vaters. Alle Mitglieder der Familie Saltiel. (Auch seine zweite Frau, Rosa, war Saltiel.) Wir kamen zuerst in Piraeus an und fuhr von dort aus nach Thessaloniki.

Als wir in Thessaloniki ankamen, kam Victoria zu mir, da Solon krank war. Er wurde kurz vor meiner Ankunft wegen einer Hernie operiert. Die hatte er vom zu viel Schreien beim Yachtturn bekommen. Also erholte er sich im Bett.

Die ganze Familie Molho wurde nach Deutschland deportiert: Solons Vater und Mutter, seine Schwester Yvonne und ihr Mann und Kind. Das gilt auch für den Rest der Familie. Victoria und ihre Familie waren die einzigen, die noch da waren.

So wurden sie gerettet: Eines Tages waren sie in der Apotheke und da war zufällig Dr. Kallinikides, der über die furchtbaren Sachen, die den Juden derzeit passieren, erzählte. Dazu sagte er, dass er dazu bereit war, eine jüdische Familie zu retten. Sie hörten diese Ansage und obwohl sie ihn nicht kannten, gingen sie auf ihn zu. Frau Kallinikides ging dann zu ihnen zuhause um die Kinder zu holen und brachte sie mit zu ihr nachhause. Später hatte er Kontakt mit denjenigen, die direkt vor den Augen der Deutschen Juden illegal nach Athen schleppten. So rette Dr. Kallinikides ganz unauffällig die ersten Kinder; später stellte er jemanden dafür an, die Erwachsene abzuholen und organisierte alles für die sichere Fahrt nach Athen. Sie hatten viel Glück und Frau Kallinikides wurde für immer Freundin der Familie.

Solon war schon in Athen. Als sie sich wiederfanden und um zu überleben, stellten sie Seifen her – Solon half Youda, der eine Seifenmanufaktur in Thessaloniki hatte. Sie gingen von Haus zu Haus, um das tägliche Brot zu verdienen. Später wurde Athen von den Deutschen besetzt und sie mussten sich woanders verstecken.

Sie gingen also nach Glossa Skopelous. Giorgos Mitzilotis, der Bürgermeister des Dorfes, war einer der Zulieferer für Onkel Youdas Manufaktur. Sie lieferten ihm Olivenöl – ein Rohmaterial für seine Seife. Die ganze Familie Leon, die Großeltern, Maurice, Jackos, Youda und seine Familie und der Bruder Victorias, Solon, eine Gruppe 14 Personen, wurden von ihm nach Glossa gebracht. Dort blieben sie der ganzen Besatzung bis zur Befreiung Thessalonikis.

Girorgos nahm ein großes Risiko auf sich. Nicht nur für sich selbst und seine Familie, sondern auch die ganze Gemeinde. Menschen aus dem Dorf halfen ihm – sie gingen mit Girorgos Bäume abfallen, Holz sammeln, sie passten auf die Tiere auf usw.

Die Deutschen kamen erst noch nicht in Glossa Skopelous. Aber nachdem sie da waren, musste die Familie von Ort zu Ort ziehen, um nicht von den Deutschen entdeckt zu werden. Das war ganz viel Aufregung! Zu der Zeit ging Solon immer wieder zur Werft um mitzuhelfen. Er war noch jung und voller Kraft und Vitalität. Er arbeitete auch mit einem gefälschten Ausweis mit dem lokalen Eisenschmied.
Die Familie hörte auch heimlich Radio, also wusste sie von den ganzen Geschehnissen. Als der Krieg vorbei war, kehrten sie nach Thessaloniki zurück. Giorgos Mitziliotis und sein Bruder Stephanis wurden als Gerechtete unter den Nationen geehrt.

Nachdem sie wieder in Thessaloniki angekommen waren, ging er zum Buchladen und ein paar Tage später hatte er ihn wieder. Die erste Etage war vom britischen Geheimdienst übernommen und als ein „Vorlesungs- und Übungssalon“ benutzt worden. Natürlich wurden alle Bücher von Vosniades genommen. Später brachten sie all die Bücher, die nicht von Vosniades verkauft wurden, wieder in den Laden. Diese erste Etage war jeden Tag voller Menschen, weil die Briten oben eine große Karte hatten und markierten auf dieser die Bewegungen der Armeen, wie die Deutschen den Rückzug antreten usw. Die Briten blieben im Laden bis jeder Ort befreit wurde. Später eröffnete sie ein British Council, wo sie u.a. eine Bibliothek hatten, wo sie Englischunterricht anboten. Genau wie heute.
Als die Buchhandlung wieder aufgemacht wurde, kamen sowohl griechische Bücher als auch Bücher aus dem Ausland. Ich habe den Eindruck, dass wir die älteste Buchhandlung Thessalonikis, wenn nicht ganz Griechenlands, sind – älter als Elefteroudaquis [Anm. eine der ältesten Buchhandlungen Griechenlands, in Athen beheimatet. 2016 geschlossen.].

Solon wohnte bei seiner Schwester Viktoria und ihrem Mann Youda in der Karolou-Deal-Straße während ich bei Tante Mitsa wohnte. Bei unserem ersten Treffen waren wir sehr emotional. Er war bewegt, ich auch, also weinten wir und küssten wir uns. Wir dachten nicht, wir fühlten und agierten nur. Es ist oft so, dass Tränen erstmal kommen und danach folgt das Lachen.
Ich kehrte in ein befreites Thessaloniki zurück. Das war 1944 oder 1945. Ich hatte gar keine Probleme. Ich weiß nicht mehr, wo ich meine Schwestern zum ersten Mal wieder traf. Ob es in Thessaloniki oder Athen war. Eda war noch beim griechisch-britischen Handelskammer und Matilde war bei Tante Mitsa. Matilde heiratete David Dzivre. Das war durch eine Heiratsvermittlung. Sie hatten zusammen zwei Kinder, Nico und Yofi (Joseph). Nico ist schon tot.

Eda war zuerst mit Albertico Abravanel verlobt. Da sie sich doch nicht sehr gut verstanden, trennten sie sich. Raf war heimlich in sie verliebt. Rafael Saporta war Tidas Bruder und einer unserer besten Freunde. Ihre ganze Familie wurde mit den spanischen Juden deportiert. Nach dem Krieg wohnte er erst in Paris. Als Tida ihn besuchte, vermittelte sie die Verlobung. Ich schaffte es nicht zur Hochzeit. Sie hatte eine Tochter namens Sylvie.

Meine Schwestern wurden nicht viel über mein Leben in Israel informiert, genauso wie ich nicht viel über ihr Leben im Haridari-Gefängnis berichtet bekam. Ich weiß nur, dass die Deutschen ab und zu Gefangene vom Appellplatz aussortierten und zum Erschießungskommando schickten. Da meine Schwestern spanische Staatsbürgerinnen waren, waren sie vom Erschießungskommando geschützt. Der spanische Botschafter, Herr DeRomero, sorgte für ihr Überleben. Jede Woche schickte er ihnen ein Paket voller Essen.

Ich weiß nicht mehr, wie lange nach der Wiedervereinigung Solon und ich heirateten. Frau Margaritis, die Schwester meiner Tante Mitsa, gab mir mein Brautkleid. Sie war Musikerin und trug dieses auf Konzerten.

Die Hochzeit fand am 17. März 1946 in der Monastirioton-Synagoge statt. Tante Mitsa und Onkel Pepo kümmerten sich um die Vorbereitungen und alles war in Ordnung. Wir waren ganz glücklich. Nach der Hochzeit gingen wir zu Tante Mitsa.

Das Haus, in dem wir noch heute wohnen, war das von Solons Eltern. Solon wurde hier geboren und kam wieder hierher, nachdem er bei Victoria wohnte. In diesem Haus fand er andere Menschen drin wohnen. Sie waren Flüchtlinge und natürlich wollten sie nicht ausziehen. So war es mit allen jüdischen Häusern, die im Krieg „leer“ standen. Menschen zogen ein und wollten nach dem Krieg nicht wieder gehen. Ich weiß nicht mehr, wie Solon das Haus zurückkriegte. Thomas, der vom Fahrradladen, unterstützte ihn dabei. Als wir heirateten, stand für uns das Haus schon bereit. Solon kümmerte sich gut ums Haus. Er baute meinetwegen auch ein Kaminfeuer. Er wollte mich glücklich machen.

Unsere Flitterwochen waren eine Bootsfahrt nach Athen. Wir waren in Kifissia, ein Vorort Athens, und verbrachten ein paar Tage dort im Hotel. Dann fuhren wir zurück nach Thessaloniki, wonach wir anfingen zu arbeiten... und arbeiten und arbeiten und nur noch arbeiten.

Also waren wir verheiratet. Er war Buchhändler und ich versuchte, Vorhänge aus Mücken-geschützem Stoff zu machen, die ich auch in einer fröhlichen Farbe färbte. Ich hängte sie an die Fenster auf der Straßenseite. Nur so konnten wir unsere Privatsphäre sichern. Unsere Sachen wurden von dem Mann geklaut, der auf sie aufzupassen hatte. Wir hatten eine schwierige Zeit.
Ich war unglücklich, weil ich einem Haus wohnte, wo ich keinen Ausblick vom Meer hatte. Zuerst dachte ich, es wäre eine Art Gefängnis, da ich immer in Häuser neben und mit Ausblick des Meeres wohnte.

Solon und ich entschieden als Nächstes, Kinder zu bekommen. Also wurde ich schwanger. Ich war dann sehr, sehr glücklich. Ein Kind in der Familie! Es waren Jahre seitdem wir Kinder überhaupt sahen. Mein erstes Kind war ein Junge! Ein sehr glücklicher Moment. Das war mein erstes Kind, meine erste Freude. Als wir die Brit Mila organisierten, sah er so schön aus und viele Leute waren dabei. Der Athener Mohel war da. Ich genieß die ganze Stimmung – die Süßigkeiten, die Menschen, die Musik, die Tchalgin – sehr. (In Thessaloniki in der Zeit vor dem Krieg und kurz danach, hießen die jüdischen Musiker, die bei Hochzeiten, Verlobungen und andere Feiern waren, Tchalgin.)

Als der zweiter Junge geboren wurde, war ich enttäuscht, da ich eine Tochter wollte. Und schon wieder die Brit Mila, die Feierlichkeiten usw. Aber ich wollte ein Mädchen. Ich betete zu Gott und es klappte! Das dritte Kind war ein Mädchen.

Nie hatte ich eine Fehlgeburt, doch als ich zum vierten Mal schwanger wurde, wollte ich die Schwangerschaft abbrechen, weil alles in der Zeit sonst so schwierig war.

Als die Kinder noch zur Schule gingen, hatten wir zwei Damen – beide namens Olga – bei uns zuhause. Sie kümmerten sich ums Haus und die Kinder. Die ältere – „Olga Mama“ – war vor dem Krieg jahrelang das Dienstmädchen meiner Schwiegermutter. Sie war ein paar Jahre älter als Solon und er war die einzige Familie, an die sie sich erinnern konnte. „Olga Mama“ arbeitete nach dem Krieg erst bei Victoria und danach bei uns, nachdem wir Kinder bekamen. Sie sprach auch Spanisch wie der Rest der Familie. Spanisch war die Sprache, die wir mit meinem Mann sprachen. Mit den Kindern sprachen wir auf Griechisch und manchmal auf Spanisch, so dass ihre Ohren sich daran gewöhnen.

Wir gingen nicht sehr oft in die Synagoge. Manchmal ging ich freitags, um eine Kerze anzuzünden und zu beten. Die Hohen Feiertage feierten wir zuhause. Doch weiß ich nicht, ob ich meine Kinder das Judentum beibrachte. Ich glaube an Gott, bin aber keine Fanatikerin hänge nicht an den Regeln fest. Ich weiß nicht, wie meine Kinder sich zu Religion verhalten.

Mein Mann arbeitete Tag und Nacht. Um das Geschäft wiederaufzumachen, musste Solon Kredit von der Bank leihen. Er fragte nach 150.000 Drachmen und erhielt doppelt so viel. Mit dem Geld konnte Solon die Bücher zum ersten Semester bestellen. Ich fing irgendwann auch an im Buchladen zu arbeiten. Ich arbeitete sehr intensiv. Zuerst kümmerte ich mich um aktuelle Probleme – zum Beispiel die Bestellung der angefragten internationalen Zeitschriften für diversen Fakultäten an der Aristoteles-Universität. Wir konkurrierten mit einem anderen Buchhändler und wir ließen die Bücher per Flugzeug liefern, um die ersten zu sein. Auch Einzelhändler kamen ständig in den Laden – auch um Mitternacht, um die Bücher früh morgens in ihrem Laden zu haben. Ich hatte das Gefühl, dass wir nie aufhörten zu arbeiten.

Im Laden hatte wir alle Zeitschriften und wir lasen sie auch. Ich las die griechischen Zeitungen nicht sehr viel, da es mir einfacher war, die englische oder französische Zeitungen zu lesen.
Wie gesagt, wir fingen mit keinem Kapital an. Als die Buchhandlung von den Deutschen zugemacht wurde, gab es noch offene Rechnungen mit Zulieferern im Ausland. Als wir nach dem Krieg wieder aufmachten, um Geschäftsbeziehungen mit unseren Hauptzulieferern wiederanzufangen, mussten wir diese alten Beiträge noch bezahlen, obwohl es ganz klar war, dass wir für die Umstände nicht verantwortlich waren. Doch versprachen wir, alles vor dem Krieg trotzdem zu bezahlen. Und alles bezahlten wir, auch wenn wir dafür nicht schuldig waren.

Die Jahre gingen langsam vorbei und in 1988 erreichten wir das 100. Jubiläum der Buchhandlung, da sie 1888 offiziell gegründet wurde. Also wollten wir feiern. Wir veranstalteten einen sehr schönen Empfang und der französische Staat verlieh Solon die Auszeichnung „Chevalier des Lettres et des Art.“ Es ist gar nicht so einfach, so eine Auszeichnung von der französischen Nation zu bekommen. Viellicht nach 100 Jahren Geschäftsbeziehungen mit französischen Verlagen.

Für die 100. Jubiläumsfeier druckten wir ein kleines Gedenkheftchen mit der Geschichte der Buchhandlung. Dazu war der Empfang. Wir hatten auch ein Gästebuch, in dem Professuren der Aristoteles-Universität, Kunden und Freunde ihre Gedanken und Eindrücke von uns schrieben.

Ich weiß nicht, in welche Richtung mein Leben hätte führen könnten, hätte es kein Krieg gegeben. Vielleicht wäre ich mit einer anderen Person verheiratet – doch ich glaub es hätte keinen so wirklichen Unterschied gemacht, solange ich ihn liebte. Ehen aus Liebe waren sowieso selten.

Die äußere Seite der Stadt sah unverändert aus, doch ohne die Präsenz der Menschen, die wir kannten. In all den Gegenden, wo die Juden früher wohnten, gibt es heute keine Juden. Ihre Häuser werden von Christen bewohnt. Ganze Straßen – wie die Misrahi oder Fleming, wo wir jetzt leben – waren nur von Juden bewohnt. Wir sind jetzt die einzige jüdische Familie in der Straße, während es damals nur eine christliche Familie gab. Nicht nur in dieser Straße, sondern auch in anderen Gegenden wie „151“ oder „Vadaris“ – doch kannte ich mich dort nie sehr gut aus. Wir fühlten uns sehr isoliert und versuchten den Kontakt mit allen noch lebendigen Verwandten zu behalten.

Die Christen waren uns sehr, sehr neutral gegenüber. Wenn wir uns auf der Straße begegneten, sagten sie uns mit ihrem Blick: „ah, sie haben überlebt“ – ein bisschen überrascht, aber eine Reaktion die weder den Anschein von Freundschaft noch Feindschaft zeigte.

Irgendwie wussten Victoria und Solon, dass ihre Eltern nie zurückkommen werden. Sie wusste es nur aufgrund der Aussagen von denjenigen, die zurückkamen – die Überlebende der Konzentrationslager. Ich hatte nie die Gelegenheit, mit solchen Menschen zu sprechen. Darum redeten wir nicht. Auch nicht mit engen Freunden. Niemand wollte das Thema ansprechen. Selbst die Menschen, die zurückkamen, wollten nicht über ihre Erfahrungen reden. Sie wollten sich nicht daran erinnern. Dazu wurden sie auch mit dem Nichtglaube von anderen konfrontiert. Es war erst später, nach fünfzig, sechzig Jahre, dass sie darüber reden konnten.

Da ihre Erfahrungen mit extremen Fällen zu tun hatten, Fälle die wegen ihrer Bösartigkeit über die Grenzen des menschlichen Verstands springen, wollten die Menschen nicht zuhören und sie konnten nicht glauben, dass solche Sachen tatsächlich passierten. Nur als die Überlebende am Ende des Lebens waren und dieses näher rückende Ende spüren konnten, schrieben und erzählten sie über ihre Erfahrungen, so dass die Menschen wissen können.

Mit Solon redeten wir auch nie darüber. Da wir nichts hörten, nahmen sie es stillschweigend hin, dass die Eltern nicht zurückkommen. Weder seine Eltern noch Yvonne, die andere Schwester. Das erfuhren sie nie offiziell. Natürlich gab es keine Todesurkunde.

Mit meinen Kindern diskutierte ich nie solche Themen, da sie nie genug Geduld dafür hatten, sich hinzusetzen und zuzuhören. Wäre ich nicht gefragt worden, hätte ich nie davon erzählt, wie ich aufwuchs, was ich erlebte und wie mein Leben sonst so war.

Normalerweise gehe in den Friedhof in Thessaloniki, wo eine Mehrheit meiner Verwandten begraben sind. Ich fange mit dem Grab meiner Mutter an, die mit meinem Großvater begraben ist. Dann besuche die Gräber von Onkel David, der zuerst starb, dann Onkel Pepo Abravanel und danach Tante Mitsa Abaravanel. Dazu auch die von Onkel Sinto und Tante Bella Saltiel, dem Bruder meines Vaters und seiner Frau. Das nächste Grab ist das von meinem Mann, Solon Molho. Dann geh ich zu Jeannette Bensousan, die Mutter von Rena Molho, meine Schwiegertochter, die mit meinem Sohn Mair verheiratet ist. Danach ist Renée Avram an der Reihe, die zweite Frau von Joseph Avram, ein Freund, der in seiner ersten Ehe mit meiner besten Freundin, Tida Saporta, verheiratet war. Dann zu Mme. Gentille Saporta, die Mutter von Tilda, dessen Grab neben dem meiner Mutter liegt.

Zunächst besuche ich das Grab von Maurice Haim. Er war ein Angestellte im Buchladen und wurde von den „Rebellen“ umgebracht als er im Bürgerkrieg zur Armee eingezogen wurde.
Dann gehe ich zum Denkmal zu den Opfern der Konzentrationslager und sage ein Gebet.

Mein Vater wurde in Athen beerdigt. Lange wusste ich nicht wo, da ich nach seinem Tod schnell gehen musste. Als ich aus Israel wiederkam, lernte ich, dass er im jüdischen Teil des 1. Athener Friedhofs – ein christlicher Friedhof mit einem kleinen jüdischen Teil – begraben wurde. Natürlich besuchte ich ihn dort.

Immer am Todestag meines Vaters und meiner Muter rezitieren wir Kaddisch. Ich weise erst auf sie hin, dann habe ich eine Liste von allen Namen der Männer und Frauen, die meines Erachtens nach erinnert werden sollten. Vor ein paar Jahren ging ich für solche Jahrestage in die Synagoge. Jetzt ruf ich den Rabbi und rezitiere zuhause.

Mein Sohn Yofi übernahm die Buchhandlung und mein Sohn Mair machte einen Schreibwarenladen auf. Meine Tochter arbeitet ab und zu im Buchladen und ab und zu im Schreibwarenladen – nicht Festes.

Yofi heiratete Yolanda Papathanasopoulou, eine Christin die zum Judentum konvertierte. Sie studierte Judentum und als wir in Jugoslawien für die Hochzeit waren, gab ihr der Rabbi eine Menge Prüfungen über Glaubensfragen, konvertierte sie und dann wurden sie verheiratet. Obwohl sie keine gebürtige Jüdin ist, zieht sie die Kinder ganz ordentlich groß. Ihr Sohn hatte eine schöne Bar-Mitzwa und ihre Tochter Renee, die nach mir genannt wurde, hatte ihre Bat-Mitzwa. Sie verfolgen die jüdischen Traditionen, doch wer weiß wie es in der Zukunft wird.

Ich habe sechs Enkelkinder. Ich habe drei Kinder und jeder hat zwei Kinder – ein Junge und ein Mädchen. Mein ältester Sohn Mair heiratet Rena Bensousan und ihre Kinder heißen Solon und Milena. Mein zweiter Sohn heiratet Yolanda Papathanosopoulou und ihre Kinder heißen Sami und Renee. Meine Tochter Nina heiratete Maurice Carasso und ihre Kinder sind Naomi und Dov. Sie ist jetzt geschieden. Sie sind alle Juden, aber keine Fanatiker diesbezüglich.

Ich habe heute viele Wünsche, doch hängen die von den Wünschen anderen, mir zu helfen, ab. Als mein Mann noch lebte, kamen sie an Feiertagen immer zu uns. Wir saßen immer rum, aßen, spielten Karten, sangen, lachten – alles war in bester Ordnung.

Heute sieht es anders aus. Meine Tochter Nina versucht es, uns bei ihr zusammenzubringen. Aber es ist nicht dieselbe Stimmung. So ist es, wenn das Familienoberhaupt fehlt. Dank Nina kommen wir immerhin zusammen.

Ich bin Gott dafür dankbar, mir einen guten Mann, der mich liebte und mir half, gegeben zu haben. Ich habe drei Kinder, deren Gesundheit und Wohlbefinden ich mir im tiefsten Herzen wünsche. Ich bete zu Gott, mich auf nette Weise zu nehmen. Das ist mein Gebet.

Pavel Sendrei
Subotica
Serbia
Interviewer: Klara Azulaj

Growing up
During the war
Post-war

Growing up

My name is Pavel Sendrei. I was born on August 18, 1922 in Zilina
(Czechoslovakia). My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, was born on August 28,
1888 in Krivosud Bodovska, Slovakia. He was killed on March 15, 1945 in the
concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei (maiden
name - Holzmann) was born on October 31, 1893 in Stari Bistira, and she
died on December 2, 1981 in Subotica.

I grew up in a middle class Neolog Jewish family. We did not go to
synagogue everyday, but we observed the big holidays. We lived in a rented
apartment. Hungarian was my mother tongue, because my father had finished
his studies at the university in Budapest and my mother went to a Hungarian
school during the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I had a governess
who taught me German. I only began to learn Slovakian when I started the
first grade of primary school. After elementary school I enrolled in a
secondary school. I didn't have any problems with Slovakian. I graduated on
May 25, 1939.

As a young boy I was a member of the Makabi where we practiced
gymnastics and athletics and which was part of the Zionist society Makabi
Hazair. The members of this organization went on picnics, and camping trips
where we were taught dances, songs, Hebrew language and history. In 1937 I
participated in the Makabiada in Zilina and every year I went to the Makabi
Hazair camp. After 1940 this was interrupted because of the German
occupation of Slovakia.

Zilina had about 25,000 residents of which about 6,000 were Jews. One
of the deputy mayors was a Jew. During the war Zilina was a big camp. It
was a gathering camp where people were put into wagons and transported to
other camps.

My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, spent all day in his drugstore. He was
a big fan of football. He was a member of the ESKA ZILINA football club and
one of its big donors. This football club was once one of the leaders in
Slovakia. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei, was a classical housewife. She made
really tasty meals, but her cuisine was not kosher.

I do not remember either my maternal or paternal grandfathers, as they
died when I was quite small. I met my grandmothers, but I do not remember
them too clearly because they had both died around 1930.

My family gathered around my grandmother's sister Hermina Glazel. She
was a housewife, very communicative and always willing to make the best
reception for her guests. She was in fact the head of our family. She had
two married daughters in Zilina. Hermina had a big house with a huge garden
in which there were all kinds of fruits. All of our relatives would gather
here during the summers. We loved gathering in her garden in the summer
time. In the shade of the trees we used to drink cold drinks and talk about
everything. Those were moments of real relaxation.

I socialized exclusively with Jewish children. In my class in school
there were about 40 children, 11 of which were Jews. I was happy that there
were no arguments in my class between the Jewish pupils and the others. We
spent seven years together and were good friends all that time. My best
friend, Kornil Verthajn, and I sat on the same bench. We went together to
the Makabi Hazair. Kornil was deported together with his parents and
returned, but his parents did not survive the Holocaust. After the war I
helped him make aliyah from Czechoslovakia through Yugoslavia.

During the war

I remember that in school every week we had lessons with Rabbi Dr.
Fridman. He taught Hebrew language and the history of the Jewish people.
After graduation I worked in the drugstore until its "aryanization." Then I
got fired, and like many Jewish children, I attended an agricultural course
in the Jewish community. The course took place on rented agricultural
property. We cultivated the land ourselves, and sold everything that grew,
and that is how we survived. This lasted about a year. On that farm, we
worked for a living, but it wasn't in preparation for aliyah to Israel,
only for survival.

During that time my father, Aleksandar Sendrei, as a former member of
the social democratic party was imprisoned. My father wasn't an active
member of that party. He had a very good friend, who was a secretary in the
social democratic party and he persuaded my father not to register for the
party. So, my father was more like a passive member. From prison he was
taken to a concentration camp where he remained until the Slovakian
uprising in 1944, when he was liberated. After that he joined the
partisans, but quickly in one of the actions he fell into the hands of the
Germans and was deported to Bergen Belsen where he died on March 15, 1945
of typhus.

I was taken into forced labor until September 20, 1944. Then I saw
Jews being taken to the train station for deportation, and I decided to go
into hiding. My mother refused to go with me because she wanted to live in
her apartment and wait for father to come home. However, in October 1944
she was taken to Auschwitz and from there she was taken to a factory where
they made parts for airplanes in Sakis-bat-kudove, and from where she was
liberated on May 8, 1945. (Editor's note: Sakis-bat-kudove was in Germany,
5 kilometers from the border with the Czech Republic; the nearest town to
it was Nachod.)

Post-war

Immediately after liberation, I was employed at the repatriation
office in Bratislava. The Jewish community in Bratislava had started its
work, and I was informed that the repatriation office needed employees.
Thanks to the fact that I speak several languages, Hungarian, German,
Slovakian and Czech, I was engaged in April 1945. The office belonged to
the Czech Office of Internal Affairs. I met my wife, Judita Bruck, and her
family while I was working in Bratislava. They went from the Strashov camp
to a work camp in Austria, where they were held until the war ended. They
went to Bratislava on foot and in a wagon and they ended up in the
repatriation office where I worked.

I liked Judita immediately, and because she was hungry most of the
time, whenever I could I took her to restaurants, sometimes three times a
day. Wishing to do something in return, Judita's father Matija invited me
to visit the family in Subotica (Yugoslavia). When I could, I accepted his
invitation and visited them in 1946. The love between Judita and me was
mutual, and we agreed to get married. We married in May l947 and went to
Czechoslovakia. On April 24, l949 Sonja, our daughter, was born.

After the war I worked for a short period in a drugstore, but when it
was nationalized I got work as a photoreporter in Czech TANJUG. I worked
there until the "Slansky trial." In Czechoslovakia antisemitism was
reestablished, and because of that I and another seventy Jews were expelled
from our jobs. In 1950 I was a member of the three-member presidency of the
Jewish community of Zilina. In 1956 the Jewish community received an
invitation to a reception with the Israeli ambassador in Prague. I went
with my wife Judita. We were the only members of the entire Jewish
community in Czechoslovakia who accepted the invitation, the rest were too
scared of the communists to go.

At the reception I met the secretary of the embassy who made aliyah
from Czechoslovakia in 1938 and whom I knew from our days back in Makabi.
He told us that the JOINT was helping as much as it could old Jews who had
survived the Holocaust, but that it was not something that was going
through the Jewish community rather through individuals who were willing to
help. Judita and I accepted this work and we worked until the end of March
1959 when we were arrested by the Czech government for allegedly "spying."
Later, we were accused of undermining the Republic of Czechoslovakia
because the JOINT were sending the money anonymously to survivors of the
Holocaust. Judita was imprisoned from March 29, 1957 to November 29, 1957
and I was incarcerated from March 29, 1957 until March 29, 1959.

After fulfilling my sentence, I could not find work and life was very
hard. Finally, we packed our things took our daughter, Sonja, and in
October 1962 we moved to Subotica, Yugoslavia where we live today.

In Subotica I was employed in the "Slavica" cosmetic factory where I
worked for a year. After that I was employed at the "Sever" electro-motor
factory as an export representative. I worked there for ten years. From
1974-1984 I worked as the head of international transport in "Dinamo
trans." I retired in 1984 with 43 years and 12 days of work experience. All
during this time I was very active in the Jewish community. From 1992-1993
I was secretary of the community. And now, my wife, Judita, and I enjoy
going to the community to celebrate the holidays and to participate in
cultural events.

