Travel

Marina Shoihet
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Vladimir Zaidenberg
Date of interview: March 2002

Maria Scherbo, my grandmother on my mother's side, was born in 1881. I don't know where exactly she was born but at the time when she met my grandfather their family was living in the town of Dashev. Avrum, her father, my great-grandfather, was a well-to-do merchant. Her mother's (my great grandmother's) name was Rieva. They had a big family. They had many children. Isaak, one of their sons, was killed by bandits in 1920, and Grisha, another son, happened to be in Poland during the Revolution of 1917 1. Later he moved to Romania and then to Paris. He died in Paris. Unfortunately, Grisha's grave was never found. I only know my grandmother's sisters. My grandmother was the oldest. The next was Rieva - she was born in 1883. Then came Fania, born in 1884 and Bella born in 1886.

Moisey Reznik, my grandfather, born in 1878, lived in the town of Stavische, Vinnitsa region. My grandmother was introduced to my grandfather at some big wedding. She was 14 and he was 17 years old. They were engaged and then corresponded for four years. My grandmother was not skilled in writing and she wrote her letters using a special letter manual. My grandfather grew up in a poorer family, but he studied and read more, he knew Hebrew, studied the Torah and could interpret the Talmud. He graduated from yeshivah. They got married when my grandmother was 18 and my grandfather was 21 years old. After the wedding they lived in Dashev.

My grandfather grew up in the forest and he rented an apartment in the more spacious outskirts of Dashev. Grandfather Moisey didn't have any business of his own and they were living with my grandmother's parents. He assisted my grandmother's father, but he didn't feel very comfortable about it. It took them a while to start their own business and have a household of their own. They were renting a part of the house, owned by a Russian family. Some noble family was living across the street from their home and my grandmother told me that when they were children they liked to watch what was going on in the yard of these people. There was music playing, and besides, they had beautiful equipages.

My grandfather's parents were not so well off. His father worked as an assistant accountant or an accountant at some timber merchant's company. The name of my grandfather's father was Nuhim Reznik, and his wife's name was Reizl. My grandfather had three sisters - Hontia, Sheva and the third one's name I don't remember. They lived in the woods not far from Vinnitsa. My mother loved to visit my grandfather's parents in the woods. She usually went there on holiday in the summer. They made a swing for her and she spent time there enjoying the fresh air. My grandfather's sisters had a great sense of music. They were friends with the family of that timber merchant. They had an opportunity to read interesting Russian and Jewish books. Besides, they knew quite a few arias from operas and my mother enjoyed their company very much.

Unlike the family of my grandmother, the family of grandfather Moisey was much more pious. They observed all Jewish laws and traditions, the kashrut and everything. My grandmother told me that she was having a hard time when his parents visited them. Dishes for dairy products were to be kept separately from those for meat products, and the food was to be cooked differently. Grandfather Moisey was a religious man. He knew the Torah and the Talmud, but he wasn't fanatically religious. There was no synagogue in Dashev, but there was a prayer house, where my grandfather went. Even my grandfather and grandmother's wedding was almost jeopardized by the order of my grandfather's father Nuhim to have my grandmother cover her hair with a kerchief, as was appropriate for a married woman. She had very beautiful hair and she couldn't accept this request especially as her own father never requested her to do this. She was very upset, but she agreed to do as she was asked and put on the kerchief. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and everything else.

She gave birth to five children. My mother Anna, born in 1900 was their first child. Her brother Israel was born a year and a half later. Grigoriy was born in 1904, Boris in 1910 and Emil in 1916. My mother was the only girl in the family, and she had four brothers.

My grandfather worked as an assistant accountant. He worked from morning till night. My grandmother stayed with the children but she always felt an urge to go to her parents' house (my great grandmother's Rieva). Her sisters were there and the house was richer. There was a big living room and the furniture was upholstered with dark velvet. There were curtains on the windows and a dinner table in the middle of the room. My great- grandfather was an intelligent man. He went to Germany or Poland to purchase the grain. He ground it at his mill and sold flour. My mother told me that my grandmother was an emotional woman. She was nervous and shouted at her children. She calmed down at the end of the day and became very nice. She dressed up, took her children and went to her father. And that was when the party began. There were many children in the family and the children were running around, the sisters were chatting and it was so much fun. Later in the evening my great-grandfather Avrum got tired of all this fuss and he said in Yiddish, 'Well, dear, you better take them all home now'.

Grandfather Moisey was dependent on his father-in-law in his work and he hated it. Around 1909 or 1910 he decided to start his own business and moved to the town of Gaisin. They had a very different life there. They had a little house. My grandfather found a partner and they ran a mill. Their life in Gaisin was better. They wanted to give education to their children. My grandfather thought that cheder didn't give a good education and they hired teachers for my mother. She had teachers coming to their house to teach her Russian literature, geography, history and German. She studied so until 1915.

Her brother Israel, or as we called him, Srul, studied with her. He was a very smart boy and they decided to send him to school. However, the exams to school were not easy and besides, it cost a lot of money. He passed all exams and was admitted to the school. He was 17 years old in 1918.

This was a time of pogroms. Their house was on the outskirts of the town. In case of an emergency people ran to their house thinking that the bandits would probably not reach this remote spot. And my grandmother always hid them all. One guy in town suffered from asthma and when he was hiding in their house, my grandmother always gave him some food and lumps of sugar, and begged him to make not a sound or cough.

There was one story, funny and sad at the same time. My grandmother was at home alone, and my grandfather took his revolver with him when going to work. People were allowed to have weapons then. All of a sudden some bandits came in shouting, 'Give your gold to us'. She got so scared that she kept saying, 'You just wait - there's gonna be a shot!'. She probably wanted to say that her husband was coming home and that he had a revolver. And then grandfather came in and shot from his revolver. The bandits got scared and ran away. One evening Srul went out and met a fellow student of his, a Russian guy. He started asking him who was at home at the moment and where they kept their valuables. Srul talked with him suspecting nothing and went home. Suddenly three people broke into the house demanding money and valuables. And Srul saw that acquaintance of his taking out his revolver and directing it at his father. Srul shielded him. The bandit shot his revolver and wounded Srul in his stomach. After the shot the bandits got scared and ran away. His parents called a doctor and took Srul to hospital, but it was a deadly wound. Srul lived for three or four more days and then died. This was a big tragedy for the family. It happened in 1918.

There were many pogroms at that time. My grandmother said that those bandits were mostly Petlura 2 soldiers. Once Petlura units occupied the town, got all men together and locked them in the sauna building threatening that they would burn them. Then the local rabbi and the Orthodox priest collected some money from the rich people and paid ransom for all the hostages.

Uncle Isaak, my mother's younger brother, went to Kiev to earn some money right after his wedding. Denikin's 3 troops were advancing then. He and his wife Polia left on a wagon trying to save their life. But they were stopped somewhere in the vicinity of Belaya Tserkov, robbed and brutally tortured. They threw uncle Isaak - his dead body - into a well. Aunt Polia had three wounds in her head, and they cut off her little finger on her right hand. Later the locals notified their family and brought aunt Polia, who had twins (fortunately they were staying with my grandmother) to my grandfather and grandmother. Later they went to identify the dead bodies and found uncle Isaak.

Before the Revolution, my grandfather and grandmother and their children lived in Gaisin. My mother entered the Burchinskiy private school in 1917 (this was an ordinary school for girls - they were from different families and of various nationalities). I would like to read a few lines, related to the Civil War 5, from my mother's diary.

'This is a hard time, a time of the persecution of the Jewish people and of gangs. Polish soldiers were shooting at us and we were hiding in cellars. Once mamma was baking bread in the oven. During the bombing she ran out of the cellar to go to the apartment to take out the bread. She put her life at risk. But it was scary to be starving. The Volynets gang killed 700 Jews in one day - for some reason they were taken for Bolsheviks. The gang came to Gaisin, got all men together and locked them in the butcher's store. My father was there, too - such was the order. The intellectuals of Gaisin - the doctors, the mayor and priests - collected some money to rescue the people. We found out later that the bandits wanted to pour kerosene onto this butcher's store and burn it down. The money rescued the people. Once at school during classes the Jewish girls were told to go home, because the situation in the town was troublesome. Imagine our feelings when we were leaving and the Russian girls stayed and continued their studies. Once schoolboys invited our girls to the ball. I was so excited to go there. I dressed up and curled my hair, my mother bought me thin stockings and beautiful shoes. But then papa came home and didn't allow me to go there. He was afraid that there might be aggression against Jewish girls. I cried so bitterly, I thought I would never forgive him. We were afraid of going to the theatre because of murderous assaults at night. People earned their living selling things, traveling on railcar roofs to Kiev and Odessa. Winters were freezing. Fania and Bella, my mother's sisters, were having a difficult life, as my grandfather had died and they had no support.'

There are a few lines in my mother's diary about the February Revolution: The February Bourgeois Revolution of 1917 was a big celebration. There was music playing and there was a military parade. Next came October Revolution. People made speeches in the square. The Jews were rejoicing.'

My mother said that the young people had great expectations from the Revolution. They hoped that the new authorities would treat Jews better and put an end to all their troubles. One of the main slogans of the communists was the equality and brotherhood of all nations and people. Jews firmly believed in this and had hopes for a better life. My grandfather and grandmother were far from politics and they didn't care much about these events. My mother told me that when she met my father he was a communist and she was very proud of it, as this was a modern thing at the time.

I would like to tell you about a tragedy in my grandfather's family. It happened after the Revolution of 1917. They had a good life until 1928. When collectivization 4 started it turned out that their children didn't have the right to study, as grandfather and grandmother were considered proprietors. Only the children of workers or peasants had the right to study. And they had to give up everything for the sake of their children. At that time a Soviet Jewish farm enterprise was organized in Nikopol, and they gave up their business and went to Nikopol. My mother was married by then and so was her brother Grigoriy. They all went to Nikopol. This was around 1928. They were living in Nikopol when grandfather Moisey found out that bandits broke into his parents, Nuhim and Reizl Reznik's house. Five of them - his father and mother, his two sisters and his grandmother - were in the house. They were all killed. This happened in 1929 in a town near Gaisin. My father went there immediately. There was blood everywhere in their house. They buried their dear ones. Only grandfather Moisey and his sister Sheva stayed alive from all their big family. My great-grandfather Nuhim, great-grandmother Reizl, aunt Hontia and the second sister (I believe, her name was Feiga), and the younger brother Tsyunia died.

My father, Pinhas Shoihet, was born in the town of Stavische on 1st September 1890. My grandfather's real last name was Sheihet, but he changed it to the more pleasant-sounding Shoihet. I know that my grandfather had something to do with timber. I think he was a forester. His children knew a lot about nature, went to the woods to pick mushrooms. This is not very typical for Jews. My father's family was very poor. My grandfather's name was Naum (Nuhim) and my grandmother's name was Rieva. She gave birth to many children. But they died one after the other.

My father's older sister Esther Eidelman was born in 1888. She didn't have any education and she never worked. She raised her children. Her husband Matvey Eidelman worked in commerce. During the war they were in evacuation. Esther died in Kiev in 1970. My father was the second child in the family. The next one was Henrih Shoihet, born in 1904. He died in 1932 from tuberculosis.

My father's next brother, Iosif Shoihet, was born in 1906. He was an invalid - he had one leg. He lost one leg during the Civil War - he jumped from a train to run away from some bandits. He finished trade school and then a technological institute. He worked as a planner. During the war he was in evacuation with my father's parents. He died in Kiev in 1978.

My father's younger brother Matvey Shoihet was born in 1908. He studied at the Kirov Military Academy in Moscow. He specialized in underground structure construction, and he became a professor and head of department at the Higher School of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Moscow. He was in the army during the war. He died in Moscow in 1983.

My father's parents were in evacuation in Mary, in the Mordovian Republic [in Russia] during the war. My grandfather Naum died there in 1943, and my grandmother Rieva died in Kiev in 1963.

My father had some education. He studied in cheder. He hated it, and he cried every time they took him there. There was a teacher in cheder that beat them all. Although my father didn't have a higher education he was very intelligent and read a lot. But still, when filling in a form he always wrote 'education: 4 years of cheder'. When he was 11 years old he went to work as a forester. He lived in a forester's hut. He started smoking when he was 14. He worked there until 1911. In 1911 he was recruited to the tsarist army. He was in service until 1914. At that time the service term was 3 years and he was about to be released. But World War I began in 1914. So, he was in the army until 1917. When the Revolution of 1917 started he was in Poland. The military were deserting the army and my father ran away from Poland and came to his home in Stavische.

There were various military formations and gangs - the Whites 6, the Reds 7 and the Greens 8 - roaming around during this period. At one moment, my father told me, the Whites got all men together and sentenced them to execution. At this point the Red Army occupied the village. The Red Army freed all men and took them to their military units. That's how my father joined the Red Army, although he didn't belong to any movement. There was a nice commissar in his unit, a Russian man. He was very intelligent and had a tremendous influence on my father with his communist ideas. In 1919 my father became a member of the Communist Party. He served in the Red Kazak units. Their regiment was staying in Moscow for some time in 1919. My father told me they were sent to the Opera as security guard. And he watched all operas that year. In the opera entitled Ivan Susanin he was always standing beside Shaliapin (the famous opera singer). He kept this memory for the rest of his life and he always loved opera.

In 1921 their Red Kazak unit was billeted in Gaisin. The military were accommodated in the houses of the locals. My father got accommodation at my mother's house. By that time my mother had finished school and entered the Odessa Medical Institute. She was visiting her grandfather's at Gaisin after finishing the first year of her studies at the institute. This was a time of terrible lack of food. Her trip was not safe and grandfather Moisey said that he wouldn't let her travel anywhere. So, my mother wasn't quite sure what she was going to do. She met my father at that time. He was 10 years older. My grandmother liked him very much and she decided to introduce him to her sister. My mother's brothers told me how much they admired my father. He rode on a white horse in his uniform, and always brought them some toys, let them sit on his horse, took them to the river and taught them to swim. He was admired by all the children.

My father liked my mother and he was spending much time with her. Their dates were very decent. When it was time to leave my father proposed to my mother to marry him in 1922-23 after he demobilizes. My mother was an ambitious girl and she told him that she wanted to go back to Odessa to continue her studies after the troubles were over. Nobody in the family suspected that there was something between them. After my father's departure they started writing letters to one another. Mamma says she was missing my father a lot. My father demobilized after some time and he got an assignment as chairman of the catering department in Berdichev. He came to Gaisin to my grandparents' house and said that he wanted to marry their daughter. He got very pale as he said this. They got silent for about five minutes and then my grandmother went to the kitchen to cook and bake for the occasion. They didn't have a chuppah, as my father was a very progressive man and an atheist and he even thought they didn't have to register their marriage. My grandfather Moisey said to him: 'Well, there are new rules and new laws. We live in a new state. And we must observe its laws. You will go to Berdichev to start your own life there. What you should do is to go to the relevant office and find out how they register marriages. You need to remember your wedding.' My parents got married on 26th August 1923 at the registration office in Berdichev. They didn't have a proper wedding, they just registered their marriage. We spoke Russian at home. My grandmother spoke Yiddish and so did my parents when they talked with her.

They rented a room from an actress of the Berdichev Jewish Theater. Mother told me that at that time Meyerhold and Mikhoels 9 and other theater troupes came on tour to Berdichev and they always went to the performances, as my father had a subscription. My father protected my mother form all hardships at the beginning, he even didn't want her to cook and they dined in restaurants. Later my mother realized that the fiesta was over and ordinary routine family life came in its place.

Their daughter Rosa was born in 1925. In the first years of their common life my mother did all the housework. They were better off than their parents, and they usually had my mother's brothers visiting them and my mother fed them up every now and then. My mother was very worried that she didn't continue her studies. But my father promised her that she would continue her studies later when their daughter was a little older and things became easier.

Later my father got a job offer in Kiev. In the early 1930s he became director of the Rosa Luxembourg Knitwear Factory in Kiev. He worked in this position until 1938. When they moved to Kiev they rented a small room (14 m2) in Nikolaevskaya Street in the very center of the city. They had a very happy life. My father was a sociable man, they often had guests - his co- workers and friends -, and they often went to see relatives and friends. But then my sister Roza fell ill all of a sudden in 1929. She had a splitting headache and they couldn't understand what it was. She had fever for three days in a row and the doctors' diagnosis was meningitis. She died within a week. It was a terrible tragedy. My father was busy at work, so he took it easier. But my mother was at home and she couldn't bear it. And then my father told her to go to study. He said to her that she was still young and that she always wanted to study. She had her graduation certificate and a certificate confirming that she finished one year at the Medical Institute. She submitted these documents to the Kiev Light Industry Institute and was admitted. She was a very good student and enjoyed studying.

Her parents and their children lived in Nikopol at the Jewish collective farm 10. My grandfather had heart problems after the loss of his parents and sisters. It became very hard for him to work. Grigoriy Reznik, their oldest son, got married in 1927 and lived in Astrakhan with his wife Hanna. There were two younger children: Boris and Emil Reznik. It was necessary to give them an education. At first they sent Boris to Kiev. He went to work at a construction site and entered the Rabfak 11. Emil was at the Jewish boarding school in Nikopol. Later my grandmother wrote my mother that all teachers said he was very talented and he needed to go on with his studies. My mother and father decided to have their parents and Emil move to them. The three of them joined my parents in this small room. They settled down somehow and got along very well. Emil went to work at the musical instrument factory when he was 14 and entered trade school. My grandmother helped at home and my grandfather got a job at the bakery. Once some big boss visited my father. He saw all these shoes in the hallway and when he entered the room he couldn't count all the people there. He said such living conditions were inappropriate for the director of a factory. Then my father received a two-room apartment, also with neighbors (two families) in Mikhailovskaya Street. When he saw this apartment, it seemed almost a palace to him. All of them moved into this new apartment. This was in 1934. In 1938 grandfather Moisey died.

When Kharkov became the capital of Ukraine, the Institute of Light Industry moved there as well and my mother left there to finish her studies. My father often went to see her at this town. After her very successful graduation she got an assignment to the Knitwear Headquarters.

This was during the Stalinist repressions [the so-called Great Terror] 12. Kleiner, a Jew, chief engineer of the factory where my father was director, was imprisoned, as well as Lemberskaya, secretary of the factory's party organization. The operations manager (her husband was secretary of the Kiev regional party committee) was also imprisoned. He was arrested before her. They had two children that were probably taken to a special institution for the children of the 'enemies of the people'.

My mother told me that my father seemed to be protected by the Lord. For some reason, the 'black crow' arrived during the night from Saturday to Sunday. [Editor's note: In the USSR and the Soviet satellites state security police used to come to arrest people and take them to prison late at night or at dawn. The black cars that the police drove were called 'black crow'.] And my father tried to go out of town on Saturday and Sunday, especially in the summer. Once he was sent to an international exhibition in Paris, France. He was the only representative from Ukraine in the delegation of the Soviet Union. They made special suits for all members of the delegation. My father came to Moscow and it turned out that he wasn't on the list, for some unknown reason. He was very upset and returned home. About a year later he found out that all of those who were in this delegation had been imprisoned. That he was safe was a mystery. Some people even thought that he was either a traitor or had some ties at the NKVD 13. In 1939 he got promoted to the position of head of the Knitwear Headquarters.

I was born on 15th August 1939. My coming into this world was a great event for my family and all those around them. My mother says that she received baskets of flowers. They also brought me knitted clothes (from the Knitwear Headquarters).

My mother's brother Boris worked at a construction site and became a Komsomol 14 member. Unfortunately, he didn't study. There was a campaign then called Komsomol members into commerce. And he was made director of a store in Kiev. He was dating a girl - her name was Sonia. She was 18 and an orphan and she lived with her sister. Once my mother came home from work and saw Boris and Sonia sitting at the table. There was a bottle of wine and some snacks on the table. They said to my mother, 'Come, sit down and have a drink with us'. My mother did so.

Some time passed, and my uncle Boris was recruited to the army. He served in the vicinity of Moscow. Then one day a letter came from him. He asked his mother to let Sonia move in with them, as living with her sister's family was very hard for her. So, Sonia moved in with us. And then it turned out that on that day, when they were sitting and drinking, they got married, but somehow they didn't want to tell anyone, although nobody would have been against this marriage. After Boris returned from the army they had a son called Garik. He lived for 8 months and died, either from angina or diphtheria. At that time uncle Boris (he was director of the store) rented a room, and their family left our house.

My mother's brother Emil entered the Footwear Technology Department at the Light Industry Institute. He met his future wife there. She was Russian. Her name was Zhenia Zhaboyedova. He married her and moved to live with her and her parents in their apartment.

Grigoriy married a Jewish girl, Hanna, in 1927. They went to Astrakhan after their wedding because her family had moved there. Uncle Grigoriy became a photographer and worked as photographer there. Their son Romochka was born in 1929. He lives in Berezniaki, close to where we live in Kiev. Before 1941, the beginning of the war, all relatives on my mother's side lived in Kiev - only uncle Grigoriy was in Astrakhan with his family.

The war began on 22nd June 1941. Uncle Boris was summoned to the army almost immediately. Uncle Emil was in the army in Vladimir-Volynsk at this time. His wife Zhenia was in Kiev, and Boris's wife (she already had a second daughter, Marochka) was also in Kiev. My father was mobilized to evacuate the Ukrainian knitwear industry. Before his departure, he told us to get ready to evacuate. My mother and grandmother, two daughters-in-law, my cousin Marochka, Lilia, my father's niece, and I got on the train. The train slowly went to Kharkov. There was a bombing there and we had to change trains.

My father was in Poltava [350 km from Kiev]. He left on the last train, after he evacuated the knitwear factory from there. My mother was at a loss. She didn't know in what direction we should proceed. Then they decided that Astrakhan was too far away for the Germans to cover, and that they should go to my mother's brother Grigoriy. This was the right decision. We went to our family, and they met us, and accommodated us nicely. Uncle Grigoriy was working. We didn't know anything about Boris and Emil. We were especially afraid for Emil, because at the beginning of the war he was in Vladimir-Volynsk, close to the border. The Germans occupied this town at the beginning of the war. My grandmother used to go to the trains that brought the wounded military, and she kept asking, 'Have you seen Reznik? Have you heard of Reznik?' We stayed for about two months in Astrakhan, and then my father got a job as director of the stocking factory in Chimkent, in Kazakhstan. He came to take us there. The three of us went with him: my mother, my grandmother and I.

In Chimkent we got accommodation in a small house on the factory site. My mother wanted her daughters-in-law to join us, and aunt Sonia and Marochka and Zhenia arrived within two or three weeks. The Germans were advancing. Uncle Grigoriy was recruited to the army. Aunt Hanna stayed in Astrakhan with Romochka. Later they joined us in Chimkent.

Eleven of us occupied two rooms in this house in evacuation. I'd like to say we all had wonderful relationships that were an example for us for the rest of our lives. Although our father was director of the factory, we didn't have enough food. My mother said we ate meals from flour and water and cooked some local turtles. My grandmother went to the market to exchange things for food. She first tried to get a few lumps of sugar for the children. Aunt Sonia worked as a cashier and my mother worked in the planning department at the factory. Zhenia worked as an accountant. Those were very hard years, but people always got together at our place for a cup of tea. We girls recited poems and sang songs. We knew all the wartime songs. My children also know them. We like these songs.

Then we heard from Uncle Emil. The Germans encircled his unit. He was a tank man. He drowned his tank and they were moving at night. It was a miracle that he got out of the encirclement and joined our army. He came to Chimkent for a few days and then he finished a tank college in Sverdlovsk and stayed there to lecture at the college. After the war Emil (and his family) lived in Kiev for many years, he taught at the Kiev Tank College. He died in 2000.

Uncle Grigoriy was in the vicinity of Stalingrad and lived through all the horror and hell of Stalingrad. [Editor's note: The Battle of Stalingrad took place in WWII between Germany and the Soviet Union. The Soviets turned the Germans back at Stalingrad between 1942-43.] He was shell-shocked and then he got spotted fever. After the liberation of Stalingrad he was demobilized and came to stay with us. On his way he repeatedly got spotted fever. He arrived in 1944 and he looked absolutely terrible. We kids remember him collecting crumbs from the table to eat them. He had hungry eyes, but he felt very shy about eating. It took him some time to recover, and he left for the town of Mary with Aunt Hanna and Roma. His friends lived there and they helped him to find a job. They lived there until the end of the war. After the war they lived in the Soviet Republic of Kazakhstan for about ten years and then returned to Kiev. Uncle Grigoriy died in 1983.

Uncle Boris was wounded, but went through the whole war, and finished it in Austria. He came to Kiev to pick up his family in August 1945. Boris was awarded the Red Star Order. He served in our army in Romania until 1947. His daughter Sveta was born there. Their family returned to their small apartment in Kiev, where they had lived before the war.

After the war Boris worked as director of a store. They lived a difficult life because of their terrible living conditions. They had a 16m2 room. His wife's sister (she'd lost her husband to the war) and her daughter were living with them. She was mentally ill and couldn't work. There were six of them living in this small room. The children went to school. Uncle Boris had a very stressful job, his wife Sonia was very ill and didn't work. It was worse than hell. Uncle Boris came back from the war a different person. He had been a jovial man before the war. But after the war he became very nervous, everybody irritated him, even the children. His older daughter Marochka cried sometimes saying, 'Why did you come, I'd rather live with Uncle Pavlusha'. In the late 1950s they received an apartment. It was a small apartment in a Khrushchovka 15, which had a small kitchen, shower, no bathtub, and a small toilet. But they were all so happy. Boris died in 1972.

We returned to Kiev in April 1945. When it was liberated, my father submitted requests to the authorities to be allowed to return to Kiev from Chimkent. The climate in Middle Asia did not agree with him. He started having problems with his heart. But he was only allowed to leave after they found a replacement for him. We traveled to Kiev via Moscow. My father was an official and he was supposed to obtain a job assignment in Moscow.

In Moscow we stayed at the place of my father's brother, Uncle Matvey. I remember my impressions of Moscow. I was too young when we left Kiev and I didn't remember it. Our life in Chimkent was very poor, and Moscow seemed to me an incredible fairy-tale. My father and I went to visit Kleiner, his former chief engineer. He was an old type specialist, one of those pre- revolutionary technicians. He graduated from an educational institution in Germany. He was arrested in 1937 [during the Great Terror] but was released soon after. He didn't want to come back to work at the factory so he went to Moscow. His son lived in Moscow. When I saw their apartment in Moscow - the cupboard, dishes, a piano and curtains on the windows - I thought it couldn't be true.

My father got an assignment as director of the Rosa Luxembourg factory, same as before the war, and we went to Kiev. Unfortunately, our pre-war apartment was occupied by the head of the militia unit, and my father realized that no documents or evidence would be enough to get this apartment back At that time Zhenia, uncle Emil's wife, lived in Kiev and worked as instructor of at a district party committee. She lived in a two- room apartment. She let us one of her rooms and we lived there. My father went to work. But in August a former neighbor came and told us that the militia official got an assignment to another town. My father had things arranged at the executive committee and we moved into our pre-war apartment.

My father was director, my mother didn't work, my grandmother was taking care of the housekeeping, and life seemed to be nice and wonderfully beautiful. However, in the late 1940s my father had a feeling that things at his work were becoming more complicated. District and regional party committees and the ministry were constantly finding fault with his work. My father stayed at the factory day and night. One afternoon we had a phone call when we were sitting at the dinner table. My father had an infarction. This was the first alarm that work became more difficult for him. My mother and I went to take him home - he wasn't taken to hospital. My father submitted a request to the ministry to find another position. At this time the first knitwear shop was to be opened in Kiev. My father was involved in its organization and became its director. He put a lot of effort into the construction of this shop. He invited a good architect and went to Moscow and Riga to find out about business. When this shop was opened it became an elite shop. They tailored dresses and shirts and underwear. It became very popular. My father tried to satisfy the requirements of the wives of the party officials.

Then, in the early 1950s, they started finding fault with him again. Some high-standing lady bought a piece of underwear in the shop and came back the next day to return it. My father explained to her that she couldn't return underwear. She sniffed scornfully and said to him that he would be sorry for refusing her. Some time later my father was summoned to the district party committee, and they accused him of absolutely incredible things. They decided to expel him from the Party. This was a directly anti- Semitic action. My father was so taken aback that he couldn't say a word in his defense. There was a worker from the Arsenal Plant [the Arsenal Camera and Optics Plant in Kiev] at that meeting. And, when they were voting to expel my father from the Party, he said, 'Look here, what are we doing? He became a party member before we were born!' My father was reprimanded and fired from work. But he couldn't accept it. He kept writing complaints to the authorities in Kiev, Moscow, to the local and central offices. He suffered even more from getting this reprimand than for losing his job. Actually, our family didn't have any means of existence. My mother went to work and worked in the clothing department until she turned 63. My father struggled for the truth for four years, but then he calmed down. Later he received a personal pension, as he was an old Bolshevik (it was a sufficient amount for that time) and stopped thinking about work.

My father understood very well that it was an anti-Semitic campaign. But he thought that Stalin didn't know anything about the repression in the 1930s or the anti-Semitism of the early 1950s. My father thought there were no real communists and that people joined the party to make a career. Communist ideals were sacred for him until his last days. He was sure that the Soviet government did much for the Jewish people and used to say, 'You should have seen the poverty in which Jewish people lived before the Revolution'. My mother's opinion was different. She thought Jewish people had a better life before the Revolution. However, she accepted his opinion - mainly because she was in love with him and thought that he was always right. Basically, he was the ideological leader of the family.

After Stalin's death my father's friends returned from prisons. They told us about the horrendous years they spent there. My father didn't have a moment's doubt about his friends' innocence.

The first one to return was Alexeyeva. She had been operations manager at my father's factory. She was Jewish and her husband was Russian. When she entered our house my mother didn't recognize her. She was wearing some awful jacket and boots. She had been somewhere in Siberia and had only survived because she had worked as a housemaid in the home of the boss in their prison. This was all hard to imagine. My mother told me what a luxurious life they had lived before the war. When my mother saw her she burst into tears, and so did all those standing around. But Alexeyeva was a courageous woman. Her priority was to find her children. She never found her daughter. But she found her son living in Uzbekistan. She was allowed to live in Ukraine, but not in Kiev. She went to Cherkassy with her son. She corresponded with us. When my father died she wrote that he was a decent and honest man.

Then Lemberskaya, the party unit secretary of the factory, returned. She went to live in Chernigov. But she was affected by the years spent in prison. She became mentally ill and was put into a mental hospital in Kiev where she died.

In 1946 I went to school. I also attended a music school. About 30% of our class was Jewish. I never felt that the non-Jews treated us differently. There was only one unpleasant episode in the music school. I was in the 2nd grade at music school. I was to perform at the summary concert in the conservatory. I was to play the Dancing Piece by Berkovich. And then, my teacher told me that I was not approved to perform at the concert. She said it was because of the title of the piece that I was to play. I was aware of anti-Semitism then and I understood well why this piece by a Jewish composer was not approved. I had a wonderful teacher - Sophia Gelfand, a Jew. Almost all teachers at the music school were Jewish.

I finished school in 1956. I had all A's and only one C, on my certificate. My documents were submitted to the municipal education committee to approve my receiving a silver medal. But all of a sudden the authorities issued a decree that a medal could be awarded only to those pupils who had no satisfactory grades during their study at school. In our register for the 9th grade they found one satisfactory mark in physics and my name was not approved for the silver medal. That was when I directly faced anti- Semitism.

I submitted my documents to the Construction Institute. I passed the written test in mathematics with an excellent mark, then composition with a good mark, and the next was an oral test in physics. I answered all questions, but the examiner gave me the lowest grade. We had an acquaintance working in the military faculty at this institute and he told my father that Jews were not admitted to the institute. My father managed to find me a position as apprentice in the design department at the Darnitsa silk factory. It took me over an hour to get there. I also attended a preparatory course to the Extramural Institute of the Textile and Light Industry. They had an affiliate in Kiev, but then they moved to Moscow and I finished it in Moscow. I became a mechanical engineer. I worked as a designer my whole life, but I didn't enjoy it.

My father died in 1969. My grandmother, my mother's mother, died the same year. My mother reached an old age with a sound mind. She died in 1995.

My personal life is quite happy. I met my husband Leonid Fishel, born in 1937, at the institute. We got married when we were 4th year students. Leonid was raised in a very intelligent Jewish family in Kiev. The family of my husband's parents was not religious. His father worked as a chief engineer at one of the greater plants in Kiev. He died there in the 1960s. His mother was a home-maker, she lived to a ripe old age and died in 1988. His younger sister Sonya left for Israel in the 1970s and lives there with their two children and grandsons. Leonid worked as an engineer in light industry enterprises. We have two nice children.

Our older son Timur was born in 1962. He finished school in 1979. We understood that it was impossible for a Jew to enter a higher educational institute in Kiev. We were afraid that he would be recruited to the army. At this time it was all very scary because of anti-Semitism and terrible attitudes. I took him to Tallinn, Estonia. He entered the Energy Department of the Polytechnic Institute there. He got married in Tallinn. His wife's mother is Estonian. Her father is Lithuanian. She has Poles, Russians and Lithuanians in her family - any nationality, but Jewish. When Timur studied in Kiev he had Ukrainian, Jewish and Russian friends. He didn't choose his friends by their nationality. In Tallinn he had mainly Jewish co-students. He has a very good sense of music. He sings songs in Yiddish. He even gives concerts in Yiddish. He receives invitations from the Kiev Jewish Cultural Center and gives concerts there. This year he took part in the festival of Klezmer music in Evpatoria [in the Crimea].

Timur has two children - a son, Mark, and a daughter, Tatiana. Tatiana studies at the Jewish school. Timur goes to the synagogue and celebrates traditional Jewish holidays at home. But I can't say that he's a religious man. He just identifies himself as a real Jew. His wife has no objections. She thinks that each person must live the way they think is right.

Our second son, Pavel, was born in 1971. He was a talented boy. He studied music and then began to draw. He was good at both but he chose drawing. He studied at a studio and had private teachers. Then he decided to enter the Republican Art School, although they didn't admit Jews. In 1990 (after perestroika began) Pavel entered the Theatrical Department at the Art Institute and graduated from it successfully.

When he was studying at the art school, Pavel got interested in philosophy and religions. He started buying books by Russian and other philosophers when he was 13 or 14 years old. He started from the Christian religion and then turned to Judaism. My husband and I are atheists and it seemed strange to us. In 1994 Pavel was circumcised and took the name Pinhos in my father's honor. Nowadays Pavel studies Hebrew. He goes to the synagogue and celebrates Sabbath. We also became interested in Jewish life along with him. My husband and I read Jewish newspapers and attend the Jewish charity center, Hesed. It's a pity that it took us so long to start identifying ourselves as Jews. I say my prayer on Friday and light a candle. We try to observe kashrut. Unfortunately we have never been to Israel, but I hope that we shall go there one day.

Well, it so happened that our children introduced us to the Jewish life. We didn't have it when we were young. Regrettably, Jewish traditions have not been kept in my family and in my husband's family. We were always Soviet people, atheists. We couldn't tell anybody that. Now we observe Sabbath and the Jewish holidays. In the Soviet Union this was forbidden and persecuted by the power. Literature on these subjects wasn't allowed to be published and we weren't allowed to hear anything. But if I'm honest, I didn't really want this. Now it's different. Everything is available. Different Jewish societies have opened, synagogues - and this is splendid! And I like it.

Glossary

Ruth Laane
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: October 2005

I conducted this interview with Ruth Laane at her home. Ruth is a slender lady of medium height. She has nicely cut black curly hair with gray streaks. One can feel her innate intelligence and gentleness. Ruth is quick witted, and I enjoyed talking to her. She lives in a nice three-story house near the Kadriorg town park in a picturesque corner of Tallinn. Ruth works as an editor in a publishing house. She is very busy at work. I appreciate her finding time in her busy schedule to tell me about her family. Ruth knows the history of her family back to her great-grandfathers.

My family history
Growing up
During the War
After the War
My family life
Glossary

My family history

I know very little about my father's parents, the Mendelevs. They lived in Tartu [about 170 km from Tallinn], Estonia. They came from Riga, Latvia. I don't know how they happened to move to Tartu. All I can say is that my great-grandfather, my grandfather Samuil's father, had five children. Three older children lived in Riga and the younger ones lived in Tartu. My grandfather, Samuil Mendelev, was a dentist, and my grandmother Sara-Haja, nee Iljon, was his wife and a housewife.

My grandmother's father, Itzyk-Ruven Iljon, was a rabbi in Riga, though I don't know, in which synagogue. There were several synagogues in Riga. My great-grandfather's wife's name was Rivka, nee Feldman.

My grandfather and grandmother were born in 1882. They got married in Riga on 10th September 1908. They had five children who were all born in Riga. Their older daughter Sophia was born in 1910. Their second daughter Ella was born in 1911. Their son Alexandr, my father to be, was born in September 1913. Another son, Roman, was born in 1916. Their daughter Pesse, the last child, was born in 1922.

My father's parents spoke German and Estonian in the family. My grandmother was a genteel lady. She spoke fluent German and French. She was raised on French novels. My grandmother and grandfather were very religious. It was natural for my grandmother, who was a rabbi's daughter, but my grandfather was also committed to observing all Jewish traditions. For some time the family was wealthy. From what I know their material situation got worse at some point of time. I don't know why it happened, but it did. Perhaps, the reason was that their younger son Roman grew ill. There was something wrong with his lungs. He had to stay in hospital for long periods, and it required doctors' advice and medications that all cost money.

My father's older sister Sophia married Yacob Gelbart, a doctor. She and her husband settled down in Piarnu. I don't know for what reason Gelbart changed his surname to Karmi later. Their only son Guidon-Ruben was born in 1939. Sister Ella was married to Shmuel Zlaf, a well-known doctor in Estonia. Zlaf was a neurosurgeon. He was assistant to Pusepp, an outstanding Estonian neurosurgeon. Pusepp was one of the founders of neurosurgery in Estonia. Ella and her husband had two children: daughter Juudit, born in 1937, and son Gill, born in 1939. The Zlaf family lived in Tallinn.

After finishing the gymnasium my father entered the Medical Faculty of Tartu University. During his studies my father joined a rightist Jewish students' organization. I don't remember its name. Mama mentioned it to me, but at that time her stories were no more than the past that was never to come back to me. Therefore, I didn't go into details. All I know is that there was also a leftist Jewish students' organization, and there were frequent fights between them. Mama told me that my father had his nose broken in one of the fights right before his wedding. There were such political storms at Tartu University.

I know much more about my mother's family. I'll start from my mother's father's family. My grandfather's father, that is, my great-grandfather Teviye Korobov, was a soldier in Nikolai's army 1. Recruits served 25 years in Nikolai's army. After their service was over, the tsarist government took care of them. They served in the army while their age mates learned vocations, got married and built their homes. Former soldiers, being about 40, had to start from scratch. Therefore, the government gave them plots of land, money, licenses to start a business to their liking and pensions. There were other benefits and they equally covered Jewish soldiers. For this reason my grandfather was given permission to live in Narva beyond the Pale of Settlement 2.

They say Teviye was handsome, strong and tall. In Narva, Teviye built a house and a forge and became a blacksmith. He got married and had children. I know nothing about my great-grandmother. They had four children. I don't remember the name of the oldest son. My grandfather Iosif Korobov, born in Narva in 1879, was the second child. Then there were two daughters: Jenny and Haja-Dusha. I don't know Jenny's date of birth, but Haja-Dusha was born in 1883. Jenny died young.

My grandfather's older brother emigrated to France probably at the end of the 19th century. He lived in Paris. We tried to find him through the Red Cross after World War II. My grandmother's sister Greta Gringut, who lived in Switzerland, also joined in the search, but we failed to find my grandfather's brother or any of his family. He must have perished during the occupation of France.

My grandfather's sister Haja-Dusha married Leitman, a Jewish man. I don't remember his first name. Estonia belonged to the Russian Empire then. Haja- Dusha and her husband moved to Saint Petersburg, Russia. Haja-Dusha's husband was carried away by revolutionary ideas and was a Bolshevik 3. He took part in the revolution in 1917 4. Later he became a party activist. My grandfather Iosif was trained in the vocation of a hat maker. It was easy to travel abroad at that time, and my grandfather went to his brother in Paris to master his craft. There he met Sara Brauns, my grandmother to be.

My maternal grandmother's father lived in Vindava, today's Ventspils [about 150 km from Riga] in Latvia. His name was Moshe-Wulf Brauns. My great- grandfather was born in 1846, though his place of birth is unknown. He was married to Haja, born Klein. I don't know where or when my great- grandmother was born. My great-grandfather was a hat maker. He was known for his cheerful character and was everybody's favorite in the family.

There were seven children in the family: daughters Greta, Bertha, my grandmother Sara, Yetta and Hansa. After Hansa the only son, Nathan, was born, and after Nathan the youngest, Amalia, was born. Grandmother Sara was born in 1885. I don't know her sister and her brother's dates of birth. My great-grandparents were very religious, and it could not have been different at the time. They also raised their children in a religious way. They also received secular education, but I don't remember any details. They spoke Yiddish and Russian in the family.

The children grew up and moved to other towns and countries. My grandmother's sisters got married. Greta, the oldest sister, married Gringut, a Jewish man. I don't remember his first name. Their only daughter's name was Juliette. Greta's husband developed tuberculosis and his doctor told him to move to Switzerland for medical treatment. They moved to Davos in Switzerland. At first they thought it wasn't going to be forever, and they would come back after Gringut recovered, but they happened to live in Davos for the rest of their lives. Greta passed away a long time ago. Juliette died in the early 1990s.

Bertha Kazerovich and her husband Yacob lived in Ventspils. Yacob was a tailor and Bertha was a housewife. I know nothing about her. All I remember is that she had a son, whose name was George. He moved somewhere. Nobody knows where, and there is nobody to ask about him.

My grandmother's younger sister Yetta Markovich lived with her family in Paris. Yetta's husband's name was Jacque. Yetta had three children: Susanne, Raymond and Giselle. Yetta and her younger daughter Giselle and her son perished during World War II. Her older daughter Susanne was the only survivor in the family. Susanne's daughter Irena Shpelling lives in the United States.

Hansa married Nathan Kreizburger, a Jewish man from Ventspils. They had two sons: Isaac and Haim. Hansa's family lived in Ventspils. My grandmother's brother Nathan was married twice. His first wife Olga Auguston came from Ventspils. They left Narva for Riga. Nathan had two children, daughter Bertha and son Samuel, from his first marriage. Olga died in Riga in 1928. Nathan then married Yetta Breiz. They had one son in this marriage. They lived in Riga.

My grandmother's youngest sister Amalia Abramovich and her husband Moisey moved to the USA. Amalia had three children: son Jack and daughters Rosa and Norma. Amalia lived a long life. Her daughters and her son and their children live in the USA. Neither my mother nor I knew them, and we did not keep in touch with her.

Sara, my grandmother to be, decided to become a bonnet maker. Bonnets were popular with ladies, and bonnet makers were overloaded with work. Those, who had training in Paris, were particularly popular. Paris has been the cradle of haute couture at all times and a bonnet from Paris was just like a dream. My grandmother's sister Yetta Markovich lived in Paris, and my grandmother decided to go to Paris to have training in the vocation. She met my grandfather to be there and they fell in love with one another. They got married in Paris. It goes without saying that they had a traditional Jewish wedding, both of them having come from a religious family.

In 1908 their son Philip, and in 1913 their daughter Marcel, my mother to be, were born. After my mama was born, my grandfather started feeling desperately homesick. He insisted on leaving Paris for Narva where his father lived. So my grandmother, grandfather and their two children moved to Narva in 1914 before World War I.

I don't know where my grandmother and grandfather lived after they returned to Narva. They opened a shop in Narva. My grandmother also worked. They worked very hard and finally managed to get better: they bought a house and opened a store. They were quite wealthy. My grandfather was a very kind person and helped people. Some of them took advantage of it. My grandfather's acquaintance asked my grandfather to help him. He had some problems with debts or bills. My grandfather signed a bill at his request, actually acknowledging that he owned a factory that he had nothing to do with. This kindness turned against my grandfather and against the whole family, but I'll talk about it later.

There were three gymnasia in Narva: an Estonian one, a Russian gymnasium for immigrants since there were many Russian immigrants escaping from Bolsheviks, and a public Russian gymnasium. Mama and her brother Philip studied in this gymnasium.

Mama told me there was no anti-Semitism in Estonia. Life was quiet and Jews were well respected. When Estonia gained independence 5, the government allowed Jews a Cultural autonomy 6. Jews were treated justly in the Russian gymnasium where Mama and Philip studied. There were religious classes. Children belonged to different religions, and had individual classes. Religious classes for Jewish children were conducted by a rabbi. Jewish children were released from studies on Jewish holidays. All children got along well and also had friends from the Estonian gymnasium.

Mama told me that those were Russian immigrants that brought anti-Semitism into everyday life. Anti-Semitism has always existed in Russia. Mama told me that her brother Philip was a kind person. One day Philip was walking along the street, when he saw an old Russian immigrant woman feeling ill. She fell, and Philip rushed to help her stand up. The old woman opened her eyes and said, 'If it hadn't been for zhidy, Russia would still stand.' This was how she thanked him. However, only Russians could speak up such things. There was no anti-Semitism on a public level.

Once my mother, her friend and I were talking about this time, and they told me that life was very quiet and hasteless and that each of them knew his or her place in it. For example, Jews could not serve in officers' ranks. There were no Jews among professional officers. Also, Jews could not hold official positions. However, they all knew that Estonia went through a hard time. It was a young country, and it only started rising on its feet: the First World War, and then the war for independence of Estonia 7, the war on two fronts. After Estonia became independent it started supporting the emergence of its own Estonian intelligentsia, and this was well understood.

As for any other ways, they were open for Jews. I only heard warm feedback about life in independent Estonia at that time. I think there was still some anti-Semitism in everyday life in Estonia. I've thought a lot about it. I believe the Cultural Jewish autonomy and the situation when all national communities were rather segregated, had its part in it. Estonians, Russian and Jews lived their own lives. The less you know about the life of others, the more space it leaves for guesses, and the worse relations are. There must have been some demonstrations of anti-Semitism, but my mother or grandmother never mentioned it.

Mama's brother Philip went to Riga to study to become a dental technician after finishing the gymnasium. After finishing his studies Philip returned to Narva. However, he failed to start his own business and helped Grandfather to work in the store. Philip was not married. He was very much in love with a girl. It never came to the wedding since the Great Patriotic War 8 began. Philip was everybody's favorite. He was a very kind and sympathetic person. He never failed to rush to somebody's aid. It's funny that one can tell that looking at Philip's photos in our family album. Philip was very fond of being photographed on or without any occasion. However, it was not because he was so much enamored with his own image. There was a photographer, a Russian immigrant in Narva, who was not quite popular in the town. Photography was the only craft that man had to earn his living, but he had hardly any clients and life was hard for him. Philip believed it to be his duty to support the man and visited him regularly to have his picture taken.

After finishing the gymnasium Mama was thinking of where she should go to study. She wanted to become a pharmacist and work in a pharmacy. Once she was offered a job in a pharmacy in Pösse, a small Estonian town. Mama accepted the offer. My father was a student of the Medical Faculty of Tartu University. It happened so that my father decided to work during summer vacations and the place was the very pharmacy in Pösse. This was where he met my mother and they fell in love with each other.

I don't remember where they got married, but I know they had a traditional Jewish wedding. My father was to go back to continue his studies, but he did not want to leave his young wife behind. There was no extramural department for medical students at the university, and my father went to the extramural Legal Faculty. After the wedding my parents settled down in Narva. My grandparents owned a house. They leased apartments in the house, but my parents rented an apartment in the house across the street from Mama's parents.

Before I was born my parents also lived in Kemeri for some time. My father worked as an accountant there, but I'm not sure this is correct information. Some time later they returned to Narva. I was born in Narva in 1938. I was the only child in the family. My parents gave me the name of Ruth.

My great-grandfather Moshe-Wulf Brauns, my grandmother's father, died in 1932. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Narva. My great-grandmother had died long before. I don't know when. They were buried in accordance with Jewish traditions.

Growing up

We were quite wealthy. My father was the only breadwinner, but this was sufficient. He had rightist attitudes like his parents. Uncle Philip was a leftist, but he did not belong to any parties. He sympathized with the poor and miserable people. I remember my father and Philip arguing till their voices became hoarse. I don't know the subject of their disputes, but I remember them for a different reason. We had a very beautiful dog, the pet of the family. When my father and Philip started shouting, the dog became desperate trying to understand who was hurting whom and kept tossing from one to another barking loudly.

My uncle was a great supporter of the Soviet Union and admired the principles of the Soviet regime: equality, internationalism and fraternity of all people. This was all he heard about from Soviet newspapers and radio programs. He had never been to the USSR and could not have his own opinion. When in 1940 Estonia became Soviet 9, Philip was probably the only one in our family who was happy about it. The rest of the family, my parents and my mother and father's parents believed it to be inevitably evil. There was nothing to be happy about, and it was impossible to help it.

During the War

It goes without saying that Soviet authorities confiscated my grandfather's shop and store. Besides, the bill that my grandfather had signed one day played its role. My grandfather had never seen the factory and was just a stooge, but for Soviet authorities he was a factory and a store owner, a bourgeois and an enemy of the people 10. Mama told me that people had been arrested before overall deportation 11.

My grandfather had no doubts that this was going to happen to them. He had his belongings packed to avoid the hustle when the time of arrest came. They expected arrest each day. Mama told me they had such a vague idea about what was happening in the Soviet Union or where they were to be taken to that my grandmother did not dry any bread or store any food products to take with them for the road. She made a cake every day, and they ate it, and then grandmother made another cake. It never occurred to them to buy any tinned food.

However, for some reason our family was left alone. Deportation took place on 14th June 1941, when about 10,000 people were deported from Estonia. Whole families, including elderly people, children, handicapped and ill people were deported. Men were sent to the Gulag 12, and women and children were exiled to Siberia. A week after the deportation, on 22nd June 1941 the fascist German armies attacked the Soviet Union.

My father and Mama's brother Philip insisted on our evacuation. Despite their continuous arguments, they solidly stood for it this time. They believed it was mandatory to leave and this issue was no subject of discussion. By the way, the reason for the confrontation of my father and my uncle also disappeared shortly afterward. My uncle Philip was mobilized to the army, and after he crossed the Russian border, he wrote us a letter. Fortunately, Philip understood that it was no good to write openly about his impressions, and he diplomatically stated that he would never argue with Alexandr again, which meant that he was disappointed with the Soviet regime.

My grandfather and grandmother Mendelev stayed in Tartu. I heard many versions of the reason for their stay, but there was one common thing about them. Everybody said my grandfather was eager to leave, but not my grandmother. My grandmother did not know Russian; she had been raised on German and French novels and spoke fluent German and French. It probably never occurred to her that the Germans might be worse than the Bolsheviks. The majority believed so, and the deportation in Estonia strengthened their position.

Our family had a note from my grandfather Samuil where he still mentioned that there was a possibility that they might evacuate. My grandfather knew we were up to evacuation and was asking us to find them. Something that convinced them they should stay must have happened at the last moment. They said that his teacher and peer Pusepp promised Doctor Zlaf, Aunt Ella's husband, that he would manage to protect Zlaf and his family, and they stayed. There was Zlaf, his wife Ella and two children, daughter Juudit, born in 1937, and son Gille, born in 1939, my grandfather and grandmother, their son Roman, their younger daughter Pesse, who was 19 then.

Later we were told that Roman was trying to escape and was seen in the south of Estonia, where the track of him was lost. Roman perished somewhere in the south of Estonia. The rest of the family perished in Tartu. I have no memoriam left of them, not a single photograph. There are a few of Grandmother's letters, and a picture of my father's sister Pesse, just a picture of her. It was the only thing I managed to find. I started looking into the history too late, and I know so very little of them. I don't even know how they looked.

My grandfather, grandmother, mama and I evacuated. Marusia Arefieva, my grandparents' former maid, also joined us. Marusia was nice and tidy, and my grandparents were kind to her. They trained her in the hat making craft, and Marusia was doing well. She learned the trade, got married and followed her husband to Kivioli. However, she remained a devoted friend of our family. When she heard that my grandparents were evacuating, she left Kivioli for Narva and evacuated with us.

I have vague memories of our trip. We settled down in the village of Makhali [about 2000 km from Moscow] in the Ural. My father and Uncle Philip were regimented to the army on the first days of the war. However, they were not sent to the front line forces. Stalin had no trust in nationals of the republics that had recently been annexed to the Soviet Union. They were sent to labor camps 13 in Siberia. It was not far from the place we were at, and my father visited us once on leave. When the Estonian Corps 14 of the Red Army was formed, Estonians from labor camps joined it. In 1942 my uncle Philip and my father joined the front line forces.

We survived thanks to my grandfather. He joined a hat making crew in the neighboring village. My grandfather went to work every day. Marusia gave us a lot of moral support. She always had a smile and a comforting word for each of us. She also worked in the crew and protected Grandfather from whatever harsh words. Fortunately, Mama was good at knitting, and she knitted hats for villagers and they paid her with food products.

We were very lucky with our landlords. The newcomers were accommodated in local houses. We were accommodated with a good steady family. They did not drink vodka or speak curse language. The only person speaking curse language in our household was me. I can't remember the language I started speaking in my childhood, but in evacuation the language I spoke was the obscene Russian language. All members of the family were busy, and I spent a lot of time with neighbors' children in the stable yard. I learned to swear from them, and even adults were confused by the language I spoke. My relatives did their best to make me stop swearing, but that was of no avail.

My grandfather's younger sister Haja-Dusha lived in Leningrad after she got married. The family did not keep in touch with her. She was a Soviet resident, and correspondence with relatives abroad was dangerous for her and her husband 15. The family heard from Haja-Dusha on rare occasions, and only after 1940 the communication was reestablished. Haja-Dusha divorced her husband, a party activist.

In 1937, during the party cleanup [see Great Terror] 16, my aunt's ex- husband was sent to the Gulag on the Kolskiy Peninsula in the far north of the USSR. Though Haja-Dusha had divorced him some time before, she was exiled as a 'member of the family of an enemy of people.' However, she returned to Leningrad shortly before the war. Haja-Dusha survived the blockade of Leningrad 17, buried her second husband, and joined us in Makhali village in 1943, when she somehow managed to get our address. Since then she lived with us till the end of her life. She had no children and was a lonely person.

Later she lived with her brother until she finally moved in with me. I remember her arrival to the Ural. I remember a woman stepping across the threshold scaring me stiff. My grandfather and his sister were dark-skinned with very beautiful and bright brown eyes. So, I saw a skinny woman with very dark skin that looked almost black. She had absolutely gray hair with the distinguished dark burning eyes. She really looked horrible. I recovered my posture later, but my first impression was horrible.

Haja-Dusha made her appearance at the very height of the fight of all adults with my wordings. Having lived in the USSR for a long time she was not so much disturbed about it. Once in a conversation I told her what in my opinion should be done to her and my aunt commented 'Well, you know, this isn't so bad, actually.' This comment struck me dead, and I gradually quieted down. In due time I forgot the language, but when we returned home from the evacuation I spoke the Ural dialect and obscene language.

I wouldn't say we were starved in evacuation. At least, I don't remember being starved. Of course, it is to my grandmother's credit. She was an excellent housewife, and could make delicious lunch from nothing and was very efficient. She watched it that we managed to make do with what my grandfather, Marusia and Mama were earning. The villagers were kind and nice to us. Our landlady had two sons, a little older than me. Her husband and older sons were at the front. She had a cow. There was hardly any food to feed the cow, and it gave little milk. The landlady was happy, when she managed to get a liter of milk. She gave milk to her sons and me, and I always had more than they did, being younger and a girl.

My father and Uncle Philip wrote us letters from the front. My father spoke poor Russian, but he also wrote letters in Russian. If he had written them in Estonian, the censorship would have kept them longer. His letters would have been kept till there was a free Estonian censor, since only censor stamped letters were allowed for release by mail. Uncle Philip wrote to Grandmother and Grandfather in Yiddish.

My father and Uncle Philip died during the liberation of Estonia before the very end of the war. Philip died a horrible death. He belonged to the marines to be landed on Saaremaa Island to fight the Germans. The boats dropped the marines and left, and all of the marines were actually killed point-blank. There were few survivors. My father exploded on a mine and was buried on Saaremaa Island. We received the notification of my father's death, but Uncle Philip was deemed missing.

After the War

When we heard that Estonia was liberated, our family started preparations for returning home. We still had hopes that Uncle Philip would come back. Our landlords wanted to convince us to stay, but we left.

From evacuation we were taken to Kivioli. There were barracks left from a former camp where all those returning from the evacuation were accommodated. This was a quarantine period. To return home we needed a letter of invitation, but there was nobody to send it to us. None of our Estonian kin had survived. My father's parents and their younger children, my father's sister Ella Zlaf and her family were dead. My father's older sister Sophia Karmi and her son and husband, who used to live in Piarnu, were dead. We only have confirmation that she was shot, but there is no archive information about her son and husband.

My grandmother's sister Hansa Kreizburger, her husband Nathan and their sons Isaac and Haim stayed in Ventspils. They perished during the German occupation. My grandmother's brother Nathan Brauns, his wife Yetta and their younger son died in the Riga ghetto 19 during the German occupation of Latvia. Their younger daughter Bertha was in the ghetto and in a few German concentration camps, but she managed to survive. After the war Bertha moved to Israel. She lives in Tel Aviv. She has two sons and grandchildren. She is doing all right. Her brother Samuel died during the war.

Narva was nothing but ruins and we could not possibly go there. Our house was ruined. We had no idea how much longer we were to stay in Kivioli. And then Mama ran away to Tallinn. She found a job as a secretary. She had no lodging and slept in her office. Thanks to an acquaintance of hers, mama received a two-room apartment and then we could join her in Tallinn. Then the former owners of this apartment returned. Of course, they could have thrown us out of the apartment, but they were nice people and accommodated us in a little room. There were five of us sharing this room, and I just cannot imagine how we all fit in there.

Later my grandfather found two rooms in a shared apartment 19. Mama stayed in our former room, and my grandmother, grandfather, Haja-Dusha and I moved to the new lodging. It was better for Mama to live apart from us, since she might have been recognized as the daughter of Iosif Korobov, a factory and a store owner, and Mama had to keep it a secret for the fear of losing her job.

My grandfather went to work at a hat making shop. He actually made hats at home and took them to the shop. My grandmother helped him. The output rate was high and he would have hardly managed alone. They had a tough work schedule. They started work very early in the morning. It was hard work. They operated sewing machines making hats and then had to steam out the seams. It was physically hard, and my grandmother and grandfather were no longer young. They worked till lunch, rested for 30 minutes before going back to work.

On Friday, at the start of Sabbath they stopped work. My grandmother lit candles and prayed over them. They didn't work on Saturday either. After the war we no longer had specific dishes for meat and milk products like we used to before. It was impossible; we had no sufficient kitchen utilities to follow this requirement. Before the war my grandparents and parents followed kashrut. They celebrated Jewish holidays. My grandmother made matzah. I remember her making delicious egg matzah. My grandmother was a good cook. She was a very efficient cook, and we always had sufficient food. We managed all right even after the war, when the situation with food was tough. It is all to my grandmother's credit and her efficiency.

On Yom Kippur my grandfather and grandmother fasted. They did their best, considering the situation. The large synagogue in Tallinn burned down in 1944, but there was a prayer house that was called a synagogue. It was near my school. I remember when I was seven or eight years old, my grandmother and grandfather picked me up from school on Jewish holidays, and we went to the synagogue. Later, when I was a pioneer 20 and then a Komsomol member 21, I stopped going to the synagogue.

When we returned from evacuation, I only spoke Russian and did not know a word in Estonian. Our Estonian neighbors had two children, and gradually, playing with these children, I refreshed my Estonian. My mother and grandparents spoke fluent Estonian. However, my grandparents spoke Yiddish at home, and addressed me in Russian.

In 1946 I went to the first grade of a Russian school. Our classroom was huge. It was a former canteen. There were so many children in my class that they needed a lot of space. Many of them were overage because of the war. On the first day at school our teacher asked the children to tell her their year of birth and nationality. The Russian girl, my desk mate, asked me who I was and I said I was Jewish. Her face gained a scared expression and she whispered, 'Don't tell her!' She must have been in Tallinn during the war, and now she knew such things were to be kept a secret. She didn't mean to hurt me. Vice versa, she wanted to help. There were three Jewish children in my class. I never faced any anti-Semitism at school or observed any demonstrations of it towards other children.

I was a pioneer at school and believed everything we were told. I was a common Soviet child. I argued a lot with my grandfather and he was my opponent. My grandfather was trying to open my eyes, but I didn't let him. I remember always having a trump card. To all his attacks against the Soviet regime I replied that if it hadn't been for the Soviet regime, we would have stayed in Estonia during the war and we would not have survived. My grandfather surrendered under such argument and had nothing to object.

After the war, living in Soviet Estonia, my grandmother corresponded with her sisters living abroad. She corresponded with Bertha, her brother Nathan's daughter, living in Israel. She corresponded mainly with her sister Bertha Gringut living in Switzerland. She would have corresponded with more people, but during the Soviet regime this was dangerous for our family. However, my grandmother had no intention to refuse from this single opportunity to communicate with her sisters. Amalia sent her letters for grandmother to Switzerland, and then Greta resent them here. My grandmother corresponded with Greta in Yiddish. After Greta passed away, her daughter wrote us in German and Russian.

At that fearful Stalin's time Greta wrote such letters that the family was afraid that censors would pay special attention to them. Here is what she could write: 'When I was in elementary school, we had a teacher, who was an immigrant. The Bolsheviks executed him. What brutality!' Greta could also describe the life of one of the tsarist family, or that some noble immigrant opened a store, and she mentioned well-known names that caused anger with Bolsheviks since 1917. Greta described the White Guard immigrants. She probably did not understand that all letters crossing the USSR border were censored. However, we received her letters and nothing bad happened. Probably Greta's letters were so long that they tired censors before they read them to the end. Greta wrote 15-20 page letters on tissue paper. After Greta and Amalia died, this correspondence stopped.

The postwar period was hard and miserable, and we had no parties at home. We did not celebrate any religious holidays or birthdays. We celebrated my birthday at home, when I was in the 5th grade. Haja-Dusha told my granny that it was my birthday and we had to invite guests. This was the first time when two of my classmates came to my birthday. My grandmother made a bagel, but I saw how much effort it cost her. Now I understand my grandmother who had lost her relatives, her husband's relatives, her husband, her son-in-law, her son, and who lived through whatever hardships. My grandmother loved Philip dearly, so much, that she did not even dare to have his portrait on the wall. I have Philip's portrait now, but then it was kept at the bottom of a box. I noticed how hard these celebrations were for my grandmother.

