Travel

As for the beginnings of our family, I remember (from what my father told me) as far back as my paternal great grandfather Leopold Herman Edelmann. I need to emphasize here that all Edelmann folks have always tried to correspond to their surname that means a “noble man” in German. I mean, they were honest, decent, men of principle, - noble men, in short.

My great grandfather Leopold Herman Edelmann and my great grandmother Terez Edelmann, nee Peterfreind, lived in the small Slovak settlement of Hrachovo. [Editor’s note: During most of the life of the great grandparents todays Hrachovo, Rimaraho at the time was in Northern Hungary. Today the village is in Slovakia.] They were farmers with an average income. They had 12 children: six sons and six daughters. I knew few of them and know what my father told about the others. I don’t know the years of birth of my grandfather’s brothers and sisters. My great grandfather’s older children were his sons Max and Moric, born one after another. The next was my grandfather’s sister Pepka. My grandfather Adolf, born in 1868, was the fourth child in the family. Then cane my grandfather’s sister Regina, and the next were his sisters Betka and Relka. Then my grandfather’s brothers Sandor, Pal and Jozsef were born. The youngest were sisters Anna and Etelka. I know nothing about my grandfather’s childhood. My father told me about him that he was the smartest and the most talented of 12 children. He learned to read and showed interest in all kinds of studies. My grandfather didn’t have a higher education, but he read a lot and always wanted to learn more. He studied Talmud and Jewish history. He didn’t do anything else, but study. My great grandfather’s family spoke German. Yiddish was not spread in this part of Slovakia. Leopold Herman and Terez wanted their sons to get a profession or education and their daughters to marry decently. I don’t know how religious my great grandfather and my great grandmother were, but judging from my grandfather, religion played an important role in their family. When they grew up, the children moved to other towns across Slovakia. [Editor’s note: Slovakia became independent as late as 1991, Czechoslovakia was created after the fall of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy in 1918. The interviewee probably means the towns that became parts of Czechoslovakia later, after WWI and finally Slovakia in 1991.]

My great grandfather’s oldest sons Max and Moric Edelmann went to study in America in their teens at the age of 14 and 15 and stayed to live there. From what I know, my grandfather sent them to study in the USA after they finished the cheder. I don’t know for sure what Max and Moric studied in the USA, but I think they studied in secular educational institutions, rather than in a yeshiva. Max was married, but I don’t remember his wife’s name. They had no children. Moric married Anna, who had moved from Czechoslovakia, at the age of 20. They had three sons: Harry, Richard and Alfred. In 1933 Max and Moric came to visit their relatives. This is all I know about them. Most of the children settled down in Kosice in Czechoslovakia. Kosice had more Hungarian residents, and the majority of its population spoke Hungarian. My grandfather’s older sister Pepka was married to Singer, a Jewish man. I don’t know his surname. They had four children: daughters Aranka and Regina and sons Nandor and Jeno. Pepka and her husband died at an early age, and my grandfather took their children into his family. Relka, called Relli [editors’ note: The interviewee probably confused thease names since neither Relka nor Relli are possible names in Hungarian.] in the family, was married to Bergman. During WWI Bergman perished at the front. His widow was to raise their four children: Mór, Albert and Alexander and daughter Ilona. Relly was my grandfather’s favorite sister, and her nephews and nieces admired her beauty and intelligence. My grandfather took care of his sister and her children, and after his death his sins, including my father, supported their aunt and her children. Relly lived with her daughter Ilona, who dealt in embroidery making her living on it. Pal Edelmann owned an inn in the center of Kosice, There was a restaurant on the 21st floor of this inn. Pal wife’s name was Betti, nee Deutsch. They had two children: older son Emil and younger daughter Terez, born in 1918. During WWI Pal was severely wounded at the front. He died from in 1926 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kosice. His wife remarried. Her second husband loved his adoptive children and treated them like his own. My great grandfather’s son Jozsef also settled down in Kosice. He owned a grocery store. His wife’s name was Terez, nee Goldberger. They had five children: daughters Kato [Katalin], Magda, Judit, Eva and son Laszlo. Jozsef was also at the front during WWI and suffered from a splinter in his leg for the rest of his life. My grandfather’s daughter Etelka married Jakab Blumenfeld, a Jewish man from Kosice. They had four children: daughters Edit, Izabella and Marta and son Erno. My grandfather’s brother Sandor dealt in wholesale business and owned a wholesale store. Sandor was rather wealthy. He had two sons: son Ondrej (called Erno in Hungarian in the family) and daughter Magda, born in 1915. My grandfather’s other sisters lived with their families in Presov. Regina married Berger, a Jewish man. They had two children: son Simon and daughter Terez. Betka was married to Moric Gerstl. They had three children: daughter Ilona and sons Herman and Armin. Anna was married to Moric Hertz. They had eleven children: sons Aladar, Tibor, Marcel, Earnest, Pal and Alexander and daughters Sarolta, Ilona, Terez, Edit and Ester. This is all I know about the life of our relatives from Presov at that period.

My grandfather’s brothers and sisters were very close and kept in touch. Their children always visited their grandmother and grandfather in Hrachovo in summer. My father told me that the children always played in a big garden and three times a day their grandmother came onto the porch of the house shouting: ‘Kinder, essen!’ [German: children, to eat], and this whole bunch of them came for a meal. My grandmother cut freshly baked bread in big slices spreading butter on them and poured milk in mugs. My father liked these memories.

My grandfather Adolf Edelmann also moved to Kosice. He married Amalia Polster from Kosice. She was born in the early 1870s. My grandfather and grandmother rented a small two-bedroom apartment, and across the street from there my grandmother’s older sister Frieda lived. Frieda was my grandmother’s only relative, whom I knew. My grandmother was short and plump, but Frieda was a tall slender woman with regular features. Frieda’s husband was rather rich. They had a house and gave their children good education. Two of her sons were lawyers. I remember that we were invited to Frieda and her husband’s golden wedding in the late 1930s. Regretfully, this is all I remember about my grandmother sister’s family. My grandfather was a wise, kind, very honest and decent man, and many Jews asked his advice. Kosice residents believed my grandfather to be wiser and smarter than any rabbi. He tried to help all giving money or advice. My grandmother Amalia was a breadwinner in the family. She owned a small grocery store. Grandfather spent all his time reading books. He didn’t help her in anything. My grandmother gave birth to 9 children, but only 7 of them survived. Two children died in infancy. I only know the dates of birth of my father David Edelmann and his brother Mor. My father was born in 1905 and was the fourth child in the family. My father’s older brothers were Izidor, Elemer and Jeno. My father’s brother Mor was born in 1906. Then my father’s only sister Etelka was born and the youngest brother was Armin. They must have had Jewish names, but I don’t know them. Besides their own children, my grandfather and grandmother also raised my grandfather sister Pepka’s children, who called my grandmother “Mama”.

Between 1867 - 1918 Czechoslovakia belonged to Austro-Hungary. [Editor’s note: Czechoslovakia was created on the ruins of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy after World War I. The new Czechoslovak state was made up of the Austrian provinces of Bohemia, Moravia and Silezia as well as of parts of Northern Hungary (Slovakia and Subcarpathia).] It was divided into two parts: the Czech lands that belonged to Austria, and Slovakia that was Hungarian. This probably explains why Kosice was populated mainly by Hungarians. In 1918 the First Czechoslovakian Republic 1 was established, with Tomas Garrigue Masaryk 2 the first President of Czechoslovakia. Kosice was a small town. [Before World War I it had 44 211 inhabitants (1913), mostly Hungarians but also Slovaks, Germans, Poles, Czechs and Ruthenians.] There were bigger houses in the center and one-storied houses on the outskirts. There was no anti-Semitism in Kosice during the Austro-Hungarian period. Jews were encouraged to take official posts. There were many Jews in Kosice. They were mainly craftsmen: some could hardly make ends meet and others owned shops and stores. There were Jewish doctors, teachers and lawyers. There were few synagogues in Kosice: for orthodox believers, neologs 4 and Hasidim 5. There were mikves and shochets and few cheder schools in the town.

My father’s parents spoke Hungarian. My grandfather and grandmother were very religious. I never saw my grandfather and cannot describe his looks or manners. My grandfather spent almost all of his time reading religious books. My grandmother wore a wig and long dark dresses. She prayed a lot at home. She took her book of prayers and when she was praying she paid no attention to anything else. My grandmother made charity contributions to the synagogue and Jewish hospital and to help the needy. My grandparents celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. On Friday my grandmother went to mikveh. On Sabbath and Jewish holidays my grandparents went to the synagogue. My father and his brothers studied in cheder. Of course, they had bar mitzvah as Jewish traditions required. As for my father’s younger sister Etelka, I think her parents may have taught her at home. She knew Hebrew, could pray and knew Jewish history and traditions. My grandmother followed kashrut strictly and taught Etelka to know it. There was a Jewish housemaid in the house. My grandmother was not very fond of doing work about the house and in due time Etelka took over housekeeping. My father and I think all other children studied in a Czech school and later - in a grammar school.

My grandmother was hoping that her sons would grow up religious Jews, but her expectations were not to come true. They got fond of communist ideas. Only three of them – the oldest Izidor, Jeno and the youngest Armin, who was single and lived with his parents, were religious. My father and his brothers became atheists.

Grandfather Adolf died of his heart failure at the age of 52. This happened in 1920. My father was 15. My grandfather was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kosice in accordance with the Jewish rituals. When I visit Kosice, I always visit my grandfather’s grave and drop a little stone there according to Jewish rules.

My grandmother’s older son Jeno helped my grandmother with her store. My father also began to help his mother, when his father died. My grandmother bought green coffee beans, and my father was responsible for roasting it. There was a notable difference in price of green and roast coffee. My father started roasting after he came home from school and kept reading doing his work. Reading was his lifelong passion. He also had to watch the beans to not overdo them. After my grandfather died my father had to give up school and help the family. Still, my father studied by correspondence and obtained a certificate upon finishing the grammar school. My father was very handsome: tall and slender with big dark eyes and handsome features. He was also a decent, honest and noble man of principles. He hated lies. He felt very uncomfortable having to conceal from grandmother that he didn’t always go to the synagogue or follow Jewish traditions. At the age of 18 my father went to work for a confectionery company owned by two Jews. The owners valued my father well and employed him back after his service in the army. He got promotions and was paid well.

My father’s brothers got married and had children. Izidor, a sales agent, married Gizi Katz, a Jewish girl from Vinogradovo. His wife was a seamstress. They had three children. Their daughters Lilia and Judita were older than me and their son Adolf, named after the grandfather, born in 1930, was the same age with me. My father’s brother Elemer married Terez, a Jewish girl from Kosice. I don’t remember what Elemer was doing for a living. Elemer and Terez had two children: Tomas, an older son, and daughter Julia. After my grandfather died, my grandmother left the store to Jeno. His wife’s name was Adel, but I don’t remember her maiden name. They had three children: sons Ervin and Karl and daughters Lilia and Stella. My father and his brother Mor had much in common. They were both very handsome. Uncle Mor was very cheerful, smart and kind. He owned a small store in the center of the town selling imported fruit, sweets and delicacies. He always treated his nieces and nephews to all kinds of delicious things. Mor married aunt Gizi’s sister Eva Kaz from Vinogradovo. They had two daughters: Vera and Livia. My father’s sister Etelka didn’t get married for a long time. Finally Armin Rosner, a Jew from Uzhgorod, proposed to her. She married him and moved to Uzhgorod. After getting married she became a housewife, like her brother’s wives. Etelka had two daughters: Livia and Edit. My father’s younger brother Armin was single.

My father was recruited to the Czech army at 19. He served near Prague and had good memories about his service in the army. It was democratic and orderly. For example, officers and soldiers had same meals. Why I mention this, because I remember my father telling me how he was surprised, when he saw that in the Soviet army officers had different meals at a different place from soldiers.

My father met my mother before he went to the army. My father’s cousin sister Ilona, Relly’s daughter, was my mother’s best friend. She introduced them to one another. . My mother was 15. She was a pretty blonde with wavy hair, gray-greenish eyes, snow-white teeth and was lovely built. Her name was Szerena Klein. Since her childhood everybody called her ‘Szöszi’ [blondy in Hungarian] My parents fell in love once and for all.

My mother’s parents came from Kosice; they were born in the early 1870s. They were a very beautiful couple. My grandfather Herman Klein was a raven-head ma with tick moustache and my grandmother was a slim blonde with green eyes. Her name was Berta Klein, nee Liebermann. They were very much in love. They had two daughters. My mother’s older sister Izabella, born in 1907, was very much like her father, and my mother Szerena, born in 1909, took after my grandmother. She was quiet and reserved.

My mother’s parents were neologs. They went to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. My mother’s father Herman Klein worked in a state-owned printing house. He went to work on Saturday and had a day off on Sunday. My grandmother was a housewife. My grandfather and grandmother wore casual clothes in fashion at the time. They didn’t follow kashrut or paid much attention to their daughters’ religious education. They were a common family, living in a small apartment. There wasn’t even a bathroom. Both daughters finished a Czech general school. Izabella graduated from the Department of Economics of the University and became an accountant. As for my mother, her parents sent her to study dressmaking. She learned to make garments, but she was too vivid to like this job.

My father began to write before he went to the army. At first he wrote poems inspired by his love of my mother. I read these poems, when I was a child, and admired their lyrical nature and beauty. The first letters in lines composed my mother’s name or deklaration of his love of her. My father wrote my mother poems of letters from the army. Regretfully, they got lost during the war. My father became chief editor of the communist weekly ‘Mai Nap’ (‘Today’) published in Hungarian where his writer’s talent was fully realized. My father had to work a lot to support the family. Besides, the newspaper was also funded by its employees. My father continued writing after the war. My brother Adolf keeps his stories and memoirs written in Hungarian in his archives.

My mother received the first awards at beauty contests in her town several times. She had many admirers, but my father became number one. My parents got married on 14 July 1929. He was 24 and my mother was 20 years old. They had a real Jewish wedding with a rabbi and a chuppah. My father was working for the company. He rented a two-room apartment and furnished it. My mother told me that her grandmother Amalia came to their apartment on the first day after the wedding and fixed a mezuzah on the front door. Before the wedding her grandmother gave my mother a lovely wig of fair wavy hair, but my mother never wore it. Her mother Berta didn’t wear any, either. Grandmother Amalia never forgave my mother.

I was born on 3 June 1930. In my birth certificate my Hungarian name Judit was indicated, and my Jewish name is Sima. My parents called a ‘love child’. In April 1933 my sister was born. Father wanted to name her Katalin but I insisted on Klara, even though I was only 3 years old. I liked the name and they agreed to a compromise. My sister was named Klara in the documents, but nobody called her thus. Everybody called her Katalin, Kati in short. My sister’s Jewish name was Laya. Our apartment became too small for the four of us, and we moved into half a mansion. The tenants of another half were the Rothman family, nice and wealthy Jews. They had no children. We had a three-bedroom apartment, spacious and cozy, with all comforts. There was a small garden where my sister and I liked playing. We had a happy and cloudless childhood before 1940. Even with our father having to go on business frequently. He even bought a small sporty car. My father spent Saturday and Sunday with the family. My sister and I always looked forward to weekends. On Saturday morning we jumped into our parents’ bed. My mother went to make breakfast and our father told us everything that had happened to him through the week. He often told us about beautiful life in the Soviet Union. He told us there was no exploitation of workers in the USSR, that the power belonged to people and the people ruled their own country. My father said there were no poor or suppressed people in the USSR, that all people were equal and free. Soviet newspapers and radio programs stated the same. My father and all communists believed that the USSR was a country of equal opportunities for all people, the country of equality and brotherhood for all. Now I understand that even when people in the USSR believed this, it is no surprise that those who only heard about it from the Soviet propaganda believed the USSR to be an ideal. My father was a convinced communist, and it had nothing to do with his material situation.