Sarra Eidlin 
St. Petersburg 
Russia 
Interviewer: Inna Gimila 
Date of interview: April 2002 

Sarra Eidlin is a short woman, very compact and dexterous, with lively, kind eyes and a very active face mimicry, which allows one to read emotions that she experiences as she tells her life story.

Her hands gesticulate earnestly when she describes this or that scene from her life.

She is friendly and hospitable and possesses an open soul and a warm heart.

It was a real pleasure for us to have this interview, because we established contact and understanding easily.

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

• My family background

I was born in 1914 in the town of Kherson in Ukraine, into a religious family. A beggar Jewish woman, called Sarra Leya, when she was dying, asked my grandmother to give a girl born in our family her name in her honor. My parents gave me the name Sarra in her honor.

Almost only Jews lived in our district. My mum lived with her parents, so during my childhood I learned all the Jewish traditions: I knew that nothing should be done on Saturdays; I knew how to behave on holidays and what traditions to observe.

My maternal grandparents were born and lived in the first half of the 19th century in Kherson. Grandfather Gersh Levit, born in the 1840s was a melamed, a teacher, and that's how he earned a living. He had a big thick beard and he was almost bald. He wore a high hat, a skull-cap and dark long clothes. I remember Jewish boys coming to our house and studying in a separate room. I could hear Jewish words and prayers. Grandma Feiga Leya Levit, who was also born in the 1840s, was a housewife. She was a very hospitable and kind woman. I don't know her maiden name or her background, she never told me and I never asked.

My paternal grandfather, born in 1840, lived in our house for several years. His name was Zalman Eidlin. There was a Jewish colony not far from Kherson, it was called Lvovo, near the small town of Kalinindorf in Kherson region. My grandpa and father came from that place. Grandpa Zalman lived with us after his wife died. I don't know anything about her. He was kind, did nothing, prayed a lot and read Jewish books. He was very old, and mum and grandma took care of him. He died aged 80 when I was four or five years old, in 1918 or 19. Our family had no pictures of him.

The elder generation and my parents spoke Yiddish to each other, but lived among Russians and Ukrainians, so they knew Russian pretty well, and spoke in Russian to the children as well. In 1920 my maternal grandparents celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. They had lived together for 50 years. All relatives, even poor ones, came to the celebration, collected some money and presented an expensive golden watch to grandpa and a black silk skirt to grandma.

My grandmother died in Kherson in 1922. My grandfather lived another 10 years after. Before he died he had made a voyage to several cities and visited his children, who lived in Odessa, Leningrad and Moscow. He was very proud of that trip of his. He died in Moscow at his daughter Khaya's place in 1932.

While Grandpa Gersh was alive, Jewish traditions were preserved in our family, but later on it slackened a lot: we celebrated holidays less frequently, forgot the prayers and the language. We weren't able to demonstrate our religious predilections under the Soviet regime [during the struggle against religion] 1. Religious people were persecuted; Russian Orthodox churches were blown up; economic warehouses were arranged in the Catholic cathedrals, and synagogues were shut down. People were intimidated.

We could gather in the family circle at home, but we couldn't openly advertise the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, for instance. I remember how, in 1923-1924 in Kherson, we placed and decorated a tent with branches in our yard and our family had lunch and dinner in it. It was Sukkot, the fall holiday.

Grandma and grandpa Levit had six children: Khaya, Volodya, Sonya, Boris, Fanya and Maryasya - my mother.

Their elder daughter, my aunt Khaya, was born in the 1860s. She lived for 94 years, married a native of a Lvov Jewish colony in the 1880s, a religious man called Gersh Kart. He was a sewing cutter and lived in Kherson by that time. Khaya was the most religious of all her sisters and brothers. While grandpa was alive she celebrated all the holidays with us. I remember it because my mum as the youngest daughter lived at grandpa's after she got married.

Aunt Khaya and Gersh Kart had four children: Bella, Vladimir, Boris and Malka. Their elder daughter Bella was born in 1904. Bella is my eldest cousin. She was born in Kherson, as were all Khaya's and Gersh's children. She left for Odessa in the 1920s to study at the Chemical and Pharmaceutical Institute. She didn't graduate from the institute because she married a native of Odessa from Peresyp 2, David Lvovich Katz. He was a commissar in the Kotovsky 3 division, which was located in Odessa after the Civil War 4.

After some time David was transferred to Berdichev, a town with a lot of military units. Bella had no complete higher education at that time, though she was rather well-read and was a good orator. Several years later David retired and was sent to one-year courses to become a construction company manager. After these courses he was assigned to Moscow in 1930. He worked in the defense narkomat [people's commissariat] and supervised the construction of defense fortifications in the east of the country. It was a secret construction.

Bella worked as an instructor at one of the Moscow party raykoms [district party committee]. She graduated from Mendeleyev Institute in Moscow and after that worked at Narkompischeprom [People's Commissariat of Food Industry] as Glavmargarin Manager, that means she supervised all the plants that produced margarine. When the war broke out David became head of a big construction trust, which was evacuated to Tashkent. Their family also moved there, they already had two children: a son and a daughter.

At the beginning of 1945 after the war ended their family returned to Moscow and David was designated a commander of a brigade, which dismantled electrical power stations in Germany under the Reparation Agreement 5. The dismantled parts were sent to the Soviet Union. Reparation meant something that the Germans, as the defeated, were supposed to deliver to our country under the Agreement. A lot was removed from Germany as the country, which lost the war.

Bella worked at the Promenergomontazh Scientific Research Institute as an engineer and retired after some time. She died at the age of 84 in Moscow in 1998. She was an atheist and a Soviet person, regardless of the fact that her mother Khaya was a religious woman. Bella's and David's son Marlen graduated from the Moscow Aircraft Institute and worked at Baykonur 6 during the time when the space-vehicle launching site was under construction and the first space flight took place.

He was irradiated severely and died of sarcoma in 1963 at the age of 40. He was my grand- nephew. Marlen's daughter Lina graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Moscow and works as a mathematics teacher at school. She still works, though she is already retired. Her daughter Sonya, after graduating from the institute, also works at the same place. She also lives in Moscow with her husband Vladimir and daughter Sofia, who is fifteen years old. Both Lina and her daughter Sofia married Jews and remained Soviet non-religious women.

Khaya's and Gersh's second child, Vladimir, was born in 1906. He studied at the Odessa University. He died at an early age, approximately in 1922, during an appendix operation.

The third child was Boris. He was born in 1908. He was a construction engineer. He married a Russian woman in Kherson during his studies. His wife was considered the most beautiful woman in town. He had a daughter. Her name was Zoya. Before the war Boris was head of a construction trust in Stalingrad, where he was assigned after he had graduated from the Odessa Construction Institute.

Boris evacuated his trust from Stalingrad to the town of Yurga in the east of the country. An artillery plant, a whole town and a railroad station, Yurga-2, were constructed near that city under Boris's supervision. He was an important person, respected by everyone. After the war Boris worked in the town of Gorky at a plant in the position of head of a construction department. Later he worked at the staff of the Gorky gorispolkom [municipal administration, executive committee], supervising a construction department. In 1972 he was recommended for a State Prize with a group of engineers for the invention of unique construction tiles. He obtained the prize, which was very honorable. Boris died in 1990.

Khaya's fourth child is her daughter Malka, born in 1919. She finished a construction technical school in Kherson and moved to Moscow, where her parents had lived since 1930 with their elder daughter Bella. Malka, Malla in Russian [common name] 7 graduated from the part-time department of the Construction Institute and worked as a principal engineer at the Stalproyekt Institute until retirement.

After the war everyone had to exchange passports and the office employee offered to write Malla instead of Malka in her passport. Thus she became Malla. Malla lives with her daughter Tanya in Moscow, who is also a pensioner, and her husband Ilya. He is a Jew too. Tanya also graduated from the Construction Institute with an excellent certificate. She worked at a construction company too. They live a non-religious secular life.

Khaya's husband, Gersh Kart, died in Moscow after the war in 1949 or 1950. They were in evacuation in the Urals during the war. He didn't participate in the war, as he was too old. He worked at the Klara Tsetkin sewing factory as a trimmer. He cut out patterns. He was a wonderful tailor. He sewed a perfect coat for his daughter from a soldier's blouse pattern. They lived in Izmailovo district in Moscow.

It is so called because when Jews were allowed to live in big cities after the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 8 mostly Jews inhabited this district. When Tanya married Ilya, they exchanged their two-bedroom apartments for one four-bedroom apartment. Now they live near Rizhsky Railroad Station.

My uncle Volodya, mum's elder brother, was born in Kherson in the 1860s. He was married to a Jewish woman. Their whole family starved to death in 1921 in Kherson during the famine in Ukraine 9. They had an apartment in the center of the city and lived moderately, but his wife was a 'stinker,' as everyone called her, she was a bad housewife. It was always very dirty in their apartment and everybody blamed her for that. It was a real shame to have such a wife.

Volodya came to us and told my grandma and his mother and said, 'Bathe me, mum.' We had a zinc bath, into which we placed a samovar and the water was heated. Vladimir and his wife had four children. They all starved to death, except their elder daughter Sonya.

Sonya was born in 1900. She lived at our place in Kherson and studied at the medical school. Sonya stayed with our family. She had a wedding, which was called 'Schwarze Hipe' [chuppah]. There was a canopy; everybody walked around it, but there was no music, since Sonya was an orphan and an orphan was not allowed to have a merry wedding with music. At the end, though, a violinist was invited.

Everything was exactly as a Jewish wedding means it to be: everybody was dressed beautifully. However, later on Sonya and her husband didn't observe the Jewish traditions, deviated from religion and led a life of secular Soviet people. Sonya moved to Moscow from Kherson and got married there. She died in the 1950s in Moscow. She worked at a newspaper stand. She could not work as a physician because during her first operation she felt unwell at the sight of blood and ran out. Her husband was a Jew and worked as an engineer at a plant. He died in Moscow of an illness at the beginning of the war. They have a son, Vladimir.

My mum's next sister, Sonya, was born in the 1880s. She married Gersh Kontsevoy in Kherson. He worked as a seller in a kerosene-store. Sonya and Gersh had four sons and they were all born in Kherson: Motya, Isaac, Iosif and Zalman. After 1930 they all moved to Moscow. Actually, the whole Kontsevoy family left Kherson. Their elder son Motya, married a native of Moscow, Rosa, a Jewess, and lived with his family in the suburbs, at Udelnaya station.

Now this station is part of the city. They had two daughters, Valya and Sonya. Valya graduated from the Planning Economic Institute in Moscow and worked at the Gosplan of the USSR. Then she married a Jew whose name was Boris and moved to Kishinev [Moldova] with him, where he worked as a dispatcher at the railroad.

They have a daughter, Maya. Later Motya and Rosa moved to their daughter in Kishinyov. Motya died at the age of approximately 90. Rosa died in Kishinyov in the 1980s, several years before her husband. Currently Valya and Borya live in L.A. in America; they are retired. Their daughter finished a technical school and travels a lot: she has been everywhere in California and visited Ireland and Spain, too. She has been living in America for five years already.

Sonya, Motya's second daughter, graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Moscow as a teacher for handicapped children, but never worked as such a specialist. She married a Jew, his name is Alexander, and moved to Lvov. She worked at a library there and retired there. Her husband had higher education, was in charge of an electricians' team, which put electrical power stations into operations. He worked in this position all his life. They have recently left for Germany for permanent residence. They don't know Jewish customs. They have a daughter who lives separately. They wrote to me that everything became more expensive with the introduction of the euro. However, she visited Venice, Italy, with her husband Sasha and were present at a carnival. It's almost impossible to describe their impressions! She wrote to me that she liked Venice but wouldn't like to live there. This is how she spends time in contrast to us, Russian pensioners. I, personally, as a war participant, have a high pension. But a lot of people, for instance, my daughter Maya, have a pension of $50 only, though she worked as a principal engineer all her life. We cannot go anywhere with this pension.

Lena, daughter of Sonya and Alexander, attends computer courses. She is an adult already and a mother of two children. Her wedding took place in Lvov in the palace of Earl Potocki. [Editor's note: Potocki, Valentine (d. 1749): Polish count martyred as a proselyte. According to legend, during his studies in Paris count Potocki once went to a tavern with a friend of his, also a young Polish aristocrat, and they noticed that the owner of the tavern, an old Jew was studying the Talmud. They asked him to teach them the principles of Judaism. Potocki converted to Judaism in Amsterdam and settled as a Jew near Vilna in Lithuania. He was reported as a proselyte to the authorities and was arrested. As he refused to recant, he was burned at the stake. So far no historical evidence for the story has been discovered, although it is generally believed to have been true.] Her mother had been saving money for a year to celebrate the wedding. The wedding was splendid. Not a Jewish one, but secular. She had such a magnificent wedding dress, that some rented it for their weddings later. She had two children, but she divorced this husband and left for Germany with a different man.

Yura, son of Sonya and Alexander, graduated form Nuremberg University in Germany, works now, and acquired German citizenship. The rest in the family were not able to receive citizenship. They still have Ukrainian passports and citizenship.

The second son of Sonya and Alexander, Iosif, lived in Moscow, where he moved as a boy. He married a Russian woman there. She was run over by a tram and died. Iosif worked as an electrician in Moscow. He wrote poems and some of them were published in Ogonyok magazine. When the war broke out, he moved to Yurga, to the north and joined his cousin Boris there, son of Khaya and Gersh Kart, in evacuation. Iosif worked there for the Svet Ilyicha newspaper and continued writing poems. When he retired he continued to contribute to this newspaper. He died in Yurga in the 1980s. He has a son, Volodya, who lives in Yurga. He works in oil fields now.

Sonya's and Alexander's third son, Isaac, was born in Kherson in 1910. He lived in Moscow, took part in the war and returned disabled. He lived in a communal apartment, since his relatives had left already. He got acquainted with a woman and raised her children. He didn't have children of his own. He died in Moscow in the 1990s.

Their fourth son, Zalman, was born in Kherson in the 1910s. He worked as an editor-in-chief for a newspaper, a House Organ at the Moscow watch plant. [House Organ: an informational newspaper, published at the enterprise for the purpose of keeping the employees informed about the life and events of their organization]. His wife was Russian. He didn't get evacuated during the war and perished there. His wife didn't want to deal with our family. I don't now why.

My mum's brother Boris, the fourth son of Gersh and Feiga Levit, was born in Kherson in 1885. His wife Klara was a Jewess. He sold quilted jackets from a tray at the market place. They lived in a rented apartment in a three-story house, as many of my relatives did. They moved to Rostov-on-Don [a city in the south of Russia] in the 1930s, as it was difficult to live in Kherson, and Rostov was a more lucrative and populous city. Boris went out of his mind in the 1930s and died.

Everyone lived on starvation rations. I remember how Volodya, who died, came to Aunt Khaya. He was a big guy but he was crying and it was a pity to see it: he had got the bread ration and had carried it under his arm. Some hooligans had robbed him of it and he couldn't protect himself. Everyone was starving then. I remember how we three children sat on the bed.

My parents were suffering from jail-fever or spotted fever, and they were under quarantine. They survived. My mother's brother Boris got ill before the war in 1941. He had some sanity problems and he died before the war. He and Klara had a daughter and three sons: Iosif, Vladimir and Mayorka. They remained in Rostov and didn't get evacuated. To be more precise, Klara and her daughter Manya stayed.

The Germans were in Rostov twice during the war. When our forces kicked them out the first time, the citizens threw flower pots on their heads from the windows. So when the Germans conquered Rostov the second time, they were very angry with the city. Klara, Manya and two children were put into a truck, which was called the 'mobile gas chamber.' People were murdered in this truck with gas. No one ever saw them again.

The two sons of Boris and Klara, born one after another, graduated from Rostov-on-Don University. The elder, Iosif, was assigned to a metallurgical plant in Nizhny Tagil. He had been working there as an engineer for many years. He died in 1992. The second son, Volodya, was drafted to the army in 1940. He was married to a Don Cossack woman, Alexandra. She is still alive and lives with her daughter in Moscow.

Volodya returned from the war holding the rank of colonel. He returned to Moscow and worked there at a military organization until he died. Their daughter Klara was named in honor of her mother. Klara is in Moscow. She married a Russian. His name is Alexander Mokhov. He is a colonel. He works now at the Ministry of Health. He has a very warm and kind attitude to our Jewish family. Klara works at the State Library.

The third son of Boris and Klara, Mayorka, graduated from an institute in Moscow and worked as a teacher in a technical school. He died at an early age. He had a Russian wife and had a daughter, Marina. She is very nice to us. She works now for the tax authorities in Moscow.

My mother's sister Fanya Georgiyevna, or Fani, was born in 1891. Fani finished a school in Kherson before the Revolution. They lived poorly. She even had to ask her rich classmates for the textbooks and they sometimes didn't let her in, asking to wait outside. After the Revolution she went to Odessa to study at the institute with her niece Bella. They were almost of the same age. Unlike her niece she graduated from the Chemical and Pharmaceutical Institute, married a Jew, Nisya Zelmanov. This aunt was very much respected. She wasn't extremely religious, but followed the kashrut, prayed, knew and tried to observe all Jewish traditions as far as possible. Her husband Nisya was in charge of a grain-collecting station; later it was called grain procurement station, 'zagotzerno'. The station was located in the suburbs of Odessa and Nisya started an apiary, a bee-garden, there.

Obviously, the famine wasn't as severe in Odessa as in Kherson, where we lived, because Aunt Fani sent us parcels with cereals. Nisya's brother lived in St. Petersburg. At the beginning of the 1930s Aunt Fani and Uncle Nisya moved to his place in St Petersburg. By that time she only had one son, Vladimir. They lived in a communal apartment 10 in the center of the city.

Their room was next to Nisya's brother in the apartment. Fani worked as a pharmacist in a drugstore and combined her job with managing a hospital-car, which checked the quality of food products at each station on the Murmansk railroad. She even planned to write a thesis. I keep a brochure of hers. This brochure was published by the Higher Medical Courses in 1935, called 'Sanitary analysis of foodstuffs and food.'

After Kirov 11 was killed in Leningrad in 1934, Nisya's brother - I don't remember his name - was put into prison as a Trotskyist 12. Then Feiga's son Volodya, who was a YCL [Young Communist League] member, went to the party organization and stated that his uncle had been arrested as an enemy of the people 13. However, he himself was exiled from Leningrad to timber- felling sites in the north, as a nephew and relative of an enemy of the people.

Volodya's mother solicited for her son's release, but as soon as she got a permit for Volodya's release, signed by Kalinin 14, she received a message that said that Volodya had perished in an accident: he had been hit by a log in the process of timber loading. This happened at the end of 1938.

Fani and Feiga died in 1958 in Leningrad. Fani's husband Nisya Zelmanov died in 1955. Nisya's brother disappeared in the place he was sent to. We never saw him again.

My mother, Maryasya Gershevna Eidlin, was the youngest among her brothers and sisters. She was born in 1895 in Kherson. My mother gave birth to me when she was nineteen years old. She finished four years at a Jewish school in Kherson. She liked to read. Her sister Fani hired a teacher for her, who came home and taught her. My mother was the favorite child in the family. She assisted her mother, with the household duties. Later she was a housewife. My mother was very religious, read prayer books aloud at home, attended the synagogue on holidays, observed all ceremonies. She didn't mix dairy and meat utensils, and she kept kosher.

My mother was a sick person. She had heart problems. She suffered a lot of miscarriages because of her health condition. When she was in hospital she was treated by a German physician called Berbayer. He wasn't able to cure her. Later this physician worked for the Germans during the war as a mayor. He appeared to be a bad person, tried to save his own skin. My mother died of loss of blood in Kherson in 1929 at the age of 39, when I was 15. Four children remained after her death.

• Growing up

My father, Yerakhmil Zalmanovich Eidlin, was born in 1880 in Lvovo Jewish colony near Kherson. However, this is not precise information. There was a time when my father worked as a handicraftsman. He was the only child in the family. My father walked on foot from his village to the synagogue in Kherson. He studied at cheder and left his village for Kherson to look for a job.

He was engaged in trade, but later on, when Uncle Gersh Kart taught him, he became a trimmer. My father rented a corner in a big four-bedroom apartment of my mother's parents. This was how dad met mum. They got married in 1913. They had a wedding with a Jewish chuppah. My mother took her husband's last name. I was born a year after they got married, in 1914.

I finished a seven-year Ukrainian school in Kherson. During the first two years of studies I had a private teacher, Olga Richardovna. She supplied us with writing-books, taught us to read and to count. My parents paid her for that. She was a secular woman. In 1923 I went to a Ukrainian national school and studied there until 1928.

I remember from my childhood how we celebrated all Jewish holidays at home: Purim, Pesach, Chanukkah and Rosh Hashanah. I lit lamps on Sabbath, I was a shabesgoy, as grandma called me and I was forgiven because I was just a small child. I remember how I lit candles with grandma. Grandma always cooked food for Sabbath in a stove, covered up the stove door with clay to prevent food from getting cold, and everything was served hot on Sabbath. We always had clear soup and peas, which were cooked separately. Stuffed fish was cold. It was before the famine [in 1930], and during the famine we ate porridge on holidays and on common days.

Besides this, I remember how grandma prepared for Pesach, how she burnt all breadcrumbs in the stove in a wooden spoon, everything was burnt together with the spoon. We also had Pesach utensils. A stone was made red-hot, we threw it into hot water to purify it, and thus utensils were prepared for Pesach. We only had a few special utensils at home. All the rest were baked [burnt].

We bought milk from a Jewish woman for Pesach. I remember how we hid matzah under grandpa's pillow. It was the custom [The interviewee is referring to the afikoman]. One of the boys was supposed to take it out, when he turned away. I remember Pesach 'fir kashes' [Yiddish], the 'four questions.' Certainly our boys, my brothers, did that. I was only present.

One had to drink four glasses of wine. Each time one took the glass, a little had to be poured out into the plate. We had six glasses on the table for five members of the family. The sixth glass was poured for Elijah the prophet 15 and the door was left open. The chicken was cut by a shochet at the synagogue.

We never had any Jewish pogroms 16 in Kherson. The Civil War didn't affect us. I only remember how we children were led to the cellar because of some military operations nearby. All grandfathers were buried according to Jewish customs. I don't remember how grandma Feiga was buried, but mum told me that grandpa endured starvation, kept the whole fast. I don't remember any other holidays, because it was a very long time ago. Some things I still remember and they appear in my memory like separate pieces of past reality, not like precise clear stories.

I remember how Feiga, my younger sister, was born. She was born at home in 1926. A midwife came to help my mother. She was paid for it. It was a custom in Kherson to give birth to babies at home. Nobody took a woman in childbirth to a hospital. I don't remember if there were gynecologists or maternity hospitals. I remember how my brothers were circumcised. There was a whole ceremony, but I don't remember it in detail.

Some people came. I also remember how at one of the cousin's, uncle Boris's son, Mayorka, a minyan was collected, for ten people to be present. I remember that there was a huge fish on the table prepared for stuffing to feed to the guests after the ceremony.

In 1928 I entered the Jewish Industrial Special School, but lessons were in Yiddish, so I wasn't able to study there. My mother tongue is Russian. I also know Ukrainian perfectly, I learnt German, but I don't speak it freely. I wasn't able to study at the Jewish school because I didn't understand many terms. I remember, when I was a pioneer, there was a Zionist organization in Kherson.

Our neighbor lived across the street. We were taken there for a meeting and were lectured - I don't remember about what. I attended this meeting maybe twice. They were children of approximately YCL members' age, and I was younger. There were Zionists in Kherson but I didn't participate in their activities.

In 1929, after my mother died, my father got married a second time. Aunt Khaya in fact married him off. Father remained alone with four children: Mordekhai, born in 1917, Volf, born in 1920, my sister Feiga and me. Mum's sister, Aunt Fani, was a very smart woman; she wrote letters to father after my mother's death: 'Don't seek a mother for your children, you won't be able to find any. Better look for a wife, you are to live with her!' But aunt Khaya found a woman. I don't know how she managed to do it. Her name was Anna Lazarevna. She was a Jewess. She took my father's last name. She gave birth to two children: Lena and Ilya. Their whole family perished during the war in Kherson.

Anna Lazarevna was able to tell my younger brother Volf, 'Go buy some bread in the store, school can wait.' She never loved us, father's children. They lived in dad's apartment and their life wasn't going right. Dad started to drink, though he had never drunk before. He was at the head of a sewing workshop at the Society of the Blind in Kherson. He was the only person with eyesight there.

He worked in administration and wasn't able to get evacuated when the war broke out. Their neighbor wrote to me later; her signature was crossed out, I think, by the military censorship: the signature and last line were snipped off. She wrote that 9,000 Jews and 6,000 Russians had perished. It wasn't possible to leave Kherson: the railroad was cut off and the ships weren't able to carry everyone, so father remained there. All citizens were taken out of the city, a ditch was dug out and people were executed. They all perished. My father perished too. It happened at the end of 1943 or the beginning of 1944.

I studied at the road construction school between 1929 and 1931. After finishing the school I was assigned to work as a foreman at the Jewish Kalinindorf district. A position of a foreman is much lower than a technician, who supervises the works. I worked at the administration of the executive committee and supervised the construction of bridge roads. In 1932 a party central committee resolution was introduced for all officials in charge to move to agricultural districts. I was authorized by the YCL and worked in a kolkhoz 17.

We got a message that Voroshylov 18 was planning to visit us. I was urgently summoned to Kalinindorf and we constructed pavements and decorated the city hastily. There was this drunkard technician, who was responsible for the sinking of the ferry that I was supposed to use for loading planting seeds. I was urgently summoned because of that accident. I had to figure out how to drag out the ferryboat. We pulled the ferry out and restored it. I was so nervous that I came to the rayispolkom [District Executive Committee] chairman and told him that I was leaving for home. I left for Kherson and finished short-time courses for estimators at a canned food plant. I counted how many cans the workers made, thus calculating their salaries.

Working at the plant, I simultaneously studied at the workers' faculty of the Odessa Water Resources Institute. This faculty assisted those who had no education to enter a higher school. We studied in the evening after work. Jewish traditions were out of the question - I was a YCL member, and religion was alien to YCL members.

In fall 1933 I was assigned to work at the machine-tractor station [MTS] according to the mobilization program of the YCL obkom [regional committee]. The Komsomol 19 members were summoned and informed about the necessity to participate in works for a year. I had this stepmother, Anna Lazarevna, so I left without demur. Total collectivization 20 was carried out and the kolkhozes were to be strengthened. I visited various villages, conducted seminars and taught people how to arrange Komsomol meetings. I was always an active member. I was also sent as an authorized member for sowing grain crops.

There was the editor-in-chief of a house body for the political department of the MTS, Weisman. He entrusted me with the production of Komsomol pages and dreamed about making me his secretary. But he was soon transferred to Kiev. I was left almost alone. The newspaper was signed by the political department deputy head; all the rest was done by me: I collected materials and printed everything. The newspaper was called 'For Bolsheviks' Kolkhozes.' In 1935 these political departments were shut down.

At the beginning of 1935 I moved to the town of Gayvoron in Odessa region. From then on I worked for the district newspaper, Put Communy. Later its name was changed. At first I supervised the mass department in the editorial office: wrote articles, taught new employees, rural reporters and conducted meetings. Reporters went to kolkhozes and brought me material for publication. Later I became the executive secretary for the newspaper.

In 1939 I became deputy editor-in-chief and in 1940 I was approved editor-in- chief for the same newspaper. I worked there until 1969, and then retired. There was no Jewish employee with the newspaper except for me. Everyone knew I was a Jewess, but I didn't feel any anti-Semitism at that time.

• During the war

My younger brother Mordekhai finished several grades in a Ukrainian school and worked in Kherson as a car and tractor re-fueller. When I started to work I took both my brothers to live with me in Gayvoron. Mordekhai worked at a machine-tractor station as a mechanic. He moved to Nikolayev in 1939 according to mobilization. He worked as a mechanic at the Andre Marti ship- building plant. [Andre Marti: leader of the French sailors' rebellion at the Black Sea; Secretary of the Comintern Executive Committee.]

Later the plant was renamed. Andre Marti seemed not to satisfy communists anymore. He worked as a foreman and had a reservation, which kept him away from the army, in spite of his call-up age. The country needed him at the home front. However, in 1940 he voluntarily joined the army and served in Roven region and in western Ukraine. In 1941 when the war broke out, they were bombed on the first day. The first and last message about him was that he was in Kiev in 1941. Mordekhai perished at the front.

My other brother, Volf, came to stay with me in Gayvoron in 1936. He finished a Russian secondary school there, left for Moscow and entered the Moscow Transport Engineering Institute. He was a final-year student when the war broke out. The institute was evacuated and he stayed in Moscow to participate in the defense.