I remember the Doctors' Plot 22 in January 1953. Now I wonder that this fearful period only lasted for two months. NKVD employees 23 managed a lot through this short period of time.... I was 13. I remember a meeting at school where students of our 7th grade held 'murdering doctors' up to shame. They made speeches saying what rascals those doctors were. I remember that one Jewish girl spoke even having no direction from the teacher. She also said how terrible this was.

My grandfather had many friends and acquaintances, and they often came to see him and discuss political news. My grandfather read newspapers, and could read between lines, which was common in the Soviet Union. He also commented on what he had read saying 'Well, if they write like this, this means...' He also liked listening to 'The Voice of America' 24 and other international radio stations that were forbidden in the USSR, and also discussed what he had heard.

I am grateful to my grandfather that all such discussions took place in my presence. Nobody feared that I could mention something that was not safe for my grandfather or his acquaintances. I think my grandfather did a lot for me. He planted the seeds of doubt in me, and he taught me to think and analyze. These seeds have grown out.

I remember 5th March 1953, when Stalin died. We knew about it from the radio news before it was time for me to leave for school. When my grandfather heard that Stalin had died, his face brightened with happiness. My grandfather did not work on this day as if it was a Jewish holiday. This was so very unusual that my grandfather stayed away from work on a weekday, which had never happened before. On hearing the news my grandfather rushed to see my mother and tell her the news. My grandfather was really happy, but for me Stalin's death was a terrible blow. We had a mourning meeting at school, and all attendants were sobbing.

I came home from school at my usual hour in the afternoon, and there was a strict rule at our home: when I came from school, the family sat down to lunch, and then everybody might take to their usual staff, but at lunch the family was to sit at the table. So, when I came from school after the mourning meeting, Haja-Dusha, who was one from Russia, even though she had been exiled back in 1937, and I mourned after the great chief and teacher. We didn't feel like eating at all, and I still remember how angry my grandfather grew, when he saw us in tears. He even hit his fist on the table, which he had never done before. We pulled ourselves together immediately, and stopped crying.

Gradually, by the end of school, I started seeing things clearly. Khrushchev's 25 speech at the 20th Party Congress 26 added much to my understanding of things. However, my understanding rather referred to the personality of Stalin than the very ideology. I thought that even though Stalin failed to implement the ideas, but the 20th Congress would start a new phase of the development of the Soviet Union, and the others would know how the country should develop and they might do better. I had these illusions for a long time before they faded away.

After Stalin's death those that had been exiled back in 1941 started returning home. My grandfather's acquaintances were among them and they visited us. They told us what they had been through and gave their comments. They had discussions in my presence. They sat at a large round table in the sitting room, and I used to do my homework sitting at this same table. They never told me to go to the kitchen while the adults were talking. Later my grandmother and grandfather discussed what they had heard and I was there, too. My grandfather took more interest in politics, and I had more discussions with him, than with my grandmother.

In 1956 I finished school. I wanted to go to Tartu and study in the famous university, but I didn't. My grandfather, grandmother and Haja-Dusha were old people in poor condition, and I couldn't imagine leaving them on their own. I entered the Faculty of Russian philology at the Tallinn Teacher's Training College.

Anti-Semitism developed in Estonia after the war. This was the policy of the Soviet Union, but one should give credit to Estonian people: they tried to avoid it. Anti-Semitism was mainly demonstrated by newcomers from the Soviet Union.

After the war the Soviet regime took efforts to struggle against religion 27. However, the synagogue was open, and older people remembered traditions and rituals. When my grandfather died in 1957, ten men prayed for him all night through. We buried my grandfather in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn in accordance with Jewish traditions. My grandfather belonged to that generation that lived according to those rules, and I never doubted that my grandfather, grandmother and mother were to be buried in the Jewish cemetery, not even the Jewish site in the town cemetery 28.

I lived a common student's life with its joys and sorrows. I did not involve myself in any political activities. The time, when I was an active pioneer and Komsomol member, had passed away, but once here is what happened. When I was a last-year student, they decided to elect me the Komsomol leader of the course. I had different, my 'grandfather's' views by then. However, I don't like any demonstrations. I didn't have the courage to put my Komsomol membership card on the table at the Komsomol committee. [Editor's note: Komsomol units existed at all educational and industrial enterprises. They were headed by Komsomol committees involved in organizational activities.]

So, I was an appointee for the position of the Komsomol leader. I spoke out disqualifying myself from this appointment. I can't remember what reason I offered in this regard, but I thought it was rather convincing. However, I noticed that nobody listened to me and they were going to vote for me. I took the floor again, and this time I said that since our Komsomol activities spread as far as collecting monthly fees I believed there were other people that would do a better job. Deathly silence fell on the audience. The students were in silence, and our tutor from the College Party unit also kept silence.

Anyway, I was not elected. Our faculty management took no measures against me, or at least, I did not know if anything unusual was happening. Only when we met 20 years later, my former co-students told me that after I spoke they felt like a bomb had exploded. Any way, I said what I believed was appropriate and I was not elected to this position.

I got a job appointment 29 and went to work as a teacher of Russian literature and language at a general education school in Tallinn. One year later I was offered a position of lecturer in our college and I accepted the offer.

This job was more difficult, but I enjoyed it more than working at school. I would have had no problems working in college if I had joined the Party, since, from our management standpoint, I had two big shortcomings: I wasn't a party member and I was Jewish. Therefore, I was unprotected. In college I was offered to join the Party. The party secretary of our faculty approached me and told me that since I was working with the new generation, I should join the Party. I replied that I couldn't. I could not raise my hand voting 'for' at party meetings, if I disagreed. It is true, I could not do it. And since it was quite frequent that I disagreed, I could not possibly join the Party. This was the last time I had this offer.

However, this refusal had no impact on my work, and I enjoyed working at college. I liked working with students. I also had other responsibilities. I was bound to be involved in scientific research and I didn't have much time for that. Our managers were decent people. Actually, there were disagreements, but they had nothing to do with my national origin or views. Also, I could not speak out what I thought in class, but I didn't mention what I disagreed about either. It was always possible to balance on a safe side.

My only confrontation with the Soviet reality occurred in the early 1960s, when my College offered me a job of a teacher of Russian in Africa for two to three years. At that time the Soviet Union promoted Russian language studies in developing countries. I went through all instances in college well and was recommended as a knowledgeable and skilled teacher, but then I was to be confirmed at the district party committee where I was told that I did not suit the job requirements, and if I wanted to work abroad, my application form was to be ideally clean. What was wrong with my application form? As it happens, I wrote that I had relatives abroad. Well, I might have omitted this item in the form, but we corresponded with them and the KGB 30 would have known about it. Therefore, it was better to be transparent. I did not go to Africa, and my mother was happy about it.

Whatever it was, life in Estonia was not as hard as in other Soviet republics like Russia or Ukraine. There was more freedom. For example, jazz was not directly forbidden in the USSR, but there were hardly any concerts held, while we had jazz festivals. We didn't have samizdat publications, but we received them from Russia. We also had different art exhibitions, when in Russia, for example, pictures were assessed from the standpoint of socialist realism. We had interesting art exhibitions, particularly, in graphics.

By the way, Jews had easier ways here. Estonians value skills, and this was the main criterion for selection, and not the national origin. In the 1950s a number of scientists from Leningrad moved to Estonia for this reason. They could not find jobs in Russia. The Tartu University employed Yuri Lotman 31, a unique expert in Russian philology, the honor of Tartu University, Mikhail Kotik chaired the department of psychology. Kotik failed to learn Estonian, but he lectured in Russian, though the official language was Estonian. They took it easy, considering that Kotik had a name in the world and was the honor of the university.

There were other information channels in Estonia beside Soviet TV and radio programs. We could watch Finnish TV programs. A TV master connected a special add-on device, and we even could subscribe to a Finnish TV program directory. It wasn't an official channel, but people knew the ways to get subscriptions. We watched three Finnish programs. Finnish is very much like Estonian and people could understand it. We could read the captions, which was easier than listening and understanding. Having coffee at work in the morning we discussed what we had seen and understood.

It's amazing that I had no Jewish acquaintances after finishing school. We didn't have possibilities like the Estonian Jewish community 32 offers nowadays, when Jewish young people have places to get together. Besides, we didn't have any relatives or friends in Tallinn. I had Estonian and Russian co-students. I was raised with the conviction that I would never marry an Estonian or Russian man. I would have been afraid to. Knowing myself, I feared that if my husband said something wrong about Jews, God forbid, this would be the end of our marriage. I would never live on with such person. I was dead sure that I would only marry a Jewish man, but I had no Jewish acquaintances.

My grandmother had no education, but she was a very wise woman. One time I dated a Russian guy. I liked him a lot. I shared my thoughts with my grandmother. She told me that if I decided to marry him, I should marry him even knowing that my grandmother disapproved of it. And if we truly loved each other, my grandmother would ignore the fact that my husband was not a Jewish man. I decided against marrying him for certain reasons, but I remembered my grandmother's advice, all of them. Once my grandmother told me one should marry someone with the same mentality. It didn't matter whether he was wealthy or poor, but mentality should be alike or we would never find a common language. I argued with her giving examples of our acquaintances. I told her that people from different environments could get along, but she insisted that 'no, just take my word, this is not so.' Life has proved that this, and everything else my grandmother told me, was right.

My family life

I got married in 1967. My husband, Valdo Laane, is Estonian. He was born in the town of Viljandi in Estonia in 1934. Valdo's father came from a poor family with many children. He had seven brothers. They lived in a village. Once Valdo's grandfather went to buy a cow or a horse at the market, but somebody stole his money. He returned home and hanged himself. The grandmother had to raise eight children. She happened to be a strong woman. She managed to raise all of them and give education to the older children. The older brothers supported the younger ones. One brother became a teacher and took one of his younger brothers to live with him and teach him. They managed all right in the long run and became wealthy people.

Valdo's father was a merchant. His brothers had families and were doing well. My husband had a brother. When the Soviet regime was established in Estonia, all of them, including Valdo's family, were deported in 1941. The men were taken to the Gulag, and members of their families were exiled. Valdo's brother died in exile. Valdo and his mother returned from exile in 1949, when Estonians returned from the army, and the wives of these ex- military of the Estonian Corps were allowed to pick up their relatives from Siberia. These women helped children of their relatives and even those children that had no relatives left in Estonia.

Valdo' mother stayed in exile, and Valdo arrived at Viljandi where he had no relatives left. Valdo had no place to live or food to eat. He wandered about the town until a passer-by asked him if he was looking for someone. This passer-by took Valdo to his parents' servant, who took Valdo to his grandparents in the village. Valdo stayed with them.

After finishing school he wanted to enter the Faculty of History at Tartu University. He liked history. He was rejected, and it was all for his honesty. He wrote in his application form that he had started school in exile. History was more like policy at the time, and there was no chance for him. What was he to do? Valdo submitted his documents to the Faculty of Russian Philology at the Tallinn Teachers' Training College. He spoke fluent Russian with no accent. Valdo had learned Russian by rather 'state- of-the-art' method of the language environment in exile in Siberia. It is the best way to learn a language plunging into the environment. There was always a deficit of male teachers at school, and guys were appreciated in our college, despite whatever problems areas, if they could be ignored. Valdo entered it.

During our studies in college we were distantly acquainted, but when I came to work there, Valdo was also working there and we made a closer acquaintance. Our acquaintance developed into love. And it ended with our wedding. My grandmother died in 1965. Mama had no objections to my marrying a non-Jewish man, but I had my doubts. Then I remembered my grandmother's words when she said one should marry someone of the same mentality and I took the risk. So it happened and I never once regretted marrying the man. I would even say that only Valdo might have had his regrets since my husband is much wiser and gentler than me. At hard times, when we had disagreements, particularly when I hear about some wrong developments in the news, I can say uncomplimentary things about Estonians, while Valdo has never said a wrong word about Jews, not because he was afraid of me, but because this is not the way of his thinking.

Our older son Alexandr, named after my father, was born in 1968, and our daughter Eva was born in 1972. After my daughter was born I went to work as an editor in the scientific literature publishing house. This is where I still work. We are a team of associates, and I like it there. We can discuss any subject without having any concerns. I find it very important to trust my peers. I've never faced any anti-Semitism through the years of my work. It is true. It does not exist even now. Recently, the staff was reduced in our publishing house. Three editors have kept their jobs, and I'm one of them. If they wanted they could easily get rid of me, considering that I'm of pensioner's age.

I remembered how my grandmother and grandfather were raising me. They never excluded me from their company or forbade me to do things. I remembered this, but living in the Soviet Union was different, and I raised my children differently. Of course, when we had guests, the children stayed at the table listening to our discussions, but I tried to keep my tongue in their presence. I did not allow them to express their opinion on political subjects: for God's sake, don't speak out before you start understanding things! One can only speak out having knowledge of the subject.

However, my children are very nice children. They've been interested in the past and in the history of our families. They know about my family, and they spent much time with their paternal grandmother, they know everything about Valdo's family, about the life in exile, before and after the exile. They matured very fast. When it was time for them to receive their passports when they turned 16, we left it to their discretion to choose what nationality they wanted to have stated in their passports. And they chose it: my son is formally Estonian and my daughter is a Jew. [Editor's note: In the USSR the ethnic identity was indicated in citizens' passports. The situation in the Soviet Union was such that Jews had problems with entering higher educational institutions, finding jobs, traveling to foreign countries, etc.]

At school Eva got fond of drawing and developed her skills into a serious trade. After finishing school she joined a higher education program in Israel. Eva went to Israel. She failed to enter university the first time. It just was her poor luck that year. She wanted to enter the Art Faculty. Her art works passed the selection commission and then she was to have an interview. The Ivrit interpreter did not show up, and Eva's Ivrit was not quite fluent at the time. She failed at the interview. Eva stayed in Israel to try again in the future. She went to work and she had to work hard to manage without loans. She had to make her own decisions, and I could be of no help to her. I didn't know anything about life in Israel. I was going though hard times. Mama was severely ill for several years. When she fell ill, she moved in with us. My grandmother and grandfather had long passed away and so had Haja-Dusha, who died in 1973.

Eva visited us on her vacations. When she arrived the second time I told her that there was no way for her to study in Israel. She needed money to pay the rent and pay for her food and studies since she might have studied for free if she had managed to enter the first year. Eva knew there was no way for her to earn so much if she had to study full-time. I convinced her to try and take exams to the Art College in Tallinn. If she failed, she could go back to Israel. Eva passed her exams and was admitted to the college though competition was high.

My daughter stayed in Tallinn. I think it might have been for the better that she left Israel. I cannot imagine how we would live in different countries. Eva studied and gave me a hand with taking care of Mama. Eva is doing very well. She graduated and entered the magistracy. Eva is married. Her family name is Laanee-Reintamm. Eva has two children. She named her son, born in 2000, Karl-Philip. Karl is after her husband's father, and Philip after my uncle. We call him Philip at home. Eva named her daughter, born in 2004, she is a year and three months now, Anna-Sophia. Anna is after my son-in-law's relative, and Sophia after my father's sister.

After finishing school my son Alexandr entered the Medical Faculty of Tartu University. After finishing his 2nd year he fell in love and got married and had to support his family. Alexandr gave up his studies and went to work. Later his family fell apart. His son Mark from this marriage was born in 1992. A few years ago he remarried. His first wife and his second wife are Estonian. In his 2nd marriage his daughter Linda was born in 2001. Now Alexandr is an extramural student of the social department of the Faculty of History of Tartu University. I hope he'll finally graduate this year. My son has published the 'Terviste Lehte,' ['Health'] for a few years. He is doing well, and I hope he will.

I've corresponded with Mama's cousin Bertha in Israel through all these years. The Soviet regime established the image of Israel as a fearful, aggressive and fanatical state. We realized this was far from being true, but when they keep telling you one and the same thing for a long time, it leaves its imprint in your mind. However sure you are that things must be different, you still develop some doubts.

We've tracked the events in Israel, sympathized with Israelites during the Six-Day-War 33 and the Yom Kippur War 34, and we were happy about the military and peaceful successes of Israel. I wanted to visit Israel, but this was impossible before perestroika 35. Only diplomats or embassy employees were allowed to travel to capitalist countries. We couldn't even dream of visiting Israel during the Soviet regime. Before perestroika I only traveled to Finland and Czechoslovakia. It was very difficult to have all documents processed and issued. However, we traveled a lot to Russia. Every year we traveled there with our children. We visited Moscow, Leningrad, have been to the Caucasus and the Crimea.

We finally visited Israel in 1989. Mama was in relatively good condition and we could leave her for a month. This trip was very rewarding. I cannot keep brief my impressions of Israel. I had been told that I could not know how beautiful the desert was. And it is true, I did not understand that it was beautiful in a desert, and I had no idea that a hot country, surrounded by sand and stone could be beautiful at all. Perhaps this was why the beauty of Israel was my discovery: lots of flowers everywhere, mesmerizing landscapes and beautiful towns. The nature is so beautiful!

We always had our camera with us. We have many pictures of this trip. This trip was not only remarkable for the beauty of nature or architecture. We also met with our friends, whom we hadn't seen for a long time. We went from one town to another and there were our acquaintances in all of them. And we were really happy to see them again. We stayed with Mama's cousin sister Bertha. My grandmother and I corresponded with her. This reunion with our dearest people was indescribable.

We learned a lot about the history of Israel, not the history after 1948, but ancient history. We toured the whole country. A month in Israel just flew by for us. My husband loved it in Israel. He found his ways there much better than I did. We stayed in Jerusalem, and this was festive in itself. What a beautiful town! I remember how we went to Ashdod after we arrived in Israel. Ashdod is a nice town, but I would say, it's quite common. We left it late in the evening and took the highway to Jerusalem. The hills around Jerusalem, the night-time lighting, it was something fantastic, so beautiful it was! I feel different about Israel. Jews can feel safe and quiet as long as there is this state.

I wouldn't say my husband and I never considered moving to Israel. My husband told me that if I decided to move he would follow me, but we needed to think what we were to do in Israel. It's a responsible decision to change the life of the family so dramatically. One had to weigh things. And then I thought - right, what were I going to do in Israel? What could I do? I am not even that good at cooking. I cook for my family, but if I were to cook for another family, I would be so nervous that I would fail to do it properly. I know no craft that would be good enough to support me in Israel. If I could make hats like my grandfather, or knit like Mama, I could at least do this, but I was a product of Soviet education. The only time I made something with my hands was when we had vocational classes at college where we made stools and made holes in tin sheets to make sort of vegetable grinders.

I mean, I've never been an idealist, and I knew that a Russian language professional would hardly find a job in Israel. And I didn't want to be burden to the state or my relatives. Their life is no bed of roses, and besides, I am not the one to look for somebody else's support. This is not for me. I've got to manage my own life. Besides, my husband's mother was alive. He was her only son and the only one of her kin, and she was of 100 percent Estonian origin, and she wouldn't have been accepted in Israel. I also knew I would have no courage to tell her this: we're moving to Israel and you're staying here. Basically, there were many problems that were hard to resolve. We stayed for these quite ordinary considerations. I don't think having two older people joining the army of unemployed would have been of much benefit for Israel.

After my grandmother died, we didn't celebrate Jewish holidays in full range, though we did follow some rules. It goes without saying that we always had matzah at Pesach. My close friend always invited me to celebrate Pesach at her home, and we celebrated Rosh-Hashanah at home, and fasted at Yom Kippur.

During perestroika the Jewish life began to revive in Tallinn. A Jewish community was officially registered in Estonia. Now our community is strong and has its part in the life of each Jewish person in Estonia. Believers and non-believers need it equally. It's good to have a community and a synagogue. We can remain Jewish thanks to this, because otherwise we might get lost among other nations. I attend celebrations and events in the community.

I help the community as much as I can. I still work and cannot take an active part in the community activities, but I find it very important to be aware that it is there and I can go there at any time. Children and old people need the community. Everybody finds what one needs in the community, and everybody can contribute to it. My mother was still with us, when the community was established, and she could see changes in our life. Mama died in 1995. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery where her parents and Haja- Dusha had been buried before.

Perestroika brought many good things into our life, but the most important event was the final point of perestroika, the breakup of the Soviet Union and newly gained independence of Estonia 36. This came as an utter surprise for me. I never imagined that the Soviet Union was so weak, and it would have never occurred to me that things might develop like that. It made the impression of a monolith and one would never believe that the empire might collapse one day, when the monolith happened to be not as tough as we thought it was, and it happened so fast.

I don't think I'm the one to say whether it was good or bad that it happened this way. I think it is for the Estonian people to say. This is the state of Estonia, and if Estonian people think it appropriate to live independently, than be it. And Estonians do feel better that way. I think it is the best that each country can now choose its own ways, and only the nation of this country is entitled to decide the way it should live.

I do not feel nostalgic about the USSR. This used to be an unnatural society that had secluded itself from the rest of the world, with its censorship, unrestricted power of the KGB, weird ways and its own rules of the game that was impossible to play any longer. I'm not saying that I admire everything that is happening nowadays. It's far from it, but it's in human nature that whatever will take place before things come down and take their ordinary ways. I still believe that this is like infantine sickness, and in due time the situation will calm down and people will learn to think about the common wealth besides their own benefits.

Soviet people were silent for too long, or only spoke about what they were allowed to speak. Now finally, everybody is allowed to speak his or her own mind, and they do not always say what one would like to hear. I think it's the task of historians to work on the past history, they have to dot all 'i's and figure out the truth to put an end to it. We have to think about how to make this country a good home for all.

I love the Russian literature and Russian films. I have access to these in independent Estonia, as well as many other literary and cinematographic works and films that were banned in the USSR. I enjoy traveling to Moscow and Petersburg when I can. I felt very sad looking at St. Petersburg a few years ago. I had a feeling that it would collapse. I had a similar feeling about Tallinn during the Soviet rule. It was like everything was going to collapse and there would be nothing left to restore. However, the city is changing for the better. People develop the sense of ownership: this is my city and I want it to be clean and nice.

Glossary:

Rosa Gershenovich
Lvov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: July 2002

My family background
Growing up
My school years
Married life and the beginning of the war
My life in Lvov
My daughter Maya
Glossary

My family background

My father, Moisey Veltman, was born in 1887 in Bershad, in Vinnitsa region. Bershad was a Jewish town. The majority of its population was Jewish. The Jews were mostly tradesmen and craftsmen. The Ukrainians living in the town were mostly farmers. My father was born into a very religious Jewish family. His father, Aron-Shloime Veltman, born in the 1860s was a melamed in the cheder. . My grandfather was a very educated man for his time. He had excellent knowledge of the Talmud and the Torah, and taught children to read in Hebrew. He was a very well respected teacher in Bershad. My grandfather's family lived in a small house near the synagogue. There was a little porch up two or three stairs, and two rooms in the house. They had quite a few children. There was not enough space for them. My grandfather taught children from the whole town in one of the rooms. I visited my grandfather and grandmother in the 1920s. By that time, grandfather was an old man already. He didn't work any more. He showed me the room that had previously served as a cheder. There were long tables and benches in it. Later, I read in Sholem Aleichem's books 1 that teachers used to beat the children in cheder, but I just couldn't imagine my kind grandfather beating anyone.

When I knew him, grandfather was an old man with a gray beard and yarmulka. He spoke only Yiddish and prayed a lot. My grandmother asked us to be very quiet while he was praying. He went to synagogue almost every day. He had a seat by the Eastern wall - this was an place of honor. I remember him praying in his room with his face turned to the wall, with little cubes [tefillin] on his hands and forehead, and wrapped in a tallit.

He used to play with me and tell me jokes. He spoke Yiddish to me. My grandfather not only knew all the Jewish holidays, but could also explain the meaning of every holiday. I used to visit my grandparents in the summer. I remember a Jewish holiday called Shavuot. My grandfather didn't go to bed on the night of this holiday, but stayed up all night reading the tikkun Shavuot [the Book of Ruth], which contains the main ideas and provisions of both the Written and Oral TorahLaw. I was given scissors and colored paper to cut out patterns to decorate the windows. My grandmother cooked dairy meals on this day. I remember eating pancakes stuffed with cottage cheese dipped in honey. My grandfather was sitting at the table saying that the Ttorah was as sweet to us as honey.

My grandfather was a very kind man. He was 'loyal,' as would be proper to say nowadays. He understood that children had to go their own way and live their own lives. He never forced his children to practice religion. My grandfather had a large collection of religious books in Hebrew. His conduct of Hebrew was very good. I didn't understand what these books were about. I remember my mother showing me poems by Mandelshtam 2 and Ginsburg, one of the first enlightened Jews in Russia, and also the History of Peter the Great in Hebrew. I don't know whether my grandfather's children read those books, too. I also remember Russian books by Pushkin, Lermontov 3 and Gogol 4 in imprinted golden bindings.

My grandfather dearly loved his wife Tuba-Leya Veltman [nee Shnaiderman]. She was also born in Bershad in 1865. She also came from a religious family. On her wedding day she had her hair shaved according to the Jewish tradition and wore a wig for the rest of her life. I remember her wearing a wig and a white shawl. My grandmother was a very smart woman. She was fat and sickly. She had hypertension and a poor heart. She had a terrific sense of humor. My grandfather used to make her a cup of tea with sugar and would hand it to her. I believe it shows how nicely he treated her. She was always busy doing work around the house, cooking delicious Jewish food and pastries.

The Germans killed my grandmother and grandfather in 1942. When the war began their younger son Ershl came to Bershad to take them to evacuation. My grandfather said that because he and grandmother were old already and because grandmother was a very ill woman, they were going to stay. Ershl came to Bershad after the war and people told him that like many other Jews in the ghetto his parents were shot by the Germans.

My grandmother and grandfather had many children, but not all of them lived to old age. I know two of their daughters and two sons. All of them except my father followed my grandfather's footsteps and became teachers.

Their daughter Nesia, born in 1892, was married. She was a teacher of Yiddish in the Jewish school. In the 1930s the Jewish schools in Bershad were closed down and Nesia studied at the Pedagogical Institute in Kamenets- Podolsk. She became a teacher of Russian and worked in Russian schools. She was evacuated to the town of Kuznetsk in the Urals and returned to Lvov after the war. Nesia died in Lvov in 1980. Her daughter Nelia is a teacher and her son Leonid is an engineer. They are retired now and live in Lvov.

My father's other sister Dvoira, born in 1895, was also a teacher of Yiddish in a Jewish school. She lived in Odessa. She was in evacuation in Omsk region in Siberia. After the war she didn't work. She suffered from heart disease and died in Lvov in 1958. Her daughters Nina and Nyusia emigrated to Israel in 1986. Nyusia died there.

My father's brother Ershl, born in 1899, was a mathematics teacher in a secondary school. In the 1930s he moved to Donbass [Donetsk]. We rarely saw each other. I know that he died there in 1990. His son Mark lives in Israel and his daughter Rosa, also a teacher, lives in Donetsk.

My grandparents' other son Velv died when he was very young. I don't know anything about him.

My father was a worker and a painter. He finished cheder and didn't want to continue his studies. He participated in various revolutionary organizations. Unlike other Jewish boys he wasn't afraid to serve in the tsarist army. He was tall and strong. He served for six years in the cavalry, from 1906 to 1912. From what my mother told me, my father was proud of his service in the tsarist army. He didn't know Russian before he went into the army. While in the army, he learned to speak, read and write Russian. I believe my father brought his revolutionary ideas from the army. He came back a member of the Bund 5.

My mother, Elizaveta Veltman [nee Green], was born in 1879 in the town of Okny near Bershad. We called her by her Jewish name, Leya, in the family. Her father, Avrum-Yankel Green, born in the 1860s, had a beautiful voice and was a cantor. He got invitations from synagogues in different towns and was very popular wherever he sang. I don't know what family he came from, but he was a deeply religious man. He sang at the synagogue in Odessa in the last years of his life and died in Odessa in 1918. I was only 4 years old, but I can still remember my grandfather's voice. I never heard anything like that again.

His wife, Ruhl Green, was about the same age as he. She was born in the 1860s and was a quiet, modest Jewish woman. She always supported her children. After my father perished she moved in with us to give my mother an opportunity to go to work. She looked after me. She was a taciturn old woman. She wore long black gowns and covered her head with a shawl. Times were hard during the Civil War 6 and we didn't even have enough bread. My mother and grandmother exchanged our possessions for bread and milk for me. But even then my grandmother tried to observe Jewish traditions. She lit candles before on Saturdays, prayed, and went to synagogue. We only spoke Yiddish in the family. This was the only language I knew when as a child. My grandmother died in 1921 as quietly as she had lived. She went to bed and didn't wake up one morning. My mother buried her near my grandfather's grave in the Jewish cemetery in Odessa. I didn't go to the funeral, but stayed at our neighbor's. Regretfully, I was not able to find their graves after the war.

My mother told me that my grandmother and grandfather had many children, but only three of them lived: my mother's older sister, Surah, born in 1875, and her brother Ershl, born in 1880. Surah lived in Rybnitsa, a small town in Moldavia, and Ershl lived in Odessa. We were very close with both of them. Surah was married to Ershl Shnaiderman, my paternal grandmother's brother. Marriages between relatives often take place in Jewish families.

I don't know what kind of elementary education was given to girls in the Green family, but my mother and her sister were well-educated women. They could read and write in Russian and Yiddish. Yiddish was spoken in all the familys. My mother told me a little about her childhood. As my grandfather was a cantor, they often moved from one place to another. My mother saw many Jewish towns within the Jewish Pale of Settlement 7. My mother was a very beautiful woman. They say about women like her that their eyes have absorbed all the sorrows of the Jewish people. She had huge hazel eyes and thick black hair.

My mother and father met in Odessa. My father's sister Dvoira studied in Odessa. My mother was her friend. Dvoira introduced her to her brother Moisey when he came to visit his sister before going to serve in the army. They fell in love with each other, although my mother was few years older than my father. While my father was in the army matchmakers came to his father many times offering rich fiancées for my father. My grandfather always answered that Moisey loved Leya and that was it.

They had a traditional Jewish wedding in Bershad in 1912. There was a chuppah, a rabbi and klezmer musicians at the wedding. The party lasted for 3 days. My father wasn't religious any more, but he paid honors to his parents and the parents of his fiancée. My father believed that Jews had to struggle for a new life and to get education. He thought that religion was for backward, ignorant people. After their wedding my parents moved to Odessa. My father worked as a painter there, but he didn't work in that job for long. He was kept busy with revolutionary activities. He spread leaflets, took part in meetings, and participated in publishing revolutionary newspapers in Russian and in Yiddish. My father believed that the revolution would liberate poor Jews from national oppression. My mother said that he even had to hide from the police. He involved her in party activities as well.

Growing up

My name is Rosa Gershenovich [nee Veltman]. I was born in Rybnitsa in 1914. My father was hiding from the police at that time and was away from Odessa. My mother's sister Surah lived in Rybnitsa and my father took my mother to live with her. We lived there until I was about 6 months old, and then we returned to Odessa. We lived in a one-room apartment in the center of the city. There were many Jewish families, as well as Greek, Ukrainian and Russian families living there. All life went on in the yard; people were very close and sociable. They did their laundry, had discussions and arguments and educated their children in the yard. I was a little girl and didn't have friends in the yard, but I remember that all the women addressed each other as 'Madam'. My mother was 'Madam Veltman'. During the Civil War the neighbors supported each other.

We lived in a small room. I remember a chest of drawers, a bed, a table and chairs. We didn't have any decorations. Or, perhaps we had, but my mother had exchanged them for food. There was a richer Jewish family in the neighboring building. During the Civil War bandits came to them demanding money and valuables. They tore up their pillows looking for gold. They killed the whole family. My mother said the bandits were from the Petliura 8 units. Fortunately, these Petliura units didn't come to us. They probably knew which families were rich and which were poor.

I have dim memories of my father, but I remember the day when he went to defend Odessa from the White Army [the Whites] 9. I was only 5 years old then. I remember that three visitors came that night - my mother said that they were from the Bund - my father's comrades. My father left with them. He was wearing his casual trousers and a jacket. He was tall and wore a moustache. My nice, kind father kissed me and said to my mother: 'I must go with them so that our daughter can have a better life'. My mother was crying and didn't want to let him go. That was the last time when we saw him. We were told later that he had perished. My mother told me that he had loved her very much. She waited and waited for him to return, but when she realized that he was gone she grew old and gray. I don't remember the Civil War. I only remember when a neighbor came in saying 'Leya, Petliura units are leaving the town'. My mother said, 'Thank God!' 'What will happen now?' 'Now the Reds 10 will come.'

My mother tried to find a job in Odessa. In 1919 she took a medical course and completed it successfully. Unemployment in Odessa was high and it was next to impossible to get a job. My mother's sister Surah, who was living in Rybnitsa, invited my mother and me to come live with her there. My mother packed up and we left.

Rybnitsa was a town on the Dnestr River. The Dnestr was the border separating Soviet Moldavia from Romania. It was necessary to obtain a permit to go to Rybnitsa. Frontier guards checked everybody's documents on the train. Rybnitsa was a Jewish town surrounded by mountains. The Moldavians lived in the mountains and the Jews lived in town. Surah's husband owned a store that sold kerosene, candles, matches, soap, and other things. Their house was not very big. My mother and her sister Surah were very close. The family gave us a room to live in. My aunt had 3 children. The oldest, Gidal, was born in 1912 and perished during the war in 1943. Volodia, born in 1924, also went to the front, but survived. He married after the war; he worked at a plant in Odessa and was promoted to foreman. After retiring he still lives in Odessa. My aunt's daughter named Dora was born in 1916. She finished her studies at the Medical College in Odessa and married Naum Fridman, a military man who provided well for his family. Dora was a housewife. They now live in Israel.

In Rybnitsa my mother got a job as a nurse. She worked a lot. First, she worked at a hospital, and then she had some further training and began to work at the children's clinic. The doctor she worked with neglected her responsibilities and my mother did most of the work by herself. Patients respected my mother and knew her well in the small town where most people knew each other. Sometimes, in case of an emergency mother was called to a patient at night. The hospital in Rybnitsa had three or four wards. There were three doctors: Dr. Waister, Dr. Shmelianskiy and Dr. Kogan. All three were Jews. My mother was a trade union activist and was elected Chairman of the Medical Trade Union Unit. She wasn't a party member.

Surah's family observed all Jewish traditions and spoke Yiddish among themselves. I remember them asking me 'di fir kashes' [the four questions] on seder night, which goes like this: 'Why is this night different from any other night?'. I replied, something but I don't remember what. They asked me to open the door for the prophet Elijah to come in. They also set an extra place for him on the table. According to the Jewish legend the prophet Elijah visits every home on the first day of Pesach and drinks from the cup that has been poured for him. He is invisible but he can see everything in the house. The door is kept open for the prophet to come in and honor the holiday with his presence.

My uncle went to synagogue every Friday and Saturday. My Aunt Surah was responsible for collecting charity contributions for the poor in the town. My uncle owned Jewish religious books, but I don't remember him having any Russian books or newspapers. My mother and I went to synagogue only on major holidays. It was a small synagogue. We sat in the women's gallery and watched the men in their tallitim praying. There was very little we could see. We didn't know anything about the outer world. We didn't travel and didn't have any visitors. My mother didn't cook kosher food during the era of Soviet power. There were no conditions for this. However, we didn't eat pork. We ate chicken and beef. There was a river in the town and we had a lot of fish. My mother made stuffed fish. She cooked on a primus stove.

My school years

In 1922 I started going to the Russian lower secondary school, which I attended for seven years. There was also a Jewish school in Rybnitsa. But my mother told me that she and my aunt had discussed the subject of which school I should attend and they decided that it was better for me to study Russian in order to be able to continue my education later. My school was in a two-story building in the center of town. The majority of the children at the school were Jewish. I mastered my Russian at this school. There were Russian and Moldavian children, but we Jews stood separately. We stayed together - not on purpose, it just happened to be so. We communicated and played with the other children, but were not close friends with them. I can't say that there was any anti-Semitism. Only once, I remember, when we went out with other children and there were Russian girls there, one of them approached me and asked me to say the letter 'r'. It was a common belief that Jews couldn't pronounce this sound. I pronounced it perfectly and she said, 'Good'. They didn't want to play with any of the children who mispronounced this letter.

We lived in the embankment street where the wealthier families lived: store owners, doctors, etc. Poorer people, etcshoemakers, tailors, workers etc, etc., lived farther out. All my friends were Jews. After finishing school, my friend Polia Finegersh became an accountant. She and her mother perished in Tiraspol in 1941. My other friend, Polia Glozman, moved to Tiraspol with her husband who perished at the front in 1942. Polia had a daughter.

In 1924 when Lenin died I was 10 years old. We were lined up at school by the portrait of Lenin. Many of the children and teachers were crying. I don't remember whether I was crying or not. Soon afterwards we became pioneers. We wore red neckties and badges bearing a portrait of Lenin. I became a pioneer so that I would be no different from the others, but when it was time to become a member of the Komsomol 11 I didn't want to join. I don't know why, I just couldn't be bothered. Everyone accepted the reality of living in a communist state. They just understood that it was the only way possible. My mother tried to forget her past life with her wealthy parents. She never mentioned to anyone that she was a member of the Bund. This party was regarded as a bourgeois party and it was not safe to disclose that one had been a member of it.

My uncle, a storeowner, was expelled from Rybnitsa. He lived in a village and had no rights. He was classified as 'an owner' by the Soviet authorities, which didn't like such elements. My cousin Dora couldn't find a job. Their family moved to Odessa. My uncle got a job working at the Red Komintern Machine Building Plant. They left their house to my mother and me. My mother and I stayed in their house while mother continued to work and I went to school. We didn't observe any Jewish traditions at home but continued going to synagogue. Our life in Rybnitsa was rather plain. There was a dancing club, but it was closed in the 1930s. It was closed because there were only Jewish youngsters there. They danced Jewish dances like the 'Seven Forty' and the waltz. Life in Rybnitsa back then was like living in the Middle Ages. Electricity came to this town in the late 1930s only. There was no sewerage system or running water, and no central heating. There were only dirt roads. People had no education and the general level of culture was very low. Young people were always trying to leave Rybnitsa. There was Vizin, a Romanian town on the other side of Rybnitsa, but we were not allowed to cross the border. Sometimes we heard shooting at night. This meant that someone was trying to cross the border. Some were captured or killed and others managed to cross. We didn't travel. I remember visiting my father's parents in Bershad and going to the country once after I had pneumonia. My mother stayed a month there with me. We rented a room in a house. There was an orchard and our landlady had a cow. We had fruit and milk and my health improved.

I finished school in 1931. There was famine in Rybnitsa in the 1930s., We didn't have anything to eat and we were starving. My mother had two golden dental crowns. She took them to the Torgsin store 12 and exchanged them for some corn flour to make corn porridge.

I was admitted to the Financial College in Odessa. This was the largest city near Rybnitsa, and Surah's family lived there. It was good to have somebody to turn to. I lived at my aunt's. They lived in the center of the city in a big five-story building in a communal apartment 13 with many tenants, but I don't remember them. I studied accounting, Russian and Ukrainian and mathematics. There were many Jewish students and teachers at the college. Nationality was not an issue at that time. I didn't have any real friends, but there were companions for going to the cinema or for a walk. I like Odessa very much. I liked going to the port, Richelieu Street and the center of the city. Once, I saw Verdi's Aida at the Opera. I don't know whether there were Jewish theaters in Odessa then. My aunt had a small collection of books by Soviet writers like Gorky 14, Mayakovsky 15, Fadeyev 16, and others. My aunt's family observed the Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays, but I took no interest in them. I believed traditions and religiosity to be a vestige of the past. I couldn't stay in Odessa after finishing college. I didn't have a place to live and it was difficult to find a job.

In 1936 I returned to Rybnitsa where I worked as an accountant for the District Party Executive Committee. I didn't want to become a party member. Besides, I was too young for that. Life was very dull. I embroidered in the evening and went to the cultural center sometimes to watch old silent movies. In 1938 Moishe Shnaiderman, the brother of my Aunt Surah's husband, came from Moscow. He was a widower of over 60 years. His wife had died some time before and he proposed to my mother and invited her to go to Moscow with him. They didn't have a wedding party. Besides, all synagogues had been closed by then. The authorities pursued a serious struggle against religion 17. My mother moved to Moscow with pleasure. My mother didn't work in Moscow. Her husband was a pensioner. He was a very nice, decent man and they had a very good and quiet life together.

I stayed behind in Rybnitsa and moved to Tiraspol, the capital of the Moldavian Republic, in 1939. Tiraspol was a big, beautiful town compared to Rybnitsa. My friend Polia Finegersh lived there with her husband, and I stayed with them. I got a job as a cashier and then as an accountant in the Central Bank. There were many Jews in Tiraspol. The chief accountant at my workplace was Russian; all the other employees were Jewish. I rented a room from a Jewish family, the Roizmans. They were not religious. I believe they did observe some traditions, but I took little notice of anything of this kind. They were an old couple and they treated me very nicely.

Married life and the beginning of the war

I met my future husband, Ruvim Gershenovich in 1940. He came from Kiev to visit his relatives, the Roizmans, the couple from whom I was renting my room. Ruvim was born in Nezhin in the Chernigov region in Ukraine in 1905. He graduated from the Financial College in Kiev. He was an ordinary man, and very nice and caring. He worked as an accountant in Kiev. He stayed in Tiraspol for a few days and then returned to Kiev. Later, he sent me a letter, writing that he liked me very much. The letter was in Russian, but he spoke Yiddish. When we got married he used to speak Yiddish to me and I addressed him in Russian. We corresponded for a year. He came back at the end of 1940 and we registered our marriage in Tiraspol. After we got married he used to speak Yiddish to me and I addressed him in Russian. He was planning to rent an apartment in the summer of 1941 so I could move to Kiev. I couldn't move to Kiev before he rented an apartment because he was living in one room with his parents.

Our plans were thwarted by the events of June 22, 1941 [the day Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union]. The war began. I remember this day so clearly. I went to the market in the morning and heard loud roaring. I thought there was some kind of military training going on. Many people thought so, too. But then the bombing of the aerodrome near town began. We still didn't know anything about the war. Then at noon we heard Molotov 18 on the radio. The war began at 5am. Two days later my husband arrived from Kiev. He told me that I had to go to his parents and that he was to be recruited to the army. There were many Jewish refugees from Poland. From them we heard about the mass shootings of Jews by the fascists in Europe. We realized that we had to run away.

We took a train to Kiev on that same day. I met his parents. His father, Oshel Gershenovich, was a tailor. His mother Perl was a housewife. They were nice old people. They only spoke Yiddish. They lived in the central part of town. My husband went to the military registry office, but they let him go due to his poor eyesight. They summoned him at the end of July. He was at the front for four long years. Kiev was bombed.

Some acquaintances of my husband got a horse-driven cart and let us join them. This was in August 1941. On this cart were my husband's parents, another couple, the cart man and I. We went along the Dnieper River to the south. We passed Nikolayev and reached Kherson. Crowds of people were waiting for transportation at the Golaya Pristan station. It was the end of August and the heat was oppressive. We managed to get on a train. Somewhere in Donbass we changed the trains and were going now in railcars for cattle transportation. We were bombed on the way and had to get off the train to scatter around and come back later. We finally reached Tashkent. I was glad that my mother was in Moscow. My mother told me that she and Moishe had a bowl of feathers prepared. If the Germans occupied Moscow mother and Moishe were going to burn these feathers to suffocate in the smoke.

There was no room for us in Tashkent and we moved on to Namangan in Uzbekistan, about 50 km from Tashkent. At first, we got a small room in a clay house. Later, my husband's father fell ill. He died in hospital at the end of November 1941. We buried him at the cemetery in Namangan. There was no Jewish cemetery in this town. Ruvim's mother died a little later, in January 1942. She was buried in the same cemetery. I met somebody I knew in Rybnitsa and he employed me in his shoe shop. There were four shoemakers working there. One was a Polish Jew and the others were Russian, I think. I lived in this shop, working as an accountant during the day, and at night I slept on my desk. I had a pillow and a blanket for colder nights. I had very few clothes: a coat, a couple of dresses and some shoes. I kept them under my desk. There was an aryk [water channel] in the yard of our shop where I could wash and do the laundry. The water was very clean and potable.

I was desperately lonely. I didn't know where my husband was. He wrote my mother and I wrote my mother and we found each other in this way. He wrote me in Uzbekistan. He was at the front. In the beginning he was a soldier, and then a sergeant. He couldn't support me financially. Only officers could support their families by sending them special certificates on the basis of which military registration offices paid allowances to the families. Military men of lower ranks didn't have this possibility.

Namangan was a big Uzbek town. There were very rich and full markets there. I didn't have money to buy anything. I could only afford a bun that cost 10 rubles. I had to make this bun last for a whole day. I received 400 grams of brown bread and that was the only other food I had for a day. There were many Jews in evacuation in Namangan, but I didn't know any of them. I don't know whether there were any Jewish activities. I was happy to receive letters from my family and husband. My husband went across Russia, Ukraine, Poland and Czechoslovakia during the war. I was very happy that he survived. At the beginning of 1945 he was wounded and stayed in hospital. He got better there and was demobilized.

My life in Lvov

My husband knew that his house in Kiev had been destroyed. His commanding officer got an assignment in Lvov in the summer of 1945. He suggested that Ruvim should go to Lvov and said he would help him find a job. Lvov was forced to join the USSR in 1940. After the war Polish people were allowed to go to Poland and many of them left Lvov. There were many vacant apartments. Ruvim found an apartment for us and called me to come to Lvov. On my way from Namangan to Lvov I spent two weeks in Piatigorsk visiting my cousin Dora. We had a wonderful reunion. Her husband was still in Germany and she was living in Piatigorsk.

I liked Lvov. It was a beautiful European town with European architecture typical of the Middle Ages, beautiful churches and cathedrals, streets and buildings. The local population hated the Soviet power, but was scared of Stalin. They were afraid to open their mouths. Our janitor took off his hat when he came to us and kissed my hand. I felt very strange. Nobody had ever kissed my hand before. And he bowed endlessly. There were Jews coming to town from evacuation. At first the locals were afraid of the Jews, but then their anti-Semitism burst out. There were inscriptions everywhere on the walls: 'Zhyds [kikes], get out of Ukraine!' and 'Get out of Lvov!'

When I arrived in Lvov, my husband was working as an accountant at a tailor's shop. Later, it became a garment factory. my Our daughter Maya was born in 1949. She went to kindergarten when she turned 3 years old, and I got a job as an accountant at the garment factory where my husband was working.

In autumn of 1949 I went to Moscow and brought my mother to Lvov. Her husband, Moshe Shnaiderman, had died, and she was old and needed to be taken care of. In 1951 my mother died from a myocardial infarction. We buried her at the Jewish cemetery in Lvov.

In 1953 Stalin died and I cried like everybody else. We believed that anti- Semitism in Lvov was a local phenomenon and had hoped that Stalin would protect us. We didn't understand then that anti-Semitism in the USSR was a state policy, initiated by Stalin.

We lead a quiet life. My husband was a very decent, quiet, kind man. He loved our daughter dearly. He liked to speak Yiddish when there were no outsiders around. Anti-Semitism in Lvov was stronger than anywhere else. It always existed in this area regardless of the regime. It grew stronger after the war, because it was common knowledge that the majority of the communists who had established the Soviet power in Russia were Jews. People in Lvov hated the Soviet power and had much fear of it. They believed Jews to be supporters of the Soviet power. We were openly despised and we could often hear in the streets and in public transportation: 'Zhyds [kikes], go to Israel!' It was not advisable to show one's Jewish identity and we gave up our Jewish traditions. We had Jewish colleagues and we had friends among them, but we were not demonstrative about our friendships because we thought it might cause undesirable reactions.

In autumn 1949 I went to Moscow and brought my mother to Lvov. Her husband Moshe Shnaiderman died and she was old and needed to be taken care of. In 1951 my mother died from infarction. We buried her at the Jewish cemetery in LvovMy husband was wounded during the war and had a shell splinter in his chest. Doctors told him that they would suggest surgery if the splinter began to move. One evening he felt very ill on his way home. When he got home, he fainted. I called an ambulance. But he got worse and died. The splinter must have reached his heart. He died in 1957 when he was 52 years old. Maya lost her father when she was 9 years old.

My daughter Maya

I always told her to have Jewish friends, because they would always be supportive and never call one a 'zhyd'. It was one of the ways to feel more confident in a hostile environment. She studied at the Russian school. There were very few Jewish girls there. She had a friend named Maya Gleizer. They were very good friends. Maya Gleizer is in America now. She moved there 20 years ago. My daughter loves her Jewish it is enough that people. She says Jews are the most intelligent people in the world. She studied at school very successfully. After graduating she tried to gain admission to the Polytechnic Institute in Lvov several times, but failed. It was next to impossible for a Jewish girl who came from a low-income family to enter an institution of higher education.

In 1966 Maya got a job as a computer operator. She held this job for 30 years. She went to work at age 16, because the state of our finances was grave. Later, after 30 years, the factory where she worked was closed and she lost her job. It was difficult for a Jew to find a job in Lvov. Once, she was told about a vacancy. She went to the human resources department to inquire. A woman there confirmed that there was a vacancy and told her to come by the following day with her passport. On the following day the woman opened her passport and saw that Maya was a Jew. She said 'You know, we have already employed someone'. My daughter lost all hope of finding a job. She was feeling hurt and offended. She felt as if she had been shrugged off.

She had said a while before: 'We need to go away from here. We have to go to Israel. I want to be among our own people. I want to feel like a human being.' She always wanted to emigrate to Israel. I believe she would go there with or without me. We didn't have an opportunity to go in the past. And now she is very ill. She has stomach problems. And we are old. Does anybody need us there?

She wasn't happy in her personal life either. Her husband was a Jew. But I don't want to talk about him. It is enough that she divorced him. She wouldn't have married a Russian man. There have never been any mixed marriages in our family anyway. If she wanted to marry a Russian man she would have had a number of options. There were quite a few Russian men that wanted to marry her. But she says that she is not young any more and that she doesn't need anybody.

Now we are old and sick. Does anybody need us there? Unfortunately, my daughter's Yiddish is very poor. It is my fault, for I thought that Yiddish was going to be of no use to her, especially in this part of the country, in Galicia, so I didn't teach her Yiddish. She can understand it all right, but she can hardly speak the language. I don't remember anything about Jewish traditions or religion. I haven't taught my daughter any Jewish basics.

The situation in Lvov is acute now. There is a lot of anti-Semitism. There are inscriptions on the wall, 'Zhyds [kikes], get out of Ukraine!'. Once, a drunken man came to our building. He began to knock on the doors asking, 'Where do zhyds live here?' He was thrown out of the building because he was drunk. In general, the attitude towards Jews is terrible here. There is an anti-Semitic newspaper, the Idealist. They write that it is necessary to deport all Jews from Ukraine, that there is no place for them here, that Ukraine should be for Ukrainians. We often read this kind of thing in chauvinistic Ukrainian newspapers, hear it on the radio, and even in the streets.

I retired in 1986 when I was 72 years old. It was quite some time ago, and I was healthier then. Later, I got hypertension, arrhythmia and glaucoma. In 1986 I got cataracts. I had a hip injury that caused arthrosis. I can hardly walk. Twice a week representatives from Hesed come and take me to the daytime center. This is the only place where I can talk with people. We have beautiful receptions there. They tell us that we are still young and that we are wanted. They treat us very nicely. They tell us a lot of interesting things about Jewish culture and we sing in Hebrew. We get copies with the lyrics of these songs. Hesed also supports me. Hesed is a big help. They bring me butter, sugar, cereals, pasta, etc. It's a great assistance, you know. It is a huge support for me and my daughter.

Glossary

Herta Coufalova
Sumperk
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Barbora Pokreis
Date of interview: November 2004

Mrs. Coufalova is a sprightly, vital older lady, who despite her advanced age has a big interest in literature and travel. She lives in a small Czech town called Sumperk, not far from her three daughters. Her biggest joy in life is her great-grandson Davidek. Daily she visits her granddaughter Lenka, who is a single mother, to help her out. Mrs. Coufalova is a very affable, intelligent lady with a sense of humor. The interview was made on the premises of the Jewish community in Brno at 3 Kapitan Jaros Avenue. Mrs. Coufalova answered our questions obligingly and willingly. The interview took place during two sessions.

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

My family background

All of my grandparents, except for Grandma Hermina Reich, my mother's mother, came from Trebic. Both grandfathers - my father's father Hermann Glasner, and my mother's father Hermann Reich - were businessmen. The Reichs had a 'white goods' shop. They sold everything to do with white cloth, for example towels and dishcloths. The Glasners, as their name indicates, were in the glass business. They had a glass and porcelain shop.

My grandmother, Hermina Reich, nee Mayer was born on 9th July 1875 in Pohorelice in Southern Moravia. She died on 15th July 1944 in Auschwitz. She left Terezin 1 on the last transport of old people. Her husband, Herman Reich, was born on 12th March 1869, and died on 19th February 1929. I don't remember my grandfather very much. I was only three years old when he died. He would always borrow a horse-drawn sleigh and drive us around the surrounding villages.

My grandparents' mother tongue was German, but they also spoke Yiddish. I assume that they had a basic education. Grandma Reich went to a Jewish school in Pohorelice when she was young, because in Moravia people used to be very religious. My grandmother was a born businesswoman. After her husband's death she ran his white goods store for some time, eventually though she sold it.

My mother's grandparents lived on Dolni Street in Trebic, in a neighborhood called 'v Zidech' [At the Jews] - today that part of town is a UNESCO cultural heritage site. There were always a lot of Jews in Trebic. Even today, when there are none left, the town retains certain Jewish characteristics. My mother's parents owned a house, which stands to this day, on the main square, opposite the synagogue. The house was comprised of two larger rooms, one smaller one and a 'black kitchen' with fireplace. They already had electricity, but running water wasn't brought to that part of town until 1936 or 1937; until then they carried it from public pumps.

Despite the fact that my grandmother came from a religious family, she didn't wear a wig. One couldn't say that my grandfather was religious. He didn't wear a beard, payes or a kippah. Trebic had a modern Jewish community. Not even the cantor and rabbi wore a beard. Men wore black hats. I rarely saw them without a hat. They felt Jewish and went to the synagogue on the major religious holidays. They had kosher households, ate kosher meat and never mixed meat and dairy products.

My grandmother on my father's side was named Pavla Glasner, nee Orchstein. She was born in 1845 in Trebic and died there in 1930. Grandpa was named Hermann Glasner. He was born in the same year, and even in the same town as his wife. He died in 1922, also in Trebic. If it hadn't been for Mr. Hitler none of us would have ever set foot outside of that town. In their home town they had a shop named Hermann Glasner. My grandmother had the reputation of a very capable businesswoman. In the summer she used to sit in front of the shop and would always knit socks that were so well made that my father and his brother could never wear them out. I remember those socks to this day, even their color, grey and black. In the winter she also sat by the doorway of the shop, but inside, and knitted. She called people that came in and didn't buy anything 'Indians'. Where she got that name and why she called them that, I don't know.

The Glasners lived on the town square, to be exact, in a place then called 'U Piku'. Later they moved, as they say, only a few steps further on. They bought a larger house, which stands to this day. There they built a crossing, where via a footbridge people could get directly into the Jewish Town [ghetto in Trebic]. It was a large apartment with a spacious circular hall. My grandparents' house consisted of two small, four larger and three beautiful large rooms. They had electricity and running water. The only disadvantage I could see was that it didn't have a yard. In the beginning they had two maids, when they got older they sufficed with one. Grandpa employed six people in the shop. None of them were of Jewish origin.

My grandparents on my father's side didn't have a kosher household. They went to the synagogue sporadically, usually only during major religious holidays and at maskir. Otherwise they didn't. Grandpa didn't wear a beard or payes and my grandmother never wore a wig. These things weren't worn in Trebic, ours wasn't a religious town.

I don't remember much about the siblings of my grandparents, the Glasners. Grandpa had three siblings. Uncle Kurt lived in Vienna. Then there were Uncle Leo and Aunt Frida. Other than their names I don't know anything about them. My grandmother's siblings I don't remember at all.

In the days of my youth [the 1930s] Trebic had approximately 22,000 inhabitants, of those around 250 to 270 were people of Jewish faith [according to the 1930 census Trebic had 17,555 inhabitants]. Jews didn't live in just the ghetto any more, but had spread out all over town. At the end of World War I Jews inhabited the upper and lower streets, which formed the ghetto. This part of town was called Zamosti [Behind the Bridge]. As the Jewish population increased, the ghetto couldn't accommodate them all. Jews began to flow over to those parts of Trebic where Catholics lived. Because most of them made their living as merchants, they moved to the town square, where there was the greatest population density, this being good for business. At the beginning of the 1930s all of Trebic already had electricity. However, running water still wasn't everywhere. Water wasn't brought to all households until 1936 to 1938. All of the streets in town were paved with stone and not dirt streets.

We weren't Orthodox; in fact there weren't any Orthodox Jews in town [see Orthodox communities] 2. None of the men wore payes, a tallit or kippah. Despite this there lived among us even quite deeply religious people. Our family also kept up traditions. We always felt ourselves to be Jews.

There was only one synagogue in town, which stood on Dolni Street in Zidech [part of the former Jewish ghetto in Trebic]. After the war it was bought by the Czechoslovak Church. The town also had a prayer hall, which we used to visit in winter, during which the synagogue wasn't heated. The prayer hall also served as a school after the anti-Jewish laws [in the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia] 3 came into force.

The rabbi in Trebic was named Ingber. He came from Ruthenia [see Subcarpathia] 4, from a poor family. He had many children. He promoted reformed Judaism. We used to study Ivrit with him. He didn't lead us toward tradition, but rather to a modern, conscious life. For example, even in pre- World War II Trebic would you have found a mikveh or cheder. Izidor Polnauer was the shochet and at the same time the shammash.

Most Jews in town made their living as merchants. A large number of them owned textile shops. A typical Jewish shop was for example that of the Fuersts. They sold textiles and wool. There were also landowners like Mr. Goldmann, who had a large estate. You could also find a few tradesmen, such as tailors and shoemakers. Besides the store, our family also had a glass workshop.

My father was born on 17th February 1885 in Trebic. His name was Emanuel Glasner. My father's mother tongue was German, but besides this he also spoke Czech and Yiddish. He completed his basic schooling in Trebic. He studied business in Vienna. There he also began his compulsory military service, which lasted three years. That was in the year 1911. After the end of his term of service in 1914, World War I broke out, so he once again had to join up. He served on the Russian front, where he was captured. He didn't get back home until 1922. After he returned, he and his brother Wilhelm took over the family store Hermann Glasner. They were successful, and built up a large glass and porcelain shop.

Growing up

My mother, Irma Glasnerova, nee Reich, was born on 18th January 1902. I don't remember her Jewish name. My mother's native tongue was German, so she did her basic schooling in a German school. After that she graduated from a business academy, but that was already in Czech. She also spoke Yiddish. She spoke German with her parents, but Czech with us. Before she married she worked as a secretary in the Zubak factory. It was a large tannery. After her wedding she no longer worked, but took care of the household and of us children. We never had a nanny. She used to go on walks with us, taught us how to swim. She made my life miserable with piano. Every day after lunch I had to practice. In the beginning she always stood above me like Damocles' sword.

My parents never told me about how they met. They were married on 15th February 1925 in Trebic. The wedding ceremony was of course Jewish. It's said that on the day of the wedding my father had such a bad case of the flu that their wedding night came to nothing. For a long time after, my mother kept her wedding bouquet, made of elder and lilacs. She had it stored away in a box printed with a flower pattern.

My parents dressed according to the times. We lived well, and never knew hunger. We weren't poor, we had everything. Quite often someone would play the piano and everyone read a lot. We didn't have a car or radio. Our father didn't like it. We lived in the upper street, 92 Husova. It was in Zamosti, in Zidech. We had a large five-room house. Always cold, we constantly had to heat it. We didn't have running water yet, but my grandparents who lived on the town square did. Our house had a large garden. We didn't grow anything in it besides chives and parsley. Mother had roses planted there. In the garden there was a small bower with climbing roses on each side. Another bower was covered in climbing vines, whose tendrils meandered down the terrace. In the fall they had beautifully colored leaves.

Up to when I was ten we always had a maid at home. When the last one got married, my mother proclaimed that she didn't want another. My grandmother Hermina Reich was an extremely energetic, relatively young woman. According to her no one else knew how to cook, wash, clean and properly shop, so she did all these things herself.

We had a kosher household. We never mixed meat and dairy products. We had special, dedicated kitchen utensils. We also had special utensils for Passover; we would exchange them so that there wouldn't be any chametz left over. We didn't eat pork. We would go with our mother to the synagogue every Friday evening. Our father would go only on the major holidays and at maskir. At home we observed all holidays. During Sabbath Grandma recited the Kiddush and blessed the barkhes. Before that two candles would be lit. Once in a while my uncles would come for Sabbath, but otherwise we didn't usually have guests.

As a child I liked all the holidays, because each one had its special magic. I was one of the few children that liked going to the synagogue. Passover, that was a beautiful holiday. Before the holiday started we would clean the entire house. The Passover dishes would be brought down from the attic. We would put the everyday dishes in a box and carry it upstairs. The whole house was always topsy turvy. For Chanukkah we usually sang. My job was to each day light a candle, each day one additional one. We got gifts from our parents, not with each candle, but we did get some. For Sukkot we didn't have a tent [sukkah]. A tent was set up in front of the synagogue. I don't remember any more exactly how many people would meet in the tent, but there were a lot, mainly we children. The rabbi would always gather us around and tell us many stories about the holidays. The Kiddush was recited, and everyone got small barkhes. During Simchat Torah we walked around the synagogue with blue and white flags and each of us got a box of pastries. As a child I also liked Yom Kippur. At a very young age I began to fast and I was always very glad when I held out until the end. We then had a celebratory supper and the whole family went to the synagogue. For the first food after Yom Kippur we would have sweet-filled buns with coffee.