Every Saturday my father and his brothers living in Kosice and their families went to visit grandmother. They got together after the morning prayer at the synagogue. Each time my father reminded me and my sister of replying positively if our grandmother asked us if he had been at the synagogue. Our father taught us to tell the truth and my sister and I were surprised at this request of his, but my father said that this was a holy lie since grandmother would be very upset if told the truth. My grandmother’s numerous children and grandchildren got together in her small apartment. There was a Saturday meal: challah, chicken liver paste and cholnt made from beans, pearl barley, meat, fat and spices. On Friday a pot with cholnt was left in the oven to keep it hot for a Saturday meal. Adults discussed their subjects and children played and had fun. Since the family was big, everybody got just little food, and then all went to their homes for dinner. On Sunday my father took us and his nephews and nieces for a nice drive out of town. The Edelmann family was very close and we, children, always looked forward to these outing. We still keep in touch with those who survived in the war, though many of our kin are scattered across the world.

My mother’s older sister Izabella was a very pretty girl. When she was in university, she fell in love with a senior student from the Radio Engineering Faculty. His name was Andras Tamm. He was tall and slender and very handsome. He returned my aunt’s feelings. The only obstacle was that he was Hungarian. Even though Izabella’s parents were not so religious this marriage still seemed a disgrace to them. They could only get married six years later in 1933. They could not live without one another and my grandparents gave up. They just registered their marriage in the town hall and had a wedding dinner in a restaurant in the evening. Andras rented a small facility in the central street in Kosice and open a radio store with a radio shop in it. Andras worked in the shop, and my aunt ran his store. Izabella and Andras were well-to-do and rented a nice apartment. In 1936 their son Gabor, my favorite cousin brother, was born.

My father and his brother Mor joined the Czechoslovakian communist party. They were convinced communists. The Czechoslovakian communist party was legal, though police had lists of its members, but this was a mere formality. My father began to work for ‘Mai Nap’. Besides, my father worked for ‘Munkas Ujsag’ [Workers Paper] too, both of them are published in Kosice. Before 1938 these newspapers were issued legally and regularly. In 1938 when [Southern] Slovakia became Hungarian, both ‘Mai Nap” and ‘Munkas Ujsag’ became underground newspapers, because the communist party became illegal in Hungary. In 1940 the newspapers were closed and most of their employees were arrested. My father made monthly contribution to the newspaper ‘Mai Nap” from his earnings and so did other employees. The newspaper was distributed among communists for free and its editing office had no profits.

1938 brought changes into our life. Hungary received a major part of Czechoslovakia, a part of Romania (Transylvania) and Subcarpathia. [Editor’s note: According to the First Vienna Decision the southern part of Slovakia was attached to Hungary in 1938, including Kosice/Kassa. In 1939 Hungary annexed Subcarpathia and in 1940, according to the Second Vienna Decision, Northern Transylvania was attached to Hungary.] Hungary actually [partly] restored its borders that existed before 1918. [Trianon Peace Treaty] 6 From the middle 1930s there were visitors in our houses staying for few days. They were emigrants from Germany: communists and Jews escaping from Hitler. They stayed openly during the Czech regime, but had to be quiet during the Hungarian rule. The communist party had to take up the status of underground. Since the police had lists of its members, they knew that arrests were inevitable. It was just the matter of time. Hungarian authorities began to gradually introduce anti-Jewish laws 7 significantly suppressing their rights in all spheres of life.

In September 1939 WW2 began. Hitler was taking efforts to involve Hungary in the war, but it had no intention to get involved. Then Hitler undertook provocation: in June 1940 bombers without any identification signs dropped few bombs onto the central part of Kosice. The central post office and few building across the street from it were destroyed. This bombing was so unexpected that an air-raid alarm only raised a howl after the bombers were gone. They announced that those were Russian bombers attacking Kosice. The Hungarian authorities had to join Hitler in the war against the USSR. Few weeks later my father and all other members of the communist party, who were on the lists, were arrested and take to prison in Kosice. The trial against them began. They were charged in actions against the state. They were tortured and interrogated. The Hungarians wanted to know the names of those who joined the communist party during the Hungarian rule and whose names were not on the list. My mother was one of them. She joined the party under my father’s influence in late 1938. My father was brutally beaten and taken to Budapest for interrogation where one policeman injured my father’s kidney. My father suffered from pyelonephritis for the rest of his life and finally died of kidney failure. Of course, my father didn’t tell them any names. The investigation lasted five and a half months and then there was a trial where my father spoke. He acknowledged his membership in the party. The trial sentenced him to 7 months in jail, but since by the time of trial he had already served the sentence, he only had to stay in jail 40 days. During this period my grandfather Herman Klein fell ill with cancer and died. My mother requested the police management to let my father go to the funeral, but they refused. My grandfather Herman was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kosice. After his death my grandmother Berta began to attend the synagogue every Saturday with other Orthodox Jews and began to pray at home. She moved in with us. Her older daughter Izabella wanted her to live with them, but grandmother Berta refused point-blank to live in the house with Izabella’s non-Jewish husband. My grandmother loved my father dearly.

Before my father’s arrest many of his comrades moved to the USSR. The Soviet government gave them this opportunity. At first they could move with their families, but when it was my father’s turn, this opportunity was closed. Communists and their families were leaving Hungary illegally, by forged documents. My father refused to go without us. Perhaps, it was for the better since many of those who went to the USSR were sent to the GULAG 8 where most of them perished.

I remember the day, when my father’s sentence was over. There was a crowd of those who sympathized with him meeting him at the gate, though this was early morning. They carried him along the street. My mother and sister also came to meet him, but we could hardly fight through the crowd to come closer. Those people followed us as far as our house. We were infinitely happy to reunite. Papa told us a lot about his imprisonment, but avoided the subject of tortures to save us from pain for him. My mother told me about it, when I grew up. She said father was continuously beat during interrogations till he fainted. They beat him on his head and vitally important parts of body where it was the most painful. They threatened him of arresting and torturing his family, if he didn’t answer their questions and this was the harder for him than not answering their questions.

I was always a quiet and obedient child while my sister was very lively and my parents used to say she was supposed to have been born a boy. Mama and grandma often slapped her, but my father after what he had to go through at interrogations gave a vow that he would never raise his hand to hit one person and he never did. When my sister did something wrong, he made her sit beside him and said: ‘You deserve a good flogging, so imagine you’ve had one from me’. My sister used to sob a while after this. My father had to make his appearance in the police office three times a week for them to make sure that he had not escaped. In 1939 my father got a job in a company in Budapest. I don’t know what kind of company this was or what he was doing at work. Before his arrest he worked in Budapest on weekdays and returned home on weekends, but afterward he was to come to the police office on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. My father kept his job in Budapest, but he could not stay there a whole week and returned home on Friday. Of course, my sister and I were very happy about it.

Since 1939 grandma Amalia began to spend less time in Kosice. My father insisted that grandma lived with us, but my grandmother had solid principles. When she visited us, she never had anything to eat or even a cup of tea or coffee. Grandma knew that my mother did not follow kashrut and for this reason she did not eat anything. She spent more and more time with her daughter Etelka in Uzhgorod. Etelka and her husband were very religious and followed kashrut and Jewish traditions. My grandmother prayed few times a day. Religion was the most important part of her life. I still remember something that struck me once. When my father was released from prison, my grandmother was in Uzhgorod. 2-3 days after he returned home my father said he hadn’t seen his mother for a long time and would go to visit her. He rushed in his car to Uzhgorod. Then my father told my mother that when he came there he rushed into the room where my grandmother was praying, but she put her finger to her lips showing him to stop distracting her. And she only came to hug her son whom she hadn’t seen for over 7 months after she finished praying. My father was so hurt that he had tears in his eyes. In 1941my grandmother went to live with her daughter in Uzhgorod. Her son Armin to avoid service in the army, or it would be more correct to say – work battalion since Jews were not taken to regular army troops, also lived with grandmother in Uzhgorod since 1943. Jews, gypsy and communists were recruited to work battalions. They did not have weapons or wear military uniforms. They wore their own clothes and had yellow armbands. Work battalions were digging trenches for the frontlines troops. They were actually easy targets at the front line. However, the Soviets somehow got to know who they were and did not fire at them. [Editor’s note: Most of the time the Soviets did not distinguished between regular Hungarian soldiers and members of the work battalion. Oftentimes they were treated as Hungarian POWs when falling captive.]

When the war with the Soviet Union began 9, my father was arrested again in July 1941 and taken to the Hungarian prison in the mountains near Garany town, in the former mansion of an Austrian lord. This area belonged to Slovakia before 1938. When Hungarians came to power, the owner of this mansion moved to Austria and his castle was converted into a prison. All prisoners were kept for political charges. My father became the leader of all prisoners. He prisoners had to cook and do all maintenance duties in the jail. My father organized courses and hobby clubs for prisoners. My father generated lists of attendants and also, made cleaning and cooking plans. He learned to cook in this camp. There was also a good library in the mansion and prisoners could use it. Relatives were allowed to visit twice a month. Two relatives could visit 2-3 days. My mother went there to visit my father and took either my sister or me with her. We rented a room from local farmers. My father made arrangements with the management of the camp for prisoners to be allowed to take some time off the camp to meet with their relatives. There were strict rules about the exact time for all of them to return to the camp. My father asked my mother to bring grandmother Amalia to see him, but my grandmother never came to see him. For her it was out of the question to stay in a goy’s house and eat non-kosher food. My father was kept in the Garany prison for a year. In late 1942 it was closed and Jews were taken to work battalions while Jewish communists were sent to penal battalions to go to the frontline. They were to wear yellow armbands with a 10 cm in diameter black circle on it. The work battalion where my father was taken was following the frontline with Hungarian and German troops in the eastern direction. After defeat of Germans near Stalingrad they turned to go in the opposite direction, from east to west. My father kept thinking about how to cross the frontline and surrender to the Red Army. He organized a group of 50 people and managed to accomplish their well-considered plan near Zhytomyr. It’s scaring to think what might have happened to them since the USSR did not trust deserters believing they were spies, but my father and his comrades were lucky. There was a Jewish communist, who lived in Hungary and emigrated to the USSR in the end of 1930th in the Red Army troop where they happened to get. He knew about my father’s underground work in the communist organization in Kosice. He guaranteed for my father’s trustworthiness. This group formed a group of prisoners-of-war following the Red Army troops liberating Ukraine. My father proved to be good at having a brigade under his command. The brigade consisted of Hungarians and Hungarian Jews. One of the commanders of a military division where they happened to come knew my father, and also considering that my father was a communist, this man appointed my father to command over this unit of the newcomers. This man also helped my father to improve his Russian, but at the very start this man translated my father’s commanders’ orders from Russian into Hungarian for my father to understand and follow them. My father was promoted to the rank of an officer and moved with the troops as far as the Carpathians. When they were near Uzhgorod, the military were inoculated and they must have injected some infection in my father. He fell gravely ill. He developed abscess. My father was taken to a hospital in Uzhgorod. My father’s comrades were working in the communist department in Uzhgorod and my father began to assist them even when he was in hospital. At their request my father was demobilized to establish the soviet power in Subcarpathia. He became 2nd secretary of the town party committee in 1945. We reunited with my father after the war.

One of anti-Jewish laws did not allow Jews to own stores, factories or anything that generated profit. They were supposed to give away their property or the state confiscated it. Many Jews fictitiously sold their property to non-Jewish owners, but actually things did not change. Or they entered into agreement of common ownership and became ‘partners’. By late 1944 many Hungarians took advantage of such agreements and took over the new property. There were also honest Hungarians, who returned Jews their property after the war. My father’s brothers lost their property. My father’s brother Jeno was working for the new owner of his former store. My father’s brother Mor, when suppression of Jews began in Hungary, sold his store and moved to Presov in Slovakia where our relatives lived. One of my grandfather sister Relka’s sons Albert was a talented artist. In the late 1930s he moved to USA with his family. Relka’s other son Alexander was a communist. In 1939 he was recruited to the Hungarian army, but escaped to the USSR. Unfortunately, he became victim like many other young people who believed the USSR to be their ideal. He was sent to the GULAG where he perished. After the war his fiancé Bozena searched for him. She found our family and my father began to look for Alexander. Of course, it was dangerous to search for a turncoat that was surely believed to have been a spy, but these considerations did not stop my father. He kept writing letters and requests, but never got a clear answer from them. Official authorities notified my father that Alexander Bergman was not on the lists of prisoners in the camps. So, we never got any information about him.

In 1936 I went to the first form of a Czech primary school. During Hungarian rule this school became a Hungarian one and I studied 2 of 4 years in the Hungarian school. I had all excellent marks at school and was allowed to go to a grammar school after the 4th form. For the rest of pupils could go to grammar school after the 5th form. I finished primary school in 1940. My father was in prison at that time. My mother sister’s husband Andras took me for an interview to the Hungarian grammar school for girls. There were restrictions already: only 2 Jewish girls were allowed for a class. My interview was successful and I was admitted to the first form. Few teachers were members of the Hungarian fascist party. They got to know that my father was a communist and was in prison. They kept finding faults with me and it caused me much distress. However, I did well at school. We had exams in summer. I remember the one in geography in early June 1941. There was an examination panel and its chairman was a teacher of mathematic, the most ardent fascist at school. As soon as I started answering she interrupted me with the question: ‘Tell me where do our and the heroic German troops fight at the front’. I knew how fast Germans were moving in the direction of Moscow and this was bitter for those who sympathized with the USSR. I pretended to be naïve and said that I didn’t know and could not be interested. The teacher shamed me for not knowing about the glorious victories of our and the German troops. My class tutor, a German teacher, who liked me came to my rescue. She asked me to goon answering my examination question. I sighed with relief, but I could never forget about this exam. I also remember how unfair this teacher of mathematic was to me. Though I knew mathematics the best she never gave me an ‘excellent’ mark. I had the only ‘good’ mark in her subject. I remember dreaming about how I would take my revenge when the war was over. We were all sure that the USSR would win. There was one more Jewish girl in my class. We faced no anti-Semitism. My life would have been cloudless in the grammar school if it hadn’t been for me being the daughter of a communist.

After my father was arrested again, there were four of us living together: my mother, my sister, grandmother Berta and I. My mother never went to work. My father’s earnings were sufficient, though he gave away a significant portion of it for the party needs: for the newspaper, assistance to unemployed members of the party, immigrants, etc. I don’t know how we managed through four years that my father was away. I only remember that the owner of my father’s company in Budapest paid my father’s salary to uncle Izidor, who probably did my father’s job. He brought my mother this money. We had everything we needed. My mother regularly sent food parcels to my father every week.

In February-March 1943 Slovakian fascists began to persecute Jews. My father’s brother Mor decided to leave Presov for Kosice. Many Jewish families were leaving Slovakia for Hungary. Somebody reported to the police that Mor was coming back. They told Izidor, the oldest of the brothers, that if one member of the Edelmann family crossed the border, they would arrest the whole family in Kosice. Mor only got to know this after he moved to Kosice with his wife and two daughters and they settled down at my grandmother’s. Mor went to the police office the following day and told them he came on his own will and asked them to leave his family alone. They never let him go from there. On the same day they arrested his wife and children. They were taken out of town and killed.