When, in December 1941, the Germans were driven away from Moscow, he was sent to a tank school in the town of Vetluga in Gorky region to become an officer. He finished that school in 1943, studied for two years, and fell ill with meningitis. He was allowed vacation and came to visit me in Podolsk, near Moscow, where I was in evacuation. He stayed with me for a month. I insisted that he continue his studies at the institute. There was a Party and Government Resolution introduced regarding recalling final-year students from the front for the purpose of continuing studies.

His institute was in evacuation. I asked him, 'Did you write an application to say that you want to leave the front and continue studying?' He replied, 'What? How can I, a Jew, ask to be released from the army during the war?' He felt uneasy writing such an application, as he was a man of honor.

I remember how one man, standing on his knees, asked my Russian husband to go to the front instead of him. After some time Volf returned to school and visited the combatant department. He was told that there was a detachment being formed and he was supposed to accompany it to the front. The studies office offered him a teaching job, since he had completed three years at the institute. But he refused, and in several days left for the front with the detachment. I keep one of Volf's last letters, which he sent to me from the front.

He perished in January 1944 in Dnepropetrovsk region in Ukraine. I was looking for my brothers in order to find out what had happened to them. A notification about Volf's death arrived after some time: 'He perished, burnt in the tank on 11th January 1944'; and the place was indicated. I heard a lot of conversations about Jews not participating in the war, 'resting in Tashkent.' But I don't understand it, both my brothers perished at the front.

When mum died my younger sister Feiga was three-and-a-half years old. Aunt Fani, mum's elder sister, adopted her and took her to Leningrad. Feiga is still alive and lives in Leningrad. She finished a secondary school in Kherson and graduated from the Faculty of Biology of Leningrad University. Being a final-year student she got married and thus acquired a free certificate, without any assignment. Formerly, the Party assigned all institute graduates to workplaces prepared in advance for young specialists. It was called 'the assignment.' Feiga worked for a long time, all her life, at a laboratory of a children's hospital. She is retired now, but continues to work. She is 73.

Her husband, Berg Zvyagin, a Jew, is a candidate of physical science. Feiga took his last name. Berg was in the army during the war and had been to many fronts. After the war he defended a thesis and taught physics at the Leningrad Institute of Mines. Now he is an activist at the synagogue, attends it and observes all Jewish ceremonies. He and his wife are present at all Jewish events. They have a daughter, Marina. She graduated from university, became a candidate of mathematical science and works as a teacher. However, neither I, nor Feiga have grandchildren any more, but I'll come back to that later. We meet every weekend and visit each other.

I married a Ukrainian, Kuzma Yefremovich Zelinsky in 1938. He was born in 1911 in the village of Salkovo in Gayvoronsky district. It is a Russian territory. I worked in Gayvoron at that time. There was a township nearby, which was called Khaschevataya. There was a Jewish school, a Jewish kolkhoz 'Progress' [the district leader] and the Jewish town council before the war. [Village (town) council -self-government body in kolkhozes and small inhabited localities of rural type]. I know that because I worked there and knew the territories around. It was Odessa region.

The town council was also a progressive one. After the war there was a Russian town council established, but the chairman of the council was a Jew, Yakov Izrailevich Vinokur. My husband Kuzma was raised in a big family with nine children. He went to the town school and later joined the army. Their family was very nice to me, and his mother said that I was her best daughter-in-law. His father came from the village of Polish settlers, which was formed during World War I.

My husband's parents were common peasants and worked in the kolkhoz. His mother remembered the serfdom times. His father's name was Yefrem, and his mother's Natalia Danilovna Melnik. His mother stayed with me in evacuation during the war in Podolsk.

Kuzma returned form the army and worked in DOSAAF [Voluntary Society of Assistance to the Army, Aircraft and Navy]. They taught the youth and prepared them for service in the army. We got acquainted at a Komsomol meeting when he came back from the army. We knew each other for about two years, and then he proposed to me. He knew that I was a Jewess. I accepted his proposal and didn't discuss it with anyone; I had become a rather independent person by that time.

There was no wedding; we just registered the marriage at the ZAGS [civil marriage registry office], which was located in a room in the rayispolkom building. Kuzma didn't even have three rubles to pay for the registration. We were registered on credit, since it was in rayispolkom [District Executive Committee] and everybody knew us as active YCL members. Later our friends came to celebrate the wedding, and his mother also visited us to take a look at me.

We lived together and rented an apartment at first, later we got an apartment from the state. I didn't take his last name: there was a boy in my class at school who told me that my last name was sonorous. I remembered it and didn't want to change my last name. Later during the war when Kuzma was at the front, I regretted that very much, because we had to show our documents everywhere to prove that we were husband and wife. Kuzma's mother tongue was Ukrainian, but he also spoke Russian. He worked in DOSAAF, later as a secretary at the rayispolkom. We had a Russian housemaid, whom we paid some money and we provided her with food. We actually had several at different times.

They helped me all the time. I kept housemaids while the kids were small because the working hours were irregular; we had to work a lot during the evenings: I never got home until I completed the newspaper, so I could come home from work at 12 at night or at 6 in the morning. The children had to stay with someone. I worked at the editorial office. Even my baby Maya was brought to me there, so that I could feed her. My elder daughter Maya was born in Gayvoron in 1939.

When in 1941 the war broke out I was evacuated with my daughter Maya and my husband from Gayvoron. We were escaping from the approaching front line in whatever possible way: on horses, on trains, on passing cars. Trains didn't leave on schedule. There were lice on the walls in the railroad cars. The train traveled for two weeks and nobody washed himself. I never thought that the Germans might reach so far because we had such a strong army. We had been traveling 400 kilometers in the train for two weeks.

We made a stop at a kolkhoz. I found out that my cousin Boris was in Stalingrad and we left for Stalingrad. But by that time dreadful battles took place there. Then we began to find a way to Pyatigorsk, where my husband served. We reached the place in summer 1942. I met my husband in Pyatigorsk. I worked there for several months as a radio broadcasting editor and got an apartment.

In fall 1942 the Germans landed at Mineralnye Vody station not far from Pyatigorsk. The military artillery school, with which Kuzma was evacuated to Pyatigorsk, was the only one that defended Pyatigorsk. When the Germans retreated, we were provided with a train and on that train we went to Podolsk. It was a one-month journey! It happened at the end of 1943. At the end of 1944 Kuzma joined the front-line forces and appeared in Germany, in Leipzig. When he came back, we went to Gayvoron at the end of 1945.

• Post-war

After the war, when the Party Schools 21 were first organized, I sent him to study to Odessa in a Party School and he became a party supervisor. I started to work for a newspaper. In 1947 our second daughter Yekaterina, or Katya, was born. Kuzma never came back to me from Odessa. There was a trial and my friends persuaded me not to divorce my husband. So we remained non- divorced.

He didn't want to live with me because he'd found a new wife. I knew about his life, and he about my life. He assisted our daughters, paid the alimony until Katya came of age. He died in Odessa in 1970. My husband didn't have any problems about me being a Jewess. He simply fell out of love with me and abandoned me with two children.

In 1969 I defended a thesis at Kirovogradsky Pedagogical Institute for the specialty of 'Ukrainian Language and Literature.' I worked for the newspaper before moving to Leningrad. I retired in 1969 when my grandson, Katya's son, Volodya was born. I took care of him for a year, then exchanged my apartment and left for Leningrad. I continued to work in Leningrad. When my seniority was calculated, it came to 52 years. I didn't work at the editorial office any more, though I was a member of the Journalist's Guild. There was no job for my profession and I worked as a typist for a housing trust. I enjoyed my life. I went to all the theaters with my daughter and watched the best performances.

I thought that my life in Leningrad was something that God had rewarded me with in exchange for all my suffering. I went on tourist trips to Volga, in Leningrad region, organized trips for the party cell and party committee. Life was wonderful. We had a friend who worked at the theater ticket office. We overpaid a ruble for each ticket but always got the best tickets for the best performances. I've seen all the famous actors. If there was a 'burning' ticket at the Trust for a tourist trip, they gave it to me and I went on the trip. The Trust had a good trade union.

My elder daughter Maya worked in Leningrad. Her friends helped her to find a job. She lived with temporary registration in the city for eight years and rented corners. She was registered in the region; she had paid for it. I exchanged my 'villa' for a garden, and a vegetable garden in Gayvoron for a room of 12 square metres.

My daughter found an old woman who had come to Leningrad in 1926 to participate in a construction project. So I obtained a room in an apartment located in Vasilievskii island [one of the disctricts of St. Petersburg]. It had a very small kitchen and three neighbors. My daughter wasn't able to get registration with me. They told her that she had to get registration from her employer otherwise it wasn't possible to get registration in a big city.

Maya graduated from the Leningrad Institute of Mines as an electrician, mechanical engineer. After graduation she worked at the Graphite Combine. Later on an incident happened with her. She worked as a foreman at the mechanical shop in Zavalye in Gayvoron district and simultaneously was the secretary of a YCL organization.

Maya is a very well-educated girl. She had practical work in the mines and the miners never cursed in her presence, she couldn't stand it. Katya, for example, could say a swear word, but Maya was a very delicate person. She listened to the radio and concerts very attentively and liked classical music very much. Later she moved to Leningrad to study.

A worker came to her mechanical shop looking for a part. She told him, 'Go to the Komsomol meeting!' And he replied: '...you - he used some dirty words - I cannot finish this part and you make my head spin with your Komsomol meeting!' She held a piece of cloth in her hand and slapped it across his face for those swear words. A huge thing was stirred up out of it: the foreman beat the worker. She wasn't invited to party plenary sessions anymore. When my daughter was summoned to the party committee, she was asked, why she had hit the worker. She told them that he had cursed. And they said to her, 'Well, well, what a pampered young lady we have here!' I wrote an article to the central newspaper Izvestiya. I called the article 'In defense of a pampered lady.' I received a lot of responses and comments. It was a huge story. In short, my daughter had to leave Gayvoron.

She went to Murmansk region where a friend of hers worked; they studied together at the Leningrad Institute. He wrote a letter to her saying that she could come; get a job and a room after a year of work. She left for Murmansk but never reached it. With her railway ticket it was possible to make a stop. She made a stop on her way from Gayvoron to Murmansk in Leningrad for ten days. My younger sister Feiga lived there. Besides, a lot of friends, who studied with her at the institute, lived there, too. They helped her to find a job at the Heavy Machinery Central Design Office in Metallostroy, near Kolpino, in the suburbs of Leningrad. She worked there for many years and became principal engineer.

Later she was transferred to the Electrosila plant and worked there until she retired. Maya had a fiancé, his name was Lyonya Weissman. His mother was Russian and his father was a Jew. They planned to get married. She wanted to stay in the city, but his parents worked somewhere in the North. His mother arrived and she didn't like my daughter at all. After that Maya never got married.

My younger daughter Yekaterina [Katya] finished a secondary school in Gayvoron and went to work in Kirovograd. She worked as a laborer in a vinegar shop at the foodstuffs plant. Later she was appointed foreman. She got married in 1976. Her husband was a Ukrainian. His name was Pyotr. He still calls me mother. He now lives near Kiev. He was a musician in the army. She worked at the plant at that time and was on duty 24 hours every day. They got acquainted on the phone. He was on duty in his unit and the soldiers were entertaining themselves, calling girls on the phone. They got married and in 1969 their son Volodya was born. He was born in the town of Kirovograd. After he finished a vocational school he was drafted to the army.

Volodya joined the army in 1988 and served in the town of Kaunas in Lithuania. In 1990 two months were left before his demobilization. The soldiers were driving in a car, 15 of them, and sang songs. The driver wasn't very well trained. The car turned over at a sharp turn and 12 people were killed. Katya fell ill from grief and died in a year. During the year that Volodya perished and Katya was still alive, she adopted two kids at the boarding school, a girl for herself and a boy for Maya. This boy lived with us for six years and perished, too. He was riding a bicycle at our summer house near Moscow, fell into a pit, smashed his head badly and died. When Katya died, a childless newly wedded couple adopted the girl. Thus we remained with Maya.

I never wanted to emigrate to Israel. I liked it here, in this country and I didn't want any changes at my age, so the constitution of that country didn't influence me in any way. My parents' graves are here. I was at the burial place, but couldn't find mum's grave. There is a memorial at the place of my father's execution. 15,000 were executed there.

Meetings are held there annually on 9th May, Victory Day 22. I wrote to the Kherson Rabbi and asked him to send me the lists of the executed and information about my parents, if possible. A woman from the Rabbi's office called me and asked me, 'Where was your father born?' It happened five years ago. I replied that I didn't remember where he had been born for sure, but I was certain that he had perished there. Later I lost contact with the Rabbi. But I visited the place on my own, when I came to see my daughter Katya in Kirovograd.

When Hesed was set up in 1993, the Warm House program was the first to be arranged. My friend invited me there. We got together and listened to lectures about customs and holidays. I celebrated Pesach according to what I remembered from my childhood. In a year or a year and a half when that woman left I began to conduct the Warm House myself. Food products are delivered to us. I don't cook lunch, only starters and desserts. I get accustomed to this tradition and try to introduce others to it, telling my recollections at these meetings. I have 13 people at my Warm House. There are very interesting people, even a candidate of science, so there is a lot to talk about and to recall.

I turned back to my Jewish origin, when the situation in the country started to change. We celebrate all Jewish holidays, get acquainted with the Jewish customs, talk about our current business, about our families and celebrate birthdays. We always have refreshments on the table during such meetings and everybody is happy. People say that as soon as they leave, they begin to wait for the next Friday to come. Sometimes women fall ill and we call them and visit them in hospitals.

So we have a very friendly and united family. There are two lonely women among my visitors who still live in communal apartments. In the near future they will supposedly get separate apartments in a social house, which is already built, though something needs to be completed in order to let people move in. As they say, I combine jobs: I'm also a member of the War Veterans Council. I'm a war veteran myself, I have eight medals and recently received a 'front-line soldier' medal. But I'm not as strong as I used to be, so I'm now impatiently waiting for the re-elections in order to be free of this position. However, I'm not planning to get rid of the Warm House.

Hesed delivers food products permanently and there is enough strength so far for cooking and keeping in touch with people. Seminars are held for volunteers, as well as boat trips on the Neva River and trips outside of the city, which helps to regain vitality. I also attend concerts, which the Jewish community arranges in honor of Jewish holidays. I didn't really become a very religious person. I don't pray every day, but I celebrate the Sabbath with the first star every Friday and wait for every Jewish holiday with pleasure.

• Glossary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glossary:

Zakhar Benderskiy
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Anti-Semitism
Married life
Glossary

Family background

My father's parents came from Kishinev, the capital of Moldova, which belonged to Russia before 1918. My grandfather, Shmul Benderskiy, was born in Kishinev in the 1850s. He was married to Hana Benderskaya, born in Kishinev in 1858.

I have bright memories of my grandparents' house at the crossing of Podolskaya, Bolgarskaya and Dumbarskaya streets in the center of Kishinev. I was born and lived there for quite a long timethere.. It was a big stone house with a big yard. There was a flower garden in front of the house. My grandfather loved gardening and growing flowers. There was an arbor with grapevine in the yard. There were bunches of grapes in the autumn. There was a round table and six chairs in the arbor. The family got together for tea on summer evenings. There were quite a few rooms and a big kitchen in the house. Two or three rooms were usually rented out. The family lived in the five other rooms. It was always cool in the house in the summer. There was old heavy furniture. Everything seemed huge to me: the big chairs with high backs, the big sofas upholstered with velvet and the high wardrobes with many doors. There were pictures on the walls. They were portraits of my grandparents' family and religious pictures with biblical subjects.

There were also photographs on the walls. My grandfather was fond of photography. I didn't like to be photographed. I was a vivid boy, and I hated to sit still for a minute or two. Everybody in the family was trying to avoid being photographed, so my grandfather took pictures of houses and landscapes instead. He had a small room that served as his photo lab.

Part of the house was my grandfather's tobacco factory and tobacco store. My grandfather had another tobacco shop at the market. The factory 'Benderskiy and Sons' manufactured cigarettes and tobacco. My grandfather's agents purchased dry tobacco leaves from farmers. He had ten employees at the factory. The factory yielded good profit - people needed tobacco at all times.

I remember my grandmother in the wheel chair. She was paralyzed. In 1903 there was the most horrible Jewish pogrom 1 in Kishinev. It lasted three days. People said it was arranged by the Russian government. Many Jews were killed and many houses destroyed. The police didn't interfere. There were no policemen in the streets. About 600 Jews were killed. There was a high number of injured people, too. Later the police arrested those that were involved in the pogrom. They were brought to court, and some well-known lawyers and writers spoke against them. The famous Russian writer Vladimir Korolenko 2 demanded the death sentence for the pogrom-organizers. But the verdict for them was a short-term sentence.

My father and grandfather told me about this pogrom. We had quite a few pictures that my grandfather took after the pogrom, but they were all lost during the war and evacuation. I remember a picture of my grandfather's store with broken windows and a total mess inside. I knew that there was also a picture of our house after the pogrom. I asked my relatives about it, and later my brother sent it to me from Israel. There's one picture of our house and another one of the street with the bodies of our neighbors on the pavement. My father told me that my grandfather presented these pictures in court.

My grandmother also fell victim to this pogrom. My grandfather was on business in the surrounding villages at the time. My grandmother was alone at home. She was beaten very severely by the pogrom-makers. They left her unconscious in the yard thinking that she was dead. She survived, but she had her backbone injured and spent the rest of her life in a wheel chair. She had a woman to look after her. My grandmother died in 1923.

My grandfather took a lot of effort and spent a lot of money to reconstruct his factory and house after the pogrom.

My father, Srul Benderskiy, was the oldest of my grandparents' eight children. He was born in 1880. All the children were born in Kishinev. I don't remember the last names of his sisters in marriage. Raya herwas married. When the Soviet power was established she escaped to France because she didn't believe in the idea of communism and the power of the poor. She lived in Paris with her husband and daughter. She died there. My father's second sister, Frida, moved to the US before 1918 and married an American. My father's third sister, Dora Korenberg, lived in Kishinev. She owned a pharmacy where she worked with her husband. They had two daughters, who emigrated to Israel later. My father's fourth sister, Fania, and her husband lived in Kishinev. She was a housewife. I don't remember what her husband did for a living. There was another sister, Nyuka. Her husband worked at the customs in Kishinev. They had a son. During the war they were in evacuation in the Ural, and they returned to Kishinev after the war. Nyuka and her husband died in Kishinev, and their son moved to Israel. He died there recently. My father's brothers, Erik and Hil, moved to Israel with my grandfather in 1925. They died there.

My father's family was religious. There were several synagogues in Kishinev. The population was multinational, consisting of Moldavians, Romanians, Russians and Jews, who constituted about a quarter of the population. They spoke Yiddish, Russian and Romanian. There was a Jewish theater, Jewish grammar school and Jewish secondary schools. All these were closed after 1940 when the Soviet army entered Bessarabia 3 and 'liberated it from the Romanians'. My grandfather and his sons went to the big synagogue not far from their house. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. My grandfather wore ordinary clothes. He had a beard and wore a kippah. Before going out he put his hat on top of it.

My grandfather's sons studied at cheder, and his daughters were educated at home. All children could read and write well in Hebrew. After cheder my father and his brothers finished the Russian grammar school in Kishinev. They all got a higher education. My father and Hil studied at the Commercial Academy. Erik graduated from the Medical Academy in Kishinev. All members of the family spoke fluent Russian and had a good conduct of German and French. My father and his brothers also knew Latin. They all spoke Yiddish in the family.

My mother's family lived in Orgeyev. Orgeyev was a smaller town, about 50 km from Kishinev. Its population was Russian, Moldavian, Romanian and Russian. There were many Jewish families in Orgeyev as well. There were several synagogues, a cheder, a Jewish school and kosher shops. There were no Jewish pogroms in the town.

My grandfather on my mother's side, Solomon Tomashyn, was born in Orgeyev in 1862. He had a hardware store. My grandmother, Tzypra, was also born in Orgeyev in 1864. She was a housewife. They had nine children. My mother, Tania Benderskaya, was born in 1885. She was the first baby in the family. She was named Tube at birth but called Tania in the family.

I knew almost all of her brothers and sisters. Sarrah Krasnaya [nee Tomashyn] lived in Orgeyev. Her husband was a driver. During the war they were in evacuation in Siberia. After the war Sarrah, her husband and daughter emigrated to Israel. Their daughter got married there and moved to Argentina with her husband. In the 1960s Sarrah and her husband went to visit their daughter in Argentina and died after an epidemic broke out there.

Mara and her family lived in Orgeyev. During the war she was in evacuation in Kokand. She fell ill with typhoid and died there in 1942. Bella lived in Orgeyev. She was married and a housewife. She had two sons. Polis, the next girl, was in a ghetto in Transnistria 4 during the war and perished there. Netta got married and moved to Chernovtsy. During the war she was in evacuation in Middle Asia. After the war she returned to Kishinev.

I knew two of my mother's brothers. Fuka lived in Bucharest where he owned a hat store. The Germans shot him at the very beginning of the war. My mother's second brother, Yakov, graduated from the Faculty of Law of Kishinev University. He stayed in Kishinev and became a well-known lawyer. In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR, and my uncle moved to France. He lived in Paris. He worked for some time until he retired. His two sons lived in Paris, too. My mother had another brother called Foka.

My mother's family lived in a big house in Orgeyev. One part of the house was my grandfather's hardware store. There was an orchard and a vegetable garden near the house. My grandmother grew green vegetables, carrots, beans, and so on. A farmer from the outskirts of Orgeyev brought eggs and meat twice or three times a week; and dairy products were delivered every day.

All children in the family got a religious education. The boys studied at cheder, and the girls were taught at home. My mother and her brothers and sisters finished Russian grammar school in Orgeyev. Only Yakov had university education.

The family was very religious. My father and I usually went to the synagogue in the morning. However early we came, we always saw my mother's brother Yakov. He usually left later than we did. I asked him once why he prayed so much. He replied that there were 16 of them in his family sitting at the table to have a meal, and he was the only one of them to pray to God. So he had to pray for all of them. My mother told me that her family strictly observed Jewish traditions, celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays and followed the kashruts. I believe that people raised in smaller towns are more religious than people in bigger cities. My mother's family spoke Yiddish.

Growing up

My mother told me that she met my father through a - shadkhan. .My mother didn't like my father's beard. My father was so eager to marry her that he shaved it off. My mother gave her consent, and they got married in 1906. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. They had two wedding parties: one in Orgeyev and another one in Kishinev. After their wedding Grandfather Shmul bought them a house near his house in Kishinev. There were four rooms and a kitchen. There was also an orchard and a flower garden near the house. My father worked at my grandfather's factory for some time, and my mother was a housewife. My older brother, Fivel, was born in 1908 and my sister, Frima, followed in 1910. I was born on 28th April 1912. I was named Sukher at birth. My younger brother, Wolf, was born in 1917.

In 1918 Moldavia became part of Romania. The state had a monopoly of the tobacco industry. They expropriated my grandfather's factory and store. It was different from how it was in the USSR. My grandfather wasn't arrested or exiled. They reimbursed my grandfather the cost of his property. He bought a smaller house in the neighboring street. He didn't want to start another business. He bought another house on the outskirts of town. He grew grapes, berries and vegetables and enjoyed gardening. He gave money to all his children so that they could start their own business.

My father bought a rubber goods store for this money. My grandfather also bought him a house near the railway station to open another store. I don't remember how the others invested their money. My father wasn't good at business and almost went bankrupt in 1938. He let his house near the railway station to Baptists. A delegation of Baptists came to him in Kishinev to ask him to sell his house. They wanted to remove it and build a church. My father said that if they wanted to build a church he would just give them this house. They thanked him and gave my father a Bible for his kindness. My father always gave away what he had.

Our family was very religious. The kashruts was strictly followed in our house. We only ate kosher food. We had special utensils for meat and dairy products. There were kosher food stores at the market, and there was a shochet, who slaughtered all chicken and geese.

On Friday mornings my mother began her preparations for Sabbath. She baked challah and cookies, cooked stuffed fish and boiled chicken. In the evening my mother lit two?? candles and prayed over them. On Saturday my parents went to the synagogue. We joined them when we grew older. After dinner we sang religious songs in Hebrew glorifying Queen Saturday.

Before Pesach my mother did a general clean-up of the house. She had a woman coming in to help her. They bought a lot of matzah at the synagogue to last during Pesach. We didn't have any bread in the house on these days. My mother also made beetroot kvass [beetroot broth] for borscht [vegetable soup]. She cooked stuffed fish and stuffed chicken neck. The chicken neck stuffing consisted of fried flour, onions and giblets. My mother made clear chicken soup with matzah dumplings and borsch. She made lots of pastries: sponge cakes, strudels with jam and nuts and cookies; all from matzah flour. When my brother and I grew older my mother made it our responsibility to crush matzah in the mortar. She also made latkes, small pancakes from potatoes, matzah and eggs. My father bought special red wine for Pesach. Even children were given some wine on this holiday. We went to the synagogue and later had seder at home. Father read the Haggadah. The entrance door was kept open on the first night of Pesach. My mother explained to me that it was kept open for the prophet Elijah to come into every house.

Everybody fasted on Yom Kippur, even children over 5 years of age. On the eve of the holiday my mother brought white hens and roosters from the market for the kapores ritual. It went like this: mMy mother took a hen and gave another one to Frima, my sister. My father and all sons took the roosters. We had to turn these chickens quietly above our heads after the prayer saying, 'May this be my atonement'. Later my mother took these chickens to the synagogue for the poor. We weren't supposed to eat them. We went to the synagogue in the morning, then we came back home, read the Torah and had a nap. Then we went to the synagogue again. The services end at nightfall, with the blowing of the tekiach geedolah, a long blast on the shofar. It was required to wear white clothes on this day. The family strictly followed all rules. My mother made sure that everything went smoothly, and my father observed it all because he loved and respected her very much and wanted to please her.

My brothers and I always looked forward to Chanukkah. This was a very merry holiday. There were lots of delicious things on the table, we had guests and received Chanukkah gelt. At Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard, and we had lunch and dinner there. We celebrated all holidays.

I studied in cheder for a year before I went to a Romanian state school. There were a few Jewish schools in Kishinev, but they were too far from where we lived. Besides, the language of teaching in all higher educational institutions was Romanian, and my parents understood that it was better for me to study at a Romanian school. My brothers also studied in this school. It was a 4-year elementary school. Education was free of charge. Secondary education wasn't for free. We studied in Romanian. We began to study foreign languages in the 2nd grade: German, English and French. In grammar schools children also studied Latin or ancient Greek. We also studied religion, and our class was divided in two groups: one group of Christian children and one group of Jews. About half the children in my class were Jewish.

I had more Jewish friends. In our street all houses belonged to Jews. There were Jewish youth organizations in Kishinev: Maccabi and Hapoel [Hapoel Hatzair] 5. I attended the Maccabi. We were too young for any Zionist activities. We spoke Yiddish in these groups. We played tennis and other sports there. We arranged competitions. I was doing well in sports. There was also a cultural program in the Maccabi. We celebrated Jewish holidays. We arranged Purimshpil performances for Purim. We sang Jewish songs in a choir and arranged concerts and balls. I was also a member of the scout organization for teenagers. We wore a uniform: blue shorts, a white T-shirt and a blue necktie. We had strict rules there. The motto of our scout unit was, 'Our soul has to be as pure as the air here'. We took part in a number of competitions: start fire with one match, cross the river on a rope, and so on.

I had four friends. We were all Jews. I also had a Romanian friend. He was my classmate. He wasn't part of my Jewish company, but my Jewish friends knew that he was my close friend. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism when I was at school. But there was anti-Semitism when the Romanians came to power in the 1930s. It was difficult for Jews to enter higher educational institutions, and there were separate seats for Jews at some universities. Students protested against this segregation and arranged demonstrations of protest. These special seats were almost always unoccupied - the students refused to attend classes, but nothing changed and many students went to study in other countries.

I read a lot. We had many books at home. They were mainly classics and religious books. I don't remember my father reading books, though. He usually read newspapers. My mother used to read a lot. She read religious books in Hebrew and fiction in Yiddish and Russian.

In 1925 Grandfather Shmul and his two sons, Erik and Hil, moved to Palestine. My grandfather always wanted to live in this country and fight for the independence of Israel. He sold his factory and bought some land in Palestine for this money. He leased this land and made money for a living that way. My grandfather returned to Kishinev after a couple of years, but his sons stayed in Palestine. He sold his house in Kishinev and left for Palestine again, leaving the money with his children. He visited Kishinev several times. Life was difficult there. They didn't have a place to live, the soil was poor and stony, there were lots of mosquitoes and scorpions and malaria was widely spread. My grandfather didn't insist on our departure to Palestine. We had a good life here, and we didn't want to leave. We thought that we could consider moving to Palestine once our relatives had settled down there.

When I was in the army in 1932, my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer in Ramat-Gan. He went to the beach, put up a sign saying '3 piastres per hour' and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college. After that he got a job in the logistics department of a soap factory and worked there until his retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gan. He died in 2000.