Our house had an extensive library. As I child I loved to read. Someone was always bothering me, so I would lock myself in the bathroom and read. I didn't care if there was a queue in front of the door. I was curious and read everything, but newspapers were my favorite. I inherited this passion from my father. I would read every single page. Each day we bought Lidove Noviny 5, the Morgen Post for Grandma, on Sunday we always read the Prager Tagblatt 6, which came every two weeks, and we were also used to having an illustrated newsmagazine and Narodni Politika. [Editor's note: the publisher of the paper Narodni Politika or (National Political Post) was the printing and publishing house Politika. Its philosophy during the First Czechoslovak Republic (1918-1938) was close to the Czechoslovak National Democrats. The paper was popular for its multi-page classified insert Maly oznamovatel.] Mother and Grandma read all sorts of books. Besides regular books we also had prayer books for all holidays at home. Those I have until this day. During the war our neighbor hid them away. After the war ended he defended himself that he had to burn The History of the Czech Nation, because he was afraid of the Gestapo, but he didn't even touch the prayer books, because he was a deeply religious Catholic.

I don't remember my parents' political opinions, they didn't interest me. They weren't members of any political party or organization. My father always said: "Do what you like, you can go to Sokol 7, to the Scouts [see Czech Scout Movement] 8, but always remain a Jewess.' It was his credo. My father always identified his nationality as Jewish, which after the war they changed to Czech. No one from our family was a member of any political party.

We didn't have any immediate Jewish neighbors, only Christians. They were very decent people, who treated me very well after the war. Those, about whom I thought who knows what they're really like, helped me very much. Conversely, those I expected would help me, would even have denied the nose between their eyes. We never had any problems with our neighbors due to our being Jewish.

My parents didn't like to socialize. They met only with their siblings. Mother had three siblings, my father nine. They would all meet up in Trebic, but most of them lived in Vienna. Most frequently we saw my aunt [Jenny Beer, nee Glasner], who lived in Brno. My father was among people all day and didn't need any additional company. He was a passionate tarot player. Each Sunday he would go to the cafe U Ceplichalu. That was where the Jewish society met and where social life took place. During the week he was also used to taking off for an hour here and there, so he could play cards.

We weren't used to going anywhere on holidays. One could say that we had holidays all year round. Our mother was at home with us all day. She would take us on outings. We used to go swimming in local Trebic ponds. On Sunday we would manage to cajole Father into also coming along. Those were different times than now.

My father was one of nine children. He spent most of his time with his brother Wilhelm, with whom he took over grandpa's glass and porcelain store. Uncle Wilhelm had four children. All of them had a high-school education and two of them began studies at university. My cousins Mordecai and Leo [the sons of Wilhelm Glasner] were fervent Zionists. Mordecai, who they called Modsche, left in 1927 for Palestine. Cousin Leo followed him in 1938. Their sister, whose name I don't remember, met a man who came to Trebic from Palestine on vacation. They were married in 1935. Their wedding was the last big Jewish wedding in Trebic. To this day we wonder where the Glasners got top hats and a carriage. The young couple settled in Palestine. They were all chalutzim and lived in kibbutzim. Their youngest sister Helena stayed in Trebic. I visited her often, despite the fact that she was older than I. She didn't survive World War II. She died in Auschwitz.

Another of Father's brothers, Samuel, lived in Prague. Yet another, Michael, lived in Vienna. My father's sisters were named Lotte, Jenny, Erna, Klementina and Berta. They all married and belonged to the middle class, except for Aunt Erna, who was better off. Her husband, Max Durnheim was the director of the Danube Steamship Company in Vienna [Editor's note: the royally patented company was created in 1830 as a joint-stock company, on the basis of a patent registered by private individuals in 1828. The first steamship traveled in 1830 from Ebersdorf to Pest, but regular connections between Vienna and Pest weren't established until 1831. This route was soon expanded by a connection between Vienna and Bratislava and between Bratislava and the Lower Danube. The Danube Steamship Co. soon became the largest transport company and had a great influence on the development of transportation in Hungary. The company was headquartered in Vienna.] Almost all of my father's siblings died during the Holocaust. Only Uncle Samuel managed to survive.

My mother had three brothers, but I don't remember them much. Uncle Walter, along with his wife Hana and daughter Ruth, died in Poland during the Holocaust. The same fate met Uncle Fritz and his wife Feodora. Their daughter Emma however managed to survive. Today she lives in Montreal, in Canada. The last of my mother's brothers, Uncle Bertold, died in 1945 during a death march. His wife Franzi [Franciska Reichova, nee Kohoutovas] and son Peter didn't survive the war either.

We saw our relatives in Trebic on a daily basis. Every day I would run around and visit everyone to find out what was going on. We saw our relatives from Vienna only during summer vacation, because during that time they would always come to Trebic for a week. My father's sister Jenny and her husband used to come from Brno to visit us fairly often, as they had a car. They used to come, as one would say these days, 'for a cup of coffee'.

I was born on 23rd January 1926 in Trebic. During childhood I spent most of my time with my mother and grandmother Hermina. We never had a nanny. I would say that I was brought up by all of my relatives. I was an active child, and was always running around somewhere. My mother wanted me to take piano lessons, become a Scout, go to Sokol, and take German, English... I was always off at some lessons or activity. I loved to read, I read everything that came into my hands.

My school was close to home, on the same street. As soon as I ran down our steps, I was at municipal school. After municipal school 9 I went to council school 10 because my father wanted me to have a practical education. Today there is a medical school in the building of the former council school. In the third year of council school I was accepted at a business academy, but I didn't get the chance to start it. It was the year 1939 and regulations were passed that expelled Jewish children from schools [see Exclusion of Jews from schools in the Protectorate] 11.

I liked all subjects in school, except for math and physics, but my favorites were history, geography and literature. My favorite teachers were Mr. Vagner, who taught us geography and history, and my Czech teacher. They were excellent teachers. They knew how to attract the children's interest, and also had the appropriate literature for teaching. Until 1937 I never felt any anti-Semitism in school. At that time the school had a stupid catechism teacher, I don't remember his name, and at Easter told some girl, the types that sat only in church, that the preparation of matzot involves using the blood of Christian virgins and that we Jews crucified Jesus Christ. Those girls then began to bully me. They would dip my pigtails in ink, and constantly harassed me with various stupid comments. Truth be told, I didn't sit back and take it, I yelled at them but good. It ended up being a big to-do. My father had to come to school. After that things settled down.

As I child I had a busy schedule. I was always off somewhere: twice a week to piano lessons, twice weekly German, twice weekly English, twice weekly exercise at Sokol, and once a week to the Scouts. I loved scouting. Once a week we had a meeting where everyone wore a brown kerchief around their neck. We organized various trips, which every year culminated in summer camp. I went to three in all. We used to go on outings in the surrounding countryside, along the Jihlava River. Ski trips cost 50 halers and for another 50 halers we ordered tea with rum and felt like kings. The scout troop had only a few of Jewish members. Most Jews went to Sokol. Sokol was an athletic organization and similarly to the scouts organized various summer camps. A couple of years before the war my father forbade me from attending it. I never found out why, but the truth is that its management was quite chauvinistic.

I was the spitting image of my father and everywhere I went people recognized me and said: 'You must be Manka [a diminutive of Emanuela], Glasner's daughter.' Of course, when they came into my father's store, they would immediately tell him where they had met his daughter. I loved my father, even more than my mother. It's just that it really annoyed me that I was recognized everywhere I went.

I was a sociable child. I had many friends, both from school and from among my relatives. My friends were mostly non-Jews, because there weren't many Jews of my age in Trebic. We had this gang of school friends. We would go bicycling around the outskirts of town. I still see three of my former classmates, even now that we're all retired. They were nice girls, and never cared that I was Jewish.

My brother Harry Glasner was born on 20th September 1929. We had a good relationship, though it's true that I used to beat him to a pulp. I guess I was jealous of him, because I was a hulk and he was my exact opposite. To me they were always saying: 'You're eating again already!' and to him: 'Please, just one more bite...'. When hard times came, my parents would hide meat and roasts for him, because I didn't need it. Harry finished only four years of public school. He had his bar mitzvah in Terezin; it was a very simple ceremony. Only my grandmother Hermina Reich and I were there. The ceremony took place in a room that had been adapted as a prayer hall. He was for the first time summoned to the Torah and they accepted him into the society of men. I don't know who prepared him; we weren't together much. I had to go to work. He lived at L 417, a youth home. They deported him to Auschwitz on 16th October 1944. They sent him straight to the gas chamber.

We had religion lessons twice a week, where we studied Ivrit from textbooks by Dr. Feder. Later I got to know him personally in Terezin, where he did a lot for us. In Trebic we were led to be conscious of our Jewishness, but not to a religious lifestyle. At home I studied with my mother, or alone. My father was always in the store. The shop was open from 6am to 12pm and then from 12.30 to 6pm. After work I would always run to meet him. Every Friday evening and Saturday, before I started to attend school, my mother and I would go to the synagogue together.

During my childhood I never experienced any anti-Semitism. I'm sure it was there, just not that apparent. In the year 1939, when they threw all Jews out of school, they opened a so-called Alia school in the building where the prayer hall was. This school was open until 1941, when the Gestapo closed it. We were even taught by university professors who had been forbidden to teach otherwise. We also studied religion. We studied Hebrew from a book that had been published by Rabbi Feder, so that we would be able to read religious texts. They were preparing us for emigration to Israel. After the school in Trebic was closed I used to go to Brno, where a similar school had been opened, in the building of the Jewish community [on today's Kapitan Jaros Avenue]. There was even a Jewish high school in Hybesova Street, which had a large garden. There we studied agricultural methods. Our teacher was Mrs. Haas, the wife of composer Pavel Haas. [Haas, Pavel: (1899-1944): composer, born in Brno died in Auschwitz.] It was a good school, because they taught us practical subjects that were very useful to us in later life.

During the war

The anti-Jewish laws gradually changed our lives. We had to give up our jewelry, fur coats. We didn't have a radio, because my father didn't like it. I even had do give up my bicycle that I had gotten in 1938. The Gestapo arrested my father in 1941 and took him away to Jihlava. We never saw him again. We never found out the reason for his arrest. I think that our neighbor, who worked for the police, denounced him. He was at our place twice during house searches by the Gestapo. After my father was arrested they froze our bank accounts. We had no cash. Everything stayed in the store. In December 1941 we got a telegram in which was written: 'Ihr Ehemann ist im Konzentrationslager Auschwitz verstorben.' [German for 'Your husband died in the Auschwitz concentration camp']. In October of 1941 the Gestapo summoned my mother as well; it was on the second day of the Rosh Hashanah holiday. That was the last time that I saw her. From Jihlava they sent her straight to Ravensbruck 12. I and my grandma Hermina remained alone.

During this time Jews were being expelled from certain towns, for example Jihlava, which had to be judenfrei 13. Most of the Jews from Jihlava moved to Trebic, to the former Jewish ghetto in Zamosti. There were seven of us crammed into our house, I and my brother, Grandma, Uncle and Aunt Lang and their children Ludka and Petrik. Quite enough for one toilet and kitchen. Food was distributed via a system of coupons. We could only go shopping at a certain time, in only one store. We used to get a much smaller ration than Aryans. Despite the bad times there were people that risked their lives and helped us. Mr. Novacek, my father's friend from World War I, used to come visit us. He would bring cheese, milk and eggs. He also helped a lot after the war. A few years after the fall of the German Fascist regime the Communists sent him off to the Jeseniky Mountains where the poor man died.

We had no money, our bank accounts were blocked. We had to gradually sell our furniture, a beautiful Petrof piano... In May of 1942 an edict was passed that all Jews had to leave Trebic. Two transports set out from the region of Jihlava, to which Trebic belongs. In March or April a list of all Jews was drawn up and in May we gathered in the Trebic high school. We were there for only a short time. They sent us to Terezin via the AW transport. Each person was allowed a maximum of 50 kilos of luggage. At that time the trains didn't travel directly to Terezin. We got off in Bohusov and from there walked to Terezin. We younger ones managed the trip and the heavy load, but for older people it must have been very exhausting. We tried to help them with their luggage. After we arrived at the Terezin ghetto we each got a registration number and a mattress. They divided us up and put us into barracks. I went to the Hamburg barracks, while my grandmother went to the Dresden barracks. During the war years in Trebic living conditions hadn't been rosy, but a person could always bathe and have some sort of privacy, while in Terezin it was terrible. As time passed and we got to Auschwitz, Terezin seemed like Mecca.

We young ones were lucky in that we could work. At first they employed me in the laundry, where I worked with a friend of my father's, Mrs. Goldman. I worked there for about three quarters of a year. After that came work in the fields and gardening. While doing this work in Terezin I got into the Zionist association Irgun Dalet. Life was easier when you belonged to some sort of social circle. With the passage of time the association ceased to exist, because the transports that were constantly leaving Terezin completely wiped Irgun Dalet out. Most of the people that belonged to this association, naturally those that survived, emigrated to Palestine after the war.

My last job in the ghetto was helping out in the bakery. It was extremely hard physical work. On the other hand, I have to say, though it may sound stupid, that I always tried to work somewhere where it was possible to steal something. Though the fact that 'Thou shalt not steal' is one of God's commandments, stealing food was a question of life or death. In the ghetto my friend Janecek was in the function of staff captain. You could say that in his function he was practically on the same level as the Germans. Once he brought his mother five radishes. They found out about it and immediately punished him. In the ghetto a person did things that he would have condemned in normal daily life. The luckiest though were those that managed to get work outside of the Terezin ghetto gates.

In Terezin I also met my aunt Erna Durnheim, my father's sister with her husband, who unfortunately died there. Life in Terezin was very cruel for old people. Most of them didn't know how to get to anything, mainly to food, where to find it.

When we came to Terezin, we weren't allowed to move about freely, as there were still non-Jews living there. In the year 1943 there were no more Aryans in the ghetto, so we could then freely move about. After work I would always run to visit my grandma in the Dresden barracks, because I was in the Hamburg barracks and my brother in L 417. That was a youth home - Jugendheim, where there were only boys. After the original inhabitants left and there were free houses, we got into L 316 thanks to connections. There were 16 of us girls in one room. We had double bunk beds. There were a larger number of rooms. We were lucky, because there was also a bathroom in the house. In 1943 there were an awful lot of fleas and bedbugs in the ghetto. There were so many of them that we couldn't even sleep, we had to drag our mattresses out on the terrace, and slept there. A group of men, called Entwesung [German for 'disinfestation'], would gas the houses. It was done in stages, at that time we had to move out. The cause of the epidemic was overcrowding and insufficient hygiene. After all, they were old houses. There was also a large percentage of old people living there, those I felt the most sorry for. Their buildings were the most disease- ridden.

There were very dedicated doctors in the ghetto. They had a minimum of medicines at their disposal, but tried to do the best they could. Dr. Hans Schaffa was a very selfless person. He was born in Mikulov. Before the war he worked as a pediatrician in a Brno hospital. He was transported to Terezin on the first AW transport in May 1942. In Terezin, despite great obstacles and difficulties he established a children's hospital in one of the buildings, including a tuberculosis ward. It wasn't anything big, but in that time and place it was a miracle! He helped many children, unfortunately most of them, just like the hospital employees, died. Funerals in Terezin weren't carried out in any traditional way, there were carts drawn by people that would come along the street. The dead bodies would be placed on them. Later a crematorium was built. When a lot of ashes built up they would be dumped into the Odra River. Nowadays there is a large cemetery on that spot.

Terezin's self-government was a big plus. Cultural life in Terezin became an unforgettable experience for me. I remember the conductor Rafael Schaechter, who was from Brno. He managed to organize a beautiful concert. His concerts weren't officially allowed in the ghetto, but for people that loved music it was balsam for the soul. His last concert in Terezin was Mozart's Requiem. I will never forget this performance of Mozart's work, even though I've heard it several times since the end of the war. When the performance was near, and the compositions were learned, often the musicians were designated for transport. There were always talents to work with to be found. I heard the Requiem there, and the Bartered Bride [opera by Bedrich Smetana], sung by a world-famous soprano from Hamburg. The musicians had to interrupt their career while still young. I had the opportunity to hear Gideon Klein sing, and then Vava [Vlasta] Schonova, later she changed her name to Sanova. She used to live in Haifa. As an actress she had no success in any Israeli theater. So she started working in radio. After the war we met twice. The first time was in May 1965: we were on a beautiful trip in Bet She'an together. Towards the end of her life she suffered from cancer. From Haifa she moved to Jerusalem to be with her daughter, an Orthodox Jewess. She died a few years ago in Israel. That cultural life helped us. For the young there were various educational activities and lectures. A whole lot was done for us, the young people, in terms of education and various lectures.

Education wasn't formally taken care of. The little that was done for young people had to be done on the sly. We were taught by university professors. They did a great service; even so they put them on the transports. I remember Willy Groag, who came from Prostejov. [Groag, Willy (b. 1914): Czech painter, doctorate in Chemistry. He started drawing in Theresienstadt, where he taught the children. Groag emigrated to the Kibbutz Maanit in 1945. He worked in agriculture, art was his hobby. Later he worked in painting and silk-screen printing. He first exhibited at age 77.] In Terezin he founded a home for young girls. He was constantly fighting dissolution and illiteracy, despite having to do most things on the sly. He survived the war in Terezin together with his wife Madla. After the liberation they emigrated to Palestine. Madla was one of the first victims of polio that broke out in Israel in the 1950s. Groag married again. He had a daughter from his first marriage and a daughter and son from the second. He lived in the Maanit kibbutz, where he built a factory, what kind I don't remember. He was and still is a person respected everywhere where his former wards live. Later on he established a fund for university studies that bears his name.

I was in Terezin from 22nd May 1942 until 16th October 1944. I was in transport AW-546. We traveled under horrible conditions, I don't remember any more for how many days we traveled there. In Auschwitz they gave me the number JR 1143. Our transports, though we didn't know it at the time, were liquidation transports of 2,000. October transports weren't tattooed, because the Germans didn't have the time any more. On the ramp we met a Slovak transport. There I ran into my cousin from Bratislava. She had her son Petrik with her, who was about four or five. They sent them straight to the gas chamber; the same happened to my brother. There were soldiers standing on the ramp, and they were sending us either to the right or to the left. With the wave of a hand we were fated for either life or death. But even life wasn't worth a whole lot. There were masses of people there, there were 200 of us just from Trebic alone, but at the same time there were 1,000 and 2,000-person transports arriving. We mixed in with Slovak and Hungarian transports. Before we knew what was happening, our family was scattered among them. When mothers didn't want to give up their children, they went with them to the gas chamber.

Those of us that were sent to the other side had to strip naked. We stood in a large hall where they looked us over again to see what we looked like. I guess I was in such shock that it didn't seem at all strange to me to be standing there naked. They herded us into showers; at that time we didn't yet know that we could have been gassed, we didn't learn that until later. We received these awful rags and wooden shoes; they didn't care if they fit us or not. And so we became people with less value than your average dog. Then they shaved us all, one group shaved our heads, another our armpits, yet another our genitals. Then they herded us all into the showers again, and back out, wet. At that time it was already cold out, because it was October. I got a skirt so short that my butt stuck out of it. I tore the lining out of the skirt and three of us made headscarves out of it. It was a flowered skirt, and the wooden shoes on top of that, well, we looked like Gypsies.

I was in Auschwitz for six weeks, and then some of us were picked for work in Kurzbach. Kurzbach is in Silesia, I found that out later when I was in Israel, because there they've got everything precisely mapped out. It was a small village. There they herded us onto a farm. In the middle of the farmyard there was a pump: when we saw it we all immediately went over to it and washed ourselves. I didn't matter at all to us that it was cold out. Then they herded us into a hayloft, where there were three-story bunk beds. Each one of us got her own blanket. Two of us would always huddle together and cover ourselves with two blankets so we would be warmer. At that time I looked so horrible that the camp commander felt sorry for me. He got me stockings and socks, and so I was a bit more warmly dressed. He was a very decent man, and despite the bad conditions he would always try to make sure that in the evening we got hot soup, hot coffee with a piece of bread weighing about 20 - 25 grams, jam or margarine. The SS women in the camp were horrible beasts; the men were all right.

In Kurzbach we worked in the forest. Each time two women would get two tree trunks to carry. One was put on each shoulder, and we would then walk back. We would go twice a day. We also dug roads for tanks. It was work just for the sake of working, despite this it was extremely hard. We had no time to rest; they were always chasing us off somewhere. We dug up tree roots in the forest for the army, because they were laying underground telephone lines. At that time I was so exhausted that I fainted; my friends worked at reviving me until I was finally back on my feet. I was lucky that they didn't shoot me: we had a guard there that loved to shoot. That was the first and last time that I fainted. The work seemed to be endless, maybe it wasn't, maybe it just seemed that way, at that time we were basically useless.

On 23rd January 23, 1945, on the day of my 19th birthday, I got a wonderful gift. They sent us out of Kurzbach on a death march; of course we didn't know at the time that it would later be known by this name. What an unforgettable birthday gift! There was a lot of snow and it was very cold. The first night they herded us into a hayloft in a village named Wohlau. The Germans were driving us all the way to Gross-Rosen camp 14. They marched along with us, also on foot, but at least they could stop, have a bite to eat, and were warmly dressed. We got nothing. Well, there, amidst a lot of shouting they forced us to strip naked outside. They herded us into showers and then back out into the cold and gave us lice-ridden dresses. To this day I'm amazed how we managed to survive all of those horrors, but a person had that sporting spirit. And despite difficulties we managed to keep ourselves relatively clean.

The other girls' hair hadn't grown back yet. I always had a lot of hair which grew quickly. When they gave us those lice-ridden rags, that was the end. We saw boys that we knew from Terezin; they were driving those poor wretches further onwards. The next day they loaded us into open rail wagons. They were so crowded that we couldn't even stand on both feet. First they transported us to Weimar. They wanted to put us into Buchenwald 15, but it was already overflowing. We remained standing at the train station. It was a beautiful winter's day, the sun was shining. At noon they started to bomb Weimar. A few bombs also fell on the train station. The English didn't know that all those prisoners were standing there at the station. Our locomotive got hit. Pieces fell into our wagon as well, we had some casualties. We were so deadened that we laid the corpses in a pile and could finally sit down in that overcrowded wagon. I and my girlfriend Liza were lucky. We had met in Terezin; she had been a teacher at the youth home. She was talented, already then she could speak French and English perfectly. We put the dead into one pile and then could sit down. During the trip we got nothing to eat or drink.

Then we just continued on and on. We came to some sort of small station. There, amid a lot of shouting, we had to get off the train. Later we learned that it was Bergen-Belsen and that we were somewhere near Hanover. That camp was the worst of all, true hell. This was already in February 1945, and there they were all like beasts, mainly the SS women, they were horrible. There we had nothing: there was no water, no food. We were exhausted, we slept on just a bare concrete floor, and to top it all off one Polish woman stole my wooden shoes. There was no hygiene, diseases spread, and horrible runs. I also got infected. Thanks to the girls and mainly Liza I survived, because there was always someone worse off and someone better off. We dragged each other to roll calls, and when they counted us from the front, then they held me from the back, and conversely, when they counted us from the back, then they held me from the front. One day some girls from Hamburg arrived, they had been on cleanup details. When the front started to draw near they herded them off to Belsen. They weren't as badly off as we were, at that time they gave me a spoonful of sugar.

They liberated us at the last moment, it was 12th May 1945. The soldiers carried me out as one of the dead. I'll never forget how I frightened those young men when I piped up that I was alive. They carried me off to the field hospital. I always said to myself: 'My God, what are they going to do, we're so dirty and lice-ridden.' In those days there was the miracle of DDT powder, they covered us in it, and truly even deloused us. We got clean nightshirts. They put us up in German barracks. Those of us that were very badly off were actually lucky, because those who weren't quite so sick ate meat and canned food and that was the end of them. I know that it's rude, but it was said that they 'shat themselves to death'. I couldn't even walk; I weighed about 34 kilos. It was strange to see Germans, how they were suddenly submissive and small, and how they had to carry water. Many of them were also killed, as people who still had the strength to do it lynched them. I wasn't vindictive: I can't even kill a chicken, let alone a person.

Next there came a Red Cross program where each country took in prisoners for recuperation. About 10,000 Czechs were taken to Sweden. First a hospital train took us to Lubeck, and there they transferred us onto a Swedish Red Cross ship. It was a major act of bravery, as the whole sea was still mined. We went to Stockholm by ship, from there they took us to Sigtuna. During the school year Sigtuna was full of high-school students. In a large central building there was a gymnasium, we lived in small multi- story three-room houses. After reconvalescence they took us to Ritzbrunn- Ryd, which was between Malmo and Goteborg. It's a small spa in southern Sweden. There we got clothing and five Swedish crowns a week for pocket money. I spent all my money on lemons, because the first few days I ate only lemons. We had it very good there. In October 1945 the first repatriation transport arrived. I decided to go home, after all, what if my mother was alive? I had three cousins in Israel, two boys and a girl, who wanted me to come and stay with them. I actually wanted to, but first I returned to Trebic. About eighty of us went home on the first transport. We arrived in Lubeck. Of course our officers had nothing ready for us. They stuck us in a Serbian camp, everyone was drunk. The English declared that we couldn't stay there and took us in. They took very good care of us, we went to concerts and out dancing, that was the first time in my life that I had danced. After four or five days we were able to continue on to Prague. There I had an uncle, his wife was an Aryan. They lived in Smichov, so they were there waiting for me. I stayed with them for only a few days. Then I returned to Trebic.

I had different plans, reality was also different. I expected that I would get the house and store back and that I would sell it, or rent it out. I wanted to attend school and wanted to go to Israel. All of my friends were there, and my cousins. But it all ended up differently. I didn't get the house back. They gave me the store back in March or April. One morning about two months later I opened up an official gazette and there it was: 'The company Hermann Glaser has been nationalized retroactively to February 1948'. Soon after the property manager showed up as well, I think his name was Kadanka. Earlier he had been a big member of the People's Party and in February he had changed into a big communist. He was a capable person, but acted repugnantly. There were also those that managed to get their property back because they had loyal employees. Our Mrs. Krista was very capable and hard-working, but not loyal.

Post-war

There were a few people that helped me after the war. One lady came to see me and said: 'Herticka, come over, we've got your duvets'. It seems that my grandma had ordered new feather duvets - for my brother and for me. And so after the war I had two duvets and four pillows: in those days that was big property. Our neighbor was a pious Catholic. He had hidden away a lot of our things, among them also our prayer books The Five Books of Moses, Machzor, tallit and tefillin. As I told you earlier: After the war he defended the fact that he had to burn the History of the Czech Nation because he was afraid of the Gestapo. But he didn't touch the prayer books because he was such a deeply religious Catholic. There were decent people, but there were also hyenas among them.

Before I got married, I lived with our neighbor in Zamosti. I couldn't stay there long because they only had one room and a kitchen. At that time I got an offer from Mr. Neuman, who had also returned, to take care of his house while he was in Prague. It was a large house with a beautiful bathroom. I had a small room with a separate entrance. I took care of it, and when it was being painted, I also cleaned the whole place. When they returned to Trebic, his wife ungraciously threw me out. The reason she gave me was that she wanted to move her parents in. At that time I was already going out with Karl - my future husband - and he slept over there once in a while.

If it hadn't been for my friend Lucy we would have both ended up on the street. They had a beautiful tailor's workshop and let us use part of it. My husband divided the workshop with a partition. This created a large room. When Janka [Jana Kubikova, nee Coufalova] was born, she slept in a baby blanket. It was an adventure. The toilet was at the other end of the courtyard. We had to go down a spiral staircase, through a long hallway and across the courtyard to get to it. Today I would barely make it there. A person was young then, and told himself that he had to get through it. That was also one of the reasons we left Trebic. Karel couldn't find work, partly also because of me, because I was a 'capitalist', even though I had nothing. And so in 1949 we picked up and left for Sumperk.

When I returned after the war, no one cared that I had no place to stay. A clerk at the town hall told me that I should change my name, because Glasner sounds Jewish. I answered why should I change my name if Gottwald can be named Gottwald and Fierlinger be named Fierlinger? My parents never shamed our name, they always paid their taxes. I hope that I'll never do anything to cast our name into disrepute either. I think that after the war it was worse than before, because some people had property fall into their lap. Everyone managed to tear off a piece for himself. When you walk around Trebic today, just imagine that the entire main square, especially the lower square, those were all Jewish houses. No one talks about that today.

I very much wanted to leave for Israel, but I got married. My husband was a Catholic, and didn't have any interest in Israel. In 1947 our daughter Jana was born, and everything became complicated. During the aliyah in 1948, I also wanted very much to leave. He said I could go, but our child would stay. So I stayed.

In December 1945 I started working in our store. Four years later we moved to Sumperk. At first I devoted myself to bringing up my firstborn daughter, and later I found a job, for six months, in a furniture fabric factory. In the meantime I had two more daughters and I remained at home. After my maternity leave ended I went on to work for twelve years in television. I left my job after a change in management. I didn't like my new boss. Every apprentice had a higher salary than I did. My last employer was the Grand Hotel in Sumperk. At first I worked as a receptionist and eventually became the reception manager. I very much enjoyed my work. One had the chance to meet interesting people. We had many clients, because there was a lot of industry in the region - wood, paper and metallurgy. There were the Rapotin glass works, and a paper mill in Velke Glosiny where they manufacture handmade paper to this day.

I never joined any political party because I'm not a submissive person and I don't like only one line of thought and respect the opinions of others. I never held a person's political opinion against him. I don't understand people who in the name of ideology gave up their family, studies, even their life. Many people lost their lives in the name of ideology, for example Slansky 16 and Sverma 17. The Slansky trial 18 was manipulated, that was known even then. Only now do people talk about it openly, but that won't bring those people back to life. People are short- sighted and forgetful. Although today you can go to the store and find everything, first you have to look and see what you've got in your pocket. It's human nature to want to have everything, but we've all got different abilities.

During the events of 1968 [see Prague Spring] 19 we were at our cottage. At night I awoke to the sound of airplanes above us. My husband said to me that it was probably the Russians on maneuvers. Well, they weren't just maneuvering. Polish soldiers came to our region, they were everywhere. At that time there were about a thousand Russians there. Those boys were wretches; they lived in horrible conditions and were beaten. Their pay was seven crowns per day, when they couldn't stand it any longer they would of course run away. They left behind a devastated environment. Of course people were glad that they were gone, and now they reminisce about the good old days. They don't realize that we had to pay for all those advantages ourselves.

Neither I nor my husband were ever members of any socialist organization. We were only passive members of the ROH 20. We didn't go on recreation trips with them. My husband worked in the sawmills in Northern Moravia via which they used to be organized. I had to put up with them all year, and then on top of that to have to go on vacation with them, that was out of the question. When we didn't have money for a vacation, we would go camping on pastures by the reservoir.

At work I never hid the fact that I was Jewish. When I working at the Grand [Hotel Grand], that might have been the 1980s by then, we had this one trainee. One day she came to me and asked if she could ask me something. She had heard that supposedly I was Jewish. I answered that yes, I was. She looked at me and said: 'You're just like rest of us.' And what do you think, that we climb trees like monkeys, and that each one of us has to have some sort of nose? She was a pleasant, clever girl from Prague. People are prejudiced against foreign ethnicities. Today a similar problem exists with Gypsies. Those people can't help the fact that they live so poorly, there are some among them that are starting to make their way up. But that isn't only the first generation, because even their grandparents had to be civilized. When they come from Romania, from Slovakia, they don't know how to use the WC and that there's such a thing as running water. That's nature, when we don't know something, we destroy it. It's a mistake to leave it be, it's also a ghetto. First people fought to open the ghetto, then to close it.

My husband, Karel Coufal, was born in 1926. He was from Trebic. We had already known each other in public school. After the war, food coupons were given out once a month, and he was in charge of this. Because I'm very disorganized, it would regularly happen that I wouldn't pick up my coupons until I had no food left at home. However, it was necessary to also bring along your identification, which I had of course misplaced somewhere. So that's how we met, at the food coupon distribution window. Soon we started dating. We had common interests and friends. A person needed to have something in common with the other.

We were married on 30th August 1947 at the Trebic city hall. I had a light blue wedding dress with short sleeves. We were both absent-minded and so we forgot about the bouquet. At the last moment I had one made by Mr. Pavlik so that my mother's friends wouldn't say 'that Coufal didn't even give her a bouquet'. As a wedding gift we got a basketful of pastries. The wedding banquet menu was very simple - chicken with new potatoes and cucumber salad. In the end all of our friends and acquaintances showed up and what we had planned as a small wedding turned into a big feast. Before the wedding Karel had had a goodbye party and for a long time had the feeling that his 'yes' wasn't pure.

I've never had a good relationship with my mother-in-law Leopolda and my sister-in-law Slavka, because they didn't like the fact that I'm Jewish. When our oldest daughter Janka was born, she rather left for Slovakia. That's why our children didn't go visit them during summer vacation. We only met at Easter and during summer vacation. In those days we used to go to our cottage in Trebic for longer periods of time. Grandmother never babysat the children.

Karel attended an industrial technical high school in Sumperk. He was always ambitious. He studied to be a machine operator, electrician, auto- mechanic and projectionist. In his old age he finished a welding course at the Slovak Technical University in Bratislava. He worked his whole life in the Northern Moravian sawmills as chief of mechanization.

In Sumperk we used to live across from the city hall. I was an old three- bedroom apartment, so it had high 3.2 meter ceilings and the rooms were 7.5 x 5.5 meters. It was always quite lively, because during summer vacation we had up to eight children at our place. They used to ride their tricycles in our front hall; once in a while they broke something. There was no shortage of injuries, I remember how once my daughter Helena [Mikulova, nee Coufalova] flew through a glass door and smashed her knee. After my husband's death I moved into a small two-bedroom apartment in the center of town. The bus and train station were nearby, as well as a health clinic. My husband and I had never had any inclination towards amassing property. We had a car, a cottage in Kuty, children and grandchildren.

I didn't bring up my children in the Jewish faith. When they were small, they didn't even know that I was Jewish. They only knew that was going to Brno, or that I was going to Prague for a Terezin reunion. Now that they are older, they're quite interested in it, they read the magazine Rosh Chodesh and the Jewish almanac. I tried to bring them up in a tolerant fashion; they weren't brought up in any religion so that they could then freely choose on their own.

We didn't observe Jewish holidays at home, because I lost my desire for keeping traditions. At Christmas my husband would decorate the tree. We had a festive supper and the children got gifts. We would spend Easter by the river in Trebic. Of course we would paint Easter eggs and on Easter Monday our children's classmates would come over to visit.

Our friends weren't Jews, because there weren't any Jews of my age in Sumperk or its surroundings. My girlfriends aren't alive any more. Two of them were in Prague and one in Sumperk. We got to know each other through our children. They moved from Most when little Jana was about five. We used to go on walks, to the theatre, and to classical music concerts.

Our oldest daughter, Jana, was born in 1947 in Trebic. She went to elementary school in Sumperk. She studied photography at a secondary school in Brno. After graduation she got a job in a metallurgical research institute and worked there until her retirement. She married twice. The children were like real siblings. Lenka has her own apartment and lives there with her son David who was born in 2003. Martin lives in Zlin, his wife is named Renata. They have a seven year old son, Honzik [Honza, Jan - Honza is a less formal version of the name Jan. It comes from the German name Hans, short for the German equivalent to Jan, Johannes].

Jitka was born in the year 1951. She is twice happily divorced and childless. Jitka graduated from library science at secondary school. She has her own bookstore in Sumperk. Currently she also employs my youngest daughter Helen. Helen was born in 1952, and went to mechanical-technical secondary school. Her husband is named Jozef Mikula. They have two children together, Jitka and Jozef. She lives in a house with a garden and has a partial disability pension. Jozef is a carpenter and Jitka a student at police academy.

I was happy when the state of Israel was created in 1948 and was sad that I couldn't go there. People went there out of idealism. They went to work in the fields and there was always a shomer - a guard with a gun - with them. They lived in primitive houses; parents didn't sleep with their children, who lived in special homes. These days they live relatively well. People in kibbutzim don't want to work. Nowadays every kibbutz has affiliated production, because otherwise they wouldn't be able to support themselves. This is partly due to a serious lack of water.

The wars and conflicts in Israel always saddened me. I had relatives and friends there. Now there are already three generations of Glasners there.

I've been to Israel four times, each time I stayed for fourteen days. The first time I went was in the year 1956. I came to a town where they were opening the Terezin Memorial. Five of us from Brno had been invited. It was very difficult for me to get permission to travel. Permits were given out on Hradcanske Namesti [Hradcany Square, in Prague]. I had to go there three times. The civil servants acted like the Gestapo towards us. The man who gave out the permits yelled at everyone. When my turn came, before he could open his mouth to say anything, I piped up first: 'Look here, now tell me whether you do or don't have that permit, but you're not going to yell at me, I'm not being interrogated by the Gestapo here.' He just looked at me and threw me the permit. The flight was Prague - Sofia - Athens. From there we traveled on by boat, stopping at Cyprus and Crete. The memorial opening was on the 22nd and I didn't manage to fly out until the 22nd. I was there for two weeks, and liked it very much. It was beautiful, because in those days there weren't a lot of people going there yet. And when I returned there this year, I didn't even have time to stop and think a bit, because I was carried along by the crowd. I was there again in the year 1985 - 1986 and in 1989.

In Sumperk I didn't get to any underground literature. I had a girlfriend in Prague, Doris Grosdanavicova, whom I had met in Terezin, who always passed on books and magazines to me. I was partial to the Western broadcasts of BBC and our Radio Free Europe 21.

I maintained only written contact with friends and relatives living abroad. In Canada [Montreal] I have a cousin, Emma. When my husband died in 1985, I traveled to Canada for a visit. They [Emma and her husband] paid for my stay, and they would do it again today. I'm the only one in our family that won't let them. For example, Emma saves all year so she can spend the worst winter months in Florida. Once she took me there with her. Since I play neither tennis nor golf, I was terribly bored. The rest of my cousins have already died. But I still keep in touch with their children. There are 21 Glasners living in Israel. The last time, when we had a reunion in Trebic, I played tour guide for them. My feet hurt so much afterwards that I said to myself, 'never again'.

I welcomed the fall of the Communist regime with great joy, but I didn't go jingling my keys [during the Velvet Revolution 22 people symbolically expressed their dissatisfaction with the Communist regime by jingling their keys during demonstrations]. I sat and listened to the radio. In my opinion, it's going to take a few years until people get used to democracy. It's necessary for some generations to die out, mainly mine. Our lives didn't change and stayed in a rut. Jitka has her own bookstore. Right now the new supermarkets are big competition for her, because people need bread for life, not books. Luckily she manages to make a living and also employs her sister [Helena].

In Brno I would like to return to Orthodoxy, but that's not possible any more. My generation is dying out; the war destroyed everything for us, mainly the conservation of traditions and laws. Though one respects them, one is no longer able to follow them, because when 99 percent of people go through what we went through, faith simply disappears. Maybe from a certain perspective it's a positive thing, it's said that this is a way to preserve Jewry, but it seems to be somewhat forced to me. Most people that are inclined toward Orthodoxy, are like us, original Jews.

I've always been a member of the Jewish community in Brno, and have never been ashamed of it. Similarly I'm also a member of the Terezin Initiative [Foundation] 23, and I receive the Terezin Bulletin in German from Israel. According to my abilities I also contribute to various organizations.

After the year 1989 I got restitution from the state for my parents, which however didn't bring them back to life. I also got something from the Claims Conference. I'm not some sort of capitalist, and don't know how to manage money. I divided everything up among the girls. Lenka has David now, so I'm not worried about the currency dropping.

Glossary

Bina Dekalo
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Dimitar Bozhilov
Date of interview: April 2003

Bina Dekalo is a pleasant elderly lady, who is always ready to tell stories about her big family. She lives in the Mousagenitsa living estate [consisting mostly of concrete panel apartment blocks and located in the southeast part of Sofia], where she has also accommodated a young family who looks after her. They are friends of her granddaughter, who lives in Israel. She has a big room of her own, with a desk on which she has placed a typewriter, carefully covered with a piece of embroidery. With great sadness she explains that she cannot use it anymore, because she has a serious problem with her sight. She also has a wardrobe, a bed, and a big table with a dark red velvet cover with embroidery, which she keeps as a souvenir from her mother. Her favorite pastime is literature. She knows Ivrit very well and teaches it to students who come to her home several times a week. She is visited by guests very often and does not go out much now, because she is still recovering from a heavy fall. She is always elegantly dressed, with a nice hairdo. She is very kind and always willing to help with what she can.

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

My family background

My paternal and maternal ancestors came from Spain after the persecutions against Jews there some centuries ago [see Expulsion of the Jews from Spain] 1. My paternal grandfather, Avram Aroyo, used to gather us and tell us about the beautiful Spain. We passed these stories from generation to generation. His father used to tell him about the famous Aroyo family, who was named after a river in Spain, near which they lived. Our grandfather told us that his great great-grandfathers lived in Toledo, had big dairy farms and were very rich. Their produce of yellow cheese, cheese and milk was in high demand by all citizens of Toledo. Their company was famous and much respected. We were all sitting listening, fascinated by his words. He was very excited while telling us about the banishment of the Jews from Spain. In order to save themselves, his great great-grandfather, his family and relatives paid a lot of money to board a trade ship with some other Jewish refugees. They traveled for months around the Mediterranean Sea until they reached the shores of ?urkey at that time, where they were welcomed very well.

My paternal grandfather was born in Yambol [a town in Southeast Bulgaria] in 1847. He was the most respected of all in our house in Yambol. He was a handsome man with a short white beard, brown eyes, lean and agile, always wearing a kippah. He loved his grandchildren very much and never forgot their birthdays. I remember that he always whispered some prayer. He was present at the brit milah of each of the boys. These were grand ceremonies. On holidays such as Purim and Tu bi-Shevat he brought presents accompanied by something made of yellow cheese from his dairy farm. My grandfather had a big dairy farm near the town. A Bulgarian, Bai Yordan, was his partner. They were very good friends and we always invited him and his wife to lunch during our Jewish holidays. On the Christian holiday Easter my parents and my grandfather were invited to their place to eat kozunak [Easter cake] and eggs.

My grandfather was very hard working. He got up early every morning and went to the dairy farm. It was located on the outskirts of the town. I searched for some traces of that dairy farm later on, but I couldn't find any. They produced dairy products there and every day my grandfather brought home yellow cheese and butter. Mostly Bai Yordan, whom my grandfather trusted a lot, did the sales and production. My grandfather supervised the production process and paid much attention to quality and hygiene. Three or four workers worked in the dairy farm. It was a building consisting of a number of sheds. One of the sheds housed wooden dishes for the separation of the butter, and the other big troughs, in which they made yogurt. Everything was very clean and produced in a primitive way; I don't remember seeing any machines there. Grandpa Avram was very proud of this dairy farm. Everything they produced was much sought on the market. They made good money and my grandfather helped his three sons financially. But he loved my father most and they were always together. Grandpa Avram lived with us in the big house. When he returned from work in the evening, he washed himself, put on a housecoat, ate something and left fresh cheese and butter from the dairy farm in the kitchen.

My grandfather insisted that his children and grandchildren observe the Jewish laws, study Tannakh and the history of the Jewish people. Every Saturday he took us to the synagogue and taught us to be proud of our origin. He himself went to the synagogue very often, even twice a day and gave money for its maintenance. On every holiday he told us the story of the Jews from the time of King David and King Solomon - 'Shlomo ha Melech'. He told us about the Jews' exodus from Egypt and how the waters of the sea parted to let them walk across the seabed, while the Egyptian soldiers following them drowned.

My grandfather had small books with prayers in ancient Jewish, most of which he knew by heart. We had one room on the first floor in our big house in Yambol, where my grandfather went every morning to say his prayers.

My grandfather got along very well with my mother. They often sat together, drinking coffee and talking. My mother used to tell him about her family in Odrin and my grandfather about Spain. Once it was very hot and he told my mother that he wasn't feeling well. My mother advised him not to go to the dairy farm. Soon after that he died. He was a much-respected man and many people came to attend his funeral. The hall was large and full of people standing. Some Jewish women also came to sing Jewish mourning songs, praising God in Ladino. The rabbi of the synagogue came to my grandfather's funeral and said the funeral prayer. We missed our grandfather very much and talked about him very often.

My paternal grandmother, Sunhula Aroyo, was a humble woman devoted to household work. She was very hard working, always busy cooking, cleaning and looking after the children. Every day I saw her in the kitchen with a big apron and a kerchief on the head. I was impressed by the fact that all Jewish women in Yambol wore kerchiefs. My father had two brothers, Jules Aroyo and Lia Aroyo. Lia was a craftsman in Aytos, and Jules, my father's younger brother, married in Rousse, where he had a haberdashery.

My father was a prosperous merchant and he could afford to support our big family. After he built the big house, he settled in it while it was still damp and that was the reason for the illness of his first wife Bina, who died very young. My grandmother Sunhula took up looking after the children: Albert, Mois, Aron, Sami, Jacques, Carolina and Herzl. They also hired a woman who helped them.

My father had a very big shop for textile at the square in Yambol. His shop was always full of quality textile and that's why it had many clients. Besides, my father was a much respected and liked man, and many people entered the shop just to meet him.

My maternal grandfather, Mordohay Behmoaras, was very conservative. He forbade his daughters to walk freely beside a man and married them to the men who chose them. I saw my maternal grandparents a number of times. They lived in Odrin, which is in Turkey. Grandfather Mordohay was a chazzan in Odrin. He had a beard and wore a special hat, which was part of his special costume as a chazzan in the synagogue and a black cloak with stripes. His hat was small and round, black in color with seams in the middle, which were sewn with golden thread. This was his uniform, which he always wore. I went to visit my grandfather in Odrin and I have seen the synagogue there. My first impression from that synagogue was that it was richer than the one in Yambol and there were a lot of candlesticks with gas lamps in them. The Odrin synagogue had marble walls, which I found very beautiful. The synagogue in Yambol was made of bricks, which were whitewashed and painted. I remember that the Jews in Odrin were different from the other people. All men had a small well-formed beard and behaved differently. They were reserved and polite and always greeted each other in Ivrit.

My mother Victoria was named Viducha in Odrin. When she was young, she didn't want to go to school. Her father sent her to a religious school, where they studied Tannakh in Ivrit. She had a great memory and memorized a passage by heart as early as the first lesson. When she went home, she recited it to her father. But instead of being happy with his daughter's abilities, he got angry, because he thought that a woman shouldn't study much, but should look after her children and her husband instead. That's why he forbade her to go to school. So, my mother didn't go to school and remained illiterate. When she issued her documents in Bulgaria, they wrote her name down as Victoria.

When she was 19 years old, my mother was married to a banker in Odrin, who was thirty years older than her. In the first year of their marriage she gave birth to a girl, Bella. After the birth she came down with a mysterious illness, similar to sleeping sickness, and her husband returned her to grandfather Mordohay. He decided to take her to Jerusalem, to the places sacred for the Jews in order to heal her. In Istanbul, where they were about to board a ship, they met a physician from Vienna, who asked my grandfather some questions and advised him to cancel his journey and visit his hospital in Istanbul. He started treating my mother by drawing blood from her arm and she started to recover very quickly. After a month she was completely well. My grandfather paid the physician generously. They were very happy and went on a holiday in some resorts in Turkey. After they returned to Odrin, the first thing my mother did was to go and see her husband and daughter, whom she hadn't seen since the delivery. It turned out that the banker had found another woman and had even bribed the authorities to marry them legally. Yet, my mother sued him for divorce. The banker paid a big compensation and so, at 21, my mother got divorced, without any rights over her daughter, but with a big sum in the bank. After my mother divorced, she returned to live with her father.

My father often traveled to Odrin and Tsarigrad [Istanbul] on business trips. Once when he was in Odrin he saw a tall, beautiful and elegantly dressed woman crossing the street. That was my mother. He immediately asked around about her and found out that she was from a highly religious Jewish family.

Growing up

My father proposed to her and she agreed. They married in Odrin around 1906- 1907. My father, however, didn't tell her that he had seven children from his first wife in Odrin. They left for Yambol and all my father's children lined up and kissed her hand. After the seventh child my mother couldn't take it any longer and fainted. After she regained consciousness she cried bitterly. All my father's relatives started to console her; his former wife's relatives also came and promised her that she wouldn't have to look after all the children on her own. My parents loved each other and my mother decided to stay and accepted the seven children. Everybody in Yambol talked about my mother's sacrifice. After she married in Bulgaria my mother received the name Victoria. Three children were born out of the big love between my parents: Marco, Lazar and I. My name was written as Bienvenida Aroyo in my birth certificate. My father, however, thought that the name sounded very strange for the Bulgarians and shortened my name to Bina. That's how my name was written in my first documents.

So, from my father's first marriage I have seven brothers and sisters and from my parent's marriage I have two brothers. We were all born in Yambol. From my mother's first marriage I have a sister, Bella. She was born in Odrin. Off all my brothers only Marco followed my father's will and graduated from college. All the others had elementary education in the Jewish school in Yambol. We had special teachers in Ivrit from Poland in our school. For the holidays each class had to prepare a program. I remember that I had to talk about Pesach in Ivrit. We had to speak in Ivrit about all the holidays and explain what we were celebrating. Our holidays are related to the history of the Jews and that's how we learned our history.

My sister from my mother's first marriage, Bela Benaroya, married a well- off merchant in Istanbul and lived there for a long time. She has two sons and one daughter. Her first child died of an illness when it was 12-13 years old. Her other children, Raphael and Sarah, settled in the USA and in the 1990s she moved to live with them in Chicago where she died.

War memories

My oldest brother, Albert Aroyo, was a representative of a French perfume company. They liked him and invited him to work in Paris. I remember that before he left, he lived in Sofia. He married a Jew born in Rousse and called Rashel. So, he left for France with his family in 1936. His two daughters were ballet dancers and were immediately accepted in the general ballet group of the opera. When the Germans invaded France, they were interned to Lyon.

All Jews there received an order for deportation. My father's friends from the company, however, didn't let him go and hid him, his wife Rashel and his two daughters in a basement in an inner yard. They didn't go outside for six months. But the elder daughter of Albert, Jana, couldn't stand it any longer and said that she would go to the ballet again. So, together with some children, friends of my brother, Jana went to the ballet. Every night her worried family waited eagerly for her. One night Jana was late more than usual and my brother Albert went out to look for her. But he had hardly crossed the first street when a German patrol stopped him. They saw that he was a Jew and surrounded him. At the same time Jana also appeared and when she saw what was happening, she ran to her father. So, they were both detained and deported together with the other Jews to the Auschwitz concentration camp. My brother was killed there. Jana survived by a miracle, but at a very high price. She was a very attractive girl with a slender figure. They violated her sexually and made her clean the toilets. All that, however, left its mark on her psyche.

Post-war

After the end of the war Rashel, the wife of my brother, was still in the hiding place and knew nothing about the fate of her husband and daughter. Jana was released from the camp and went to see her mother in Paris. Jana was unrecognizable and Rashel went into a shock at the sight of her daughter. Jana was also not well mentally, so they both spent some months in a hospital to get over the shock. After that, they received a rented apartment and some money to live on. I learned all that from Jana's letters, which she sent me throughout the years. My niece Jana is still alive and lives in a senior home in a Paris suburb. My other niece Sofka has run the ballet of the London television. She lives in London.

My next brother, Mois Aroyo, married a Jew from a very rich family in Rousse. They had a factory producing gunpowder called 'Buko Eshkenazi and Co'. They produced gunpowder and weapons. My brother was the director of that factory and was well off. His wife was Matilda. They had a daughter, Jana, who graduated from the French College in Rousse. During World War II they weren't deported, because they paid much money. In 1948 they moved to Israel, in Haifa. There Jana's children, Herman and Mois, run together a factory producing passementerie.

My brother Aron was very adventurous. Even when we lived in Yambol, he had such inclinations. He loved trading with gold and valuable items and even when he was young he started secretly from my father with money from the turnover of the shop to buy gold and valuables from the villagers living near Yambol. Meanwhile my father couldn't sleep during the night worrying why the business wasn't going well. One night my brother Aron decided to gather the whole family and told us that he had prepared a surprise. He made us enter the hall where the lights were out. After we all gathered, he lit the lamps and drew the cover from a heap on the table. It was all gold and valuables. My father gasped, my mother scolded him very seriously for what he had done. My brother lived in Paris for twelve years before World War II. I guess he earned his living by selling that gold. He married in Pleven Mazal Behar, who was born there and they lived in Pleven all their life.

My next brother, Sami, married while we lived in Yambol. He married a Jew from Drama, Greece, named Sophie. During the wedding the bride was dressed in white and had a hat and a veil on her head. The veil was embroidered in such a way as if it was sprinkled with gold. The hat of the bride was decorated with artificial flowers. My brother Sami was dressed in a tailcoat, white shirt and black tie. There was an orchestra playing music. Special songs in Ladino were also sung during the wedding, mostly by my mother. One of them said: 'Bless them and let them live in peace and love'. There was also a song about the evil mother-in-law and the great love between the bride and the groom. Then followed blessings: 'May God give them health', 'May God give them wisdom', 'May God give them material prosperity'.

The ritual for the wedding started in the morning. At that time three or four young girls came, who helped the bride put on the wedding clothes. In accordance with the Jewish rituals the bride had to dress away from other people's sight. The music started playing early in the morning and it was very merry. The whole neighborhood gathered to watch, to listen and see the bride. It is typical for our Sephardic wedding rituals that an engagement should be made before the wedding, at which 'ashogar' [dowry] was made - the bride shows what she will bring into her new home - clothes, blankets, covers. They had to be luxurious and if possible with embroidery.

After the bride is ready, the groom comes to take her with a carriage. Then they go to the synagogue. The best man and maid of honor take the newly- weds by the hand and go to the pulpit where the rabbi is. Before the people enter the synagogue, they stay besides the entrance and the bride and the groom walk in first. The rabbi starts reading prayers for the wedding, which have very beautiful ancient Jewish melodies. Then they take a sip of wine and the groom breaks the glass. Then the rabbi declares them husband and wife and blesses them. After that the guests approach them and congratulate them.

Sami's wife was very beautiful but suffered from strong headache, for which she took very strong drugs and opiates. Consequently, she became dependant on these medicines and they ruined her health. My brother Sami was the only one in the family who remained living in Yambol. He was a retailer. He has two children, with whom he left for Israel in 1948: Pepo or Yosif, who was a clerk in Tel Aviv and Mois, who worked as a shop assistant in Tel Aviv.

My next brother is Jacques. He came with us to Rousse and even worked for a short while there as a director of the factory producing springs, which my father built. Both Jacques and my father didn't understand much of this business and they went bankrupt. When we left Rousse, Jacques went to live in Sofia where he had a shoe shop and got married. His wife is a Jew born in Sofia, called Jula. In 1948 they all left for Israel and settled in Tel Aviv.

My sister Carolina had an unfortunate fate. She married a Turkish Jew in Sofia named Buko Agranati and lived with him. I remember that she went to live in Sofia at the place of our brothers Albert and Jacques, who found her that man. But my parents didn't like him much. He worked as a shop assistant. They had three girls. Buko Agranati had no Bulgarian documents and when the Law for the Protection of the Nation 3 was passed, he had to leave Bulgaria. So, he decided to join the group of refugees intending to go to Palestine on a sailing boat through the Black Sea and Turkey. My brothers advised Carolina to stay and promised her they would support her. But she decided to leave with her husband and somewhere around the first kilometer from the shore the boat named Salvador crashed and my sister and her three children drowned. Her husband was among the few people who survived. He got married once again in Israel and had three children. The trip with the boat was organized by a Zionist, named Komforti who had taken much money for it.

My grandfather Avram said about my brother Herzl that he was the amulet of the family. When he was very young, he went down with meningitis and that affected his mental development. On holidays my grandfather would always give him the best present and always told us to look after him, because he wouldn't live forever. Herzl went to live with our brothers Albert and Jacques in Sofia and found work there as a salesman at a stall. They found him a wife named Ernesta. In 1948 he moved with his wife to Israel and found himself some small job in the trade business in Tel Aviv.

My brother Marco graduated from the French College in Rousse. From an early age he started supporting my parents and me. After my father went bankrupt in Rousse, we were left with no money and we went to our brother in Lom, where he worked as a correspondent in French in the newly opened branch of the General Bank. Without his help, I wouldn't have been able to finish my high-school education. He insisted that I should study, while I wanted to work and help my parents.

Every year my brother Marco went on an excursion to a European country. One year he visited Palestine. Then he decided that he should move to live there to help in the establishment of agricultural farms in the country, where the people struggled with the marshes and the desert storms. In May 1936 he left us a big sum in the bank and left for Palestine joining a group of Jews from Bulgaria, who were sent to the northern part of the country - Tiberias. There they founded that agricultural village Kfar Hitim with much hard work and deprivation. Before that German and Turkish Jews had tried to cultivate the land there. But they couldn't cope with the harsh climate. The Bulgarian Jews worked very hard to solve the problems and brought water from Lake Kineret following the project of my brother Marco. Together with the other settlers from Bulgaria they planted green belts against the warm winds, which destroyed the harvest. Today Kfar Hitim is a picturesque village at a high peak and there are many trees and flowers. My brother still lives in the village. Although he is quite old, he does some office work part-time for the village and welcomes guests and tourists from around the world. He is one of the most respected people in the whole region.

When my other brother, Lazar Aroyo, reached the age of 13 and seeing that my father couldn't support the family and send him to study, he decided to go to Pazardjik, where there was a school funded by the Zionist organization teaching agriculture and various crafts. After he studied two years in that school, around 1927, he left for Israel. He traveled two months until he reached the country. Together with other youths from Bulgaria, Poland and Russia they founded the Ma'abarot kibbutz struggling with the Arabs, the marshes and poverty. Today the Ma'abarot kibbutz is quite advanced in all respects. My brother was in charge of repairs and maintenance of the cars and farming machines. He had learned that craft in Bulgaria in the school in Pazardjik, which was called 'haTikva' [Hope]. Lazar married a Bulgarian Jew in the kibbutz. Her name was Rosa and she was a teacher in Ivrit in Yambol. They had two children, Gidon and Oro. They live in the kibbutz.

Childhood memories

Yambol was a small, but lively trade town. The Tundzha River passes through it and its waters were used to irrigate the gardens growing mainly vegetables. The horse tram transporting the people to the railway station was remarkable. The station itself was outside the town. My brothers and I used to go to watch the two pairs of horses, which pulled two carriages each, always full of people on their way to the station.

Another remarkable thing about my hometown were the 'market-gardens' near the Tundzha River. In the evenings many families went near the gardens to buy special lettuces, which they called 'fat hens', from the gardeners. This is a special kind of enormous and very juicy lettuces, which were grown only near Yambol. The villagers were friends with the Jews and every evening waited for them to come again. One of my brothers, Mois, who married in Rousse, always said that such lettuces grew nowhere else in the world and he missed the Yambol ones very much.

I remember the Turkish bath as a low building made of solid stones. In the middle of the bath there was a large area of stone plates, which had been heated and on which people sat in order to sweat. After that people rubbed themselves with special kinds of bags and washed at the f?ucets. I remember that there were no showers. The bath had separate rooms and entrances for men and women. Usually we went to the bath on Thursday or Friday. There was an entrance hall where we ate. My mother used to prepare a bag with cheese, bread, eggs and butter; we sat on some chairs and ate. It took quite some time until we entered the bathing rooms, because of our breakfast. After a while we went to the entrance hall to eat again. The children had great fun playing at the bath. All evening we would tell each other stories about what we did there. My grandfather Avram Aroyo said in Ladino 'Se fue Djoha al banio tuvo ke kontar mil i un anyo', that is, 'Went Djoha to the bath and had stories to tell for one thousand and one years.'

I remember that everyone at home paid much attention to hygiene. There was a room with a tub, which was covered with tiles. We filled it with warm water and bathed every day.

Many Jewish families lived in Yambol. They were mainly merchants and craftsmen. All spoke to each other in Ladino; they were very united and were free to celebrate all Jewish religious holidays. The people united around Zionist organizations such as the General Zionists 4, Poalei Zion 5, Maccabi 6 and others in the town. Both young and old were members of Maccabi. On Yom Ashekel 7 the Maccabi members made a manifestation wearing sports clothes, passing along the main street of the town and all people would go out to watch them. The whole town danced with them. During that time all Jews were very inspired by the ideas of Theodor Herzl 8 for the foundation of the Jewish state and Yom Ashekel was a day when they raised money to buy lands in Palestine.

In order to solve the financial problems related to the municipality, the synagogue and the school, every Friday, before Sabbath, the richer Jews gathered in the municipality and decided what to do.

Yambol was a town celebrating freely and united the Jewish holidays. All Jewish families dressed in their most official clothes and went to the synagogue. The synagogue was always crowded and many times people were left outside. The women always had to wear kerchiefs and there was a separate space for them - on the balcony. I remember that once I went to the synagogue without a kerchief and they didn't let me in. When I was very little, they didn't bring me to the synagogue. After some time I had to wear a kerchief in order to enter the synagogue. Once the balconies where the women prayed were being repaired. We had a rabbi then, who didn't allow the men and women to mix, and so that the women wouldn't be left outside, the ordered that a cloth be put as a screen between the men and the women. Everyone was much surprised what that cotton print was doing in the synagogue.

Jews owned the whole trade street in Yambol. It started from our house, which was in the center, then followed the house of Mois Kohen, the brother of my father's first wife, who had a big textile store. There were a lot of shops after his house - all Jewish ones. There were goldsmiths, grocer's stores, selling lettuces, potatoes, onion, garlic, fruit and vegetables, and a shop from which we always bought on Rosh Hashanah, because they sold oranges. There were also some shops on this street, which sold kosher food.

My father, Yosif Aroyo, with the help of my grandfather and the dowry he received from his first wife's brother managed to build our big house in Yambol. The house was always full of people, even my father's younger brother had settled to live with us together with his wife from Pazardjik. My father's house was built near the main village square, the 'megdan' as the large empty area in the center of Yambol was called. The meetings and festivals in the town were organized there. The Friday market was also there. The General Zionists held meetings on Yom Ashekel and on other occasions.

Our house had two floors and a yard, where when we were children we played with the others, some of who were Bulgarians and others weren't. There were eight rooms on the first floor, a long hall and a big kitchen with a balcony. In the summers we went out to eat on that balcony. Gas lamps, very modern for the times, hung from both sides of the walls in the hall, which we called the salon. Banquets of the leaderships of the Zionist organizations took place there. Speeches were held, awards were given to people who had excelled in the social work, the hymn of the Jews and many other songs in Ladino and Hebrew were sung. Alongside the hall we placed a long table covered with white blankets, which encompassed the whole room. We put on it beautiful silver spoons and forks. We, the children, weren't allowed to stay at the banquets and peeped through a half-open door during the ceremonies. Our whole family loved the big house and was very proud of it. The rooms were well furnished with different furniture for the children of my father's two marriages - eight sons and two daughters.