The situation with Jews in Kosice grew worse in the middle of 1943, when Germans were losing their positions in Stalingrad. Hungarian introduced many restrictions for Jews. [Editor’s note: Mass persecutions started as late as after March 19th 1944, when Germany invaded Hungary.] Since 1944 all Jews had to wear 10-cm hexagonal yellow star on their chests. I went to school with this star, though it didn’t last long. The academic year was reduced due to the wartime. In the middle of April the school closed for vacations. Jews were not allowed to come to public places or leave their homes after dusk.

In April [19th] 1944 10 German troops occupied Hungary, though Hungarian fascists started outraging even before. I shall never forget the first evening on Pesach 1944. There was a synagogue across the street from our house where Jews got together for a prayer. All of a sudden we heard screams from the synagogue, curses and anti-Semitic shouts. This was a pogrom in the synagogue made by Hungarian fascists. During the war there were back-outs on the windows in all houses. My mother lost her temper, turned off the lights, open the window and began to shame the young people telling them to stop this disgrace. She didn’t look like a Jewish woman and they were just laughing in her face, but did her no harm. My sister, grandmother and I sat in the corner of our children’s room trembling of fear. The rascals pulled some older Jews by their payes and went away. In the morning we saw that all windows in the synagogue were broken and heard the rabbi’s wife and children crying. Then German officers and soldiers came to Kosice. They ordered wealthy Jews to come to the central square and told them to give their money and valuables to the German army voluntarily, and if they did not obey they would force them to do so and arrest them. Later Germans gathered Jews in the ghetto at the brick factory in Kosice. So the old couples, the owners of our house were arrested. There were air raids. Or house was near the railway station that was bombed most frequently. Germans also began to arrest communists and their families. We were scared. My mother was told that we had to stay elsewhere, but not at home. We separated: grandmother Berta and I stayed with my grandfather’s sister Relka, and as for my mother and sister, only Liza, my father’s cousin brother Nandor’s wife, knew. Nandor died after an unsuccessful surgery in 1942. Liza and her two sons lived on the 3rd floor in the house in the end of our street. Liza was watching our house, when we were not at home and in case of danger was to notify us to stay away from coming home.

On 16 April 1944, on Friday, my grandmother decided to go home to clean the apartment before my mother and sister came home. We always cleaned the house on Friday. I stayed with aunt Relka. At that moment aunt Liza saw a car stop by our house. Few German officers went into the house. Liza went to tell my mother about what was going on. My grandmother came into the house. The Germans were searching the house. They showed grandma my parents’ photograph called them ‘Kommunisten’, and asked where my mother was. My grandmother got very scared. Since she didn’t know where my mother was they let her go and she returned to aunt Relka’s home. A photographer, my father’s acquaintance, gave us shelter in his laboratory. We didn’t have any clothes. Liza found out that Germans left the house before night. My mother’s sister Izabella was in her 7th month of pregnancy. She took two big bags and went to our house. She grabbed few photographs, some clothes and left the house.

At that time my father’s cousin Ondrej Edelmann, whom everybody called Erno [Ondrej is the Czech name, this is how he was registered in his documents, Erno is the Hungarian name, the language they used in the family.], grandpa’s brother Sandor’s brother, came from Czechoslovakia. He was a last-year student of the Medical College in Prague. He had secretly crossed the border. Erno lived through a tragedy. He had a fiancé, a daughter of poor Jews, who already worked as a teacher at the age of 19. They were going to get married after Erno finished his college, but this was not to be. In 1941 Hitler ordered to take all Jewish girls to work in Germany. Young girls were getting married in emergency to avoid this disaster. Erno and Anna also got married, but the order for Anna to go to Germany was signed before they registered their marriage. Anna was sent to Germany. Poor Erno almost lost his mind, when this happened. He wrote Hitler asking to send back his young wife, but surely he got no reply. Later he got to know that Anna was pregnant. She died at birth and so did the baby. When Erno got to know that all Jews were to be taken to concentration camps from Hungary, he decided to spend his money to save his relatives taking them to Czechoslovakia. [Czechoslovakia was dismembered in 1938. The interviewee is here refereeing to Slovakia.] It was decided that Erno and I would be the first to go to Slovakia. We had to decide about grandmother Berta. We had to cover 20 km in the mountains to get to Slovakia and my grandma could not do this with her unhealthy legs. My grandmother firmly said she was not going to hideaway and would be with other Jews. Very soon all Jews, and my grandmother too, were taken to the ghetto at the brick factory on the outskirts of Kosice. In late April they began to be taken to concentration camps where they were sorted out. The younger and stronger ones were taken to work. They lived in barracks with inhuman conditions. Old people and children were burnt in crematoria. My grandmothers and many relatives perished there. My mother, my sister and Erno on the evening of 22 April 1944 removed yellow stars from our clothing and went to a village near Kosice where a guide was waiting for us to take us across the border. This was the night of 22 April, full of danger. The first risk was when we went across the town. At first everything was all right, but then we saw my sister’s former teacher and his wife. He was wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the Hungarian army. Of course, he recognized us. My mother was sure he would call the police, but there are decent people in this world. He greeted my mother politely, gave my sister and me a wink and moved on. When we came to the guide, Erno gave us some Slovakian money and went back to Kosice to take another group next night.

We stayed till dark in the guide’s house without turning on the lights. The guide, his two brothers and sister, who spoke fluent Slovakian, came at midnight. We went a long way across the woods in the mountains. 3 hours later we stopped in a nice valley. The guide told us to stay there till morning, when we had to get to the railway station nearby. It was cold and the men made a fire. We had sandwiches. We tried to get a nap, but it was cold and we were worried, so we stayed wide awake. At dawn we saw a nice river in the valley, and got to the station along the rail tracks. My mother gave our companions money to buy tickets. When we were alone, a tall man in the hunter’s outfit, with a rifle over his shoulder approached us. He said he knew my mother from Kosice and advised us to get in another carriage than our companions. He said they had typical Jewish appearance and this might attract the gendarmes’ attention, but speaking good Slovakian, they would manage while for us it might be worse since Slovakian gendarmes were capturing those who crossed the border illegally. We did as he told us. It happened to be true. Gendarmes approached our companions demanding their documents and left them alone afterward. We were close to Presov, when the tall hunter told us to get off the train and walk to the town since there were many gendarmes at the station. We agreed with our companions to meet near the railway station square. They were to take us to the house where my father’s cousin Terez, daughter of Anna Hertz, and her husband lived. They were aware that we were coming and were to give us forged documents. Everything went all right. Our relatives welcomed us and we could take a rest. On the following day our documents were ready. According to the legend, my mother was a widow of landlord Vitalishov from near Presov, and we were going to the Tatra Mountains since I had tuberculosis and had to breathe fresh air in the mountains. My sister and I had chains with crosses on our necks to prove our Christian origin. A week later, on 1 May 1944, Erno joined us. We didn’t recognize him. He colored his hair to become fair and grew a beard and moustache. Erno told us he only managed to take one more group relatives across the border before Hungarian gendarmes started looking for him. Probably someone reported on him and why he was in the town. We took a train to a resort on a mountain in the Tatras. There were posh hotels for wealthiest people on the bank of a lake. At the bottom of the hill there was a small village where railroad people lived. There were also few inexpensive and cozy recreation centers. There was a cable way from the station to the lake. It didn’t function since there were no tourists. We chose this place to be our escape. Erno rented a room on the 2nd floor in one recreation center. Downstairs the manager, his wife and their four children lived. In the morning and evening my mother boiled some milk in their kitchen and in the afternoon we had lunch at the restaurant on the station. They served good meals. My mother and I spoke German to the owner, and my sister, who didn’t know a word in German or Slovakian, was ordered to keep silent pretending she was mute and deaf. Before 1938, when Hungarians came to power in the country, my sister didn’t go to school, stayed at home and spent time with us and our parents friends’ children. We spoke Hungarian at home and so did our friends, and my sister could only speak even a few words in Slovakian. Once a gendarme from a nearby village visited the area. He came to see us. My mother explained to him in poor Slovakian that she was German, but her husband was Slovakian, that I was ill and she took my sister and me there to improve our health. The gendarme was satisfied with this story. There were few other Jewish families staying in the village and we met them. They were from Slovakia and this was good. In case we had to escape they knew where we might go. Erno visited us twice bringing us some money. We played with the children of the manager and picked Slovakian rather fast. Every other day we went to take milk at a farm in 2 km from the recreation center. These were lovely strolls. Days, weeks and months went by... In July a group of Hitler jugend boys, 10 Germans, came to stay in the neighboring recreation center for recreation and military training. Hitlerjugend boys were sent to Slovakia where they could have military training and rest. They marched in the morning and in the evening singing fascists songs. They also shouted patriotic slogans and trained shooting on the training ground. They were not allowed to have any contacts with the locals, but we were still of them anyway.

In early September we got to know that Germans started occupation of Slovakia. Our acquaintances decided to leave the place. We decided to join them. There were 3 other families, but only two men, with us. Hey found a place in the mountains and took a train carriage there. It arrived at the dead end where there was a small village. There was a windmill right by the station. We were starved and my mother went to the mill to buy a little flour. Our chains with crosses helped us there. The miller’s wife felt sorry for us. She gave us food and sold some flour and bread. She thought we were Catholics and said she hated Jews and would never help one.

We stayed in a poor house whose owner was at the front. His wife had few children and was pregnant. They had a cow and the landlady gave us some milk every day. A short time later she started labor and my mother acted as a midwife. I remember how stunned my mother was that the woman got up on the same day to milk the cow and work in the garden. It was getting colder and we didn’t have warm clothes. My mother went to the village store to buy some clothes. She bought us nice gray and black boots and some clothes. The men from other Jewish families were thinking where we could escape, if Germans came to this distant village. They discovered a path that led them to two houses where foresters with their families lived. They told the men that there was a partisan unit nearby and that partisans would mobilize men to their unit. There was one Jewish families staying in one of these houses: a husband, a wife and two adult sons. The foresters promised to give us shelter for a certain fee. They mentioned that the men would still have to hide from partisans unless they wanted to join them. The men didn’t want this to happen. Nobody knew, which was worse: to be captured by Germans or partisans.

In early October we heard that Germans were coming to the village. We went to the foresters’ houses. My sister and I liked staying there. It was still warm and there were many berries and mushrooms, particularly blackberries. We picked them and ate as much as we could. Our mother cooked mushrooms. The men were hiding in a shed in the daytime. Our mother and we had nobody to fear. One forester had a radio and we listened to news. When we heard that a part of Slovakia was liberated, we rushed to Brezno by train. From there we went to Banska Bystrica. The town celebrated liberation and there were crowds of people in the streets. We went to our relatives. Erno, his sister Magda and many relatives, whom Erno rescued, got together in his house. We met with Adolf, uncle Izodor’s son, my cousin. We, children went to see the Soviet movie ‘6 am after the war’. It was in Russian and there was no translation, but we understood what it was about. It was a very touching movie. Next day we heard that one of the communist leaders of liberation of Czechoslovakia came to Banska Bystrica. I don’t remember his name, but my mother knew him well. He used to work with my father and often visited us at home in Kosice. He told my mother that Germans were bellicose about coming back to Slovakia and that my mother had to take a train to the town where this officer’s unit was deployed. He wrote a letter for him to give us shelter in case Germans came back. He also comforted my mother by saying that the war was to be over soon and we would survive. I remember that we waited for my mother standing in an entrance of a building while she had this meeting. My mother came back in tears: we had to get wandering again. Erno was thinking how to help the family. He divided all relatives in groups. All of us had to go to the mountains and stay in earth huts or with partisans till the end of the war. Erno read the letter m mother had and approved it. He also gave us the address of one of former customers of his father. He lived in a village half way from the place we were heading to. We took a train and moved on. When we were in about 5 km from the place of departure we heard that there were Germans in the place we were heading to. We went to the man Erno told us to go to. When he heard who we were he offered his help. His son had contacts with partisans. He had just got married and was hiding with his wife in the woods. My mother and other women of this family were baking bread for the road all night through. Early in the morning our group – there were about 10 people – started on our way. My mother was carrying a heavy bag with our food stocks and clothes. She had tears of exhaustion and despair in her eyes, but to comfort us she tried to smile to us. We made short stops to rest before we continued climbing higher in the mountains. In the evening we reached two earth huts that were carefully camouflaged for outsiders not to discover them. There were 10-12 tenants in each hut located at 100 m from one another. There was a plank bed about 1 m above the floor with straw on it that made our ‘bedroom’. There was a small stove with a smoke stack with its exhaust end outside. There was a toilet – a plank over a pit in the snow – between two pine trees near the hut. We also melted snow for water. We used a helmet as a wash basin. It was late October 1944, and we could never believe that we would have to stay there as long as March 1945, i.e., five months.

There was Mark, a Czech man, his young Jewish wife Sonia, their 6-month old son and Sonia’s mother living with us in the hut. My mother happened to know Sonia’s mother. Her husband Grunwald, a communist often visited Kosice on party business during the rule of Czechoslovakia before 1938, and knew my mother and father. Before 1939 Grunwald left his wife and daughter, crossed the border to the USSR, was kept in a camp two years, and then was sent to Moscow to take the responsibility for a radio program in Slovakian. Then he was mobilized to the Red Army, became an officer and married a Russian doctor. After the war Grunwald and his wife came to his homeland looking for his first family. My mother felt sorry for Sonia’s mother. In 1941, when Jewish girls were forced to go to Germany, she arranged for her 15-year old daughter Sonia to marry a Czech engineer, who worked in a mine. He was about 15 years older than Sonia. At first there was no love between them, but when they got to know each other better living in one apartment, they consummated their marriage. They had a lovely boy, whom we all loved. Sonia didn’t have breast milk, and Mark and other men went to buy milk and other food products in the village twice a week. They froze milk for the baby in the snow. We cooked peas, beans and sometimes baked potatoes, if we managed to get some from farmers. There was Kellerman, a 19-year old guy with us in the hut. He had a long nose and black bulging eyes. He was always hungry like my sister, and mad at the rest of the world. I remember the day, when my mother had to cut my wonderful long hair since we could not keep them clean considering our living conditions. In another hut there were Jews and the newly married couple of farmers, who had brought us there. There was a house nearby. It was probably a former forester’s house, but now there were partisans accommodating in it. They never left it to fight against Germans. They enjoyed themselves eating and drinking, listening to the radio and waiting for the war to come to an end. They didn’t take one effort to expedite this end. Our men found a shelter in a rock nearby in case Germans discovered us. We used it several times, when Hungarian soldiers came close to our huts. They spoke Hungarian and we understood them and could talk to them. By the end of 1944 mainly Hungarian troops, faithful allies of Hitler, fought in Slovakia. They were even more formidable than German fascists. [editor’s note: The Hungarian army did not enter the Slovak state in World War II. The soldiers were either not Hungarian or it took place in Hungarian territory, possibly in Southern Slovakia attached to Hungary as early as 1938.] We established security guards to watch the locality and inform us of danger, if there was any, but Hungarians never came up to the mountains this far.

One day in January we got terribly scared. When we went to bed, we heard shooting above us. We froze of fear, but then it turned out those were our neighbors shooting to salute the liberation of Kosice. They knew we came from Kosice and wanted to greet us. We invited them to the hut, they brought some wine with them, and we celebrated this wonderful event with tears in our eyes. It was more and more difficult for our men to descend from the mountains looking for food. The Hungarian troops were in rage executing partisans and the locals, who, they suspected, had contacts thereof. By end of February we ran out of food stocks and had no food whatsoever for our baby boy, who was 10 months old. His father and grandmother had to take a desperate step. Madam Grunwald spoke fluent Hungarian. She wanted to ask Hungarian troopers to give some food for her grandson or allow her to take him down to the village. Her son-in-law accompanied her. Since he didn’t speak one word in Hungarian, he hid away to watch her. He saw her talking to a Hungarian officer, saw how soldiers tied her and took her to a house. He kept watching the house at night. In the morning the unfortunate woman was taken to the center of the village, she had a plank with “This is what will happen to all those who help partisans!’ in Slovakian and Hungarian. There were signs of beating on her skin. The Hungarians made all residents of the village watch her execution. Her son-in-law watch it. She was on the gibbet for a whole week and nobody was allowed to take her down. Poor Mark returned to our hut half-dead. He had to tell Sonia everything. We bitterly mourned the poor grandma, who sacrificed her life to rescue her grandson.