I finished school in 1932. I was 20 years old. I went to the army for one year. I didn't have to serve full term because I had secondary education. During my service my commanding officer sent me to the officer's course. I became a lieutenant after finishing it.

When I went to the army my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer at first. He went to the beach, put a sign saying "3 piastres per hour" and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college, but I don't remember the name. After that he got a job at the logistics department of soap factory and worked there until retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gane. He died in 2000. My grandfather came to Kishinev again in 1933 after I returned from the army. Once he went to the market to buy some fruit. He returned home, bent over the basket to put the fruit on the table and fell over. He was dead. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kishinev beside my grandmother Hana. The funeral was held according to Jewish traditions. Many people came to his funeral. They all knew and loved my grandfather. We corresponded with Erik and Hil for some time after my grandfather died. It lasted until the Soviet power came to Kishinev. I kept in touch with my brother until he died.

After the army I entered Commercial Academy in Bucharest. Since I was an officer who had completed service in the army, I was admitted without exams. I had to pay for my studies. I attended classes in the morning and worked in the afternoon. I worked at an insurance company. Later I got a job as a waiter in a restaurant and worked night shifts. I was a good employee and promoted to administrator soon. I was responsible for the waiters and the dance group at the restaurant. This was a good job and paid well. But I had to leave this restaurant after an incident.

This incident happened in 1938. The fascists were in power in Germany, and the Romanian fascists became more insolent because they felt that they had a backup. Once there was a fight in the restaurant. It turned out that members of a fascist organization, the Iron Guard 6, were sitting at one table, and members of another fascist, anti-Semitic organization, the Cuzist 7, at another table. They started a fight. I called the police, and they took the fighters to their office. They called me to the police station to testify. I told the commissar about the fight. Then one of the suspects, who wore a jacket of a military cut and boots, said that his name was Zelea Codreanu 8. Everybody in the room turned pale when he said his name. He was the leader of the Iron Guard. I got very scared and left the police office. On the next day I told the owner of the restaurant about the incident, but he replied that there had been no incident whatsoever. I understood that the police had hushed up this case and feared that the Iron Guard would be looking for an opportunity to take their revenge. I had to leave the restaurant. I left before they could fire me. It didn't make my life easier, but it probably helped me save my life.

I graduated from the Commercial Aacademy in 1938 and got married. My co- student introduced me to my future wife, Jeannette Duvidesku, a Romanian Jew. She was called Hana in Kishinev. She was born to the family of a Jewish tradesman in Bucharest in 1911. Jeannette only spoke Yiddish and Romanian. It was okay with me - I was fluent in both languages. We had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in Bucharest. It was no problem at that time. The synagogues were open and there were rabbis there. We couldn't imagine that it would be over so soon. There was a rabbi from the big synagogue in Bucharest. The synagogue issued the ketubbah to us. We lived with my wife's family in the beginning. I met people in Bucharest and soon they began to address me to issue annual reports for them or conduct an audit. We purchased an apartment and good furniture. I had several permanent customers, and my wife and I were quite well off. Jeannette was a housewife. We went to the synagogue on holidays and celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays quite like our parents did.

In 1938 my mother died in Kishinev. She was buried in the Jewish graveyard, according to Jewish tradition. After my mother died my father sold the house and moved to my younger brother Wolf. Wolf had finished the Electro- Technical College by that time. He was married and worked as an engineer at the electric appliances factory in Kishinev.

My sister Frima finished a private French school in Kishinev. The owner and director of this school was a French woman. The children studied all subjects in French. The fee they had to pay was high, but it was worth it. After finishing this school Frima went to study at the Medical Academy in Belgium. She met a Romanian princess there. This princess did a lot of charity work. She contributed money to the construction of hospitals and supported them. The princess went to the Medical Academy in Belgium to learn about the latest medical developments. The director of the academy told her that they had a student from Romania and the princess wished to meet her. They talked for a long while and the princess invited Frima to visit her when she came to Bucharest. Frima expressed her doubts, though, saying that there was little possibility that she would be allowed to enter the princess' palace in Bucharest. Then the princess gave my sister a ring telling her to show it to the guard when she arrived. Upon graduating my sister went to visit the princess. She showed the ring to the guards, and they let her in. A new hospital was being built in Kishinev, and my sister was appointed the supervisor of the therapeutic unit there. She worked well and liked her job.

Emigration to Palestine wasn't allowed. The British Embassy issued permits for emigration but only very few. There was also a green card emigration lottery for Palestine at the British Embassy. In 1936 Uncle Erik won a green card for a woman to go to Palestine, and he offered it to Frima. She decided to go. She stepped on the land of Palestine wearing a silk dress and high-heels. Uncle Erik and Fivel met her and took her to their kibbutz. People were working hard in the kibbutz, and they were wearing their working robes and no shoes. A woman gave Frima an old shirt and pants. My sister told me later that she looked into the mirror and didn't recognize herself. Frima wrote letters to us. She became a patriot of Israel. She wrote, 'I learned to struggle for the independence of my motherland here'. Later my sister got a job as a doctor.

She got married and took her husband's name, Kizbrunner. They lived in Haifa. This name was hard to pronounce and my sister changed her last name to Beer, which means 'well' in Hebrew. They had two daughters. They live in Israel now. When Frima and her husband retired they sold their house in Haifa and moved to the old people's home 'Golden Age'. It's an expensive home, but my sister and her husband could afford it. Recently my sister's husband died. She moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the same home. I visited her recently. There is a synagogue there. I was there on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, and I went to pray at this synagogue. My sister feels lonely in Israel. Her daughters live their own life. Frima calls me at 6pm every Friday. Every time she comes, she says the same - how lonely she is and how much she misses me. She doesn't live a religious life in Israel due to various reasons.

During the war

In 1939 the situation in Romania grew very unstable. Many Polish people escaped to Romania. There were many of them in Bucharest. They told us many scary things about the horrors of the German occupation and about how Hitler treated the Jews. We were afraid that Hitler would come to Romania soon. In 1939 the Romanian fascists, members of the Iron Guard, killed Prime Minister Calinescu, because he was a democrat and refused to cooperate with the Germans. After he was shot on the road by the fascists, they went to the radio station and announced that an act of justice had been done and that Calinescu was dead. On the following day people were killing the leaders of the Iron Guard in the towns. I saw four dead bodies in the uniforms of the Iron Guard at a crossing and a poster near them saying, 'All traitors will be executed this way'. But the democrats failed to get rid of all the fascists. Once I was walking home late in the evening when three strangers approached me saying, 'Remember these words: The Guard is moving ahead'. I didn't have a typical Jewish appearance. They must have mistaken me for a Romanian. If they had known that I was a Jew, they would have killed me. I felt very upset. I understood that Hitler would find big support here when he came. We realized that we had to escape while there was still a possibility.

In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR. Kishinev became a Soviet town. My younger brother Wolf changed his name to Vladimir to obtain his Soviet passport. He was taken to the army. Many richer inhabitants of Kishinev were sent to Siberia. My father was poor at that time, and the Soviet power didn't touch him. He had become an accountant in a tobacco store in the 1930s. He received a small salary. He always went to work wearing a hat, a tie and a walking stick. The director of the store used to tell him, 'Comrade Benderskiy, we are going to a Soviet Bank. You don't need to wear a hat and your walking stick. There are no hats and sticks in the USSR'. But my father wouldn't listen to him. He continued to dress as he thought was appropriate and was always polite and reserved. My father never used the word 'comrade' which was commonly used at the time. He didn't have any problems because of his manners.

I knew very little about the Soviet Union. We didn't know anything about the crimes of Stalin and his companions. We watched Soviet films, which were showed the happy life in the Soviet Union. We believed that there was no unemployment or anti-Semitism in the USSR. We believed that people in the USSR enjoyed freedom. My friends were moving to the US, Turkey or Brazil from Romania to join their relatives or friends.

I also made my choice because my family was in the USSR, and I believed that everything would be fine here. When Kishinev became a Soviet town in 1940, my wife and I left our apartment in Bucharest along with all our belongings and moved to Kishinev. We obtained Soviet documents. My name Sukher was written as Zakhar in my passport, and my wife's changed from Jeannette to Hana. We rented an apartment in Kishinev. I got a job as an accountant at the Kishinev administration. The reality was different from the movies. The shops were empty, and we received food on ration cards. It was all pretty depressing, but we couldn't leave.

In June 1941 I received two tickets for a recreation center in Odessa. We had to obtain a permit to go to Odessa. Such was the procedure for all inhabitants of the areas that had recently joined the USSR. My wife and I obtained a permit to go to Odessa and went to the sanatorium for 12 days. I had 24 days of vacation, and I convinced my wife to make a trip to Moscow for the remaining 12 days. We arrived in Moscow on 22nd June 1941. We stayed at the International Hhotel near the Kievskiy railway station in Moscow. We had a distant relative in Moscow - the brother of Aunt Sarrah's husband. I had never seen him before, but I had his address and decided to go and see him. We went there and he told us that Molotov 9 had spoken on the radio announcing the war with Germany.

There was another announcement later saying that all holidaymakers had to return home. We went back to the hotel, and it had already been turned into a hospital. We stayed with our relative overnight, and in the morning we went to the railway station. We had to stay there for three days until I managed to get tickets to Razdelnaya in Odessa region. From Razdelnaya we went to Kishinev. On the following day I went to the military registration office and was admitted to the army. Next day there was an order issued to relieve all accountants from military conscription. We all believed that the war would be over in a few days. I went back to work. I was told there that the administration was evacuating. My wife and I were taken to the railway station and got on a train. We had one suitcase into which we had only put the most necessary clothes. We didn't know where we were going.

My younger brother and his family also went into evacuation. We were both trying to convince our father to go with us but he refused. He said he wasn't afraid of the Germans. All people that knew Germans during World War I believed that they were educated and intelligent people. My father stayed in his apartment and didn't open the door. There was a German man, Karl, who lived in our street. My father knew him very well, and they were friends. When my father heard Karl's voice at his door he opened it. Karl was with the Germans. I was told later that the Germans sent my father to the ghetto in Vinnitsa. He perished there.

Our trip lasted for about a month until we reached Tashkent [3,000 km from Kishinev]. I went to the evacuation office and told them that I was an accountant. I got a job at the equipment yard where I worked throughout our evacuation.

We shared a room with several other families. Later my wife and I moved to a separate room in a small building in the yard of the cultural center. I had good performance records at work. I learned Uzbek. I stayed there for some time after the war as an instructor in accounting. I was awarded a bicycle for my efforts. I also straightened up the tractor repair processes and was awarded a medal 'For valiant labor'. In the fall of 1945 I went to Kishinev with my family. I obtained a certificate of mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

Our daughter, Emma, was born in Tashkent in 1944. The three of us returned to Kishinev in the fall of 1945. I obtained a certificate for mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

I was told at the Ministry of Agriculture that there was no work for me. I found a job at the construction site of a shoe factory. The Germans had destroyed Kishinev. The street we used to live in was in ruins. My family lived with my childhood friend, Iosif Shwartz. He told me about the tragic fate of many of our friends. Iosif and our friend Yakov Golub were recruited to the army and went to the front. Later an order to demobilize all soldiers that came from Bessarabia and Moldova was issued. Stalin didn't trust those that had only lived under the Soviet power for a short period. They were released from the army without money or food in late fall. Many of them starved to death or died from the cold. Yakov Golub came from the family of a storeowner in Kishinev. They were a wealthy family. Yakov was helping his father at the store. He was a very nice, honest and decent man. Yakov got to Kishinev after he was released from the army. He was ill with typhoid; he had caught it on the way home. He died about a hundred meters from his home. Two of our other friends were missing. Iosif came home ill with tuberculosis.

My younger brother, Wolf, and his family returned from evacuation in 1944. During the war the electric appliances factory was in the Ural. The factory facilities in Kishinev were destroyed. Its employees and their families lived in the barracks that were storage facilities before the war. There was no heating. The barrack was heated by self-made stoves from sheet iron. My brother received an apartment in 1953 when he was deputy director of the factory.

Anti-Semitism

I didn't expect to receive an apartment in Kishinev. An acquaintance of mine told me that there were many vacant apartments in Chernovtsy and that this town hadn't been destroyed during the war. My wife and I decided to go to Chernovtsy. The local authorities told us to find a vacant apartment and obtain all necessary documents to move into it. We moved into this apartment on the following day. I became chief accountant at the furniture factory. My wife was a housewife. I was very glad that we moved to Chernovtsy, which is a beautiful town. The Jewish population constituted about 60 per cent. Now there are about 3,000 Jews in town. People spoke Yiddish in the streets, and there was a Jewish theater, school and synagogue until 1948. There was a very warm and friendly atmosphere in Chernovtsy.

I had a colleague named Savchuk, a Ukrainian man. He came from a village not far from Chernovtsy. He told me that villagers could only come to town if they wore shoes. They had their shoes in their bags and put them on when they approached the town. Jewish couples and families wearing their best and fanciest clothes used to walk in the central pedestrian street, Kobylianska street, in the evening. I didn't face any anti-Semitism, and I had a feeling that I had made the right choice to leave Romania.

By 1948 this feeling weakened. The struggle against cosmopolitans 10 began. Scientists and teachers were losing their jobs. Accusatory articles were published in the newspapers. Neither my family nor I had any problems in that regard but anti-Semitism was growing stronger. The Jewish theater and school were closed, and it wasn't advisable to go to the synagogue. Religious people were expelled from the Communist Party, got lower positions at work or were dismissed. The only Jewish holiday that my wife and I celebrated after the war was Pesach. We got matzah from a private underground bakery. I brought some flour there and received matzah on the following morning.

It was difficult to get food products at that time, and we cooked whatever we could get. Sometimes we had a chicken, but mainly we had potato pudding and fried fish from the canteen at work. Religious holidays were working days and so was Saturday. Anti-Semitism entered our life. There were anti- Semitic expressions in the public transport and in the streets. Gravestones were destroyed at the Jewish cemetery and words like 'Jews, get out and go to Israel' were written on the walls of buildings. This lasted for a long time.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 11 started. A doctor called Timoschuk wrote to the Pravda newspaper that a group of Jewish doctors involved in the treatment of Stalin gave him poison instead of medication. I don't know whether Stalin and Beriya 12 believed it to be true or whether they took advantage of this insinuation to trigger another round of anti-Semitism. Of course, sensible people knew that it was slander, but many other people believed it to be true. There were rumors about the deportation of Jews to Siberia.

In March 1953 Stalin died. There was a meeting at our factory. Many people were crying. They couldn't imagine their life without Stalin. I didn't cry, but I felt concerned. We weren't aware of all those horrors caused by Stalin. We only knew what the propaganda said. If only I had known how many people died in labor camps and all other crimes that he had committed, my attitude would have been different. The only thing we knew was that fascists and capitalists were bad, and that Stalin was good. This was what we had been told, and this was what became the conviction of many people.

I believed at once what Khrushchev 13 said at the Twentieth Party Congress 14 about Stalin's crimes. The Twentieth Congress was the beginning of the denunciation of the cult of Stalin and revealed the truth about this period. Nobody in our family was a party member.

Our daughter went to a Russian secondary school. She studied well. She finished school in 1962. It was difficult for a Jewish girl to enter a higher educational institution in Chernovtsy at that time. My daughter and I were aware of it. I had a friend in Lvov. He suggested that Emma came to study in Lvov. She entered the Faculty of Economics at the Polytechnic Institute in Lvov. My wife and I missed our daughter a lot. Emma lived at my friend's family during the first year of her studies until she got a bed in the hostel of the institute. She graduated and married her co-student, Grigory Koifman, a Jew from Lvov. Emma got a job in Lvov. Jeannette and I were happy for our daughter. Our happiness didn't last long. She died soon after giving birth to our grandson in 1969. She died of postpartum hemorrhage.

My wife and I couldn't have our grandson with us. My wife got very ill after we buried our daughter. We wouldn't have been able to raise the baby. He was called Alexandr. His father and grandmother took care of him. I spent my summer vacations with him in Lvov every year. Alexandr was a smart and healthy boy. He went to school when he turned 7. He came to visit us on his summer vacations, and we visited him during his winter vacations. We also supported him with some money. Alexandr finished 9 years of Russian secondary school in Lvov and continued his education in Israel. He studied under the educational program Sochnut. After finishing school he served in the Israeli army. After his service he entered university. He lives in Israel now and has a job. He has two sons. We correspond and he calls me every now and then. I think Emma would be proud of her son.

I was very enthusiastic about the foundation of Israel in 1948. The dream of all Jews finally came true, and they gained a country of their own.

In the 1970s a number of Jews began to move to Israel. I sympathized with those who were moving there and was happy for them. We had many relatives in Israel, but my wife and I weren't going to move there. I worked and my wife was a housewife. She said that she would stay where her daughter's grave was. After Emma died Jeannette became very ill. She died in 1973.

There were people returning from Israel in the 1970s. I had a colleague. He was a janitor here. He moved to Israel being sure that he would get everything immediately: an apartment and a good job. He realized that he had to work hard to get all the comforts he wanted and didn't like it at all. There were TV programs and articles in newspapers about him. They were saying that a Soviet person couldn't get adjusted to the capitalist world. He got his former job and received an apartment. He was hoping to get a better job in Chernovtsy and was very unhappy about it.

Married life

I got married for the second time in 1978. My wife's name is Sophia Lazko; she's Jewish. She was born to an assimilated Jewish family in Chernigov in 1920. Her parents were engineers. She finished school and worked as a typist at a military unit in Chernigov. During the war she went to the front. She was a topographer at the army headquarters. After the war Sophia decided to go to Chernovtsy. She didn't want to go back to Chernigov where all her relatives had perished during the war. Sophia was a lab assistant at the sanitary-epidemiological facility in Chernovtsy. She's a very nice and kind woman. We are very close. We have common interests and friends. I'm so happy to have met her. The Soviet power forced us to forget Jewish traditions. It's too late for me to restore them. We didn't live a Jewish life. We only celebrate holidays in Hesed.

My brother Wolf left for Israel in 1985. His son had left for Israel in the late 1970s. Wolf and his younger daughter went there after Wolf retired.

In 1995 I visited my sister and brother in Israel. They showed me around the country. I admired how my people had changed the desert into blooming gardens and modern towns. I visited Jerusalem and prayed for my family at the Wailing Wall. I went to synagogues and visited Christian and Muslim temples. It's a wonderful country, but I felt homesick after a month. I wanted to be back in Chernovtsy, back at my mountain and the land where my wife and daughter are buried.

Ukraine became independent and the Jewish way of life began to be restored. We have several Jewish communities in Chernovtsy. Hesed provides big assistance to us. We get food packages and medication. There are highly qualified doctors with Hesed. We also attend lectures, concerts and interesting films about Jews. We can get Jewish newspapers and magazines for free at Hesed. If it weren't for Hesed we would live a poor and miserable life. People that had been working their whole life receive a pension that's smaller than the fee they have to pay for their apartment and everyday things. It's very important that we can go out and meet people. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays in Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater at Purim. Volunteers from Hesed visit us at home. We also have a nurse visiting us at home. It's very helpful and makes our life different. The synagogue is open. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays with Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater on Purim. The synagogue is open. We don't go there often, but we always attend it on holidays and on the death anniversaries of our relatives. I'm 90 years old. I'm glad to have lived to the time when I can see it all with my own eyes.

Glossary

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

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

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Growing up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

During the war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Post-war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glossary

Leon Solowiejczyk
Lodz
Poland
Interviewer: Marek Czekalski, Judyta Hajduk
Date of interview: September 2005

Mr. Leon Solowiejczyk is 82 years old. He comes from the eastern part of prewar Poland, the area of the city of Vilnius (today Lithuania), from a relatively well-to-do small town family of orthodox Jews. We talked in his apartment, which he hardly ever leaves. He suffers from serious asthma, which made our conversation difficult. He tires easily and uses an oxygen tank. Mr. Solowiejczyk is a warm and cordial man. He told his story willingly, without reservations and our meetings seemed to please him considerably.

I was born on 25th March 1923 in a small town called Dzisna [the town of Dzisna is located on the river Dzisna, a tributary of Dzwina], in the Vilnius district. I knew my grandparents from my father's side better, because we lived together. They were born in the times of Tsar Nicolaus I [Nicolaus I Romanov (1796-1855)]. The grandparents spoke Yiddish at home and Russian when there was company.

My grandfather from Father's side - Mojzesz Solowiejczyk -came from a town called Glebokie [near Vilnius, today Lithuania, a city located on the junction of the route from Polock to Vilnius, on the Wielkie Lake]. He had five brothers. They were: Izaak, Bauman, Abram... I don't remember the names of the other two. Those three were fishermen; they had their own lakes, equipment. They were quite well off.

Just before the war [World War I] Grandpa married, he was an older man by then. The family was large, so he separated from his brothers. He got some money from them and he dealt with fishing as well, he leased some lakes, fished, sold the fish and that's how my grandparents made money. When World War I broke out my grandfather was in the Russian army. During the war of 1920 1 the Polish-Russian border was set on the Dzwina [River]. Grandpa remained on the Polish side, with his children, Father, Mother. The remaining ones [Abraham, Izaak, Bauman, Jankiel] were on the Russian side. Grandpa's brothers owned two lakes and were well-to-do. They had no problems making ends meet; they traded horses on the Polish side from time to time too.

Grandpa Mojzesz was a religious man. He dressed like a Hasid 2; he wore a cloak, a beard. In 1924 he gave Torah scrolls to the synagogue together with a few other people. Such a scroll cost a lot. It was a big thing. It was as if there was a wedding - people danced, congratulated one another. Grandpa went to the synagogue to pray as long as he lived. He also took us, the grandchildren, to all the ceremonies. I remember I was four years old then. My younger brother, Misza, when they were reciting the Kaddish for the dead - he had this sweet voice like a bell - when they reached 'Amen,' he'd pronounce it 'Aaaaaaamen.' And later, on a Friday, after Grandpa sold all the fish at the market, he would give us 20 groszy each, but he gave him 50, because he could say 'Amen' the loudest.

Grandma [Father's mother] was called Miriam, nee Dworman. She came from Dzisna. They met through a matchmaker. Grandpa was a tall, handsome man, while Grandma was short, a bit of a hunchback. They said if she's a hunchback, she must be rich. Grandma was very wise; she could read and write, she could pray too. She was very pious. She knew all the commandments. When she saw a young couple walking too closely to each other, she'd tap them on the shoulder and tell it to them, so they wouldn't forget themselves. She also made sure that no woman went to the mikveh before her period. It was a public bathhouse. Before the wedding the bride had to go to the mikveh and get a certificate that she had been there.

Grandma made sure that all rituals were observed. I remember that there was a 'kruzhka' [Russian: a vase or small pot] with water in the house and you had to wash your hands early in the morning. The 'kruzhka' could be made of clay or iron. There were different ones. It was this ritual pot, with two handles. I mean when a woman got up and she hadn't washed her hands yet, she'd take hold of one handle of the pot and pour water on the dirty hand. That washing was called 'negl waser.' 'Negl' means nail, that is, the idea was that you had to wash off all the dirt. And later, because one hand was still dirty, you'd hold the clean handle with the clean hand and pour water over the dirty hand. Yes, those were rituals. You also had to wash your eyes. When I was a child I had to recite these prayers. In the morning. When you're still in bed, you say this prayer called 'Ani' and you have to wash your hands in order to say it. So Grandma made sure we did all this, because she was pious.

She was also a good housewife. Preserves were fried in the yard from spring to fall - there was this custom. All the housewives would gather in the evening. There was this large table, a samovar, a tray. All of them would bring their preserves, they tried each one. They chose who made the best one. Grandma also dried all kinds of herbs on the stove, for medicines. Also blackberries, raspberries, so it would be available if a child fell ill. She died in 1938.

Grandma had one brother. His name was Dawid. He was older than she was, he was a musician, a choirmaster, I mean a conductor. In Jewish that's 'klezmer.' There were more of them in our town, they were his students. He was self-taught, very talented. He even made his own violin. He had his own band. It was called 'Chaim Dowid der Klezmer.' He played in the town, at weddings, wherever they invited him and also when there was some national holiday, some celebration in the park [outdoor], he was always invited there. They treated him with respect. He was good at it.

My grandparents had two sons and one daughter. The older one was Abraham, the younger one - some 20 years younger - that was my father, Szlome, he was born in 1890, in Dzisna and the daughter, Chaja, was born between the sons. Abram was a horse trader. He had a family - a wife, son and daughter. They died in the ghetto in Dzisna 3, only the son saved himself, because he had run away to Russia. He died in 1990 in Oszmiana [in the Vilnius district]. Father's sister, Chaja, was older than him. Her husband, Mordechaj Szuszkowicz, was a merchant. They had five children, four daughters: Ester, Chana, Cypa, Margola and one son - Sioma. Only Ester survived the war, because she had left for Palestine before the war broke out. The rest were murdered in the ghetto in Dzisna.

Grandpa died before World War II when I was four years old. He died of a hernia, there was no surgeon, he couldn't be saved. I remember how, after his death, everything, stools, were turned upside down, water was poured out of buckets. All pictures, all mirrors were taken down or turned to face the wall. And they all sat there. The closest family members were there: the children, wife, brothers. There had to be someone there to help. They couldn't greet anyone; they couldn't go out on the street for a week, so they wouldn't meet anyone. It was a ritual. All these were signs of mourning. For a year they would all say prayers at home, three times a day. We would gather for prayers. There had to be ten people, to form a minyan. There's even a saying among Jews: ten rabbis don't make a minyan, but ten scoundrels do. So there had to be ten people, so we'd always be looking for the 10th one. When I came and said that we needed a 10th one, no one would ever refuse.

My grandparents from Mother's side were from the country. They lived somewhere in the countryside when they were young, but I don't know exactly where. Later, when Grandma got married, they were in the city. They had some land, they had some mills. Grandpa's name was Mendel Szenkman, he bought and sold cattle and was in agriculture too. That's how it was that every squire had his Jew, whom he used. Grandpa Mendel was younger than the other one, Mojzesz. He had two brothers - Jankiel and Gotlieb. They died even before the war. Grandpa died in 1942, in the ghetto, in Dzisna. He died alone.

Grandma, his wife, her name was Sara, nee Judin; she was really from the country [that is, born in the countryside]. She was the same age as Grandpa; she mostly took care of the house. She also died in the ghetto. The grandparents from Mother's side were also a Hasidic family, but not as pious as Father's parents. Because, for example, when Father was coming back home on Friday evening and he was late, he wouldn't drive into town in a horse-drawn wagon, because it would have been shameful. He'd leave the horse in the nearest village. It was the same on Friday evening, a Jew wouldn't go to bathe in the mikveh, because the rabbi could come and check on him. My mother's parents also spoke Jewish [Yiddish] at home.

My mother, Chaja Pesia, nee Szenkman, was born in 1900 in Dzisna. She had two brothers: Icchak and Abraham and two sisters: they were Choda and Roza. Mother was the oldest one; Icchak was some two or three years younger. He was a cattle trader; he had a wife, children. He also died in the ghetto with his family. Then there was Choda, she was married to Matys Rusin, they had two children. They also died in the ghetto. Just like Mother's second sister, Roza, with the husband and child. The youngest one was Abraham; he had a wife and three children. He survived, because he had escaped to Russia. After the war he was in Lodz for a while and then went to Israel.

They all went to school, they could read and write. So could my parents. My father, this was still in tsarist times, he had what they called 'gorodkoye uchylyshche' [Russian: municipal school], I think it was an elementary education. I'm sure Mother must have had at least four grades of school too.

My parents met on their own, without a matchmaker, in Dzisna, it was a local love affair, they were neighbors. They got married in 1922. They had three sons. I was the oldest one. Then there was Izrael. He died in 1945 near Kielce, on the front, in the Russian army. The youngest one was Mojzesz - named after Grandpa. He's now living in Vilnius.

My parents were more or less religious. They celebrated all the holidays, all the rituals, Sabbath. Lard and other things like that - that was out of the question. The house was kept kosher - there was a spoon for meat, a spoon for milk, a milk pan, a meat pan, all that was observed.

Mother was always at home, she was very resourceful; she had to take care of things on her own, because Father was never there, always on the road. The entire family was very close. I was the oldest one, I sometimes scolded my brothers. The middle brother, he was often naughty, so I'd hit him. For example when he once took another boy's bike. The boy was the landowner's son, who came to visit us.

When Father came back home, he had to tell Mother about everything, he had to report it all. When Father was about to come home from work - and Mother didn't know exactly when he'd be back, in the morning or in the evening - she'd get everything ready, keep the stove hot, so there'd be hot food for Father when he arrived. Father was a very calm man. I take after him in being calm and responsible. He was very traditional, he didn't drink, didn't play cards. But when there was some celebration, they'd all gather around him, because he could sing, he knew Yiddish and Russian songs. He slapped me once on the face and I remember this until today. And he was right. Well, how old could I have been? Five years, I don't think I was even six yet.