I will always remember that house. When my family moved to Rousse we always regretted selling the house, leaving the town and the good life we had in Yambol. I cannot forget the big kitchen we had in that house. It was as big as the other rooms and had a large window looking at a yard with a covered well. People told various incredible stories about the well to frighten the children. There was an extraordinary cooker in the kitchen made of fireproof bricks and taking up almost the whole wall. My mother used it in the mornings and in the afternoons. The cooker wasn't lit on Saturdays only. My grandfather Avram forbid us to light a fire then, and my mother was 'chasida', that is, pious. Bags with vermicelli and couscous made by my grandmother Sunhula for the winter hung from the white walls of the kitchen. In the fall we made bottled bruit, liutenitsa and jams. It was typical for that time to hang turkey rounds from the ceiling to dry up.

One of the remarkable things I will never forget is the big 'mangal' [a kind of coal-burning stove] with tall cast-iron legs. Every Friday gypsies came to sell us charcoal. My grandmother kindled the fire with the charcoal and put the stove on the balcony and a horseshoe among the charcoal to protect us from the carbon dioxide and when everything turned to embers, she brought it into the large hall. We warmed all the rooms in this way during the winter. In Yambol the winter wasn't as cold as in other towns of Eastern and Northern Bulgaria. The stoves were enough to warm the rooms. The 'mangal' had another function too - when the fire subsided, my grandmother put crushed onion with cheese in the embers and this was a wonderful breakfast.

Our relations with the Bulgarians and the Armenians were very warm. And since my mother was born in Turkey and knew Turkish, our family was friends with some Turks, too.

We strictly observed the Jewish rituals and traditions in my father's house. My mother Victoria was very religious. When my grandmother Sunhula and she cooked, my mother said that the meat should be salted an hour before it was cooked, because that was what the Jewish laws said. She also said other things, which unfortunately I don't remember. On Sabbath she followed the tradition: not to work, not to light a fire, to go to the synagogue, to prepare in advance special dishes for this day. These dishes were put in the big cooker, where they remained warm without a fire being lit up. On Sabbath my father closed the shop, put on his new clothes and went to the synagogue with a prayer book in hand. He knew all prayers by heart. My grandfather Avram had taught him the prayers when he was a child and in the Jewish school it was obligatory to repeat the prayers many times, not only on 'Erev Sabbath', but also on the other high holidays. When my father returned from the synagogue on Saturday, the big table in the hall would already be laid on for breakfast. It would be full of cheese pastries, cheese crackers, boiled eggs, cooled brandy and fruit. All children would stand up until the prayer was said, after that we would all say 'Amen' and sit down to eat.

We used special dishes for Pesach. We had a nice big wicker basket, nice cooking pots, special plates, glasses and everything necessary. On Pesach the house was cleaned thoroughly and in the evening before the holiday my grandfather would go around the house with a candle to check if no breadcrumb, 'chametz', had been left out. It was forbidden to bring bread into the house on Pesach. We took out the new dishes and arranged them on a long table. My father's two brothers with their families always came for the holidays. The wife of one of my father's brothers was a very good cook and prepared some chickens in the cooker.

On Pesach we prepared special loaves of bread without salt and soda resembling matzah. They are called 'boyos'. These loaves were very hard and we had to dip them in water to be able to eat them. We arranged the table for the holiday very carefully. The 'boyos' loaves were put in water in the evening and the next day we would drain the water and prepare a mixture with eggs, which we fried in the form of small balls. We also sprinkled them with sugar or sugar syrup. We do this today too. On Pesach we ate the best dishes - roasted hens, leeks balls, potato balls, lots of nice paste products such as cheese crackers, spinach pastry, meat pastry and sweet things such as quince jam or cherry and morello jam.

On Pesach, my grandfather or my father read the Haggadah in Hebrew. In Bulgarian the prayer was told in the following way: 'What happened this night, as different from all the other nights, is that every other night we are different, but on this night we are all gathered together at one table'. Then God is praised: 'You are the king, you are the master, you are everything.' After the praise for heaven, the story of Moses is told.

On Yom Kippur when we fasted the whole day, we all went to the synagogue in the evening. The children who had reached ten years of age also fasted. We were allowed to eat by seven o'clock the previous day and nothing was eaten on Yom Kippur. There was a small fountain in the yard of the synagogue in Yambol, in which the shochet slaughtered a hen for us, when we brought him one.

On Sukkot, the holiday marking the gathering of the harvest, we made tents in the synagogue. We sang very beautiful songs then. We blessed fertility and everything, which grows and feeds us. There is a very poetic psalm of David for this holiday. It is a thanksgiving prayer in ancient Hebrew, which is said in the synagogue.

Purim is a holiday related to the salvation of the Jews. On Purim we made very nice masquerades with masks. People also made ring-shaped buns decorated with red paint and various figures with flowers. There were some sweets typical for Purim, which were called 'roskas de alhashuv' in Ladino. 'Alhashuv' in Ladino means a mixture of sugar and walnuts. These were tasty ring-shaped buns, sprinkled with sesame and filled inside with this mixture of sugar and walnuts. Among all the thanksgiving prayers said in the synagogue there was one during which one knocks with a hand on something, symbolizing the killing of Haman, who had prepared the conspiracy against the Persian king according to the story about Purim. Masks are put on at home in the evenings. I had a very beautiful mask, which one of my brothers had made for me. It was a smiling black girl. I would put on a pleated dress without sleeves and I loved dancing. On Purim the town musicians came to the Jewish school and people had a great time there. Even Bulgarians celebrated with us. Our relations with the Bulgarians were very warm and I remember that they congratulated us when we had holidays. Various neighbors, friends of my mother and clients of my father came to greet us.

Even today I still light candles on Chanukkah. It wasn't a practice to exchange presents on Chanukkah. On that occasion we would light one candle each day for seven days and an eighth candle was always burning for the shammash. The shammash was the servant in the synagogue who kept watch on the candle all the time.

We also had a holiday called slichot. Then we didn't sleep all night and we went to the synagogue precisely at 12 o'clock at midnight. I remember people going to the synagogue during the night and the whole street leading to it turning black with them. We had a very good time. We loved slichot and my mother held us by the hand while going to the synagogue. 'Slichot' means evening prayers to God before a holiday. [Editor's note: the interviewee mixes up some information because slichot is special order of service consisting of non-statutory additional prayers which are recited on all fast days, on occasions of special intercession and during the Penitential season which begins before Rosh Hashanah and concludes with the Day of Atonement.] We went to evening prayers before Rosh Hashanah. I think on the occasion of slichot we went for a number of consecutive nights. At that time no Jew was sleeping and we all gathered in the synagogue.

My father was selected chairman of the General Zionists in Yambol. He was a gifted speaker and held speeches at the meetings, which took place in front of our house. He told the people about Theodor Herzl 8 and his book 'The Jewish State' and about the buying of lands from the Arabs in Palestine. For his successful social activities he was awarded a medal from the leadership of the General Zionists. I remember that we were very proud of this medal. My mother hid it in the wardrobe wrapped in a golden cloth and on Yom Ashekel she brought it out and my father put it on his lapel.

Life in Yambol was very nice. We all lived very happily. But at the end of the 1920s the country fell into a grave economic crisis [see crisis of the 1930s] 9. As a result, my father's business declined and he went bankrupt. He had to support his big family by himself and that wasn't easy. So in 1929 my father had to sell the house and our whole family moved to live in Rousse [a town on the Danube in Northern Bulgaria]. My father decided to build a factory producing bedsprings with the money he had left. He took for a partner an Ashkenazi Jew named Berkovich. I remember that he came to our house, which we had rented and we were impressed by the fact that he ate lots of sausages and threw their peelings on the floor. My mother would ask him politely not to do that. My father, however, understood nothing of this business and went bankrupt very quickly. This was a hard blow for him and he went down with a very serious sclerosis. After the bankruptcy our brothers supported us and we sold some more valuable things. My mother had a very nice gold necklace and a watch, which she sold. In the meantime, my brothers from my father's first marriage married and found work.

We lived in Rousse for around two years. I studied in the high school there in my 1st and 2nd grade after the four elementary grades in the Jewish school in Yambol. And since there was no one to support us my brother Marco called us to live with him in the town of Lom [a small town in northern Bulgaria also on the Danube coast], where he had settled. I continued to study there in the local Bulgarian high school. There I had a music teacher, Motsev, who had formed a choir, in which I took part. He liked my singing and advised me to apply in the conservatory and study singing.

Around 1935 my parents and I moved to live in Sofia. My brother Marco who supported us decided to leave for Israel and we decided to leave Lom. In Sofia we rented a house at the corner of Hristo Botev Blvd. and St. Cyril and Methodius Street. [The western part of the center close to the Jewish neighborhood of the town.] It was a two-storied house with a ground floor. We had to climb some stairs with iron railings. The house was old, but beautiful. There was one more Jewish family on the upper floor. My father died in 1936 in this house and was buried in the Jewish cemetery.

In Sofia I worked as a shop assistant and tried to help with what I could, because the money was never enough. I enrolled to study singing in the conservatory. I was admitted to study dramatic soprano. The director of the conservatory advised me to take additional singing lessons and his wife Ruth Tsankova, who was German, became my tutor. I didn't graduate from the conservatory, because the Law for the Protection of the Nation was passed and I was expelled, because I was a Jew.

In 1938 I married my first husband, Israel Vasser, who was a secretary of the spiritual council in the central synagogue. Our love was great, especially his. We married in the synagogue, where a chazzan read the wedding prayers and the rabbi was present as an honorary guest. Both my husband and his father were very devoted to our religion. They didn't eat food other than kosher. The ritual required that the dowry be presented first - usually this is money the bride's family gives to the groom's family. We didn't have a civil marriage.

During the war

In 1941 we had a son, Rami. We lived in our house with my mother who looked after the child. At that time I worked in a socks production factory. However, I didn't know that he was a member of an illegal communist group. In 1942 he disappeared with a group of Jews and until 1950 I knew nothing about him. Then I found out from my brothers in Israel that he had abandoned us and I was very hurt. I learned that he regretted leaving his family very much and that he didn't stay in Bulgaria where the Jews were saved. While running to Palestine, he passed through a lot of places where he saw horrible massacres of Jews. I heard that he had met a family and started seeing another woman. I don't know what happened to him after that.

In the meantime, after the Law for the Protection of the Nation was passed in 1939, we were given badges and a signboard with a yellow star was put on the door of our house. The situation of the Jews grew worse. At first we were registered in the municipality. There the clerks treated us very badly. They created a commissariat for the Jewish issue and a plan for our deportation to Poland. When we heard that, my Jewish friends and I went to the Turkish mosque, because we planned to accept the Islam religion and save ourselves. This was a stupid decision and of course the imam dissuaded us. The authorities had issued an order that Jews shouldn't go out after 9pm, but the Bulgarians helped us and we could walk more freely. The commissariat decided to send the men to labor camps [see forced labor camps in Bulgaria] 10. There was also one group who were sent to a prisoner's camp in Kaylaka near Pleven. The building of this camp was set on fire and some people burned to death, while others managed to save themselves.

In the spring of 1944 my mother and I were interned [see Internment of Jews in Bulgaria] 11 to the town of Haskovo [a town in Southeast Bulgaria]. My brother Sami was with us, too. At first we were accommodated in the school, and then an order came that we could rent an apartment in a specific living estate. So, I managed to find a small room where we settled. It was great poverty. We didn't have a bath and we had to go to the town's bath. And to reach it, we had to violate the ban to enter other living estates. We had no right to go out and walk around.

In Haskovo the Jewish women were allowed to arrange fruits at the train station and the men dug hiding places for the army near the town's hills. There was a synagogue in Haskovo and a very rich Jewish family lived near it. They gave us delicious food - buns and chocolate. When I was in the school, a Turkish family brought us food for the child. A boy also brought us some food from home. I had sold everything I had at the black market - clothes, shoes, and cloths. But the money was spent very quickly. There were some good people, and if it hadn't been for them I don't know how I could have coped. My brother Jacques and his wife had some money saved, which helped them. In the school yard there was a cauldron, in which beans were cooked every evening.

There was an illegal communist organization in Haskovo. I was in touch with this organization. I started meeting members of this organization, because I sympathized with the communist ideas. There were many Jews in the illegal communist organizations at that time. I remember that the police caught one member of our organization and after they beat him up, he told them the names of most members. He omitted only my name. There was a trial and sentences. There was one Jew from Plovdiv, who was killed without a trial and sentence. Others were sentenced to life imprisonment. But they were released the same year, because 9th September 1944 12 came. Others saved themselves by escaping to the partisan squads. On 9th September 1944 they came down from the mountain and were welcomed with flowers.

I remember that once a Soviet plane had made an emergency landing in Haskovo. The pilot was very surprised that people welcomed him with flowers. He was hidden away by the communist organization. After some time 9th September 1944 came, which was a joyous day for all. On that day we were told that we were free and we took the badges off. Everybody was very happy and we walked freely outside. After the internment to Haskovo, I went to live on Veslets Street in Sofia.

Shortly after 9th September 1944 a Jewish cultural and educational organization was established in Sofia. I started working there. This organization solved various problems - accommodating people, who had been interned and returned to Sofia, distributing clothes and food received from the Joint 13 organization. I was very eager to continue my education in the conservatory, but everything I had experienced during the Holocaust, the hunger and deprivations, had affected my vocal capabilities and I could no longer sing in the high pitch range.

After 9th September 1944 Eli Ashkenazi, who was a lawyer, but was very interested in scholarly issues, founded the Balkan Studies Institute in Sofia. There was a project in the institute to teach all Balkan languages and Ivrit. I was appointed there to teach Ivrit.

The first years after 9th September 1944 were, on the whole, poor. We didn't have much money then. The situation in Bulgaria was such that we all received rations for bread. The Joint organization helped the Jews a lot then. An American representative of the organization arrived in Sofia and brought us many new and second-hand clothes, powder milk and canned food. Then gradually the country stabilized. After the Central Committee of the Communist Party was founded and established itself as leader of the nation, the Joint organization was banished from the country, because they thought that their representative was a foreign agent. All property of the organization was given away to senior homes and other places. Joint had brought to Sofia knitting and sowing machines to give the Jews employment.

Before 9th September 1944 the supporters of communist ideas were divided into two groups. One we called 'the real communists'. They distributed leaflets, carried out sabotages and attacks. I was a member of the sympathizing groups, which weren't given very hard and responsible tasks. I started to support these ideas when I was 13 years old. At that time we lived in Lom. There was a lawyer there whose name was Asher Levi. He had a remarkable appearance. He walked around with a black 'rubashka' [a coat without lapels with buttons from top to bottom] and a golden necklace with two tassels. He had wild hair, which he combed backwards. He was the 'flag' of the communists in Lom. He was a Jew and he organized meetings in the Jewish school in Lom. There he managed to form a group of sympathizers to the communists, which I also joined. When the Law for the Protection of the Nation was passed the whole country was flooded with leaflets against this law. The communists did this.

Married life

In 1948 I married Mois Dekalo. We met in Sofia in the Lenin regional committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party. We had a civic marriage. He regarded the Jewish rituals as old-fashioned. He was a wise man, but he wasn't religious. On the issue of the establishment of a Jewish state, he thought that the Jewish people must have their own state. Only I was interested in Judaic issues. My second husband was born in Bourgas. He joined the Union of Young Workers [UYW] 14 at an early age. His whole family was very poor and they were all communists. My husband was in prison because of his anti-fascist activities in the 1940s. After 9th September 1944 he was released. Afterwards he returned for a short time to Bourgas and then came to Sofia. We met in Sofia and we married. We rented a small apartment on Ekzarh Yosif Street in the center of the town.

My husband wasn't very pleased with his work, because he preferred social sciences and art to trade. The leadership of the Communist Party, however, thought that since he was a Jew, he understood more about trade and didn't make him head of a department. My husband was a great idealist, for example, he didn't want us to buy an apartment, because he thought that he didn't fight for that. But I saw what life really was and what the others were doing and I bought the apartment in the Mousagenitsa living estate in which I live today.

In 1950 I started working in the Lenin District Committee of the Communist Party, firstly in the business department, later in the department for campaigns and propaganda. But I was overloaded with work there and my husband and I decided that I should quit that job, because I couldn't bear the stress. We went for a long holiday at the seaside. After I recovered, I started work as a clerk in a workshop producing metals named Vaptsarov. Then I went to the Zemlyane construction plant. I was appointed party secretary there. I worked there with a colonel, who was about to retire and all the time passed most of the work to me. I found all that very hard, because I had household work to do, too.

After 9th September 1944 I was very happy. Firstly, the Law for the Protection of the Nation was abolished. We became citizens with equal rights of the so-called 'people's republic' of Bulgaria. Party groups and district organizations were formed. I joined the party organization in my living estate - at that time I lived on Veslets Street, which is in the center of Sofia. I was wholly devoted to my work in the Lenin District Committee of the Communist Party. The main task of the district committees of the Communist Party was to strengthen the new model of government, which was expressed in the dominance of the Communist Party. My work was a social one. We organized lectures in Marxism and Leninism; we introduced people to the statute of the Bolshevik Party in Russia. They liked me and wanted to transfer me to the city committee of the party. But there wasn't enough staff in my district committee so I stayed there. During the communist rule I visited the best holiday resorts. Together with my husband and my son I loved spending holidays at the seaside, mostly in August. There were a lot of organized excursions by the district committee of the party. We visited historic and natural sights throughout the whole country - monasteries, resorts, and towns.

I'm very grateful to my husband for helping me with the household work. He did the shopping and sometimes cooked. When I wasn't at home, he took care of everything. We found enough free time for some cultural activities. We didn't miss a new performance by the Ivan Vasov state theatre and by the youth theatre. I liked very much the repertoire of the youth theatre, because it was more modern. At that time theatre tickets were very cheap, much cheaper than now. I went to the cinema very rarely.

During the communist rule we observed the Jewish traditions to a lesser extent. I always observed Rosh Hashanah, Pesach and some of the other holidays. When I wanted to celebrate some of our holidays at home, I let my management know and they even gave me a day off. On the whole, when I lived with my parents we observed the Jewish rituals and traditions. When my husband and I went to live on our own, we weren't often able to do that, because I was devoted to my work in the district committee of the Communist Party.

I worked in Zemlyane until 1972. After that I gave private lessons in Ivrit to children and students of Bulgarian and Jewish origin and wrote for the Evreiski Vesti newspaper [a monthly newspaper, published by the Jewish community in Bulgaria Shalom]. The editors there liked my style very much. They published some of my short stories and feature articles.

My son Rami studied in a Bulgarian school in Sofia. After that he graduated from the Chemical and Technological Institute. He had to do some training and was appointed in a tire-producing factory, which was a Jewish one and was called Bakish. He was an ordinary worker there. He married a Jew from Sofia, while he was a university student. Her name is Matilda. She was studying dentistry. Their wedding wasn't a religious one and we didn't go to the synagogue. Matilda became a dentist in the First City Hospital. However, my son divorced his wife, who soon after that went down with some disease and died. My son has a daughter from this marriage, Sabina. She graduated from the Music Academy and now lives in Israel.

After that my son started working in a laboratory testing nuclear energy. There he was assigned the task to develop a plan for the utilization of prescribed doses of nuclear energy in some machine. Many teams had tried before, but unsuccessfully. My son, however, managed to do it. Everybody congratulated him and he was told that he would receive an award of 800 levs, which wasn't a small sum at that time. But the board of directors decided to spend the money on a banquet. My son was very hurt, because he had devoted a lot of months to this project. So, he decided to leave the job and move to Israel.

My son moved to Israel in 1990. He studied the language in the town of Akko for six months. Then he started work in the village of my brother Lazar near Akko. He started work in a chemical laboratory in Beer Sheva. He had an accident there. One night he went to check something in the lab. Just at that moment something started hissing and there was an explosion. In order to save himself, Rami jumped out of the fourth floor and injured his foot badly. There are Jews all over the world living in that town. My son, however, didn't manage to become close with them, because they had a different lifestyle. He has a girlfriend, a Bulgarian Jew born in Sliven who has been living in Israel for a long time.

I have been to Israel four times. Since I was a member of the Communist Party, it wasn't a problem for me to go there. But always before I left, some people from the intelligence service came and asked me where I was going. I just told them that I didn't know Israel and went only to see my brothers. My first impression from Israel was that the country was making progress. Everything was in the process of construction. I went there for the first time in 1952 with my husband. I was visiting my brothers, who welcomed me warmly. We, however, decided not to remain in Israel, because we felt distant from the mentality of the people living there and we were very poor.

I was in my brother Lazar's kibbutz - the Ma'abarot kibbutz. He had a service station for machines. There were cars, harvesters, tractors and other agricultural machines in the garage, which were given to him by the state and had to be maintained. There were some people who were in charge of that there. My brother was building his house at that time. They lived in some kinds of sheds: big wooden houses, made of some material, which was very good. My brother had a bedroom, a corridor and a dining room. Everything was very modern. The kitchens were small, but comfortable, they had everything - a refrigerator, freezers, and dishwashers. I was also impressed by the organization and life in the kibbutz. Everyone worked at what he or she could do best.

During the events in the Czechoslovakia in 1968 [see Prague Spring] 15 and in Hungary in 1954 [Editor's note: in fact, the events in Hungary took place in 1956] 16 the information about them reached us through a bulletin issued by the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party. The official position was against these coup attempts. But there was much false information in them.

The Jewish organization decreased its activity after the mass aliyah 17 in 1948-49. During the totalitarian regime the Jewish organization was most of all a cultural organization. Yet, there were some religious Jews left and the synagogue was kept in a good state. In the other towns, however, most synagogues were turned into warehouses and small halls. I remember that even the central synagogue in Sofia was about to be turned into an opera. This however sparked the disapproval of the Jewish organizations throughout the world and the decision was cancelled.

After 9th September 1944 the general policy of the party was against any religions. The Communist Party forbade Jews to celebrate holidays together. Although it was officially forbidden, we found our ways to celebrate them. I went to the synagogue too, although the communist organizations didn't approve it. Ever since I was a child, I have been listening to the prayers of grandfather Avram and my father; I understand them and I like them very much. I remember that I had asked a woman working in the Central Committee of the BCP [Bulgarian Communist Party], Velicha Kostova, why Jews weren't allowed to celebrate their holidays while the Armenians and Turks were allowed to. She couldn't answer me. I was always afraid when I went to the synagogue. There were some informers, watching what the people were doing and speaking and then reporting to the secret services. A Bulgarian friend of mine, who was an active member of the Communist Party, told a joke about Todor Zhivkov 18 during one meeting. Some informer reported that to the authorities and he was imprisoned for twelve years. So, one joke could destroy one's whole life at that time.

I went to Israel in the 1970s too. But at that time I was very cautious. I had a friend in Haifa, whose husband worked as a customs official. Their family had a friend in the Israel intelligence service. When he found out that I was from Bulgaria, he wanted to visit them, to meet me. He was a Polish Jew and tried to question me about some specific sites in Bulgaria, which I knew nothing about. I kept in touch with my relatives in Israel mainly by letters. I loved writing letters. My brothers Sami and Jacques wrote to me the most. I could correspond freely with my brothers in Israel.

During the totalitarian regime my financial situation was quite good compared to the times around World War II and the times after 1989 [see 10th November 1989] 19. I think that we live in some 'sick' capitalism, that this is n?t a democracy. Besides, the money that most people receive isn't enough. This capitalism in which we live today is like a prematurely born child.

When the changes in Bulgaria and in Eastern Europe started in 1989, I was against them. Of course, I wasn't against democracy and freedom of speech and the press. I think that a large part of the advantages of democracy related to the free professional fulfillment of the individual didn't take place.

Most of my friends throughout the years have been Bulgarians. There are also some Jewish families who visit me. I keep in touch with them by phone, because I am recovering from a heavy fall. We have a good organization of clubs in the Jewish home. We have a club 'Health', club of Ladino speakers and club of Ivrit speakers. Cultural programs, discussions and lectures are being organized for the Jews there.

Glossary

Helena Kovanicova
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Terezie Holmerova
Date of interview: February 2006

At first I was only supposed to interview Mrs. Kovanicova's brother, Jiri Munk, but it ended up completely differently. For our first work-related meeting, Mr. Munk had prepared a pleasant surprise for me. Right after crossing the threshold, I was informed that his sister had come to have a look, but that she won't want to talk with me very much, that she'll more likely just sit quietly and 'will occasionally add something.' My expectations of a frowning, nervous lady were quickly dispelled. Mrs. Kovanicova was silent for only a little while, for a while she and her brother complemented each other, for a while they chaffed each other endearingly, and in short order Mrs. Kovanicova took the helm completely. So it was decided, and thanks to this each of the siblings has their own biography on this website. I grew very fond of the elderly lady. She always greeted me warmly and with a smile. When she told her story, she laughed, cried, one time she was for me a young girl who sang for herself in Terezin 1, another time again an adult woman, who despite all obstacles decided to help her family during the difficult post-war years. Because she liked remembering old times, the focus of our interview lies in the pre-war period. I won't say any more, as the following speaks for itself.

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

I didn't find out much about my oldest ancestors. Our parents weren't particularly communicative, and what's more, my and my brothers' home environment was very strict, so we didn't even dare ask our parents much of anything. Maybe if the war wouldn't have come and we could have grown up normally, perhaps we would have found out something. But with the war came nothing but worries, nothing but prohibitions and regulations 2, and neither was anyone in the mood after the war to talk about the history of our family, especially since our father died in 1944 in the gas chamber in Auschwitz.

My relatives on my father's side came from the region around the Labe River. My father's father was named Eduard Munk and he lived with his wife, Paulina Munkova, nee Gläsnerova, in Privory, near Vsetaty. My father had two siblings, Bedriska and Josef. They also married two siblings, Aunt Bedriska married Mr. Vilem Vohryzek, and Uncle Pepa [Josef] married his sister, Marta Vohryzkova.

My father's siblings lived with their families in Doubravice, not far from Teplice, where they had a large farming estate. Vilem and Bedriska Vohryzek lived right on the estate, which was surrounded by walls and locked gates. At night a night watchman with a German shepherd used to walk around it. The dog was a female, named Asina, and was terribly vicious. The farmyard included a hayloft, barn, pigsty, blacksmith's shop, dairy and other buildings. Outside of the farmyard stood a single-story villa where Josef and Marta Munk lived. Their villa was surrounded by a tiny yard, and Asina was tied up in the back all day, because she was allowed to run free only at night. The entire estate stood isolated, off in the middle of fields, only one road, which led to Trnovy, passed near the Munks' house.

We used to go visit our relatives in Doubravice often, mainly at Christmas and in the summer. I especially liked Christmas in Doubravice. When there was snow, they would come get us from the train in a sleigh, it was beautiful. We observed traditional Christian customs, so I remember that in Doubravice at Christmas we'd pour lead or throw slippers. [Editor's note: Traditional Czech Christmas customs - molten lead is poured into water and according to the shape it takes, important future events in one's life are foretold, girls throw a slipper over their shoulders, and when the toe points towards the door, it means that they'll be married within a year.] When we arrived in the summer, Mr. Janda always came for us in the carriage, in the winter in a sleigh. Mr. Janda worked on the farm as a coachman. During World War I he fought with Uncle Pepa in Russia with the Czechoslovak Legion. When we would go to Doubravice to visit our relatives, we had to alternate between the two families. One year we'd stay with the Munks, the next with the Vohryzeks.

Aunt Bedriska was an excellent homemaker. She was a superb cook. Whenever we were there for Christmas, Auntie would make loads of Christmas cookies. Often in the summer she'd prepare a young roast goose, which I especially liked. My aunt had attended dairy school in Varnsdorf or someplace there near the border. Because Aunt Bedriska used to spend the entire morning on her feet, in the afternoon she liked to sit down in her favorite leather armchair and devoted herself to handiwork, she'd crochet these strips of short columns, from which she then created various ornaments and sewed them onto tulle. She was skilful, but maybe it was also because back then girls were brought up to do handicrafts, they embroidered monograms onto their trousseaus and so on.

Uncle Vohryzek lived only for his farm; he would get up at 5am and was already present at the first milking. Often it would happen that they'd come to the theater to get him, that a cow was giving birth, and he'd have to hurry home again. Because during our holidays in Doubravice the Vohryzeks would occasionally take our parents to the theater. Back then in Teplice there was, and still is, a theater with a café.

The Vohryzeks had two daughters, Hana and Helena. I hung out the most with Helena. She was two years older than I, and sometimes as a joke we'd pretend that we were sisters. They called us the Helkas. Some young woman also lived with the Vohryzeks, likely a nanny, and an adjunct and an articled clerk used to come there to eat. In two of the buildings lived peasants, who were usually Slovaks, who worked on the farm. They were given bread, flour, and I'm not sure whether also butter and milk.

I remember the tile stove in Doubravice, against which I would always sit during our Christmastime visits, because I was often cold. I remember my aunt hand-churning butter in the churn. Later she already had an electric one. The butter was chilled in a large pool in special forms, and would then be taken to Teplice for sale at 'Konzum.' For us children my aunt would make cocoa for breakfast, which we drank from large onion-patterned mugs. Back then onion-patterned porcelain services were used for normal daily use, and it wasn't as valuable as it is today. But we didn't like the cocoa very much, because it was made with fatty whole milk from the farm, and we were used to store-bought milk, which was, as they used to say, baptized with water.

Uncle Pepa Munk was a Legionnaire in Russia during World War I. He was this quiet person of few words. I always felt sorry for him, because I had the feeling that he wasn't overly happy in his marriage. In the family they used to say that Uncle Pepa and Aunt Marta were each completely different. My aunt was this outgoing person, while my uncle was more of a domestic type. My aunt was a very nice-looking lady, she always went about fixed up, with makeup on.

The Munks had a son, Jirka [Jiri], who was a year younger than I, and misbehaved terribly. He was like a sack full of snakes, they had no idea what to do with him. He'd for example run around the barn, lie under a cow and squeeze the milk directly into his mouth. He was often beaten.

I was occasionally afraid at the Munks'. Because we stayed on the ground floor, from out of which you could climb through the window, and the maid that was supposed to babysit us in the evening would always run off on some date and we'd be alone in the room with open windows, crying. The adjunct had a room upstairs. Right before the war Aunt Marta was pregnant, and they had a baby girl. Uncle Pepa was apparently very happy, but unfortunately the little girl soon died.

The farm also had a 'plummery,' which was a large fruit orchard. I remember that as children we'd go there with Marenka from Chrast, our maid, to pick fruit, and some watchman chased us out of there, hooking us by the neck with his cane. We were always all jumpy because of it. Another memory I have is how sometime at Christmastime before the war our cousin lent us some ski clothing and children's skis. We tried skiing, but weren't very good at it. Then came the war, and the fun was over.

Our ancestors on my mother's side were mostly from Prague. My mother's father, Rudolf Nachod, born in 1858, was a lawyer. My mother's mother, Hermina, nee Eisenschimmelova, died very early on, likely of cancer, she wasn't even 40 years old. My mother, Olga, had two siblings, Elsa and Quido. They lived in the Smichov quarter of Prague, on Fibichova Street, which today is named Matousova. After their mother Hermina died, their grandmother, Aloisie Eisenschimmelova, brought them up. She lived in the Zizkov quarter and every day she walked all the way to Smichov to be with her grandchildren. My mother told me that Grandma Eisenschimmelova had separate dishes for meat and dairy foods, so probably was the only one in our family to still maintain Jewish customs. She was also very strict.

My mother's brother Quido was born in 1894. He was the oldest of the three siblings. As a little boy he was very bad. Even later, as an adult, he was rather on the unstable side. At first he worked at some bank, but he didn't last long there, which otherwise he didn't anywhere he worked either. I think that his last job was as a controller for the Perla department store in Prague. On the other hand, he was a very meticulous person. He took great care of his appearance. He was for example capable of altering or repairing his own clothes.

He married Bedriska Adamkova, who wasn't of Jewish origin. My mother didn't like her very much; she'd occasionally drop hints that her past wasn't the best. My aunt was the type who'd kiss everyone, including the doctor. My uncle would always call her 'sweetie' and she'd call him 'sweetum.' They didn't have children, but my aunt once said that she could have had a child, but that she and her husband were afraid that they wouldn't be able to support it. I don't think, however, that they lived badly, and what's more, for a long time my father paid them rent. At the end of the war, in 1945, my uncle spent about a month in Terezin, because only then did Jews from mixed marriages arrive in Terezin. Aunt Bedriska died in 1971, Uncle Quido about two or three years after her.

Aunt Elsa Nachodova was born in 1899. In adulthood she lived in Prague at 4 Anglicka Street, where she had her own apartment, beautifully furnished with antique furniture. It was made up of two rooms, a kitchen and a small servants' room. In her apartment from the front hall one first entered the dining room where my aunt had old furniture and a tall sideboard, a large table and chairs. In her bedroom she had modern furniture that had been custom-made to the dimensions of the room. There was a wardrobe, two couches, between them a small bureau, plus a low table with a glass top and beside it two armchairs. On the glass table she used to have a bowl with a string of pearls.

Elsa had to support herself, and that's why she made a living teaching foreign languages. She gave private lessons in her apartment, as well as at the language school in Ve Smeckach [Street]. For a long time she was single, and in the end she married some Mr. Grund. He was, however, a fraudster, he robbed her and fleeced her of all her modest savings. He was from Vienna, and claimed that he was a 'von' [i.e. from a noble family]. Later Elsa married for a second time, Mr. Erich Ederer, who worked as a traveling salesman and was very kind. Once at Pentecost my aunt and Mr. Ederer took me on a trip to Karlovy Vary 3. Mr. Ederer had many friends there, together we went to many nice pubs, they ordered me cocoa and scrambled eggs for breakfast, which I wasn't used to. They also took me to a variety show. They were both very kind to me. Once during the school year my aunt even wanted to take me somewhere abroad, but my father was strict and didn't allow me to go, because I would have missed school.

I liked Auntie Elsa the best of all my mother's and father's siblings. Auntie didn't have any children, and I think that she also liked me very much. I very much liked going to visit her. The first time I went to visit her was for Easter, when I was eight, and I stayed with her for a whole week. She bought me a little calendar, and there she wrote down where we had been together. We for example went for ice cream to Berger's, which was a popular confectionery on Vodickova Street. It was like a holiday for me, because at home we weren't allowed ice cream. When I was coming back from my aunt's for the first time, my mother came to get me. I remember that I cried on the bus the whole way, because I didn't want to go home.

My aunt was a real fashion plate. She was always perfectly dressed, even despite the fact that she had to buy it all herself. When I visited her, she took me everywhere with her, and so I know that she'd for example go to the luxurious 'Prokop a Cap' textile store on Wenceslaus Square, where she'd occasionally pick some textile from their samples, which they would then order for her from England, for example. I remember this store mainly because there was a neon stork above the entrance that would open and shut its beak. She had her shoes custom made by a renowned shoemaker on Na Prikope Street, across from Slovansky Dum [Slavic House]. Once a week she'd go with my uncle to the Luxor coffee shop to play bridge.

My mother, Olga Nachodova, was born in 1897 in Brandys nad Labem. She grew up in Smichov in Prague. My mother had some one-year German business school, and knew German shorthand perfectly. I've even got a diploma stored away someplace, where they write that she won some shorthand contest in Teplice-Sanov. This contest was organized by the Association of Gabelsberg Stenographers. She wrote down all recipes or even other notes in shorthand. She obviously also spoke German very well, because when as a young girl I was studying German and going for lessons, my mother would correct my homework and also used to tell me that I've got a Czech accent. Besides German she also spoke a bit of French, because when she was young she used to take French lessons from a lady who was a native French speaker.

In 1923 she married my father. I think that my mother wasn't very satisfied with her life. She was never employed, although she would have very much liked to be. In spite of being a good cook, and having no problem managing our household, she always claimed that she didn't like being a housewife. My mother would have liked to have had a job. She also very much wanted to travel. My mother and father unfortunately didn't have too many interests in common. When they went to Prague together on a Sunday, my mother would go to a coffee shop, most often to Café Alfa on Wenceslaus Square, where she had loads of friends, and my father would in the meantime go see some exhibitions by himself. What's more, my mother and father were somewhat different in terms of personality. While my father was calm and collected, my mother would often fly off the handle.

My father, Adolf Munk, was born in 1887 in Privory, near Vsetaty. He studied law. He was a rather quiet person, he was never too fond of socializing. Once someone told me that they used to have to force my father to go dancing with his sister. He was supposed to be her chaperone, but because he didn't like it, he tried to get out of it in all sorts of ways. Once at some dance he even rented himself a room, and instead of dancing he slept.

One of his favorite hobbies was painting. To this day in my diary I have a painting of this cute little house. In Doubravice he once painted a beautiful picture of a vase of dahlias. For a long time this painting then hung above my mother's and father's bed in Brandys, up to the time we were supposed to go to Terezin. Because back then our neighbors came over to collect what they could. They took our curtains, duvets and some other things, as well as my father's painting of the dahlias. Everyone hoped that we wouldn't return, and that they won't have to return anything.

My father also liked carpentry. He for example made me a round, white side- table, he made a stand for the radio and many other things. He set up his carpentry workshop in the laundry room. There he had cabinets with tools and a workbench, a so-called 'ponk.' For his birthday my mother would often buy him a plane or some other tool.

My father was extremely strict. He just needed to look at us strictly, and already we all knew that we shouldn't misbehave. But we were rarely actually spanked. I remember that I got it only once, and I don't even know for what any more. I liked my father very much, to tell the truth perhaps more than my mother. The only thing that I held against my father was when he forced my younger brother Viktor to eat cauliflower soup, which he hated. As soon as he'd finish it, he'd go throw up, and on top of it he'd then catch it from our father. For my part, I didn't like green peppers. Before the war we'd never seen them, but around the beginning of the war this type of pepper became available. I couldn't stand even their smell, and couldn't even walk by a widow through which you could smell peppers - right away I would get nauseous. My father forced me to eat them, just like my brother.

My father loved nature. Every evening at 6pm he'd close his office and go for a walk. He always said that he was going to go have a look at what the crops were going to be like. He didn't go via the town square, because he knew a lot of people in town, who would have constantly been stopping him, but took a back road across the fields in the direction of Zapy. Our mother also occasionally went with him, but it wasn't much fun for her.

My father also loved animals. He'd always wanted to be a veterinarian, but in the time of his youth there hadn't been any school in Bohemia where he could have studied this profession. Future veterinarians had to go to school in Vienna, which was too expensive for my father's parents.

Growing up

I was born in 1924 in Prague, as the oldest of three siblings. Up until I was five or six years old, we lived in Prague in Smichov, on Fibichova Street [today Matousova] in an apartment that had belonged to my mother's parents. I don't remember much from this period. I think that we lived in a three-room apartment, and that it had a large dining room. The apartment was in an old multi-story building, on the ground floor was Mr. Sara's coffee store.

As a little girl as I had an ear infection, so probably my oldest memory is lying in some little room at our place in Smichov, and having a warm pillow put on my ear. Back then I hung out a bit with Alenka Gehorsamova, who was a pretty little blond girl roughly the same age as me. I found a photograph where we're together on a bench in the Dientzhofer Gardens near the Jirasek Bridge.

Sometime around 1929 we moved to Brandys nad Labem. My brother Viktor had already been born at that time, he was born in 1928. My youngest brother, Jirka [Jiri] was born in 1932. He was a very nice-looking child. Because he had caught some infection at the maternity ward, my mother brought home with her a children's nurse who took care of him. We all liked her very much. We called her Nanicka. She lovingly cared for my brother and stuffed him with food. Our entire family ate together at one large white round table, and when we were finished, little Jiri would get another wiener in the kitchen! Nanicka would also skim the skin off of milk, strain it through a sieve and add it to his Ovomaltine. Jiri was the best fed of all of us. I always said: 'For Pete's sake, he's fat as a pig!'

Nanicka wanted very much to send little Jiri's photo to some women's magazine, where proud mothers would send photos of their children, but my father wouldn't let her. Most certainly she thought that Jiri was the most beautiful child in the world. Once, when Jiri was misbehaving and was crying in his bed, my father wanted to spank him, but Nanicka protected him so fervently with her own body that she almost also got it instead. She was supposed to have been with us for six weeks, but it turned into eight years. I'm very sorry that after the war I didn't have her come live with me. Nanicka had diabetes and didn't eat properly. She always used way too much salt and pepper. She died in the hospital.

I didn't start going to school until we were in Brandys. At first I went to elementary school. There were two other Jewish children in my class, Bedrich Alter from Brandys, who had a younger brother, Pavel, and Vera Buchsbaumova, who commuted from Benatky nad Jizerou. Bedrich and Pavel Alter's father was a lawyer and his family were Zionists. Then in the same school was also Zdenek Stastny, a Jewish boy who was about a year younger than I, and two children from the Eisenschimmel family. The Stastny family had a hardware store in Brandys. Zdenek's father had been an Italian Legionnaire during World War I. As far as Jewish children go, there were also the two Weiss sisters from Kostelec nad Labem, whose family owned a drugstore there. In Brandys we had distant relatives, the Lustigs, who had a liqueur factory there. They lived in a beautiful one-story villa with a large garden, which was called the 'planta.' Some other Lustigs also lived there, who had a textile store.

I liked going to school. For the first two years we had Mrs. Magda Rezacova, after her Mrs. Simunkova. Both of them were very nice. When we finished 5th Grade, Mrs. Simunkova invited all of us students to her home and prepared refreshments for us. After I finished elementary school 4 I transferred to the state academic high school. Back then you didn't have to write an entrance exam, it was enough that I had good marks. Maybe Mrs. Rezacova was right when she told my parents to put me in family school. Back then people looked down on family school, they used to call it the 'dumpling house' or 'stocking house.' I think that it would have come in handy for me in life, because besides sewing, cooking and other practical things, girls also learned money management and some economics subjects.

In high school I had problems with math. While it was still just some ordinary multiplication or division, it wasn't a problem for me but as soon as we started on mathematical induction, I was at my wit's end. For math we had our homeroom teacher, Professor Zelinek. Later my father confessed to me that he'd never been very good at math either! And I had the same problem with physics as well. My grades from math and physics then began to mar my report card. On the other hand, I liked Czech, mainly spelling. My essays were always too short. Apparently I'm not very good at expressing myself.

In the first year we had Professor Halousek for Czech. All our older classmates felt sorry for us and told us that he was the terror of the high school. Mr. Professor Halousek was a bald man, who always had the laces of his underwear showing. Because back then men used to wear long white underwear. During class Mr. Professor would walk around the class the whole hour, thumbs hooked in his vest, and we were all afraid of him. When we wrote our first composition exercise, I think that it was some sort of book review, I was the only one to get an A. My parents probably then thought that they had some sort of miracle child at home, but later my composition results weren't as awe-inspiring, even though I usually did in the end get an A on my report card.

In the third year we got Mr. Professor Hlinovsky for Czech. He was a young person, a bit of a lummox. I had the feeling that he was from a poor family. He was another strange type. He'd sit at his desk, kick it with his feet, and fire off vulgarities to all sides. Professor Hlinovsky also taught us German. For our first German class with Mr. Hlinovsky I didn't learn any words ahead of time, because we'd heard that a new teacher was coming, and usually that meant that there wasn't any exam right off. But I was wrong. During the first class Mr. Professor Hlinovsky called me up to the blackboard, and because I didn't know anything, he told me that he'd test me during every class. It was terribly stressful for me. In the end I got a good grade from him.

I always liked geography, because we had an excellent teacher, Brumlikova. She knew how to talk about it in a very nice and interesting way. She used to commute from Prague to teach at our high school. She was supposed to be some distant relative of ours, I then met up with her in Terezin, where she secretly taught the children imprisoned there. On the other hand, I didn't like history at all. Our history teacher, Professor Cejnar, was a very nice, lenient man. Even I was so bold as to have my textbook in front of me in his class and read from it when he was testing me from my desk. The result was that I didn't learn anything about history, and I've still got big gaps.

I think that it wasn't until from fifth year onwards that a student in our high school could gain some more coherent, deeper knowledge and at that age also had a little more sense. Unfortunately I had to end my studies in the fourth year [Grade 9], because the Germans came and I wasn't allowed to go to school any more. I remember that our Czech professor, Hlinovsky, was at first surprised and didn't at all understand why I was leaving. Finally he told me that it was a shame to lose me, and that was the end of it. I had only one year of Latin, and neither did I manage much more in other subjects.

In Brandys my best friend was my classmate Anca Zakova. She lived a little ways away on the other side of the tracks and most often would come over to our place, where we played in the courtyard. Anca's father was a career soldier and her mother had died when she was about 14 years old. She had serious kidney problems. I remember that Anca and I were supposed to participate in the last high school track and field games before the war, which traditionally took place before the Vsesokolsky Slet [Sokol Games] 5, but she didn't come with me, because her mother had just died. Soon after that she moved with her father to Novy Bydzov, where Anca went to family school. There she learned to cook, sew, so then she was very handy and actually took care of the whole household for her father. In Bydzov she also apprenticed as a seamstress with some tailor. In the end she married someone from Tachov and lived in Tachov. I went there once to visit her.

Our house stood and still stands close to the town square in Brandys nad Labem. When you take the bus from Prague, it's the first house on the right with a front yard after you pass the railway crossing. I'm not completely sure who bought it way back when. It was either our father or my mother's father, who was also a lawyer. Our house was built on a slope, so facing the street it had two stories, but facing the garden it had one floor. Behind the house there was a courtyard and garden.

On the ground floor there were three rooms - my father's office, an articled clerk's office and a room for two clerks. Besides this there was also a small closet on the ground floor, which was called the archive because that's where my father stored his documents. On the first floor there was a long hall, four rooms, a kitchen and washroom. We children all shared one room, which was quite spacious, it had about 30 square meters. Because it was a really big room, we also had a large white round table, at which we all ate. On the floor there was cork linoleum, which was practical.

The room also had beautiful and back then modern dining room furniture with glass display cases, which covered a large part of a wall. I remember that when my parents bought this furniture and it was being moved into our house, it caused a huge commotion in Brandys. Displayed in the cases were various wine containers, water carafes and cut glass. I slept on the couch, my brother Viktor on a white bed, and the youngest, Jirka, had a little bed with netting, which would be raised at night so that he wouldn't fall out.

Besides three rooms on the upper floor, which looked out on the street, there was one more room on the same level that led out into the garden. Thanks to the slope it was on the ground floor, and didn't have very much light. Behind this room there was an extended roof, supported by columns, which formed a nice space where tiles had been laid down, there we had a table, bench, and two wicker armchairs. When we were small, we also had a little table and wicker chairs for children. All around grew clematis and Virginia creeper. In the summer we ate lunch and supper there, which I liked very much. The back part of the house also had a laundry, my father's workshop and a kitchen from which you could enter straight into the garden.

When we moved into the house, there were tile stoves everywhere. But my parents had them demolished, with the exception of one room where my brother Jirka and Nanicka slept, and which was heated only in the evening. Instead we heated with a so-called Musgrave stove, which back then were often used for heating in schools for example, which heated continuously and didn't go out, and heated all three rooms, if it was well stoked. We heated with coke and anthracite. But I was always frozen anyways. This was because my father never allowed the temperature to be higher than 18 degrees Celsius, and I've never been very hardy.

In the bathroom it was so cold you could even see your breath. There we had a tub and a high, round stove, which had to be fired up to heat the bathwater, so we bathed once a week. We did have a sink with running water, but only cold water. That's why in the morning Mother would always heat up some water on a petroleum stove, so as to warm up our washing a little. Despite that, though, I always shrieked when my mother washed my hair and poured lukewarm water from a white enameled kettle on my head, because I was always cold in that chilly bathroom. The bathroom also led into the courtyard.

My father made a darkroom out of one of the smaller rooms in the back part of the house, where he developed his own photographs. Often he'd send me to buy special photo paper. Back then there weren't too many electrical appliances, but despite that we had a radio and an old-style gramophone with a horn.

I couldn't stand milk, especially when it was warm, which is what our mother would give us at breakfast. She also bought so-called Ovomaltine. It was this strange cocoa with a mixture of malt and some other healthy things. We liked Ovomaltine, because when we sent a certain number of packages to some address, we got a fountain pen in return, which made us happy.

Across from our house stood a small house with a nice mansard roof that belonged to the builder Chlebecek. Beside this house was a very large garden, into which you couldn't see, as it was surrounded by a high wall. This garden stretched all the way to the Brandys railway station. In a niche in the wall across from our house was a tiny little chapel. Right by the road there was a linden tree, and under it a water pump.

Because there were six of us at home, my mother always had someone at home to help out. First Marenka from Chrast worked for us, who then got married, and in her place we had our maid Ema. Later, in 1938, when my mother didn't want anyone any more, we only had Mrs. Klouckova, who always came only to wash the dishes, do the major cleaning and at the same time took our laundry home to wash it. There was a Mrs. Krejcova who worked for my father, who would travel from Libise, near Neratovice. She had at one time worked for my mother's father. During the war we left some things with her, and as an honest person, she returned it all.

I didn't devote myself to sports very much. Although the yard of our high school had tennis courts, my parents never allowed me to play tennis, apparently because I was too skinny. I used to attend rhythmic gymnastics and occasionally went skating on the Sokol playground in Brandys, which they always flooded with water when it was freezing. We also sledded and played ping-pong, but that was all. I got relatively far in ping-pong, I think that I was really quite good. This was because during the war we weren't allowed to go anywhere, and so our father, because he was handy, at least made us a ping-pong table. We then would play all Saturday and Sunday, and later also during the week, we'd have various contests and I was always first or second. Sometimes, especially during the early evening in the summer, I even talked my father into it and we'd have a game of ping- pong together. Before the Germans occupied us 6, our mother used to go with us to the swimming pool, where I learned to swim, but I was afraid to go into the open Labe river, because once I had almost started to drown in it.

Between the wars there was a modern, newly built movie theater in Brandys. Unfortunately only those 16 or older were allowed to go. When I reached that age, then I wasn't allowed to go to the movies because I was Jewish. So I didn't get much out of the movie theater. I remember that I was at the movies once during summer holidays, I sat in the balcony. They were showing the film 'The Scarlet Pimpernel,' with the well-known actor Leslie Howard 7. I think that he fell as a pilot during the war. I remember sitting in the balcony and had no idea what was happening on the screen, and this is how I found out that I had bad eyesight and that I would have to wear glasses.

We never observed Jewish holidays very much. We'd go to synagogue with our mother only for the Jewish New Year [Rosh Hashanah]. The next day the so- called Long Day [Yom Kippur] is observed, when prayers for the dead are held. That day Jews are supposed to fast and carry an apple spiked with cloves with them to synagogue, which you sniff when you feel weak. But we never fasted.

Sometimes we also went to synagogue for the Chanukkah holiday. I remember that back then we children put on a little performance in the synagogue, we each had a candle in one hand and a flag in the other, and sang the song Maoz Tsur. [Editor's note: During the lighting of the Chanukkah candles, after the recitation of the appropriate blessing, two songs are sung - Hanerot Halalu (These Candles) and Maoz Tsur (Rock of Ages).] At the end we'd get a bag of candy for it. It was during the period before the Christian Christmas.

My father attended synagogue every Friday, because the service could only start if at least ten people gathered [for the so-called minyan]. So they would always meet there on Friday, but I've got the feeling that they more likely sat and told each other jokes there. Most likely it wasn't any sort of strict or official ceremony. I remember that as a child I always liked that synagogue's ceiling, which was blue with stars, just like the sky.

In our family we celebrated typical Christian holidays. Children used to tell on us to the rabbi, that we've got a Christmas tree. I always loved and to this day love a Christmas tree, and also like going to Christian churches. Up until the war I wasn't particularly conscious of my Jewish origins. During the whole prewar period, up until the time the Germans came, I didn't feel any anti-Semitism. Only at the beginning of the school year, when the teachers were writing down our religion in their class register, I always felt terribly awkward, I don't know why. I'd stand there, all stiff, along with Bedrich Alter, and would be embarrassed.

Similarly, when we went to synagogue for the so-called Long Day, after the Jewish New Year, we had to walk along the main street that led across the Brandys town square, and I wished I could have disappeared from the face of the earth. Because people were coming out of stores, and looking at that parade of ours curiously. My brother Viktor and I were always dressed up to the nines, we'd be wearing dark blue jackets with gold buttons and velvet collars from Hirsch [children's clothing] and a dark blue sailor's cap with ribbons in the back.

For some time before the war I used to go to religion lessons in Brandys. Brandys didn't have its own rabbi, and so Rabbi Mandl from Prague used to go there. There'd always have to be at least ten children, otherwise it wouldn't have been worth it for Mr. Rabbi. The rabbi was very kind to all the children. The boys would misbehave, but he didn't care, and on top of it gave out candy. He taught us Hebrew and back then I quite liked it, because it seemed like drawing to me, and the rabbi was very pleased by that. I had always liked to draw. Otherwise the rabbi didn't give us any tests, he just told us things.

Back then in Brandys there was no organized Jewish community as such, and I don't know who organized religious education, and invited Rabbi Mandl to Brandys. To tell the truth, I don't even know who organized the services in the synagogue. My brother Viktor only recalled that our neighbor, Mr. Eisenschimmel, sang beautifully in the synagogue. The Eisenschimmels had a small textile store in Brandys. They had two children, unfortunately their mother died suddenly. We only started coming into contact with most Jewish children during the war, during the time when we could no longer go anywhere, and weren't allowed to associate with anyone else but Jews. Then Jewish children would come to our place, to the courtyard and garden, and we'd play ping-pong or volleyball.

Once, still before the war, there was a big celebration in Brandys. A rare statue that some farmer had plowed up in his field was being exhibited in the Church of the Virgin Mary in Stara Boleslav. They called it the Czech Palladium. Pilgrims would come to the church, and each one of them would kiss the statue. I remember that my classmate Anca Zakova and I went to see it. When it was my turn to kiss the statue, and I saw the hordes of people that had kissed it before me, it seemed a little unpleasant to me, and so I only pretended to kiss it.

My whole generation was of the Masaryk 8 - Benes 9 school. These were concepts that we all believed in, and that gave us a feeling of national pride. My mother's sister, Aunt Elsa, occasionally spoke German with her friends, and due to this I was sometimes a little obnoxious, it seemed to me that she should rather speak Czech. When I'd come to visit, my aunt would always in the company of her friends say about me: 'She's a big Czech!' One day I saw President Benes with my own eyes. I participated in high school games that were this prelude to the All-Sokol Slets [Games]. We were marching through the Prague Castle, where Benes was standing in the court with his wife and was waving to us. We all shouted and waved. It was probably the most beautiful day of my life.

In Brandys I also experienced a visit by the Romanian King Karol 10, and Prince Michal 11. They were on their way somewhere, through Brandys, all the members of their delegation had beautiful uniforms. They were driving on the main road that led by our house. I remember that we stood on the sidewalk and waved.

As opposed to art, we never devoted ourselves to music. My parents did buy me a piano, and for some time I went to Mrs. Vrbova for lessons, but because I don't have musical hearing, I didn't do well. Plus the piano was in the old bedroom, which was heated only in the evening, because only my youngest brother with his nanny slept there, but during the day it was always cold in there, so I had to sit at the piano in a coat, once I even wore gloves. My youngest brother Jiri, as opposed to me, apparently had perfect pitch, already in the 1st grade his teacher said that he should take lessons and play some instrument. Unfortunately he couldn't take any lessons, because before the war he only managed to go to 1st grade of elementary school, and he wasn't allowed to finish 2nd grade, and what's more our father wasn't in favor of it.

Already as a little girl I liked to read very much. My parents never showered us with presents, but always for birthdays, name days or Christmas we'd get books. When I was about 14, I also used to go to the library. I remember that when I brought some new book home from the library, my father would always confiscate it and read it. But my father also bought books for me.

I had almost all of Jirasek, I also subscribed to F.L. Vek, published in individual booklet sections [Jirasek, Alois (1851 - 1930): Czech writer of prose and playwright]. I used to go to Mr. Kubac for them, and I always looked forward to each new chapter. I also had a beautiful gold and white edition of Philosophical History. But most of all, still before the war, I loved Wolker and his poems [Wolker, Jiri (1900 - 1924): Czech poet]. My mother allowed me to buy his entire work, which was composed of three books, and it wasn't only poems.

My parents supported my reading, they only didn't want me to read girls' novels. Not that they outright forbade me, but they didn't like to see it, and neither my father nor my mother would ever have bought such a book for me.

Already from the age of eight I took German, later also French and English. Between the wars I took private German and French lessons from Miss Maschnerova, who herself published in Leipzig very good and well-arranged German, French and English textbooks. Miss Maschnerova was the most expensive language teacher in Brandys, an hour cost 20 crowns, which in those days was a lot of money. I was the best in German, in Terezin I had no problem speaking with people from Germany, Austria or Holland. But I never spoke to Germans of higher standing, because they didn't talk to us at all.

The thing that I maybe liked drawing most of all was fashion. I wanted to be a fashion designer, because from the time I was little I had been interested in clothing, and I also liked to draw. I always covered all my school exercise books with all sorts of fashion designs. I'd enjoy organizing fashion shows. Sometimes I regret that I didn't at least go to family school in Brandys.

Before the war, in the summer, besides going to Doubravice, we'd always also go with our parents on vacation to Spindleruv Mlyn, that was during the years 1932-1938. My father would order a taxi in Brandys, so we'd go from Brandys to Spindleruv Mlyn by car. When we were there for the first time, I was about eight years old. My mother was expecting my youngest brother, Jiri. I remember that back then we stayed in the Belveder hotel, but later we always lived in the Hotel Esplanade. The owners of that hotel, the Blechas, already knew us, and they'd call us in advance that our rooms are already reserved, and whether we were coming. We used to go there up to when I was 13 or 14.

Because my father liked to walk, every day we'd go on big hiking trips in the surrounding countryside. We'd for example walk around the Bile [White] Labe, where there were loads of waterfalls, and also the chalet 'U Bileho Labe.' One year by the Divci Lavka [Maidens' Footbridge], which was in the valley under Spindleruv Mlyn our father built us a small wooden waterwheel, which turned as the water spun it. When we returned there the next year, we were ecstatic, because the waterwheel was still there! I remember that in the store by the bridge down in Spindleruv Mlyn they sold peaches, but because they were too expensive, my mother always bought us one apiece.

As I've already said, we used to go to Spindleruv Mlyn by taxi, because my father never wanted a car. There were always two or three taxis standing in the Brandys town square, either Skodas or Tatras, and evidently it wasn't as expensive as it is today, so we could afford it. Once our family friend, Dr. Laufer, also took us in his car, when we wanted to go to Bysice, near Vsetaty, where my father's parents are buried. But since I was little I hated cars, I got nauseous in them, I threw up, the same in buses. When we used to go to Spindleruv Mlyn, our first stop would always be at the edge of the forest before Mlada Boleslav, and then we'd have to stop a few more times along the way. It wasn't at all pleasant. Back then they used to give me these pills for nausea, they were called Vazano, but they didn't help me.

Together with Dr. Laufer my father bought two parcels of land in the forest by the road behind Stara Boleslav. They had a common fence, and in the middle stood a low shed. My father paid about 500 crowns for the shed. We spent weekends there, but we never slept there, because that little shed was kind of makeshift, and my mother wasn't the type for those sorts of things. In the morning we'd go for a walk across the fields to our parcel, and in the evening we'd walk home again. My mother would always prepare some meatballs or some other food to take along with us.

I wasn't too interested in boys. Once in high school, when I was in third year [Grade 8] some boy came up to me and wanted to borrow my German textbook. They called him Sextan, because he was in Sexta [sixth year of high school or Grade 11]. When he then returned the book to me, he'd left a letter in it. It was horrible. He was asking me out on a date, but I guess I don't have the courage for these things, it didn't at all occur to me to go on it. But my girlfriends and I decided that we'd go see if he would really come to the agreed-upon place. We stood on the bridge across the Labe River, looked down and he was already there, waiting. Afterwards I was very embarrassed. He married very early. At home we didn't talk about these things at all. To tell the truth, my parents never told me what I was or was not allowed to do in this area.

Another memory is tied to the last high school games before the war. When we were returning home from these games by train from Prague, several of us were sitting together and fooling around. A fairly nice-looking boy was sitting behind me, I think he was named Jelinek. After the high school games he would stand across from our house and look to see if I was there. Today there are 'panelak' apartment buildings there [colloquial name of blocks of high-rise panel buildings in the Czech Republic and Slovakia constructed of pre-fabricated, pre-stressed concrete], but back then there was an old linden tree across from our house, beneath it a pump and behind it a wall that surrounded a large garden. In that wall there was a little chapel. Before the war there used to be a procession from Prague to Stara Boleslav that used to walk through Brandys every Sunday. The pilgrims would always wake us up in the morning, when they would sing 'A thousand times we greet thee,' and because they had to walk a long ways, they would stop under the linden tree by the chapel, have a drink of water, wash their feet and rest.

When once after the high school games I looked out the window, that Jelinek boy was standing under the linden tree with his bike. He stood there several times more, looking into the window and looking for me. I knew that he was standing there, but it would never have occurred to me to go down and say something to him. During the war he was jailed by the Germans, when there was a wave of arrests of university students 12. In the end they let him go again, but that was already a different situation. We weren't allowed to go almost anywhere, and we had to wear a Jewish star 13, so everyone was afraid to associate with us.

In Stara Boleslav, before the war, there used to be a confectionery on the main square that belonged to the Horacek brothers, where all the students used to go. Inside there were leather booths and small café tables where it was pleasant to sit. They had excellent sweets there. But most often we used to have a so-called 'atmosphere,' which was whipped cream sprinkled with cherry brandy. I used to go there with Anca and other friends, and then also right before the war with my cousin from Doubravice, who back then lived with us along with her family after the Germans had annexed the Sudetenland 14. We'd either sit and talk or play various games, for example we'd write some word on a piece of paper, then folded the paper over so that the word couldn't be seen and when each one of us added more and more words, in the end it would result in some funny nonsense.

University students used to go to that confectionery as well. There I met Jirka Maruska, a university student, who I dated for a while. He was six years older and much more mature than I was. His father was the mayor of Stara Boleslav. Once Jirka was walking me home, and on the bridge we met my father. He was walking on the other side of the bridge, he didn't even stop and acted as if he didn't see me. As soon as we started wearing Jewish stars, Jirka didn't want to have anything to do with me any more.