In early March we saw that the house where the partisans used to be was deserted. They left without warning us or leaving any food or the radio. By that time there were three polish Jewish refugees with us. They said that this part of Slovakia was liberated by the Romanian troops that were on the side of the USSR. These Polish Jews decided to move towards their liberators and save their lives by crossing the front line. They were sorry for Mark’s family and agreed to take Mark and Sonia with them. Many years later we got to know that they had survived. Sonia met with her father, divorced Mark and left with her father and son.

We had to make a decision as well. We didn’t have any food and didn’t want to starve to death at the very end of the war. There was a group of 13 of us led by the young newly wed farmer, who had a compass and some food left. In early March 1945 we moved in the eastern direction across the mountains. We were hoping to cross the front line. We walked 6 days. There were two women with us: our ‘commander’s’ mother and his young wife, the rest were men in our group. It was still cold in the mountains. There was waist-deep snow. We walked at night since we were afraid of being noticed in the daytime. We could see the road with German and Hungarian armies retreating. We managed to cross it on the third night. During the day we tried to rest a little digging pits in the snow to sleep in them. Once we bumped into a tent on four posts. There was a little straw inside. We even dared to make a small fire and boil some water. On the first night my mother, sister and I lost the group. My sister got tired and we stopped. E were scared to be on our own, but the men noticed that we got lost and came back looking for us. The fourth day was the most difficult and scary. We crossed the road and started climbing the mountains on the opposite side of the road. We had to cross a mountainous river, wide and quick, but shallow. We had to cross it before the dawn. The men decided to carry the women and children across the river. My sister was the youngest in the group. She was 10 years old. The oldest man had to carry her across the river. I think he must have been about 45, but then he seemed an old man to me. I was the first one to be taken across the river. Then came a man with my mother on his back and beside him was this old man with my sister on his back. In the middle of the river he stumbled and my sister fell into the ice-cold water. When my mother saw it, she dropped her bag with our documents and money into the water. The bag was gone. My sister crawled out of the water onto the opposite bank. Her hands covered with ice crust instantly. Her feet in the boots were wet knee-high. She sat by a tree and said she had to sleep a while before she could move on. The rest of the group was climbing the mountain. They had to come onto another side of it before full dawn. My sister began to freeze. She closed her eyes and was falling asleep. My mother and I were shaking her by her shoulders begging her to hold on. At this time we saw two figures dressed in white climbing down the hill. My mother said this was the end, they were Germans and since we had lost our documents we would not be able to prove that we were not Jews or partisans. However, they were two men from our group. One of them poured a little alcohol and put a slice of pork fat into Kati’s mouth, and another man began to hit Kati with a stick making her walk. My sister obeyed and went on. When we climbed the top of this hill, we saw that the others from our group made a fire. They took my sister closer to the fire, pulled off her boots and stockings and began to rub her hands and feet with snow. When they got warmer, they wrapped my sister in some cloth. A woman gave my sister her valenki boots [winter boots made from sheep felt wool] and borrowed somebody else’s extra boots for herself. These valenki boots saved my sister’s life, and we shall never forget this young woman’s kindness. We fell asleep. I can hardly remember the next day. My sister’s legs were aching, and my mother or one of the men had to carry her. She also had to walk at times. The men gave her a stick to walk with us. By the evening of the sixth day we saw a wonderful house in the forest. It was empty. There was wood in the yard. We got into the house, cooked whatever beans we had and were happy to have a roof over our heads. We went to sleep. Our leader ordered few men to investigate the situation in nearby settlements. The rest of the men took turns to guard our sleep. Early in the morning our guard saw a man and a woman nearby. They said that there was a village in about 4 km from our place. Romanian and German troops were fighting for it. There was a village in 8 km from there that was already liberated. We decided to go to this village. There was a road nearby and we saw German and Romanian troops moving along it. My mother saw an older Russian soldier following his wagon and smoking. She suffered from lack of cigarettes and approached him. By her greedy look he knew what she wanted and offered her a self-made cigarette. My mother almost got suffocated from strong tobacco particularly that she hadn’t smoked for so long. The old soldier saw my sister limping and put her on his wagon and we took to our journey. We arrived at a village. There were mainly Romanian soldiers and officers in it. The Russian soldier took us to the military commandant, who accommodated us in a house. The owners of the house gave us some food, then we washed ourselves and went to sleep on the floor. In the morning my mother went to see the commandant again. She told him about us and he arranged for us to go to the Soviet military hospital in Miskolc on one of his trucks. The driver dropped us in the town. We felt more at ease there. It was a Hungarian town where we could understand the language and explain what we needed. We went to the nearest snack bar. My mother said we had no money, but we were starved and needed a place to stay. The owner said there was a Jewish community functioning in the town. We went to its office. It was overcrowded, but one man offered us a place to stay and promised to help us. His family perished in a concentration camp. His housemaid stayed in his apartment during the war. There was a Soviet captain, a Jew, in this office. He was director of the macaroni factory. He told my mother to wait for him and brought us a big bag of macaroni. Our new landlord took us to his apartment. There were few girls, who had returned from a concentration camp, staying in his apartment. He let us his bedroom with two nice beds. We heated a big barrel of water to wash ourselves. We had veal stew with macaroni for dinner, but we were told to eat slowly and just a little. For the first time in a long time we fell asleep in a real bed. In the morning my mother carried my sister to the hospital where they amputated my sister’s toe. The doctors told my mother to bring her to the hospital to change a bandage every day. One day my mother met our family dentist and his daughter. He told us that they survived in the basement of a house, whose owner supported them. He was eager to go to Kosice to find out about the rest of the family. He offered my mother to come with him and my mother was infinitely happy with his company. We finally got to our house. The windows were broken and it was empty inside. There was light in the neighboring apartment coming from behind the blackouts. My mother rang the bell to this apartment. We recognized the janitor from a neighboring house in the woman who opened the door. Her family lived in the basement of the house. She recognized my mother and let her in. Through the open door my mother saw few pieces of our furniture, our blankets and pillows, bed sheets with my mother’s monograms on them embroidered by a craftswoman for my mother’s wedding. The janitor was rather confused. She said she saved some of our belongings from Germans and would return them. However, this did not make us happy. The janitor said that our father had come by the night before. She told him she hadn’t seen us and he went to Izabella without even coming into the house. We went to Izabella’s house, when it got dark. My mother knocked on a window. A minute later we were hugging our dearest Izabella. Izabella was struck with how we looked. We had all possible clothes on since it was cold. My mother was wrapped in some blanket shreds. Our clothes were dirty, torn and smelly. Izabella heated some water and put my sister and me in the bathtub with hot water. Izabella burnt everything we had on in the oven. After we got washed we put on our aunts’ pajamas, big, but homey and clean. When the bathtub was being filled for mama, the doorbell rang. What happened was that my father had really returned to Kosice the night before. The town party committee organized a banquet in his honor and now he returned from it. Izabella went to open the door to prepare my father to the surprise waiting for him, but my sister and I couldn’t wait and threw ourselves on this tall lean man in a military uniform. While kissing us his eyes were searching for his beloved wife whom he hadn’t seen in three years. When this strong and brave man, who had come through so many ordeals in recent years saw our mother, he couldn’t stand the test of joy and fainted. My sister looked at him with horror and screamed: “Papa died!’ He recovered his senses from her screaming. Izabella took us to the bedroom where her children were sleeping: my 8-year old cousin Gabor and his 8-months old sister Marina. My aunt put us to sleep in one bed and went to sleep on another and we fell asleep. One hours later I got high fever and began to talk deliriously. My screams woke Izabella and she gave me pills and applied compresses all night through. In the morning a doctor came and said this was a nervous breakdown. He prescribed me a sedative. Our father told us how he came to Kosice from Uzhgorod. He was secretary of the regional party committee in Uzhgorod. He got a letter from his niece Judit, Izodor’s daughter, who returned to Kosice from a concentration camp and met with her fiancé. Her parents perished in the concentration camp and since she hadn’t reached the age of 18, her marriage could only be registered at her parents’ consent. Judit asked my father to give his consent to her marriage and this was how my father came to Kosice. He got a 3-week leave and had a car to take him to Kosice. My father adopted Judit, and young people got married soon. We moved to Uzhgorod.

There was a surprise waiting for us there. My father’s cousin Terez, grandfather brother Pal Edelmann’ daughter and her two friends, our distant relatives. They had all returned from a concentration camp. Some time later my father’s nephew Adolf joined us. His sisters Livia and Judit lived in Prague. It was hard for them to raise their younger brother and they sent him to us. Adolf was like one of us in the family.

We also got information about other members of the family. Grandfather Pal’s widow Betti, her daughter Terez, and sons Emil and Jozsef were taken to Auschwitz in April 1944. Betti perished in a gas chamber, and the children were sent to a work camp. After liberation Terez returned to Kosice, got married and was manager of a canteen at school. She is 86 now. Emil also worked in a camp. After returning home he moved to Israel. He lived his life and died there. . His family lives in Israel. Jozsef returned to Kosice after the war. He died in the 1980s. Jozsef’s family was also taken to a concentration camp. Jozsef and his wife perished in the crematorium. Their children survived. Laszlo moved to Australia in 1946, got married and owned a men’s garments’ factory. In late 1940s he helped his sisters Kato, Magda, Judit and Eva and their families to move to Australia. Laszlo has died, but his family and his sisters’ families live in Sydney. My grandfather’s sister Regina Berger, her husband and their son Simon also moved to Australia after returning from a concentration camp. Regina and her husband lived their life in Australia, died and were buried there. Their son Simon moved to Canada where he lives with his family. My father’s cousin brothers, my grandfather sister Pepka’s children, who were raised in my grandfather’s family, were in a concentration camp. Only the middle daughter Regina (her family name was Muller) returned to Kosice. Aranka and Jeno perished in the camp. Vilmos, the son of Nandor, who died in 1942, survived. He told me that when his mother Liza, Vilmos and 7-year old Tamas arrived at Auschwitz, the sorting began. The younger son was taken to the group of inmates that were sent to a gas chamber. A German officer approached Liza and whispered into her ear, - Vilmos heard this discussion, - ‘Gnädige Frau! – that was how he addressed Liza, - I advise you to follow your older son. Liza replied that her son could take care of himself while her younger son couldn’t. The officer was convincing her telling her that the younger son would be taken care of and she would be able to see him, but Liza was inexorable. She took her younger son by his hand and went into the gas chamber with him. 14-year old Vilmos worked at a German plant. After the war he left for Israel, studied and became a lawyer. He changed his name to Zeev Singer. Since Israel was at war, Vilmos decided his place was in the army. He was promoted to the rank of colonel of the Israel army. He served in landing units and participated in all wars with Arabs. Vilmos was severely wounded, demobilized and worked as a lawyer in Tel Aviv. Zeev Singer is a national hero of Israel. He is a pensioner. He has two children and six grandchildren in Israel. My grandfather’s sister Betka Gerstl and her husband and children were also taken to a concentration camp. Betka and her husband Moric Gerstl were exterminated immediately. Betka’s daughter Ilona Zimmermann with her children and Betka’s sons Jeno and David perished in the concentration camp. Only her son Armin Gerstl survived and moved to Israel shortly after he returned. He has passed away. Mor Bergman, son of my father’s favorite aunt Relka, married a girl from Zvolen before Hungarians came to power and moved to his wife’s town. After 1938 Zvolen belonged to Slovakia and Kosice was Hungarian. When Jews began to be sent to Germany, Mor and his wife tried to cross the border and return to Kosice, but were captured and killed right there. Relka’s daughter Ilona stayed with her mother. They both perished in a concentration camp. My father sister Anna’s family, the Hertz family, was also taken to Auschwitz. Anna and her husband Moric were exterminated immediately. Of their 10 children only two survived: son Aladar; he lives in Frankfurt in Germany, and daughter Terez – she emigrated to Israel after the war. Terez has passed away. Her children live in Israel. Anna’s younger daughter Eszter also moved to Israel. She lives and works in a kibbutz. Sons Tibor, Marcel, Erno, Pal and Sandor and daughters Sarolta, Ilona and Edit and their families perished in the concentration camp. Grandfather’s youngest sister Etelka and her husband Jakab Blumenfeld and their younger children – son Erno and daughter Marta also perished in the concentration camp. Older daughters Edit (Gerstl in marriage) and Izabella (Kovartovski in marriage) were in a work camp and survived. After the war they moved to Israel. They’ve both passed away.

My father’s brothers and sisters also suffered. The Hungarian police arrested Izodor and his wife Gizi in 1944 and charged them with concealment of Mor and his wife who had illegally crossed the border from Slovakia to Hungary escaping from the deportation. Izodor and his wife were put to prison. In April 1944 Izodor and his wife Gizi were taken to Buchenwald. According to eye witnesses Izodor behaved heroically in the camp. He went on hunger strikes and called other prisoners to disobey the oppressors. Izodor was executing with an electric wire and his wife was exterminated in a gas chamber. Their three children survived. Their older daughter Livia was a serious and smart girl. She wanted to become a doctor. She finished a grammar school in 1943. This was at the time of fascist Hungary and Livia could not get a higher education. She finished a course of medical nurses in Budapest and went to work. She managed to avoid deportation to a concentration camp. Under a different name she went to work as a housemaid in a Czech village. After the war Livia moved to Prague where her dream came true. She finished a Medical College and became a children’s doctor. She married a Czech man and had two daughters. Livia’s husband has passed away. She is a pensioner. Her daughters are married. Izodor’s second daughter Judit and her brother Adolf lived in the Tatras during German occupation where they stayed with other members of the Edelmann’s family. They were in the 2nd group that Erno managed to take out of Kosice after us. After the war Judit returned to Kosice. After my father adopted her and gave his consent to her marriage she got married at the age of 17 and had a daughter. Shortly afterward Judit divorced her husband, left for Prague with her daughter and remarried. She became a widow recently. Her daughter Julia moved to Australia in 1968 where she lives with her family. Adolf finished a secondary school and we both went to Leningrad where he graduated from the Faculty of Philosophy of Leningrad University. He returned to Uzhgorod, finished a post-graduate institute. He was senior lecturer of the Faculty of Philosophy of Uzhgorod University. He got married and had two sons, Ilia and Andrey. When they grew up, they decided to move to Hungary. Adolf and his wife followed them there. They live in Szolnok. Adolf and his wife are pensioners. I believe Adolf to be my brother. We keep in touch writing letters, calling each other and visiting each other every now and then.

Jeno and his family was taken to Buchenwald. German executioners killed Jeno, and his wife Adel, sons Erno and Karoly and twin daughters Livia and Stella were burnt in the crematorium.

My father sister Etelka’s family, grandmother Amalia and the youngest brother Armin were taken to Mauthausen. Only aunt Etelka survived. Grandmother and her two granddaughters Livia and Edit were burnt in the crematorium. Etelka’s husband and brother perished in the camp. According to eye-witnesses they died of typhoid. Etelka worked at a factory. In May 1945 Americans liberated her and she returned to Uzhgorod. It was hard to look at her: a young woman turned into an old one. She weighed 37 kg. She lived with us in Uzhgood. My parents took every effort to bring her to recovery.