This was at my Aunt Choda's wedding, she was Mother's sister. Father was at this wedding. Father knew all the Jewish rituals, all those songs; he was also very funny and entertained all those wedding guests. I always liked sitting next to Daddy and he'd take me with him, as the oldest son. And according to the Jewish ritual, the guests from the groom's side feel more like guests and need to be tended to. Father felt he was from the bride's side, so he had a task there at that wedding. He sang to those guests, entertained them. And I don't know why this happened, maybe he had a lot to do, but he didn't take me with him to the table. I felt so sorry for myself I didn't want to sit at the table at all. I was waiting for Daddy to come and get me. Well, those aunts, it was a large family, started telling me: 'Come here, here...' If they hadn't said anything, then I would have just sat down in some corner, but they must have known that I was feeling sorry for myself. And because of that, I was fed up with them taking care of me like that, so I went away.

This wedding was at my grandmother Sara's house, where the bride was living, so I went home. There was no one there. It was locked up, everyone was at the wedding. And Mommy must have asked Father to go and get me: 'Go and bring him. He went home. Everything's locked up there, nobody's home.' I heard Daddy calling, I thought: 'Well, if Daddy's calling for me, I have to go.' And when I approached him, he didn't say a word, but slapped me on the face and turned back. He didn't hit me at any other time, he'd always hug me. He turned back and went to that wedding. And it was horrible for me. No one had ever hit me before, why now? And I cried and didn't go back to my house. I understood I had to go with him. And I went to that wedding crying. I sat where they told me to sit. That was only once. I still remember this, because it's such a special memory.

We were living in Dzisna with the grandparents from my father's side and when Grandpa died, then with Grandma Meri [Miriam]. Grandpa died earlier and, according to Jewish tradition, parents stay with the youngest son or daughter. And because Father was the youngest, Grandma lived with us. I guess you can look at it differently; it was, after all, her house and she was the host. It was a wooden house, there was a garden and vegetables, fruit in that garden. There were three rooms. And there were also these rooms in the back. The kitchen, the pantry, a hallway. It was a farm, there was a stable, a cow, there was everything, hens, some sheep. The house was near the river.

I remember that in the springtime, there'd be some ice brought in and put in this hole, which would then be covered with straw and that's where meat was stored in the summer. There were these holes in the garden, where potatoes were stored; they were deep, round, some two meters deep. I never saw any potatoes rot there. Other vegetables were stored like that too, turnips, carrots. My parents also had cows. But the main income was from trade. Father had horses; he distributed goods, to restaurants, wine, vodka. Mother helped Father collect the orders; she had contacts with Poles often. She knew how to live well with them. She would always take some tasty food to them on Jewish holidays.

Grandma didn't work, but she had her hands full at home. She had to burn wood in the stove in the mornings. She baked bread each week. Grandma used to say that there were four bakeries on our street, where there were 20 houses in all, and each one baked bread better than the others to sell it. There was this 'dzieza' [Polish: a special bowl for making bread], it was passed from neighbor to neighbor; several neighbors would use the same one to bake bread. Ours was used by four families. It was dark rye bread. Sometimes there'd already be new bread before the old one was eaten. Grandma used to say that if we had to buy bread, we'd go bankrupt. The bread was good and it was cheap, because a pound [pound = 16.5 kg] of rye cost 1.5 zloty. Some 25 kg of bread could be made from this, so a kilo of bread cost 0.25 grosz [1 grosz = 1/100 of 1 zloty].

Dzisna itself was a town close to the border, there were two rivers. In the fall there was always mud. We, the kids, used to walk on these stilts. There were floods in the spring; the largest one was in 1931. On the street you could smell horse manure and so on, because there were horses and cows in every house. There were hills, rivers, lakes, valleys and forests in the area. But mostly it was flat. The area was quite swampy. There was moss, there were swamps, mud. Yes, like it is in Polesie. When someone 'went to the mosses,' there was no point in looking for him. [Editor's note: Mr. Solowiejczyk uses the phrase 'go to the mosses' in the sense of 'take one's life']. Only locals knew how to pass between those mosses, no one else would come back.

Supposedly, during the war partisans would hide in the swamps and when the Germans went looking for them the partisans were sitting in these holes which they had dug for themselves. When they had dug those holes there was water in them, but they took some pine branches and covered the holes with them. They could see those Germans looking for them, but the Germans couldn't see them.

There was no industry in Dzisna, no factories. There was a city hall, a church, eight synagogues, schools, a post office. There was a hospital, stores and restaurants. There was electricity in the town, from this turbine; lights would be turned on after it turned dark. The central area in the town was the market square. There, next to the market square, there was the 'birzha' [Russian: bazaar]. It was something like a bazaar. It was this place higher up, at the intersection of the streets and you could get everything done there. If you didn't have work, you'd go there in the morning, because everything was private, so all those without work went looking there. They'd find out where they could get a job and when there was nothing, if you came before 10am you could get a piece of bread and some cold water: you'd dip it in salt and eat it.

You could also marry your son or daughter off there, buy a horse, a cow, everything... There were these people there, they were called 'maklery' [incorrect Polish: stockbroker] and they could do anything. This 'makler' could marry a daughter off, he'd say: 'Well, this is such a nice girl, rich, she's got this and that...' that's how he'd describe her. He had these glasses, monocles. He'd drive around all the neighboring towns in a horse-drawn cart, he could do anything. You could borrow money from him, buy or lease an orchard, or land from the squire - 20, 30 hectares of land for 10, 15 years.

There were restaurants at the market. Father would often supply wine and vodka to them. They mostly had wine and vodka in those restaurants. You'd often see drunk people. Mostly Belarusians. There were some fights there from time to time, but they were mostly... friendly. And there were some stores. With fish and meat. Usually people would buy on credit in those stores, they'd put your name down in the book. Sometimes for a month. When the first day of the month came, they'd pay back. But I heard that sometimes they wouldn't return the money. But the merchants somehow prospered. There had to be a trusted butcher from whom you'd take meat.

There was this one Sara there, in Russian they called her Sarochka. Her last name was Sorocka. She was the owner of a private butchery. She had this butchery and she sold meat. She was very honest, a very honest woman. And there were all kinds of people in the town. There was this stupid loony man [mentally ill]. He had fits [epilepsy] and came to her store [to ask] for money. And the best customers bought meat from her. Each store owner wanted to make as much as possible, so she'd give this man 20 or 50 groszy, so he'd leave her alone and not scare off the customers. So it was quite a lot just for him going away and not falling down [that is, having an epilepsy fit] in the store.

There were 6 thousand people in Dzisna. Some 60 percent were Jews. Or 50-60 percent. The remaining ones were Poles and Belarusians. The community was strong. There were merchants, tailors, local officials, doctors. The Poles had the better jobs, in the magistrate, in the offices, there weren't many Poles, less than Jews. We always lived in harmony. But we lived separately.

There were only Hasidim in our town. [Mr. Solowiejczyk is simply referring to religious Jews]. They were carpenters and tailors, shoemakers, merchants, those who made the pavement and built houses, normal people. Yes, they were pious, when the time came they went to the synagogue to pray or prayed at home. But they were not loonies, those who walk around in the summer wearing fur caps, with sidelocks, or who only wear socks, they weren't excessively pious. They were normal pious Jews, moderate, reformed. There were eight synagogues. They were normal synagogues, orthodox, Hasidic. Hasidim prayed there. There was no reformed synagogue.

There was this one where, how to put it, the rich ones went and another one where the poorer people went. There were all classes of people in the town. One synagogue on the market square, that's where the butchers went. No one financed these synagogues, only the community, the people would chip in. There were also those immigrant elements, Misnagdim [Hebrew: Misnagdim - opponents of Hasidim], but they got kind of watered down, assimilated to the environment. There are quarrels among them even to this day 4. So much that when you were walking in Glebokie [approx. 70km from Dzisna] and you met some Russian [a person of the Eastern Orthodox faith] and he asked you: 'Is this the moon or is this the sun?', you'd have to answer 'I'm not from around here' if you didn't want to get beaten up.

The Hasidim always had their tzaddik. He was a Lubavitch [a tzaddik of the Lubavitch dynasty, Joseph Isaac Shneerson from Lubavitch (1880-1950), since 1920 the rebbe of the dynasty]. Lubavitch the Hasidic rebbe, that's how it was called then. Lubavitch Hasidim 5. He used to live in Lubavitch [near Smolensk], that's in Belarus.

There was also a Jewish religious community in Dzisna, there was a rabbi. The rabbi had huge rights. The rabbi wrote out birth certificates, baptism and marriage certificates and they were accepted everywhere, in all kinds of offices. There were also rabbinical courts. In our Jewish community such a court is the most important one. The Gypsies [Roma] have that as well, that they acknowledge the civic court, but it's not sufficient for them, they have to have their own courts.

So there was this rabbinical court, they used to call for people to testify, one spoke for the one side, the second one for the other side, the third one was neutral. It was a court of one's peers, I guess you can say that. The Jews would usually not want any case to go outside [of the community]. If someone was stubborn and wanted to go to a regular civic court, so it would be. But this rabbinical court was respected the most.

Let's assume that you and I have some misunderstanding, so I take my so- called juror and you take yours, someone you trust. Like a member of the jury. You could also call the rabbi, but usually it wasn't necessary. Usually they'd settle for some compromise, because there were all kinds of cases there, disputed wills or commercial issues. And everything had to be done, whatever they would say. There was no appeal.

It was called 'dintojra' [Hebrew: Din Torah - religious court]. But those 'dintojras' were different than in the city. What was dintojra there, was the rule of the Torah here. If one side didn't agree [to carrying out the verdict], they were doomed in that community. If he didn't do what the court told him to do, if he didn't submit to the verdict, no one would trade with him, no one would shake his hand, no one would want to talk to him. It was different in a [civic] court, but in the community it was sacred.

In a Jewish community, the rich members were also important, not just the rabbi. There was this Bimbat, a wealthy man. He came from a poor family, but became rich selling forests. There were also some doctors, members of the intelligentsia in the community, they had their own banks and trade unions, all of them Jewish. The chairman of the bank was the community leader. There were some butchers, three rabbis, there was one appointed by the government and there were schoolteachers. Candidates would take part in the local magistrate elections. There were parties - the Bundists 6, the Zionists 7, the Hashomer Hatzair 8, leftist, rightist... There were Chalucinim [HaHalutz] 9, they were mostly young people who wanted to go to Israel. The strongest party was the Bytarym [Betar] 10. That was a rightist party. There [in Dzisna] there were no workers, they all lived from commerce or agriculture. Well, there were lots of poor people, lots of them.

Sometimes those poor people would walk across the [frozen] water in the wintertime and run away to the other side, to Russia. They ran away, because there was such unemployment, no industry, nothing. They didn't know that it was even worse on their side. The Russians treated those who crossed the border like spies, many of them died in prisons there, others were sent back. Because when someone got there and they asked him why he came, he'd say: 'Because I'm a communist.' 'A communist? Why would we need you? We have many communists. If you're really a communist go back and show them that you're a communist.' No, they didn't need people like them there, they had lots of their own poor people. So they'd put them on trial and they had to stay in jail until the trial. And the punishment was later that he couldn't live closer than 120 km from the border [on the Polish side]. He also had to go to the police station once a month or once a week and show up there.

There were Polish, municipal and Jewish schools. There was a Jewish religious school - Talmud Torah, then there was 'Jidysze Folks Szul' [Yiddish: Jewish Folk School], that is a public Jewish municipal elementary school, then there were cheders, where we studied for five years. Talmud Torah was a private school, supported by donations. It existed until 1931.

I began my education in cheder, later in a public school. I started going to cheder when I was five years old. And later to 'Jidysze Folks Szul.' I was there for two or three years, because the school was later closed down, there was no money to keep it up. There was one Polish lesson in that 'Jidysze Folks Szul.' When that school was closed down, I went to a public, municipal school. And there everything was in Polish. I'm glad they taught us at cheder like they did. Because now in this community [the Jewish Religious Community in Lodz] I am an expert. I know all those holidays, the celebrations, everything. And I've known the Jewish [Yiddish] language since childhood.

At the public school there was religious education, Jewish and other. And we would all stand up to pray in the morning, the entire class would sing 'Boze cos Polske' [Polish, 'God, You Protect Poland'] or 'Kiedy ranne wstaja zorze' [Polish: 'When the sun rises in the morning,' both songs are Polish religious songs]. I liked Mathematics and History the best. There were many Polish teachers in the school, I had different relationships with them, because I had problems with the Polish language.

It's difficult to learn a language well if you don't use it. I only learned it later, mostly in the army. But there were also other situations. My name is Leon - Leon is Lejba. So, when she said Leon, I rebelled, because why did she call me that if my name was Lejba?! And I told her that her name was Rachela or something like that. [Editor's note: The teacher was Polonizing Jewish names. This was an expression of assimilation tendencies, which Mr. Solowiejczyk opposed.]

When I was 13 years old I had my bar mitzvah. I remember they summoned me to the synagogue, asked me to read a verse from the Torah. It was called aliyah [Hebrew: ascension]. And since that time I was counted as a man. Well, it was pleasant that you counted for a minyan.

I had lots of friends. We played normally, like boys do, we didn't look who was who. There were two rivers in Dzisna [Dzisna and Dzwina]. In the summer and in the winter we played interesting games. We played by the river. We would tie up the cane that was growing there. We'd tie it up into bunches, make a raft, put it on the water and float like that for some 8 or 10 kilometers. We passed some neighbors' farms, orchards. The river turned a lot. When we'd stop we'd pick some apples in one place, some pears in another. We'd bake potatoes. Or go get some milk. One river joined the other and it was the most fun when the two rivers joined, because there were rocks there. In the winter we'd also play by the river. The land was hilly, when we went sledding on the hills, we'd slide over onto the other side of the river. We'd play both with Jewish and Polish boys. We were close, we wouldn't tell on one another.

I remember once when I picked some pears [without permission] from a neighbor's orchard, he went to my father and told on me. So my father punished me, I couldn't leave the house. So my friends, because we were such good buddies, played a trick on that neighbor. That neighbor had a large family. There were outhouses in the garden, wooden ones. So, as punishment, the guys went there at night, pushed the outhouse over on its side and all that [the liquid waste] spilled out into the yard. And the next morning, the neighbor wakes up and sees that the outhouse is gone. So he had to make a new one quickly. These guys were great. We could steal horses together. Speaking of horses, at night the guys would ride on horseback to the meadow. So the horses could eat some grass. It was so much fun there at night. Sometimes someone would get tied to a horse's tail and dragged through the mud. We played like that all night long on that meadow.

Political events... I remember these elections and voting for [list] number 1: 'Vote for number one. You will eat sausage and ham.' There were other [such election rhymes] as well: 'Sugar, vodka are good, but chocolate is better' or something like that. I don't remember exactly when those elections were and what they were about just this list number 1. And also Pilsudski's death 11. Everyone cried. There was this kind of 'trauer' [from Yiddish: sadness] at schools. I remember this song: '(...) you wear a dark robe, you are so dear to us, like a king in his majesty. On your name day, your holiday, you are so dear to us, Mr. President.' [Editor's note: a song for Jozef Pilsudski's name day, 19th March].

My parents didn't have any political preference. They were loyal to the authorities. We didn't talk about going to Palestine at our house. But there were Jewish organizations in the town, they gave out loans for moving to Palestine 12. You can say that everyone supported moving there wholeheartedly. But most were too poor. Although there were people, wealthy townspeople, who left.

Even one person from our family left. It was Ester, the daughter of Father's sister Chaja. She wasn't very wealthy, but she didn't have to go to a kibbutz. She left her family and worked as a servant [physical laborer] in the kibbutz. Because she wanted to obtain permission to go to Israel [then Palestine], she had to work here first. There were such kibbutzim 13 in Poland where young people had to stay for several years to get used to this kind of work. It was somewhere near Vilnius, or maybe in Lomza, I don't remember exactly. She scrubbed floors, did whatever she had to. She had to show them that she would be able to live in a collective. She took care of the children and the elders. If a lady needed to have her windows cleaned, she'd go to a kibbutz and they'd send a girl to help her. She simply had to work hard, so she would get used to hard work. There was some patriotism in this. And there, in those kibbutzim, they'd live on their own. They were like those Russian kolkhozes 14.

There were no anti-Semitic incidents in Dzisna really. It was like this. There was the gymnasium, so usually all kinds of anti-Semitic moods would come from there, they had these organizations. But the community was strong, there were self-defense groups. There were firefighters and there were also some, so-called strong boys. And when they knew something was going on, they'd try to calm everyone down. So there were no real pogroms.

There were incidents, for example when they were conscripting boys into the army, the village boys [Poles and Belarusians] would get drunk and get into trouble. And they were dangerous. But those who did not want to go to the army and who were starving, they were peaceful. And nobody wanted to go to the army. Jews didn't want to either. Before the war, it was like this, they'd choose whom they wanted in the army. You had to be tall enough, weigh enough, you had to be healthy. The boys had to be healthy and fit. And those who didn't want to go, would starve themselves on purpose, so they would weigh less.

We also mostly had a good relationship with the parish priest. Well, when we were passing the church, we'd have to take off our hats, because [otherwise] you could encounter some... [problems]. But that was obvious, whenever you were in some office or at school, you'd have to take off your hat. I remember that when the bishop came, each community would welcome him in their own way. The Poles would put up altars, the Jews put up this gate, where the rabbi greeted the guests, the Byelorussians did something as well, but I don't remember what.

Later, in the late 1930s there was some fear, maybe not as visible. There were anti-Semitic articles in newspapers, there were these anti-Semitic leaflets, all kinds of various calendars, there was this witch hunt for the Jews, this 'Bij Zydow' [Polish: 'Get the Jews!'], but nobody paid much attention. Somehow you'd survive. And there was news from Germany. There they knew what Nazi ideology 15 was.

With regards to the Soviet Union, it was like this. That world was closed. No one knew what it was like there. Since 1920 there was the new border [the new border, set on the basis of the Peace of Riga, which ended the Polish-Bolshevik War 1919-1920] and a part of the city was on the other side of the Dzwina and we didn't know what was happening there. We only heard some songs, once a day some guard on horseback would come by. We heard all kinds of songs, on their national holidays they'd walk by with their flags, but we didn't know anything about that world. The river was peaceful, when rafts were passing by, they'd sometimes moor on the other shore. Sometimes a cow or some geese, or a horse would swim across the river to the other side, but they would always give it back. They'd go to the Batory Island and give it back. Well, because there were many islands on the River Dzwina. When Batory was marching on Pskow [Battle of Pskow 1582; approx. 550 km from Riga], he rested on that island. There were fortifications there. You couldn't live there, nothing. From the Polish side, you could go there on a boat and go fishing, but it was all under Russian control. And there was another island, named after Bronislaw Piracki [correctly: Bronislaw Pieracki (1895 Gorlice - 1934 Warsaw), a colonel of the Polish Army, politician]. The border patrol guarded those islands. There was a watch-tower there every few kilometers, a regular border.

I turned 16 before the war broke out. My aunt, my family, they all gathered and discussed what they should do with me. And they decided I would distribute salt, in a wagon. The shopkeepers were to come and buy their salt from me. But this didn't work out, because the war broke out. Earlier Uncle Mordche Zelig, gave me a job watching his orchard, because that's what he did. He leased orchards from local squires and he picked the apples. Well, people did whatever they could. It was Poles who owned those orchards, but they leased them, mostly to Jews and they knew how to go about it - sorting those apples, packing them and shipping them to Warsaw, Vilnius and Katowice.

Uncle's orchard had to be minded in the fall. We minded that orchard at night, so that no one would make any trouble, steal the apples. In the daytime we made boxes. Later the apples had to be picked and packed into those boxes and they were sent to Lodz, to Warsaw. I remember that I was supposed to get 20 zloty for two months of work. That was quite a lot of money. I would have become independent. It would have been my first real cash. But the war broke out...

I remember the beginning of the war like this: 1st September [1939] I was out of town, some 5 kilometers away, at that uncle's. We were in the orchard. There was a medic there and a female doctor - they had a radio. And I found out that the war had broken out, that there was this attack on Poland 16. At first nothing much was happening in the town. We were picking fruit. But the Russians marched in later. There was a shooting in the town. My younger brother went to let the horses out and he said that he was on the border and that there must be some military maneuvers or something. Later, around 10am some Russians arrived. They had crossed the border and reached us, they came into our yard. I don't know if they were the new authorities or what. They started chasing [catching] horses. The horses were good [strong], they wanted to catch them and they chased them into our yard. But one Russian saved them, didn't let them take the horses.

And it all began. I mean, there used to be private stores in the town, but all of them closed down immediately, you couldn't buy anything in the stores. [Especially] after the Russians marched in, the Russians were crossing rivers, all the private stores were closed, there was nothing. Well, those first days were good for us, we made money selling things. We took those apples to the station, we had lots of them.

However, I didn't make any money then, they'd pay me in apples. When the war broke out money lost its value, so Uncle paid me in apples for my work. I took those apples home. Daddy came with a cart and loaded up en entire cart, even two carts full of apples. We were up to our ears in apples. We didn't know what to do with them, so my brother would stand by the river and sell those apples. Well, he didn't really sell them, he would give them to the soldiers. He didn't take any money for them, because money wasn't worth anything, but he asked for some tobacco, a piece of soap, after all there was nothing available.

When the Russians came there was no joyful atmosphere. There were some greetings. It was mostly those leftist organizations greeting them: 'Long live the Soviet Union!' For the young people it was a novelty. Something new. An interesting thing, but usually it was horrible. We felt it was war, because by then we knew what war was. When the Russians came, on the first day we hid in the basement all day long.

Later, after Father went to the other side of the river, he saw all that chaos. Until that time people didn't know what was happening there. On the first day Father said that this song which they were singing, this 'Katyusha' was very nice, used to be very nice when we heard it from the other side of the river [Mr. Solowiejczyk means that when the Russians were singing the popular Russian folk song 'Katyusha' before the war it was a simple and nice song. After they invaded Poland, the song became a symbol of the presence of the occupant.] And he found out then, he found out about the hunger, the terror, everything.

Then the deportations began. First they started deporting all the members of the intelligentsia, teachers. Arrests began. The first from among our friends to be arrested were Pawel Skolysz and others, who had restaurants. We were nervous, perhaps not as much as the Poles, but still, you couldn't be sure of anything. They could come and get you, point their fingers at you. There were no differences, Pole, or Russian, or Jew. They deported lots of our friends. There was general chaos, general 'trauer.' A general insecurity about tomorrow. So it was a tragedy.

I wasn't working then, because there was no work. I was helping my father. We had horses, so we transported goods. We needed to have special permits to go to the other side of the river. At first, when those deportations started, Father would help people get their things. He was friends with a lot of people in the town and they were grateful, because he had good horses and they could pack a lot of things.

Then June 1941 came. There was chaos in the city. People started running away from the city 17. And we needed to run away from the town, because the town was wooden and there was only one bridge. When they started bombing, the city caught fire and we had to run away, because there was no place to stay. Father had left earlier, he was a horse-driver, he was mobilized to take some doctor closer to the front. And we stayed. They took Father early in the morning. Some activity began in the city around 10am. People started running away. We were left alone, so our neighbor, Mrs. Gram [Chawa Ester], a close friend of the family, said she'd take us, that she was going in the same direction as our father. Her mother had a tavern along the way, if Father was coming back, he'd surely stop there. We were hopeful.

But they started bombing out in the fields. They killed a boy who was minding the cows, our cow came running from the field. So we - me, my two younger brothers [Izrael and Mojzesz] and our mother, together with our neighbor, went across the bridge, because it was the only way out of the town. As soon as we crossed the bridge, we hadn't even gotten off the bridge completely, a plane came along and bombed the other end of the bridge. And we had to run away. Our neighbor said we'd go to Polock [at the mouth of the Polota River, on the bank of the Dzwina], because her sister Basia was in Polock. So we turned left with her towards Polock, but we only went for one or two kilometers when we started wondering what it would be like if Father came back and didn't find us.

We had some packages with us, pillows, all the valuables we could carry. It wasn't much, but it was something. And there was one cow walking with us. Mother decided to stay with the middle brother [Izrael] and wait for Father and we went to Polock. It is 35 kilometers from Dzisna [correctly: approx. 60 km from Dzisna], but it is closer if you walk along the Dzwina River. We didn't have to take a ferry, because we had managed to cross that bridge which was later bombed, so we were in Polock by nighttime. We found the house of the neighbor's sister and found a place to stay there.

Meanwhile, Daddy came back. He had taken that medic to the front. The Germans were probably already in Dzisna. The bridge was damaged, no one knew how to cross it and take the rest of our things from the house. Uncle Mates gave Father a bag of flour and some bread. And my parents set out with my brother to join us in Polock. There is a large forest between Dzisna and Polock. It was a wild forest, it wasn't used in Polish times, no trees were chopped down, it was more than 20 kilometers in length. And they somehow turned into that forest, there were Germans on one side and Russians on the other side. And they were in the middle. Some shooting broke out, trees were falling down, they couldn't get out. But my mother was a resourceful woman, she went to those Russians, they drove a tank, cleared the way and in the morning Father managed to pass with the family.

I should mention that those Jews who stayed in Dzisna were all killed by the Germans. 3,800 Jews, buried in two long graves, somewhere on the border of the town. Germans later planted trees there. They thought it would mask it, there's still a forest growing there. The first victims were two rivals, photographers. One was called Epsztejn, the other one Kandakiewicz. Kandakiewicz, as it later turned out, was some kind of a Soviet spy. And Epsztejn had a dog that he called Hitler. And this Kandakiewicz, as soon as the Germans entered, went there and told them this and this Epsztejn was killed first with his family. Some 20 people from our family died in the ghetto. Mostly the uncles and their families, later some more distant relatives, some cousins. We survived only because we ran away with that neighbor.

We kept on going northeast of Polock, towards Newel. That neighbor's brother-in-law showed us that direction. It turned out that wherever we arrived, the Germans had already arrived there before us. As we were walking, the Russians forced us to move a herd of cattle to a train station. Some planes came by in the morning and bombed the station. Some of the animals were killed, others ran away into the forest. That's how we got rid of the cattle and we were free. But we had to keep on moving. If we stayed put, the Germans would be there. Finally those Germans were in front of us. We managed to get all the way to Starobielsk, Ostaszkowo and Staropiesk [approx. 600 km from Moscow] where the camps 18 were. The Russian army was there and they didn't let you go into the forest. That's when we heard about those Polish camps. It was a secret. Nobody said this out loud.

Later on, slowly, we finally made it to Rzew [approx. 450 km from Moscow]. It was a train junction. We didn't have the strength to go any further. We were exhausted. The horse was heavy, it had to be fed. We didn't have any grain. But the horse went through a lot. Lice were eating us alive. We didn't have any food. There was a train station in Rzew, trains full of soldiers would arrive there. They were taking them to the front. Wherever we arrived, the Germans were already there, but not there. We found out that those cattle wagons they were bringing the soldiers in would be empty after they got off and we could get in and go deeper into Russia. It was organized like that, they gave you some bread, some food. So we decided to go.

We also sold the cow in one of the villages we were passing through. The woman gave us a few rubles, a basket of eggs, she wanted to give us a hen, but we didn't take it, because we wouldn't have been able to cook it. We left the horse at the train station in Rzew. Father went to this office and was issued a receipt for the horse. We boarded the train together with others. We didn't go straight, but kept turning. Northwest to Balagoje [approx. 500 km from Vilnius]. The tracks must have been busy. Balagoje was a train junction, but we didn't reach it, because there was an air raid. They bombed the station, lots of damaged trains and tracks. They would only let us pass in the evening, after they had cleaned it up. They wanted us to pretend that the wagons were empty. We opened the doors, the windows, the wagons looked empty and we hid in the forest. German planes were flying back and forth.

We kept going, via Kalinin [approx. 300 km from Moscow], Rybinsk [approx. 550 km from Moscow], Jaroslaw [approx. 500 km from Moscow]. We passed Moscow and stopped somewhere at some small station. They asked us to unload the wagons. And some farmers from the kolkhoz showed up there and took us to a kolkhoz. Not by force, if you didn't want to, you didn't have to go with them. We looked. We were not alone, there was also one more man from our town with us with his family. Szuchman. We saw that there was great poverty there, the horses were weak, we decided not to go [to the kolkhoz], because we were afraid we'd die of hunger in the winter. We decided to wait. We had some flour, so Mother went to the bakery, asked for some yeast, they gave it to her and we baked bread. We were hoping the train would go to Niznij Nowgorod [a city in the European part of Russia, near the junction of the Oka and Volga Rivers, approx. 800 km from Moscow].

And we reached Niznij Nowgorod. It's a large city on the Volga River, a harbor. There were repatriation points there at every station. So we showed up there. They said that on some day a ship would start along the Volga River towards the cities: Kazan [approx. 1350 km from Moscow], Samara [approx. 1650 km from Moscow], Saratow [approx. 1400 km from Moscow]. There was hope we'd stop there in one of those larger cities, port cities, where we could make a living. They loaded us on that ship, on the lower deck. Our clothes were dirty, there were rats everywhere, mice. The parents cooked some meals. We had boiled water, they gave us some groats. They'd also sometimes give us some bread.