Back then I used to wear this hideous green coat. Our house was next door to some apartment buildings where the tailor Rotek lived, and my father had him make a suit for him, and ordered a coat for me, so Mr. Rotek would have some business. But I didn't like the coat at all, I literally despised it. Luckily when I was about 14 or 15, my mother had my first coat made for me with her tailor, Mr. Chmelicek in Smichov, which I liked very much. Always, when I went on a date, I'd ask my mother if I could take the better coat, because it hung in my mother's closet. And my mother never said no.

I had this one friend who was named Lada Koliandr. I didn't meet him until wartime, at the post office. For a long time he used to come visit us, even during the time that it was already dangerous for him, because they could have thrown him in jail for it. He was very nice. He rounded up for us everything that we needed. He got us flannel shirts, warm socks, gloves. Once he even brought us a bow and arrow, so that we wouldn't be bored, because at that time we were almost never allowed to go out. He would usually come to our place in the evening, so that no one would see him. At that time the Vohryzeks from Doubravice were already living with us. At the beginning of January 1943 our family was leaving for Terezin, and at the same time Lada Koliandr left to do forced labor in Germany, because his year of birth was between 1921 and 1924, and all those born then were sent there.

In 1938 we went to Doubravice for summer vacation for the last time. I remember that already back then in the region around Teplice, which was in the Sudetenland, Henlein's supporters 15 were already showing their teeth. They used to walk around in white hose, leather pants and salute and yell 'Sieg Heil.' We, Czechs, in return began to wear the tricolor [the three colors of the Czech flag]. I remember that when I was about 14, some Jews were escaping from Germany to Czechoslovakia, they were going to various towns, making the rounds to Jewish families and were forced to beg or ask them for some support. When the Germans annexed the Sudetenland, the Vohryzeks and Munks had to move away from Doubravice. The Munks then lived someplace in the Zizkov quarter of Prague, and the Vohryzeks moved in with us in Brandys.

Aunt Elsa always used to tell me that I'd go to dance classes in Prague, and I'd always answer back that I didn't want to, that I was going to go to classes in Brandys. I was very much looking forward to going to dance classes, I even grew my hair out because of them, because before that I had short hair. Unfortunately I never managed to go to any dance classes before the war, because soon we had various prohibitions and limitations imposed on us, and we weren't allowed to associate with anyone.

During the War

When the war began, I was 14 and a half. On 15th March 1939 the Germans arrived. That day there was a blizzard, it was snowing horribly. I was in school, in high school, and I remember that Helena Mareckova, Pepik Marecek and Zdenek David, my friends who I used to hang out with and who were about six years older than I, came to meet me at the school and walked home with me. In the main square in Brandys there were already Germans on motorcycles with sidecars. It was a horrible feeling, to see them there. I got home, I remember that we had garlic soup and cream of wheat for lunch.

The next day we got a notice in the mail that my father has to close his office. All doctors and lawyers had to immediately cease practicing. The Czech law and medical associations were glad that they had gotten rid of Jewish doctors and lawyers. They immediately confiscated all the money we had deposited in the bank. I managed to finish my fourth year of high school [Grade 9] but then I wasn't allowed to go to school any more, so I actually didn't graduate. Unfortunately, neither did I finish any school after the war, because I was awfully afraid of math.

During the war all three of us children got scarlet fever. Back then the Germans already wanted to move us out of our house and take it over for themselves. Once they came to our house, and when they found out that we all had scarlet fever, they quickly left and then they apparently were afraid to come over, and so we were able to live in our house until our departure on the transport.

During the war my father was the head of the Jewish religious community in Brandys nad Labem, to which also belonged Jews from villages around Brandys. Because progressively various orders, prohibitions and regulations came, and someone had to take care of administration, to keep track of the Jewish population and send out this information to them. My father was forced to take this position upon himself and set up an office in our former dining room, where he officiated. Often Germans would come to our house. Once the Gestapo rang the doorbell, and my brother Viktor went to open the door. They got horribly upset at him, because he wasn't wearing a Jewish star. For we had to wear the star at home, too.

During the war I at first helped my father with administrative work related to the running of the Jewish community in Brandys, and then they sent me to work in the forest. There I worked together with other young Jewish girls, from July 1942 until December of that year. Back then we'd already had to hand in even our bicycles, but because the work in the forest was far away, on the other side of Stara Boleslav, they lent us bikes, and so every morning I rode with a hoe tied to my bicycle to go work in the forest.

In the beginning it was horrible, because we didn't know how to do anything. The forest warden for example told us to dig some holes for planting trees or sowing seeds, and then left, and we stood there, not knowing what to do, so we started to dig and dig until we had dug a huge pit, and the forest warden then came back, threw up his hands and said that it was supposed to be a shallow little trench. Most often we worked in the meadows, and because it was summer, it was usually terribly hot. My cousin always had horrible headaches from the sun. But gradually we somehow got used to it and in the end we got to like going and working in the forest.

What I liked most was working with hay. On the other hand, the worst of all was picking potatoes behind the devil. The devil was a machine for plowing up potatoes. It drove quickly, so there wasn't even time to straighten up. We gathered the potatoes into baskets, dumped them into sacks and threw them up onto trucks that then carted them away. The sacks were terribly heavy, so it was very arduous work. Back then the gathering of hay and picking potatoes fell under the Forestry Service. The forest warden was very nice to us.

Besides us there were also some women forestry workers working in the forest, who weren't there to do forced labor, and had worked there before the war. As Jews we weren't allowed to associate with them at all. The forest warden always said that he much preferred to work with us than with 'those bimbos,' that all they are is vulgar, and that with us it was fun. Once he even brought us some sweet stuffed cakes, because back then we had almost no tickets for anything, not for meat, nor butter or fruit and vegetables.

The only thing we had during the war was this artificial honey, which was really disgusting, horribly sweet, sticky, and had an unpleasant taste. I don't even know what it was made out of back then. My mother would always pack us two slices of dry bread with this artificial honey between them, which by lunch would have soaked into the bread, so it wasn't very good. But my mother still had some Van Houten puddings at home, so she'd always make some pudding and put it in a glass for me to take with me. It may have been made with only water, but back then I liked it.

We got a very small salary, on the order of crowns and halers, but always when I brought at least some small sum home, my mother was glad, and I had the feeling that I was helping to feed the family. When we were supposed to go to Terezin, the forest warden tried to save us, and asked to be allowed to keep us for forestry work, that we were terribly important there and that without us nothing was possible. Of course he didn't succeed.

People from Brandys weren't allowed to associate with us at all. They weren't allowed to say hello to us, and when we went shopping, we had to be served last of all. During the war even our neighbors from across the fence, before we were supposed to leave on the transport, came to our house by the back door and took duvets and curtains home, with the excuse that after all we can't leave them there. As I've already said, the thing that I most regret is that they also took the picture that my father had painted. Everyone then hoped that we wouldn't return, so that they wouldn't have to return anything to us. Then when my mother and my youngest brother returned to Brandys, I arrived somewhat later, those people had our curtains hanging and no one remembered the picture any more. My mother didn't want to ask anyone for anything, as she wasn't attached to any property, and in the end it didn't matter to her anyways, when my father didn't return.

Before we left for Terezin, my father would make various hiding places for money. He had several gold St. Wenceslaus ducats. My father would make for example little sewing kits with a double bottom, and would put one ducat into each one. He hid money in shoe polish, for example. Unfortunately I don't know where these items ended up.

Some time before our departure for Terezin we had to leave for Mlada Boleslav to the local castle, where they had moved all Jews from Mlada Boleslav, and there we had to hand in all of our jewels and enroll for the transport. Before we left for Terezin, I also got jaundice. I was constantly feeling awful and throwing up, and didn't know what was wrong with me, until finally my eyes turned yellow. So I left for Terezin already ill.

We left Brandys on the transport on 5th January 1943. It was a day later than the rest of the Jews from Brandys, due to the fact that my father was the head of the local Jewish community. That day we on our own left our house for the train station and took an ordinary train to Mlada Boleslav. We had sacks instead of luggage, because they didn't allow us to have suitcases. It was a strange feeling, to be leaving home with only a few bags and leave everything there. Apparently after our departure the Hitlerjugend 16 were in our house. After the war there was a music school in our house, and the principal's apartment.

On the way to Terezin we stopped in Mlada Boleslav. There they concentrated us in some school and then we continued on the transport to Bohusovice. From there we went to Terezin on foot, because at that time the tracks didn't yet lead directly into Terezin, those were built later by Terezin prisoners. From Bohusovice to Terezin we were led by our people, Czech policemen. In Terezin we were handed over to German women, who were called ladybugs. They rifled through our baggage and took what they liked.

First I lived together with my mother and many other people in the so- called Hamburg barracks. Later they emptied the Hamburg barracks and made a so-called 'slojska' out of it. It was a place where they would herd all the people who were called up for the transport, they'd shut them up in there, and directly from there they would get on trains which then aimed for Auschwitz and other places.

Between the wars my father had been in the Association of Czechs-Jews 17. Sometimes I suspect that maybe someone from that association took my father's side and thanks to this our family didn't leave on the first transports from Terezin to Auschwitz, but we all stayed in Terezin for a relatively long time. Very few people from Brandys stayed in Terezin, mostly they right away went further onwards, most often to Auschwitz. For a short while our friends - the Laufers - stayed in Terezin, but they then had to leave. Not even the fact that during the war they all had themselves baptized helped them.

The first person that I got to know in Terezin was Jirka Maisel from Caslav. He was maybe a year older than I. We used to walk around Terezin and would always be talking about something. He'd tell me about school and about student life. He even lent me some blanket so that I could cover myself better, as back then my jaundice was still on the wane. Later I met my husband there.

In Terezin, that was a diet. They used to give us this gray water to eat, which they called lentil soup. Sometimes there would be a bit of turnip or potato floating in it. About once a week they gave us a small piece of meat, but more often than not it was some piece of sinew.

Due to my jaundice I visited some doctor there. After talking a while, we found that our high school principal had been his teacher! This doctor wrote me up a disability slip, but already in March 1943 I had to go to the Terezin employment office and began working. For everyone had to work their so-called 'Hundertschaft,' or a hundred hours of work. [The German term 'Hundertschaft', usually refers to a military or police group of a hundred men, and not to working hours.] I was able to pick either work in the mechanized woodshop, or to do the cleaning in the hospital for those with typhus. I preferred to choose the woodshop. We worked in three shifts - from 6am to 2pm, from 2pm to 10pm, and from 10 pm till the morning. At night the 'Obersturmbannführer' [Lieutenant Colonel] Karl Rahm himself used to occasionally come check up on us, to see if anyone was sleeping there. I don't know what would have happened if he would have found out that someone was sleeping during the night shift. Likely he would have given that person a thrashing, or shot him, probably whatever occurred to him at that moment.

Later my husband used to tell how he arrived in Terezin on the very first transport. Back then Terezin's original inhabitants still lived there, who had to move away. It was necessary to build bunks for the emptied barracks and also beds for the normal houses, where Germans then lived. That's actually why the mechanized woodshop, where I worked from March onwards, came into being.

So I stayed in the woodshop. There were a lot of young girls like me there, which was really great. We were always singing, and we had this one excellent, merry co-worker there who entertained us. He sang us songs by Voskovec and Werich 18. In the end I found out that he was my husband's friend. There I learned how to hammer together bunks and beds. We also made latrines and these standalone little wooden shacks. In Terezin there was a warehouse of hearses, on which we carted around material ourselves. We'd load it up on a hearse, two girls pushed from behind, two stood on the sides, one at the drawbar, and like this we drove around Terezin. We'd stack it up somewhere, perhaps carry it up for installation, and then drove back.

In Terezin I also ruined my feet. When I went to Terezin, I took with me these beautiful shoes, which Mrs. Krejcova from my father's office had some shoemaker in Prague make for me. But after a year in Terezin I had worn these shoes right through. Because in Terezin everyone had the right to have their shoes resoled once a year, this is what I did, and I never saw them again. They sent me to some warehouse with men's shoes, so I could pick some different shoes as a replacement, so I picked some boys' shoes, and that's what I then walked around in, even for some time after the war. After the war I was even married in them, because I didn't have any others! Otherwise in Terezin I wore these flimsy canvas shoes, something like today's tennis shoes, but those are at least a little shaped because of flat feet. This was only this husk, a piece of canvas with some rubber. Since I was always standing on concrete in them, my feet then hurt. Due to this my arches fell and from that time onwards I've had trouble with flat feet.

Once in a while it was possible to send a parcel to Terezin. It could have been about once every three-quarters of a year that we'd get a special stamp, which had to be sent to relatives, and with this they could send a five-kilo parcel. A parcel without this stamp wouldn't get to Terezin, and we got only a very few stamps.

Once in Terezin my father gave me this tiny wooden box with a little board that slid out, which he had made himself, drew some national motif on it in pencil, or perhaps a little heart, I don't exactly remember any more.

My mother's sister, Elsa, and her husband were also in Terezin. My aunt would always promise me that after the war she herself would arrange my wedding dress. Understandably this never happened, because neither Aunt Elsa nor her husband ever returned. They left on a transport, the same as the Vohryzeks, my father's sister and her husband and daughter, to Auschwitz, where they were in the so-called family camp 19 for half a year. In March and July 1944 it was liquidated, all of its inhabitants were sent into the gas. Our relatives, the Munks, went on a transport from Prague directly to Lodz and then to Riga, where they were most likely shot.

My husband was my boss in the mechanized woodshop, and thanks to this we got to know each other. I remember that it was my birthday, and he somehow found out about it, because otherwise we didn't really talk much, and suddenly for my birthday he brought me some chocolate-covered orange peel, which I loved. I was completely in seventh heaven from that orange peel, I kept it under my pillow and didn't eat it at all, because I wanted to save it!

In Terezin my future husband was trying to convince me to marry him. He explained to me that if we weren't married, they could send me away alone on a transport, and he wouldn't be able to help me in any way. In the end I agreed. We found some rabbi in Terezin, who married us, but after the war the officials didn't recognize our wedding, so we had to get married again anyhow.

My husband, Rudolf Kovanic, was born on 16th December 1908 into a Jewish family. Before the war he graduated from business academy and worked for the Justitz company in the grain wholesale business. He spoke fluent German and for a long time also studied English. His father was a traveling salesman, so he was often on the road and apparently also liked to play cards. My husband didn't inherit this passion from him, on the contrary, he never liked cards. His mother was a nice-looking lady, she took very good care of herself. Her maiden name was Kafkova.

My husband was one of four children, he had two brothers and one sister. His sister Hana is still alive, she was the youngest of all the children. She was born in 1920, so she's four years older than I am. The youngest of the brothers was named Karel. In appearance and personality he was similar to his father. While he didn't finish council school, in the end he earned the most money of all the brothers. He had a franchise from some shoe company. He survived the war, but unfortunately neither his wife nor child returned. He had a very pretty wife, and in Terezin they even had a beautiful little girl. She was like a miracle, chubby, with rosy cheeks, she was named Alenka.

The middle brother was named Franta [Frantisek]. He was the only one of the brothers to serve in the army. Franta didn't return after the war. At first he was in Auschwitz, and then they sent him to work in Glivice 20 in Poland, where he died of blood poisoning. His wife Truda along with little Janicka [Jana] died in Auschwitz. Because in Auschwitz all mothers with children went straight into the gas.

My husband's mother was a very kind lady and managed to still get to know my father and mother. My parents liked my husband a lot, only he seemed a little old to them, as he was almost 16 years older than I. But our father was also ten years older than Mother, so it wasn't anything that unusual. My husband was an amazingly kind person. I probably have never met a kinder person. Unfortunately due to Terezin he had serious emotional problems, he almost had a nervous breakdown there. As I've already said, he was in Terezin right from the beginning, in all for about four years, which must unavoidably have marked him in some way. What's more, my husband had a relatively large amount of responsibility in Terezin, he already begun there as an administrative manager, later they entrusted him with further tasks.

People in Terezin were desperate, and for example stole wood for heating, or tried to improve their lot in other ways, but often there would be checks done, which, if they found out anything like that, would immediately have caused my husband to be arrested by the Gestapo. Once, when my husband had some problem of this type, he was completely down-and-out because of it, luckily in the end the matter was resolved only with the ghetto's Jewish leadership, which was presided over by some Mr. Freiberger. Because Terezin had this Jewish self-government, it was called the 'Ältestenrat' [Council of Elders]. Once, another thing that happened to my husband was that he met the supreme commander of the ghetto, Karl Rahm, who out of the blue told him to take off his glasses, and gave him a couple of cuffs. Basically the Germans could do with us what they wanted.

Once our entire family was summoned to a transport. The transport summonses were delivered at night. It was a horrible feeling, at night someone would bang on the door and bring a thin strip on which was written who should present themselves where and when. We had to gather in the 'slojska,' which as I've already mentioned was a building that was open at the back, from which one would leave directly into the courtyard to the transport, because at that time the track right to Terezin had already been finished. So Rudolf volunteered, that he's going with me.

They told us that there'd be a selection in the courtyard. It was the first and last selection in Terezin, otherwise the selections weren't done until in Auschwitz. Apparently the selection was aimed only at young people, because neither my father nor my mother was summoned to it. Rudolf went with me. We all walked by the Terezin camp leader, Karl Rahm. Whoever Rahm didn't stop, automatically went straight onto the transport. Us he stopped. He asked me where I worked, and I told him that in the woodshop. Rahm was familiar with the woodshop, plus I had overalls on, as I didn't have anything else. Rahm then asked Rudolf, and he told him that he was with me voluntarily, because we were going to be married. Back then in Terezin it was possible to apply for a civil wedding, which we had done. Rahm bellowed 'Ihr werdet heiraten!', which meant we didn't have to get on the transport, that he'd rejected us.

In October 1944 we were supposed to go onto the transport for a second time, and again we were rejected. I think that Rahm rejected all those that worked in the mechanized woodshop. The first time Rahm rejected my husband's sister like he had us, but the second time he didn't reject her. The last brother, Franta, worked in the constabulary service, you could recognize it by this special cap that he wore. Apparently he had gained some esteem, so he went to see Rahm and told him that in Terezin they were three brothers, a sister and mother, and if he could leave the sister, Hanka. Rahm agreed.

My husband's brothers, Franta and Karel, were often mentioned in connection with Terezin culture. One of them, Franta I think, wrote the so-called 'Terezin Hymn' to the melody of Jezek's 'Song of Civilization.'

In Terezin I had to lug around horribly heavy things, so once it even happened that my back went out and then I had to lie in bed for three days without moving. After the war it happened again, I've got a herniated disc, lower back problems.

My older brother, Viktor worked with the carpenters in Terezin. Back then he was about 14. Like all manual laborers in Terezin, he also got a tiny food supplement. In the morning and evening we got black 'Melta' [a coffee substitute] in our canteens and besides this one piece of bread for the whole day. We always tried to divide up the meager ration, one little slice for breakfast, one little slice for supper. Viktor could never hold himself back and always ate all the bread at once, so then he had nothing left.

Our father went to Auschwitz on the very last transport, my brother went on the transport before him. My mother remained in Terezin, because she was working for the German war industry, she peeled mica for German airplanes. My mother had these short, fat fingers and I guess she wasn't very good at it, because she always had problems filling the required quota. Finally they fired her, but it was too late for her to leave on a transport. My youngest brother Jiri was in Terezin with our mother the whole time, back then he was about 13 years old.

For sure our father went directly into the gas. Because back then he was 58 years old, and apparently they sent everyone from 55 up into the gas. My husband had two brothers and two sisters-in-law with beautiful little children in Terezin, but both mothers with the children went to Auschwitz and there directly into the gas.

When my brother Viktor went to Auschwitz, he perhaps wasn't even 14 yet. Some SS soldier on the ramp apparently asked him how old he was, took his watch and advised him to say that he's a year older, and only thanks to this was my brother saved and didn't go directly into the gas. From Auschwitz he got into Kaufering, which was a branch of Dachau. [Editor's note: by the Dachau concentration camp, the Nazis set up two huge underground factories - Kaufering and Mühldorf, where they then transferred the chief portion of arms manufacture; mainly Jews from Poland, Hungary and the Baltics worked here in inhuman conditions.]

There he got typhus. Apparently they left him lying there with the others in some pits, and then they loaded them onto open wagons and were taking them to the gas chambers. In the meantime the Allies bombed the train, so it remained standing somewhere on the track. My brother's friend from Prague died there by the morning and my brother was found by the Americans, who dressed him and sent him to a hospital, where spent a long time. Apparently they found him as a human skeleton, he weighed 28 kilograms.

For a long time we had no news at all of him, not until sometime in August 1945 when he wrote Mrs. Krejcova, our family friend and household helper. Because my brother thought that none of us had returned. Mrs. Krejcova immediately let us know that my brother was at a sanatorium on Sokolska Street. His nerves were completely shot and he was also in horrible physical shape. For a long time after the war, he didn't want to talk about anything that he had lived through.

It wasn't until sometime after the war that I found out about the International Red Cross's visit to Terezin. As I worked three shifts, I had practically no means of finding out what was actually happening in Terezin. I only know that at that time they had built a music pavilion and set up a park in the town square.

Towards the end of the war, it was sometime during the winter, they sent me to do agricultural work. It was during the time when many people had been sent away from Terezin on transports, so every bit of help was welcomed. Surrounding Terezin there were these moats, where I cut willow branches for the basket-weaving workshop. A Czech constable used to go with us. Some lady that was working with us apparently had a husband or children in Prague, and used to give letters to the constable for him to send. This kind of thing, however, was very risky.

Sometime in January 1945 my husband and I left Terezin on a transport to Switzerland. No one actually properly knew where we were really going. After the war I read somewhere that our transport was supposed to have been in exchange for prisoners of war. It's true that when we arrived in Kostnice, the train station was full of bandaged people, without arms, without legs. Apparently Hitler had forbidden this transport, but because it was already almost the end of the war, one of the highly placed people around Hitler took it upon himself.

First they took us to the town of St. Gallen, where we were quarantined in some local school. Then we passed through three camps in various places. The first was in Adliswil, which was a village not far from Zurich. There were two halls there, which had once belonged to some small factory, which however was no longer functioning. In one of the halls they put up men, in the other women. It wasn't an actual work camp, we worked there only for our own needs. For example the men used to go into the forest to collect wood, and the women peeled potatoes. There were also children in our camp, and the soldiers that were taking care of the camp even brought us exercise books and pencils, so we then taught these children to write and count.

Apparently the Swiss weren't very glad we were there. They even wanted to send us to somewhere in Tunis or Algeria, but we didn't want to go. You see, we knew that the end of the war was approaching. Finally they transferred us to Les Avants in the mountains, where for some reason there were completely empty hotels, without any furniture or accessories, so we had to sleep on mattresses on the ground. I remember that we rode up to Les Avants on a cogwheel railway, and as we came out of the tunnel, a beautiful view out over Lake Geneva opened up in front of us, I'll never forget that.

Soldiers ran all the camps. They weren't too pleasant to us, and neither did they feed us very much. Often we went hungry there. At first we were allowed to move about only with soldiers escorting us, later it got better. We even began getting a small allowance, it might have been about 20 francs a month. Not much, but we could occasionally buy ourselves some cheap food, like sardines in oil, or apples, it's also there that I first tasted hazelnut spread, which we used to buy so that we'd have something nourishing. Otherwise they used to give us this rip-off loaf of bread, which crumbled horribly and couldn't be sliced at all. Sometimes we also got potatoes, a piece of margarine, a bit of sugar.

Once the Czechoslovak ambassador to Switzerland at the time came to visit us at the internment camp. He arranged for us to get an allowance of 20 or 25 Swiss francs. He also brought exercise books and pencils, so that the children could learn to write, count and prepare a bit for normal life. Before we departed for home we got a certain amount so we could buy ourselves some basic clothing. Apparently after the war the Communists put the ambassador in jail.

When we were in the hotel in Les Avants, high in the mountains, we once heard on the radio that Prague was calling for help. It was already 10pm, and the Swiss told us that we have to go to bed now. But we objected, that Prague was calling for help, and for them to let us listen, but they didn't allow it. Someone wrote about it in the local Swiss paper and as punishment we had to leave for another camp, lower down in Caux sur Montreux. We returned home from Switzerland in trucks, because apparently the Slovak State 21 had ordered some freight trucks, and so they put some wooden benches in them, loaded us onto those vehicles and we went home. The trip took about two days.

My mother returned from Terezin with my younger brother before I did. My husband and I didn't return until about 6th July 1945. At first my husband and I lived with his brother, who had returned before us, sometime in April or May. We lived on Londynska Street in a three-room apartment with a hallway, which had remained empty after some Germans, together with my husband's brother and his friend Slavka, whose sister my husband's brother later married, because neither his wife nor child had returned. We had the bedroom in that apartment to ourselves. At the same time we were trying to find our own apartment, but all vacant apartments had already been occupied. It was very difficult, but we finally managed to find an apartment in the Prague 10 district through a mutual friend of ours from Terezin.

After the War

After the war, Jews requested restitution from the Ministry of Labor and Social Affairs. My mother did get our house back, but we didn't move back into it. The tenants paid us some ridiculous rents, the house needed to have its roof repaired and lots of other investments, for which my mother didn't have the money. Mother therefore decided to sell the house, but then another disaster named the currency reform 22 came, whose result was that almost nothing remained of my mother's money from the sale of the house. My mother, because she was a lawyer's widow, at first got a pension of about 400 crowns, later under Dubcek 23 her pension was increased, because she had raised three children.

My mother and my youngest brother, who had been the first to return, at first lived for a short time with our distant relatives, the Pavelkas, in the center of Prague, and then with my mother's brother Quido on Lucemburska Street in Prague. Later my husband and I returned, and when we found an apartment in the Vrsovice neighborhood, I had my brother Jiri and my mother move in with us. My brother Viktor was the last to return. He spent time in various sanatoria. When he was in the sanatorium on Sokolska Street in Prague, he wrote Mrs. Krejcova, who had once worked for our father. This was because he thought that none of us had returned. Mrs. Krejcova let us know about it, and we then went to that sanatorium for my brother. I also moved my brother Viktor into our apartment, so then there were relatively a lot of us living there.

After the war, from November 1945, my husband and I were both working at the same place at Hastalska Street No.1, it was named the National Administration of Assets of the Expatriate Fund. This establishment gathered all of the property that the Germans had confiscated in Czech and in the end left behind. My husband worked in the real estate restitution department, where they also had huge warehouses of porcelain, carpets and all sorts of things that the Germans had left behind. Because the Germans were relatively precise in these matters, they had lists of confiscated property, transport numbers and even the names of the original owners. I worked in the registry there.

In September 1950 I transferred to the Housing Company of the City of Prague at 16 Dlouha Street, where I worked until 1952 in the real estate administration accounting office, from where I then went on maternity leave. From 1959 to 1961 I worked for the so-called Rohoplast People's Manufacturing Association, which means that I worked at home. From 1961 to 1963 I worked part-time for Construction Machinery on Jungmannovo Namesti [Jungmann Square] as a personnel and payroll manager and finally from 1963 up to retirement I worked for the Research Institute for Mechanization and Automation, which was also on Jungmannovo Namesti. I had the right to already retire at the age of 53, due to the fact that I had been in a concentration camp. In the end I retired when I was 59, but at the time it made me utterly despondent. I couldn't imagine what I'd do at home.

After the war my husband worked for the Koospol company. After the putsch he didn't sign up for the Communist Party, so for some time they wanted to fire him. But one of my husband's friends, who'd already been a Communist before the war, vouched for him, plus my husband was a very good worker and knew languages, so in the end they left him alone. Before the putsch he'd been on business trips abroad, once in Germany, then in Holland and Belgium. Later, as a non-party member, he wasn't allowed to work in the sales department, he began to work as an economist and his salary was lowered significantly. At the same time he was always training some working- class cadres that were obedient party members, who gradually became delegates who could, as opposed to him, travel abroad.

I think that both the war and the post-war times marked my husband a lot. But outwardly he was always calm and never showed anything. Obviously he suppressed all the bad experiences in himself. Maybe that's also why he died very early, he wasn't even 64. He died in 1972.

In 1952 our only son Jiri was born. Our son originally wanted to study electronics, but in the end we put him in a vocational high school, where he graduated in the field of instrumentation. He didn't like it at all. After his army service, to be more precise alternate army service, he worked for CKD. [CKD, Ceskomoravska Kolben Danek: one of the famous industrial companies of pre-war Czechoslovakia. After the war the company was revitalized and quickly nationalized. Amongst the most important is locomotive manufacture in the Vysocany quarter and streetcars in the Smichov quarter. The company gradually became the largest manufacturer of streetcars in the world, and employed up to 50,000 employees.] At that time he passed exams at FAMU [Film and TV School of The Academy of Performing Arts in Prague], where he studied art photography. Today he works as a photographer, and has his own studio in the neighborhood of Vrsovice. His wife is named Zuzana.

During Communism we never had a lot of money. We paid the price for the fact that neither my husband nor I ever joined the Communist Party.

So from 1946 my mother lived with us in our apartment in Vrsovice. It wasn't easy, because my mother was the type of person that slammed doors and in general was always upset. Sometimes I reproached myself for this step, because as a result our marriage wasn't always simple, but my husband never objected to anything. He'd always only comment understandingly: 'She's your mother...'

My mother had severe problems with her legs, because she had leg ulcers. When she was still able to walk normally, her greatest joy was to go sit down once a week with her lady friends at the Manes coffee shop, she'd always have tea and an egg yolk puff pastry or a slice of punch cake and would be happy that she was out among people. In the winter she used to go to the Paris coffee shop. Because during the war she'd been in Terezin, and had brought up three children, she later got a relatively decent pension, but she used to say that she won't be able to enjoy it any more. It was true, because at that time she already had serious health problems. What's more, she broke her hip, so then she couldn't walk by herself at all, which was for her a punishment. She didn't like being in our apartment in Vrsovice, and must have been terribly bored here. My mother died ten years after my husband, in 1982.

After the war, my brother Viktor also lived with me in Vrsovice for some time. He had always liked to draw, so after the war he attended a graphic arts school. But he had to leave it, because he didn't agree with one of the instructors, and took a stand against him as the leader of the rest that were protesting against him. So he went to the unemployment office and told them to place him wherever they want. They sent him to Hradistko, near Stechovice, where he worked at a branch of the Kolin Commercial Printers. Apparently at first he lived there in a former barn. But later he studied to be a printer there. For some time he then worked as a cost accountant and got a relatively good salary.

Our mother loved Viky, as we used to all call him, very much. She'd round up theater and concert tickets for him. Viky used to usually come visit each week on Friday; already from the morning no one would be allowed in the bathroom, my mother would be cooking from the morning and would prepare for him a whole week's worth of newspapers in the bathroom, and Viky would then arrive, submerge himself in the tub, and for two hours he'd lie there and read the papers. Viky was very nice. Our son was also very fond of him, and every Friday he'd sit and watch for him on a stool by the window, if he's already coming.

Viky married relatively late, when he was about 40. He married a beautiful lady, Jitka. She was already divorced, and had an 18-year-old daughter. They met somewhere at an exhibition. I think that it was a happy marriage, even though they never had very much money. Despite that they borrowed money and bought a house in Rotava, which they then fixed up beautifully. His wife had amazing taste. In the end they had to sell that house, because it cost too much money, and they bought an apartment in Chodov near Karlovy Vary. For some time my brother also worked for Amati Kraslice, where he packaged musical instruments.

Unfortunately after the war, and then for the rest of his life, my brother had serious health problems. Already when he returned after the war, he had a tubercular ulcer on his neck, he'd had typhus, he had rheumatism, bad legs and other problems. Finally he got leukemia. Back then my sister-in- law bought a hospital bed and took care of him at home. I used to go see him every week. It's terribly sad, how many horrible things my brother had lived through, and then on top of it in the end he got leukemia and was ill for a long time before he died. At the end of his life he was in terrible pain, which is why they used to come and give him morphine injections. Finally to top it all off he broke his hip, so after that he could only lie there.

Drawing remained my brother's hobby his whole life. When he died the Jewish religious community organized an exhibition in the Spanish Synagogue in Prague 24, and also in Terezin at the Little Fortress 25.

My brother never talked about what he had lived through in the concentration camp, only when he returned, he would constantly draw nothing but barbed wire and guard towers. It wasn't until he fell ill with leukemia that he began to tell us about what he had experienced. It's stayed in my memory, how he was saying that right before the liberation, when the Germans had already run away, the Hungarians had made a campfire somewhere and were roasting potatoes, and my brother wasn't capable of walking, so he was crawling and begged them to give him one potato, and those Hungarians kicked him in the face.

My granddaughter Helenka [Helena] was born in 1983, and is studying law. She's very interested in Jewish culture, she even sings in the Mispacha choir. [Editor's note: The Mispacha choir sings Hasidic and Jewish folk songs.] Her boyfriend, Daniel, is taking Jewish Studies.

Glossary:

Helena Kovanicová
Praha
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídila: Terezie Holmerová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: únor 2006

Nejprve jsem měla dělat interview pouze s bratrem paní Kovanicové, Jiřím Munkem, ale všechno dopadlo úplně jinak. Na naše první pracovní setkání mi totiž pan Munk připravil milé překvapení. Hned za dveřmi jsem se dozvěděla, že sestra se přišla podívat, ale že se mnou nebude chtít moc mluvit, že bude spíše jen tiše sedět a možná „občas něco doplní“. Představa podmračené nervózní dámy rychle vzala za své. Paní Kovanicová mlčela jen chviličku, chvílemi se s bratrem doplňovali, chvílemi se roztomile dobírali a za chvíli už převzala slovo paní Kovanicová úplně. Bylo tedy rozhodnuto a díky tomu má dnes každý ze sourozenců na těchto stránkách svou vlastní biografii. Starou paní jsem si moc oblíbila. Vždycky mě vítala vřele a s úsměvem. Když povídala, smála se, plakala, jednou pro mě byla mladou dívkou, která si v Terezíně prozpěvuje, jednou zas dospělou ženou, která se přes všechny nesnáze rozhodla pomoci své rodině v těžkých poválečných letech. Protože paní ráda vzpomínala na staré časy, těžiště našeho rozhovoru leží v době předválečné. Více už nebudu napovídat, následující řádky mluví samy.

Rodina
Dětství
Za války
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

O svých nejstarších předcích jsem se toho moc nedozvěděla. Naši rodiče nebyli totiž nijak zvlášť sdílní a navíc jsem byla s bratry vždy velmi přísně držena, takže jsme si ani netroufali moc se našich rodičů vyptávat. Možná, kdyby nepřišla válka a mohli bychom normálně dorůstat, třeba bychom se něco dozvěděli. Ale s válkou přišly jen samé starosti, samé zákazy a nařízení 1 a už ani po válce nebyla nálada na to, abychom si více povídali o historii naší rodiny, zvláště, když tatínek zahynul v roce 1944 v Osvětimi v plynové komoře.

Příbuzní z tatínkovy strany pocházeli z Polabí. Tatínkův tatínek se jmenoval Eduard Munk a žil se svou manželkou, Paulinou Munkovou, rozenou Gläsnerovou, v Přívorech u Všetat. Tatínek měl dva sourozence, Bedřišku a Josefa. Ti si také vzali sourozence, tetička Bedřiška se provdala za pana Viléma Vohryzka a strýček Pepa se oženil s jeho sestrou, Martou Vohryzkovou.

Tatínkovi sourozenci žili se svými rodinami v Doubravicích nedaleko Teplic, kde měli velkostatek a hospodářství. Vilém a Bedřiška Vohryzkovi bydleli přímo na statku, který byl celý ohraničený a uzavřený branami. V noci kolem chodíval ponocný s ovčáckým psem. Byla to fena, jmenovala se Asina, a byla strašně zlá. Součástí statku byla stodola, chlévy, vepřín, kovárna, mlékárna a další objekty. Mimo statek stála jednopatrová vila, kde bydleli Josef a Marta Munkovi. Okolo jejich vily byla malinká zahrádka a za vilou byla celý den přivázaná Asina, protože směla běhat volně pouze v noci. Celá usedlost stála uprostřed polí úplně na samotě, blízko domu Munků vedla pouze jediná silnice směřující do Trnovan. K příbuzným do Doubravic jsme jezdili často, hlavně na Vánoce a v létě. Obzvlášť Vánoce se mi v Doubravicích moc líbily. Když byl sníh, přijeli pro nás k vlaku se saněmi, to bylo krásné. Drželi jsme tradiční křesťanské zvyky, takže si pamatuju, že jsme v Doubravicích o Vánocích lili olovo nebo házeli pantoflem [tradiční české vánoční zvyky – horké olovo se lije do vody a podle vzniklého tvaru se odhadují budoucí důležité životní událostí, dívky hází za zády pantoflem a když špička boty ukáže ke dveřím, znamená to, že se do roka vdají – pozn. red.]. Když jsme přijeli v létě, přijel  pro nás vždycky pan Janda s kočárem, v zimě se saněmi. Pan Janda pracoval na statku jako kočí. Za první světové války bojoval se strýčkem Pepou v Rusku v československých legiích. Když jsme jezdili k našim příbuzným do Doubravic, museli jsme střídavě bydlet u obou rodin. Jeden rok jsme bydleli u Munků, druhý u Vohryzků.

Teta Bedřiška byla báječná hospodyně. Výtečně vařila. Vždycky, když jsme tam byli o Vánocích, tetička napekla spoustu cukroví. Často nám v létě připravila mladou pečenou husu, ta mi obzvlášť chutnala. Teta vychodila mlékařskou školu ve Varnsdorfu nebo tam někde blízko hranic. Protože bývala teta Bedřiška celé dopoledne na nohou, odpoledne ráda zasedla do své oblíbené kožené klubovky a věnovala se ručním pracím, háčkovala takové proužky z krátkých sloupků, z nichž potom vytvářela různé ornamenty a našívala je na tyl. Byla šikovná, ale bylo to možná také tím, že tehdy byly dívky k ručním pracím vedeny, vyšívaly se monogramy na výbavy a podobně.

Strýček Vohryzek žil jen pro svůj statek, vstával v pět hodin ráno a už byl u prvního dojení. Často se stalo, že pro něj přišli do divadla, že se telí kráva, a musel zas pospíchat  domů. V době naší dovolené v Doubravicích totiž Vohryzkovi občas brali naše rodiče do divadla. V Teplicích tenkrát bylo, a stále ještě je, divadlo a divadelní kavárna.

Vohryzkovi měli dvě dcery, Hanu a Helenu. Nejvíce jsem se kamarádila s Helenou. Byla o dva roky starší než já a občas jsme se z legrace vydávaly za sestry. Říkali nám Helky. U Vohryzků bydlela také nějaká slečna, pravděpodobně pomocnice k dětem, a chodil k nim jíst adjunkt a praktikant. Ve dvou budovách bydleli deputátníci, což byli většinou Slováci, kteří na statku pracovali. Fasovali chleba, mouku, nevím jistě, jestli také máslo a mléko.

Pamatuju se v Doubravicích na kachlová kamna, o která jsem byla vždycky v době našeho vánočního pobytu opřená zády, protože mi často bývala zima. Vzpomínám si, že teta tloukla máslo ručně v máselnici. Později už na to měla elektrický přístroj. Máslo chladili ve velkém bazénu ve speciálních formách, potom se odváželo na prodej do Teplic do Konzumu. Teta nám dětem vařila k snídani kakao, které jsme pily z velkých cibulákových hrnků. Tehdy se porcelánový servis s cibulovým vzorem používal běžně k denní potřebě a necenil se tolik jako dnes. Kakao nám ale moc nechutnalo, protože bylo z tučného mléka od krav ze statku a my jsme byli zvyklí na mléko od hokynáře, které, jak se říkalo, bylo křtěné vodou.

Strýček Pepa Munk byl za první světové války legionářem v Rusku. Byl to takový tichý, málomluvný člověk. Bylo mi ho vždycky líto, protože jsem měla pocit, že není v manželství příliš šťastný. V rodině se říkalo, že strýček Pepa a teta Marta jsou každý úplně jiný. Teta byla taková do světa, zatímco strýček spíše domácký typ. Teta byla moc pěkná paní, vždycky chodila upravená, napudrovaná. Munkovi měli syna Jirku, který byl o rok mladší než já a strašně zlobil. Byl jak z hadích ocásků, vůbec si s ním nevěděli rady.  Lítal třeba po chlévech, lehl si pod krávu a nadojil si rovnou do pusy mléko. Býval často bit. U Munků jsem se občas bála. Bydleli jsme totiž v přízemí, odkud se dalo lézt oknem, a služebná, která nás děti měla večer hlídat, vždycky utekla někam na rande a my jsme tam byli sami v pokoji s otevřenými okny a brečeli jsme. Nahoře měl pokojíček adjunkt. Těsně před válkou teta Marta ještě čekala rodinu a narodila se jim holčička. Strýček Pepa prý byl velice šťastný, ale bohužel holčička brzy zemřela.

Ke statku patřila také "švestkovna", což byl velký ovocný sad. Vzpomínám si, že jsme tam jako děti chodily společně s Mařenkou z Chrástu, naší služebnou, trhat ovoce a nějaký hlídač nás odtamtud vyháněl a chytal nás holí kolem krku. Byli jsme z toho vždycky celí vyplašení. Další vzpomínku mám na to, jak nám kdysi před válkou o vánocích sestřenice půjčila nějaké lyžařské oblečení a dětské lyže. Zkoušeli jsme lyžovat, ale moc nám to nešlo. Pak už přišla válka a bylo po radostech.

Naši předkové z maminčiny strany pocházeli většinou z Prahy. Tatínek maminky, Rudolf Náchod, narozený v roce 1858, byl advokátem. Maminka maminky, Hermína roz. Eisenschimmelová, velice brzy zemřela pravděpodobně na rakovinu, nebylo jí ještě ani čtyřicet let. Moje maminka Olga měla dva sourozence, Elsu a Quida. Bydleli v Praze na Smíchově ve Fibichově ulici, která se dnes jmenuje Matoušova. Po smrti maminky Hermíny děti vychovávala jejich babička Aloisie Eisenschimmelová. Bydlela na Žižkově a chodila ke svým vnoučatům každý den pěšky až na Smíchov. Maminka vyprávěla, že babička Eisenschimmelová měla oddělené nádobí na masná a mléčná jídla, takže asi jako jediná z naší rodiny ještě dodržovala židovské zvyky. Také byla velmi přísná.

Maminčin bratr Quido se narodil v roce 1894. Byl nejstarší ze tří sourozenců. Jako malý chlapec velmi zlobil. I později už jako dospělý člověk byl spíše takový nestálý. Pracoval nejdříve v nějaké bance, ale nevydržel tam dlouho, jako ostatně na žádném místě, kde pracoval. Myslím, že jeho posledním zaměstnáním byla práce kontrolora v obchodním domě Perla v Praze. Na druhou stranu to byl ale zase velice pečlivý člověk. Velmi dbal o svůj zevnějšek. Dokázal si třeba upravit nebo zapošít oblečení. Vzal si za manželku Bedřišku Adámkovou, která nebyla židovského původu. Moje maminka ji neměla moc ráda, občas naznačovala, že nemá nejlepší minulost. Tetička byla taková, že každého olíbala, včetně pana doktora. Strýček jí vždycky říkal „dušinko“, a ona jemu zase „duško“. Neměli děti, ale teta jednou říkala, že by bývala mohla mít dítě, ale že se s manželem báli, že by ho neuživili. Nemyslím si však, že by si žili špatně, navíc jim můj tatínek dlouho platil činži. Na konci války v roce 1945 byl strýček asi měsíc v Terezíně 2, protože tehdy teprve přišli do Terezína Židé ze smíšených manželství. Teta Bedřiška zemřela v roce 1971, strýček Quido asi dva nebo tři roky po ní.

Teta Elsa Náchodová se narodila v roce 1899. V dospělosti bydlela v Praze v Anglické ulici číslo 4, kde měla svůj vlastní byt krásně vybavený starým nábytkem. Skládal se ze dvou pokojů, kuchyně a malého pokojíčku pro služebnictvo. V jejím bytě se z předsíně nejdříve vcházelo do jídelny, kde měla tetička starý nábytek a vysoký příborník, veliký stůl a židle. Ve své ložnici měla moderní nábytek vyrobený na rozměry pokoje. Byla tam skříň na šaty, dva gauče, mezi nimi malá skříňka, dále nízký stoleček se skleněnou deskou a u něho dvě křesla. Na skleněné desce mívala misku se šňůrou perel. Elsa si na sebe musela vydělávat sama a proto se živila vyučováním cizích jazyků. Učila jednak soukromě ve svém bytě a jednak i v jazykové škole Ve Smečkách. Byla dlouho svobodná a nakonec si vzala nějakého pana Grunda. Byl to však podvodník, okradl ji a obral o veškeré její skromné úspory. Pocházel z Vídně a tvrdil, že je "von" [ze šlechtického rodu]. Později se Elsa vdala podruhé za pana Ericha Ederera, který pracoval jako obchodní cestující a byl moc hodný. Jednou na svatodušní svátky mě vzala tetička s panem Edererem na výlet do Karlových Varů 3. Pan Ederer tam měl spoustu známých, chodili jsme společně do malých pěkných hospůdek, objednávali mi k snídani kakao a míchaná vajíčka, na to jsem nebyla zvyklá. Byli se mnou i ve varieté. Oba na mě byli moc hodní. Teta mě chtěla dokonce jednou během školního roku vzít někam do ciziny, ale tatínek byl přísný a nedovolil mi to, protože bych zameškala školu.

Tetičku Elsu jsem měla ze všech tatínkových i maminčiných sourozenců nejraději. Tetička neměla děti a myslím, že mě měla také moc ráda. Velmi ráda jsem k ní jezdila. Poprvé jsem k ní jela na Velikonoce, když mi bylo asi osm let a zůstala jsem u ní celý týden. Pořídila mi malý kalendáříček a tam mi psala, kde jsme spolu byly. Chodily jsme třeba na zmrzlinu k Bergerovi, což byla známá cukrárna ve Vodičkově ulici. Byl to pro mě svátek, protože doma jsme měli zmrzlinu zakázanou. Když jsem se od tetičky poprvé vracela, přijela pro mě maminka. Pamatuju se, že jsem celou cestu  autobusem strašně brečela, protože jsem nechtěla domů.

Tetička byla veliká frajerka. Vždy měla perfektní oblečení i přesto, že si musela na všechno vydělat sama. Když jsem byla u ní na návštěvě, všude mě brala s sebou, a tak vím, že chodila např. do luxusního obchodu s látkami „Prokop a čáp“ na Václavském náměstí, kde si občas vybrala ze vzorníku nějakou látku, kterou jí objednali třeba z Anglie. Pamatuju si tento obchod hlavně proto, že nad jeho vchodem stál neonový čáp a klapal zobákem. Boty si nechávala dělat na míru u vyhlášeného ševce v ulici Na Příkopech naproti Slovanskému domu. Jednou týdně chodila se strýčkem do kavárny Luxor hrát bridž.

Moje maminka, Olga Náchodová, se narodila v roce 1897 v Brandýse nad Labem.  Vyrůstala v Praze na Smíchově. Maminka měla nějakou asi jednoroční německou obchodní školu a uměla bezvadně německý těsnopis. Mám dokonce někde schovaný diplom, kde se píše o tom, že uspěla v nějaké těsnopisné soutěži v Teplicích – Šanově. Tuto soutěž pořádal Gabelsbergův spolek stenografů. Všechny recepty nebo i různé poznámky si psala těsnopisem. Zřejmě německy i velice dobře hovořila, protože když jsem se jako mladá učila němčinu a chodila jsem na hodiny, maminka mi opravovala úlohy a také mi říkala, že mám český přízvuk. Kromě němčiny hovořila i trochu francouzsky, protože jako mladá chodila na hodiny francouzštiny k rodilé Francouzce. V roce 1923 se provdala za tatínka. Myslím, že maminka nebyla se svým životem příliš spokojená. Nikdy nebyla zaměstnaná, ačkoliv si to velmi přála. Přestože to byla dobrá kuchařka a domácnost jí šla od ruky, vždycky tvrdila, že ji domácnost nebaví. Maminka by bývala ráda byla zaměstnaná. Také velmi toužila cestovat. Maminka s tatínkem bohužel neměli příliš společných zájmů. Když spolu odjeli v neděli do Prahy, maminka šla do kavárny, nejčastěji do kavárny Alfa na Václavském náměstí, kde měla spoustu známých, a tatínek mezitím sám chodil po výstavách. Navíc se maminka s tatínkem trochu lišili i povahou. Zatímco tatínek byl kliďas, maminka se často rozčilovala.

Můj tatínek, Adolf Munk, se narodil roku 1887 v  Přívorech u Všetat. Vystudoval práva. Byl to spíš tichý člověk, nikdy si příliš nepotrpěl na společenský život. Kdysi mi někdo povídal, že tatínka museli nutit, aby chodil se svojí sestrou tancovat. Měl jí dělat garde, ale protože ho to nebavilo, snažil se tomu všemožně vyhnout. Jednou si dokonce na nějaké zábavě najal pokoj a místo tancování tam spal.

K jeho nejmilejším koníčkům patřilo malování. Mám od něj dodnes v památníku namalovanou takovou roztomilou chaloupku. V Doubravicích jednou namaloval krásný obraz, na kterém byla váza s jiřinami. Tento obraz potom dlouho visel nad manželskými postelemi tatínka a maminky v Brandýse až do té doby, než jsme měli jít do Terezína. Tehdy k nám totiž přišli sousedé, kteří sebrali, co mohli. Vzali nám záclony, peřiny a nějaké další věci, mimo jiné i tatínkův obraz s jiřinami. Každý doufal, že se nevrátíme a že nebudou muset nic vracet.

Tatínek také rád truhlařil. Vyrobil mi třeba kulatý bílý stolek ke gauči, vytvořil stolek pod rádio a mnoho dalších věcí. V prádelně si zařídil svoji truhlářskou dílnu. Měl tam skříňky s nářadím a pracovní stůl, tzv. ponk. Maminka mu často kupovala k narozeninám třeba hoblík anebo jiné nářadí.

Tatínek byl velice přísný. Stačilo jen, aby se na nás přísně podíval a už jsme všichni věděli, že nesmíme zlobit. Ale málokdy jsme byli opravdu biti. Pamatuju se, že jsem dostala jen jednou, a už ani nevím kvůli čemu. Tatínka jsem měla moc ráda, abych řekla pravdu, snad více než maminku. Tatínkovi jsem jenom zazlívala, když nutil mladšího bratra Viktora jíst květákovou polévku, kterou nesnášel. Jakmile ji snědl, šel zvracet a ještě od tatínka dostal. Já jsem zase neměla ráda zelené papriky. Před válkou jsme je ještě vůbec neznali, ale nějak začátkem války se k nám tyto papriky dostaly. Nesnášela jsem už jenom jejich pach a vůbec jsem nemohla projít kolem okna, odkud byly papriky cítit - hned se mi zvedal žaludek.  Tatínek mě nutil je jíst, podobně jako bratra.

Tatínek miloval přírodu. Každý večer v šest hodin zavřel svoji kancelář a šel na procházku. Vždycky říkal, že se jde podívat, jaká bude úroda. Nechodil přes náměstí, protože ve městě měl spoustu známých, kteří by ho neustále zastavovali, ale šel zadní cestou přes pole směrem na Zápy. Naše maminka s ním také občas chodila, ale příliš ji to nebavilo. Tatínek také miloval zvířata. Vždy si přál být zvěrolékařem, ale v době jeho mládí v Čechách nebyla žádná vysoká škola, kde by toto povolání mohl studovat. Budoucí zvěrolékaři museli na školu do Vídně, což by bylo pro tatínkovy rodiče příliš nákladné.

Dětství

Narodila jsem se roku 1924 v Praze jako nejstarší ze tří sourozenců. Do svých pěti nebo šesti let jsme bydleli s rodiči v Praze na Smíchově ve Fibichově ulici (dnes Matoušova) v bytě po maminčiných rodičích. Z této doby si toho příliš nepamatuju. Myslím, že jsme bydleli v třípokojovém bytě a že tam byla veliká jídelna. Byt byl ve starém vícepatrovém domě, v přízemí měl obchod s kávou pan Šára. Jako malá jsem měla zánět středního ucha, takže asi vůbec mojí nejstarší vzpomínkou bylo, jak jsem ležela v nějakém malém pokojíku u nás na Smíchově a na ucho mi dávali teplý polštářek. Trochu jsem tehdy kamarádila s Alenkou Gehorsamovou, to byla hezká blonďatá holčička zhruba mého věku. Našla jsem fotografii, kde jsme spolu vyfocené na lavičce v Dientzenhoferových sadech u Jiráskova mostu.

Někdy kolem roku 1929 jsme se přestěhovali do Brandýsa nad Labem. Tehdy už byl na světě můj bratr Viktor, který se narodil v roce 1928. Nejmladší bratr, Jirka, se narodil v roce 1932. Byl moc hezké dítě. Protože onemocněl již v porodnici nějakou infekcí, přivezla si maminka s sebou dětskou sestru, která se o něj starala. Měli jsme ji všichni moc rádi. Řikali jsme jí Nánička. Ta o bratra láskyplně pečovala a vykrmovala ho. Celá naše rodina jedla společně u velkého bílého kulatého stolu a když jsme dojedli, Jiříček ještě dostal v kuchyni další páreček! Nánička mu také sbírala škraloupy z mléka, propasírovala je a přidávala mu je do Ovomaltiny. Jirka byl z nás nejlépe živený. Já jsem vždycky říkala: „Vždyť je jako buchta!“ Nánička toužila po tom, aby mohla Jiříčkovu fotografii poslat do nějakého ženského časopisu, kam posílaly pyšné maminky fotografie svých dítek, ale tatínek jí to nedovolil. Určitě si myslela, že je Jirka to nejkrásnější dítě na světě. Jednou, když Jirka zlobil a brečel v dětské postýlce, tatínek mu chtěl naplácat, ale Nánička ho tak bránila vlastním tělem, že málem dostala sama. Měla u nás být šest neděl, ale bylo z toho osm roků. Velmi mě mrzí, že jsem si ji po válce nevzala k sobě. Nánička měla cukrovku a nedržela dietu. Vždycky strašně solila a pepřila. Zemřela v nemocnici.

Do školy jsem začala chodit až v Brandýse. Nejdříve jsem navštěvovala obecnou školu. Do třídy se mnou chodily ještě dvě děti židovského původu, Bedřich Alter z Brandýsa, který měl ještě mladšího bratra Pavla, a Věra Buchsbaumová, která dojížděla z Benátek nad Jizerou. Tatínek Bedřicha a Pavla Alterových byl právník a jejich rodina se hlásila k sionismu. Do stejné školy se mnou pak ještě chodil Zdeněk Šťastný, chlapec židovského původu, který byl asi o rok mladší než já, a dvě děti Eisenschimmelů. Rodina Šťastných měla v Brandýse železářství. Zdeňkův tatínek byl za první světové války italským legionářem. Z židovských dětí do školy dojížděly ještě dvě sestry Weissovy z Kostelce nad Labem, jejichž rodina tam vlastnila drogerii. V Brandýse jsme měli vzdálené příbuzné, Lustigovy, kteří tam měli výrobnu likérů. Bydleli v krásné přízemní vile s velikou zahradou, které se říkalo „planta“. Bydleli tam ještě jiní Lustigovi, kteří měli obchod s textilem.

Do školy jsem chodila ráda. Nejdřív nás asi dva roky učila paní učitelka Magda Řezáčová, po ní paní učitelka Šimůnková. Obě byly moc hodné. Když jsme skončili pátou třídu, pozvala nás žáky paní učitelka Šimůnková všechny k sobě domů a připravila nám pohoštění. Po skončení obecné školy 4 jsem přestoupila na státní reálné gymnázium. Tehdy se nemusela dělat žádná přijímací zkouška, stačilo, že jsem měla dobré vysvědčení. Paní učitelka Řezáčová možná měla pravdu, když říkala mým rodičům, aby mě dali na rodinnou školu. Tehdy se na rodinnou školu pohlíželo trochu s opovržením, říkalo se jí knedlíkárna nebo punčochárna. Myslím, že by se mi to pro život velice hodilo, protože dívky se tam učily kromě šití, vaření a jiných praktických věcí také hospodaření a některé ekonomické předměty. 

Na gymnáziu mi dělala potíže matematika. Pokud se ještě jednalo o nějaké obyčejné násobení nebo dělení, nebyl to pro mě problém, ale jakmile začaly úsudkové příklady, byla jsem v koncích. Na matematiku jsme měli třídního profesora Zelinku. Tatínek se mi později přiznal, že mu matematika také nikdy nešla! A stejný problém jsem měla i ve fyzice. Známky hlavně z matematiky a fyziky mi potom začaly kazit vysvědčení. Zato jsem měla ráda češtinu, hlavně pravopis. Slohová cvičení jsem měla vždy moc stručná. Zřejmě se neumím příliš dobře vyjadřovat. V primě jsme měli na češtinu profesora Halouska. Všichni starší spolužáci nás litovali a říkali nám, že je to postrach gymnázia. Pan profesor Halousek byl plešatý pán, kterému obyčejně koukaly tkaničky od podvlékaček. Tehdy totiž pánové nosili dlouhé bílé spodky. Při vyučování chodil pan profesor celou hodinu po třídě, palce za vestou, a my všichni jsme se ho báli. Když jsme poprvé psali kompozici, byl to tehdy, tuším, obsah nějaké knihy, dostala jsem jako jediná ze třídy jedničku. Naši si pak asi mysleli, že mají doma zázrak, ale později už mé výsledky ze slohů nebyly tak oslňující, i když jsem si třeba jedničku na vysvědčení udržela. V tercii jsme dostali na češtinu pana profesora Hlinovského. Byl to mladý člověk, trochu hromotluk. Měla jsem pocit, že byl z chudých poměrů. Byl to zase trochu jinak zvláštní typ. Seděl na katedře, kopal nohama do katedry a střílel kolem sebe vulgarismy. Profesor Hlinovský nás učil i němčinu. Na první hodinu němčiny u pana Hlinovského jsem se žádná slovíčka nenaučila, protože se říkalo, že přijde nový kantor, a to se většinou nezkouší. Ale mýlila jsem se. Pan profesor Hlinovský mě na první hodině ihned vyvolal, a protože jsem nic neuměla, řekl mi, že mě bude každou hodinu zkoušet. Byl to pro mě obrovský stres. Nakonec jsem u něho měla dobrou známku. Vždycky jsem měla ráda zeměpis, měli jsme totiž bezvadnou učitelku Brumlíkovou. Uměla moc hezky a zajímavě vykládat. Dojížděla učit na naše gymnázium z Prahy. Byla to prý nějaká naše vzdálená příbuzná, potkala jsem se s ní pak v Terezíně, kde tajně učila tamější vězněné děti. Naopak mě vůbec nebavil dějepis. Náš vyučující dějepisu, profesor Cejnar, byl moc hodný, mírný pán. Dokonce i já jsem si troufla na jeho hodinách při zkoušení z lavice mít učebnici před sebou a odpovědi z ní číst. Výsledkem bylo, že jsem se z dějepisu nic nenaučila a stále mám velké mezery. Domnívám se, že až přibližně od kvinty výš mohl student našeho gymnázia získat nějaké souvislejší, hlubší vědomosti, a také v tomto věku měl už více rozumu. Bohužel jsem musela v kvartě studium ukončit, protože přišli Němci a už jsem do školy nesměla. Vzpomínám si, že pan profesor češtiny Hlinovský se nejdřív divil a vůbec nechápal, proč odcházím. Nakonec mi řekl, že je mě škoda, a tím to skončilo. Měla jsem za sebou jen jeden rok latiny a ani v jiných předmětech jsem toho příliš nestihla.

V Brandýse jsem se nejvíce kamarádila se spolužačkou Ančou Žákovou. Bydlela kousek za tratí a nejčastěji chodila k nám domů, kde jsme si hrály na dvorku. Tatínek Anči byl voják z povolání a maminka jí zemřela, když jí bylo asi čtrnáct let. Měla vážné problémy s ledvinami. Pamatuju se, že jsme spolu s Ančou měly cvičit na posledních středoškolských hrách před válkou, které se tradičně konaly před všesokolským sletem 5, ale ona se mnou už nejela, protože jí právě zemřela maminka. Brzy se pak s tatínkem odstěhovali do Nového Bydžova, kde Anča přešla na rodinnou školu. Naučila se tam vařit, šít, takže pak byla moc šikovná a vlastně svému tatínkovi vedla celou domácnost. V Bydžově se také vyučila u nějakého krejčího na dámskou krejčovou. Nakonec se provdala do Tachova a žila v Tachově. Byla jsem ji tam jednou navštívit.