Only two of 7 families survived in the war: our family and my father brother Elemer’s family. Erno managed to take him, his wife, son Tamas and daughter Julia out of Kosice. They also took hiding in the woods living in an earth hut. After the war Terez divorced him and moved with their children to USA where her brother lived. Terez has passed away and Tamas and Julia and their families live in the States. Elemer moved to Israel where he died at the age of 70.

My mother’s sister Izabella and her family stayed in Kosice. Her children and their families still live there. My cousin Gabor Tamm became a metallurgical engineer there. His younger sister Marina was an economist. They are pensioners. We visit each other and talk on the phone.
When I went to Israel in 1989, I filled the forms and submitted the lists of the members of our family who perished during the war to the Yad Vashem 11 in Jerusalem.

My father received a wonderful 3-bedroom apartment. There were 6 of us living in it: our family, my cousin Adolf and aunt Etelka. My father became a secretary of the regional party committee. In 1945 my father’s comrade Vinkler visited us. He was a member of the party like my father and was put in prison in 1940. When communists began to cross the border to the USSR, Vinkler went with them. He was arrested at the border and sent to thee GULAG where he spent two years. Then he was taken to Moscow where he was made responsible for a radio program in Hungarian. He worked there during the war, and in 1945 he decided to return to Kosice. On his way home he visited Uzhgorod to see my father. My father and mother were on vacation in a recreation center. Vinkler asked me to send them a message to come back home. Vinkler understood that life in the USSR was hard and it wasn’t worth staying here, but he couldn’t talk about it with me. When I told my father, he said: ‘I’ve fought for the Soviet power and want to live where the Soviet power is. I’ve had enough of fighting’. My mother, though she was a communist, understood very soon what was going on and often spoke very emotionally about it. I think, in his heart, my father agreed with her, but he always told mother that this was the fault of some people, but not the regime. My father rarely criticized some officials, but if somebody in his presence expressed his concerns about the Soviet power, my father always spoke in its favor. Some people did it from fear: many people were afraid of speaking their mind in fear of arrests 12 that went on in the USSR. However, my father was a very brave man. When the Soviet power was established in Subcarpathia, they began to arrest the Hungarian officials for the charges of their service for fascists. They were innocent, but they were to go to prison anyway. In 1945 my father saved many of these people. He saved Laszlo Sandor, a free lance employee of the ‘Mai Nap’ newspaper, from the camp where he was taken just for being a Hungarian, which meant fascist for them. My father witnessed that Sandor had always sympathized with communists. There were other similar cases. Of course, later I realized that my father could not have kept his belief in communist ideas living in the USSR. He got disappointed and acknowledged it and suffered from it very much.

My father didn’t work as secretary of the regional party committee for long. I understood later that they could not allow a Jew to hold this kind of position. My father was appointed logistics manager of the regional executive committee [Ispolkom] 13. He supported construction of two bridges in Uzhgorod: pedestrian and automobile. He was a born administrator and manager. However, in the opinion of authorities, a Jew was no good even for this position. There were two big plants in Uzhgorod: woodworking plant and plywood and furniture plant. Their directors were not very competent and the plants were in decay. Town authorities united these plants and appointed my father director. He was dedicated to his job, and soon the enterprise began to prosper. After the campaign against cosmopolites 14 during the postwar years, anti-Semitism in the USSR was growing stronger, and again danger hanged over my father.

In 1946 my aunt Etelka living with us after she returned from the concentration camp, married Ignac Bergida, who had also lost his family to the war. He lived in Uzhgorod before the war. He liked Etelka even then. His first marriage was prearranged. He was a decent, kind and honest man. He was an accountant. When my father became director of the plant, he employed Bergida. In 1947 Bergida and Etelka’s daughter Vera was born. In 1945 the soviet regime began to struggle against religion 15. Most Jews in Subcarpathia were religious. All synagogue were closed in Uzhgorod. The biggest – the Hasidic – synagogue was given to the town Philharmonic. The Jewish community decided to send their representative to the Jewish Antifascist Committee 16 in Moscow for help. Bergida was not an activist in the community, but he was the only one who could speak Russian. Ukrainian Ivan Turianitza, the first secretary of the regional party committee, my father’s close friend, issued a letter to Fefer, a member of the Committee, requesting him to support the community. Bergida went to Moscow. Shortly after he returned, the Antifascist Committee was liquidated and its members executed. The KGB 17 was aware of Bergida’s trip to Moscow. He was arrested and sentenced to 25 years in the GULAG. The charges against him were treason and support of international Zionism and capitalism. This was nonsense and was not true, but at the beginning even my father believed he was guilty, so strong the Soviet propaganda was. However, my father was Bergida’s relative. Somebody reported that my father went to the synagogue and for this reason refused to work on Saturday. This was wrong, of course: my father was an atheist even when religion was the way of life. KGB officers followed my father looking for a ground to arrest him. Stalin’s death on 5 March 1953 saved my father from arrest. Bergida’s sentence was reduced to 10 years. He had cancer at that time, and they released him from the GULAG. He died in 1956 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Uzhgorod. My parents supported Etelka and her daughter. Etelka has passed away. My cousin Vera Brown lives in the USA.

My sister and I went to the school for girls. When Subcarpathia became Soviet, the Russian language was introduced in all spheres of life. There were Russian schools, and only my father could speak the language. We still spoke Hungarian at home. However, children pick languages easily, and a year later my sister and I had no problems with speaking Russian. I had all excellent marks at school in all years. My sister had different marks. Our father was a patriot and raised us to love our Soviet Motherland. We became pioneers and then joined Komsomol 18. I didn’t face any anti-Semitism at school, but I cannot say it did not exist in Uzhgorod. After the process against cosmopolites began to encourage anti-Semitic moods, as I understand now, but our father protected us from this information. He didn’t want us to get disappointed in the Soviet power.

I finished school in 1949. I got to know that there was a faculty of eastern languages, and the Finnish-Hungarian department in it in Leningrad University. I wrote them and they replied they would be happy to admit me, particularly that Hungarian was my native language. Professor Bubrik, chief of this chair, wrote that I could work for him at the department. However, there were only 2 applications submitted to this Faculty while they needed at least 8, so they cancelled this admission. So, they suggested that I entered another department, passed academic exams during my first year and enter the 3rd year of the university. My father wanted me to return home, but I decided to stay in Leningrad. I passed exams to the French department of the College of Foreign languages. I was accommodated in a hostel and started my study on 1 September. I never went to study in the university, though: professor Bubrik died and they closed the Finnish-Hungarian department. I finished the College of Foreign languages successfully. I studied French and English, and also, passed exams in German, that I knew since childhood to obtain a certificate for teaching it.

I got to know what anti-Semitism is like in college. We had wonderful lecturers. During the process against cosmopolites wonderful lecturers and scientists were fired from the university and Academy. Rector of the College of Foreign languages employed them. Yefim Etkind, a brilliant scientist and a charming person, taught us stylistics and translation. Etkind brought me to understanding that not everything in the USSR was so great as we were used to thinking. I didn’t face any anti-Semitism till early 1953, the disgraceful ‘doctors’ plot’ 19. There were Jews in college and in our group. My closest friend was Rosa Fradkina, a Jewish girl from Leningrad, whose family perished during the blockade 20. She was taken out of the city by the ‘Road of Life’ 21, and was sent to a children’s home. Rosa grew up there and returned to her home city. Rosa spent vacations at my home and became one of us in the family. Our friendship became a lifelong relation. We correspond and phone each other and sometimes Rosa visits me.

The ‘doctors’ plot’ brought open anti-Semitism to life. People with typical Semitic appearance were abused publicly and there was nobody to stand for them. In polyclinics patients asked about doctors’ nationality and refused to go to Jewish doctors. [Jewish was considered a nationally among many others in the Soviet Union and it was registered in peoples’ passports.] This was hard and scary. When I heard that Stalin dead on 5 March 1953, I couldn’t hold back my tears. There was a mourning meeting and we were all crying. There was one question: how do we go on living and what will happen to the country now that Stalin is dead. I can still remember this feeling of fear.

I met my future husband in Uzhgorod, when Rosa and I came home on vacation. There was an open-air swimming pool near the railway station. We spend much time there swimming and lying in the sun: Rosa, my sister and I. . Kati finished 8 forms and entered the Electric Engineering technical college in Vinogradovo, despite our parents’ protests. She fell in love with a senior student of this college. My sister’s friend was a sportsman. Once he injured his spine and the bruise developed into tumor. He was taken to a hospital in Uzhgorod. My sister gave up her studies and returned to Uzhgorod. She entered an evening school and spent days in the hospital. He died and it was very hard on my sister. We tried to support her and I always took my sister with us wherever we went. We met our future husbands by this swimming pool. My husband Adolf Haikis was a doctor in the Uzhgorod military hospital. He was born in Kiev in 1921. His father Solomon Haikis was an endocrinologist in the clinic for scientists in Kiev. He had finished the Medical Faculty of Berlin University before the revolution of 1917 22. He had good memories about the years of his studies and he gave his son the German name of Adolf. Back in 1921it was not associated with Hitler. His mother Vera Haikis, nee Kozlova, came from the Jewish family of the Kozlovs, attorneys in Kiev. Adolf wanted to become a literarian, but there was no literature college in Kiev and he decided to become a doctor to follow into his father’s steps. He entered Kiev Medical College. In 1944 Adolf finished college and went to the front. He was doctor in hospital. In 1947 he requested to demobilize from the army. He entered the residency department and specialized in neuropathology. After finishing the residency he returned to the army and became a military doctor, neuropathologist in the Uzhgorod hospital. Returned to Uzhgorod in 1956 after finishing my college and we got married. Of course, we didn’t have a traditional Jewish wedding. We registered our marriage in a registry office and had a wedding dinner for our relatives and friends. We lived with my parents. I went to work as a French schoolteacher. In 1955 our only daughter Ludmila was born. My father loved her dearly. He called her ‘the last love of his life’. At that time my parents lived in Velikaya Dobron [30 km from Uzhgorod, 680 km from Kiev] village, but they often came to Uzhgorod: my mother visited us more often than my father. My sister married Leopold Lowenberg, a Jew from Mukachevo [40 km from Uzhgorod, 650 km from Kiev] She moved to Mukachevo with her husband. She finished higher accounting courses and worked as an accountant and then chief accountant in a big store. Her husband was a shop superintendent at a factory. In 1953 their only daughter Julia was born. We didn’t celebrate any Jewish holidays in our family even in my childhood. Since 1945 our family always celebrated Soviet holidays: 1 May, 7 November 23, Soviet army day 24, Victory Day 25 and the New Year, of course. We always had guests and lots of fun.

It was more and more difficult for my father to work as director of the plant. Workers liked him very much, but the pressure of party authorities was hard for him. When in 1954 General Secretary of the CC CPSU Nikita Khrushchev 26 appealed to communists to go to villages to improve the kolkhoses 27, my father was among the first ones to respond to this appeal. He went to Velikaya Dobron village in Uzhgorod district and became chairman of the kolkhoz. My mother followed him, of course. This was remote village, with no polyclinic or public baths. In one year my father turned this kolkhoz into a successful enterprises. Velikaya Dobron residents adored him for becoming wealthy. A school, a polyclinic, a public bath were built and villagers had new houses with all comforts. The villagers called my father ‘our father’. However, not everything was well with his work. At that time local authorities demanded to show higher quantities in documents to pretend there were more successes than in reality and there was much pressure on my father in this regard. My father was an honest man and convinced communist and refused to do any falsifications. One day in June 1963 he was invited to another bureau of the district party committee. When he came home, he had an infarction. He survived, but he could work no longer. My parents returned to Uzhgorod. My father became a free lance correspondent for the ‘Karpati Igaz Szo’ newspaper. [Carpathian True Word, Hungarian language Soviet newspaper, issued in Uzhgorod.] My father suffered much than neither his daughters nor their husbands were members of the party. Though my husband was a military, he never joined the party and this had an impact on his career. Through 14 years of his work in Uzhgorod hospital he was in the rank of captain, though it was time for him to be promoted to the rank of major. They wouldn’t have promoted a Jew, particularly that he was not a member of the party. My husband knew what the party policy was worth. After the 20th Congress of CPSU 28 we heard about Stalin and his regime’s crimes from the speech of Nikita Khrushchev. My husband and I believed this to be true. The 20th Congress was followed by the so-called ‘thaw’. We were hoping for improvements, but some time later we realized that these expectations were not to become true. The CPSU and KGB guided the life in the country.

In late October 1956 my husband received an emergency call ordering him to come to his unit immediately. This was all he knew any relocation at that time was confidential. In the morning my husband called me to inform that he was leaving. The only point of contact was captain Ostapenko in his hospital. I put my 11-month old daughter into her pram and ran to the hospital. I got to know that they were sent to Hungary by train. I read about the events in Hungary [23rd October 1956] 29 in newspapers. It was scaring. I feared for my husband, was sorry for the actions of the Soviet government and sympathized with Hungary. My husband called me from Budapest: they deployed a hospital in the basement of the Parliament building. My husband met a telephone operator. Her name was Judit like mine. My husband didn’t speak Hungarian, but he spoke German. He told Judit about me and our daughter and she allowed him to call me every evening. My husband’s best friend Samuel Frek, a Jew, an endocrinologist from the Uzhgorod hospital was sent in his ambulance vehicle to Hungary. On their way they were halted by a group of Hungarian rebels, about 40 of them. They disarmed them and ordered our doctors to stand with their backs to trees, but they did not shoot them and let them go few minutes later. In these few minutes, Samuel Frek, a dark-haired handsome man of the same age as my husband, turned gray. Upon their return to Uzhgorod they began to have problems. The political department demanded that they explained why they gave away their weapons. Hey didn’t want to understand that 3 doctors could not resist 40 armed men, even though the rebels returned their guns to the military commandant of Uzhgorod.

Few months later the military in Hungary were allowed to bring their families there. My daughter and I joined my husband in Hungary. I was happy to speak Hungarian and hear my native language around me. I served as interpreter for other militaries. In 1957 my husband’s father died in Kiev. There were restrictions about traveling from Hungary and my husband was not allowed to go to his father’s funeral. We received the notification about his death on Friday, but my husband had to wait for a permit for departure till Monday. My father went to the funeral from Uzhgorod. My husband went to Kiev later to support his mother after the funeral. My father-in-law was buried in the Baykovoye town cemetery in Kiev.