We were approaching Saratow, we wanted to get off. Oh no! No way. We needed to have special permits. You could get them from the Soviet authorities. Because they wouldn't let you off wherever you wanted to. Some people had those permits, but we didn't have anything. No money, no resources. We didn't know those Soviet rules well. And they didn't trust us. We had only been under Soviet rule for two years. We were second-class citizens. And they didn't let us go deeper into Russia. So we had problems because of those passports.

We lived from what we got helping those who were getting off the ship. We would carry packages ashore. They'd always give us a little bit of money. It was warm and there we'd buy some pumpkins, these sweet pears, we'd stuff ourselves. And what else did we - kids - need? So we stayed on that ship, because they didn't want to let us off until we reached Stalingrad [approx. 1,800 km from Moscow].

They unloaded us in Stalingrad. In the harbor. This entire journey took about one month. We wanted to stay there, because one of those who arrived with us said it would be good there. He was there before 1920, he knew there was fish and groats. But they wouldn't let us. They said they'd get us on another boat and take us to Astrachan. So we waited. There were children with us - my two younger brothers [Izrael and Mojzesz] and our acquaintances [the Szuchmans] had children too. They told us there was a zoo there. So Daddy went to the zoo with all the children. We got there and there was a bombing. The Germans bombed the zoo. All the animals, the lions, were dead. But the children were pleased anyway, because they got to see lions. But Mommy didn't let Daddy go anywhere with the children after that.

The boat finally arrived and they loaded us on the lower deck again. They gave us boiled groats, but the lice were eating us, it was horrible. So they took us to Astrachan [approx. 75 km from Moscow], but they didn't want to let us off in Atrachan either. And from Atrachan they took us to the village Siedlistoje. The kolkhoz Siedlistoje. It was 1941. It was the end of our journey. We settled there. They unloaded us, gave us some flats.

It turned out that there were mostly people like us there, who had been deported. From Upper Volga. They used to be farmers, wealthy people. They welcomed us. It was summer, we had a place to sleep. The next day they told us to go to the kolkhoz square. There they gave us jobs. Daddy and my brothers were collecting hay and I had to go to the army.

They told me to go to the voyenkomat, because Siedlistoje was a larger village and there was a voyenkomat there. It was a kind of army office, where they conscripted men into the army. And since that time I was a recruit. There were a few others like me and they sent us to take a course. It was supposed to be a minesweeping course, but it was more of a firefighting course. They taught us how to maintain fire hydrants. We completed that course, there were a few of us. They divided us up. The Volga River split up into little deltas and there were islands there and 'Lager' [forced labor camps] on these islands. There were lots of prisoners there. They could send you to a camp for everything. There were people there, sentenced to 20, 15 years. There were these fire-safety boards there, hydrants, buckets, brooms, these metal hooks. There were also water reservoirs there. And we had to make sure all this was functioning. I was assigned to one camp.

There were these booths along the Volga, these wooden houses, with cane growing all around them. These booths were set up every 500 meters or so. That's where we slept. I was in one booth and then there'd be another guy in the next booth. This camp of mine was an entire city. There was a bakery there, a school. There were lots of prisoners there, they had to be guarded. They mostly dealt with fishing. And they supplied to these 'shalandas.' A 'shalanda' is a factory, a fish processing plant. Several thousand prisoners processed fish in these factories. From time to time they'd go out to sea. The family stayed, some of them had families there, they had children.

I was living there in that little house and my parents were in Siedlistoje. They later moved them to another kolkhoz. It was called Mielstroy. A village, with a lake nearby. Father worked there in a fish processing plant. Mielstroy means breeding fish. Miel is these tiny fish. There was a water reservoir there and that's where they kept the fish. And they had to dig ditches, so there'd be water [flowing from the lake to the reservoir].

I had everything there in that 'Lager:' they gave me bread, they had their own vegetables, watermelons, tomatoes, so I lived normally. They even gave us underclothes. I was there as a soldier, I wore a uniform. I had interesting acquaintances. There were these prisoners who were better [educated]. One was really intelligent, he was the director of some large plant. He had a 15-year sentence, for overlooking something. Then there was the director of a bakery, he also had a 15-year sentence. I didn't look for them, they contacted me. What kind of contact? They met twice a week in that cane. The director of the bakery would bring some bread, the gardener would bring some tomatoes, another one some fish. And this director, he had a permit, so he could go to Astrachan when he needed to. And he would bring things from Astrachan.

Then this baker, when he was baking bread, when he closed the oven hermetically, he had these pipes form the back of the oven where the steam went out and for one load of bread he'd get half a liter of spirit. I don't know how he did it, but that's what I heard. And they all brought it to me. They played cards at night.

I was pleased, because I had something to eat. I always did what my father told me to do: 'Always mind your elders and do whatever they're doing.' I was really comfortable there. They would come in the evening, I'd go somewhere, usually in that cane, cover myself with something, because the mosquitoes were biting. And I was pleased, because when that engineer came from Astrachan, he'd always bring a present for me. And that's how it went for several months.

I was re-stationed in Ikranoje [approx. 20 km rom Astrachan]. It was in the fall [1941]. I was there at the voyenkomat, serving there. But they [Russians] didn't trust us. It was a kind of second rate army. We didn't know what was going on around us. We were in Ikranoje for some time. Well, maybe a month. We later went to Astrachan, to the army unit. I felt better there, because there were more boys like me there, from the other side of the River Bug, from Ukraine, from Lwow. I felt fine there. They trained us in building bridges, fortifications. We built bunkers there.

Then they sent us to the Kalmen Steppes. It was the end of 1941, early 1942. The Kalmen Steppe is a desert, near Stalingrad. And there we dug those ditches, bunkers, anti-tank fortifications, all kinds of holes in the earth for the command. But there were some problems with water. There was sand there, so when water appeared, it would all collapse. You'd dig a half- meter hole there and there'd already be water there.

We stayed there until the Germans arrived. When the Germans got there, our unit was moved to the Volga River. There were temporary bridges there. We were helping to build a river crossing. I couldn't find a dry place all winter long, so I fell ill. I got sick, because of that cold water and had to spend some time in the sick ward.

Since 1942 I was in the Soviet army. But it wasn't a regular army. They didn't trust us. Well, they didn't trust us, because we were Polish citizens. We were always supervised, because they didn't trust us. There were NKVD 19 officers all around us and we were simply discriminated by them. We would set up mine fields, that's what we specialized in. We served the bridge over the Volga. Some also worked in factories. I didn't feel like it.

A bomb fell on one of the temporary bridges in Dubowka [approx. 8 km from Stalingrad]. I was injured, I had to spend some two months in hospital, in Krasnoarmiejsk [Krasnoarmiejskij, approx. 55 km from Stalingrad]. My teeth were knocked out, I could later take them from my mouth like sunflower seeds. But I somehow pulled through. I still have these scars, but the accident mostly damaged my airways. When I got out of hospital, I went back to the unit, to the minesweepers.

We mostly worked the mines. We had to set up and clear mine fields. Because at first you had to set the mine field up and, after they had surrounded the Germans, then you had to clear it. We reached the Volga River. The town of Kolacz [Kalacz, approx. 15 km from Stalingrad]. When we were walking from Kolacz, I think it was on New Year's Eve, we encountered the French squad Volga-Niemen [Normandie-Niemen]. The French were hospitable - they gave us tea. We got there after they had already liquidated the Germans, this Paulus's army, the Russians surrounded them from both sides. And the second German unit, they were chased all the way to Ukraine, to Rostow. Our task was to clear the mine fields and pick up the dead bodies. There were lots of corpses there. German, Russian and Romanian. There was great hunger. We ate horses, as long as they weren't stinking yet, we didn't care if they had been killed or died on their own. And that's how we made it until, I think, March [1942].

There were these valleys near Stalingrad. The Germans were roaming in the valleys. At first, when the Russians caught them, they'd kill them. And then there was an order that you couldn't. That you had to take them to the headquarters. Once they caught three Germans and three of us had to take them to the headquarters. We took them there and, when we were coming back, we went into one of those valleys. We saw that there was some smoke coming from a hut. Six guys, German. They were armed. They were cooking something. They had something from those packages and some warm coffee. Because the Germans would drop packages there, these canvas bags with food. They had better food than we did. Sometimes we also found these packages.

Once we were sitting in a hut, there was snow, a plane came by, we thought: bomb! We got down on the ground. We waited for the explosion, but there was none, just this canvas bag dropped down. One of those Germans could speak Russian and he told us not to be afraid, that they wouldn't hurt us, that they wanted us to take them to the headquarters. They surrendered. They were armed, but they were afraid!

There was this one corporal in my unit, his name was Strug. He was just like me, they didn't trust him too. He took the locks out of their automatic guns, ordered them to get up. We searched them. We took their grenades, everything. We left the automatic guns, but took the locks with us. We took them to the Russian headquarters. There were officers there, or whoever, they admitted us and confirmed receiving those Germans. We left the headquarters as heroes. We got three days off for that deed, so that we could go somewhere, get ourselves cleaned up.

There was this town called Bikietowka near Stalingrad. It was a larger settlement, really. There weren't many civilians there, everything was military. But there were some civilians. We found out that there was a small market there. Well, if there's a market, we've got to see it. We had to dress up a bit. There was everything in those valleys, whatever you wanted. We took the best things off those corpses, leather bags. Leather shoulder bags. Soldiers usually carry maps in these. We cut out pieces of leather from them. We needed that for [shoe] soles, because it was war. Money didn't mean anything and leather would be used for shoe soles or something. We took blankets, sheets and went to this Bikietowka. We wanted to exchange it for something to eat. We were hungry like dogs.

We reached Bikietowka and we saw some woman standing on the street selling pierogis. Pierogis are these large pancakes. Where she got them from, I don't know, but we gave her a blanket or something and she gave us five pierogi each. They were so bitter we couldn't stand it, but we ate them. It turned out that a barge with barley had sunk there, on the Volga. They dried the barley, ground it and that's why it was so bitter. We ate it. We kept going.

We reached the house of an elderly couple, this grandma and grandpa. They told us that we could find a place to sleep there and they gave us shelter. We spent two days there. There was dry wood out there in the backyard, so we chopped it up, heated the oven. The grandpa had some barley, so we found a hand-mill, ground the barley and we had some barley groats. That was our feast. We didn't pay anything for sleeping there. Well, what could we have paid, what could a soldier have given them? Some long johns, a piece of soap, some underclothes, German pants, we gave that to the grandpa. After three days we returned to the unit.

In early May we went to the front, on the Orlow-Kursk Axis [Orlow, approx. 65 km from Moscow, Kursk, approx. 85 km from Moscow]. It was 1943, after Stalingrad. They loaded us on trains and let us out in a village called Kapuscino. It was still a second-class unit. It was a minesweeping division. We built bridges, trenches, fortifications, these ditches that are used on the front. We set up mine fields, masked roads, we would move an entire forest. The road to Rostow and Kursk was constantly under fire. From their side of the Oka [River], where the Germans were sitting, they could see open space. And they'd shoot. So there were several kilometers of a road they could shoot at and we had to mask that road, so they wouldn't see it. We had to move an entire forest in one night. We chopped up these trees, branches and set up these green fences, along the road. From a distance it would look like a forest. NKVD soldiers guarded us and shook their guns at us.

I was wounded by the time the Kursk battle 20 began. And here's how it happened. There was a river there on the Orlow-Kursk Axis, a tributary of the Oka. I knew we would finish setting this fence up at night and we were supposed to start preparing the river crossing. The river wasn't deep, I was curious, I wanted to check out what the shore looked like in the morning. So I left the forest. It was a sandy shore. I looked around a bit, I figured out what the crossing should look like. I also wanted to get cleaned up, so I approached the water. It was still dark. And then, suddenly, a plane appeared out of nowhere. But those scout planes never had bombs. Everyone knew that. So I was sure this plane wouldn't have any bombs. I got out and the plane dropped a bomb. I fell down. I was hit in the leg.

I didn't lose consciousness, I somehow managed to get ashore, out into the open. I crawled to the bomb hole, there was a rule that if a bomb hole was fresh, you could find shelter there, because they would never hit the same place twice. So I crawled in there. And by the time I managed to get in there, the bone was sticking out of my wounded leg. My leg was like a bow. I had a belt with me, a canvas belt, so I tied it around the leg, above the knee. My leg was getting numb. Only in the afternoon did some soldiers who were distributing food and water find me there.

They took me to this village, Kapuscino. There was this village chamber there [a field hospital], there was a nurse and she tended wounds there. She put in some splints. This kind of wire bed and she put some bandage around my leg, so it wouldn't bend. And I stayed there until evening. I had to be taken to the 'sanbat' [sanitary battalion]. It was a serious wound. I had to lie down for seven months because of that leg!

There were cars there [on the Orlowsk-Kursk Axis], which were used for taking ammunition to the front. They were preparing for that battle. The famous Orlowsk-Kursk battle, an armored battle. Those cars would come back empty. So they took me in one of those cars to a sanitary point. The Sanitary Battalion. There was no special transport. There was no bed in that car, it wasn't comfortable, because they used it for ammunition. And the road was very bumpy. It was very uncomfortable. I couldn't stand the pain and I cried horribly. So the driver stopped and left me in the ditch by the road.

A nurse was taking me there and she stayed with me. I couldn't stand it. I was in the ditch, there were planes flying overhead. She went to get some grass, because there was some freshly cut grass nearby. She wanted to put it under my head. So she took a handful of this grass and put her hand on a mine. The blast took her hand off. So we were both wounded. We were there in that ditch until nighttime. A driver was driving by at night and took mercy on us. He took us in his car. Over those bumps. He let some air out of his tires and he took us. He didn't take us to the 'sanbat,' but to some village in the forest, I don't remember the name. But there were civilians there, kolkhoz workers.

They took us on a wagon then. There was hay in those wagons and they took us to some forest. There was the so-called Medsanbat there. A medical battalion. And here's what it looked like: there used to be stables there, cattle, cows, horses. Those stables had been bleached a bit, there were makeshift beds there. There were lots of us there. They collected wounded soldiers from all over until there were enough to fill a train. Then they'd be loaded up on a train and taken somewhere.

That's when I had surgery done on my leg. They took off those splints, stretched the leg out and put a cast on it. I asked them to shave the hair off my leg, because I knew it would hurt when they were taking the cast off. But they told me they wouldn't, because they were getting me ready for transport and the cast would stay on better with the hair. The cast started drying at night. Those hairs were getting pulled, it hurt like hell. It was such horrible pain, I was crying out from pain, yelling. I couldn't stand it and nobody would help me. I hadn't eaten for two days, my body was getting healthy, regenerating, I had to eat something. There were lots of patients there and all of them were complaining. I called the nurse, but she wouldn't come.

And that's where I met a kindred spirit. I didn't know him well, I only found out here in Lodz, in the 1970s, who he was, but it was too late, because I couldn't meet him there. His name was Kielerman. He was also wounded. This man with a cast on his arm showed up unexpectedly and asked, 'What's wrong with you?' So I told him. He knew who I was, because it takes one to know one.

He was also a Jew, from Poland, central Poland. I was from the Vilnius area and Jews used a different dialect there, a different accent. They used this jargon in my home town. He spoke differently, he had an accent resembling Russian. He went to get the nurse, brought her there. Then he'd keep coming to see me and asking, 'How are you doing? Better?' He also brought me water and something to eat, because I hadn't eaten for two days. He went and brought back this large biscuit. A black one. I can still see that biscuit. I dipped it in water as if he'd brought me the best meal ever. He was my guardian angel, as it turned out. I don't know how he knew it, but whenever I needed help, he'd show up. He saved me so many times, did so much for me. Even after the war, here in Lodz, he also took my side more than once. It was always something nice, unexpected.

After some two, three days there were enough of us and they brought in the train cars. Those were those Russian sanitary cars, with these stretchers attached to the sides. Those stretchers I was on got dislodged and fell down. I fell down on the wounded leg and those who were above me, fell down on me. But the cast was strong and nothing happened. They brought us to the station at night, loaded us up into the train cars. It was all very fast and we were off. We went east, towards Moscow. To Mozajsk [approx. 20 km from Moscow]. There was a hospital there. And some planes came flying by when we were on our way there. Those who wouldn't be able to get out by themselves in an emergency were up on the top bunk. Those who had good arms and legs were down on the bottom bunks.

So when the planes appeared, they stopped the train in the forest and those who could got out of the train and hid in the forest. I stayed up there on the top bunk. We could see, from the window, those planes dropping bombs. There were a few more men there and we decided to get down from the top bunk. But my cast got caught up in something, there were these chains there, and I found myself upside down on that bunk. And who came to my rescue? Kielerman. He was in that transport, found me, helped get me free from those chains and went to the forest himself. They unloaded us in Mozajsk, took us to the hospital, started shaving us. These young women came. And there was Kielerman again.

The way this hospital was organized was like this. If they hoped to cure someone within a month, they'd keep him in Mozajsk. And those who had to be treated for longer than a month were transported. They took us all the way to the Ural. The town was called Gorod Otmulinsk. In the direction of Komsomolsk. There was a hospital there, which had been evacuated from Charkow. There was a Jewess there, Pertka Aronowna, this 'gyeroy' [Russian: hero] woman. Everyone was afraid of her.

There were different people there. One man had been wounded near Charkow, in his heel. He stepped on a mine and his entire heel was blown off and the nails from his shoe got imbedded in his foot. He spent the entire war in that hospital and didn't let them amputate that leg. They wanted to amputate my leg too, but finally those bones mended, they were set well, so they mended. They wanted to cut it off, because it was the easiest for them. They cut off your leg and sent you home after two weeks. But they didn't amputate the leg after all. I had no home to go back to.

I was there in Otmulinsk for four months. It was the end of 1943. November, December. When I got out of hospital, they sent me to Kiev [approx. 800 km from Moscow] and from there to Gorki [approx. 400 km from Moscow]. It was winter 1943 [actually 1944]. I was not on the front line in Gorki. I was dismissed from military service for six months, I could go wherever I wanted to, but I didn't have a place to go to. My family was in Astrachan Oblast [District]. The Majaczno village, on the Caspian Sea, some 120 kilometers from Astrachan, on the seacoast. So finally I stayed in Gorki. They assigned me to a noodle factory. This factory was supposed to give us accommodation, food and we were supposed to help them the best we could.

I was young, I didn't want to stay in one place, so I volunteered for work. I wanted to carry bags, but I couldn't, because of my leg. The leg kept snapping back and forth, so they assigned me to the reception desk. There was hunger, so people from that factory, mostly women, would carry out bags of noodles, flour, we had to search them. I was young, I didn't feel comfortable searching women. The director of the factory said that there were complaints about me and suggested that I apply for a transfer. So I did and they transferred me to an oil factory.

It was possible to survive there. There were potatoes, there was oil. They later moved me to the 'Krasny Jakier' factory. It was a metallurgic factory, they made bombs there. My leg got stronger. I worked the loading ramp. We loaded up metal scraps into wagons.

It was already 1944. They sent us to Kamieniec Podolski [approx. 90 km from Lwow], to a factory. It was a metallurgical, chemical factory, a large one. But we were young, we wanted to have some fun, be free for a while. So we took some buckets and said we were going to get some water and got lost along the way. We were late for the train. We missed it. Luckily, our friends covered for us, because they could divide our food rations among themselves. That's when we found out the Polish Army 21 was getting organized in Sumy. We ran off to Poltawa [approx. 700 km from Lwow].

In Poltawa we showed up at the command post, with those buckets. We didn't let the buckets out of our hands. They assigned us to Sumy, to the Polish Army. And that's how my stint in the Russian army ended. There were ten of us there signing up for the Polish Army. But the Russians didn't want to let us go easily. At first they turned us back to Poltawa. There were more guys like me there [volunteers for the Polish Army], they were from Ukraine and there was the recruiting committee there. They told us we were in Unit 4, in the Polish Army, they took us to Sumy [approx. 150 km from Poltawa]. It was later on, when this Polish Army had been organized.

In Sumy I found out they were organizing a cavalry unit. And I had been a horseman ever since I was a kid. I went there, there was this guy in a uniform. I don't remember, I think he was a corporal, he was signing us up. And there were lots of people there. From Podole, from Wolyn, they were all cavalrymen. My turn came. He took my papers. He asked, 'Have you had lunch?'. I said, 'No.' 'Are you sure you want to be in the cavalry?' 'Yes.' I could see my friends waiting outside. He put the papers away and told me, 'Go to the kitchen, I'll let them know and they'll feed you.' I went there. And there was a sergeant there, a great guy, he was asking everyone, 'Where are you from? And you? You? Are you from those Solowiejczyks? Come here, brother!' And I recognized that he was from Dzisna.

His name was Arcimionek. He changed it to Artymowicz there. Because that's how it was with those Belarusians. If he wanted to be Polish, he'd call himself Artymowicz, if he didn't, he'd call himself Arcimionek. But I didn't mind. He was a fun guy, he used to make rafts and float down the Dzwina. He liked to drink. The Russians deported him too. He took me to the kitchen, fed me. I also told him that there was a friend with me, this Sipser from Tarnopol, a young guy too. A Jew. Arcimionek took my things and my friend's things, his documents. He said that the guy who took my documents was one of Pilsudski's settlers. He had been deported too. He knew my uncle [Abram]. Uncle used to sell horses, he'd give horses to those settlers. Because at first they didn't have anything, so he'd give them horses and they would remember it.

So he told him to take me somewhere, so I could rest, before the second recruiting committee. Arcimionek took us somewhere to the countryside. He had a fiancée there. We bathed, got some sleep. We spent some two, three weeks there. He gave me some tips: 'Don't try to act up with that accent of yours. You don't need this. Don't try to get assigned to the front, try to get accepted for courses. Petty officers, officers...' And that's what I did. I didn't need to pretend, because with that leg of mine, I wouldn't have been accepted for the front anyway.

First I went to a petty officers' course in Zytomierz [approx. 850 km from Moscow]. It was still 1944. It was like an officers' school, but you didn't get an officer's rank. It was a six-week course. There they'd say, 'Although I can't write, I can't read, I can speak.' I later learned these courses were modeled after Pilsudski's 1st Division. I graduated from the course, but didn't receive an officer's rank.

There was a political officer there, Michalak, he was from Cracow. I went to see him and told him I wasn't fit to be an officer, because of that leg and that accent. I never hid the fact that I was Jewish. Anyway, not with my accent. My name, Solowiejczyk, was well known there. Because of that uncle Abram, who used to sell horses. So I knew my place, I knew I'd finally get a disability pension anyway. Although I could have done whatever I wanted. I was held in high esteem. I was known for being able to arrange things that others weren't able to do.

They later moved us to Lublin [approx. 242 km from Lodz], to officers' training school. We were quartered in Majdanek 22. There we found corpses which were still warm. It was dangerous there. If a soldier didn't come back in the evening, we'd go looking for him. We'd find him in a ditch, undressed. The Ukrainians didn't care if you were Jewish or not, if they needed a uniform they'd undress you and kill you.

I arrived in Lodz in 1945, in February. The Russians were still quartered in the barracks on Obroncow Stalingradu Street. We later cleaned those barracks up. If we needed coal, then we'd go out onto Obroncow Stalingradu under the bridge. There were peasants passing by in wagons, we would stop them, have them unload the wagon, go to the station to get some coal, load it up and bring to the barracks.

When we needed workers for the kitchen, we'd go out on the corner of Cmentarna and Obroncow Stalingradu Streets, to the bus stop. The Germans had to wear armbands. We took those with armbands for tidying up the barracks and to the kitchen. They worked until the evening. They'd get coffee, soup, we'd feed them and give them something to drink. They'd later wait in front of our gate, volunteer, because there was nothing to eat. And the Germans felt safer with us.

I was never in the ghetto in Lodz 23. I was a soldier, so I couldn't do that. But I was in touch with the Jewish community. The head of the garrison here in Lodz was Colonel Friedman [Centropa interviewee Michal Friedman]. He is in Warsaw now. He is some 90-something years old. He was one of the first lecturers in that officers' training school in Zytomierz. He was promoted to the rank of major very quickly. He was a professor from before the war. He never hid that he was a Jew. For Easter 1945, while we were still there on Zachodnia Street, he organized a Pesach celebration. Later there was this colonel, Subicz. He almost killed me when I was working in the warehouse. He was an anti-Semite. A Jew, but an anti-Semite. He was later in Warsaw, he was said to have signed jail sentences for pre- war officers. He shot himself after Stalin's death.

I got married in 1956. My wife, Janina, nee Lesiak, was born in 1922. She was from the Kielce area [south-central Poland]. We met here in Lodz. She was also working for the army. We got married in the civil office on Kosciuszki Street. Later my friends came to my apartment, we had something to eat, to drink. There was food, there was drinking, there was a wedding. I remember I received a radio from the trade unions. We were living on the corner of Zakatna and Wieckowskiego Streets, in an old building. The room was some 40-something square meters.

My wife was a kind person. A kindred spirit, very positive. And sensitive. She was very devoted to my family. We were in love. We shared the ups and downs of life. She was the director of an officers' lounge on Tuwima Street. She was both the director and the cook, everything. We were doing well. But my wife couldn't have children. Doctors told her this and that, but nothing was working. She really took it hard, I'd tell her 'Give it a break.' She died in 1994. Of cancer.

I remarried five years later. My second wife, Danuta Truszkowska, was born in Petrykozy, in 1945. She was also a widow. She was also working in the officers' club. We met through a common acquaintance. Her husband had just died. We talked, well, we were a match and that's how we've been living until today.

I immediately found out about my parents. There was a hunchback in Lodz, he had run away from the ghetto in Glebokie, together with my cousin, Lazarz. He told us that this Lazarz was living in Oszmiana [approx. 50 km from Vilnius]. I wrote him a letter and found out that this Lazarz had a high position there, he was the director of a tannery. He was living there and that's where he got married. There was a small house near the tannery. They gave this house to him. And that's where my parents went, to Oszmiana, with my brother. They were working there, trading.

My brother was with them, but he was still a student. They later sent him [to work] to the printing house. He learned about printing, but he didn't work as a printer yet. He started dealing in trade, he was supplying goods to a restaurant. And that's how they lived. He later got married and they were quite well off. He married in Oszmiana, a woman who was born in Russia. She would tell him that the first time she had eaten so much that she felt full was after she got married. They met, because the mother-in- law was a seamstress, she would sew for women there. When she'd come, they'd give her something to eat and to drink and she'd be amazed and would say: 'You eat meat like wolves.' She wasn't used to this.

We were in touch with my parents. And after 1956 Mother came to Lodz for the first time, she brought things to sell. Later I would go there. My parents would have stayed there, in Oszmiana, but the situation at home was difficult. My brother's father-in-law moved in with them, a former 'chekista' [an activist of the internal security organization in Soviet Russia, operating in 1917-1922, responsible for repressions], mentally ill. It was impossible to live with him. We decided my parents would move in with us.

Such things could be arranged quickly then. Just one month. I wrote to Moscow, to the Polish Embassy. I attached a certificate that my room had an area of over 40 square meters, plus a 12-meter kitchen. I didn't tell them how many rooms, just the area. I signed a declaration that I would not apply for a new apartment. They sent an answer immediately, sent the papers. This was in 1967. When they were allowed to come here, we went to bring them over here. They settled here. In Lodz. My parents lived with us in this apartment on Wieckowskiego Street. Father lived there until he died [in 1970], Mother also lived with us in the new apartment on Rojna Street.

My parents, when they arrived in Lodz, had some money with them. It was some 80 million, in that currency. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I had enough money for accommodation. My wife was working too, she was resourceful, she wasn't lazy. If there were two days off from work, she could pack her bags up and go to Moscow or Vilnius, to trade.

My parents felt well here. My mother found some friends quickly. My father started going to the synagogue. I took them to the Synagogue on Rewolucji 1905 Roku Street. The synagogue is still there. And he liked going to the Jewish community. All in all, Father didn't live long here, some two years. He was 80 when he died. It was a blood clot. He never checked his blood pressure, never went to the doctor, never took any pills. He was always in good shape, healthy. When he died in hospital on the second day after he was admitted, Mother said: 'Son, you have to deserve such a death.' And she had to suffer, poor woman. She had surgery, after that she lived for a year longer. She suffered for seven months. She died in 1972.

Uncle Abram, Mother's brother, came to Lodz earlier, with his family. I helped him get set up, my wife also helped them. He was a tailor, but he didn't work as a tailor. He quickly decided to move to Israel. When Mother visited us for the first time he was already in Israel. He asked for someone to come visit him, because he wanted to pass on a present to Mother. Well, I couldn't even mention this, I was in the army after all. Abram sent a check for 200 dollars, so it would be official. My wife could go. It was in the early 1960s. She was there for two months, she later recollected that time fondly. She was well liked there. She liked the kibbutzim best. She used to say, 'What a life!' So I asked, 'So, should we go?'. She answered, 'You can't, it's not for you. I could go there.' I wouldn't have been able to switch to a new environment.