Náš dům stál a stále stojí blízko náměstí v Brandýse nad Labem. Když jede autobus z Prahy, je to hned za závorami napravo od silnice první dům s předzahrádkou. Nejsem si úplně jistá, kdo ho kdysi koupil. Buď to byl náš tatínek, anebo maminčin tatínek, který byl také advokátem. Náš dům byl postavený na svahu, takže byl do ulice dvojpodlažní, ale do zahrady přízemní. Za domem byl dvorek a zahrada. V přízemí byly tři místnosti – tatínkova kancelář, kancelář koncipienta a místnost pro dvě úřednice. Kromě toho byla v dolním patře ještě malá komora, které se říkalo archív, protože tam měl tatínek uloženy spisy. V prvním patře byla dlouhá chodba, čtyři pokoje, kuchyň a příslušenství. My děti jsme všechny bydlely v jednom  pokoji, který byl velice rozlehlý, měl asi 30 metrů čtverečních. Protože to byla opravdu velká místnost, byl zde umístěn i velký bílý kulatý stůl, u kterého jsme všichni jedli. Na zemi bylo korkové linoleum, což bylo praktické. Součástí této místnosti byl i krásný tehdy moderní jídelní nábytek vykládaný sklem, který pokrýval velkou část stěny. Pamatuju se, že když si rodiče tento nábytek pořídili a stěhoval se k nám do domu, způsobilo to v Brandýse úplné pozdvižení. Uvnitř skříní byly vystavené různé nádoby na víno, karafy na vodu a broušené sklenice. Já jsem spávala na gauči, bratr Viktor na bílé posteli, a nejmladší Jirka měl malou postýlku se síťkou, která se na noc vytahovala, aby nevypadl ven. Kromě tří místností v horním patře, které směřovaly ven do ulice, byla ve stejné úrovni ještě jedna místnost vedoucí do zahrady. Díky svahu byla přízemní a nebylo v ní příliš světla. Za touto místností vedla prodloužená střecha, podepřená opěrnými sloupy, a vytvářela hezký prostor, kde byly položené dlaždice, měli jsme tam stůl, lavici, dvě proutěná křesla. Když jsme byli malí, měli jsme tam ještě malý stoleček a proutěná křesílka pro děti. Kolem rostlo klematis a psí víno. V létě jsme na tomto místě obědvali i večeřeli, což se mi moc líbilo. V zadní části domu byla ještě prádelna, tatínkova dílna a kuchyně, z které se dalo jít rovnou na zahradu. Když jsme se do domu nastěhovali, byla všude kachlová kamna. Rodiče je ale nechali zbourat, až na výjimku jednoho pokoje, kde spal bratr Jirka s Náničkou a kde se topilo jen na večer. Topili jsme místo toho v tzv. musgrávkách, což bylo topení tehdy často používané třeba ve školách, které topilo nepřetržitě a nevyhasínalo a vytopilo všechny tři místnosti, pokud se dobře naložilo. Topili jsme koksem a antracitem. Byla jsem však stejně pořád zmrzlá. Tatínek totiž nikdy nedovolil více než 18 stupňů Celsia a já jsem nebyla nikdy moc otužilá. V koupelně byl dokonce vidět dech, jaká tam byla zima. Měli jsme tam vanu a vysoká kulatá kamna, v kterých se muselo zatopit, aby se ohřála voda na koupání, takže jsme se koupali jednou za týden. Měli jsme sice umyvadlo s tekoucí vodou, ta byla ale jenom studená. Maminka nám proto vždycky ráno hřála vodu na petrolejových kamínkách, aby nám ji na mytí trochu oteplila. Přesto jsem ale vždycky křičela, když mi maminka myla vlasy a lila mi přitom vlažnou vodu z bílé smaltované konvice na hlavu, protože mi v té studené koupelně pokaždé byla zima. Koupelna vedla také do dvora. V jedné z menších místností v zadní části domu si tatínek udělal fotografickou komoru, kde si sám vyvolával fotografie. Často mě posílal koupit speciální papíry na fotografie. Elektrických spotřebičů tehdy moc nebylo, ale měli jsme přesto rádio a starý typ gramofonu s troubou.

Nesnášela jsem mléko, hlavně teplé, které nám maminka dávala k snídani. Kupovala také tzv. Ovomaltinu. Bylo to podivné kakao se směsí sladu a nějakých dalších zdravých věcí. Ovomaltinu jsme měli rádi, protože když jsme poslali na nějakou adresu určitý počet obalů, dostali jsme za to plnící tužku, a to nás těšilo.

Naproti našemu domu stál malý domeček s pěknou mansardovou střechou, který patřil staviteli Chlebečkovi. Vedle tohoto domečku byla velmi rozlehlá zahrada, do které nebylo vidět, jelikož byla obehnána vysokou zdí. Tato zahrada sahala až k brandýskému nádraží. V malém výklenku zdi naproti našemu domu byla malá kaplička. Přímo u silnice stála ještě lípa a pod ní pumpa na vodu.

Protože nás bylo doma šest, maminka měla vždycky doma někoho na výpomoc. Nejdřív u nás sloužila Mařenka z Chrástu, která se potom vdala, a místo ní jsme potom měli služebnou Emu. Později, v roce 1938 už potom maminka nikoho nechtěla, měli jsme tedy pouze paní Kloučkovou, která vždycky přišla jenom umýt nádobí, udělat větší úklid a současně si vzala domů prádlo na vyprání. U tatínka pracovala paní Krejčová, která k nám dojížděla z Libiše u Neratovic. Pracovala kdysi ještě u maminčina tatínka. Nechali jsme si u ní za války nějaké věci a ona nám všechno poctivě vrátila.

Sportu jsem se příliš nevěnovala. Ačkoliv na zahradě našeho gymnázia byly tenisové kurty, rodiče mi nikdy nedovolili tenis hrát, protože jsem prý byla moc hubená. Chodila jsem do rytmiky a občas bruslit na brandýské sokolské hřiště, které se vždycky, když mrzlo, polilo vodou. Také jsme sáňkovali a hráli pingpong, ale to bylo všechno. V pingpongu jsem se poměrně vypracovala, myslím, že jsem byla opravdu dobrá. Za války jsme totiž nikam nesměli chodit, a tak nám tatínek, protože byl šikovný, udělal alespoň pingpongový stůl. My jsme si pak hráli celé soboty a neděle a později i přes týden, různě jsme soutěžili a já jsem vždycky byla první nebo druhá. Někdy, obzvlášť v létě vpodvečer, jsem přemluvila i tatínka a zahráli jsme si pingpong spolu. Ještě než nás obsadili Němci 6, chodila s námi maminka na plovárnu, kde jsem se naučila v bazénu plavat, ale do volného Labe jsem se bála, protože jsem se tam jednou topila.

V Brandýse bylo mezi válkami moderní, nově postavené kino. Bohužel se do kina smělo chodit až asi od šestnácti let. Když jsem dosáhla tohoto věku, tak už jsem zase do kina nemohla chodit jako Židovka. Biografu jsem si tedy příliš neužila. Vzpomínám si, že jsem byla v kině jednou o prázdninách, seděla jsem na balkóně. Zrovna dávali film Červený bedrník, kde hrál tehdy známý herec Leslie Howard 7. Myslím, že za války padl jako letec. Vzpomínám si, že jsem seděla na balkóně a vůbec jsem nevěděla, co se na plátně děje, a tak jsem zjistila, že mám špatný zrak a že budu muset nosit brýle.

Židovské svátky jsme nikdy příliš nedodržovali. S maminkou jsme chodili do synagogy jen na židovský nový rok [Roš Hašana]. Den poté se slaví ještě tzv. dlouhý den [Jom Kipur], kdy se koná modlitba za mrtvé. Židé se ten den mají postit a nosí s sebou do synagogy jablko napíchané hřebíčkem, ke kterému se čichá, když přijde slabost. My jsme se ale nikdy nepostili. Někdy jsme také chodili do synagogy na svátek Chanuka. Pamatuju se, že jsme my děti tehdy mívaly v synagoze malé vystoupení, měly jsme každý v jedné ruce svíčku a v druhé vlajku a zpívaly píseň Maoz cur [při zapalování chanukových svíček, po odříkání příslušného požehnání, se zpívají dvě známé písně - Hanerot halalu (tyto svíčky) a Maoz cur (mocná skála) – pozn. red.]. Nakonec jsme za to dostaly pytlík bonbónů. Bylo to v době před křesťanskými Vánocemi. Tatínek chodil do synagogy každý pátek, protože bohoslužba mohla začít, jen když se sešlo alespoň deset lidí [minjan]. Takže se tam vždycky  v pátek sešli, ale mám pocit, že si tam asi spíše vyprávěli vtipy. Pravděpodobně to asi nebyl žádný striktní nebo oficiální obřad. Pokud vím, v Brandýse nikdo úplně ortodoxní nebyl. Dodnes tam ale stojí synagoga. Vzpomínám si, že jako dítěti se mi vždycky moc líbil strop této synagogy, který byl modrý s hvězdičkami, jako obloha. V naší rodině se slavily klasické křesťanské svátky. Děti na nás žalovaly panu rabínovi, že máme vánoční stromeček. Já jsem vždycky milovala a dodnes miluju vánoční stromeček a také chodím ráda do křesťanských kostelů. Až do války jsem ale svůj židovský původ nijak zvlášť nevnímala. Celou předválečnou éru až do doby, než přišli Němci, jsem ani nepocítila žádný antisemitismus. Jen na začátku školního roku, když si učitelé zapisovali do třídní knihy náboženství, bylo mi vždycky hrozně trapně, nevím proč. Stála jsem tam jako sloup ještě s Bedřichem Alterem a styděla jsem se. Podobně když jsme šli na tzv. dlouhý den po židovském novém roce do synagogy, museli jsme jít po hlavní třídě vedoucí přes náměstí v Brandýse a já bych se bývala nejraději propadla. Lidé totiž vycházeli z obchodů a zvědavě se dívali na ten náš průvod. My s bratrem Viktorem jsme byli vždycky vyparádění, měli jsme na sobě tmavomodré kabátky se zlatými knoflíky a sametovými límečky od Hirsche [dětská konfekce] a tmavomodrou námořnickou čepici vzadu s mašlemi.

Nějakou dobu před válkou jsem chodila v Brandýse na náboženství. Brandýs neměl vlastního rabína, a proto tam dojížděl pan rabín Mandl z Prahy. Vždycky se nás tam muselo sejít alespoň deset dětí, protože jinak by se to panu rabínovi nevyplatilo. Pan rabín byl na všechny děti moc hodný. Kluci ho zlobili, ale jemu to nevadilo a ještě nám rozdával bonbóny. Učil nás hebrejsky a mě to tehdy docela bavilo, protože mi to připadalo jako kreslení, a pan rabín z toho měl velikou radost. Vždycky jsem totiž ráda kreslila. Jinak nás pan rabín z ničeho nezkoušel, jenom nám vyprávěl.

V Brandýse tehdy nebyla přímo organizovaná židovská obec a nevím, kdo zajišťoval výuku náboženství a zval do Brandýsa pana rabína Mandla. Po pravdě řečeno ani nevím, kdo organizoval bohoslužby v synagoze. Bratr Viki pouze vzpomínal, že náš soused, pan Eisenschimmel, v synagoze krásně zpíval. Eisenschimmelovi měli v Brandýse malý obchod s textilem. Měli dvě děti, bohužel jejich maminka jim náhle zemřela. S většinou židovských dětí jsme se začali stýkat až za války v době, kdy už jsme nesměli nikam chodit a nesměli jsme se stýkat s nikým jiným než se Židy. Židovské děti k nám potom chodily na dvorek a na zahradu a hrály jsme pingpong nebo volejbal.

Jednou, ještě před válkou, byla v Brandýse velká slavnost. V kostele Panny Marie ve Staré Boleslavi byla totiž vystavena vzácná soška, kterou prý nějaký sedlák vyoral na poli. Říkalo se jí Palladium země české. Do kostela chodili poutníci a každý sošku políbil. Pamatuju se, že jsme se tam byli podívat s mojí spolužačkou Ančou Žákovou. Když na mě přišla řada, abych sošku políbila, a viděla jsem zástupy lidí, které ji přede mnou olíbaly, bylo mi to trochu nepříjemné, a tak jsem ji políbila jen naoko.

Celá moje generace byla vychovaná školou Masaryk 8 – Beneš 9. Byly to pojmy, kterým jsme všichni věřili a jež nám daly pocit národní hrdosti. Maminčina sestra, teta Elsa, občas mluvila se svými známými německy a já jsem na ni kvůli tomu někdy byla trochu protivná, zdálo se mi, že by měla raději mluvit česky. Teta vždycky, když jsem přijela, o mně ve společnosti svých přátel říkala: „To je velká Češka! “ Jednoho dne jsem viděla prezidenta Beneše na vlastní oči. Účastnila jsem se středoškolských her, které byly takovou předehrou k všesokolskému sletu. Šli jsme přes Pražský hrad, kde stál na nádvoří prezident Beneš se svojí paní a mával nám. Všichni jsme křičeli a mávali. Byl to asi nejkrásnější den v mém životě.

V Brandýse jsem také zažila návštěvu rumunského krále Karola 10 a prince Michala 11. Jeli někam přes Brandýs, všichni členové delegace měli krásné uniformy. Projížděli po hlavní silnici kolem našeho domu. Pamatuju se, že jsme stáli na chodníku a mávali.

Hudbu jsme narozdíl od výtvarného umění v rodině nikdy nepěstovali. Rodiče mi sice koupili piano a nějakou dobu jsem chodila na hodiny ke slečně Vrbové, ale protože nemám hudební sluch, nešlo mi to. Navíc piano bylo ve staré ložnici, kde se topilo jen večer, protože tam pouze spal můj nejmladší bratr se svou chůvou, ale přes den tam byla pořád zima, takže jsem musela sedět u klavíru v kabátě, jednou jsem si dokonce vzala i rukavice. Můj nejmladší bratr Jirka narozdíl ode mě má prý absolutní sluch, už v první třídě vzkázal pan učitel, že se má učit na něco hrát. Bohužel už nemohl navštěvovat žádné hodiny, protože před válkou stihnul jen první třídu obecné školy a druhou už nesměl dokončit, a navíc tatínek tomu nebyl nakloněn.

Už jako malá jsem velice ráda četla. Rodiče nás nikdy nijak nezaplavovali dary, ale vždy ke všem narozeninám, svátkům nebo Vánocům jsme dostávali knížky. Když mi bylo asi čtrnáct let, chodila jsem také do knihovny. Pamatuju se, že když jsem přinesla z knihovny nějakou novou knížku, tatínek ji vždycky sebral a přečetl. Tatínek mi ale knížky i kupoval. Měla jsem skoro celého Jiráska [Jirásek, Alois (1851 – 1930): český prozaik a dramatik – pozn. red.], také jsem odebírala po sešitech jednotlivé části F. L. Věka. Chodila jsem pro ně k panu Kubáčovi a vždycky jsem se těšila na každý nový díl. Měla jsem také krásné zlatobílé vydání Filosofské historie. Nejvíce ze všeho jsem ale ještě před válkou milovala Wolkera [Wolker, Jiří (1900 – 1924): český básník – pozn. red.] a jeho básně. Maminka mi dovolila koupit si celé jeho dílo, které se skládalo ze tří knih, a nebyly to jenom básně. Rodiče mě v čtení podporovali, pouze si nepřáli, abych četla dívčí romány. Ne že by mi to přímo zakazovali, ale neviděli to rádi a tatínek ani maminka mi nikdy takovou knížku nekoupili.

Už od osmi let jsem se učila německy, později i francouzsky a anglicky. Mezi válkami jsem chodila na soukromé hodiny němčiny a francouzštiny k slečně Maschnerové, která sama vydávala v Lipsku velice dobré a přehledné učebnice němčiny, francouzštiny a angličtiny. Slečna Maschnerová byla nejdražší učitelkou jazyků v Brandýse, hodina výuky stála 20 korun, což bylo tehdy moc peněz. Nejlépe jsem mluvila německy, v Terezíně mi nedělalo problém hovořit s lidmi z Německa, Rakouska nebo Holandska. S výše postavenými Němci jsem však nemluvila, protože oni se s námi vůbec nebavili.

Možná nejvíce ze všeho mě bavilo kreslit módy. Chtěla jsem být módní návrhářkou, protože mě od malička zajímalo oblékání a také jsem ráda kreslila. Vždycky jsem všechny své školní sešity pokreslila všemi možnými módními návrhy. Bavilo by mě připravovat módní přehlídky. Někdy lituju, že jsem si neudělala alespoň rodinnou školu v Brandýse.

S rodiči jsme jezdili před válkou vždycky v létě kromě Doubravic také na dovolenou do Špindlerova Mlýna, bylo to v letech 1932-1938. Tatínek objednal v Brandýse taxíka, takže jsme jezdili z Brandýsa až do Špindlerova mlýna autem. Když jsme tam byli poprvé, bylo mi asi osm let. Maminka právě čekala nejmladšího bratra, Jirku. Pamatuji se, že jsme se tehdy ubytovali v hotelu Belveder, ale později jsme už vždycky bydleli v hotelu Esplanade. Majitelé tohoto hotelu, Blechovi, nás už znali, a vždy nám dopředu sami volali, že už máme rezervované pokoje a jestli přijedeme. Jezdili jsme tam asi do mých třinácti nebo čtrnácti let. Protože tatínek rád chodil, dělali jsme každý den velké výlety po okolí. Chodili jsme třeba kolem Bílého Labe, kde byla spousta vodopádů a také bouda „U Bílého Labe“. Tatínek nám jeden rok u Dívčí lávky, která byla v údolí pod Špindlerovým Mlýnem, postavil na Labi takový malý dřevěný mlýnek, který se točil, jak ho voda poháněla. Když jsme tam přijeli napřesrok, měli jsme velkou radost, protože ten mlýnek tam vydržel! Pamatuju se, že v obchodě u mostu dole ve Špindlerově Mlýně prodávali broskve, ale protože byly příliš drahé, maminka nám vždycky koupila každému jeden kus.

Jak už jsem řekla, do Špindlerova Mlýna jsme jezdili taxíkem, protože tatínek auto nikdy nechtěl. Na náměstí v Brandýse stály vždy dva nebo tři taxíky, buď škodovky nebo tatrovky, a zřejmě to nebylo tak drahé jako dnes, takže jsme si to mohli dovolit. Jednou nás také svezl ve svém autě náš rodinný známý doktor Laufr, když jsme se chtěli podívat do Byšic u Všetat, kde jsou pohřbeni tatínkovi rodiče. Od malinka jsem ale auto nesnášela, dělalo se mi v něm špatně, zvracela jsem, stejně tak jako v autobuse. Když jsme jezdili do Špindlerova Mlýna, naše první zastávka vždycky byla na kraji lesa před Mladou Boleslaví a pak jsme museli ještě zastavovat několikrát. Nebylo to vůbec příjemné. Tehdy jsem dostávala na nevolnost takový prášek, jmenoval se Vazano, ale nepomáhal mi.

Tatínek si koupil spolu s doktorem Laufrem v lese u silnice za Starou Boleslaví dvě parcely. Měly společné oplocení a uprostřed stála nízká bouda. Tatínek za boudu zaplatil asi 500 korun. Trávili jsme tam víkendy, ale nikdy jsme tam nepřespávali, protože ta boudička byla taková provizorní a maminka na takovéhle věci vůbec nebyla. Ráno jsme si udělali procházku a šli jsme přes louky až na naší parcelu a večer jsme se zase procházkou vraceli domů. Maminka s sebou vždycky připravila karbanátky nebo nějaké jiné jídlo.

Chlapci mě nikdy příliš nezajímali. Jednou na gymnáziu, když jsem byla v tercii, přišel za mnou nějaký kluk a chtěl půjčit učebnici němčiny. Říkali jsme mu Sextán, protože chodil do sexty. Když mi pak knížku vracel, nechal v ní dopis. Bylo to hrozné. Zval mě na rande, ale já na takové věci asi nemám povahu, a vůbec by mě nenapadlo tam jít. Domluvila jsem se však s kamarádkami, že se půjdeme podívat, jestli na smluvené místo opravdu přijde. Stály jsme na mostě přes Labe, dívaly se dolů a on už tam čekal. Strašně jsem se pak za to styděla. Velmi brzy se oženil. Doma jsme o takových věcech vůbec nemluvili. Abych řekla pravdu, rodiče mi v téhle oblasti nikdy neřekli, co můžu a co nemůžu. Další vzpomínka se váže k posledním středoškolským hrám před válkou. Když jsme se z těchto her vraceli vlakem z Prahy domů, sedělo nás několik pohromadě a dováděli jsme. Za mnou seděl docela hezký kluk, myslím, že se jmenoval Jelínek. Po těch středoškolských hrách mě pak několikrát vyhlížel naproti našemu domu. Dnes na tom místě už stojí paneláky, ale tehdy byla naproti našemu domu stará lípa, pod ní pumpa a za ní zeď, ohraničující velkou zahradu. U té zdi stála malá kaplička. Před válkou chodilo přes Brandýs každou neděli procesí z Prahy do Staré Boleslavi. Poutníci nás vždycky ráno probouzeli, když zpívali "Tisíckrát pozdravujeme tebe", a protože museli jít dlouhou cestu pěšky, zastavili se pod lípou u kapličky, napili se, umyli si nohy a odpočívali. Když jsem jednou po středoškolských hrách vyhlédla z okna, stál tam pod lípou i student Jelínek s kolem. Ještě několikrát tam pak stál, koukal do okna a vyhlížel mě. Já jsem věděla, že tam stojí, ale vůbec by mě nenapadlo, že bych šla k němu dolů a něco řekla. Za války ho Němci zavřeli, když byla vlna zatýkání vysokoškolských studentů 12. Nakonec ho zase pustili, ale to už byla jiná situace. Nesměli jsme téměř nikam chodit a museli jsme nosit židovskou hvězdu 13, takže se každý bál se s námi stýkat.

Ve Staré Boleslavi na náměstí byla před válkou cukrárna bratří Horáčků, kam chodili samí studenti. Uvnitř byly kožené boxy a malé kavárenské stolečky, u kterých se dalo příjemně sedět. Měli tam výborné cukroví. Nejčastěji jsme si ale dávali tzv. atmosféru, což byla šlehačka pokapaná griotkou. Chodily jsme tam s Ančou a s dalšími kamarádkami a pak také těsně před válkou s mojí sestřenicí z Doubravic, která tehdy po zabrání Sudet 14 Němci bydlela s rodinou u nás v Brandýse. Buď jsme seděly a povídaly, anebo jsme hrály různé hry, např. jsme napsaly na papírek nějaké slovo, papírek potom přeložily, aby to slovo nebylo vidět, a když tam každý připsal další a další slova, vyšel z toho nakonec nějaký veselý nesmysl. Do této cukrárny chodili i studenti vysokých škol. Seznámila jsem se tam s vysokoškolákem Jirkou Maruškou, se kterým jsme se pak nějakou dobu scházeli. Byl o šest let starší a o mnoho vyspělejší než já. Jeho tatínek byl starosta ve Staré Boleslavi. Jednou mě šel Jirka  vyprovodit domů a potkali jsme na mostě našeho tatínka. Šel po druhé straně mostu, ani se nezastavil a dělal, že mě nevidí. Jakmile jsme začali nosit židovské hvězdy, Jirka už se ke mě neznal.

Nosila jsem tehdy takový příšerný zelený kabát. Náš dům totiž sousedil s pavlačovými domy, kde bydlel krejčí Rotek. Tatínek si u něj nechal šít nějaký oblek a pro mě objednali kabát, aby měl pan Rotek nějaký „kšeft". Mně se ten kabát ale vůbec nelíbil, doslova jsem ho nenáviděla. Naštěstí mi maminka, když mi bylo tak čtrnáct patnáct let, nechala ušít u svého krejčího pana Chmelíčka na Smíchově první kabát, který se mi moc líbil. Vždycky, když jsem šla na rande, zeptala jsem se maminky, jestli si můžu vzít ten lepší kabát, protože visel u maminky ve skříni. A maminka nikdy neřekla ne.

Měla jsem jednoho kamaráda, jmenoval se Láďa Koliandr. Seznámila jsem se s ním až za války na poště. Chodil k nám velmi dlouho i v době, kdy už to pro něj bylo nebezpečné, protože ho za to mohli zavřít. Byl moc hodný. Sehnal nám všechno, co jsme potřebovali. Obstaral nám flanelové košile, teplé ponožky, rukavice. Jednou nám dokonce domů přinesl luky a šípy, abychom se nenudili, protože jsme tehdy už téměř nesměli vycházet ven. Chodil k nám většinou večer, aby ho nebylo vidět. V té době už u nás bydleli Vohryzkovi z Doubravic. Naše rodina odjížděla začátkem ledna 1943 do Terezína a Láďa Koliandr současně odjel na nucené práce do Německa, protože patřil mezi ročníky jedenadvacet až čtyřiadvacet, které tam byly všechny poslány.

V roce 1938 jsme byli naposledy na prázdninách v Doubravicích. Vzpomínám si, že už tehdy začali v okolí Teplic, které byly v Sudetech, vystrkovat růžky henleinovci 15. Chodili v bílých punčocháčích, kožených kalhotách a heilovali. My, Češi, jsme zase na oplátku začali nosit trikoloru. Pamatuju se, že když mi bylo asi čtrnáct let, utíkali někteří Židé z Německa do Čech, chodili po různých městech, obcházeli židovské rodiny a byli nuceni u nich žebrat nebo žádat o nějakou podporu. Když Němci zabrali Sudety, Vohryzkovi i Munkovi se museli odstěhovat z Doubravic. Munkovi potom bydleli někde na Žižkově v Praze, Vohryzkovi se přistěhovali k nám do Brandýsa.

Teta Elsa mi vždycky říkávala, že budu chodit do tanečních v Praze a já vždycky opáčila, že nechci, že budu chodit do tanečních v Brandýse. Do tanečních jsem se moc těšila, dokonce jsem si kvůli nim nechala narůst vlasy, protože jsem předtím nosila krátké. Bohužel už jsem do tanečních před válkou nestihla chodit, protože brzy nás postihly všemožné zákazy a omezení a nesměli jsme se s nikým stýkat.

Za války

Když začala válka, bylo mně čtrnáct a půl let. 15. března 1939 přišli Němci. Ten den byla vánice, šíleně sněžilo. Byla jsem ve škole, v gymnáziu, a pamatuju se, že mi přišli ke škole naproti Helena Marečková, Pepík Marečků a Zdeněk Davidů, moji asi o šest let starší kamarádi, s kterými jsem se scházela, a šli se mnou až domů. Na náměstí v Brandýse už byli Němci na motorkách se sajdkárami. Byl to hrozný pocit, vidět je tam. Přišla jsem domů, vzpomínám si, že jsme měli k obědu česnečku a krupicovou kaši. Druhý den přišlo poštou, že tatínek musí zavřít kancelář. Všichni lékaři a právníci museli ihned zastavit činnost. Česká advokátní i lékařská komora byly rády, že se zbavily židovských lékařů a právníků. Hned nám zabavili všechny peníze, které jsme měli uložené v bance. Dochodila jsem ještě kvartu na gymnáziu, ale pak už jsem do školy chodit nesměla, takže jsem vlastně neodmaturovala. Bohužel ani po válce jsem si nedodělala žádnou školu, protože jsem se hrozně bála matematiky.

Za války jsme všechny tři děti onemocněly spálou. V té době nás už Němci chtěli z našeho domu vystěhovat a zabrat si ho pro sebe. Jednou k nám přišli, a když zjistili, že máme všichni spálu, rychle odešli a pak už se k nám zřejmě báli chodit, takže jsme mohli v našem domě bydlet až do odjezdu transportem.

Tatínek byl za války vedoucím židovské náboženské obce v Brandýse nad Labem, pod kterou patřili i Židé z vesnic okolo Brandýsa. Postupně totiž přicházely různé příkazy, zákazy, nařízení a někdo se musel starat o  administrativu, evidovat židovské obyvatele a rozesílat jim tyto informace. Tatínek byl nucen tuto funkci vzít na sebe a zařídil si v naší bývalé jídelně kancelář, kde úřadoval. Často k nám chodili Němci. Jednou zazvonilo u dveří gestapo a bratr Viktor jim šel otevřít. Strašně se na něj rozčílili, protože neměl na sobě židovskou hvězdu. Museli jsme totiž nosit hvězdu i doma. Za války jsem nejdříve pomáhala tatínkovi s administrativními pracemi při vedení židovské obce v Brandýse a potom mě poslali na práci do lesa. Byla jsem zde nasazená spolu s dalšími mladými židovskými děvčaty od července 1942 do prosince téhož roku. Tehdy už jsme museli odevzdat i kola, ale protože práce v lese byla daleko za Starou Boleslaví, tak nám kola ještě půjčili, a já jsem tedy každé ráno jela s motyčkou přivázanou na kole pracovat do lesa. Ze začátku to bylo strašné, protože jsme vůbec nic neuměly. Hajný nám třeba řekl, že máme něco vykopat na vysázení stromků nebo setí semínek, pak odešel a my jsme tam stály, nevěděly, co máme dělat, tak jsme začaly kopat a kopat, až jsme vykopaly obrovskou jámu a hajný potom přišel, spráskl ruce a říkal, že to měl být mělký práh. Nejvíce jsme pracovaly na pasekách, a protože to bylo v létě, byla většinou obrovská vedra. Sestřenici z toho slunce pořád strašně bolela hlava. Postupem času jsme si ale nějak zvykly a nakonec jsme chodily pracovat do lesa docela rády. Nejvíce mě bavilo pracovat na senách. Naopak nejhorší ze všeho bylo vybírání brambor za čertem. Čert byl stroj na vyorávání brambor. Pracoval rychle, takže nebyl čas se ani narovnat. Brambory se sbíraly do košíků, sypaly do pytlů a házely na vozy, na kterých se potom odvážely. Pytle byly strašně těžké, takže to byla velmi namáhavá práce. Sklízení sena a vybírání brambor tenkrát spadalo pod Lesní správu. Pan hajný byl na nás moc hodný. Kromě nás pracovaly v lese ještě nějaké lesní dělnice, které nebyly nasazené a pracovaly tam i před válkou. S těmi jsme se jako Židovky vůbec nesměly stýkat. Pan hajný vždycky říkal, že dělá s námi mnohem radši než „s těma ženskýma“, že ty jsou jenom sprosté a s námi je veselo. Jednou nám dokonce přinesl nějaké buchty, protože tehdy jsme už neměly lístky téměř na nic, ani na maso, ani na máslo či na zeleninu a ovoce. Za války jsme měli akorát nějaký umělý med, který byl opravdu odporný, strašně sladký, lepkavý, měl nepříjemnou chuť. Ani nevím, z čeho se tehdy vyráběl. Maminka nám vždycky dala s sebou dva krajíce suchého chleba a mezi ně tenhle umělý med, který se do oběda vsákl do krajíců, takže to nebylo moc dobré. Maminka měla doma ale ještě nějaké pudinky Van Houten, takže mi vždycky s sebou udělala do sklenice puding. Byl sice  jen z vody, ale tehdy mi to chutnalo. Dostávali jsme velmi malý plat, počítal se v korunách a halířích, ale vždycky, když jsem přinesla nějakou alespoň malou částku domů, maminka byla ráda a já jsem měla pocit, že pomáhám živit rodinu. Když jsme měli jet do Terezína, pan lesní se nás snažil zachránit a žádal o to, aby si nás mohli nechat na práci v lese, že jsme tam strašně důležité a bez nás to nejde. Samozřejmě to vůbec neprošlo.

Lidé z Brandýsa se s námi nesměli vůbec stýkat. Nesměli nás zdravit, a když jsme šli na nákup, museli jsme být obsloužení až nakonec. Dokonce naši sousedi přes plot za války, ještě před tím, než jsme měli odjet transportem, přišli zadem do našeho domu a odnesli si peřiny a záclony s tím, že je tam přeci nemůžeme nechat. Jak už jsem říkala, nejvíce mě mrzí, že odnesli i obraz, co maloval tatínek. Každý potom doufal, že se nevrátíme, aby nám nemuseli nic vracet. Když se potom maminka s nejmladším bratrem vrátili do Brandýsa, já jsem přijela o něco později, ti lidé měli naše záclony pověšené a na obraz už si nikdo nevzpomněl. Maminka si nechtěla nikomu o nic říkat, ona totiž na žádném majetku nelpěla, a nakonec jí to bylo všechno stejně jedno, když se tatínek nevrátil.

Před tím, než jsme šli do Terezína, tatínek vyráběl různé skrýše na peníze. Měl několik zlatých svatováclavských dukátů. Tatínek vyrobil třeba šitíčka s dvojitým dnem, do každého uložil jeden dukát. Peníze schoval třeba i do krému na boty. Bohužel nevím, kam tyto předměty přišly.

Nějakou dobu před odjezdem do Terezína jsme museli odjet do Mladé Boleslavi na tamější hrad, kam vystěhovali všechny mladoboleslavské Židy, a tam jsme museli odevzdat všechny šperky a přihlásit se do transportu. Než jsme jeli do Terezína, dostala jsem také žloutenku. Pořád mi bylo zle a zvracela jsem a nevěděla jsem, co mi je, až mi nakonec zežloutly oči. Takže jsem už do Terezína odjížděla nemocná. Odjeli jsme z Brandýsa transportem 5. ledna 1943. Bylo to o den později, než jeli ostatní Židé z Brandýsa, kvůli tomu, že tatínek byl vedoucím místní židovské obce. Ten den jsme sami odešli z našeho domu na nádraží a jeli obyčejným vlakem do Mladé Boleslavi. Měli jsme místo zavazadel pytle, protože nám kufry nedovolili. Byl to zvláštní pocit odcházet z domu jen s několika zavazadly a nechat tam úplně všechno. Po našem odchodu byla prý v našem domě Hitlerjugend 16. Po válce byla v domě hudební škola a byt jejího pana ředitele.

Při cestě do Terezína jsme se zastavili v Mladé Boleslavi. Tam nás soustředili v nějaké škole a potom jsme pokračovali transportem do Bohušovic. Odtud jsme šli do Terezína pěšky, protože tehdy ještě nevedla trať přímo do Terezína, tu pak dostavěli až terezínští vězňové. Při cestě z Bohušovic do Terezína nás vedli naši, čeští četníci. V Terezíně nás převzaly Němky, kterým se říkalo berušky. Ty nám prohrabaly zavazadla a vzaly si, co se jim líbilo. Nejdříve jsme s maminkou a s mnoha dalšími lidmi bydleli v tzv. hamburských kasárnách. Později hamburská kasárna vyprázdnili a udělali z nich tzv. šlojsku. Byl to prostor, kam nahnali všechny lidi, kteří dostali povolání do transportu, zavřeli je tam, a přímo odtamtud se nastupovalo do vlaku, který pak mířil do Osvětimi a jinam. Tatínek byl mezi válkami ve Svazu Čechů – Židů 17. Někdy mě napadá, že se možná za tatínka postavil někdo z tohoto Svazu a díky tomu neodjela naše rodina prvními transporty z Terezína do Osvětimi, ale zůstali jsme všichni poměrně dlouho v Terezíně. Z Brandýsa zůstalo v Terezíně velmi málo lidí, většinou šli všichni rovnou dál, nejčastěji do Osvětimi. Nějakou krátkou dobu zůstali v Terezíně naši známí  - Lauferovi, ale ti potom museli také odjet. Nepomohlo jim ani to, že se nechali všichni za války pokřtít.

Nejdřív jsem se v Terezíně seznámila s Jirkou Maiselem z Čáslavi. Byl možná o rok starší než já. Chodili jsme po Terezíně a pořád jsme si něco vykládali. On mi povídal o škole a o študáckém životě. Dokonce mi půjčil nějakou deku, abych se mohla lépe přikrýt, tehdy totiž ještě doznívala moje žloutenka. Později jsem se tam seznámila se svým manželem.

V  Terezíně byla dieta. Dostávali jsme k jídlu šedivou vodu, které říkali čočková polévka. Někdy v tom plavalo trochu tuřínu nebo kousek brambory. Asi jednou týdně nám dali malý kousek masa, ale spíš to byla nějaká šlacha. Kvůli žloutence jsem navštívila nějakého tamějšího doktora. Po chvilce řeči jsme zjistili, že ho učil náš ředitel z gymnázia! Tento doktor mi napsal pracovní neschopenku, ale už v březnu 1943 jsem musela na pracovní úřad v Terezíně a začala jsem pracovat. Každý si totiž musel odpracovat tzv. hundertschaft neboli sto hodin práce. Mohla jsem si vybrat buď práci ve strojní truhlárně, anebo úklid v nemocnici pro tyfová onemocnění. Raději jsem zvolila truhlárnu. Pracovalo se na tři směny – od 6 hodin do 2, od 2 do 10 a od 10 do rána. V noci nás občas chodil kontrolovat sám obersturmbandführer Karl Rahm, jestli tam nikdo nespí. Nevím, co by se stalo, kdyby zjistil, že někdo z nás při noční směně spí. Pravděpodobně by toho člověka zmlátil nebo zastřelil, asi co by ho v tu chvíli napadlo.

Můj manžel později vyprávěl o tom, jak přijížděl do Terezína úplně prvním transportem. Tehdy ještě v Terezíně bydleli původní občané města, kteří se museli vystěhovat. Bylo potřeba vyrobit kavalce do uprázdněných kasáren a také postele do normálních domů, kde potom bydleli Němci. Proto vlastně vznikla strojní truhlárna, kde jsem od března pracovala.

V truhlárně už jsem zůstala. Bylo tam hodně mladých děvčat, jako jsem byla já, což bylo moc fajn. Pořád jsme si zpívaly, a měly jsem tam jednoho bezvadného veselého parťáka, který nás bavil. Zpíval nám písně Voskovce a Wericha 18. Nakonec jsem zjistila, že to byl manželův kamarád. Naučila jsem se tam stloukat kavalce, postele. Vyráběly jsme také latríny a takové samostatné dřevěné domky. V Terezíně byl sklad pohřebních vozů, na kterých jsme samy rozvážely materiál. Naložily jsme ho na pohřební vůz, dvě děvčata tlačila zezadu, dvě stála po stranách, jedna u oje, a takhle jsme jezdily po Terezíně. Někde jsme to složily, vynesly třeba na montáž, a jelo se zase zpátky.

V Terezíně jsem si také zničila nohy. Když jsem jela do Terezína, vzala jsem si s sebou takové krásné polobotky, které mi nechala ušít paní Krejčová od tatínka z kanceláře u nějakého ševce v Praze. Jenže po roce jsem tyhle polobotky v Terezíně úplně prochodila, prošoupala. Protože měl každý nárok nechat si v Terezíně jednou za rok podrazit boty, učinila jsem tak, a už jsem je víckrát neviděla. Poslali mě do nějakého skladiště pánských bot, abych si jako náhradu vybrala jiné boty, tak jsem si vybrala nějaké chlapecké a v těch jsem potom chodila ještě po válce. Dokonce jsem se v nich po válce ještě vdávala, protože jsem žádné jiné neměla! Jinak jsem v Terezíně nosila také takové chabé boty, říkalo se tomu plátěnky, něco jako dnešní tenisky, jenže ty jsou alespoň trochu upravené kvůli plochým nohám. Tohle byla jen taková šlupička, kousek plátna s gumou. Jak jsem s nimi stála pořád na betonu, bolela mě potom chodidla. V důsledku toho mi klesla klenba a od té doby mě zlobí ploché nohy.

Jednou za čas bylo možné poslat do Terezína balíček. Mohlo to být tak jednou za třičtvrtě roku, když jste dostali zvláštní známku, která se musela zaslat příbuzným, a oni Vám na základě toho mohli poslat pětikilový balík. Balík bez známky do Terezína nedošel a známek jsme dostávali jen málo.

Od tatínka jsem jednou v Terezíně dostala k narozeninám takovou malinkou dřevěnou krabičku s vysunovací destičkou, kterou mi tam vyrobil, nakreslil mi na ni tužkou nějaký národní motiv, nebo snad nějaké srdíčko, už se přesně nepamatuju.

V Terezíně byla také maminčina sestra, teta Elsa, s manželem. Teta mi vždycky slibovala, že mi po válce sama vystrojí svatbu. Pochopitelně k tomu nikdy nedošlo, protože se ani teta Elsa, ani její manžel už nevrátili. Odjeli transportem stejně tak jako Vohryzkovi, tatínkova sestra s manželem a dcerou, z Terezína do Osvětimi, kde byli půl roku v tzv. rodinném táboře. Ten byl v březnu a červenci 1944 zlikvidován, všichni jeho obyvatelé byli posláni do plynu. Naši příbuzní Munkovi jeli z Prahy transportem rovnou do Lodže a potom do Rigy, kde byli pravděpodobně zastřeleni.

Manžel byl mým šéfem ve strojní truhlárně a díky tomu jsme se seznámili. Pamatuju si, že jsem měla narozeniny, a on se to nějak dozvěděl, protože jinak jsme spolu nikdy moc nemluvili a najednou mi přinesl k narozeninám pomerančovou kůru v čokoládě, kterou jsem milovala. Byla jsem z té pomerančové kůry úplně v sedmém nebi, měla jsem ji pod polštářem a vůbec jsem ji nejedla, protože jsem si ji chtěla šetřit!

Můj manžel mě v Terezíně přemlouval, abych si ho vzala. Vysvětloval mi, že kdybychom nebyli manželé, mohli by mě poslat samotnou transportem pryč a on by mi nemohl nijak pomoci. Nakonec jsem svolila. Našli jsme si v Terezíně nějakého rabína, který nás oddal, naši svatbu však po válce úřady neuznaly, takže jsme se stejně museli brát znovu.

Můj manžel, Rudolf Kovanic se narodil 6. prosince roku 1908 v židovské rodině. Před válkou vystudoval obchodní akademii a pracoval pro velkoobchod s obilím u firmy Justitz. Mluvil plynně německy a dlouho se učil i angličtinu. Jeho tatínek byl obchodním cestujícím, často tedy cestoval a také prý rád hrával karty. Můj manžel tuhle vášeň po něm nezdědil, naopak karty nikdy neměl rád. Jeho maminka byla pěkná paní, velmi o sebe dbala. Za svobodna se jmenovala Kafková. Manžel pocházel ze čtyř dětí, měl dva bratry a jednu sestru. Jeho sestra Hana ještě žije, byla ze všech dětí nejmladší. Narodila se v roce 1920, je tedy o 4 roky starší než já. Nejmladší z bratrů se jmenoval Karel. Byl vzhledem i povahou podobný svému tatínkovi. Sice nedokončil měšťanku, ale nakonec vydělával ze všech bratrů nejvíce peněz. Měl zastoupení nějaké obuvnické firmy. Přežil válku, ale bohužel se nevrátila jeho manželka ani děťátko. Měl moc hezkou manželku a v Terezíně se jim dokonce narodila krásná holčička. Byla jako zázrak, kulaťoučká, červené tvářičky, jmenovala se Alenka. Prostřední bratr se jmenoval Franta. Jako jediný z bratrů sloužil v armádě. Franta už se po válce nevrátil. Nejdřív byl v Osvětimi a potom ho poslali na práci do Glivice v Polsku, tam zemřel na otravu krve. Jeho paní Truda i s malou Janičkou zemřely v Osvětimi. V Osvětimi šly totiž všechny matky s dětmi rovnou do plynu.

Manželova maminka byla moc hodná paní a stačila se ještě poznat s mým tatínkem a maminkou. Mým rodičům se manžel moc líbil, pouze jim připadal trochu starý, byl totiž skoro o šestnáct let starší než já. Náš tatínek byl však také o deset let starší než maminka, takže to nebylo nic tak neobyčejného. Manžel byl strašně moc hodný člověk. Asi jsem hodnějšího člověka nikdy nepoznala. Bohužel měl kvůli Terezínu velké psychické problémy, málem se tam nervově zhroutil. Jak už jsem říkala, byl v Terezíně úplně od začátku, celkově asi přes čtyři roky, což na něm nevyhnutelně muselo zanechat nějaké stopy. Navíc měl manžel v Terezíně poměrně velkou zodpovědnost, začínal tam už jako administrativní vedoucí, později mu svěřovali další úkoly. Lidé v Terezíně byli zoufalí a kradli třeba dřevo, aby si mohli zatopit, anebo se snažili si jinak přilepšit, často ovšem chodily kontroly, které, kdyby něco podobného zjistily, ihned by manžela zatklo gestapo. Jednou, když měl manžel nějaký problém tohoto druhu, byl z toho úplně vyřízený, naštěstí se nakonec tu záležitost podařilo vyřešit pouze s židovským vedením ghetta, kde předsedal nějaký ing. Freiberger. V Terezíně totiž existovala jakási židovská samospráva, říkalo se jí Eltestenrat. Manželovi se také jednou stalo, že ho na ulici potkal nejvyšší vedoucí ghetta Karl Rahm, zničehonic mu řekl, aby si sundal brýle, a dal mu pár facek. Němci si s námi prostě mohli dělat, co chtěli.

Jednou dostala celá naše rodina povolání do transportu. Povolání do transportu roznášeli v noci. Byl to hrozný pocit, v noci někdo zabouchal na dveře a přinesl tenkou pásečku, kde bylo napsáno, kdo se má kam a kdy dostavit. Museli jsme se shromáždit v šlojsce, což byla, jak už jsem řekla, vzadu otevřená budova, odkud se vycházelo rovnou na nádvoří k transportu, protože tehdy už byla dostavená trať až do Terezína. Rudolf se tehdy sám hlásil, že pojede se mnou. Řekli nám, že bude na nádvoří selekce. Byla to první a poslední selekce v Terezíně, jinak probíhala selekce až v Osvětimi. Zřejmě byla selekce zaměřena pouze na mladé lidi, protože tatínek ani maminka k ní přizváni nebyli. Rudolf šel se mnou. Všichni jsme procházeli kolem vedoucího Terezína Karla Rahma. Koho Rahm vůbec nazastavil, ten šel automaticky rovnou do transportu. Nás zastavil. Ptal se, kde pracuji, a já jsem mu řekla, že v truhlárně. Rahm truhlárnu znal, navíc jsem měla na sobě montérky, jelikož jsem nic jiného neměla. Rahm se potom zeptal Rudolfa a ten mu řekl, že jde se mnou dobrovolně, protože se budeme brát. Tehdy bylo možné zažádat v Terezíně o úřední sňatek, což jsme udělali. Rahm  zařval: „Ihr werdet heiraten!“ a znamenalo to, že jsme do transportu nemuseli, že nás vyřadil. V říjnu 1944 jsme šli do transportu podruhé a opět jsme byli vyřazeni. Myslím, že Rahm vyřadil všechny, kdo pracovali v strojní truhlárně. Manželovu sestru vyřadil Rahm napoprvé z transportu stejně jako nás, ale napodruhé ji už nevyřadil. Prostřední bratr, Franta, dělal v Terezíně pořádkovou službu, poznalo se to podle toho, že nosil takovou zvláštní čepici. Zřejmě si získal respekt, takže přišel k Rahmovi a řekl mu, že jsou v Terezíně společně tři bratři, sestra a maminka, a jestli by sestru, Hanku, nemohl nechat. Rahm mu vyhověl.

Manželovi bratři, Franta a Karel, byli často zmiňováni v souvislosti s terezínskou kulturou. Jeden z nich, myslím, že Franta, napsal tzv. terezínskou hymnu na melodii Ježkovy písně Civilizace.

V Terezíně jsem musela tahat strašně těžké věci, takže se mi tam jednou dokonce stalo, že jsem si něco zablokovala v zádech a pak jsem asi tři dny ležela bez hnutí. Po válce se mi to opakovalo, mám vyhřezlou nějakou destičku, problémy s křížem.

Starší z mých bratrů, Viktor, pracoval v Terezíně u tesařů. Bylo mu tehdy asi čtrnáct roků. Jako každý manuální pracující v Terezíně, i on dostával malinký přídavek jídla. Ráno i večer jsme dostávali do ešusu černou meltu a kromě toho na celý den kousek chleba. Snažili jsme se skromný příděl vždycky rozdělit, jeden krajíček k snídani, jeden krajíček k večeři. Viktor to nedokázal a vždycky snědl všechen chleba najednou, takže pak už neměl nic.

Tatínek jel do Osvětimi úplně posledním transportem, bratr jel transportem ještě před ním. Maminka zůstala v Terezíně, protože pracovala pro německý válečný průmysl, štípala slídu pro německá letadla. Maminka měla takové krátké tlusté prsty a moc jí to asi nešlo, protože měla pořád problém splnit stanovenou normu. Nakonec ji propustili, ale už nestihla odjet žádným transportem pryč. Nejmladší bratr Jiří byl celou dobu v Terezíně s maminkou, bylo mu tehdy asi třináct roků.

Tatínek šel určitě rovnou do plynu. Bylo mu totiž tehdy osmapadesát let a do plynu prý posílali všechny od pětapadesáti let. Manžel měl v Terezíně dva bratry a dvě švagrové s krásnými malými dětmi, ale obě matky i s dětmi jely do Osvětimi a tam rovnou do plynu. Když šel bratr Viktor do Osvětimi, nebylo mu snad ještě ani čtrnáct let. Nějaký esesák na rampě se ho prý zeptal, kolik mu je let, sebral mu hodinky a poradil mu, aby řekl, že je mu o rok víc a jen díky tomu se bratr zachránil a nešel rovnou do plynu. Z Osvětimi se dostal do Kauferingu [nacisté zřídili u koncentračního tábora Dachau dvě obrovské podzemní továrny – Kaufering a Mühldorf, kam posléze přesunuli podstatnou část zbrojařské výroby, pracovali zde v nelidských podmínkách hlavně Židé z Polska, Maďarska a Pobaltí – pozn. red.], což byla pobočka Dachau, tam dostal tyfus. Nechali ho prý spolu s ostatními ležet v nějakých jámách a pak je naložili na otevřené vagóny a vezli je do plynových komor. Mezitím vlak bombardovali spojenci, takže zůstal stát někde na trati. Bratrův kamarád z Prahy tam do rána umřel a bratra našli Američané, kteří ho oblékli a poslali do nemocnice, kde strávil ještě dlouhou dobu. Našli ho prý jako kostlivce, vážil osmadvacet kilogramů. Velmi dlouho jsme o něm neměli vůbec žádné zprávy, až někdy v srpnu 1945 napsal paní Krejčové, naší rodinné známé a pomocnici. Bratr si totiž myslel, že se nikdo z nás nevrátil. Paní Krejčová nám ihned dala vědět, že je bratr v záchytné stanici v Sokolské ulici. Byl úplně nervově vyřízený a byl i v příšerném fyzickém stavu. Ještě velmi dlouhou dobu po válce nechtěl mluvit o ničem, co zažil.

Až někdy po válce jsem se dozvěděla o návštěvě mezinárodního Červeného kříže v Terezíně. Jelikož jsem pracovala na tři směny, neměla jsem prakticky možnost zjistit, co se vlastně v Terezíně děje. Vím jen, že v Terezíně tehdy postavili hudební pavilon a zřídili park na náměstí.

Ke konci války, bylo to někdy v zimě, mě poslali pracovat do zemědělství. Bylo to v době, kdy mnoho lidí bylo posláno transporty z Terezína pryč, takže byla každá ruka dobrá. Okolo Terezína byly takové příkopy, kde jsem řezala vrbové pruty pro košíkárnu. Chodil s námi český četník. Nějaká paní, která s námi pracovala, měla zřejmě manžela nebo děti v Praze a dávala dopisy tomu četníkovi, aby je odeslal. Takové věci ovšem byly velice rizikové.

Někdy v lednu 1945 jsme s manželem odjeli transportem z Terezína do Švýcarska. Vlastně jsme pořádně nikdo nevěděl, kam opravdu odjíždíme. Po válce jsem si někde přečetla, že náš transport měl být výměnou za válečné zajatce. Je pravda, že když jsme přijeli do Kostnice, na nádraží byli samí zafačovaní lidé, bez rukou, bez nohou. Hitler prý tento transport nedovolil, ale protože už bylo před koncem války, někdo z vysoce postavených lidí kolem Hitlera si to „vzali na triko“. Nejdříve nás zavezli do města St. Gallen, kde jsme byli  v karanténě v jakési místní škole. Poté jsme prošli třemi tábory na různých místech. První z nich byl v Adliswillu, což byla vesnice nedaleko Curychu. Byly tam dvě haly, kdysi sloužící nějaké malé továrně, která už ale nefungovala. Do jedné z hal ubytovali muže, do druhé ženy. Nebyl to přímo pracovní tábor, pracovali jsme vlastně pouze pro vlastní potřebu. Např. muži chodili na dříví do lesa a ženy loupaly brambory. V našem táboře byly i děti, a dokonce nám vojáci, kteří spravovali tábor, přinesli sešity a tužky, takže jsme potom učili tyto děti psát a počítat. Švýcaři nás tam zřejmě neviděli rádi. Chtěli nás dokonce poslat někam do Tunisu nebo do Alžíru, ale my jsme nechtěli. Věděli jsme totiž, že se blíží konec války. Nakonec nás odsunuli do hor do Les Avantes, kde byly z nějakého důvodu úplně prázdné hotely, bez jakéhokoliv nábytku i vybavení,  takže jsme museli spát na zemi na matracích. Pamatuju se, že jsme do Les Avantes vyjížděli zubačkou a když jsme vyjeli z tunelu, otevřel se před námi nádherný výhled na Ženevské jezero, na to nikdy nezapomenu. Všechny tábory spravovali vojáci. Nebyli na nás moc příjemní a také nás nějak zvlášť moc nekrmili. Často jsme tam měli hlad. Nejdříve jsme se směli pohybovat jen v doprovodu vojáků, později už to bylo lepší. Začali jsme dokonce dostávat nějaké malé kapesné, mohlo to být tak 20 franků za měsíc. Žádné veliké peníze, ale mohli jsme si občas koupit nějaké levné potraviny, třeba olejovky, nebo jablka, také jsem tam poprvé ochutnala pomazánku z lískových oříšků, kterou jsme si kupovali, abychom měli něco výživného. Jinak nám dávali takový ošizený bochníček chleba, který se hrozně drolil a vůbec se nedal ukrojit. Někdy jsme dostali také brambory, kousek margarínu, trochu cukru.

Jednou nás přišel do internačního tábora navštívit tehdejší československý vyslanec ve Švýcarsku. Zařídil, abychom dostávali kapesné asi 20 nebo 25 švýcarských franků. Přinesl také tužky a sešity, aby se děti mohly učit psát, počítat a trochu se připravily na normální život. Před odjezdem domů jsme dostali určitou částku, abychom si mohli koupit nejnutnější oblečení. Po válce prý pana vyslance zavřeli komunisté.

Když jsme byli v hotelu v Les Avantes vysoko v horách, slyšeli jsme jednou v rádiu, že Praha volá o pomoc. Bylo už deset hodin večer a Švýcaři nám řekli, že už musíme jít spát. Ale my jsme se bránili, že Praha volá o pomoc a ať nás nechají poslouchat, ale oni nám to nedovolili. Někdo o tom napsal do místních švýcarských novin a my jsme za trest museli odcestovat do dalšího, níže položeného tábora v Caux sur Montreux. Ze Švýcarska domů jsme se vraceli v nákladních vozech, protože Slovenský štát 19 si prý objednal nějaká nákladní auta, a tak nám tam dali dřevěné lavice, naložili nás do těchto vozů a jeli jsme domů. Cesta trvala asi dva dny.

Po válce

Maminka se vrátila s mladším bratrem z Terezína dříve než já. Já jsem se vrátila s manželem teprve asi 6. července 1945. Nejdříve jsme bydleli s manželem u jeho bratra, který se vrátil před námi někdy v dubnu nebo květnu. Bydleli jsme v Londýnské ulici v třípokojovém bytě s halou, který zůstal volný po Němcích, spolu s manželovým bratrem a jeho známou Slávkou, jejíž sestru si později manželův bratr vzal za manželku, protože se mu nevrátila jeho paní ani dítě. Měli jsme pro sebe v tomto bytě ložnici. Současně jsme se snažili shánět vlastní byt, ale všechny volné byty byly již obsazené. Bylo to velice obtížné, ale nakonec se nám podařilo sehnat byt v Praze 10 přes našeho společného známého z Terezína.

Po válce žádali Židé o restituce u Ministerstva práce a sociálních věcí. Maminka dostala sice nazpátek náš dům, ale už jsme se tam nenastěhovali. Nájemníci nám platili nějaké směšné činže, dům potřeboval opravit střechu a spoustu dalších investic, na které maminka neměla peníze. Maminka se tedy rozhodla dům prodat, ale pak přišlo další neštěstí v podobě měnové reformy 20, což mělo za následek, že mamince z peněz za prodaný dům téměř nic nezbylo. Maminka, protože byla vdova po advokátovi, dostávala penzi nejdříve asi 400 Kč, později za Dubčeka 21 jí byla penze zvýšena, protože vychovala tři děti.

Maminka s nejmladším bratrem, kteří se vrátili jako první, nejdříve bydleli krátce u našich vzdálených příbuzných Pavelků v centru Prahy a potom u maminčina bratra Quida v Lucemburské ulici v Praze. Později jsem se vrátila já s manželem a když jsme sehnali byt ve Vršovicích, vzala jsem si bratra Jiřího i maminku k sobě. Bratr Viktor se vrátil jako poslední. Trávil čas v různých sanatoriích. Když byl v sanatoriu v Sokolské ulici v Praze, napsal paní Krejčové, která kdysi pracovala u našeho tatínka. Myslel si totiž, že se nikdo z nás nevrátil. Paní Krejčová nám o tom dala vědět, a my jsme si pro bratra potom šli do tohoto sanatoria. Rovněž bratra Viktora jsem si vzala k sobě do bytu, takže nás tam potom bydlelo poměrně dost.

Po válce od listopadu 1945 jsme s manželem oba pracovali ve stejném podniku v Haštalské ulici č. 1, jmenoval se Národní správa majetkových podstat vystěhovaleckého fondu. Tento podnik soustřeďoval veškerý majetek, který Němci v Čechách sebrali a nakonec ponechali. Manžel pracoval v oddělení restitucí nemovitostí, kde byly i ohromné sklady porcelánu, koberců a všeho možného, co zde po Němcích zůstalo. Protože Němci byli v takových věcech poměrně precizní, měli záznamy o zabraném majetku, čísla transportů i jména původních majitelů. Já jsem pracovala v podatelně tohoto podniku. V září 1950 jsem přešla do Bytového podniku hl. m. Prahy v Dlouhé třídě č. 16, kde jsem pracovala do roku 1952 v účtárně správy nemovitostí, odkud jsem potom odešla na mateřskou dovolenou. Od roku 1959 do roku 1961 jsem pracovala pro tzv. Lidové výrobní družstvo Rohoplast, což znamená, že jsem pracovala doma. Od roku 1961 do roku 1963 jsem pracovala na vedlejší pracovní poměr ve Stavebních strojích na Jungmannově náměstí jako osobní a mzdová referentka a konečně od roku 1963 až do důchodu jsem pracovala ve Výzkumném ústavu mechanizace a automatizace rovněž na Jungmannově náměstí. Měla jsem nárok odejít do důchodu už v 53 letech, kvůli tomu, že jsem byla v koncentračním táboře. Nakonec jsem odešla do důchodu, když mi bylo 59 let, ale byla jsem z toho tehdy úplně nešťastná. Nedokázala jsem si představit, co budu doma dělat.

Manžel pracoval po válce ve firmě Koospol. Po převratu nepodepsal přihlášku do komunistické strany, takže ho chtěli nějakou dobu propustit. Jeden manželův známý, už předválečný komunista, se ale za manžela zaručil, a navíc byl manžel velmi dobrý pracovník a uměl řeči, takže ho nakonec nechali. Ještě před převratem byl služebně v cizině, jednou v Německu, pak v Holandsku a Belgii. Později už nemohl jako nestraník pracovat v obchodním oddělení, začal pracovat jako ekonom a jeho plat se výrazně snížil. Zároveň pořád zapracovával nějaké dělnické kádry poslušné straně, z nichž se postupně stávali delegáti, kteří mohli na rozdíl od něho cestovat do ciziny.

Myslím, že jak válka, tak doba poválečná se na manželovi hodně podepsaly. Působil však vždy klidně a nedával na sobě nic znát. Všechny špatné zážitky v sobě zřejmě potlačoval. Možná kvůli tomu také zemřel velice brzy, nebylo mu ještě ani šedesát čtyři let. Zemřel v roce 1972.

V roce 1952 se nám narodil náš jediný syn Jiří. Syn chtěl původně studovat slaboproud, ale nakonec jsme ho dali na střední průmyslovou školu, kde vystudoval obor měřicí přístroje. Vůbec ho to nebavilo. Po vojně, přesněji řečeno náhradní vojenské službě, kdy pracoval v ČKD [ČKD, Českomoravská Kolben Daněk: jedna ze slavných průmyslových firem předválečného Československa. Po válce byl podnik obnoven a rychle znárodněn. Mezi nejdůležitější patří výroba lokomotiv ve Vysočanech a tramvají na Smíchově. Podnik se postupně stává největším výrobcem tramvají na světě a zaměstnává až 50 000 zaměstnanců – pozn. red.], udělal zkoušky na FAMU, kde vystudoval uměleckou fotografii. Dnes pracuje jako fotograf, má vlastní ateliér ve Vršovicích. Jeho manželka se jmenuje Zuzana.

Za komunismu jsme nikdy neměli moc peněz. Doplatili jsme na to, že můj manžel ani já jsme nikdy nevstoupili do komunistické strany.

Maminka tedy bydlela od roku 1946 u nás v bytě ve Vršovicích. Nebylo to jednoduché, protože maminka byla typ člověka, který bouchal dveřmi a vůbec byla stále rozčílená. Někdy jsem si tento krok vyčítala, protože naše manželství tak nebylo občas jednoduché, ale můj muž nikdy nic nenamítal. Vždycky jen chápavě podotknul: „Je to tvoje maminka...“ Maminka měla velké problémy s nohama, protože měla bércové vředy. V době, kdy ještě mohla normálně chodit, bylo pro ni největším potěšením  jít si jednou za týden sednout s dámami do kavárny Mánes, dala si tam vždycky čaj a žloutkový věneček nebo punčový řez a byla šťastná, že je mezi lidmi. V zimě chodívala zase do kavárny Paříž. Protože byla za války v Terezíně a vychovávala tři děti, dostávala později poměrně slušný důchod, jenže říkala, že už si ho vůbec neužije. Byla to pravda, protože v té době měla už velké zdravotní potíže. Navíc si zlomila i nohu v krčku, takže už pak sama vůbec nemohla chodit, což byl pro ni trest. V našem bytě ve Vršovicích se jí nelíbilo a musela se tu hrozně nudit. Maminka zemřela deset let po manželovi, v roce 1982.

Můj bratr Viktor bydlel po válce také nějakou dobu u mě ve Vršovicích. Odjakživa rád kreslil, takže chodil po válce do grafické školy. Musel z ní ale odejít, protože nesouhlasil s nějakým vyučujícím a postavil se v čele ostatních v protestu proti němu. Šel tedy na pracovní úřad a řekl tam, ať ho dají, kam chtějí. Poslali ho do Hradišťka u Štechovic, kde pracoval v pobočce Obchodních tiskáren Kolín. Bydlel tam prý nejdřív v bývalé stáji. Později se tam ale vyučil tiskařem. Nějakou dobu potom pracoval jako kalkulant a dostával docela slušný plat. Maminka Vikiho, tak jsme mu všichni říkali, velmi milovala. Sháněla mu lístky do divadla, na koncerty. Viky k nám jezdil většinou každý týden v pátek, a to už se od rána nesmělo do koupelny, maminka od rána vyvářela a nachystala mu do koupelny noviny za celý týden a Viky potom přijel, ponořil se do vany a dvě hodiny tam ležel a četl při tom noviny. Viky byl moc hodný. I syn ho měl moc rád a každý pátek ho vyhlížel na stoličce u okna, jestli už jde.