From Hungary we returned to Uzhgorod with my husband’s division. In the early 1960s armed conflicts with the Chinese started on the Far Eastern border. Khrushchev began to send divisions from all over the USSR to the Far East. 1963 was a very hard year for our family. My father’s health condition was very severe after the infarction, and he had to stay in Dobron. We had to look after my father. My husband’s mother spent spring and summer with us, leaving for Kiev in early November. That year my husband was planning to take her to Kiev before 7 November. On 13 October she died suddenly of infarction. She was an atheist and we arranged a secular funeral. On 23 October my husband’s hospital was given an order to send 4 people to the Far East. There were only 3 Jewish employees in the hospital: Haikis, Flek and Wasserman, and all of them were sent to the Far East. The 4th man was a Russian doctor. They went to the gathering point in Vladimir-Volynskiy. My husband asked the general to allow him 10 days to make arrangements for his mother’s apartment in Kiev to be returned in the ownership of the state. The general gave him the leave. Then my husband in November 1963 moved on to my husband’s point of destination. He got a job in a big hospital in the Primorskiy Kray, Kraskino village, on the very border with China, a district town of the Khasan district in 50 km from the Khasan Lake. I only managed to obtain a permit in February 1964, I and our daughter came to Kraskino. We could see Chinese houses from our hut. I went to work in the only village school. My daughter also went to this school. We spent vacations with my parents in Uzhgorod every year. In 1968 we also planned to go there, but my husband fell ill and we had to stay home. When he got better, we went to the recreation house for high-rank officers near Vladivostok. This was August 1968 , and we heard about the events in Czechoslovakia [Prague Spring] 30. I remember how shocked my husband and I were, when we heard about the invasion of Soviet armies of Czechoslovakia, the country that I believe to be my Motherland. I’ve always loved it. In this recreation house we met a lecturer from the Academy in Leningrad, a Jewish man. When we met after we heard about the events in Czechoslovakia, I remember how this Jewish colonel and my husband cursed the Soviet power for this invasion: ‘How could we bring tanks to Prague? How could they allow it to happen?’ When I returned to Uzhgorod later, I got to know that Erno, my father’s cousin, when Soviet tanks invaded Prague in 1968, decided to leave the USSR for Israel. Erno was professor of Medicine lecturing in the Prague Medical University. He became a doctor in Israel. Erno has passed away, but his widow, son Karoly, a cardiologist, the father of four children, and his daughter Eva, an archeologist, live in Israel. She had two daughters.

The Far East promoted my husband’s military career. This was a different world with no anti-Semitism where people were valued for their human merits rather than their nationality. My husband was appointed chief of department and promoted to the rank of major. 4 years later he became chief of the hospital and promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. During military actions my husband worked in a field hospital. The term of service in the Far East was 5 years and we lived there 7 years. Upon completion of this term my husband was sent to the Сarpathian military regiment. We moved to Uzhgorod, and settled down with m parents. My daughter went to the 8th form a school. My husband went to the regiment commander, a general, to report of his arrival. The general stared at him: lieutenant colonel, a Jew and chief of the medical department of hospital – how could this be true? It just could not happen in Ukraine. Commander of the regiment advised my husband to visit with the family in Uzhgorod since he was not ready yet to talk with him and hopefully, when Adolf came back, he would have a job to offer him. 10 days later my husband came back to Lvov. The general offered him the position of chief of the medical department of the hospital in Korosten, a small town in Zhytomyr region [85 km from Zhytomyr, 165 km from Kiev]. Before the revolution of 1917 Korosten was within the Jewish Pale of Settlement 31. There were many Jewish residents in the town. 80% of medical employees of the hospital were Jews. We were welcomed nicely. My daughter went to school and I went to work as a French teacher at school. After finishing school my daughter went to my parents in Uzhgorod and entered the English department of the Faculty of foreign languages of Uzhgorod University. My husband wanted to demobilize from the army and move to Kiev, his hometown. We did it in 1974. We received a 2-bedroom apartment in a new house near a lake in the Sviatoshino district in Kiev. My husband had a confirmation of his transfer of the parents’ apartment to the state and this helped a lot. My husband worked a neuropathologist in the polyclinic for scientists of the Academy of Scientists. I worked as a German and French teacher at school till I retired. I got along with my colleagues and my pupils liked me. My former pupils visit and call me. I am very glad that they do not forget me.

In the 1970s Jews began to move to Israel. My husband did not appreciate this process. He did not understand how they could leave their Motherland and their kin’s graves. My father had the same attitude to emigration. Our close friend Tsypkin, a traumatologist from Uzhgorod, and his family left the country. My husband was trying to convince them against doing it. I met with the Tsypkins in Berlin last year. They are doing very well. Their children are well. They have a decent living in their old age, which cannot be said about Ukrainian the Commonwealth of Independent States pensioners. Now I receive my husband’s pension as his dependent, as I hadn’t worked in my life. My own teacher’s pension wouldn’t even be enough to pay my monthly fees.

In 1975 my father died few months before he was to turn 70. We buried him in the town cemetery in Uzhgorod. He was an atheists and we arranged for a secular funeral. My daughter still lived with my mother, and my mother didn’t feel complete loneliness. Upon graduation from the University Ludmila married Miloslav Goshovskiy and moved in with her husband. Their apartment faced the central synagogue that housed the Philharmonic during the Soviet power. Miloslav is a physicist. He graduated from the Lvov Polytechnic University and worked in the Uzhgorod affiliate of the institute of nuclear research. Since the head institute was in Kiev we were hoping that they would move to Kiev. Ludmila worked as an English teacher in the children’s center at the gymnasium. My granddaughter Yekaterina was born in 1978. Two years later my grandson Mikhail was born. Ludmila and her husband decided to stay in Uzhgorod. My mother often visited us in Kiev staying with us for a long time. After our grandchildren were born, she began to spend more time in Uzhgorod helping Ludmila to take care of the children. My mother died in 1985 at the age of 76. She was buried beside my father.

My sister and her family lived in Mukachevo. Her daughter Julia finished school with a golden medal and entered the University. She got an offer to go to study at the Faculty of Hungarian Language and Literature of the Budapest University under a students’ exchange program. Julia went to Budapest, and my sister and her husband wanted to live close to their daughter. They decided to move to Hungary, but they could not obtain the visa. After they had 3 refusals Klara and her husband decided to move to Israel for Julia to join them later. Of course, had my father been alive, he would have never allowed my sister to emigrate. They obtained a permit and left. They settled down in Netanya. My sister went to work as a cashier in a supermarket, and Leopold worked as a goods expert in a store. After finishing her study Julia worked in Budapest as an editor of Hebrew-Hungarian dictionaries in a dictionary publishing office. Julia had no chance to join her parents: Hungary did not allow emigration to Israel in 1970s. Julia undertook few efforts and then decided to trick the authorities: in 1978 she bought a tour to France and from there she left for Israel illegally. In Israel Julia married Boris Penson, an artist. He had come to Israel from the USSR. Julia and Boris have two wonderful sons. Max, the older one, born in 1981, served in the army and works for an army organization. Roy, the younger son, born in 1989, studied in high school and later at a higher education institution in Natanya. Now she owns a publishing house. They have a house in Netaniya. Klara and Leo are pensioners now.

In 1982 my husband died. On 30 April he was at work receiving patients and on 1 May he had an infarction. He died on 4 May 1982. We buried Adolf near his father in the Baykovoye cemetery in Kiev. Since then I’ve lived alone. I often visit my daughter’s family in Uzhgorod and my grandchildren visit me. In 2002 a terrible tragedy happened in our family. My daughter fell severely ill. She had a malicious tumor in her brain. She had a surgery, but to no avail. Nobody told me my daughter’s diagnosis, and when I heard about it, she was already dying. Despite a surgery and our efforts she died in 2002, so young that she was. There will be always pain of this loss with me.

After finishing school Yekaterina entered the Historical Faculty of Uzhgorod University. Mikhail studied at the Medical Faculty in the university. My granddaughter also taught history in the Jewish Sunday school and my grandson worked as a medical brother during studies. When she was a senior student in the university, my granddaughter. After finishing the 4th year of the university my granddaughter took an academic leave and went to work in Germany for a year, to Stuttgart. She met her future husband Michael Hertzog, a German man, there. They got married. A year later Yekaterina returned to Uzhgorod, finished her studies in the university and moved in with her husband in Germany. Now she studies at the Faculty of Economics in Osnabruck. My grandson Mikhail also moved to Germany after finishing his studies.

In the late 1980s General Secretary of the CPSY Mikhail Gorbachev 32 initiated perestroika 33 in the USSR. I was enthusiastic about it. Finally freedom came to the USSR that I believed to be y second Motherland. There were articles on various subjects that had been forbidden formerly, published. There were books by for example, those of Alexandr Solzhenitsyn 34 published that would have been judged as anti-Soviet propaganda in the past. The ‘iron curtain’ 35 that separated us from the rest of the world for many years, collapsed. Citizens of the USSR were allowed to communicate with people living abroad without fearing the KGB, correspond with relatives 36 and invite them home. There was no longer ban on religion that had been in place since the start of the soviet power. People were allowed to go to temples and celebrate religious holidays. Religious and everyday anti-Semitism was reducing. We, citizens of the USSR, were happy and full of hopes for a different life. I could finally travel to Israel to visit my sister and see my friends. I was happy about it. It’s hard to say how much Israel impressed me. It’s an amazingly beautiful country where the antiquity and modern life are in complete conformity. Unfortunately, this little country living in the encirclement of hostile neighbors, knows no peace. I wish Israel peace, quiet life and prosperity from the bottom of my heart.

When after the breakup of the USSR [1991] Ukraine gained independence, we were building up hopes for a better life, but many of us still live in the humiliating poverty. Ukraine is rich in natural resources, fruitful soils and hardworking people. I believe, we have such poor life due to our leaders who guided the country in the Soviet times. However, there has been some improvement. The Jewish life is reviving. There are many Jewish organizations and associations, and the most popular with old people is the Hesed 37, of course. The Hesed in Kiev provides food packages to us, delivers meals to elderly people and bring medications. This is significant assistance. We are in a better position than non-Jewish residents. Hesed is just great! It conducts a great job to recover Jewry in Ukraine, from nursery schools to old people helping them to study the Jewish history, history of religion, and learn more about Jewish traditions. There are various studios and clubs. I like our Sunday daytime center where we talk with other people – this is very important. Sometimes talking to others is more important than food. I have new friends in the daytime center and we enjoy spending time together. I read Hesed-delivered Jewish newspapers and magazines regularly. Soon I am moving to my grandchildren in Germany, my family. It’s hard to live alone in my age. Of course, it’s hard to leave everything here, it’s been a big part of my life, hard to leave the graves of my dear ones and get adjusted to a different way of life, but I hope to able to visit Uzhgorod and Kiev, my two hometowns.

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

1 First Czechoslovak Republic (1918-1938): The First Czechoslovak Republic was created after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy following World War I. The union of the Czech lands and Slovakia was officially proclaimed in Prague in 1918, and formally recognized by the Treaty of St. Germain in 1919. Ruthenia was added by the Treaty of Trianon in 1920. Czechoslovakia inherited the greater part of the industries of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and the new government carried out an extensive land reform, as a result of which the living conditions of the peasantry increasingly improved. However, the constitution of 1920 set up a highly centralized state and failed to take into account the issue of national minorities, and thus internal political life was dominated by the struggle of national minorities (especially the Hungarians and the Germans) against Czech rule. In foreign policy Czechoslovakia kept close contacts with France and initiated the foundation of the Little Entente in 1921.

2 Masaryk, Tomas Garrigue (1850-1937)

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

4 Neolog Jewry

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

5 Hasid

The follower of the Hasidic movement, a Jewish mystic movement founded in the 18th century that reacted against Talmudic learning and maintained that God’s presence was in all of one’s surroundings and that one should serve God in one’s every deed and word. The movement provided spiritual hope and uplifted the common people. There were large branches of Hasidic movements and schools throughout Eastern Europe before World War II, each following the teachings of famous scholars and thinkers. Most had their own customs, rituals and life styles. Today there are substantial Hasidic communities in New York, London, Israel and Antwerp.
6 Subcarpathia (also known as Ruthenia, Russian and Ukrainian name Zakarpatie): Region situated on the border of the Carpathian Mountains with the Middle Danube lowland. The regional capitals are Uzhhorod, Berehovo, Mukachevo, Khust. It belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy until World War I; and the Saint-Germain convention declared its annexation to Czechoslovakia in 1919. It is impossible to give exact historical statistics of the language and ethnic groups living in this geographical unit: the largest groups in the interwar period were Hungarians, Rusyns, Russians, Ukrainians, Czech and Slovaks. In addition there was also a considerable Jewish and Gypsy population. In accordance with the first Vienna Decision of 1938, the area of Subcarpathia mainly inhabited by Hungarians was ceded to Hungary. The rest of the region, was proclaimed a new state called Carpathian Ukraine in 1939, with Khust as its capital, but it only existed for four and a half months, and was occupied by Hungary in March 1939. Subcarpathia was taken over by Soviet troops and local guerrillas in 1944. In 1945, Czechoslovakia ceded the area to the USSR and it gained the name Carpatho-Ukraine. The region became part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic in 1945. When Ukraine became independent in 1991, the region became an administrative region under the name of Transcarpathia.
6 Trianon Peace Treaty: Trianon is a palace in Versailles where, as part of the Paris Peace Conference, the peace treaty was signed with Hungary on 4th June 1920. It was the official end of World War I for the countries concerned. The Trianon Peace Treaty validated the annexation of huge parts of pre-war Hungary by the states of Austria (the province of Burgenland) and Romania (Transylvania, and parts of Eastern Hungary). The northern part of pre-war Hungary was attached to the newly created Czechoslovak state (Slovakia and Subcarpathia) while Croatia-Slavonia as well as parts of Southern Hungary (Voivodina, Baranja, Medjumurje and Prekmurje) were to the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians (later Yugoslavia). Hungary lost 67.3% of its pre-war territory, including huge areas populated mostly or mainly by Hungarians, and 58.4% of its population. As a result approximately one third of the Hungarians became an - often oppressed - ethnic minority in some of the predominantly hostile neighboring countries. Trianon became the major point of reference of interwar nationalistic and anti-Semitic Hungarian regimes.
7 Anti-Jewish laws in Hungary: Following similar legislation in Nazi Germany, Hungary enacted three Jewish laws in 1938, 1939 and 1941. The first law restricted the number of Jews in industrial and commercial enterprises, banks and in certain occupations, such as legal, medical and engineering professions, and journalism to 20% of the total number. This law defined Jews on the basis of their religion, so those who converted before the short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic in 1919, as well as those who fought in World War I, and their widows and orphans were exempted from the law. The second Jewish law introduced further restrictions, limiting the number of Jews in the above fields to 6%, prohibiting the employment of Jews completely in certain professions such as high school and university teaching, civil and municipal services, etc. It also forbade Jews to buy or sell land and so forth. This law already defined Jews on more racial grounds in that it regarded baptized children that had at least one non-converted Jewish parent as Jewish. The third Jewish law prohibited intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews, and defined anyone who had at least one Jewish grandparent as Jewish.

8 The Soviet system of forced labor camps in the remote regions of Siberia and the Far North, which was first established in 1919. However, it was not until the early 1930s that there was a significant number of inmates in the camps. By 1934 the Gulag, or the Main Directorate for Corrective Labor Camps, then under the Cheka's successor organization the NKVD, had several million inmates. The prisoners included murderers, thieves, and other common criminals, along with political and religious dissenters. The Gulag camps made significant contributions to the Soviet economy during the rule of Stalin. Conditions in the camps were extremely harsh. After Stalin died in 1953, the population of the camps was reduced significantly, and conditions for the inmates improved somewhat.

9 Great Patriotic War

10 19th March 1944

Hungary was occupied by the German forces on this day. Nazi Germany decided to take this step because it considered the reluctance of the Hungarian government to carry out the ‘final solution of the Jewish question’ and deport the Jewish population of Hungary to concentration camps as evidence of Hungary's determination to join forces with the Western Allies. By the time of the German occupation, close to 63,000 Jews (8% of the Jewish population) had already fallen victim to the persecution. On the German side special responsibility for Jewish affairs was assigned to Edmund Veesenmayer, the newly appointed minister and Reich plenipotentiary, and to Otto Winkelmann, higher S.S. and police leader and Himmler's representative in Hungary.

10 Hitlerjugend: The youth organization of the German Nazi Party (NSDAP). In 1936 all other German youth organizations were abolished and the Hitlerjugend was the only legal state youth organization. From 1939 all young Germans between 10 and 18 were obliged to join the Hitlerjugend, which organized after-school activities and political education. Boys over 14 were also given pre-military training and girls over 14 were trained for motherhood and domestic duties. After reaching the age of 18, young people either joined the army or went to work.