Of my two brothers only Mojzesz is alive. He lives with his family in Vilnius. I am in touch with him. We write letters, phone each other. When I fell ill, my nephew was here immediately. My brother came to Lodz for Father's funeral, for my wife's funeral. And the second brother, Izrael, died in 1945. When my parents found out about his death, they let me know. I was still in Lublin then. I couldn't go there immediately, but I finally visited his grave.

It was in the village of Celiny, in the Kielce region, near Busko, somewhere not far away from Chmielnik. I had a good description, the number of the grave, but I didn't find anything there. I found out from the local residents that the bodies buried in those graves had been exhumed and taken to Sandomierz. I went to Sandomierz where there were mass graves, each one 15 meters long, with 10 posts. Supposedly even 1,000 people could have been buried under one such post. So there could be even 10,000 in one grave. And there were three such graves, so maybe even 30,000 bodies. I went to a gardener, bought all the flowers he had and put them on all three graves. I never went there again.

This Kielerman, my guardian angel from the war, also found his way to Lodz. I met him accidentally on the street, at a cab stop, when I was coming back from drinking at the garrison canteen. It was freezing, I was walking with a female friend from the canteen. You had to wait in a long line to get a cab, but this friend of mine noticed her neighbor and he took us into his taxi. And this was Kielerman, but I didn't recognize him, I didn't know that this was his name. He didn't recognize me either, only later, by accident, he met my father at the Jewish community and he walked him home. Mother made some tea, they talked, she showed him a photo album and he recognized me. He told them what his name was and left his address.

I only found out about this after some time passed and I couldn't find him. I found out he had married some German woman and left for Germany. And disappeared without a trace. I needed him then, because I had lost some documents about how I was wounded, I could have used him as a witness. I later wrote to Bogoruslan, where there was an archive, the necessary documents were sent to Leningrad and then to me. They found them, they even gave me a Medal for the Defense of Stalingrad 24. They decorated us at the Grand Theater in Warsaw. I also have other decorations: 'Za pobiedu' [Russian: 'for victory'] and other Russian medals for my accomplishments, also a Cavalry Cross 'for outstanding service.' I was and still am a member of ZBOWiD 25. I retired in 1980.

With regards to my views, I think the best period during the PRL 26 was the time of Gierek [Edward Gierek, (1913-2001), Polish politician, socialist activist, 1970-1980 1st Secretary of the Polish United Workers' Party and the leader of the state in the 1970s]. Although later, during Gierek's later period you could see that everything was falling apart, but I didn't think that it would all end.

I was afraid of the Russians. The entire border was guarded. And I can't say anything good about Gomulka's 27 period. There was Moczar 28 there and all those anti-Semitic incidents. It was really hard on me. When the war in Israel started, Yom Kippur 29, I didn't think they could win. On the one hand, I was happy that something was happening there, but, on the other hand, I didn't like this situation with the Arabs. Because there had always been conflicts there. One day, when I met an old Jew out on Wschodnia Street, I asked him what he thought about it. And he said, 'What, you don't think that Jews can attack? After all, they've shown what they can do.' I had my doubts, I knew there were few of them and lots of Arabs.

In the unit I talked with a colonel whom I knew well and he asked me what I thought about it. I told him that I didn't know and he said, 'I'm afraid this is the beginning of something bad.' I really took it hard. I was afraid what would come out of it. And also what started going on here. At a meeting, a kind of general rally at the unit, they formed a committee, this was already in 1968 30, and you had to speak in front of the committee. They summoned me and asked me what I thought about what was happening in Israel. So I said, 'I agree with the resolution of the United Nations.' [Editor's note: The decision about the forming of the state of Israel was made by the General Assembly of the United Nations, in November 1947. The decision was made to create two states: a 'completely Jewish one' and a 'completely Arab one,' as the option which would have the highest chances of success.] I didn't say anything more. But it was hard for me. I would have liked to say that there were my relatives there and that I supported them and didn't care about you, but I wouldn't have dared.

Many of my acquaintances left then, in 1968. This friend of mine, from school, he was an officer and he lived in Warsaw. He didn't have to leave, he had a good military pension, but his two daughters, students, signed up to leave. And his wife too. So he left with them. Many people from Lodz left too. When it comes to me, everyone, all my Polish friends, knew I was a Jew, but nobody spoke out against me. If someone was such a huge enemy, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with him. And there were many who tried to help me. There was no inappropriate behavior.

I've visited Israel three times. I mean, after this thaw, after Walesa 31. Because it was impossible earlier. I was working for the army until 1980. And so I went. I met many of my friends from school there, some family members. To be honest, perhaps if I hadn't been working for the army I would have left for good. There were even some people, a family, here in Lodz who wanted to take me along with them. A friend of my father's. And he had daughters and wanted me to marry one of them. At first I thought I'd go with them, but I wanted to keep in touch with my parents. I was always very devoted to my family and I don't regret it, because they needed my help. So finally I got them to move here to Poland and be with me. And this is where they died; they are buried at the Jewish cemetery.

As soon as it became possible, I started visiting Dzisna. Dzisna today is a place like no other. The entire city hasn't changed much. There are still World War I ruins there. Our house isn't there any longer, because it was wooden, there were fires, others were pulled down for firewood. There are no synagogues either. There are two buildings left, one used to be a bakery, there are some warehouses in the second one. The rest has burned down.

I was there some two or three years ago last time. Because I made a promise to myself, there, next to those graves [of those who were murdered] that I'd go there for as long as I could. So we went there many times. The Belarusians treated us well, they walked with us. I was very touched. They take care of the graves. The schools do it, the city council too. Especially now. Earlier this help wasn't needed as much, because several Jewish families were living there. But there haven't been any Jewish families around lately, so the authorities make sure this is done. People from Israel go there as well. The mayor of Dzisna was even invited to Israel. The Belarusians know about the Jewish residents of Dzisna mostly from stories, because there aren't many left of those who remember themselves. When I go there, they always wait for me. They've never treated me badly. So I'm moved by this.

I am in touch with the [Jewish] community [in Lodz] nowadays. I go for prayers, if my health allows me to, of course. I started going there after I retired. There used to be communities before that, I used to go there for holidays, but I didn't like the atmosphere that was there. But after my wife died, the situation changed. I didn't know what to do with myself. I was all alone. At first I would go to visit my brother, then come back. My brother lives in Vilnius. And so, slowly, I got used to it. And everything started reminding me of my childhood home. It was a traditional, Jewish family. And I like this Symcha [Symcha Keller, the leader of the Jewish Religious Community in Lodz], because he's such a kind person and always tries to hold everything together. I've gotten used to it and I feel well there. It's my life now.

I can tell you one thing [about my attitude to religion]. I never used to be particularly pious, but I believe in tradition. Not just in Jewish tradition. I respect all kinds of traditions in the world. When I was in the Russian Army I used to meet the Tatars, the Kalmyks and the Kazakhs, these different nationalities. And the Polish religion, or the Eastern Orthodox one, I accepted all these traditions and I was interested in them. I always respected them. And I always lived well with people.

So I was never really religious, but if my grandparents did it and my parents did it, then why should I keep on doing it. Well, I know about it more or less. I sometimes used to call it 'stories, fairy tales.' I was interested in that. And people don't know anything about it, about the Bible and there are such wise things there.

Well, I don't really celebrate the holidays nowadays. If someone comes over to visit, then yes. I go there for Easter, bring some matzah, but we don't go through all the rituals, because it's a tough religion. For someone who had never come in contact with it, it would be something unthinkable to have three sets of pots in the kitchen. Knives, forks. And you can't eat butter in the same dish you use for meat. And then there are these 'parewe' [parve] dishes, these neutral ones.

My wife is a Catholic, but she's not too religious. I don't mind it. Well, she sets up Christmas trees for Christmas. She has granddaughters, they invited us for Christmas Eve. Why should I not go? I've come in contact with many religions, not just Catholics. So I feel well here, I can say. And, well, if you've managed to live such a long life, then you should really thank God.

Glossary:

Alica Gazikova
Bratislava
Slovak Republic
Interviewer: Martin Korcok and Barbora Pokreis
Date of interview: September - October 2005

Mrs. Alica Gazikova is a very obliging and punctilious lady. Her life story is interesting also in the fact that it reveals Jewish life in five Czech- Slovak towns and cities (Pezinok, Bratislava, Zvolen, Banska Bystrica and Brno). Mrs. Gazikova's husband, Albert Gazik, actively participated in the functioning of the Jewish religious community in Bratislava up until his death in 1995.

My family background
My parents
Growing up
Our religious life
My school years
During the war
Post-war
My husband
Our daughters
Glossary

My family background

I can't remember my great-grandparents on my father's side, as even his parents died in the years 1934 and 1935, when I was six years old. My father's parents were named the Adlers and came from Pezinok. My grandfather, Ignac Adler, had a house in the center of town. A part of this house was also his general goods store. The house was very large, for the Adler family was also large: they had nine children. Because they had so many children, my grandma [Anna Adler, nee Berger] was a housewife. Back then women didn't go to work. The first floor of the house had five huge rooms. Besides my grandfather's family there were also two other families living there. On the ground floor there were four rooms for commercial purposes. The house was truly spacious and beautiful. But I remember these things only from recollections of my father, Arnold Adler. That house is currently around 400 years old, and is designated as being of historical importance. It has a very unusual facade. It's been renovated, but unfortunately no longer belongs to our family.

After World War I, as they say, still during the time of the First [Czechoslovak] Republic 1, my father's parents moved from Pezinok to Bratislava. It was on the cusp of the years 1918/1919. One of their daughters, Vilma Sebestyen [nee Adler], whose husband was a veterinarian, moved into their empty apartment. Besides them, a family by the name of Reisner also lived there, who rented the commercial spaces on the ground floor. They had a fabric business. A very poor Jewish family, the Lampls, also lived there. Mrs. Lampl sewed bedding and underwear, and Mr. Lampl made the rounds in surrounding villages and bought up animal skins. An older family, the Friedmanns, also lived there. Old Mr. Friedmann taught children religion.

My grandparents likely moved from Pezinok because my grandmother couldn't get over the fact that during World War I two of her sons [Jozef and Eduard Adler] had died at the front as soldiers. At which front they fell, I unfortunately don't know. That was the first thing, and the second thing was that approximately in the year that they moved there was large-scale looting in the town and their store was looted. So they bought a building in Bratislava, on Lodna Street No. 2, and as they say, they retired there. The building on Lodna Street stands to this day. The commercial space they left behind then fell to my father.

I almost don't remember my grandparents at all, as I've said, I was around six when they died. But for sure they weren't hyper-religious, and my parents weren't that religious either. I'm assuming that their mother tongue was German. Pezinok, otherwise in German Bosing, in Hungarian Bazin, had by my estimate about a 30 percent German population, which by and large concerned itself with cultivation of vineyards. Before World War II, Pezinok also had a very strong Jewish community. But there were also very many poor Jews. The poorer ones were, I'd guess, the more religious. There was also a class of richer ones. So I can say that we belonged to the richer ones.

Jews in Pezinok concerned themselves mainly with business. I'd say that we had the largest store, actually my father and his partner did. It was a store with general goods, that is, with groceries, and was named Adler & Diamant. Besides this retail store we also had a so-called wholesale business. That means that we supplied those groceries to smaller shopkeepers in surrounding towns and villages, and besides this we also had a mill right in the town. Back then they called it an automatic mill. An automatic mill means that it ran on electricity and not water. You know, back then mills were usually run by a water wheel.

My dear father, Arnold Adler, was born on 24th May 1895 in Pezinok, and had eight siblings. The two oldest brothers, Jozef and Eduard, died in World War I. Another of my father's sisters was Aunt Ema Adler, married Weider. She lived in Zilina and had two daughters, Olga and Ilus. Olga married a man by the name of Frankl and had one son, Alex, who was born around 1930. They all moved to England before the Holocaust. Ema's second daughter, Ilus, wasn't married. She lived with her mother in Zilina. In the year 1944 they deported them and they died in Poland.

Another of my father's sisters was named Tereza [Terezia], so Tereza Adler, married name Reichenberg. Her husband was named Bela, and they lived in Dioszeg what is today Sladkovicovo. They had two children. Their son was named Jeno. In 1939, together with his uncle Oskar, another of my father's brothers, he moved to Israel, at that time Palestine. There he married Edith and they have a son, Micki. He was born in 1944. Tereza's daughter was named Grete. Grete married a man named Klein. They had two children. They all died in concentration camps, their parents Tereza and Bela Reichenberg as well.

My father's sister Vilma had a husband named David Sebestyen, who was a veterinarian in Pezinok. Later they lived in Bratislava, and right before the deportations, in Zilina. They had two children. Lilly married Stefan Frankl. Her husband comes from Zilina. Lilly and her husband survived the war and in 1946 they had a daughter, Zuzka [Zuzana], who after graduating from high school moved to England. There she married a Czech by the name of Nesvadba. Lilly died in around the year 1988 in Zilina. Vilma's son was named Pavel. During the war they caught him together with his parents at the Zilina train station. From there they deported them somewhere. None of them survived the war.

Another of my father's brothers was named Richard Adler. His wife was named Malvina, nee Quittova. They had one daughter, Bozsi. When the Hitler era began, they sent her as a young girl to England, where she survived the war. She married a man by the name of Roubicek, by origin a Czech Jew. After the war they returned to Prague and had a son, Franta. After the Communist coup in Czechoslovakia, in the year 1948 [see February 1948] 2, they returned to England. After the death of Roubicek, her husband, Bozsi married a widower by the name of Seelig in Israel. She currently lives partly in Israel and partly with her son in England. Bozsi's parents, Richard and Malvina, died during the Holocaust.

Another of my father's brothers was Rudolf Adler. He was born around the year 1898. During World War II he lived in Sladkovicovo and Nove Zamky. During this time he married a widow by the name of Ella, nee Reichard or Reinhard. Ella had a son, Tomas, from her first marriage. Together with the little boy she died in a concentration camp. Rudolf, or Rudi, got married for a second time in Zilina, around 1947, to Erna. Erna was from Poland and came to Zilina because of her brother-in-law, Pista [Stefan] Braun. Rudi died in 1973 and Erna in 1988 or 1989.

The last of my father's brothers was named Oskar Adler. Before World War II he lived for a long time in Germany. After the year 1933, when Hitler seized power, he came to Bratislava. In 1939 he left for Israel with his nephew, Jeno Reichenberg, where he lived up until his death. He married Ruth, who moved there still before the war with her aunt. They had no children.

My mother came from the Baumhorn family. My grandfather was named Bertalan Baumhorn, and was from Zilina, from a well-known family of bakers. He was born on 26th October 1867. People in the town still remember the family to this day. My grandmother was named Paula Baumhorn, nee Neudorfer. She was born on 11th June 1873. I'm not sure where exactly she was from, I think from Kezmarok. They settled in Zilina. My grandfather died on 22nd October 1904 at the age of 37, he was still very young. My grandmother became a widow with three children. As she didn't have a house of her own, she had to sell her husband's store. She put the money in the bank and lived off the interest. But my grandfather's family helped her a lot. So you could say that she and the three children lived modestly, but decently.

My grandmother was a person whom I loved perhaps most of all. And I can say, though it's unusual, that I put her in first place. No, the first place during my childhood years belongs to my father, then my grandmother, and only then my mother after her. Because my grandmother was fantastic. For the times she was a very wise, progressive and modern woman. I remember how she would discuss politics with my father. She had a fantastic rapport with children. She was simply fantastic. For example, I never wanted to eat soup, and she knew how to go at it with me. She would say, you don't have to eat, just taste it, and so she slowly taught me to eat everything. I was picky, but she changed me in this way that was acceptable to me.

Because we lived in Pezinok and my grandmother in Zilina, we couldn't visit each other often. But I think it was in 1934, when she moved to Bratislava, to live with her son Pavel, who was still unmarried at the time. During that time I visited her often. I spent my summer vacation with her, and she would teach me how to make preserves. She was simply an exceptional homemaker and very punctilious. She was everything to me.

My mother lived with my grandma in Zilina until she married my father and moved to Pezinok. My mother was born on 29th June 1899. As I've already mentioned, she had two siblings. Her sister was named Erzsi [Alzbeta Baumhorn]. She was born around the year 1895 and died very young, at the age of seventeen, of tuberculosis. She got it from some infected boy.

My mother's brother was named Pavel Baumhorn. He was born on 2nd October 1902 in Zilina. In 1937 he married Eva, nee Schwarz, from Pezinok. They lived in Bratislava and had a daughter named Viera. But they called her Junta. She was born in 1938. My mother's brother inherited half of a carbon dioxide factory in Bratislava from some uncle. He then ran the office in that factory. In 1944 they sent the entire family, together with my grandma, who lived with them, to the Auschwitz concentration camp. When they were conducting the selection, with women and children to one side, my grandmother took the child and thus saved the bride. That bride is still alive today: she's 88 years old and lives in Bratislava. My uncle's death was later described to us by one of his fellow prisoners. Before the war he weighed about 100 kilos, well, and in the concentration camp he shrank down to 50. He died during the transfers from one camp to another in a freight train. Besides Aunt Eva, who was born on 6th December 1917, they all died.

My father was born in Pezinok. He graduated from a two-year business school, likely in Bratislava, as there was no school like that in Pezinok before World War I. My father attended German schools, as his mother tongue was German, but he also spoke Hungarian and Slovak. Well, and my mother, though she lived in Zilina, attended Hungarian schools. I and my brother [Juraj Adler] spoke Slovak with our parents, but what language we spoke with my father's parents, that I don't remember any more.

My parents

My parents met each other in Pezinok. My mother's uncle, Mr. Neudorfer, worked in a brick factory in Pezinok, which in those days was a classy business. He had a beautiful company apartment there, and my mother would go visit him. That's where she met my father. They were married on 29th June 1922 in Zilina, as that's where my mother was from. I'm assuming that it was in the synagogue courtyard, but I don't know for sure, as my mother wasn't at all religious. In Zilina there was a large modern Neolog 3 community. Pezinok had an Orthodox 4 one. So my grandmother's family from Zilina didn't keep kosher. Because my mother moved to Pezinok, where there was an Orthodox community, she had to adapt. So we therefore kept kosher at home.

My father owned a store, several warehouses and a mill, together with his partner, Mr. Moric Diamant. They worked from morning till evening. Besides this, one day a week my father would make the rounds in surrounding towns like for example Svaty Jur, Raca, then still Racisdorff, and take orders from smaller merchants. Then they would deliver it all to them. Besides this they also had a small truck, a 1 1/2 ton Chevrolet, with which they would distribute the ordered goods. They of course employed a driver, and also an assistant driver. My mother and Mr. Diamond's wife, Frida, worked in the store itself. They were, as they say, the ladies behind the counter. They served customers, everything was still hand-wrapped back then, there weren't any packaged foods. Flour also had to be weighed. They were in that store from morning till evening. Besides them there was also one journeyman in the store. They also employed people at the mill. I don't know exactly how many of them there were. But they didn't pick workers only from among Jews.

Mr. Diamant also had a brother in Pezinok. He actually came to live there because of his brother. The Diamant brothers were from a very numerous family. They came from a village near Topolcany named Oponice. Here they made friends with my father and agreed among themselves that they'd reopen the store that my father's father had left him. Diamant had some money, my father had no money but an empty store. So they went into business together. They divided the responsibilities, and there was 100 percent trust between them.

Mr. Moric Diamant had a very unusual relationship with my father. They weren't related, they were only friends. We shared everything with the Diamants. The store was shared, the house was shared. Everything was shared, like for example coal, wood... Everyone took what groceries they needed from the store. Simply put, perhaps not even the best family lived like we did. We had everything half and half. The Diamants had three children: two daughters, Gerta and Liana, and a son, Zigmund.

My father, if I'm to be objective, as far as is possible, was the most fantastic person. I loved him terribly. He was very just. He had not even a speck of animosity in him. He was very tolerant and kind-hearted. I can't tell you anything specific about his political opinions. I do know, though, that my father was the only one of the siblings who didn't serve in the army. Because he took care of supplying the army, he was exempted from army service. I didn't like my mother as much. What I can say about her is that that she was a very good homemaker. She loved that store, it was everything to her. Simply put, she was completely absorbed by that store. Our household was very well-run and everything was in the utmost order. Nothing was wasted. And the only thing that I felt was that she liked my brother more than me. She didn't even hide it very much.

Growing up

My brother was named Juraj Adler and was born on 14th June 1923, in Bratislava. Five years later, on 4th February 1928, I, Alica Gazikova, nee Adlerova, was born. I was also born in Bratislava, on Telocvicna Street, at that time Zochova, but only because Pezinok had no maternity hospital and my mother didn't want to give birth at home. It was a small, private maternity clinic.

We lived in Pezinok, where my parents bought a house together with the Diamants. It stood across from a church and at one time there had been a restaurant in it. My parents renovated it a bit. We had a four and a half room apartment. Huge rooms. The dining room had Jugendstil furniture. Jugendstil, that's Art Nouveau. There was also a piano in the dining room. Then there was our parents' bedroom, that was the second room. The third room was our children's bedroom. We children together with a young lady, our governess, lived and slept in the largest, the children's room, which had at least 7 x 5 meters, two windows and two large double doors. One set led into the hallway and the second into our parents' bedroom. The furniture was white with black trim. Also Jugendstil. The most beautiful was the stove, a so-called American one, with little slate windows at the front and sides. Heating with them was very complicated, so that's why our parents exchanged it for a normal cast-iron one. So much for romance. When the lights went out, and only the little slate windows were shining, our governess would tell us a tale, or about some event in her life. It was amazing to see that stove, or actually oven. It was very valuable. More than one nouveau-rich type would have liked to have such a thing in his multi-million crown house. The fourth room had a radio and an armchair. Then there was a huge kitchen, and one more small room where the cook slept. Besides the cook we also had a governess who slept with us in the children's room.

We had several governesses. The last one was from Opava. She graduated from a school, the kind that today nursery-school teachers attend. She was even from a very good family. Her father was a judge. His wife died, however, so she was a half-orphan. She was German, but not a Fascist. She was named Mitzi, but I don't know her surname. She took care of us, the children, and our upbringing. She slept with us, took us for walks, taught me handicrafts and so on. We had a good relationship with her. Then we also had a cook that cooked and cleaned. There was a certain rivalry between them. Because the young lady, she thought herself to be a little better, and the cook as something a little less.

We also went through several cooks, so that's why I don't remember them all that well any more. But I'll tell you the truth, that with us, as they say, they had it good. My mother was very generous to them. For example at Christmas, they would go home, and would always get a large bundle. Normally my mother would buy for them, if they were single, things for their trousseau: clothes, dishcloths and so on. So they had it very good with us. They could eat as much as they wanted and weren't limited in any way. In this respect there was no problem at our place. But they didn't eat with us. When they finished their work during the week, they could go out, and on Sunday they had time off.

Our religious life

We observed holidays in our family. But what for example my father very much regretted was that the store wasn't closed on Saturday. Normally, one would, as they say, 'fool' God, and that in a manner that the store was for all appearances closed, but things would be sold underneath the gate. And when the persecutions during the time of the Slovak State 5 arrived, he regretted that very much, because one way or another he lost everything anyways. My parents of course attended the synagogue. Father went on Friday evening, Saturday morning and on holidays. But normally during the day my father didn't cover his head. Jews have a custom that women attend the synagogue only on the high holidays. So my mother went only on those occasions. Sabbath was never observed much in our family. Only in that beforehand barkhes were baked, and our father, upon returning from the synagogue, would recite the Kiddush. For Saturday we would also prepare chulent, which would be taken across the street to the baker's, and on Saturday we would pick it up. Otherwise, my brother and I attended a public school, where there were classes on Saturday as well. That day we would go to school as usual, but we had an exception, we didn't have to write and draw.

I myself liked Passover the best, that was a holiday for me. It's a spring holiday, so I would usually also get new clothes. During this holiday you also have to change dishes. During this holiday you aren't allowed to eat leavened foods and bread is replaced by matzot. In the evening the entire family sits down at the seder table, which is set according to strict rules and those present speak about the significance of the Passover holiday. Back then schnorrers [beggar, the Yiddish term shnoder means 'to contribute'] from Poland would also come by, but they wouldn't sit down at our table. We weren't kosher enough for them: although we did have two separate cupboards in the kitchen, one for dairy products and the second for meat. We bought kosher meat, but even so we weren't kosher enough for them. Most of the time they would go into the store, and there my mother would wrap something up for them. I of course didn't participate in the housecleaning before the holiday. For Yom Kippur we of course fasted. Our parents were in the synagogue the whole day and we as children would also attend.

There was only one Orthodox synagogue in town. During the holidays you definitely had to pay for a place in it. That was like it is now. There was also a religious tax. That was set according to one's earnings. They knew people's income and it was according to that. We, of course, belonged to the richer ones. So we also paid a higher tax. But you understand, you have to take into consideration, that I really can't remember how much it was. Our rabbi was named Dr. Jozef Schill. He had a PhD. in theology. Otherwise his name is also engraved in the Jewish Museum [Editor's note: one of the rooms in the Museum of Jewish Culture in Bratislava serves as a Holocaust memorial room. One of its walls has a list of names of all rabbis from the territory of today's Slovak Republic that were murdered during the Shoah]. Now, he was religious to the point of bigotry. He was exceptionally, exceptionally religious and very poor. They had six children. One very handicapped child, it had the so-called English disease [English disease, or rickets: caused by a deficiency of Vitamin D, is a disease specific to childhood. Food intake can be a factor in its occurrence - insufficient intake of Vitamin D and also calcium and phosphorus]. Back then it was simply a disease caused by a lack of proper food and unhealthy living conditions. I think that he had three daughters and three sons.

One of his daughters was self-taught. She even prepared my brother for his bar mitzvah, which was unusual, for a woman to do this. She knew both spoken and written Hebrew. She taught me as well, but languages. At first German grammar, back then still in Schwabisch [Old German, or Suetterlin] script. To this day I can still write in Schwabisch. Last of all, she was also teaching herself English. One day a week she would come over to our place and give me English lessons. So those were my foundations of English. As well, one day a week I would have German with her. For that I would for a change go to her place. In this fashion she earned a few extra crowns.

I remember my brother's bar mitzvah very well. It was a grand event, a little humorous as well, Juro's [Juraj] bar mitzvah was. If I remember correctly, it was on 14th June in the year 1936, at least the closest Saturday to that date. As far as the religious aspects of this event was concerned, that was prepared by the daughter of the rabbi, Dr. Jozef Schill. I was eight years old at the time, but I remember everything. Of course this event couldn't take place in just any old way, the only son of Mr. Adler, not the poorest Jew in town, was having his bar mitzvah! In order for everything to be as it should, our entire huge apartment was repainted. The windowsills were painted, the apartment was renovated and furniture purchased. I know that we also bought new curtains and a modern writing desk. We used to call the living room the 'Radio-Zimmer' [German for 'radio-room'] in those days because it had a radio. Paradoxically, the living room was the smallest room.

So I'll return to the bar mitzvah. Now came the dilemma as to who to invite to this magnificent celebration. In the end they emptied out our huge children's room. In it were nothing but tables and chairs for about thirty or more people. The selection was very difficult, in the end it was announced in the synagogue that everyone's invited. The large shelves in the pantry were filled with cakes, barkhes and so on. On the evening before the big day the back then still numerous family got together for a celebratory supper. The culmination of the evening was a swan made of parfait, that's what today's ice cream was called. They brought it in a box packed with ice all the way from Bratislava, from some fancy restaurant. I can't remember its name. In any event it doesn't exist any more today. I didn't have anything of that delicacy, they sent me to bed early and in the morning it was all gone. Not everyone who came touched their food, because for some we weren't kosher enough. The next day my mother sent to those, who were mostly the devout poor, an envelope with money. The rabbi Dr. Jozef Schill also came. And for this reason he didn't even touch a glass of water.

In connection with this event there was suddenly a problem with Juro's clothing. Up to this time he had never had long pants. And because a bar mitzvah is supposed to show a man who has the obligation to uphold religious customs, his clothing was also supposed to be appropriate, that is, covering his body. Up to then in the winter he had mainly worn knee breeches together with stockings. But this also wasn't appropriate, because it was sports clothing, not suited to the occasion. In the end he had a dark-blue suit, but with short pants after all. God probably didn't care one way or the other, and the rabbi looked the other way.

We had good relations with the people in town. In the house that we lived in also lived the Diamant family. Besides this, in the back in our courtyard there was this tiny little apartment. Poorer Jews used to live in it. On one side of our house we had no neighbors, and on the other we did, they were old maids, teachers. All of them were German, but in those days that wasn't a problem. But there was no time for big friendships, because my parents were fully occupied. The closest family relations that my parents kept up was with the Sebestyen family, who lived in my grandparents' original house, as I've described. That was my mother's sister-in-law, my father's sister. Then my mother and her brother, Pavel, who had moved to Bratislava, were in touch. My father also had in those days two unmarried brothers, Rudolf and Oskar, who used to come visit us. So the family would meet up.