Viky se poměrně pozdě oženil, bylo mu asi čtyřicet let. Vzal si  krásnou paní, Jitku. Byla už rozvedená, měla osmnáctiletou dceru. Seznámili se někde na výstavě. Myslím, že to bylo šťastné manželství, i když neměli nikdy příliš moc peněz. Přesto si půjčili peníze a koupili si dům v Rotavě, který si potom krásně upravili. Jeho paní měla úžasný vkus. Nakonec museli tento dům prodat, protože stál moc peněz, a pořídili si byt v Chodově u Karlových Varů. Bratr nějakou dobu pracoval také v Amati Kraslice, kde balil hudební nástroje. Bohužel měl bratr po válce a pak už celý život vážné zdravotní problémy. Už když se po válce vrátil, měl tuberkulózní vřed na krku, byl po tyfu, měl revma, nemocné nohy a další problémy. Nakonec onemocněl leukémií. Švagrová si tehdy pořídila nemocniční postel a starala se o něj doma. Jezdila jsem za ním každý týden. Je strašně smutné, kolik toho můj bratr zažil ošklivého, a nakonec ještě onemocněl leukémií a dlouho stonal, než zemřel. Měl na konci života ošklivé bolesti, chodili mu proto píchat morfium. Nakonec si ještě k tomu zlomil nohu v krčku, takže potom už mohl jen ležet.

Koníčkem bratra zůstalo celý život malování. Když zemřel, uspořádala Židovská náboženská obec výstavu jeho obrázků ve Španělské synagoze v Praze a také v Terezíně na Malé pevnosti.

Můj bratr nikdy nepovídal o tom, co zažil v koncentráku, jen když se vrátil, pořád maloval samé ostnaté dráty a strážní věže. Teprve když onemocněl leukémií, začal nám povídat o tom, co zažil. Utkvělo mi v paměti, jak povídal, že těsně před osvobozením, když už Němci utekli, dělali si Maďaři někde ohýnek a opékali brambory a můj bratr vůbec nebyl schopný chodit, tak se plazil a prosil je, aby mu dali jeden brambor, a ti Maďaři ho kopnuli do obličeje.

Vnučka Helenka se narodila v roce 1983, studuje práva. Velmi se zajímá o židovskou kulturu, dokonce zpívá v souboru Mišpacha [soubor Mišpacha zpívá chasidské a židovské lidové písně – pozn. red.]. Její přítel, Daniel, studuje judaistiku.

Glosář:

Maria Baicher 
Moscow 
Russia 
Interviewer: Svetlana Bogdanova 
Date of interview: July 2003 

Maria Baicher is a nice blue-eyed, vivid and ready to smile, plainly but tastefully dressed lady.

Since her husband Yuzef Kirtzer's death in 1998, she has lived alone in a three-bedroom apartment in the center of Moscow near the governmental office. It's a spacious and cozy apartment.

There is a big library and the walls are decorated with pictures and sculptures that her husband, who was an artist, and his friends made.

There are a few antique pieces of furniture that her grandmother left her and there is also furniture of the 1970s in the apartment.

She moved into this apartment in 1978 and since then, the apartment hasn't been renovated. Maria is thinking of renovations, but she is horrified at the amount of money needed.

She is quite well-off as she also has another apartment that she leases. It enables her to travel abroad, go to the cinema or first nights at theaters. On weekends she visits her son's family and helps them to look after their children.

• Family background
• Growing up
• During the war
• Post-war
• Glossary

• Family background

My paternal great-grandfather, Aaron Baicher, was born in 1799. He was a cantonist 1. Being an orphan, at the age of 13, he was taken to the tsarist army. He served for 25 years, and then obtained a permit to reside in Moscow. I don't know where he came from. I think that after his service was over he received a starting capital.

My great-grandfather took to business and was quite fortunate. He became a wood and construction materials dealer. He owned several wood storage facilities and a big house nearby. He was doing so well that during the Russian-Turkish War 2, my great-grandfather provided horses to the tsarist army.

He got married early. According to the family legend, my great-grandfather had over 40 children. He was married twice. In his first marriage, he had 17 children. This marriage ended tragically. Near Moscow, bandits attacked the family and killed my great-grandfather's wife and 15 children.

Only two children survived. He remarried my great-grandmother Hana, who I think was born in 1842. In this marriage, my great-grandfather had 26 children, and there were two children from his first marriage. People called them 'the Baichers that were almost slaughtered.' I saw one girl whom I met once at my grandmother's house in the 1930s.

Her surname, after her husband, was Poplavskaya. Unfortunately, I don't remember her first name. The family lived in a big house and the sons were growing up and lived to enjoy life. They used to take girls to restaurants. However, they only ate kosher food.

My great-grandfather and his family were religious Jews. He didn't give his children a higher education. He involved his sons in his business and they followed into his footsteps. He died in 1905 at the age of 106. After having a row with his wife he went to sleep in a summer hut where he caught a cold and died. He was buried in the Jewish section of Dragomilovskoye cemetery.

I saw my great-grandmother Hana only once in my life, in early 1941. She lived in the family of my great-grandfather's daughter from the first marriage - Poplavskaya. I remember her very well. She was 99. She was thin, gray-haired and rather tiny. She was already bedridden and passed away two months later, and was buried beside my great- grandfather's grave.

Unfortunately, I don't know the names of all of Aaron Baicher's children. Many of them died young, and many others were scattered around the world. The political situation in the country in the years following the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 3 dictated people to cut off their relationships to avoid doing any harm to their relatives [see Keep in touch with relatives abroad] 4.

My grandfather Yuli, whose Jewish name was Yudel, was born in 1874. His brother Daniel Baicher [1883-1938] had a daughter and a son. Aaron's third child was Lev Baicher. I never saw him in my grandmother's house, but when he died in 1961 his daughters invited all Baicher relatives to the funeral. Lev had two daughters, Lubov Zamyslova and Tatiana Yureneva, and a son named Esai Baicher. They had children, grandchildren and great- grandchildren. They live in Moscow. I also remember Aunt Pasha Baicher. She didn't have a family of her own and often visited us at home. She was lonely and kind, and loved my father.

Then came Arisha Baicher, Alexandra Baicher and Mendel Baicher. Mendel Baicher's older son Yuli perished at the front during the Great Patriotic War 5. Lisa Baicher - her descendants live in Moscow. Rina Baicher who was called Risha in the family, had no family of her own. I didn't know Grigori Baicher, but I knew his son Aaron very well.

He was born in 1920. Him, his wife Tatiana and their grandchildren Lyova and Ania moved to America in 1990. I also knew Aunt Minush - which was her Jewish name. Her other name was Mina Baicher. Her last name was Maltsena after her husband.

She had a son named Aaron who perished during the Great Patriotic War and a daughter, Ania Artamonova. I went to Aunt Minush's funeral in 1978. She was 88 and the youngest. She was buried in the Vostriakovskoye town cemetery, in the Jewish section, and no rituals were observed.

All members of the Baicher family who died before 1944, including my great- grandfather and grandfather, were buried in the Jewish section of Dragomilovskoye cemetery. There was a big and beautiful gravestone on my grandfather's grave. In the 1940s, during the construction of Kutuzovskiy Prospect, which became one of the central thoroughfares in Moscow, Dragomilovskoye cemetery was in the way and it was liquidated. We managed to move the grave and gravestone to the Jewish section of Vostriakovskoye cemetery where members of the Baicher family were buried afterward.

My grandfather, Yuli Baicher, was my great-grandfather's son from his second marriage. He was a big man of pleasant appearance, very kind and tolerant. My grandmother and grandfather met in the house of my great- grandfather's daughter from his first marriage, Poplavskaya. My grandfather was visiting them and my grandmother came from Smolensk [370 km from Moscow] to visit her acquaintances, and that's when they met. Then it was time for my grandmother to go back home to Smolensk. My grandfather went to take her to the railway station, but he went with her as far as Smolensk and in 1901 they got married. Their wedding took place at Krasnoye station. It is believed that their wedding was halfway between Moscow and Smolensk. I still have an invitation to the wedding.

My grandmother's father had passed away and so her mother signed the card. Grandfather also had his mother sign the invitation. They had a Jewish wedding with a rabbi and a chuppah. My grandmother's name was Ida and her Jewish name was Edlia, nee Fliamenbaum.

After she married grandfather she adopted his last name of Baicher. I don't know anything about her father. All I know from her documents is that her patronymic was Tanchunovna Chunovna. I don't know her maiden name. My great-grandmother's name was Reveka Fliamenbaum.

My grandmother was strict with the children. Since my father was not an obedient boy, he was often punished and the only person who forgave and sympathized with him was my grandfather.

My grandfather was a wood dealer like his father. He was very successful and provided well for his family. He had a wood storage in the center of Moscow. His family rented an apartment nearby. He was shot with a point-black firing rifle in his home in 1922. Some men wearing sailor uniforms came to his home and demanded money.

There was no money and they killed him before his younger son, my father's eyes. I knew a woman whose mother and my aunt were friends in their youth. She told me, 'I've heard this story about how they killed your grandfather.' His younger son, my father, was traumatized. He screamed and couldn't calm down for a long time since it all happened before his eyes.

My grandmother remarried. She married Nathan Tisee, a Jewish man, and moved into his apartment. Her second husband perished in NKVD 6 imprisonment. My grandmother lived in his apartment. She was a beautiful woman who liked life and was a good housewife. She liked having guests and was very religious. She went to the synagogue regularly and had a seat of her own there. She observed all Jewish holidays and fasted. My parents and I visited her.

I particularly remember Pesach. All relatives and their children got together in her home. There was traditional food on the table. There were no fridges, but they had a shed in the yard where they stored ice. She kept jellied meat and all other dishes that she cooked for holidays according to all rules, kneydlakh for broth and matzah. She made matzah for the holiday herself. She also bought matzah at the synagogue and ground it to have flour for her bakeries. She had special crockery for the holidays and it wasn't supposed to be used on other days.

My grandmother observed Sabbath. She didn't teach me the traditions. My mother was Russian, but my grandmother raised me to love Jewish holidays and delicious food, though she didn't really realize that I would remember and cherish this way of life. I liked it that my grandmother could sew well. She chose styles, embroidered and knitted, and I learned to do that too.

I went for walks along Moscow boulevards with her and to the cinema and when I became a student she liked to take me to the theater. My grandmother and mother often went to the Mikhoels 7 Theater.

My grandmother had housemaids before the war. She didn't receive a pension since she had never worked. Her older son supported her as he was the wealthiest of her children. My grandmother hated the Soviet power and Stalin. Her first husband was killed in 1922 and her second husband was arrested in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] 8 and perished.

My grandmother openly expressed her opinions to me. I was just a child and when I returned home from her place, I told my parents what I had heard from her. My parents grew pale and talked to my grandmother seriously asking her to not discuss such subjects with me.

My grandmother Ida and grandfather Yuli had three children. Their older son Michael was born in 1902. Their second child was a girl. She was born in 1903. Her name is Frieda, and her Jewish name Freida. She shall turn 100 this year. My father was the youngest. He was born in 1906.

Michael Baicher was a very smart and determined man. He completed grammar school. Being a Jew, he had to win a competition to be admitted. He had to write a three-page dictation without a single mistake and he did it. He fit in the [five percent] quota 9 for Jewish students in Russian grammar schools. Later Uncle Michael entered a Mining College. Since he didn't come from a proletarian family [he was considered to belong to the deprives] 10, he was periodically expelled from the Academy, but then he was readmitted again.

My aunt told me that Grandmother asked him, 'Michael, how come they expel and then readmit you again?' and he replied, 'Mama, don't you understand? Those Komsomol 11 members stand up for me. Who would they seek help from in class?'

My uncle was chief engineer of Electropech' trust. He worked a lot. He constructed metallurgical plants in Russia and abroad. He was a laureate of the Lenin Award 12 and was a talented and bright person. Uncle Michael had no children. He died in 1974. He was buried in the Jewish section of Vostriakovskoye cemetery.

Aunt Frieda Baicher - Goldina in marriage - also studied in grammar school. Since grandmother and the director of the grammar school were friends, she was admitted without exams. She failed to finish grammar school due to the revolution that took place in 1917. My aunt was inclined to humanitarian subjects and she painted well. She took painting classes, but the revolution ruined it all. For some time she worked in the All- Union Society of Cultural Ties with Foreign Countries. She was responsible for organizational work.

My aunt knew French. She studied it in grammar school. She also had a good taste. Later she went to work as deputy manager of the fish industry pavilion at the agricultural exhibition. She managed its decoration. She invited the best designers to work there and the pavilion had a great design. I once visited there and remember that they gave me a huge artificial fish.

My aunt's husband, Matvey Goldin, was an engineer in the aviation industry. They had a son named Yuli Goldin, who was born in 1941. He is a wonderful person. He became a doctor and in 1978, he emigrated to the US with his family. He is very successful there.

My father, Arkadi Baicher, whose Jewish name is Aaron, went to work as a stoker at the railroad to support his family after his father died tragically. He became assistant locomotive operator and then an operator. He was the only breadwinner in the family. His brother studied in college and his sister and mother didn't work. He was a hardworking man. He felt responsible for the family and was its support.

When he came of age, he always made all the difficult decisions for the family. He was a vivid and naughty boy and grandmother often punished him. He was a very strong man. I remember that he carried a wardrobe alone when we were moving once. My father joined the Komsomol when working at the railroad. He never joined the Party.

Many years later, when my father was married and had a family of his own, he finished evening classes of the Railroad College with my mother's blessing and support.

My mother was Russian. My maternal grandfather Matvey Dolgov came from a Christian family of Old Believers 13. He was born in 1858 in Klintsy, Bryansk region [475 km from Moscow]. I tracked down eleven generations in Old Believers' church books and found that the first Old Believer arrived in Bryansk region.

He was born in 1684. My great-grandfather and great- grandmother had 20 children. My grandfather was the youngest. He served 20 years in the tsarist army. He took part in the liberation of Bulgaria from the Tatar yoke, and was wounded near Plevna town and released from the army. After the army, my grandfather started business in Moscow. He bought cattle, supplied it to slaughterhouses, and sold meat. My grandfather's marriage with my grandmother Anna Boni was prearranged by matchmakers. Regretfully, he died of tuberculosis in 1905. He was buried in Dragomilovskoye cemetery in Moscow.

My grandmother's father, Antoine Boni, was French. He escaped to Russia during the French Revolution with his son from his first marriage, and he had his savings. He never learned Russian. My grandmother's mother came from the Russian family Prokhorov. It was a renowned family of merchants. They owned textile factories.

After Antoine got married, he built a factory manufacturing albumin for fabric painting. It was a small factory, but it supplied its product to all textile factories in Moscow. There were five children in the family: two sons and three daughters. My grandmother was the youngest. They had different lives.

Maria Boni, one of the sisters, lost her son during World War I. Another sister, Elizaveta Boni, married a German man and must have left the country before World War I. The family lost track of her. The son, Vladimir Boni, inherited the factory. He died in 1916. His children were small when the revolution took place in 1917. The state expropriated the factory, and the children had to hide away. There is no information about what happened to them. Sophia Boni, another sister of my grandmother, had a big family. It seems there were about 14 children. From what I know, Sophia's husband, and all daughters-in-law and sons-in-law were Russian. We became friends with this family.

My grandmother was born in 1868. She completed grammar school. When she got married, she became a housewife in a big family. My grandmother was Christian, but she rarely went to church. She died in 1935 and was buried in Dragomilovskoye cemetery. My grandmother and grandfather had six children.

My mother's older sister, Evgenia Zotova, was born in 1894. Her Russian husband, Alexei Zotov, had a higher military education. He served in the tsarist army and after the revolution he joined the Red Army. They had a son named Michael Zotov. Aunt Evgenia died in 1974.

My mother's brother Nikolay, born in 1904, died of typhoid in the 1920s. There was another son named Dmitri. I remember my uncle Dmitri very well. He graduated from Plekhanov College in Moscow and was a good specialist in chemical treatment of water. He took part in the Great Patriotic War, returned home and died of cancer in 1957.

My grandparents' younger son Vladimir, born in 1906, had an unpleasant character. He drank a lot and had affairs. He left and the family had no information about what happened to him afterward. In 1896 my grandmother's son Sergei was born, but he died in infancy.

My mother was very talented and she performed in the school theatrical club. She completed grammar school in 1916 and received a gold medal [highest award given to graduates of secondary educational institutions in Russia and the USSR]. After the revolution of 1917, my mother entered Moscow State University. However, she didn't study there for long. She had to support her family and it became too difficult for her to combine work and studies. My mother graduated from a theatrical studio and worked as an actress in this studio. Soon this studio merged with the Meyerhold 14 studio. There were different schools of acting. Her former teacher was 'tsar and God' for her, but she didn't understand Meyerhold's teaching. She had an argument with the producer of this studio and left the stage.

She went to work at the Ogonyok editorial office. She was the secretary of its chief editor, Koltsov 15. My mother worked there for a few years and was a good employee. She specialized in photo reviews. Being a smart and enterprising person, she established a bureau selling extra photographs to other editorial offices.

Then she went to work at the photo office of TASS [Telegraph Agency of the Soviet Union] where she worked for the rest of her life. The fact that my mother met such people as V. Meyerhold and M. Koltsov, whom authorities accused of treason and executed, and also her work in TASS, taught her to be very cautious and avoid discussions of political subjects at home or with her friends. She knew about the arrests in the country and tried to protect her dear ones. She wasn't a member of the Communist Party.

My mother lived in a civil marriage before she met my father, but it fell apart. In 1930, she went to a recreation center on vacation. She wasn't in one of her best moods. She was sitting alone reading a book. My father was coming to this recreation center from the railway station. He was a young, handsome and big man. And so they met.

My father kept visiting her after their vacation in the recreation center. My mother had other admirers. However, my father became number one and they got married. My mother was eight years older than my father, but she didn't look it. She was slim and interesting and always dressed well.

My parents' families had no objections against this marriage. My father was a naughty member of the family and my grandmother was glad that he had settled down. My mother's relatives rejected any national prejudices or religious narrow-mindedness. My parents had a small wedding party. My father lived in a room in a communal apartment 16. My mother also lived with her mother in a room in a communal apartment.

• Growing up

When my parents got married they exchanged their two rooms for one bigger room in a former elderly people's home that the tsarist government built for merchants' widows. It was a five-storied house. It was a big room with a lot of light and high ceiling where they lived. They had a sink in their room. There was no bathroom in the apartment - families went to a public bathroom to wash. There were two toilets with four cabins on each floor. There was an elevator at the front door entrance.

On the ground floor there was a public Laundromat which was very convenient. On the first floor there was a common kitchen. There were stoves in the kitchen. Housewives prepared everything for cooking in their rooms and then did the cooking in the kitchen. Stoves were stoked with fuel oil all day long. In the evening, a boiler was turned on and tenants stood in lines for boiling water. There was a dry steam drier and washbasins for washing and rinsing. There was also another drier in the attic. I was born in this house in 1932 and grew up there.

When my mother was expecting a baby, she told my father that if it was going to be a boy she was against circumcision. My father replied, 'All right, and if it's a girl we won't baptize her.' So, I wasn't baptized. My parents loved each other dearly regardless of their differences: in age, nationality and intellect.

Family was everything for my father, and my mother found support and a faithful companion in him. The brightest memories of my childhood are associated with the time when my parents took me to a dacha 17 in summer. They rented a dacha out of town and took me there, every summer.

I didn't go to a kindergarten. I had a baby sitter who was a Russian girl from a village named Marfusha. She lived with us until the end of her life. My mother sent her to school. She completed secondary school. I have very good memories of her, as she always took care of me.

She evacuated with us and thanks to her skills and wit, we survived through the first days. Here is what my days in my childhood were like. I never went into the yard alone. I had friends who were our neighbors and they used to come to play with dolls, as I had many in our room. Sometimes my nanny and I went shopping. In the evening, when she had to go to school, she took me to the adjoining street where my mother's brother's family lived or to my grandmother.

My parents worked a lot and my father studied in the evening classes of the College of Railroad Transport Engineers. However, they always celebrated family holidays and birthdays. My mother and father's relatives joined us for these celebrations. My father's brother, Michael, often went on business trips and was an infrequent guest in our house. We often visited my paternal grandmother since she loved guests.

My mother worked near Grandmother's home and often went to see her. She usually had lunch there. My mother and her mother-in-law got along very well and there were no misunderstandings between them. My mother grew up in the family with no national prejudices. She did what their family had failed to do: she made my father study. My grandmother respected her very much.

The events of 1937 [Great Terror] had an effect on our family. My grandmother's second husband was arrested and never returned from the camps. We knew that something was going on, but there was no information about it. My parents were afraid of talking and I was too young to understand the situation.

• During the war

I remember the first day of the war very well. On 22nd June 1941 my parents and I went out of town to look for a dacha for rent. We went to the railway station by tram when my parents heard somebody saying that the war had begun. It was around 11am.

We returned home, turned on the radio and listened to the speech by Molotov 18. I understood that the war had begun and that it was very serious and that there was a lot to happen. Before this we had a feeling that something might happen. We lived in a quiet district, but on the first days of the war there were activities going on.

People barricaded windows on ground floors with bags of sand. Some workers began to excavate a pond in the schoolyard across the street from our house. It was to be a firewater reservoir. Instructors explained to tenants about air raids and where to hide in case of emergency.

We closed the windows and glued newspaper sheets on glass to prevent splinters from falling. Children helped adults with whatever they could do. There were rooms with tenants in the basement where we could come with our chairs in case of an emergency alarm. We also made a black-out with black curtains on the windows. I remember the first training alarm.

When we came outside to go to the basement I sensed some smell in the street, something different, a disturbing smell. We went into the basement with this sense of alarm. I put some of my clothing either upside down or forgot to put it on, something like that.

On 10th July, my nanny, grandmother and I, evacuated to Ufa [1,300 km from Moscow]. We evacuated with the aviation plant where my father's sister's husband, Matvey Goldin, was working. My nanny didn't want to leave Moscow, but my mother worked and couldn't leave her job since TASS was staying.

My grandmother had liver problems and hypertension and so my mother couldn't let me go with grandmother. It took my mother quite some effort to convince my nanny to go with us. When we were approaching Ufa our train was delayed. It turned out that there were too many old people and children in our car. They couldn't work at the plant. They sorted out all passengers and those who could work went to Ufa and the rest of us were taken 25 kilometers south.

It was a small station and we actually got off in a field. There was a steppe, sun and heat. Then there came horse-drawn wagons from a village on the bank of the Belaya River. It was a Tatar village named Starye Kieshki. We were accommodated in huts.

A Tatar hut is a big room with a stove and plank beds with mattresses, pillows and blankets. The owners of the hut where we lodged didn't speak Russian. They knew a few words sufficient enough to agree about payment for the milk they provided. They just didn't understand that there were Jews among the newcomers. We stayed one night in this hut. There were many bugs and I remember that my grandmother stayed awake picking those bugs off me.

On the following morning my grandmother, who wasn't that old, put lipstick on her lips - she was coquettish - and went to look around. She discovered some buildings in the schoolyard that formerly served as classrooms. It was summer and the school was closed. She talked to the director and obtained permission for us to move into a classroom. We slept on laboratory desks. When school started in fall we continued living there. In the evening we put the desks together to sleep on them and in the morning before classes we put them in place and put our things into a closet.

My grandmother had some money, and my nanny went to work in the kolkhoz 19. We were very poor. Nanny came from a village and was very hard- working. Her earnings and our small vegetable garden - which was in the field and received from the kolkhoz - saved us from hunger. My nanny and grandmother grew vegetables.

My grandmother was not a gardener. They both planted onions which grew only in Marfusha's part of the garden. My grandmother got angry, 'you cheated me, and I did something wrong!' It turned out she planted her onions with their roots upward. The onions grew all right in the long run. We bought potatoes and milk from a store in the village.

When there was a delivery of vodka, enterprising villagers stood in line to buy vodka that they could exchange for fish from 16-year-old boys. My grandmother also had some cereals, but they didn't last long. Anyway, my grandmother tried to observe the kashrut. She didn't eat pork. Tatars don't eat pork either, they eat lamb. There was no synagogue.

I'm not sure, but I don't think my grandmother could observe Sabbath considering the hardships in our lives. I became very sad on the first day of fall when the school opened its doors for schoolchildren. I was eager to go to school, but in this village everything was in the Tatar language. I made friends with the children of the director of the school. They were two girls, almost the same age as I. I began to understand some Tatar. I wanted to go to school, but they didn't admit me.

My mother arrived in fall 1941. She evacuated to Kuibyshev [920 km from Moscow] with her TASS agency. She wrote letters to me and sent them to Starye Kieshki from there. She missed me a lot and worried about me, but later she obtained permission from her director to go to work as a TASS correspondent in Bashkiria. She didn't receive a salary and father sent us his certificate [issued to officers in the army for their families to receive money allowances].

We exchanged clothes for food. My mother talked to the director of our school in the village and he agreed to admit me. I was supposed to go to the first grade, but they admitted me to the second grade. I could count well. They didn't force me to speak the Tatar language. I just spoke what I could. I studied there until I became unwell and had to stay home. Next year I went to the same grade. In 1943 I managed to get to the third grade and studied there for some time.

In 1942, my nanny drowned. It was a hot summer and we went to swim in the river. There was still high water in the Belaya River and we found a pit filled with water. The water was very cold and Marfusha had an infarction.

She died that very moment. There was quite a story with her funeral. There was a Muslim cemetery and they didn't allow burying Christians there. They even discussed it at the kolkhoz council. They finally allowed us to bury her near the fence. Of course, her death was a terrible shock and catastrophe for us.

Later in the same year my father's sister Frieda and her son Yuli came to visit us. Her husband Matvey Goldin worked at a plant in Ufa. He lived in a hostel and wasn't allowed to accommodate her and their son in his room. My father at that time was finishing military school in Orenburg [1,400 km from Moscow].

Once he got leave, he came to visit us. After he left, my mother became awfully concerned since at that time military actions were approaching Stalingrad [920 km from Moscow] and my father might have needed to go there.

Some time later we began to receive children's books from my father. We didn't have the slightest idea what it could be until one day I opened a book and saw 'I am in MPR' written in the book. We understood that he was in the Mongolian People's Republic. There was training in his school.

They were to cover 40 kilometers of the Orenburg steppe in full marching order and my father got sunstroke. He was taken to hospital. It so happened that other cadets of his school were taken to Stalingrad, and my father was sent to the construction of a railroad in Mongolia since he had railroad education. He served there until 1944.

In November 1942 my uncle received a room in Ufa and my aunt, her son and my grandmother went to live with him. My mother and I lived with a Tatar family in their pise-walled hut near the school. They gave us a small room which had a separate entrance.

There was an outside toilet. We fetched water from a well in the yard, but this dwelling was still better than living in school. It was warm and we didn't have to leave it for a day like we did when lodging at the school. My mother and I were starving. My mother fell ill with tuberculosis.

My father's allowances were not enough. We grew potatoes and then had to pick them. My mother was too weak and at some point she sat on the ground and began to cry. She had lost over 30 kilos in weight since she fell ill. When my maternal grandmother saw her in Moscow after we returned home she said, 'You look like you've come from Majdanek 20. Skin and bones.'

There was a Russian family from Rybinsk living next door. It was a woman and two children. The woman's name was Evdokia Ivanovna. Her husband worked at the aviation plant that was evacuated to Ufa. He lived in a hostel and she couldn't live with him. This woman was very poor. She could hardly support her two boys. She left her children with us when she went to visit her husband in Ufa. My mother invited Evdokia Ivanovna to live with us. We got along well and had a quiet life. At that time my grandmother was still staying with her daughter Frieda in Ufa.

In the summer of 1943 my mother received an invitation letter from the TASS agency in Moscow. We had to get to the railway station somehow. Evdokia Ivanovna went with us leaving her boys with another woman. There was a huge crowd at the railway station. All trains that passed by the station were overcrowded.

We stayed at the railway station for three days. My mother took me to a children's room to sleep at night, and she and Evdokia Ivanovna had to watch their line to get tickets. We finally got onto a train. My mother had to be in Moscow on time and we hardly managed. We arrived home at 5 in the morning.

My mother's sister Zhenia lived a few blocks away from us. To get there I had to cross two big streets. As soon as we came home my mother sent me to her sister and left for work. I was afraid of going there alone. When my aunt opened her door she gasped: it was only 7 o'clock in the morning; they had just got up when I showed up. We were so happy to be back in Moscow and find out that everything was fine with our home.

My mother began to make arrangements for me to go to school. I had studied in a Tatar school, but teachers in Moscow didn't care and refused to admit me to the third grade. I began to cry and the teacher softened a little and said, 'all right, girl, it's going to be the second grade.' I said, 'No, I don't want to go to the second grade!' I was so concerned about being the oldest in my class.

She said, 'All right, we admit you to the third grade on condition that based on the results of the first quarters [an academic year in USSR consists of four quarters and after each quarter students get their quarter marks] we shall decide whether you stay or go to the second grade.'

I didn't argue this time. However, I fell ill with angina. We were thin and exhausted and there were no vitamins. I returned to school one week before the end of the first quarter. I remember very well that we had a test in mathematics. I received an excellent mark for it and the issue of my staying in the third grade was closed.

I liked mathematics and wanted to become a teacher of mathematics. I only had one '4' mark in the Russian language and all '5' marks for the rest of the subjects. Well, there were few things where I didn't excel. I was a fatty and never went in for sports, but I liked dancing and always attended dancing classes.

I had many friends at school, in our house and in my mother's sister's family. My neighbors had two daughters of my age. We became friends before the evacuation. I joined the Komsomol at school. I was eager to become a Komsomol member. I lied to the commission when they asked me how old I was. The admission age was 14 and I said that I was, though I was under 14 at that time. I didn't take an active part in the Komsomol activities, but I believed in communist ideas, so strong was propaganda at the time.

By the end of the war construction of the Moscow metro began. My father, when he was young, worked at the construction of one of the first metro stations, and he was demobilized and employed by a metro company. In April 1944, we received a telegram saying: 'Meet me.' My mother thought he was going to another front and when we met him in Moscow she asked, 'Where?' and he replied, 'To Moscow.' We were so happy!

• Post-war

My father became a boiler engineer in the metro construction department. In 1947, when the struggle against rootless cosmopolitans [see campaign against cosmopolitans] 21 began he was fired. He looked for a job in Moscow for eight months. He understood that this was a national segregation campaign, but there was nothing that could be done.

Besides his national origin, my father had another 'deficiency.' He didn't have a proletarian origin. I remember one funny incident. My father wrote in his application form that his father was a wagon driver. I was horrified and asked him, 'Do you mean to say that my grandmother's husband was a wagon driver?' and he replied, 'You just keep your mouth shut.

' Shortly afterward I understood why my father wrote that his father was a driver. In this country drivers' children had a much easier life than educated people. We had a difficult life. My mother was the only breadwinner. Eight months later my father got a job in a boiler inspection company.

I didn't face any anti-Semitism at school. We had many Jewish teachers. I faced this later in my life. I finished school with a silver medal. I wanted to become a teacher of mathematics, but I had to face reality. I submitted my documents to Moscow University and went for the entrance interview 22.

They talked with me for over two hours. The temperature was 37 degrees, it was hot and I was wearing a woolen suit since this was the best outfit I had. I was almost dying of the heat. Then I got to know that I wasn't admitted. Everything in life became very gloomy.

Well, I pulled myself together and submitted my documents to the Mechanical Mathematic College. They rejected me. In the Bauman Higher Technical College they told me that admission was completed, although entrance exams hadn't started yet. They said there was only the Coal Mine Faculty left and I said I didn't mind studying at this faculty. They looked at me in amazement. I put them in a difficult position.

As a result, they rejected me there as well. My friend who was aware of my problems advised me to go to the Irrigation and Drainage College - now it's called Water Engineering College. I went there with my mother. The document submittal deadline was three days later. I showed the admission commission my school certificate and my silver medal and they admitted me.

When I became a student I understood that there were specific young people studying in our college. It was shortly before Stalin approved the nature transformation plan in 1951. It included drainage of swamp areas and irrigation of arid regions. Our college increased admission and cancelled any admission quotas. Our students were Jewish graduates with gold medals that failed to enter any other Moscow college.

It was a golden admission of talented young people. Many years later my fellow student once replied to my question of what made him choose this college, 'I knew that this was the only college that I could enter. I am a Jew and my father had been arrested.'

Our student life was delightful regardless of the hard practical and topographical trainings. I didn't like field work and heat. I remember how hard it was in Novgorod region: swamps, mosquitoes, heavy rubber boots and heavy equipment. I was afraid of swamps. I even felt like quitting this college, but my mother forbade me to do this. I managed to stay to the end of that training.

Our second training in Latvia was much easier and nicer. It was like a resort there. We went to swim and lay in the sun. Our local managers sent us to do work that wasn't too hard. We also had nice practical training that was full of fun. It was difficult, but enjoyable. However tired we got we danced and had fun until 2 o'clock in the morning. It was fabulous.

All graduates became good specialists and always recalled their teachers with gratitude. We were so close that we still get together every five years. Our former co-students arrive from all over the country and from abroad when they can.

We went to parades on Soviet holidays. It wasn't openly mandatory, but the public was aware of attendance of parades. Besides, we were young and there was music, dances and songs. It was a lot of fun. There were foreign students among us. One of them was Romanian. He once said it was his third year in Moscow, but he hadn't seen Stalin once. I told him he should walk with me, because even if Stalin wasn't on the stand during a parade he sure would make an appearance when I was walking across the Red Square. And it did happen. Stalin presented himself when we came to the Red Square. I shall never forget how delighted this Romanian student was. He said, 'I will write home today. I've seen Stalin!' I wasn't as excited as he.

I remember the Doctors' Plot 23 well. My uncle Matvey Goldin, Aunt Frieda's husband, had a sister. Her husband, Frumkin, was a professor of medicine. He was a renowned urologist and worked in the Botkin hospital. He wasn't arrested only because he had an infarction and was having treatment at his hospital. When officers came for him, the doctor on duty told them that in his condition, Professor Frumkin wouldn't manage the journey.

A friend of mine studied at the Medical College. This friend was Russian and seemed to be anti-Semitic to an extent. We once discussed a recent arrest of great doctors. He said to me, 'You know, there are almost no lecturers left' - meaning that Jewish lecturers were the best and when there was none of them left the remaining lecturers couldn't compete with them in professional skills. We didn't discuss those subjects at home. My mother taught me to say nothing about politics much too well. There is another story that I remember.

My co-student brought an issue of the Pravda newspaper [lit. Truth, a popular daily newspaper with multimillion circulation, the central organ of the Communist Party] to college, where an article about 'murderers in white robes' was published. I read it and said, 'How horrible!' She looked at me as if I were an idiot and whispered, 'Do you believe it?' I was horrified to hear that Pravda was not trustworthy.

Then Stalin died in 1953. My grandmother didn't like him and she didn't make a secret of it. I cannot say that I liked him that much, but intense propaganda imposed love of him onto people. When Stalin died we had a meeting in our college. Many girls were crying, but I didn't feel like crying. I understood that this was an epoch-making event.

After classes we were planning to go to the Kolonnyi Hall where the casket with his body was. Nobody forced us to go there, but we walked to the place. We walked together trying to find the end of line to his casket, but then we lost each other in the crowd. All of a sudden there was a jam and I got scared. I got out of the crowd and returned home.

Aunt Frieda Goldina lived near the Kolonnyi Hall where the casket with Stalin was. She told me later that she said to herself, 'I shall not calm down until I see him in the casket.' She went there across backdoors and roofs until she got to an entrance where she was allowed to go in. Our family began to discuss political subjects a long time after Stalin died.

I finished college and was waiting for my [mandatory] job assignment 24. I wanted to work in Rosgiprovodkhoz: irrigation and drainage system design institute doing work in Russia. I had practical training in this institute. They offered me a job in its Minsk affiliate. I didn't want to lose my permission for a residence permit 25 in Moscow. Then I got another offer to go to Tuva expedition of Rosgiprovodkhoz to the town of Kyzyl [3720 km from Moscow]. It was just a business trip and I signed for this job assignment. My co-student went there with me. It was a long trip. We learned many new things that we didn't know living in Moscow.

Once on a train we met a German [colonist] 26 family, deported to Siberia by Stalin during World War II. Only in 1956, they were allowed to visit their ancestors' graves in Engels [880 km from Moscow]. They told us how they were suppressed for many years and I thought it was terrible that people weren't allowed to visit their ancestors' graves.

We did design work. The climate was severe. Winter lasted five months and temperatures dropped to minus 60 degrees ?elsius. It was freezing outside. I was the only one in the town who didn't wear woolen boots. It was a strange climate. You go outside and find yourself in a thick fog and you feel like you're walking in milk without seeing the road.

Cars drive with their lights and horns on. The town is surrounded by the Sayan Mountain range. I had never seen more beautiful nature before. It turned out that except me and my co-student, all other employees were either convicts or members of their family. They were people with interesting and complicated life stories though they were nice people.

A year later I was assigned to work in Moscow. I went to work in Rosgiprovodkhoz. I worked successfully there for one-and-a-half or two months when I was fired all of a sudden. The children of higher officials had graduated from colleges and needed jobs. Besides, my last name was added to the list of unreliable employees - Jews.

I was fired regardless of the mandatory three-year term of postgraduate assignment. I couldn't find a job for a long time. I went to many companies and they all refused to hire me. It was all because of my surname and Semitic appearance. A long while later I got a job at the Giprostesneft' Institute designing potable and industrial water supply for the oil industry.

I worked there for 33 years until I retired. I went on interesting business trips and had an interesting and multifarious job. I liked my work. From engineer I was promoted to project chief engineer. I was the leader of a group and worked independently, but I never went on trips abroad.

I lived in one room with my parents until 1964. I turned 30 and wanted to live separately. I got an opportunity to buy a one-bedroom cooperative apartment. In 1968, I finished a two-year course in English at the College of Foreign Languages. I wasn't a member of the Party. This fact and my Jewish identity didn't allow me to get a job anywhere abroad. The secretary of our party unit didn't approve a letter of recommendation for me for traveling abroad. He was an anti-Semite. Everybody at work knew I was a Jew. I didn't consider changing my surname. My father was a Jew and it would have hurt him if I had changed my name. Besides, I didn't want to deny my Jewish identity. My husband Yuzef Kirtzer was also a Jew.

My colleague introduced me to my future husband. He was her distant relative. She gave him my telephone number. He called me, we met and liked each other. He then proposed to me. We got married in 1965; there was no wedding party. We just went for a walk and when we were going past a registry office we dropped in and registered our marriage. We started our family life in my apartment.

My husband was born in Dnepropetrovsk [800 km from Moscow] in Ukraine. He finished lower secondary school and entered an art school. He was good at drawing. His family was of moderate wealth. They lived in a small two- bedroom apartment in the center of the city. My husband's father, Michael Kirtzer, worked in a cultural center. He was a cheerful and joyful man. He had a big sense of humor and everybody liked him. He was hardworking and reliable. His mother, Mariasa Kirtzer, sewed at home. She had a difficult and tragic life. At the beginning of the century she witnessed a Jewish pogrom in Ukraine 27.

A Ukrainian family gave shelter to her, but she could hear how people were killed behind the wall. It affected her psyche and never passed. They also had a younger daughter named Sonia. She was three years younger than my husband. She was good at music and had a good voice, but regretfully, her family couldn't afford to give her education and her gift had no further development. She took part in amateur concerts where she sang. Later, she worked as a medical statistics operator in a children's polyclinic.

When the Great Patriotic War began my husband was mobilized to the army. He was a 2nd-year student at that time. He went to a military infantry school in Vladikavkaz. Then he was commanding officer of an infantry platoon near Stalingrad and chief of battalion headquarters at the southwestern front.

He was severely wounded in his head near Dnepropetrovsk. He lost an eye and was taken to hospital. After he was released from hospital, he went to serve in a district military registry office in Novosibirsk [2,800 km from Moscow, in the north of Russia]. He was demobilized in January 1946.

At that time, his family was living in Moscow. His father received a room in a barrack and his family got together in his room. They didn't have much money, but they decided to support their son and help him get a higher education.

Yuzef graduated from the Leningrad Industrial-Art High School very successfully. After finishing his college he did contractual jobs as it was difficult to find a permanent job. Then he went to work as a teacher of an art subject in the Theatrical Art School. He worked in this school until he retired in 1990.

Then he worked at the department of art of the Moscow Pedagogical College. At that time his textbook in drawing for secondary and special educational institutions was published. It's still very popular. Besides, he did creative work for students' performances. He was a talented and extraordinary man and he had such a difficult life. He lost his eye, but he got education and became a specialist. It required courage and strong will. He was very sociable and had many friends.

Before we got married he came to visit my family, but he didn't invite me to his home. He was ashamed of his poor household. After we got married he liked to have guests. We had an open house and there were always guests. My co-students came and he invited artists and students. We had guests on holidays and particularly many guests on Victory Day 28. We always celebrated holidays, but Victory Day was a holy day.

My husband participated in the veterans' movement. They had meetings on 9th May, Victory Day. I went to these meetings with him. I still attend these meetings, though many veterans and my husband are gone. The children of the veterans and I go to the meetings.

My husband's attitude to Jewish subjects was one of love and great interest. He was interested in the Jewish culture and history, but he wasn't religious and we didn't observe Jewish traditions at home. He couldn't stand anti-Semites and could even give a physical response to their demonstrations. But still, he was a man of the Russian culture.

Many of his relatives moved to Israel. We corresponded with them. He never considered emigration as he valued his profession and his place in this profession. Once we talked about departure. My cousin brother, Yuri Goldin, emigrated to America in the 1970s and spoke to us about moving there with him. My husband said he would have no objections if I decided to go there, but that he would stay.

Our son was born on 8th March 1966. Of course, it was a big joy. My husband was delighted: A son! We named him Michael after his grandfather, my husband's father, who didn't live to the day. My mother helped me a lot. She came to stay with my son every day when I went to work. He was raised at home in his first years of life and then he went to a kindergarten.

In 1968 we moved to another apartment. We exchanged my husband's and my apartment for a two-bedroom apartment near my parents' apartment, and my mother could come to stay with our son. My son was a terrible pupil at school. He didn't like school and received only '3' marks.

He left school after finishing the eighth grade. He entered a medical school. I remember all my suffering at parents' meetings at school where they always reprimanded my son for poor results, and I told my husband that it was his turn to attend parents' meetings at the medical school since I had fulfilled my duty at school meetings. It happened so that he couldn't make it for a meeting when our son was a 2nd-year student and I had to go. I was shocked when my son's teacher spoke praises of my son.

She said he had logical thinking, medical biological thinking and he had talents and that he would make it to medical college. My son was a devoted student. When they had practical training, working in an ambulance, all other students finished at 6pm and I called the ambulance at 2 in the morning and they told me that my son went on calls. He was ready to work there round the clock.

After graduating from this school he went to work at the ambulance. Then he went to serve in the army. He served in a construction battalion. It was difficult there. They did hard work and didn't get sufficient food. As a result, my son got into hospital. I went there to talk to the doctor, and he told me that he was surprised that my son was in the army at all.

In his military identity card it was written that he was only fit for military service during wartime. We involved my husband's acquaintances and managed to arrange for my son's transfer to a different unit. He served in a medical unit there and had an opportunity to learn.

After he returned from the army he resumed his work at the ambulance. My son is a very active person. He went to where emergencies happened: earthquakes in Georgia, Iran, and to the locations where blood-shedding conflicts occurred. There was an initiative group formed in the government of Russia and he had a doctor's position there.

In 1993, my son married a Russian girl. His wife, Anastasia Levashova, graduated from two colleges: the Mining College, where she got the profession of systems analyst, and Law College. She works for a private company. They have two daughters: Anastasia, born in 1999, and Evdokia, born in 2001. They live nearby. My son finished evening classes of the medical college in 1995. He is a children's doctor. Then he finished residency, and now he works at the Kommersant commercial house as a family doctor.

We didn't raise our son in the spirit of Jewish traditions as we didn't observe any. My son became interested in the history of the Jewish people in his teens. He had many Jewish friends at school. They went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays. Periodically, he talked of moving to Israel or America, but then he thought otherwise when in the 1990s perestroika 29 began and he decided that life would be interesting here. My son identifies himself as a Jew, though he doesn't observe traditions or holidays.

My father worked a lot in various boiler inspection companies. He dealt in fuel saving issues and frequently went on business trips. He was a strong, healthy man. Once in 1976, he felt ill and was taken to hospital. The doctor said that his condition was too severe.

In 1974, my father's brother Michael died. He was three years older than my father. My father said then that he would die three years later. It did happen. In 1977 he died at home of an infarction. He had turned 71. My father told us to cremate him when he died. He was big and heavy and it would be hard to carry the casket. He always cared about us and tried to save us from troubles.

His sister and her husband and our relatives came to the funeral. We buried him in Kalitnikovskoye cemetery where my mother's relatives were buried. It was a town cemetery, and we didn't observe any Jewish customs at the funeral. My mother was old and had hearing problems, but it took some time before she agreed to move in with us.

In 1978, we exchanged our two apartments for this one. She died of an infarction in 1984. My son was working in the ambulance. He made artificial respiration, but it didn't work. We buried her in Kalitnikovskoye cemetery near my father's grave.

I retired in 1992. I always wanted to be a teacher. I decided to implement this after I retired and went to work as a teacher of geography at a school. I received a very low salary since I didn't have previous experience, but I liked this job. I had training and studied at the Teachers' Advanced Training College.

I worked at school from 1993 till 1999. After six years of work I understood that it was good that I hadn't become a teacher. There are many negative things in our educational system. There is a lot of tension at school, suppression of free development of personality - I didn't like it. I also taught the history and geography of Moscow. I like Moscow very much. I studied its history. It is also the history of my family.

On Saturdays I went on city tours with the schoolchildren and their parents. I remember one episode. I showed my pupils a school in the center of Moscow. There is a monument for the boys who perished during World War II in front of this school.

My pupils were surprised to see so many Jewish names engraved on the monument. They asked, 'Were Jews at the front as well?' - There were rumors spread in Moscow in the first years after the war that there were no Jews at the front. I believe they were spread by relevant authorities. I think that one of the biggest accomplishments of my pedagogical activities was the extraction of anti-Semitic ideas from my pupils' heads.

Our family was very enthusiastic about perestroika that began when Gorbachev 30 came to power. His personality inspired hope. He had a university degree and was a relatively young man. In 1986, my father's sister Frieda told me that she became weak in her knees after she heard on the radio that it was allowed to meet with relatives from abroad.

Her only son Yuli had emigrated to America in 1978. A year later she visited her son. What impressed me at the beginning of perestroika was that we could watch the films that we could never believe we would ever be allowed to see.

The first shock for me was the film by Abuladze titled Repentance [film by renowned Soviet producer Tenghiz Abuladze (1924-1994); the first film in cinematography that denounced the cult of Stalin.] We often went to unforgettable meetings in the House of Actors. There was an interesting meeting with a writer whose last name was Klimov.

He was arrested before the war and rehabilitated right after Stalin died. He said, 'I get an impression that the same people arrested, interrogated, put to court and rehabilitated us.'

My husband's Jewish friends Ilia Lempert and David Silis, talented sculptors, opened their personal exhibition in Moscow for the first time. At the opening ceremony, a wonderful children's book writer, Yuriy Koval, said, 'Would it ever have occurred to us that they would allow the display of works rejected by the party press?'

Broadcasting of meetings of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR made a great impression on us. We had never seen anything like that. Every word of Academician Sakharov 31 inspired hopes and his sudden death was a terrible shock. The loss of this man who we believed was the conscience of the nation was irreplaceable.

There were other events, for example in the institute where I worked. We used to be given standard scopes of work and maximum three percent over this scope was allowed to be completed. Now we have no restrictions. We worked a lot hoping to receive more money for our work. However, nobody intended to pay us money.

The Prime Minister issued an order limiting the amount of salaries that enabled directors of enterprises to use this money to their discretion. As a result, our director became a co-founder of a bank. Then they began to sell the assets of our institute. They sold a logistics base of the research department. Our managers were building dachas and buying cars. They began to fire employees. I was one of the first to be forced to quit due to my independent thinking.

I also spent three days in August 1991 near the White House during the Putsch [see 1991 Moscow coup d'etat] 32. I missed work since I believed it to be my duty to protect young Russian democracy. The radio announced gratitude to all participants of this event and there was an order to pay for these three days as working days, but my management didn't approve of it.

By this time my husband got diabetes. He always took care of his health, but diabetes weakened him and his first infarction became the last one. This happened at home. He fell ill at night. We should have called our son, but my husband didn't allow me to. In the morning I called my son, he made a cardiogram that showed an infarction.

My son helped his father get into a good hospital. He was taken to reanimation. He died a day later. When he died, we began to think how we should bury him. He used to tell me that he wanted to be buried, but his father and mother were cremated and their cinerary urns were in the crematorium. I was thinking of burying him in Kalitnikovskoye cemetery near the graves of my parents. My husband's sister didn't agree to bury my husband in this Christian cemetery.

She recommended that we bury Yuzef near grandmother and Uncle Michael's graves in the Jewish section of Vostriakovskoye cemetery. We buried him there and his friends made a beautiful gravestone. No Jewish traditions were observed.

I am a pensioner now. The pension that I receive is about 70 USD. It would not be enough for a decent living. I have another source of income. There were two sisters living in the next-door apartment. They didn't have any close relatives. When they grew older and became ill I attended to them and they left their apartment to me. I lease it and have some additional money from the rent.

Not based on halakhah, but based on my senses, I identify myself as Jew, although my mother is Russian and I am a person of the Russian culture. Thus, my father, his mother, my grandmother, my husband and son, my dear ones are Jews and I am with them. Besides, due to my Jewish looks I had to face many bitter moments in my life. The system pushed me into the embrace of the Jewish people and I lived through humiliation and suppression with them.

• 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

Victor Feldman
Odessa
Ukraine
Interviewer: Nathalie Rezanova
Date of interview: April 2003

Victor Semyonovich Feldman lives in a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of an old building with a steep wooden staircase. He has plain furniture in his apartment. There is a big table covered with a colored plastic tablecloth. The interior of his apartment makes the impression of tidy poverty. His apartment is stuffed with books. One can tell that they were carefully selected. In some of them there are the autographs of the authors. Victor is a vivid gray-haired man with shrewd eyes. Although he is 87 he has some boyish attitudes. He has a puckish expression in his eyes and an ironic manner of speech. He has a lifetime hobby: reading. Victor is one of the most widely known bibliographers in Odessa. He has an amazing soberness of mind and personal charm.

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

My family background

On my father's side I'm an Odessite of the third generation. My great- grandfather's name is on the 1832 list of the blacksmith's guild of Odessa that I found in the state archives of Odessa region. My great-grandfather, Shymon Feldman, a citizen of Olev, was a blacksmith. The Feldmans came from the town of Olev, Volyn province. [Editor's note: Olev is a town in Ovruch district, Volyn province, according to the polls of 1897 there were 2,070 residents and 1,187 of them were Jews.]

I knew my grandfather Pavel Shymonovich Feldman. His Jewish name was Peisach. He was born in Odessa in the 1860s and was a blacksmith. He probably owned a forge. My grandfather was an atheist and hated the employees involved in a cult and attending the synagogue. He called them gots ganovim [God's thieves in Yiddish]. He wore common clothes: boots and a jacket, and in winter he wore a sheepskin jacket. He had a beard and moustache. I also remember my grandmother arguing with Grandfather Pavel in 1926 yelling at him, 'Are you a Jew, do you think? You are a katsap [derogatory term for 'a Russian' in Ukrainian], you eat salo!' and he replied, 'I'm a worker. I need to eat well. My eating a small piece of salo won't hurt God and if it does...' - further he went on to scold in dirty Russian. [Editor's note: salo is a type of salted or smoked bacon without meat', eaten with bread and very popular in Ukraine.]

My paternal grandmother was born in Odessa in the 1870s. I don't remember the exact date of her birth or her name - it's just some gap in my memory. My grandmother was very religious. She went to the synagogue in Treugolny Lane in the center of the town. I remember her doing her laundry in the yard, which was common for housewives in Odessa. She took a very close look at the foam - what if soap was made with pork fat? She often made gefilte fish. She wore common clothes suitable for her age. She didn't wear a kerchief. My grandparents died in the late 1920s and were buried in the Jewish cemetery. They had three sons: my father Semyon, Miron, Michael and a daughter, Polina.

I was quite confused about my father's sister: she was Polina for my grandmother while for everyone else she was Lidia. My grandmother told me that Polina married an icon painter and converted to Christianity. When she got the name of Lidia my grandmother couldn't stand it and only called her Polina. Jews converting to Christianity weren't rare in Odessa. When working at university I met Professor Shereshevski, a lawyer. His father was an expert in Jewish philosophy. When Shereshevski junior converted to Christianity before the Great October Socialist Revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 1 for the sake of his career, his father cursed his son in public at the synagogue and forbade him to attend his funeral.

It was different in our family. Aunt Lidia and her husband lived separately from my grandparents, but they got along well with my grandfather and grandmother. Lidia had no children. After the Revolution Lidia's husband, whose name I don't remember, couldn't earn his living by painting icons so he worked as a drawer in a construction company. Lidia visited her mother when she was ill and her husband also visited his in-laws every now and then. In the late 1920s they left for Berdiansk. After the Great Patriotic War 2 Uncle Michael visited them when he was on a business trip. They lived in poverty. He did what he could for them, supported them with some money. They both died in 1946.

My father's brother Miron was born in 1890. He finished a vocational school called Trud [Labor]. He became a cabinetmaker or carpenter. I have very vague memories of him. He was in the army during World War I and was awarded a St. George Cross 3 for bravery in a bayonet battle in the Brusilov 4 breakthrough. After the war Miron returned to Odessa.

When in the 1920s Torgsin stores 5 were open my grandmother exchanged all silver we had at home for food products. I remember I helped her to take flour home. She took my uncle's order there as well, since I remember that the receptionist asked her to scrub off the enamel from it as they only wanted silver. Uncle Miron got very angry when he heard about it. In 1923 my uncle and his brother Michael moved to Moscow. I don't know what he was doing there. Uncle Miron was a bachelor. Before my mother passed away we corresponded with him. Uncle Miron died in a hospital in Moscow in the 1960s.

My father's brother Michael was born in 1902. He finished a commercial school in Preobrazhenskaya Street. The school provided very good education to its students. They studied general subjects including Latin and Greek and two other foreign languages. My uncle spoke fluent French. Michael worked in a state bank. When he moved to Moscow in 1923 he began to work in the Moscow department of the state bank. He got married in 1949 and moved to Leningrad where his wife lived. She was Russian. They had no children. Michael died in Leningrad in the 1950s.

My father Semyon, the oldest of the three brothers, was born in Odessa in 1886. His Jewish name was Shymon. I still remember what he looked like. He was taller than the average height, of stout built and had fair eyes. I remember that he and I went to the beach several times. My mother told me that my father was a member of the Socialist Democratic Party. There was such a fraction in this party that wanted to remove the gap between Bolsheviks and Mensheviks for their reunification. I don't know where he studied, but he worked as an optician.

My maternal grandfather, Paltiy Ghendler, was born in Odessa in the 1850s. Grandfather Paltiy was a bindyuzhnik. [Odessa slang for 'heavy truck driver']. His horse was called a 'bindyug' [heavy draughthorse]. Grandfather also kept an inn in Peresyp 6 where people going to the market could stay overnight and leave their horses. My grandfather's family also lived there. My grandfather died before World War I. He was buried in accordance with the Jewish tradition in the Second Jewish cemetery. I was at this cemetery before the Great Patriotic War.

My maternal grandmother - I don't remember her name because for me she was just Granny - was born in Odessa in the 1870s. She was the daughter of a merchant who went bankrupt. Her two older sisters got married with a dowry while she didn't have any. She entered into a pre-arranged marriage with a bindyuzhnik, my grandfather. I believe she suffered from this all her life. Grandfather was 15-20 years older than she. However, she had a baby every year as was common in Jewish families.

There were two rooms in the house: my grandparents' room and a children's room where all the children slept on the floor. If one had measles all the others contracted it. The weaker ones died and the stronger ones survived. It was the process of natural selection. Three sons and three daughters reached adulthood: Abram, Bencion, Isaac, Bertha, Sarra and my mother Rachil. One of my grandmother's sisters was married to the owner of a store. She had no children and helped her sister's children to get education. My maternal grandmother died in 1932. She was buried following the Jewish requirements next to my grandfather's grave in the Second Jewish cemetery.

Abram Ghendler, my maternal uncle, was born in the 1880s. He worked in the Odessa affiliate of the Russian-Asian Bank. This bank was eliminated in 1919 and my uncle worked as an accountant in various offices. Uncle Abram got married in the 1910s. His wife Nadezhda was half-Polish and half-German and my uncle converted to Lutheranism. They had a son whose name was Pavel. Soon afterwards my uncle divorced his wife. Pavel was a professional military and served somewhere in the Far East. In 1937 Pavel's daughter was born and Uncle Abram went to help his daughter-in-law to raise the baby. During the Great Patriotic War Pavel was commanding officer of a communications company. He perished near Smolensk in 1943. Uncle Abram, his daughter-in-law and his granddaughter returned to Odessa in 1946. He died in Odessa in 1949. He was buried in the Second Jewish cemetery.

My mother's sister Sarra was born in 1883. She finished a grammar school. During the Great Patriotic War she and her husband evacuated to Novosibirsk where her husband died. She returned to Odessa and lived with us. She died in 1964.

All I know about my mother's sister Bertha is that she perished in the ghetto in 1942. Our neighbors told us that Romanians took her to the ghetto [see Romanian occupation of Odessa] 7. She was an old woman. All neighbors brought her hot meals when she was in the ghetto. She died there.

My mother's brother Isaac was born in the late 1880s. During the Civil War 8 Isaac was in the Red army. In the 1920s he began to work as a railroad conductor. He lived in a railway station and rarely visited us. Uncle Isaac perished on a train during an air raid in 1943.

Bencion, the youngest of the brothers, was born in 1891. He was a carpenter. Before the war he worked at a trade company. He was married, but they had no children. His wife perished in Odessa during the Great Patriotic War. He volunteered to the army and perished near Sevastopol in early 1942.

My mother, Rachil Ghendler-Feldman, was born in Odessa in 1887. She finished a grammar school and wanted to continue her education. One of her aunts agreed to sponsor her and pay 35 rubles per month. My mother went to Zurich, Switzerland, in 1905 where she studied at the Medical Faculty. She and her girlfriend rented an apartment. They ate students' food: cheese and chocolate. In Zurich my mother heard Lenin's speech in public and Plekhanov 9. She said Lenin didn't impress her: he looked like a zemstvo specialist in statistics and Plekhanov looked like a European professor. [Editor's note: zemstvo is a local self-government body, introduced after the 1864 reform in Russia, and consisted of elected representatives of all classes. It dealt mostly with local issues, had its own budgets, which consisted of the taxes collected from the local people only and was independent of the state budget.] My mother took no interest in politics and she thought that serious people didn't get involved in political matters. She finished two years [of her studies] in Switzerland and returned to Odessa where she met my father. I don't know where they met.

In 1907 my father was arrested for participation in an underground meeting of the Socialist Democratic Party and for armed resistance to the police in Odessa. He was put in a prison in Odessa and was exiled afterwards. My mother had to marry him on the day of his departure to be able to follow him. She submitted a request for permission to enter into a marriage in prison to the general Governor of Odessa. She obtained his permission and they invited a rabbi to prison to have a Jewish wedding. I don't know any details about the wedding. Later they also had a civil ceremony.

My father was exiled to the town of Yarensk, Griazovetski district in Vologda province. My mother followed him. She went to work as a doctor in the local hospital. Local residents left their town for St. Petersburg and Arkhangelsk where they could get a job and only returned home on holidays. On these days my mother had a lot of work to do: they drank a lot and got into hospital with all kinds of injuries. However, the most responsible process was childbirth, as my mother told me. She said that the assistant doctor she worked with could outclass all clinics when he was sober.

In 1913 Russia celebrated the 300th anniversary of the Romanov dynasty [the dynasty of Russian tsars]. On this occasion amnesty for criminal and political prisoners was granted. My father was released. My mother and he returned to Odessa. The department of the Ministry of Education in Odessa decided to allow women to enter university. Many years later, when I was working in the university, I bumped into an interesting document. It was a request of the Ministry addressed to Odessa University: 'What was the result of this experiment?' The response was, 'Women soften the students' spirits'.

My mother was admitted to the third year of studies. On 4th October 1915 she graduated from the Emperor's University in Novorossiysk [Odessa University as of 1919]. I have a copy of her diploma. An interesting fact is that there were two marks, 'satisfactory' and 'unsatisfactory', at her time. They had no internship. Upon graduation they received a doctor's diploma. Women who got higher education didn't change their last name and so my mother had a double name after she got married: Dr. Ghendler-Feldman. My mother went to work at a military hospital that the Jewish community opened during World War I. She received an apartment in the same house where the hospital was. This house belonged to the Jewish burial brotherhood [Chevra Kaddisha], one of the first public organizations in Odessa. They took the responsibility for a burial of the poor at no or minimal cost. They had a Jewish cemetery in their custody.

Growing up

I was born in Odessa on 29th October 1915. I was an only child. I was named Victor since my parents didn't want to give me a Jewish name. My mother finished a grammar school and knew Latin. Victor means winner in Latin.

My father took part in the Revolution of 1917; he was in Moscow with my mother then, but I know about it only in rough outlines. My father was acquainted with Vorovskiy 10, but I don't know any details. For some years my parents stayed in Moscow and I lived with my paternal grandmother in Novoselskaya Street during that time.

After they returned to Odessa in the 1920s, my father worked for Eurotat, a South Russian joint-stock company that supplied pharmaceuticals. My father polished glass and was a medical equipment mechanic. He died during a typhoid epidemic in Odessa in 1922. He was buried in the Second Jewish cemetery. He had a civil funeral. My mother was a doctor in Moldavanka 11 at the time. She blamed herself for his death. She believed she brought home this infection from her patients. My father and mother were very much in love and after his death there was a cult of his memory in our house. My mother used to say, 'Your father would have done it like that'. At her request an acquaintance of her painted my father's portrait, which was lost during the war along with the family archives, photographs and our belongings that my mother and my wife weren't able to take into evacuation with them.

Our neighbors were a peculiar bunch of people. In one way or another about two thirds of them were involved in the activities of the burial brotherhood; they either worked at the horse stables or maintained catafalques. There was a casket maker and a marble worker who carved inscriptions on marble stones. They were in Yiddish. Sometimes they were epitaphs: 'an honest and God fearing Jew died', etc. Other tenants in our house were bindyuzhniki that never drank vodka with employees of the burial brotherhood. Bindyuzhniki said that those earned their bread from other people's sorrow. There was a small prayer house near our house and one block away from the house there was a small synagogue. In the early 1930s they were destroyed during an anti-religious campaign of the Soviet power [during the so-called struggle against religion] 12.