11 Yad Vashem

This museum, founded in 1953 in Jerusalem, honors both Holocaust martyrs and ‘the Righteous Among the Nations’, non-Jewish rescuers who have been recognized for their ‘compassion, courage and morality’.

12 Great Terror (1934-1938)

During the Great Terror, or Great Purges, which included the notorious show trials of Stalin's former Bolshevik opponents in 1936-1938 and reached its peak in 1937 and 1938, millions of innocent Soviet citizens were sent off to labor camps or killed in prison. The major targets of the Great Terror were communists. Over half of the people who were arrested were members of the party at the time of their arrest. The armed forces, the Communist Party, and the government in general were purged of all allegedly dissident persons; the victims were generally sentenced to death or to long terms of hard labor. Much of the purge was carried out in secret, and only a few cases were tried in public ‘show trials’. By the time the terror subsided in 1939, Stalin had managed to bring both the Party and the public to a state of complete submission to his rule. Soviet society was so atomized and the people so fearful of reprisals that mass arrests were no longer necessary. Stalin ruled as absolute dictator of the Soviet Union until his death in March 1953.

13 Ispolkom

After the tsar’s abdication (March, 1917), power passed to a Provisional Government appointed by a temporary committee of the Duma, which proposed to share power to some extent with councils of workers and soldiers known as ‘soviets’. Following a brief and chaotic period of fairly democratic procedures, a mixed body of socialist intellectuals known as the Ispolkom secured the right to ‘represent’ the soviets. The democratic credentials of the soviets were highly imperfect to begin with: peasants - the overwhelming majority of the Russian population - had virtually no say, and soldiers were grossly over-represented. The Ispolkom’s assumption of power turned this highly imperfect democracy into an intellectuals’ oligarchy.

14 Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’

The campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’, i.e. Jews, was initiated in articles in the central organs of the Communist Party in 1949. The campaign was directed primarily at the Jewish intelligentsia and it was the first public attack on Soviet Jews as Jews. ‘Cosmopolitans’ writers were accused of hating the Russian people, of supporting Zionism, etc. Many Yiddish writers as well as the leaders of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee were arrested in November 1948 on charges that they maintained ties with Zionism and with American ‘imperialism’. They were executed secretly in 1952. The anti-Semitic Doctors’ Plot was launched in January 1953. A wave of anti-Semitism spread through the USSR. Jews were removed from their positions, and rumors of an imminent mass deportation of Jews to the eastern part of the USSR began to spread. Stalin’s death in March 1953 put an end to the campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’.

15 Struggle against religion

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

16 Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee (JAC)

formed in Kuibyshev in April 1942, the organization was meant to serve the interests of Soviet foreign policy and the Soviet military through media propaganda, as well as through personal contacts with Jews abroad, especially in Britain and the United States. The chairman of the JAC was Solomon Mikhoels, a famous actor and director of the Moscow Yiddish State Theater. A year after its establishment, the JAC was moved to Moscow and became one of the most important centers of Jewish culture and Yiddish literature until the German occupation. The JAC broadcast pro-Soviet propaganda to foreign audiences several times a week, telling them of the absence of anti-Semitism and of the great anti-Nazi efforts being made by the Soviet military. In 1948, Mikhoels was assassinated by Stalin’s secret agents, and, as part of a newly-launched official anti-Semitic campaign, the JAC was disbanded in November and most of its members arrested.

17 KGB

The KGB or Committee for State Security was the main Soviet external security and intelligence agency, as well as the main secret police agency from 1954 to 1991.

18 Komsomol

Communist youth political organization created in 1918. The task of the Komsomol was to spread of the ideas of communism and involve the worker and peasant youth in building the Soviet Union. The Komsomol also aimed at giving a communist upbringing by involving the worker youth in the political struggle, supplemented by theoretical education. The Komsomol was more popular than the Communist Party because with its aim of education people could accept uninitiated young proletarians, whereas party members had to have at least a minimal political qualification.

19 Doctors’ Plot

The Doctors’ Plot was an alleged conspiracy of a group of Moscow doctors to murder leading government and party officials. In January 1953, the Soviet press reported that nine doctors, six of whom were Jewish, had been arrested and confessed their guilt. As Stalin died in March 1953, the trial never took place. The official paper of the Party, the Pravda, later announced that the charges against the doctors were false and their confessions obtained by torture. This case was one of the worst anti-Semitic incidents during Stalin’s reign. In his secret speech at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956 Khrushchev stated that Stalin wanted to use the Plot to purge the top Soviet leadership.

20 Blockade of Leningrad

On September 8, 1941 the Germans fully encircled Leningrad and its siege began. It lasted until January 27, 1944. The blockade meant incredible hardships and privations for the population of the town. Hundreds of thousands died from hunger, cold and diseases during the almost 900 days of the blockade.

21 Road of Life

It was a passage across Lake Ladoga in winter during the Blockade of Leningrad. It was due to the Road of Life that Leningrad survived in the terrible winter of 1941-42.

22 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during World War I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

23 October Revolution Day

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

24 Soviet Army Day

The Russian imperial army and navy disintegrated after the outbreak of the Revolution of 1917, so the Council of the People's Commissars created the Workers' and Peasants' Red Army on a voluntary basis. The first units distinguished themselves against the Germans on February 23, 1918. This day became the ‘Day of the Soviet Army’ and is nowadays celebrated as ‘Army Day’.

25 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

26 Khrushchev, Nikita (1894-1971)

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

27 Kolkhoz

In the Soviet Union the policy of gradual and voluntary collectivization of agriculture was adopted in 1927 to encourage food production while freeing labor and capital for industrial development. In 1929, with only 4% of farms in kolkhozes, Stalin ordered the confiscation of peasants' land, tools, and animals; the kolkhoz replaced the family farm.

28 Twentieth Party Congress

At the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956 Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what had happened in the USSR during Stalin’s leadership.

29 23rd October 1956

It designates the Revolution, which started on 23rd October 1956 against Soviet rule and the communists in Hungary. It was started by student and worker demonstrations in Budapest started in which Stalin’s gigantic statue was destroyed. Moderate communist leader Imre Nagy was appointed as prime minister and he promised reform and democratization. The Soviet Union withdrew its troops which had been stationing in Hungary since the end of World War II, but they returned after Nagy’s announcement that Hungary would pull out of the Warsaw Pact to pursue a policy of neutrality. The Soviet army put an end to the rising on 4th November and mass repression and arrests started. About 200,000 Hungarians fled from the country. Nagy, and a number of his supporters were executed. Until 1989, the fall of the communist regime, the Revolution of 1956 was officially considered a counter-revolution.

30 Prague Spring

The term Prague Spring designates the liberalization period in communist-ruled Czechoslovakia between 1967-1969. In 1967 Alexander Dubcek became the head of the Czech Communist Party and promoted ideas of ‘socialism with a human face’, i.e. with more personal freedom and freedom of the press, and the rehabilitation of victims of Stalinism. In August 1968 Soviet troops, along with contingents from Poland, East Germany, Hungary and Bulgaria, occupied Prague and put an end to the reforms.

31 Jewish Pale of Settlement

Certain provinces in the Russian Empire were designated for permanent Jewish residence and the Jewish population was only allowed to live in these areas. The Pale was first established by a decree by Catherine II in 1791. The regulation was in force until the Russian Revolution of 1917, although the limits of the Pale were modified several times. The Pale stretched from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea, and 94% of the total Jewish population of Russia, almost 5 million people, lived there. The overwhelming majority of the Jews lived in the towns and shtetls of the Pale. Certain privileged groups of Jews, such as certain merchants, university graduates and craftsmen working in certain branches, were granted to live outside the borders of the Pale of Settlement permanently.

32 Gorbachev, Mikhail (1931- )

Soviet political leader. Gorbachev joined the Communist Party in 1952 and gradually moved up in the party hierarchy. In 1970 he was elected to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, where he remained until 1990. In 1980 he joined the politburo, and in 1985 he was appointed general secretary of the party. In 1986 he embarked on a comprehensive program of political, economic, and social liberalization under the slogans of glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring). The government released political prisoners, allowed increased emigration, attacked corruption, and encouraged the critical reexamination of Soviet history. The Congress of People’s Deputies, founded in 1989, voted to end the Communist Party’s control over the government and elected Gorbachev executive president. Gorbachev dissolved the Communist Party and granted the Baltic states independence. Following the establishment of the Commonwealth of Independent States in 1991, he resigned as president. Since 1992, Gorbachev has headed international organizations.

33 Perestroika (Russian for restructuring)

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s, associated with the name of Soviet politician Mikhail Gorbachev. The term designated the attempts to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized, market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratize the Communist Party organization. By 1991, perestroika was declining and was soon eclipsed by the dissolution of the USSR.

34 Solzhenitsyn, Alexander (1918-)

Russian novelist and publicist. He spent eight years in prisons and labor camps, and three more years in enforced exile. After the publication of a collection of his short stories in 1963, he was denied further official publication of his work, and so he circulated them clandestinely, in samizdat publications, and published them abroad. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1970 and was exiled from the Soviet Union in 1974 after publishing his famous book, The Gulag Archipelago, in which he describes Soviet labor camps.

35 Iron Curtain

A term popularized by Sir Winston Churchill in a speech in 1946. He used it to designate the Soviet Union’s consolidation of its grip over Eastern Europe. The phrase denoted the separation of East and West during the Cold War, which placed the totalitarian states of the Soviet bloc behind an ‘Iron Curtain’. The fall of the Iron Curtain corresponds to the period of perestroika in the former Soviet Union, the reunification of Germany, and the democratization of Eastern Europe beginning in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

36 Keep in touch with relatives abroad

The authorities could arrest an individual corresponding with his/her relatives abroad and charge him/her with espionage, send them to concentration camp or even sentence them to death.

36 Struggle against religion

37 Hesed

Meaning care and mercy in Hebrew, Hesed stands for the charity organization founded by Amos Avgar in the early 20th century. Supported by Claims Conference and Joint Hesed helps for Jews in need to have a decent life despite hard economic conditions and encourages development of their self-identity. Hesed provides a number of services aimed at supporting the needs of all, and particularly elderly members of the society. The major social services include: work in the center facilities (information, advertisement of the center activities, foreign ties and free lease of medical equipment); services at homes (care and help at home, food products delivery, delivery of hot meals, minor repairs); work in the community (clubs, meals together, day-time polyclinic, medical and legal consultations); service for volunteers (training programs). The Hesed centers have inspired a real revolution in the Jewish life in the FSU countries. People have seen and sensed the rebirth of the Jewish traditions of humanism. Currently over eighty Hesed centers exist in the FSU countries. Their activities cover the Jewish population of over eight hundred settlements.

Moshe Burla

Moshe Burla
Thessaloniki
Greece
Interviewer: Stratos Dordanas
Date of the interview: October 2005

The Burla family originates from Volos. Not only my grandfather, but also the grandfathers of our grandfathers all originate from Volos. I don’t know how we fell to Macedonia, what I know is that when we came to Naousa, we found there our grandfather [Moshe Burla] and one of my father’s brothers. We settled in Naousa where we lived together for seven years. Seven years later, due to my father’s gambling habit, which ruined us, as they say, the whole family, completely penniless, went down to Thessaloniki in 1926. My mother was the only one running around and cleaning after other Jewish families to get a piece of bread to feed us, as we were four children.

My family background

In addition to the one brother who was with Grandfather in Naousa, my father, Leon Burla, had another brother in Larissa, Minas Burla. He was my father’s youngest brother and he was an upstanding young man. The whole of Larissa, everyone used to talk about him, for his achievements. He was a very generous, good man, he and his wife were very good people.

My father had yet another brother, Daniel Bourla, who wasn’t so close to the family, but he was mostly involved with his son’s life, his only child, who wanted to become famous and in fact he had written some poems: ‘Why is the world joyful’ and ‘Smiling Father’, were two poems by my uncle’s son. He had a special story: he had been taken by the partisans, who had possibly saved him from the forced labor 1 that the Germans were about to take him to. They brought a woman, who turned out to be a German spy, and he fell in love with her and abandoned us and became Christian. In this way he stained the good Burla name and is not a Burla any longer, as he has changed his name.

He was famous for his achievements and until today he lives at a house close to Agia Sofia [Church in the center of Thessaloniki]. I don’t want to meet him because of what he did, and I even said that when he dies I won’t go to the funeral because I don’t accept him as a cousin, as generally I didn’t like his attitude. This was the last part of the Burla family. The mother and the father had given everything to this child and they were taken to forced labor, and never came back.

The eldest son of my grandfather was called David Burla, while my grandfather’s name was Moshe Burla, and I was named after him. I didn’t meet any of my grandmothers. The only woman that I met was my uncle’s wife, who lived in Naousa, and her name was Reina. She was very calm and sweet and nice. She really took care of us like a second mother, she loved us very much. She also had many kids, seven kids, among them a girl, who is the mother of Alberto Eskenazi.

One of her children was in France and we weren’t in contact with him, and he died without us even knowing. She had another son, Minas, who got married in Thessaloniki, the father of his wife was a carter and they worked at the harbor. The whole family was deported and nobody survived.

She also had another son, Jackos, who got married to a woman whose father was a tobacco specialist. He was very well known and everyone respected him among the tobacconists. He didn’t have a great life with his wife, as his wife always asked for more. They divorced and he left for America and he now lives with his second wife.

My uncle David had one more daughter who was older than the mother of Eskenazi and another one, even older, named Sultana, who was married to the son of Colonel Frizis 2. Colonel Frizis had a son exactly the same age; he was an upstanding young man, fearless, but he had a tragic death. While they sent him up the mountain to be saved the people there had found him a small house, a hut. One day the Germans came to the village and they requested all the men to assemble in the square. The villagers told him, ‘you don’t come out, hide at your hunt, no one knows where you are and what you are doing, and you will be fine.’ But he didn’t listen and he went to the square, and as soon as the Germans saw him, this big lusty man being dressed not as a villager, they claimed that he was in charge and took him and he was gone. His children are now old, one son is a rabbi, and there are many other Frizis in Larissa. In Thessaloniki, we have a Doctor Frizi whose mother is in the old people’s home here with us.

We didn’t know anything from my mother’s side of the family, because the marriage of our mother and father came about in such a way that we simply didn’t know. That’s because my father was sent, while serving in the army, to Chios to buy some things for the army, and he fell in love with my mother, dropped out of the army, took my mother and went to Egypt. My mother’s sister lived in Egypt. She took care of them, helped my father to get a job, and we were born in Egypt, three children. We only knew that her father’s surname was Suhami, Esther Suhami, that’s what my mother’s documents said.

My grandfather Moshe Burla was a simple man, and he was religious. There, in Naousa he had made a small room with all his kit and every morning he would get up, put on his tefillin and say the prayer. He made sure to help us, children, as his job was very simple. He had a small loom where he would weave garters for the Evzones; he would deal with needles, thimbles, eggs, with money, with the world. I mean, he was aiming high, to get rich.

When we came to Naousa, his eldest brother, who had many children, helped my father. At the shop that was there, my grandfather opened a studio, put there some fabrics and worked just fine. Us, the children, all the teachers loved us there in Naousa. We had settled at school, we even took part at a school play, I and the mother of Alberto Eskenazi had the leading parts in a Greek play.