Our vacations were very limited, as my parents didn't have time for vacations. In those days it wasn't really the custom. When we did go, it was usually only with my mother. I remember only one vacation, when we were in Luhacovice [the spa town of Luhacovice lies in the southeastern part of the Czech Republic]. Back then people didn't go on vacation much.

My school years

My brother and I never attended nursery school. We had an educated governess. We'd go to the park with her, and when I grew up a bit, she taught me handicrafts. I began attending a Slovak public school. I started school in the year 1934. Now that was a big dilemma. In that single school building there was one German class and three Slovak classes. By this I mean first grade classes, and because I had a German governess, I spoke better German than Slovak. But in those days Fascism had already begun, so my parents immediately refused it and put me into a Slovak classroom. I don't want to boast, but I was a good student and I loved all subjects equally. We had an excellent teacher, Mrs. Maria Bencurikova. In the second grade Mrs. Bencurikova left to become a nun, and after the second grade we got this one teacher. He was actually a Czech by origin, or a Moravian, and knew how to draw beautifully. He was named Komanec. He was a fantastic teacher. I remember that he drew something very nice for me in my diary, which I no longer have.

When I was already attending school, my mother signed me up for piano lessons. My mother brought to the marriage one large piece of furniture, and that was a Viennese Bosendorf piano. I'm not familiar with the brands of those days, but it was really a first-class brand. The piano stood in our dining room. It was a large, black grand piano, its top decorated with golden lines and moreover decorated with beautiful mother of pearl. When the lid was lifted, inside there were wooden parts like for example a music stand and also flat candleholders that slid out, made out of beautiful white sanded, not painted, wood. At one time my mother's sister had played on the piano, and my mother a little as well. I rarely saw her play though, and for many years her fingers didn't even touch the piano.

But since there was a piano, and a daughter, me that is, it was necessary for it to once again be played. A piano tuner was called in, as I later learned, it was never possible to properly tune the piano, so even back then there used to be lemons. They took me to see Miss Edita Mikulikova, a piano teacher. Pezinok had no music school. Miss Mikulikova was an old maid. She lived with her mother, and her father had at one time been the mayor of Pezinok. She wore horrible hats and always had a bow tied under her chin. She had quite a few students. I don't even know whether besides her there was anyone else in Pezinok that taught piano. They bought me Bayer, that was beginner's music for piano. Then followed Cerny I and Cerny II and I began to learn. Back then it wasn't the custom to take off your shoes, there [at Miss Mikulikova's] you had to take off your shoes or galoshes, as the kids would have brought in tons of mud. Her mother, Mrs. Mikulikova, had the biggest joy not from the students' success, but when she could slander a student that had just left. The furniture was terribly old-fashioned, but covered in white sheets, mainly the upholstered parts, so that the sun wouldn't fade them. When a fly buzzed by, Miss Mikulikova would jump up, leave the piano be until she caught the fly and then stuck it into a flower pot. Apparently flies make good fertilizer.

OK, I've gotten a bit off track. I plinked, I plunked, but besides taking piano lessons, it was also necessary to practice. During the summer and fall everything was fine. My musical successes weren't above average, but beginnings were the same with everyone, so I didn't really stick out much in any negative fashion. As much as our piano stood in the dining room, which wasn't heated, and heating it just because of my playing the piano would have been exceptionally unprofitable, my musical career was put to an end. Miss Mikulikova was so angry at me, that when after the termination of our teacher-student relationship I met her on the street and said 'hello ma'am,' she didn't answer and sailed off in front of me with her chin in the air. That's how I ended up. And how did the piano end up? In the year 1952, when we were moving from Pezinok to Bratislava into a small two and a half room apartment at 47 Cervene Armady Street, before that and later Grossling Street, the piano wasn't moved, as it would not have fit into the small apartment here in Bratislava. My parents sold the piano for 4,500 crowns. A year later there was a drastic currency reform 6. Currency was exchanged at a ratio of 1:50, only regular savings deposits were changed at 1:5. So out of 4,500 crowns for the piano we ended up with, if I'm counting correctly, 90 crowns.

Anti-Jewish laws [see Jewish Codex] 7 began to appear when I had finished the fifth grade of elementary school. I went into the first year of council school, that was still normal. It was the year 1940 and then I commenced my second year of council school, and two weeks after the beginning of the school year they threw us out of there. In one word they told us that students of Jewish origin weren't allowed to attend. What did we do after that? The parents in Pezinok simply got together and found a teacher in Bratislava who commuted daily. He taught all the Jewish children from first up to eighth grade. Once every three months we then went to Zochova Street in Bratislava, where there was a Jewish school. There we wrote exams. This is how I studied for two years: seventh and eighth grade. What came after that, that's a different story.

During the war

In 1942 I got into a Protestant boarding school in Modra. That was already illegal. After I finished the eighth grade I was 14 years old. My parents arranged for me to be accepted into that Protestant boarding school. They accepted more of us Jewish girls, under the condition that we become Protestants. Since I wasn't, they quickly christened me and I spent two years in that boarding school, where they treated us well. There were about 20 of us Jewish girls there. That is, some of us left and there were also those that arrived. It was all organized by the local Protestant minister in those days, Mr. Julius Derer. He was the administrator of the boarding school. We attended school normally. The residence was on the upper floors, and the school was below on the ground floor. We of course couldn't move about outside of the boarding school. We couldn't show ourselves very much and communicate with the outside world. Not even any visits. We were hidden away there, but within the confines of the boarding school we moved about, were fed, studied. And we even got a report card.

For the two years I was at the boarding school, my parents stayed in Pezinok. My father had an exception, which protected him. [Editor's note: during the time of the Slovak State, there was a so-called Presidential Exception 8 and the Economically Important Jew exception; those were given to Jews performing work activities that weren't easily replaced. The father of the interviewee fell under the second of the aforementioned exceptions.] And you could say that we also had a decent Aryanizer [Aryanization - the transfer of Jewish stores, firms, companies, etc., into the ownership of another person (Aryanizer)]. What I can tell you about the Aryanizer is that he was named Jozko Slimak. His wife was a teacher. The strange thing was that she had some sort of Jewish origin, which no one knew about. Despite this, he was the decent one and she was quite devious. Well, she constantly wanted money and more money. But Mr. Slimak behaved decently. As an Aryanizer he had a quite difficult position in that every Aryanizer was allowed to take one of the former owners as an adviser, that is, one Jew. Here though there were two, because my father and Mr. Diamant were partners. Mr. Slimak didn't want to do either my father or Mr. Diamant any harm, and juggling between those two wasn't that easy. But how he managed to hold on to both of them, I don't know.

When I left the boarding school in 1944, my mother was very farsighted. She arranged a hiding place for our entire family in Pezinok with Mr. and Mrs. Zaruba. First we were hidden away in a room. One day they summoned Mr. Zaruba, the reason being that he and his wife live alone, childless, and have a two and a half room house. They needed to place a German officer with them. He didn't protest, so the German officer was moved into the room that we had been hiding in, and he moved us into the cellar. He was so generous that he didn't throw us out. So the German officer lived above us and we below him in the cellar. On the one hand, it was very secure, in that it would never have occurred to anyone that there could be Jews hiding where a German officer is. You can imagine that it was all very complicated and in the end he was fantastic that he didn't throw us our and hid us until the last moment: until the end of the war. Then we started to have bad luck. That's a story all in itself. A week before the liberation of Pezinok we had to leave there and in the end we found a safe haven in Pezinska Baba. One day there were still Germans there, and the next day the Red Army arrived, who liberated us.

Post-war

The fact that we had to abandon our hiding place a week before the liberation is a very complicated affair. The parents of Mr. Zaruba, with whom we were hidden away, lived in a neighboring village. And they were also hiding Jews, by coincidence our partners, the Diamants. We didn't know that they were there, and they didn't know about us. The son didn't know that his parents were hiding someone, and the parents didn't know that their son was hiding someone. His parents had a store in that village, a pub, fields and cows. Once, by coincidence, a German woman from Pezinok came to them for milk and saw the Diamants. She right away went and turned them in. The parents and children were hidden there. As soon as she informed on them, they came for them. One little girl was on the toilet at the time and the parents didn't say, "You know, we've also got a daughter." And that little girl was brought here by another of old Mr. Zaruba's sons. The man that was hiding us expected though, that when they discovered that there's a little girl missing, they'd go looking for her at his place. During the night Zaruba had to eliminate all signs of our hiding place. We had to leave. Mr. Zaruba loaded us into a car and drove us up to Pezinska Baba. There, there was this one cabin-dweller, Mr. Ossko. We knew him, as he used to shop in our store in Pezinok. He let us stay with him up until the liberation. They took the Diamants together with their son to Terezin 9. That was already near the end of the war, so they were in Terezin for only a very short time. They all survived. Their little girl Lianka and son Zigmund to this day live in Israel.

Zigo [Zigmund] Diamant was a very good friend of mine. We were friends from childhood and were better friends than when two girls or two boys are friends. He lived in the same house and we had a huge garden, and he was this 'thinker-upper'. He was always thinking something up. Even though his parents were quite religious, Zigo was modern. He liked hiking and camping. He could draw very well. After World War II he went to Banska Stiavnice to study at a school specializing in the timber industry. In 1949, after he graduated, their entire family emigrated to Israel. There he got a university education. In Tel Aviv he had an office with another friend, originally I think from Austria. They were interior architects and mostly did the interior design of buildings. For example they also worked on the Tel Aviv airport. Today he lives in Natania, near the sea.

The way we ended up at the Zarubas' place was that his parents had a store in Kocisdorf, today Vinosady. My father and Mr. Diamant supplied their store with goods. So somehow in this fashion we ended up with them. The Diamants ended up with his parents in a similar fashion. Everything happened independently, so that one didn't know about the other. I can even say that not even my mother's brother, not even her family, knew where we were. For the fact that they hid us, that family has also been registered among the Righteous Among The Nations. [Editor's note: the title Righteous Among The Nations is granted by Yad Vashem to people of non-Jewish origins that during World War II saved or helped save Jews.] Mrs. Zarubova was at that time only a year older than me. She still lives in Pezinok. We still communicate with each other, phone each other, visit. They saved us in very dramatic circumstances.

It's hard to say how many members of the Jewish community survived the war. My estimate is about ten percent. In 1949, well, that's only what I think, a wave of emigrations began. Whether the government gave people that wanted to leave problems, I don't know. I only know that when someone wanted to go to America, he needed a letter of invitation from there. That means that his family or friends that already lived there guaranteed that they'd take care of him financially and so on; basically that the person that's arriving won't become a burden on the state and won't ask for any government support. My best friend was named Magda Sproncova, now Gross. She lives in Israel, in Haifa. I keep in touch with her via letters and the phone. I also went to visit her, and by coincidence she had married a Pezinokian, who she maybe didn't even know before. He left for Israel with his parents already in 1939. She went there in 1949, first she was in a kibbutz for a year and then her parents and brother also arrived and he lives there to this day. Their parents have already died, but her brother lives there.

Luckily my parents survived the war, and my brother as well. At that time I was 17. We returned to our original apartment, where only a couple of things remained. Everything had been stolen, and I'll tell you, we started anew. My first concern was school. There was a commerce school in Pezinok, so I immediately registered. My classmates were already in second year, so I tried to as quickly as possible to learn what I had missed. I managed it, and in September 1945 I wrote the entrance exams and was accepted into second year. In those days commerce school had two years.

My parents once again began to do business in the store, together with their partner, Mr. Diamant. It was more or less distribution, for example of flour and sugar. We had warehouse space and so began to supply smaller stores with goods, flour, sugar and so on. They rented vehicles and that's how the goods were distributed. Later they nationalized it [see Nationalization in Czechoslovakia] 10 and in its place opened a Mototechna. [Editor's note: state-owned company with headquarters in Prague, founded in 1949; buys, sells and repairs motor vehicles and accessories.] My father then worked in it. His partner, Mr. Diamant, with whom he as they say cooperated, left with his family in 1949 for Israel. My brother got a job in Bratislava at the Gestadtner firm. Maybe it was a German company, or maybe a Jewish one, I don't know. They concerned themselves with copy machines and copy technology. My mother was a housewife.

My parents also intended to move to Israel. When my father's partner left in 1949, I know that we already had made a list of our clothing. At that time Pezinok fell under Trnava, there was some government office there, and I know that they even certified that list of clothing there. To this day I don't know why we didn't leave for Israel. It's hard to say whether I regretted it at the time. I began to regret it much later, really. Not until 1990, when I was in Israel for the first time, and met up with that girlfriend of mine, Magda. It was quite a bit later.

In 1952 we moved from Pezinok to Bratislava. We lived on Grosslingova Street. Later it was renamed to Ceskoslovenske Armady Street [Czechoslovak Army Street], and today it's once again Grosslingova. My father worked for Mototechna. Mototechna had a store in the Royko Passage, where they sold bicycles, sewing machines, and he worked there as the manager. My mother was at home, but here and there helped my father out in the store, because she enjoyed it.

My husband

I met my husband-to-be [Albert Gazik, born Gansel] by complete chance. At that time I was working at the Ministry of Food Industries on Vajanske Nabrezi, now the Tatrabanka bank is located there. He came there to see some colleague of mine on a work-related matter, she wasn't there and I was filling in for her, and that's how we met. My husband was of Jewish origin, but I don't know if that was a deciding factor in our relationship. Well, maybe there was some sympathy due to that. We had our wedding in Bratislava in an Orthodox synagogue on Heydukova Street on 9th September 1954. At that time there was still this one rabbi here, by the name of Izidor Katz. He later left to go abroad somewhere. The way it was in those days was that you first had to have a civil wedding, which was at the Town Hall, and then on the same day in the synagogue, the clerical wedding. Our wedding reception was at the Carlton Hotel. There weren't a lot of guests, 21 I think.

My husband's father was named Armin Herman Gansel and his mother Zaneta Ganselova, nee Reif. He also had a brother, named Jozef. Their family lived in Banska Bystrica. During the war Bystrica was the center of the uprising. My husband and his brother joined as soldiers of the Czechoslovak Army. They weren't partisans, but soldiers. As soldiers they captured them during the night in one cabin, I think that the place was named Kozi Chrbat. It was a cabin in the mountains. Someone betrayed them to the Germans, and they attacked them during the night, captured them and took them away into captivity. They were somewhere in Germany. My husband's brother was two or three years younger and wasn't as physically strong. He didn't survive captivity. My husband was very strong. My husband's parents survived the war hidden in the mountains somewhere, under very dramatic conditions, as it was horribly cold and they bore it very badly.

In my husband's family Jewish traditions were kept up quite a bit, as my husband's parents were from devout families. My father-in-law came from around Komarno and my husband's mother was from Topolciany. Before the war Topolciany had a very strong, devout Jewish community. After the war, though, they abandoned keeping kosher, but they observed all the holidays.

After our wedding, in 1954, my husband and I settled in Zvolen, as my husband was from Banska Bystrica and at that time worked in Zvolen. I found a job at the Central Slovakia Poultry company in Zvolen, and I was there for thirteen years, and for thirteen years we lived in Zvolen. I worked in the same place the whole time. It was a relatively prosperous company. It had plants outside of Zvolen as well. We served as the company directorate, and at one time I was the sales manager and then supply manager. I never became a member of the Communist Party [of Czechoslovakia (KSC)] 11. I was only in the ROH 12. My husband had to be in the Party, but not due to his convictions. His father was according to the views of the time a wholesaler, so my husband had to compensate for it somehow. Otherwise he would have had big problems finding work.

In the year 1956 my husband and I changed our name. Before, my husband had been named Gansel, and he changed it to Gazik. I became Gazikova. At that time I was expecting our first daughter, and that's how we decided. It was, as they say, in fashion. But I always said at work, but also everywhere else as well, that I'm of Jewish origin. I never hid it in any way. According to me that's the worst that can be, because in the end, they would have found out about it anyways. I always had good friends and they didn't make any exceptions, neither at work nor anywhere else. During that period, mainly in Zvolen, I didn't perceive anything. That's why I said in Zvolen, because you know, in a small town people aren't as rotten as in a big city.

In Zvolen in those days there was a small Jewish community. They were mainly older people. My husband and I used to go visit them. We associated with them, but otherwise, I can tell you, there were five families there. Older than we were, even then. Maybe only one younger couple and that was all. So basically one can't talk about some sort of Jewish community functioning in Zvolen after the war. In this environment we didn't observe holidays, only among ourselves in the family, but officially it wasn't possible. You know, at that time you had to also go to work. The community didn't even gather for holidays like Yom Kippur. Close to Zvolen lies Banska Bystrica, where there was a Jewish community, and a prayer hall. My husband's parents were also there, but we didn't go visit them for the holidays much either. My parents in Bratislava didn't keep kosher, but they did attend the synagogue and also observed the holidays.

My older daughter Eva was born exactly two years after our wedding [1956]. She was born in Bratislava. I went to Bratislava to give birth, because my parents lived there and I was with them for two months after giving birth, with the little one. Then we returned to Zvolen. My second daughter wasn't born until seven years later [1963] in Zvolen. I was on maternity leave for three and a half months both during the first and the second child. Back then that's how it was. Maternity leave was four and a half months. Of that one month could be taken before and three and a half after giving birth. In those days the job situation in Zvolen was so bad that no one dared extend it. So when one and then the other was three and a half months old, I went to work and left the child with a lady who was a complete stranger. I didn't have any family in Zvolen, so I had to find someone to take care of the children. But they took good care of them for me. Everything was fine.

My parents and brother, who lived in Bratislava, tried hard to get me to move there. But first my husband had to find work in the city. By coincidence one of his former colleagues roped him in to work with him in Bratislava. At that time they were putting together the head office of the Prior department stores. That colleague was a deputy, and he also promised him an apartment. Though a co-op one, the kind they were building in those days. That company, that is, those department stores, had four co-op apartments at their disposal. So an apartment had also been secured, as well as work. In 1967 we moved from Zvolen to Bratislava. My husband worked at the head office until he retired. As a pensioner he then worked in the administration of the Jewish Religious Community in Bratislava at 18 Kozej Street. For example he took care of kosher meat and its distribution. He issued documents when someone died and so on. He worked there until his death in the year 1995.

I have to say though, that life in Zvolen was quite good, though boring. Very quickly I found friends there. We would always spice things up a bit by going to Sliac. [Editor's note: the spa town of Sliac is in central Slovakia, in the Zvolen district. In 1970 it had 3286 inhabitants.] It was only a couple of kilometers away. We had beautiful walks with the children in Sliac. Then, in the Hotel Palac, there was a so-called 'tea at five,' though it was at 4 o'clock, and children could eat there too. So my husband and I would dance a bit there. My husband loved to dance very much. Later they built a chalet there. They had haluszky with bryndza [haluszky are somewhat similar to potato gnocchi, and are usually served with bryndza, a creamy sheep cheese] and the children chased each other about there. It was simply a beautiful place. During summer vacation we would go on holidays around Czechoslovakia. They were those advantageous ROH recreational activities. So we were for example for cultural recreation in Prague, all ROH. We were in the Krkonose Mountains, we were in Marianske Lazne [Marienbad] 13 around two or three times. In fact even for our honeymoon in 1954 we went on a ROH trip to Marianske Lazne.

My husband and I used to attend the theater. He had many friends. You know, I wasn't, as they say, the coffee-shop type. For example, later, when we were already living in Bratislava, my husband would meet every Sunday morning with friends at the Hotel Devin. We didn't choose our friends from only Jewish circles. We had both those, and others. Religion didn't matter. We had friends from work, from childhood. It was a mixed group.

During totalitarian times we didn't go abroad much. The first time I went abroad was to Balaton, around the year 1958. I was the ROH treasurer and as a bonus I got a holiday at Balaton. Once we were with our friends, that was probably in 1966, in Vienna, but for only about three days. The car we drove belonged to our friends. At that time we didn't have a car. They had this Skoda and they were these terribly meticulous people. They had everything planned out in advance. They also planned that trip to Austria, to Vienna. In the evening we went for a walk around Vienna and suddenly we came up to one display window that measured at least three meters. It was 10pm and the display window was full, full of gold, I don't know, rings, chains, and so on. When I got home, I pinched myself, whether I had been dreaming, or if it was true that such a thing existed. Because here, in those days, if a jewelers' got even one little pendant, people queued up. That's how it was, it's ridiculous, but it's true.

As I've mentioned, by husband's parents lived in Banska Bystrica. Around 1952 or 1953, I can't tell you exactly, there was this campaign, that they moved richer people, or people that had once been business owners, out of their own apartments or houses. During 48 hours they had to abandon their own house. This also happened to my in-laws. They had to abandon their own house and they moved them to Spania Dolina. Into horrible, horrible conditions. I can't be described. Into this one horrible house. A wet, moldy one. It had a kitchen and one room. But they had to live on something, so my father-in-law, that was during the time I was getting married, so in 1954, did shift work in the Harmanec paper mill. He didn't have a demanding job. He was in some electrical room and recorded from some gauges how much electricity was being used. But he had to do shift work, at night as well, and so on. What was also horrible, my husband's mother took the death of her son very hard, the one that hadn't returned from captivity. She had serious psychological problems because of it. My husband's mother died on 4th February 1967. They buried her in Banska Bystrica in an Orthodox cemetery.

In Banska Bystrica, a few months after the death of his wife, my husband's father met a former, very rich, resident of Bystrica, who before the war had owned a big distillery. He was named Lowy and he convinced him, which we didn't find out until later, to go to Brno, that there's a Jewish old age home there. He told him how fantastic it was there. That he'd even have kosher food. That he could even bring his own furniture. In Brno he'd be able to live a religious life, because there was a decent Jewish community there. Imagine that my father-in-law moved away without saying one word to us. In the meantime we had been looking for an apartment in Bratislava for him, because he wanted to be independent. Some one-room apartment, however with central heating. Well, you know, in those days it wasn't that easy. Back then you couldn't find an apartment just like that, like today. My father-in-law, without telling us anything, packed up his household and went to that old-age home in Brno.

It's true that there were many people similar to him living there. A certain Mr. Klimo lived there. Then some rich guy from Liptovsky Mikulas, who before the war had had a fur factory there. There were many well-known furriers in Liptovsky Mikulas, among non-Jews as well. So that old-age home in Brno was a gathering place for, as they say, high society. So he packed himself up and went to Brno. Then, when he was already there, my husband went to help him. But he arranged it all himself. So we began to go to Brno. We would drive there every third, fourth Sunday. We'd pick up my father-in-law and go out, for example to a restaurant. He was quite mobile, and also would come here, to Bratislava. Regularly for winter holidays, he was always here for two weeks. But you know, people slowly died off and the old-age home was transferred to the state. It wasn't even kosher any more, but at least they upgraded it a bit. They installed an elevator, which until then hadn't been there.

My father-in-law still felt great about being there. You see, he had at one time been a businessman. He'd had a textile and fancy goods store in Banska Bystrica. In Brno it was as if he'd returned into his past. He performed services for the old-age home residents. More or less in the fashion that in the morning he would sit down in the hall, and the residents would come to him, 'Please Mr. Gansel...' - that was his name - "...please Mr. Gansel, I need a postcard for someone's name day. And I need some toothpaste..." He'd write it all down and go into town and return with the things he'd written down. Then after lunch, at one o'clock, he'd sit down again and distribute it all. When there was a larger amount to be bought, he borrowed a car that delivered food to them from one larger old-age home. The load would be brought with that car and he'd be completely ecstatic that he was a businessman again. Always when he came to visit us, he'd show us his orders and was proud of it.

In Brno my father-in-law made a close connection with the Jewish religious community. He went there every Friday and Saturday, to the synagogue. When he died, in 1975, the official part of his funeral was in Brno: a very nice, very well done funeral, that my husband and I attended with the children as well. During the night the funeral service then drove him to Banska Bystrica and the next day they buried him in Bystrica, in the Orthodox cemetery beside his wife, with us in attendance.

Observance of holidays went without saying with my parents. My father attended the synagogue regularly. My mother also attended the synagogue; she had her own place there. After my husband, the children and I moved to Bratislava, we also attended the synagogue with my parents during the holidays. In those days Bratislava had a quite large Jewish community, because they were all moving here from the surrounding villages. So we of course attended. But my brother was quite distant from religion, already from childhood. He wasn't very religiously inclined. Despite this he married a Jewess. For a long time she couldn't get pregnant, but after thirteen years she finally succeeded. And then they had two nice and healthy sons. My brother died on 15th October 1989 in Bratislava.

We moved to Bratislava in August of 1967, and by the beginning of October I already had a job. I began in the Detva manufacturing co-op. [Editor's note: in the year 1948 Detva was socialized into the Folk Art Manufacturing Center. In 1953 it was transferred to the Slovak Union of Manufacturing Co- ops as a Folk Art Manufacturing Co-op. In 1973 Detva had 806 workers.] I was there the whole time, practically until retirement. While already of retirement age I transferred to another co-op, Univerzal. [Editor's note: the Univerzal manufacturing co-op was located in Bratislava. Its activities were in the sphere of electro-technical and metallurgical industry.] Here I also worked in supply. Finally I became the caretaker of my own grandson, Daniel. I took care of him for two and a quarter years.

Our daughters

Both of our daughters did very well at school. There were no problems with them. Both of them were straight-A students. The older one, Eva, began to take accordion lessons while still in Zvolen, but as they say, she didn't become a virtuoso, which she later regretted. Both had a talent for languages. After elementary school Eva attended high school and then graduated from medicine with honors. The second daughter, Viera, also went to high school and then studied economics at university. She became an engineer. She graduated at the age of 22, because in those days economics was a four year program. After university she devoted herself to the English language. For three months she studied in America. She then left to study for seven months in Melbourne, Australia and did two months of work experience with one renowned American company located in Sydney. That was far from all. For a certain time the University of Pittsburgh had a distance study program in Bratislava. Professors from Pittsburgh would come every second week to Slovakia to lecture, in English of course. She finished this school and was awarded an MBA degree. The graduation ceremonies took place at the City Hall in Bratislava.

Eva got married a year before she finished her university studies, in 1980. Her husband comes from a Jewish family. They were married in a synagogue in Brno. The synagogue was completely crammed full, I don't know how everyone found out about it. The wedding didn't take place in Brno due to the fact that my future son-in-law was from there, but because at that time there was no rabbi in Bratislava. There was this one here, by coincidence also Katz, who before had been in Dunajska Streda. Not that I didn't like him. But he de facto wasn't a rabbi, he only let himself be called that. I think that he was a shochet. In Brno Mr. Neufeld was the cantor. He also did the wedding and together with his two sons sang at the wedding. He was from Banska Bystrica, the same as my husband. They sang beautifully. What more, which is strange, the synagogue wasn't full of Jews, but non-Jews came to have a look. For around twenty years there hadn't been a Jewish wedding there, and everyone was curious. In those days there weren't too many religious activities going on in Bratislava.

When my daughters left home I didn't feel sad, nor did I regret it in some way. They weren't going out of the country, not even out of the city. Eva and her husband have two children: a daughter, Dagmar, and a son, Daniel. Viera didn't get married. She's a single mother. Not long ago she had a daughter, Valeria, and now she's on maternity leave. Both of my daughters were brought up in a Jewish family, so also in a Jewish spirit. I don't know what the younger one is doing now, but the older one, along with her family, is a member of the Jewish religious community. She even has some sort of function in the community, but I don't know what. She attends the synagogue, and even my son-in-law is from a relatively devout family. He isn't so much, but his father was very devout. My grandson Daniel is momentarily studying in Israel.

Viera and I see each other almost daily, she lives relatively close by. I see the older one, Eva, about once, twice a week. She's very busy in her work. But we call each other almost every day. What sort of a relationship do I have with my grandchildren? Well, they like me, but do what they want. In the end, they have their own lives, and I can't burden them, something like that.

How did I experience the radical political changes in 1968 [see Prague Spring] 14? The year 1968 affected everyone, even if not directly our family, but the atmosphere and so on. Of course a person was devastated by it, because already before 1968 t here had been a certain loosening-up in the air, at least it seemed that way. But in 1989 [see Velvet Revolution] 15 my husband and I regretted that we aren't younger. We can't enjoy ourselves as much, traveling for example. My husband would for example liked to have gone into business. You know, he had it in him. Maybe he was also saddened by the fact that he saw that none of our children have it in them. He would have very much liked to be in business.

The first trip after the regime changed was in April of 1990 to Israel. It was a four-day trip, there and back. At that time President Havel 16 was there. Two planes went. We didn't go with Havel, but in the other one. I traveled with my husband, our son-in-law and our younger daughter. I was enthralled by Israel. I hadn't imagined that it's that built-up. People are self-confident there. They don't have to be afraid that someone's going to discriminate against them due to their Jewish origins. Every country of course has its pluses and minuses. It depends on what eyes you look at it with. A minus is for example their relationship with the Arabs. That's not normal, and I don't know if it's at all possible to resolve.

Glossary