We had a small apartment with three rooms. From the 1870s there was running water in many buildings in Odessa, but there were no bathrooms. Only richer families had bathrooms, but we were poor. Every Friday or Saturday we went to the sauna. There were many saunas in the town. We had old furniture in our apartment. My maternal grandfather lived with us and, besides, my mother supported my paternal grandmother who was living alone. When my mother was busy, she sent me to stay with my paternal grandmother. My mother had few clothes - a couple of long jackets and a dress - and still she kept herself very clean. When she could afford it she hired a teacher to teach me French and German. It happened periodically and I had classes for a few months in a row. My mother didn't have time or money to cook something special and we usually had borsch or cereals. She was convinced that a human being was an omnivorous animal and had to eat everything. My grandmother cooked traditional Jewish food every now and then.

My parents were atheists. My mother used to tell me, 'While a human being breathes, it is a person, but when it dies it becomes an element of anatomical dissection. Doesn't matter whether it's buried in accordance with any traditions or not. Worms eat everybody in the same way'. Religion, therefore, wasn't a matter of any significance to her. My mother and father's families spoke Russian. Only older generations, like my grandparents, spoke Yiddish. My mother believed Yiddish to be a German dialect. I remember a little anecdote from the time when a Jewish Industrial College was formed on the basis of the Labor vocational school in Odessa. Our neighbor Shora translated the work Resistance of Materials and other papers into Yiddish. My mother asked him once where he got Yiddish words from. She said, 'Even Sholem Aleichem 13 doesn't have these terms in his books'. [Editor's note: Victor's mother spoke about Yiddish, the language Sholem Aleichem wrote in.] And he replied, 'Well, there are many words in German'.

We didn't observe any Jewish holidays. We celebrated Soviet holidays. Nevertheless my favorite holiday was Easter: we had Easter bread and painted eggs. At Easter I visited my uncle Abram, whose wife Nadezhda was Catholic. She fried cabbage with pork. At Christian Easter I also visited my aunt Lidia. I celebrated the Jewish Easter with my paternal grandmother. She was religious and her sons, Miron and Michael, made all the necessary arrangements for a traditional Jewish celebration. There was always fish. My grandmother didn't have any special crockery, but she washed all her utensils in boiling water. One of my uncles led the seder. I was even reprimanded once for bringing a piece of bread into the house when everything with yeast was removed from the house. My grandmother went after me, I replied something rude and my uncle gave me a good spanking.

1922 was a difficult year. There was an organization called ARA 14. ARA sent a few trains loaded with food products to Odessa. The chairman of our housing committee took a group of children under 12 years old from our building to the ARA canteen. I remember the maize porridge and concentrated milk in boxes that we had there.

We had Ukrainian, German, Greek and Polish neighbors. We, children, played football and the 'Cossacks and bandits' game [a version of 'Cowboys and Indians']: those who play divide into two groups and the cossacks are seeking for bandits and 'kill' them or take them prisoners. Jews were craftsmen, bindyuzhniki and tradesmen in their majority. There were also tailors and watch repairmen. I never saw any of the Jews wearing payes. Even wearing a beard wasn't a tradition then. Younger men were expected to be well shaved. Many young people even shaved their heads following Kotovsky's 15 example. [Editor's note: It is known that Kotovsky used to shave his head.] I remember that there was a negative attitude toward Lithuanian Jews in Odessa: they were very religious and the others called them 'litvak', which means a cunning and roguish person. [Editor's note: Litvaks were more traditional Yiddish-speaking and religious Jews from Vilna and its surroundings. The interviewee describes it as a general negative term for a cunning and roguish person, perhaps it is due to the stereotypes among more assimilated Odessite Jews.] There were many nationalities in Odessa and there were many mixed marriages. Provincial Jews used to say that there was the 'fire of Hell burning many around Odessa'. [Editor's note: 'fire of Hell burning many around Odessa' is a quotation from the novel Fishka the Tailor by Mendele Moykher Sforim 16.] The process of assimilation began in Odessa at an early period.

We had many books at home. My mother liked Nekrasov 17. She knew many of his poems by heart. She also had books by Tolstoy, Pushkin 18, Lermontov 19, Korolenko 20 and Kuprin 21. In the 1920s a very interesting journal called Vsemirny Sledopyt [The World Pathfinder] was published in Moscow. It published works by Jack London, and a complete set of works of Herbert Wells. [H G. Wells, 1866-1946: English novelist and journalist, famous for his science-fiction works, including The Time Machine, with their prophetic depictions of the triumphs of technology as well as the horrors of 20th-century warfare.] Jack London was a favorite writer of my generation. [Jack London, real name: John Griffith London, 1876-1916: American writer whose work combined powerful realism and humanitarian sentiment.] Martin Eden, the main character of one of his novels, was an idol for my friends. We also had Ivanhoe by [Sir] Walter Scott, The Three Musketeers by [Alexandre] Dumas, With Fire and Sword by H. Sienkiewicz and other books. [Sienkiewicz Henryk, 1846-1916: Polish writer, who emerged as Poland's foremost novelist with the publication of With Fire and Sword; his most popular work is Quo Vadis, a historical novel about the first Christians in ancient Rome. He won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1905.]

I remember an old man whose last name was Tzyglis visiting us in 1929-1930. He may have been my mother's patient or a distant relative. My mother told me that when he was young he belonged to a group of young Jewish people who spoke for the establishment of a Jewish state. Since I was growing up in the yard and at school I didn't quite listen to talks at home. I had learnt the slogan of the time: 'Away, away with monarchs, rabbis and priests! We shall climb the heavens to do away with all Gods!'

I started school in 1921. There were a number of Jewish schools in Odessa. Representatives of the department of education came to see my mother trying to convince her to send me to a Jewish school, but she refused. I witnessed the Jewish school fading away in Odessa in the 1930s. Later, when I worked as a teacher of history in a special artillery school, the director of the only Jewish school left in town came to our school to complain that there weren't enough pupils to keep the school operating in the town although 30% of its population was Jewish.

There were pupils of various nationalities in my school, but there was no anti-Semitism. I was very fond of history, but we really had more, I'd say, of social science studies than history. Teaching of foreign languages was very poor. I knew German a little. In 1930, after finishing the 7th grade, I went to study at a Rabfak 22. I shared a room with a man who was married and had children. He was also a party member. Rabfak graduates were well-educated. They formed a new generation of Soviet intellectuals. After finishing the Rabfak school I entered a pedagogical college. There was a good collection of books by Russian and foreign authors in the college library. I became a Komsomol 23 member in college. I was your typical young Soviet man who believed in everything good. I doubted Marx' theory of being absolutely right for the first time when I was a student at the Faculty of History, but there were no disputes allowed on such subjects.

The famine 24 that seized Ukraine in 1933 was horrific. Villagers were escaping to towns. There were swollen people lying in the streets begging for a piece of bread. I had meals in our Rabfak canteen in the dairy building at the New Market. We had soybeans for the most part and were told that soybeans were a worthy replacement of any other food products. This food wasn't enough for us. The Komsomol committee of our Rabfak school organized a students' crew of loaders. We worked in three shifts at Odessa's Voroshylov 25 canned food factory. I even remember that the department of the factory I worked in made eggplant stew cans for export. They explained to us that the state needed hard currency to buy tractors for kolkhoz 26 purposes. We believed that it was justified and reasonable. Students received 400 grams of bread and loaders received 600- 800 grams per day. Besides, there was a canteen at the factory where we could have up to three bowls of borsch. I was young and it was no problem for me to work an eight-hour day loading 50-kilo boxes. In this way I managed through the year of 1933. There were food coupons introduced and each person could receive 500 grams of bread and some cereals. Fish and sunflower oil was sold at the market, but it was way too expensive.

At 5 o'clock in the morning we went fishing at the beach near Lanjeron [a town beach]. Within two to three hours we could catch up to two dozens of bullheads. We went to Grecheskaya Square where we exchange these bullheads for a piece of bread or cigarettes. There was sufficient food before the war and utility supplies were very inexpensive.

I liked walking on the beach, swimming and sailing. I learned to swim when I was in the 2nd grade. My friends and I went to Lanjeron or Austrian beach on the outer side of the pier. In Odessa we went to the Opera and Russian Drama Theater. The Jewish Theater was very popular in the 1930s. It was a Jewish cultural center. Its performances were always sold out. They were in Yiddish and it was mainly attended by those Jews whose mother tongue was Yiddish. I didn't go to the Jewish Theater. I only spoke Russian and wasn't interested in performances in Yiddish. My friends and I were cinema-goers. I can still remember popular [prewar] Soviet films such as Chapaev, A Start in Life and Goalkeeper. We got together for parties where we danced and sang. We didn't drink much, even though there were many wine cellars in Odessa when I was a student. Many young people smoked, but I managed to give up.

I met my first wife, Valentina Umanskaya, when I was a 1st-year student. She was a student of the Faculty of History, too. Her mother was a teacher. She died before we met. Her father, Samuel Umanski, was a blacksmith. He was a very old man by the time I met Valentina. She had two sisters and a brother. Her older sister worked at a garment factory. She perished in Odessa during World War II. Her other sister was a teacher. She was in evacuation during the war. Her son Senia finished communications college. In the 1970s they moved to the US where Senia worked as an electrician in the New York metro. Later he became an engineer. His wife Tatiana is Russian. We keep in touch. They often travel to Odessa and visit us. Zinaida died in the 1990s. I had very good relationships with my in-laws. Her family wasn't religious, but not as assimilated as my family. Her sisters spoke Yiddish at home.

We got married in April 1938. We only had a civil ceremony. After the wedding we lived with my mother. Our son Semyon, named after my father, was born in 1940. He was a healthy boy, quite like his grandfather.

In 1937 [during the Great Terror] 27 I was a college student. Quite a few of our lecturers disappeared. Our first lecturer in pedagogic was arrested, than another one and only the third one finished our course of lectures. Our brilliant teachers of history, Gordievski and Arnautov, were arrested. Between 1932-1937 many of my father's acquaintances were arrested as well. They were members of the RSDP before 1920 and took part in the Revolution. They often came to see us. They all disappeared in 1937. My mother didn't say a word regarding this subject. I knew a priest from Slobodka 28, a very educated man. He was executed, probably on false charges.

During the war

22nd June 1941 was going to be a leisurely day for me. I took my one-year- old son to Lanjeron in the morning. On our way back home I heard an announcement about the beginning of the war on the radio. We had only one feeling: we had to save our motherland! I went to the military mobilization office immediately. Since I was shortsighted their verdict was that I was only partially fit for military service. Men like me with all kinds of restrictions were taken to Kherson. From there we went to Dnepropetrovsk by boat. We stayed in a field camp on the bank of the Dnieper River.

I stayed two weeks maximum in the camp. One day a truck escorted by a frontier captain and a few soldiers delivered boxes of weapons to our camp. We were given rifles and uniforms and crossed the Dnieper. We walked for about ten hours before we stopped and entrenched ourselves. Some trucks delivered some loads to the location. The frontiers unloaded them and took some boxes to the bank of the Dnieper. We were supposed to escort them. At that moment a group of German motorcyclists showed up firing at us. We fired back and they retreated. In about an hour we were bombarded with mines and the captain ordered us to retreat to the Dnieper. He said, 'Well, guys, you've done your job and now go cross the river back to your place'. There was nothing to cross the river on, but some logs and planks. Those from Nikolaev, Kherson and Odessa could swim to cross the Dnieper while others were less fortunate, and, I believe, many of them perished then.

I managed to get to the opposite bank about three kilometers down the stream. We returned to our initial location and registered with the retreating military units. My military unit arrived in Kharkov where I had a medical check up. I and a few other men who had health problems were released from military service. By that time I had received a letter from uncle Abram. He told me where my mother, wife and son were.

My mother evacuated with the plant since she worked at the clinic and at the medical office of the plant. My wife and my one-year-old son were with her. They only had one day to get ready to evacuate. They could only take hand luggage with them. They just locked the apartment. They arrived at Makhachkala from where my mother was directed to move to Agdam [Azerbaijan, 1,400 km from Odessa]. I went to where they were by trains. I was registered at the local military registry office and employed as an attendant at the local hospital.

Agdam is located at the border between Nagorny Karabach and Azerbaijan. [Editor's note: Nagorny Karabach is an autonomous region in Azerbaijan, formed in 1923.] Its population consisted of Armenian, Azerbaijani and Russians who had come from Kuban escaping from collectivization 29. There were no national conflicts in the area. My mother was a doctor and doctors were always respected. My wife was an elementary school teacher. There were very hard living conditions. We received 400-500 grams of bread per day. Local women picked mulberries. They spread a bed sheet under a tree, shook a tree and picked berries that they boiled with water in huge bowls. This became sort of a jelly that they spread on bread and flat cookies. Corn, cereals, fruit, raisins and dried apricots were sold at the market. My mother and wife sold all their jewelry in Agdam: my mother's rings, chain and a gold watch - everything, but her wedding ring. My wife Valentina sold her mother's gift: an amber necklace.

I worked in hospital from morning till night. I was also the manager of the club in this hospital and I was the Information Bureau news reporter. Newspapers and local radio were the only sources of information. Patients got into our hospital after they were wounded for the second of third time. Doctors used naftalan for their treatment. Naftalan was oil with organic substances. It was used to treat injuries. It was used like curative mud to help the healing. The hospital smelled of oil and the bandages were of black color.

Post-war

We returned to Odessa in early 1945. We couldn't get our apartment back. All I had from our prewar belongings was my fork with an ivory handle. My mother got a small eight square meter room in Ekaterininskaya Street in the center of the town where we lived together. Semyon always slept in the same bed as his grandmother since there was no space to have another bed in the room. She recited poems of Nekrasov to him before his bedtime. My mother worked until almost the last day of her life. She died in Odessa in 1963.

Odessa changed a lot after the war. With the Romanians in power some private businesses were allowed and there were some private stores left in town after the war. Local girls were dressed much better than those who returned from evacuation. Later a group of girls, former veterans of the war, entered colleges: they were called 'green overcoats'. After the war Great Britain provided some assistance and girls who had been at the front wore English uniforms and green overcoats made of very soft wool. Girls used to alter them to make dresses. Young people felt fewer restrictions in their relationships with girls - this was an aftereffect of the war. Jewish people were entering into mixed marriages.

After the war I began to work at the scientific library of Odessa University. I thought it wasn't to be a permanent job, but I saw there books from the library of Count Vorontsov 30, I got very fond of it and stayed. [Editor's note: Books from the library of Vorontsov are kept in the scientific library of Odessa University.] This collection of books was collected by three generations of the family. It contains books in 27 languages. In the course of years I prepared a fundamental work about the library of Count Vorontsov that was published in the almanac of a bibliophile. I became a bibliographer and some people say I'm a good one. Many students and lecturers had my assistance when preparing their thesis. A few years ago I sat on a bench in Palais Royal [editor's note: this is how Odessites call the garden near the Odessa Opera House] when two gentlemen who were in high spirits approached me and one said, 'Victor Semyonovich, you are still here?!' I replied, 'Yes, that's me, but I don't remember you'. That man said, 'You can't remember me, I was finishing Law Department 37 years ago and you helped me with my thesis'.

Anti-Semitism was strong in 1949-1953. From the very beginning my friends and I understood that the Doctors' Plot 31 was made up. We understood that Stalin was deliberately looking for scapegoats. The situation in the country was very hard and he was looking for someone to blame. My mother wasn't afraid of working as a doctor. She didn't make any comments in this regard, either. This process didn't have any impact on me. I was far from politics and wasn't a member of the Party. Hundreds of people visited me with their questions. I slept about four hours a night since I always came home with a pile of books to study. I was all involved in work.

On the day of Stalin's death we heard an official announcement on the radio. People were silent. Then we were on guard in front of his bust wearing our mourning armbands. Some people cried. Some were skeptical about Stalin. One of my acquaintances said, 'Victor, this man with moustache joined a better world'. We took turns to stand on guard by his bust for three days. We didn't talk. We could still remember 1937.

My first wife died in 1957; she was buried in the international cemetery. After she died her sister Zinaida helped me a lot. She also had a son who was the same age as my Semyon. Semyon often stayed with them. I had a low salary, but it was enough to buy food. It was more difficult with clothes and shoes, but I could fix shoes. Sometimes we wore shoes for a long time. My son cared a lot about the memory of his mother. He was rather unhappy when I had an affair with a woman whom he didn't like at all. However, he never spoke his mind, just avoided her. He took away all his mother's photographs from my home then.

I was determined about my attitude toward Khrushchev's 32 'thaw': I believed that those people who came to power were able to improve the people's situation. [Editor's note: Victor means the softening of the Soviet regime.] In the 1950s I had a very negative attitude towards the human resources policy of the Soviet power. Therefore, I was rather positive about the 'thaw' period and was convinced that everything was going to be fine from then on. The only thing I didn't like was the too active position of Khrushchev. He destroyed everything he came to doing. I believe the history of development of virgin soils to have been a criminal act.

The 1960s were the years of certain prosperity. Our salaries quite satisfied our needs. We got an opportunity to buy clothes and household goods. Men of my surrounding dreamed of a mackintosh and felt hat. I had my dream come true: my wife's brother made me a coat. I wasn't a dandy, but I had some ambitions.

My son Semyon entered the Faculty of Chemistry of Odessa University in 1959. He married Irina Konstantinova in 1962, when he was a 4th-year student. Her father was a military sailor and her family was much better off than we. My son faced anti-Semitism when two of his friends were admitted to postgraduate studies after finishing university while he wasn't for some farfetched reason. He had been told there were no more places. Upon graduation my son went to the army where he served two years. Then he was recruited again and promoted to the rank of first lieutenant. He lived with his wife in her mother's apartment in Vorontsovski Lane in the center of the town. Semyon went to work as an engineer at the laboratory of the university. His daughter Valentina was born in 1963.

I get along very well with my daughter-in-law. Things don't work very well with my granddaughter Valentina though. I don't quite understand her lifestyle, but it's her business. My granddaughter does very well and is an intelligent girl. She is an economist. What I don't like about her generation is that they don't read books. Her husband Vadim is Russian. My great-granddaughter Sasha is 14 years old.

I was quite indifferent to the Jewish emigration to Israel that started in the early 1970s. I didn't quite understand why they wanted to leave, but I understood that it was some new process. Besides, Jews began to leave this country after a certain pressure when many Jews were fired from their management positions and when a selection system was introduced in higher educational institutions.

I remarried in 1978. My second wife, Olga Notkina, also worked at the university library. I moved into her apartment in a basement. I gave my apartment in Ekaterininskaya Street to my son. Shortly afterwards we received an apartment from the district executive committee, and Olga gave her apartment in the basement to Odessa Art School. We made some improvements in our apartment.

In the middle of the 1980s we and other historians of the town organized two clubs in the Odessa House of Scientists: 'The Book' and 'Odessika'. We, scientists, writers, teachers, gather once a month, listen to reports and discuss important problems. My wife Olga and I work together. I had many historical publications in Odessa newspapers. In 1993 Odesskiy Vestnik [Odessa Courier], one of the biggest newspapers in Odessa, published an article about myself with the title 'Patriarch of the History of Our Region'. I view it as a high evaluation of my work.

I had very hard feelings about the collapse of the Soviet Union. It was like a return to the Middle Ages for me. I believe that those who were involved in this process were so crazy about getting to power that they failed to look at a map to find out what belonged to whom. Roads and economy were torn and broken foolishly and absurdly.

I heard about the Jewish Charity Organization Gmilus Hesed in 1993, a year after I retired. My wife and I were invited there to lecture on the history of Odessa. Like in any other charity fund there is a group of sincere and honest idealists eager to help people and a large group of people willing to profit from working there. There is a Front Brotherhood group there - it unites Jewish veterans of the Great Patriotic War. They are various people: from the directors of a plant to workers. They organize many lectures for older people. My wife Olga works at the library of Gmilus Hesed twice a week. Her salary is 130 hryvna. This amount and our pensions make our living. We spend a lot on medications. Recently Gmilus Hesed financed an eye surgery for me. This organization does a lot: it's a brilliant system providing assistance to Jews.

I'm an atheist. The Russian culture is so close to me that I think that I understand Chekhov 33 much better than Sholem Aleichem. As for Israel, I think this state was formed by people sitting at a desk. It's just a reaction to a wild wave of German anti-Semitism. Isn't it amazing that a group of intellectuals formed a new nation in Israel: Israelites. They are not Jews, they are Israelites - it means the citizens of the definite independent state. I don't think this state is going to last long: they are surrounded by a hostile multimillion Arabic world. Israel shall exist as long as it is advantageous for the USA. As soon as it turns otherwise - it will be smashed. Many people study Hebrew, religious Jewish traditions and Jewish mentality. It is a kind of reaction to the widely spread routinely anti-Semitism. I think that Russian, Georgian and Lithuanian Jews are different people actually, and only common religion unites them. As a historian I have no evidence that the Jewish population in Ukraine is related to residents of Palestine, but it is a disputable issue.

Glossary

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.

Mark Golub
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levistkaya
Date of Interview: June 2002

My family background
Growing up
The war begins
Post-war
Married life
Glossary

My family background

My father's father Haim Golub was born in Lenino, Western Belorussia, in 1865. His family was involved in transportation, farming and in the timber felling business. My grandfather had a big family. My grandfather was recruited into the army and served at the town of Ladyzhin, Podolsk province. After his service term was over he married Esther Gerbinskaya. They married in the early 1890s. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and all the other rituals.

My grandfather owned a timber storage facility. I don't know how and when he purchased it, but he did well. He had the reputation of being a wealthy man in his town. He purchased timber and planks to sell to the villagers. It is my understanding that my grandfather was a timber specialist, but he was a poor businessman. I guess this was the role that my grandmother played, and later on my father took to it. Shortly before the revolution of 1917 my grandfather managed to win the wood cutting bid near Elsk in the vicinity of Gomel in Southern Belorussia. Jews were forbidden to participate in such bids, and a shtrohmann [a proxy] acted on behalf of my grandfather. My father went to Elsk to make all the necessary arrangements for wood cutting and sawing.

There were Jewish pogroms during the revolution and the Civil War [1918- 1921] in the town of Ladyzhin as well as in other Jewish towns. I don't know any details - my parents never told me about the pogroms. I only know that nobody in our family suffered from them.

My grandfather's relatives, except for his younger brother Yankel, lived in Poland, and there was no contact with them. Yankel, who was 15 years younger than my grandfather, emigrated to America in the 1900s. There he worked as a tailor and had his own business, but he went bankrupt. By the way, none of the Golubs was ever good at business, except my father. While Yankel was still doing well he came to Lenino in the 1920s and took to America all the relatives willing to join him. In the 1960s he came on a tour to Kiev. I spent a lot of time with him then. He told me a lot of interesting things about his life. He lived in New York alone. His wife either died or he divorced her, and he didn't have any children. His nephews visited him. He knew English well, socialized with his neighbors, read books and basically had a good time. He had a garden and a car. I don't remember when he died.

My father's mother, born in 1874, came from Podolia. I don't know anything about her parents. After my grandparents married, my grandmother stayed at home to raise the children. She was a housewife. My grandmother had a strong character and she kept house. My father told me that she was involved in charitable activities.

My grandparents spoke Yiddish between themselves and with the children. They were also fluent in Russian and could read and write in Russian as well, and also in Yiddish. My grandfather and grandmother were truly religious people. They had their own seats at the synagogue. They observed Jewish traditions and followed the laws of kashrut. They always celebrated Jewish holidays and the Sabbath, when grandmother lit candles, and grandfather read prayers, and afterwards, the whole family ate at the festive table. My grandmother cooked the most delicious traditional food I had ever tasted. At Pesach she made the most delicious sponge cakes from matzah flour, strudels with jam, raisins and nuts, gefilte fish, chicken broth with dumplings, and stuffed chicken necks. Even during the war when special festive dishes were out of the question, my grandmother and father's sister Riva used to clean the everyday dishes with sand and ashes as required by Jewish tradition at Pesach. My grandmother observed Jewish traditions after the war, too. She was the mistress of the house.

My grandmother had a younger brother and sister. Her sister, Genia Gerbinskaya, born in 1889, lived with her husband Yakov Schwartz in Kiev. They had a room in a communal apartment. Genia trained as a midwife, but she worked as a senior scrub nurse at the Kiev Military Hospital. Her husband was director of the pharmacy at this hospital. Before the revolution he owned a pharmacy in the town of Sobolevka not far from Ladyzhin. During the war we evacuated with them. Yakov Schwartz was responsible for the evacuation of the pharmacy. They evacuated to Tomsk. After the war they stayed there and worked at the military hospital. They were relatively wealthy. They both died in Tomsk before they turned 60. They had adopted a girl, Dora, from an orphanage in the 1930s.

I don't know when my grandmother's brother Hanaan was born. I didn't hear about him before the war, although his daughter Liza visited Kiev before the war. He was married, but I don't remember his wife's name. His daughter's married name was Meyersohn. They lived in Olgopol, in the Vinnitsa region, before the war. Hanaan was an accountant. After the war they lived in Odessa. In the late 1970s they moved to Israel and we didn't hear from them afterwards.

My grandparents had 4 children. The oldest, Yankel was born in 1893. He finished grammar school in Nikolaev. It was easier to enter this school there because it did not have a 5% quota 1 for Jewish applicants. After finishing grammar school he entered the Medical Faculty of Odessa University. He never graduated. I don't know why. He probably didn't care much about his studies. He returned to Ladyzhin and married the daughter of a rich merchant, a Jew who owned a store. They said that his wife Haika was a real beauty. She was a housewife and raised their daughter. During the time of the New Economic Policy [NEP] 2 he helped his father-in-law at the store and with purchases. He also established a Jewish operetta theater, which toured the neighboring villages. He played the parts of hero- lovers. In the middle or at the end of the 1920s, he moved to Kiev with his parents and got a job at the Vodotopstroy Company where my father was working. Yankel became a drilling foreman. When the war began he was in Schekino, in the Tula region. Later he went to Moscow and then to Aktyubinsk, Kazakhstan, where his family evacuated. He stayed there and worked as a locksmith. At the end of 1944 Yankel and his family returned to Kiev. They lived in the kitchen of a big communal apartment. They lived there for 30 years until they moved to Israel in the early 1970s. Yankel died in 1990 at the age of 97, being of clear mind and having an excellent memory. Although he was a worker, he was an intelligent man. He was a wonderful storyteller and always good company. After the war he went to Ladyzhin and wrote down the history of the extermination of the local Jews. Later he forwarded his notes to the Holocaust Institute in Jerusalem. Yankel's wife died in Israel before she turned 90. They strictly observed Jewish traditions in their family and followed the laws of kashrut. Yankel's daughter Liya Rubenstein, born in 1924, graduated from the Kiev Pedagogical Institute and worked as a tutor at a kindergarten. Her son Misha was born in the late 1940s. He lives in Israel; he is married and has two daughters. He works at a bank in the department providing services to foreign customers.

My father's younger brother Leonid was born in 1905. Before the revolution Leonid studied at cheder and at school. After the revolution he played in the orchestra of the military unit in Ladyzhin. When the time came for him to study at a higher educational institution Leonid couldn't go to study in Ukraine. He was a merchant's son and at that time the social status of parents was an important issue and the children of the proletariat had every priority to become students at higher educational institutions. He went to Nizhniy Tagil where a relative of Yankel's wife was living and enrolled in the Metallurgical College. He never graduated; the management learned from what kind of family he came and expelled him. He returned to Kiev and went to work at the aviation plant. He is mentioned in the plant's history book as one of the team that made a speedboat.

In the 1940s Leonid graduated from Kiev Aviation Institute and got a job there. Before the war he was head of workshops at the Institute. During the war he kept his job at the Institute and was in Aktyubinsk, in the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, and Charjou, Turkmenian Soviet Socialist Republic. During the battle of Stalingrad he was working on the repair of planes near Stalingrad. He was awarded the Defense of Stalingrad Medal. After he returned to Kiev he continued his work at the plant, received a license for flight engineering and was flying for some time while keeping his job at the Institute. In the late 1940s or early 1950s he completed an advanced course for engineers and received a diploma. He worked at the Institute until the last day of his life. In his last years he lectured on aircraft and engine maintenance. In the 1950s Leonid married Tsylia Shechtman, a Jew, born in 1915. She came from Tsybulevo where her father was a rabbi who, after the war was appointed rabbi in Kiev and worked there until he died in the 1960s. However, Leonid and Tsylia were atheists and didn't observe any Jewish traditions. Tsylia had many brothers whom I didn't know. Her sister Nyusia lived in Moscow. Tsylia was a widow when Leonid met her. Her husband had perished during the war and she had a son named Devik, born in 1936. She worked at the bank and was head of the operations department when they met. In the late 1940s all Jews were fired from banks and Tsylia found a job as a receptionist at a shoe repair shop. Leonid had a myocardial infarction in the 1950s that resulted in heart problems. He died in 1978 and was buried at Berkovtsy cemetery.

My father's younger sister Riva was born in 1907. After graduating from secondary school she enrolled in the Financial Faculty of the Kiev Institute of Public Economy and graduated in 1930. She met Pavlo Petrenko, a Ukrainian, at the Institute. He was a student in the Sugar Industry Faculty. They soon married. Upon graduation Pavel got a job at the sugar factory and Riva at the bank in Kharkov. My grandmother and grandfather didn't hear about their marriage. I don't think they would have accepted Riva's marriage to a man of a different faith. Other relatives knew about their mixed marriage and accepted it. The times and attitudes had changed. As a party member, Pavel was sent to study at the Academy. He got a job assignment with the Pacific Navy. Riva followed him. She got a job at the bank and made a career there. She became Director of Fish Industry Crediting. After my father was arrested, Riva decided to visit him at the prison camp. It was a heroic decision that presented a risk to her career and even to her and Pavel's lives. However, everything turned out for the best. While she was away the bank management was arrested. Riva would have been arrested, too, if she hadn't stayed away from Vladivostok. She didn't return to Vladivostok. Pavel was transferred to the Chemical Weapons Department of the Naval Ministry in Moscow. He received a room at a communal apartment. Riva got a job at the bank. From the beginning of the war Pavel served at the Baltic Navy and Riva evacuated to Aktyubinsk in 1941. After the Aviation Institute evacuated to Charjou Riva got a job there as an accountant at the canteen. She returned to Moscow before the Institute was reevacuated. Pavel made a successful career and was promoted to rear admiral and head of the Navy Chemical Department. Riva died in 1997, a few years after Pavel. She was an imperious and capable woman. She was devoted to her family, helping and supporting her parents. In the last years of her parents' life she promised to visit them in Kiev each year and she kept her promise.

My father Grigory Golub was the middle son. He was born in Ladyzhin in 1895. My father read a lot when he was a child. He read with an oil lamp that affected his eyesight. He developed shortsightedness and wore glasses for the rest of his life. Father studied at cheder. He didn't get any special education. From an early age, my father helped my grandfather in his business. I know that he obtained all the necessary documents to move to Palestine in 1914, but he didn't leave because World War I began. During the war my father worked at a road construction site. He had a subcontract for road construction at the border with Romania. He hired workers and administered the work. My grandfather was also awarded a wood cutting contract in Belorussia and my father went there to make all the necessary arrangements.

In 1920 the Polish army occupied Ukraine and Belorussia, and the town of Elsk near Mozyr where my father was working was also under occupation. He moved to Lenino where grandfather's family was living. I don't know what my father was doing during this period. According to the peace agreement with Poland Lenino came under Polish rule and Ladyzhin remained in Russia. My father decided to return home and he had to cross the border in the vicinity of Slavuta illegally. In the mid-1920s he met Emmanuil Odelskiy, an engineer who owned a design office and designed sanitary engineering systems. My father learned this business from him and hired a crew to install these systems. The Vodotopstroy Company was established at this time, and my father became a supervisor in the sanitary engineering department. He did most of the work in Belorussia.

My mother Surah Golub [nee Lukashevskaya], was born in the town of Ladyzhin in 1905. At that time my mother's parents were renting an apartment from my father's parents. I don't remember my maternal grandfather Leib Lukashevskiy. He died in 1932. My grandfather was a cattle dealer. He was born somewhere near Uman in 1876, moved to Ladyzhin and then to Kiev. He was buried at an old Jewish cemetery in Kiev. After the cemetery was closed in the late 1950s my father moved my grandfather's ashes to the Berkovtsy cemetery. I don't know anything about my mother's life in Ladyzhin. She never told me anything and I never asked her any questions.

My grandmother Enia Lukashevskaya [nee Chernova], was born in Tsybulevo near Uman in 1880. Later she moved to Ladyzhin and then to Kiev. She didn't get any special education, but she liked reading in Yiddish and Russian. She read a lot. She probably never went to work. My grandmother was an excellent housewife and a great cook. She was an easy-going woman. She never argued with her neighbors or family. During the war she lived with her daughter Ruzia. After the war she moved in with us and stayed with us until the end of her life. She raised my younger brother and me. She died in 1960. She felt ill during the last years of her life, but she never complained. She was buried beside my grandfather at Berkovtsy cemetery.

My grandparents were religious. All of their children received both a secular and a religious education. My grandmother and grandfather attended the synagogue and observed all the Jewish traditions. They spoke Yiddish in the family. Even after the war grandma kept the traditions.

I don't know how many brothers my grandfather and grandmother had. I knew one of my grandmother's brothers, and I heard about another one. My grandmother's older brother Isaak died in the early 1930s. I knew his daughter Shulamit Pekker. She was the same age as my mother and they were friends since childhood. She didn't work outside home until her husband died in 1945. After he died Shulamit got a job as a cashier at the pharmacy where she worked until she died in the 1970s. They had 3 children: Georgiy, born in 1926, Inna, born in 1937, and Mara. They all live in Israel now.

My grandmother's younger brother David Chernov lived in Kiev. Before the war he worked as logistics specialist at Vodotopstroy. He lived with his family in a one-story house and they had many neighbors. During the war they were in Almalyk near Tashkent. After the war they returned to Kiev, but they didn't get back their apartment. My father helped David to get employment at the sauna and laundry company. He worked in the logistics department. He also received a room at the company. I don't remember when he died. David's wife Leya was a housewife. I don't remember when she died, either. David had 3 children. The oldest, Efim, born in 1915, was a doctor. She is a pensioner now. The second son finished school in 1941 and was recruited into the army. He served in the unit defending Kiev and was encircled. He returned to his old apartment in Kiev and his neighbors reported him to the Germans. We don't know whether he perished at Babi Yar 3, or in the camp for prisoners-of-war. David's daughter Dora worked as an accountant. She married and had a son named Misha. She divorced her husband soon after their son was born. Dora and her son moved to Israel in the 1980s.

My mother's older brother Nuhim was born in 1901. In the early 1920s he moved to Germany where he had something to do with journalism. He married an Englishwoman in Germany. She was named Klara and was a Jew. She worked as a typist in Berlin. Before she married she was living with her mother and sister who owned a haberdashery store. In the 1930s during the period of persecution of Jews, Klara's sister and her mother left Germany for England. Klara corresponded with them before the war. Klara's daughter Ella was born in Berlin. At the end of 1936 the three of them moved to Kiev (Nuhim kept his Soviet citizenship). He became a worker at the foundry in Vodotopstroy and worked there until the war began. They were renting a room in Podol 4. After they arrived in Kiev, Klara worked as a typist at the Academy of Sciences. She typed in German, English and French. They were atheists like the majority of people. At the beginning of the war Nuhim joined the Territorial Army. That's all the information we had about him. He either perished at the front or at Babi Yar. Klara and Ella evacuated to Bashkiria with the Academy of Sciences. Klara fell ill there and died in 1942. Ella was sent to a children's home that moved to Moscow and we lost track of her. After the war my mother and grandmother took every effort to find her. They found her in 1947 and she has lived with us ever since. Ella graduated from the Philology Department of Kiev University. She is a lecturer.

My mother's younger sister Ruzia was born in 1907. I don't know where she finished secondary school. In the mid-1930s she studied by correspondence at the Philology Department of Kharkov University and graduated from it. She became a Russian language and literature teacher. She married Alexandr Illin, a Russian, in the mid-1930s. Her parents didn't disapprove of their marriage. In the evacuation in Orsk, Ruzia was working as a locksmith at the military plant. After the war they moved to Moscow. She worked as an editor in the advertisement department. Ruzia had heart problems and she died in the mid-1960s. Her husband, engineer and lieutenant colonel Alexandr Illin, had died a few years before. They had two children. Their son Leonid, born in 1932, is an architect. He is married and has a daughter and a granddaughter. My aunt Riva looked after Ruzia's younger daughter Lidia, born in 1945, after her parents died. Lidia graduated from Moscow's Architectural Institute and moved to Israel in the early 1990s. She is married and has two children.

My mother's younger brother Efim emigrated to Argentina in the late 1920s after finishing school. He was a salesman in Buenos Aires. Some of grandmother's relatives lived there. My grandmother corresponded with Efim before the war. During the war they terminated their correspondence and failed to get in touch with one another after the war. My mother also had another brother named Motl. I only know that he drowned in the river in his infancy.

Both families were enthusiastic about the revolution, even though my grandfather Golub was a wealthy man and my mother's father Leib Lukashevskiy was rather well off. The Pale of Settlement was abolished immediately after the revolution and this gave people the hope that life would improve 5. The revolution was far away and life in Ladyzhin was quiet. My grandfather Golub still owned his storage facility. There were no arrests or expropriation of property in Ladyzhin. My grandfather was the owner of storage facilities until the end of the NEP in the early 1920s when the authorities took away his property. In 1924 my grandfather moved to Kiev and the family joined him in a short while.

My grandfather purchased a house in Bessarabka [downtown of Kiev]. He lived there with his son Yankel and Yasha's family. During the occupation this house was destroyed. Presently the Palace of Sports is located there. There were two parts in this house. There was a hallway with a big door to the kitchen which had a big stove in it. From the kitchen there was a door to my grandparents' bedroom and another door to Yankel's room. There was a big shed adjacent to this room. There was a kitchen garden in front of the house. My grandfather enjoyed working in the garden. My grandfather worked as a quality assurance specialist. He was responsible for the identification of defective beams, planks, etc. He worked there until the war began. He was almost 75.

My father's parents followed the laws of kashrut, always celebrated the Sabbath and Jewish holidays. Grandmother always lit candles on Friday nights. Sabbath was observed according to custom - grandmother made gefilte fish and chicken broth. Lunch was served at 1 o'clock when everyone gathered at the table. My grandfather said the prayer and then they all had dinner and rested until the end of the day. They didn't clean the table until late in the evening. On Saturdays we could not light fires. On Chanukkah candles were lit by our father. We had a beautiful chanukkiyah, grandmother's dowry. The poor who did not own a chanukkiyah would cut a hole in the center of a potato, fill it with oil and light a wick. These were not candleholders but small lanterns. On Chanukkah grandfather always gave me money. On Purim mother baked hamantashen, triangular tarts with poppy seeds and nuts. She also prepared - I cannot recall its Hebrew name - chicken broth with dumplings. Grandfather read the prayer.

My father knew my mother since her birth. My mother's parents were renting rooms from my father's parents, as I mentioned before. My father was 10 years older than my mother. After he turned 30, he decided it was time to get married. My father didn't go anywhere in search of a fiancée. He already had my mother in mind. She was a beautiful girl, they knew each other and they were good friends. My father came to Ladyzhin from Kiev and proposed to her. I don't know whether my mother was in love with him. She was 21 and realized that there were no prospects in Ladyzhin. She knew my father and he was a wealthy man. They married in Ladyzhin in 1926. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and a rabbi. The entire Jewish population of the town came to greet the bride and bridegroom. There were klezmer musicians, the guests feasted and danced, and had lots of fun. The wedding party lasted 3 days and then my father took his young wife to Kiev.

My father worked at Vodotopstroy after their wedding. My mother was a housewife. I was born in Kiev on 25th April 1928. I was given the name of Mordukh at birth. I have this name written in my documents. Our first apartment was near the Franko Theater. We had two rooms there. Three other neighbors lived in this communal apartment. One of our neighbors, a musician, played the violoncello with a jazz orchestra. This orchestra played at the Shantser Cinema in Kreschatik Street. [Kreschatik is the main street of Kiev.] Our neighbor's wife Vera and my mother were friends. Our second neighbor was Livshyts, a Jew. He was a popular tailor and worked at home. He had a wife and a daughter. I don't remember anything about the third neighbor.

In 1934-35 the capital of Ukraine moved from Kharkov to Kiev. The government and all its governmental institutions moved to Kiev. We received a room for a dwelling. There were 8 rooms in this apartment and 7 other families were our neighbors: they were the families of a dentist, a logistics specialist, a military man, a lawyer, an accountant, a chief accountant and the director of the plant. They were all Jews. There was also a huge kitchen, a hallway, two corridors, two toilets and a bathroom in this apartment. We got along well with our neighbors. It was a grand apartment for its time. We had a boiler facility in the yard that supported water heating. There was a beautiful stove in our room, but we didn't use it. We had a beautiful encrusted parquet floor. Mother cooked on the primus stove. There was running water, sewerage and even an intercom in the apartment. Pipes served as the intercom. They connected the entrance door with each apartment, and visitors could announce their arrival and the hosts would open the door for them. We also had an elevator in the building.

Growing up

Our parents spoke Russian with the children and switched to Yiddish when they wanted to keep the subject to themselves. I didn't learn to speak Yiddish - nobody taught me. My mother could write in Yiddish. Before the war we had a complete set of the published works of Sholem Aleichem 6 in Yiddish that my parents were reading.

I don't remember the famine of 1932-33 [the infamous famine in Ukraine] 7. My father was working in Belorussia at that time. There was no famine there. He came to Kiev once a month bringing some food. Besides, he was earning very well and my mother could afford to buy food at the highest price. So our family didn't starve.

I was supposed to go to school in 1935, but I wasn't admitted, because I hadn't yet reached the age of 8. The next year I was admitted to the 2nd grade of a Russian school. It was not far from our house. Before the war, there was a grammar school in this school. But there were too many schoolchildren and they had to study in 3 shifts. We had a good gym and a concert hall at school. It was a model school and all the children of the 'beau monde' studied there. In our school we had a teacher for each subject from the 3rd grade on, while in other schools there was one teacher per grade up to the fifth grade. I didn't do very well in school. I did better in language courses (Russian, Ukrainian and German) than in mathematics. After finishing the 4th grade we were transferred to another school - it still exists. There were many Jewish children in my class. The majority of the teachers were Jews, too. There was no anti-Semitism at that time. Of course, I knew that I was a Jew, but it never occurred to me that I might be different from the other pupils, or that this might be a cause for abuse. The word 'zhyd' [kike] was not in wide circulation back then. I became a Young Octobrist 8 at school and a pioneer when I was in the 4th grade. I wasn't actively involved in any activities, but I collected waste steel and waste paper with my classmates. Besides school, I attended the History Club at the Historical Museum and had a firm intention to become a historian in the future.

At school we attended parades on Soviet holidays. We also celebrated Soviet holidays at home - a holiday provided a good excuse to invite guests and have a party. We visited my grandparents (my father's parents) on all traditional Jewish holidays. The whole family gathered at their place. My grandmother cooked traditional food for every holiday. At Pesach we had chicken broth with dumplings made from matzah flour, chicken, gefilte fish, baked pudding from matzah and potatoes. There was always a lot of matzah in the house. My grandmother bought chickens and took them to the shochet in Bessarabka. She baked hamantashen for Purim. When I turned 5 my grandfather started taking me to the synagogue with him. It was called the Merchants' Synagogue. The people in the synagogue were all praying, but I didn't take much interest in what was going on.

We lived a wealthy life. We went to vacation resorts until 1935. In 1935 my father and Uncle Yankel received a big plot of land for a country house in Irpen, near Kiev. Before my father was arrested, he and my uncle managed to construct the foundation for a rather large apartment, but they only brought two smaller rooms to completion: one for us and another one for Uncle Yankel. The rest of the house was in the process of construction and was used as a shed. We went to rest in this country house every summer before the war.

My younger brother Lev was born on 23rd April 1937. Mother spent a lot of time taking care of him because he was very capricious and sickly. My grandmother Enia came to help my mother look after the baby. He wasn't circumcised, because at the time religious acts were persecuted by the authorities.

On 29th September 1937 my father was arrested. [Editor's note: This happened at the time of the so-called Great Terror.] 9 I remember the search that lasted a whole night. The policemen took father away in the morning. They also took my mother's younger brother's stamp album, books by Sholem Aleichem, and a book about the Belomorcanal. [This was one of the construction sites of the Stalinist epoch. Thousands of prisoners were involved in the construction of this canal.] They made a list of all the valuables to be confiscated, if required, and left it with my mother. I became the son of an 'enemy of the people'. I can't say that the attitude towards me changed - I wasn't the first or the last in my class to have his father arrested.

In prison my father was accused of espionage for Poland. During the investigation my father confessed to crossing the border, but rejected the charge of espionage. In his file there is a report of his co-prisoner stating that my father made counterrevolutionary statements in the cell, was negative about the term of 25 years of imprisonment that had been introduced before, and told stories from ancient Jewish history. This was made a basis for the additional accusations of counterrevolutionary propaganda in the cell, and of preaching Zionism. In the verdict issued by a special meeting of the NKVD 10 representatives, he was accused of counterrevolutionary activities and sentenced to 10 years imprisonment in a special prison camp. The verdict was issued on 2nd November 1937. One was not allowed to write letters to or visit the prisoners. One was only allowed to take parcels containing cigarettes and dried bread to the jail.

My father was sent to Ivdellag in the north of the Middle Ural. He became a head of the sanitary engineering department there. He was free to go to the neighboring village without any escort. My mother, Uncle Yankel and Aunt Riva visited him before the war. In February 1938 his management solicited for a 2-year reduction of his term in prison. My mother and father also sent requests to have his term reduced, but these were not successful. In 1944 there was an accidental explosion in the boiler facility of the camp. My father had nothing to do with it. It was the fault of the drunken operator, but my father was accused, and 5 years were added to his term of imprisonment. Later, my father managed to get released due to his poor health condition. He was allowed to live in Irpen - Kiev and other bigger cities were forbidden to ex-prisoners. The authorities decided on where the prisoners should reside after they were released from jail.

After my father was arrested my mother went to work as an accounting clerk at the distillery factory where she worked until the beginning of the war.

I was too small when Hitler came to power and don't remember anything about it. But when I was studying in school, I knew that fascism was the main enemy of the Soviet people. This was propagated in the mass media, in literature and at the cinema. I remember the film entitled If There is a War Tomorrow. My friends and I watched it several times and sang the song 'If there is a war tomorrow and we have to go, we need to get ready today'. This film was made in 1939 before the non-aggression pact with Germany was signed [The interviewee refers to the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.] 11. This was a very characteristic film of that time. It described a war with Germany that would be over within 3 days. That was what we were convinced of. And that was why first days of the real war came as such a shock. We were prepared for a prompt victory. We were sure that if an enemy attacked us we would win victory within 3 days. We had military training at school. We went to a park where we dug trenches; the boys were snipers and the girls were medical nurses. We were trained to use gas masks and to shoot. There was a very serious militarization campaign going on. The Soviet- Finnish war 12 disillusioned us to some extent. It showed that our army wasn't quite as powerful as we had imagined, and that the war might not be as victorious as we were convinced it would be. Considering all the circumstances, the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact was a surprise. It suddenly turned our enemies, the fascists, into friends and allies.

The war begins

I remember very well the first day of the war, 22nd June 1941 13. I had finished the 6th grade. It was Sunday and we were supposed to go to the country. At that time my father's sister Riva was staying at my grandmother's in Bessarabka in Kiev, and she was to join us for this trip. An alarm was given in the morning, but it didn't concern anybody. People thought it was part of the military training sessions that were conducted rather often. Riva was forced to hide in an entrance of a building on Kreschatik Street, Kiev's main street. She came to us around 10. We understood that the traffic wouldn't work until the alarm was over and that our trip was to be delayed. Then our neighbor told us that a woman in Kreschatik said that the aviation plant in Sviatoshyno was bombed. Then the planes came flying and guns shooting at them. People were used to it, because such trainings were quite often. Molotov 14 spoke at noon announcing the beginning of the war with Germany. The first thing I saw when I went onto the balcony were lines of people at the stores buying up everything they could.

The distillery where my mother was working was not evacuating, and it was difficult to go on one's own because of the panic and the crowds of people at the stations. Therefore, it was decided that my mother, Riva, Lev and I would go to Kharkov with the employees of Kiev's Military Hospital as my grandmother's sister Genia and her husband Yakov Schwartz' relatives. We went by boat at the beginning of July. My mother and Riva decided that we would get off in Kremenchug, a place not too far from Kharkov. I remember this trip. We had a lot of luggage. We reached Kobeliaki Station by train and took another train to Poltava. It was a real gypsy camp near the Poltava Station. There were thousands of evacuated people. It was next to impossible to get on the train. At night we were in a bombing, but we escaped all right. Riva found a car and arranged for the driver to take us to Kharkov. Riva left for Moscow from Kharkov. We went to my mother's sister Ruzia. In her two-room apartment there was Ruzia, her husband, their son, my grandmother, my mother, my brother and I, the mother of Ruzia's husband, his sister and her son, his brother's wife and their two children. There were 13 of us in all.

We stayed there until the middle of September when the evacuation from Kharkov began. We were thinking again about how to leave. Ruzia's husband Alexandr was working at a design institute and was supposed to leave for Stalinsk in the Kemerovo region or to Orsk, in the Chkalov region where they had their offices. He was only allowed to take my grandmother Enia and my brother Lev with them. My mother and I left with the Kiev Military Hospital, with which we were listed as members of Yakov Schwartz' family. Our trip across the country lasted almost a month, until we reached Tomsk. We found an apartment in Tomsk and my mother started looking for information about Ruzia's family. We found out that they were in Orsk. At the beginning of November Yakov bought us tickets to Orsk and my mother and I went on this trip. We heard about Babi Yar for the first time on this train. There was an article in the newspapers stating that thousands of Jews had been shot in Kiev. We moved into the room where Ruzia was living with her family in Orsk. There were 7 people in this 15 square-meter room that they rented on the outskirts of Orsk. After a short time Alexandr received an apartment in Orsk. They moved out, leaving my mother, my grandmother, Lev and me in this room.

The center of Orsk was located near a mountain with ruins of an ancient fortress. The town was situated on the left bank of the Ural River. A flood was expected in the autumn of 1942, but our landlord tried to convince us that we were at no risk in this house. But we did have concerns and moved to Ruzia's apartment. In the middle of April, downstream from the place where the Or river flows into the Ural an ice blockage resulted in the biggest flood people could remember. The whole town except for the part near the mountain was flooded. There were victims but nobody mentioned any numbers. Up to 50 people came to Ruzia's 3-room apartment. After the flood we stayed in this apartment. We could hardly make ends meet. The salary was too small to buy anything. We exchanged clothes for food. I worked a week at the collective farm picking potatoes. Every 10th bucket was ours and I earned potatoes for the winter. At the beginning of 1943 Alexandr was transferred to another job and Enia left with him.

I finished the 7th grade of school in Orsk. There were many evacuated children at school. There were many Jews among the schoolchildren and teachers. There were no expressions of anti-Semitism.

My father's parents, his brother Leonid and sister Riva were in evacuation in Charjou, Turkmenistan. When the war began my grandfather didn't want to be evacuated. He said that he had known Germans in 1918 and there was no reason to fear them. But the family forced him to leave. They evacuated with the Kiev Aviation Institute. They lived in a small room on the grounds of the Institute. My mother wrote to Riva and we decided that we would leave Orsk for Charjou to join them. We arrived at Charjou at the end of May or beginning of June 1943. My grandfather worked in his kitchen garden, but he wasn't a big success. My mother worked as a waitress at the canteen for cadets and Lev went to kindergarten. I studied with the 9th grade class at school.

In May 1944 we returned to Kiev by freight train. In Kiev we got a temporary dwelling at the hostel of the Institute. My father had been released from the camp by then and he found us on the following day after we arrived in Kiev. After a few days he got a job in the Sanitary Engineering Department at Gorkommunstroy. He worked there until he retired. My mother was an accountant at the Aviation Institute until she retired in 1960. My father bought an apartment in a one-story building across the street from the Aviation Institute where Leonid and my mother were working. There was one room and a kitchen in this apartment. My father refurbished this apartment, turning the kitchen into a room. My grandmother, grandfather and Leonid moved into this room, and my father, my mother, Lev and I lived in the other room. My father installed water piping and a gas stove in the hallway between the two rooms. There was a small plot of land near the house and my grandfather turned it into a kitchen garden. He was 80 years old, but he went to work as a janitor in Sviatoshyno. After a few days he got into a near-miss car accident and his sons forbade him to work, so he worked in the kitchen garden, read the Bible, prayed and helped my grandmother with the housework. My grandmother died in July 1953 and was buried in the Jewish section of Kurenyovka cemetery. In the early 1950s my grandfather got an endoblast and had to have his leg amputated. The surgery was not successful and he lived with anesthetics. He died in May 1954 and was buried in the same grave as my grandmother.

Post-war

Lev went to school. I also had to continue my studies. I didn't want to go to the 10th grade, because I was already 18 years old, older than any of my classmates would be. I entered a preparatory course at the Kiev Institute of Civil Engineers. The director of the Institute, Mikhail Khutorianskiy, was a Jew. The majority of the students and many of the lecturers at the Institute were Jews.

There were two events in 1948 that I remember well. The first was the establishment of Israel. Our family was very enthusiastic about it. We celebrated the Israeli Independence Day as a family holiday each year.

Another event was the campaign against cosmopolitans 15. We had meetings at the Institute which covered with mud the names of talented Jewish scientists. They fired a few of the lecturers. We also had a hard time. My father was accused of anti-Soviet activities and Zionist propaganda and he began to prepare for arrest. My parents burned their notebooks and letters. The situation was very tense. My father and mother were prepared for the worst. Fortunately, everything turned out all right.

I defended my diploma in 1949 and got an assignment as a foreman at the Santechmontazh Department in Minsk. I lived at the hostel. I worked in Minsk for a year and went to work in the Sanitary Engineering Department of the Ukrpromproject Design Company. I was an engineer and was promoted to senior engineer after a year. In June 1951 I went into the army. I served at the Aerodrome Construction Regiment in Nezhin, in the Chernigov region. I was an engineer. I served about half a year in Nezhin. Then our regiment and I moved to Chernigov. In the summer of 1953 I was transferred to Kiev. From there I was transferred to the Aerodrome Construction Regiment near Pevek village in Chukotka. I arrived there at the end of September. 1953 was the year of the Doctors' Plot 16 that I believed was a continuation of the campaign against cosmopolitans. The doctor in our unit was a Jew and the situation became very tense. I received a vacation and went to visit Aunt Riva in Leningrad. Riva's husband was demoted and transferred to Leningrad. I arrived in Leningrad on 2nd March. The following day the authorities announced Stalin's ill health and on 5th March 1953 he died. It was a time of mourning. All the theaters and museums were closed. Crowds of people tried to get to Moscow for his funeral. The trains to Moscow were overcrowded, there were people even on the roofs of the trains. For many people Stalin's death was like the end of the world. His death wasn't a tragedy for me. My parents called him 'shister' -- 'bungler' in Yiddish. I didn't have any illusions about him after 1937. We understood very well that he was aware of everything happening in the country. Of course, many people associated the victory over the fascists with the name of Stalin. They forgot about the beginning of the war and about the numerous senseless victims of the regime. I had a feeling of relief when Stalin died. In April there was a publication circulated concerning the rehabilitation of the Kremlin doctors, and I thought the situation was going to improve. Then came the 20th Party Congress 17.

There was a big amnesty after Stalin's death. It didn't cover political prisoners, though. They released from the prisons a large number of criminals. Thousands of these people were at the airport in Pevek. [This is a big town in the north with a prison. There were hundreds of camps and jails in the North with millions of prisoners.] They were waiting at the airport for their turn to take a plane, playing cards and drinking. It was a dangerous situation for the people and the military. The criminals had clashes and hundreds of people were killed in a month's time. The criminals attacked people in the smaller villages. Only one soldier was murdered in our military unit, but in distant military units the number of victims was significant.

At the end of 1954 our unit was transferred to Cape Shmidt. In September 1956 my 3-year term of service in the North was over. I returned to Kiev and went to work at the Yuzhgiprostroy Institute. I got back my former position as senior engineer.

My brother Lev finished school in 1954 and entered the Construction Department of the Lvov Polytechnic Institute. He graduated from there in 1959. After graduation from the Institute my brother volunteered to go to the construction site of the Karaganda Metallurgical Plant in Kazakhstan. Soon my brother became start up activities supervisor at the Koksochimmontazh Enterprise. In 1962 he became a post-graduate student and got a job assignment at the Institute of Construction at the Estonian Academy of Sciences in Tallin. He became a Doctor of Economics and wrote many books. Recently he was awarded the European Union Order for works related to economics. My brother was married twice. Both of his wives were Russian. His first wife's name was Galina Ufimtseva. She was an engineer. Lev and Galina had two children, a son named Victor and a daughter, Irina. Victor and Irina graduated from the Tallin Polytechnic Institute. Lev's son, is an entrepreneur and lives in Tallin; his daughter Irina is an accountant. She lives in the USA with her husband. Galina died in 1995. My brother Lev's second wife Natalia is a lawyer and economist. She works at the same institute as my brother. My mother didn't have any objections to the marriage of Lev to a non-Jewish woman. My father was stricter in regard to Jewish traditions, but he had no objections either after he met Galina, Lev's future wife. Both of them liked Galina and their grandchildren.

Our house was removed under the general construction plan of Kiev. Leonid and his wife and we received two separate two-room apartments in Nivki, a distant neighborhood in Kiev. These were two neighboring apartments and they made another door connecting these two apartments. They were small apartments but we were very happy to have them. We often had guests. We celebrated Soviet and Jewish holidays. My mother became the guardian of Jewish traditions in our family after my grandmother died. She began to arrange family gatherings at Jewish holidays. Our whole family got together on Yom Kippur and Pesach. Aunt Riva came from Moscow every year to spend Pesach with us. Mother made traditional Pesach food. She took her chickens to the shochet at Podol. My father went to synagogue on all the holidays. There was one synagogue on Schekavitskaya Street in Kiev. I don't remember anybody praying at home. They all prayed at the synagogue. We bought a lot of matzah, although I took plain sandwiches with bread to work. Our family fasted on Yom Kippur. They didn't follow the laws of kashrut, although my father never ate pork, sausage or tinned meat. My mother was less strict about such things, and she loved to treat all of us except for my father, of course, with a pork chop or a ham.

Married life

I got married in 1962. My wife Maria Golub [nee Dinavetskaya], a Jew, was born in Uman in October 1927. Her father Naum Dinavestky was an accountant and her mother Anna Dinavestskaya was a housewife. They didn't celebrate any Jewish traditions and they spoke Russian in the family. They had two daughters: Maria, and Sophia, who was born in 1915. In 1934 the whole family moved to Kiev. Maria went to school and finished 6 grades before the war. We didn't have a wedding party. We had a civil ceremony and my mother cooked a festive dinner for all the members of our families. We lived in my wife's apartment with her sister (her parents had died by then). Later, after Maria's sister died, my mother moved in with us.

Maria's father worked as an accountant at the Voenstroy Military Construction Company. Sophia studied at the Odessa Communications Institute by correspondence and worked as a radio operator at the Giprosviaz Institute. Her husband, Pavel Svirgunenko, a Ukrainian, worked in the Radio Security Department of the NKVD. Their son was born before the war. At the beginning of the war the family evacuated to Kuibyshev. Sophia worked as an accountant at the post office and Naum worked as an accountant in a company. Sophia's son fell ill and died in the evacuation. In 1944 they returned to Kiev. Pavel was a higher official in the NKVD.

Maria took a preparatory course at the Institute of Civil Engineers and after finishing it became a student at the Institute. In 1949 she graduated from the Sanitary Engineering Faculty of the Engineering Construction Institute and received a job assignment at the construction site of the Volga-Don Channel. She had to work with prisoners there. Upon completion of the construction she was transferred to the construction site of the Stalingrad power plant. She was an engineer in the Operations Department of the Sanitary Engineering Headquarters. Some time in 1955 Sophia quit her job to look after her mother who got sick. Maria also managed to quit work. She returned to Kiev and was hired as an engineer in the Sanitary Engineering Department at the Giprograd Institute. She developed designs for apartment buildings. In 1963 Maria was transferred to the Regional Housing Design Institute where she worked until she retired in 1983. She worked as senior engineer, chief engineer and chief specialist at the Institute. In 1987 she had a myocardial infarction and had to go to the hospital every 4-5 months afterwards. Maria died in the hospital in July 2000.

I don't remember exactly when my father retired. He actually worked up until the end of his life. A year before he died he started having liver problems, and he died on 14th June 1983. My father was buried at Berkovtsy, in the Jewish section of the town cemetery. The Jewish cemetery was closed at that time.

My mother and father lived in Nivki. After my father died my mother remained alone there, though Leonid's wife Tsylia was living in the next- door apartment. In the late 1980s my mother had a stroke. It was difficult for her to be living alone, and we decided that she should move to our apartment. By that time Maria's sister Sophia had died and mother moved in with us. She died in 1995. We buried her beside my father. Jewish traditions left our house with her.

In the 1970s Jews began moving to Israel. We were very sympathetic to them. We were also thinking about emigration. My father was willing to go. But the circumstances were such that we couldn't leave. Maria's sister was very ill and we couldn't leave her alone.

I continued to work after I retired. My pension was too small, and I had to earn extra money. In the late 1980s the whole sanitary engineering group of which I was the manager moved to Israel. I got a job offer from the Yuzhgiprostroy where I worked at the beginning of my career. I accepted this offer and that's where I work now.

Over the past 10 years Jewish life in Ukraine has become more active. I can't say that I'm far removed from these activities, but I rarely get involved in them. I receive food from Hesed and I appreciate their efforts. My co-student and close friend Henry Filvarov is an activist in the Jewish movement. He keeps me posted on all Jewish events. I appreciate his care. Henry is vice-president of the Jewish Heritage Institute which is involved with the Jewish Heritage Restoration Program funded by Jerusalem. Filvarov is program manager. I prepare materials for this program and take an active part in its implementation. We issue descriptions of buildings that previously belonged to Jewish communities: synagogues, schools, hospitals, etc. We have issued descriptions of over 100 facilities. I'm very happy to participate in this noble mission.

Glossary