Growing up

When we came to Thessaloniki, Grandfather came with us. He suffered a lot because of my father. After Naousa, supposedly, he was a communist and he was hiding, behind and under the beds so he wouldn’t get caught. Before he had been a merchant in Naousa, and now he had become a communist and Grandfather was losing him. He used to tell him, ‘Think like a man, go find a job to make a living for your family and children.’

When he found a job and became a baker, we were pleased. I went every morning and they would give me one loaf of bread and that was food for the whole family. Plus the fish we got from the fishermen. About 400 meters from our house there was a group of fishermen working, and we, the four children, would go there and help them pull the nets with the fish, and they would give us fish that my mother and one of her sisters adored. The main part of our family’s meal was this fish. Besides, we had a maid of a very rich family living next to us, not Jewish, and she loved us, the children, and she would bring the leftovers for us to eat. Well, and this is how we lived.

When we arrived in Thessaloniki, after this place where we lived close to the sea, we went to the ‘151’ neighborhood 3. There, the girls went and signed up for classes at the Greek school. We didn’t know any other language, my father and mother spoke Arabic when they wanted to communicate, but we didn’t know Arabic, we spoke only Greek.

My grandfather wanted me to go and learn Hebrew. Next to our house now, is the kindergarten Agios [Saint] Stylianos, I think, and it is there that the Jewish school of the ‘151’ neighborhood was located, and that’s where my grandfather signed me up for me to learn Spanish 4 and Yiddish. But I was in the fourth grade when my grandfather decided that he wanted me to do all this, I had attended four years, at the Greek lessons I was the first in class, the others didn’t know the alphabet. I spoke with my relatives and I told them about the situation: that I was going to sign up in a Greek school to continue my studies, and if my grandfather, who was religious, wanted to, he could teach me the language after school for me to learn.

We agreed on that, so I went to an elementary school, but not the same one as my sisters: they went to Italia’s road, while I was at the Theagenio [where the Theagenio Cancer Hospital is located today]. My grandfather would grab me at the hair, not the ears, and would sit me down to learn. That’s how I managed to graduate at the age of thirteen, with the help of my grandfather, not my father or anybody else; my grandfather was the only one that sorted it all out.

Everyone in the family spoke Greek, and no one knew Spanish. The Spanish language, we only came across at the ‘151’ quarter where we went and lived with all the other Jews of the area. It is important to say that all our Jewish neighbors thought that we were Christians, because how it is possible that Jews don’t know one word of Spanish?

I have written this in my book: that the other Jewish neighbors took me and my brother and pulled our pants down to see whether we were circumcised. And after that they were convinced that we were Jewish and started treating us as Jews in order for us to pick up a word or two of Spanish, of which we know today, and speak a little.

Besides my mother and father, who had lived in Egypt, when they wanted to say something between themselves, so we wouldn’t understand them, spoke in Arabic. They didn’t speak any other languages.

In the Jewish families it was the French language that was used widely then, , more so among the rich Jewish families. I remember in high school an incident that the French teacher asked me to read and when I took the book, I started spelling out the words. ‘But how is this possible?’ another Jew called out. ‘Sir, he is from a wealthy Jewish family.’ I replied, ‘I come to school wearing my sister’s shoes. I am poor, I cannot be part of the French speaking elite, as all the rest of the Jews of the school.’ You see, in my class there were only two of those. I know both their names, and they both spoke French. They used to live at Egnatia Street or at the large street of Agia Triada, while we were living in a poor neighborhood.

I can narrate something that I admit was tragic in the family. Where I lived with Grandfather, I was the chief of a gang of ten children, from ten to twelve years old. We used to play ball, a cloth ball we used to play with, we would go for a walk etc. My smaller brother didn’t like to give in to my things, he would always put traps and he would get beaten up a great deal by me in return. I remember it was New Year’s Eve and we were out playing, me carefree. When I came home, as soon as I crossed the threshold, my father, who sat at the table, took a bulk of […] and threw it at me. Just imagine, at New Year’s Eve, when the whole family was seated at the table to eat, I was out in the streets playing!

When I saw the situation I ran away. I said to myself, ‘He’s going to kill me.’ And, indeed, he took the knife and came running out into the street. I was shouting for help and he was shouting, ‘Kill him!’ The neighborhood was all Jewish, and all the people were seated at their tables, heard the noise, came out and caught him and told him, ‘What do you think you’re doing on a day like this?’ Upon which my father said, ‘But don’t you know…’ And they said, ‘Whatever happened, he is your child, take him home, to get him cleaned up and sit at the table to eat with everybody, on this holy day.’

My father at that moment forgave me, and we sat down all together to eat. From that day, when the neighbors saw that my father was going to kill his son, the punk, I became a ‘girl,’ so good I became, that I was under my mother’s skirts, helping around the house, helping with the cooking, potato cleaning, the house, etc.

My grandfather’s father I didn’t get to meet. But in Volos, that is at the Community of Volos there was a great big sign that had the names of the Burla families engraved. They were religious people, people of the synagogue. What I know from my mother is that he used make and sell brooms. He lived in comfort and helped his children. He was a person that loved the Jews and made sure that the synagogue blossomed and helped financially with his sales from the grooms.

My grandfather was a peaceful man, religious, and he didn’t have special likings with regards to food, but he liked everything that my mother prepared. He was fond of Mother and loved her very much. And when my father was not treating mother as he should have, because he was fearless, he used to take Mother’s side and told him, ‘You should love the girl, she is the brace of the family, while you are a bum.’ He would say that to him sometimes.

Father really had an unstable life. Later he started working at the security, he became a security henchman, along with one of my cousins, and they caught me too, and beat me up, even though I wasn’t involved, but I was a member of the union of the metal workers. They caught me and blamed me, and in fact my cousin and father threatened me, ‘If you don’t stop we will kill you with our own hands.’

My grandfather was dressed simple, he always tried not to draw attention to himself, he was wearing trousers and a jacket. Only when he went to the synagogue would he wear what they traditionally put on, otherwise he was a simple citizen; he didn’t stand out in any way. He went to Volos, there was a Jewish school there, and all the students studying there were Jewish. They have written about the great work that this school in Volos did, as there was no other school like this, and other students would go to Greek schools.

He kept the tradition as much as he could, all the holidays; he had all the prayer books for each Jewish holiday, and he helped the children from other families that didn’t know of these things, so he helped them out.

He was a regular at the synagogue, every morning. For the preparation of my bar mitzvah at the age of 13, we would go together, every day he took me there, and wore all the accessories until this came to its end. After that, when I came back home there were all the people we knew, the brothers of my father came, my aunts. And after this experience I started avoiding my grandfather. At the time I was more interested in playing games than in religion.

My grandfather learned Greek history from us, from what we were being taught at school and we used to come home and tell him this and that, about the Greeks and the Bulgarians, and the Turks, and he really liked it. He loved it. He wanted to learn the history of Greece, the history of our nation. And he was a real Greek, Jewish but Greek, he loved Greece, he loved the Greek people.

He had friends who he couldn’t invite over, because of the situation. But back in those times, people weren’t involved with politics, my grandfather wasn’t involved, he didn’t read the newspapers, he didn’t know the news, what was happening. What he would hear from others he would simply also say himself. There were many political changes in Greece, one of which was Pangalos 5.

There were many changes that he didn’t follow, as an old man. Only the ones in command, the ones who were involved in the issues of Greece, were the ones that lived through the events. The crowds were simple, and they wouldn’t follow through the political issues, which were many at that time.

I remember that at some point they cut down our money allowance, this and that, then Pangalos came and cut the skirt. The one that was more influenced by this situation, especially the economic changes, was a sister of my father that was deaf mute, Esther. She was a kind person, a person who would spoil all my uncles, once in a while, give them coins, which she kept them aside in her trunk. And when we grew up and started working she used to come and we would give her coins.

One thing that really upset her was that when the Germans came and took all her money to see how much money she had, she opened her trunk and only had enough for half a loaf of bread. Then she started crying and kept saying, ‘Saving all your life for half a loaf of bread.’ She became very emotional over this matter and cried, as all her life she had saved money from her children and grandchildren, and then she just had merely enough for half a loaf of bread.

We don’t remember much from Grandfather’s house because we met him in Naousa. They had previously left Volos so we didn’t know at which house they used to live. We only knew my grandfather’s house in Naousa where he used to live with one of his sons, David, and his seven children. My grandfather’s house was a two-story building, quite big. The houses in Naousa back then were solid, because under the houses, in the courtyards there were running waters, where the lavatory of each house would empty into the river that would pass and take all the dirt from each house’s lavatory.

The houses also had storage rooms, for their wine and ouzo, and all the food provisions for winter were kept there for the winter; the first floor was like a warehouse. I remember the following incident: a neighbor had a barrel of wine, of must, and I stuck my mouth at it, and went to school drunk. This barrel was on the first floor.

This is how the spaces of the house were used at the time: the first floor was a warehouse for the food, and that’s why they built two-story houses then. The second floor of the house was big with many rooms, because, as I mentioned before, he had four daughters and three sons and there was my grandfather and grandmother. This house had five rooms.

The wife of my uncle David was goody-goody; whenever she would speak to a man she would close her eyes, very sweet; with so many children of her own and so many other people in the house, she would still manage. And right below their house, they had a little shop with fabrics, I mean Grandfather did, my fathers’ brother had a donkey, and he used to load it up with fabrics from each side, and go around the village all day and sell fabrics.

As I told you, my grandfather was a merchant, he would sell needles, thimbles and buy eggs, nuts, whatever was on offer. I have written in my book that one day they had spread the nuts up on the roof to dry, and I climbed up there and I ate a whole bunch of nuts and I got sick, my throat felt soar. Luckily the doctors understood straight away that something was wrong with the nuts and gave me the right medicine.

In Naousa the Christian residents of the town appreciated very much the Burla family and used to shop at grandfather’s shop; they had good relationships. He was a peaceful, quiet man who never had any trouble with strangers. Grandfather had friends and wanted to invite them over to our house, but our house was usually used as a gambling club.

My father used to bring his friends around the house to play cards, when there were already six of us. And our mother would go crazy trying to take care of the children and show hospitality to the card players at the same time. Because many times they would stay up until the next morning still playing cards. Grandfather wasn’t forgiving in these occasions, but what else could he do. Father was the Prince. And with this crowd, Father would not only play cards and gamble, but he would also go hunting and do other things with them. They got to know him there, and they took from him all he had.

Besides Naousa, where we stayed for seven years, the city where I grew up was Thessaloniki. I went to the 9th elementary school, close to the Theagenio Hospital, and then went to the 1st Boys’ Gymnasium at Vasileos Georgiou & Agias Triados Street. There I finished school. I was an average student; I wasn’t among the best students. A son of another uncle of mine, who was also called Moshe Burla, went to the same school. I was a bit weak at school, throughout the six years that I attended, I didn’t do well in the ancient Greek class, and I had to sit all summer to study so I could go in September to take exams to pass to the next grade. Every single year, my father and mother used to tell me, ‘You sit for one day and study hard, so you can go to the sea afterwards,’ and I would sit there to study, and I always used to think, ‘What do I need this for?’

From the very beginning when we first came to Thessaloniki, in 1926, I loved the place, it won me. And even after we came back from Russia and I got an offer to return I didn’t. You see, I had friends there, one family, four kids, three were doctors. We lived at their house, they were inviting me over to continue teaching their children, because they came from there, and their children had to go to school and wanted my help. And I told them, ‘Guys, I love your families very much and you, who are my friends and who helped me very much in the years that were difficult, but I cannot leave Thessaloniki, no way.’

I first visited Athens on the days of the occupation. Then father and I, or rather Father worked for a German firm that was buying metal, that is, cases, old iron and such stuff, and he used to collect metal and sell it to the Germans. He used to send me to the villages of Gravia, to the mountain villages where there was fighting going on, and I would pick up the cases in a truck and then bring them to Athens. There, he would take them and sell them to the Germans. That was my experience from Athens. In Athens I was staying for one or two days, the exchange would take place and I would be sent back to the villages again.

Until the last visits, which I wrote about in my book, I met a group of partisans on the mountain and while we where picking up the cases, they told us that what we do is against the people because the iron that we are collecting we could have picked for Greece instead, for the ELAS 6 and not for the Germans. And when I saw it his way, I went to my father and I told him, ‘Listen, I’ll stop doing this work. I don’t want to be involved not only because what I am doing is wrong but I could also get hurt by the partisans because they don’t kid around, and they told me: be careful, don’t carry on with this work, because something bad will happen to you.’ So I quit and went back home. That was all my life in Athens.

Thessaloniki I loved with all my heart and I still love today. Yesterday an Italian was here writing a book about the Jews of Thessaloniki and asked me if I was thinking about any other place to go and settle, if I had Italy in mind, for example. And I replied that Thessaloniki is my pride. I grew up here, and here is where my friends are.

It is very fortunate that after the war we created a team of five, five friends, old partisans, exiles etc, leftists, and every week we gathered at a small tavern to have a glass of wine. This was happening for years. Now, one is ill, the other has his foot hurt, but still something is going on between us, the company remained. We were the five of us, all from Thessaloniki, all residents of Thessaloniki that love the place, feel for it like a homeland. One of them was, in fact, from Chortiatis Mountain [a village near Thessaloniki]. He was a partisan from ELAS and after that he went to the People’s Republic and he died somewhere in Romania, I think.

We moved a great deal. The ten or eleven years that I was in the ‘151’ neighborhood, a Jewish neighborhood, I was playing with other children, who were all Jewish. We were playing, fighting with each other, playing ‘long donkey,’ etc. That was the first ten or eleven years. Then we left and moved to Agios Dimitrios Street, and there I started becoming an adult and Father sent me to work, to learn a craft.

At the beginning he sent me to a shop of a Christian, whose name was Laskaridis, and I didn’t know this at the time, but my father would go every week and give him two coins, and he would give them to me at the end of the week as my pay. So I learned the business. I didn’t know, and closer to the end he told me, ‘You should know that these coins are from your father and not from me, all I give you is my craft.’

After him, I went to another one, because it was more convenient for me, because at the Ifanet factory I had an uncle, who was my father’s cousin and who was an engineer there. He would arrange the order at machine works and I learned many things for my craft. My uncle put me there and told them to take care of me as their own child.

In this factory I really learned many things about my work. In fact, when I went to this factory Axilithioti, a father with two children, was making cars for spraying the roads and I started working as a trainee, but I knew my craft, so I had to be paid as a worker. When we came to terms with the management regarding labor issues, they called him and told him, ‘This man you should pay as a regular worker and not as a trainee.’ After that I got a fair amount of money with which I helped my sisters to get married and have their dowries and I, as a young man felt better, could dress better etc.

With the Jews of Thessaloniki I wasn’t very friendly, because the Community of Thessaloniki, had a group of aristocratic Jews that were giving balls, parties etc. We didn’t have a place there, we were simple folks. All the friends that I had who were Jews were people who went together to the political party clubs of three, we would form clubs of three people. It happened that I was a in a club of three from Rezi Vardar, another neighborhood, that were not people from the city, but of another poor neighborhood.

If you remember the events that happened on 9th May in Thessaloniki, when they were killed, all the names of the Jews are written at the back of the memorial statue. These were people that we were in groups of three with. They got killed and I remained alive, and those are the same youngsters that we spent every day of our political life with. We would go and get coupons for the crowd, for the workers, the factories, when we tried to change something it was all of us together.

The poor Jews, and the majority of them was, lived in big neighborhoods. The Rezi Vardar close to the railroad, the ‘151’ and the number ‘6.’ The middle class of the Jews and the wealthier ones lived between the grounds of the International Fair 7 and here in Depo [neighborhood in the east of the city]. It was mostly the area of Evzonon and Karaiskaki where we lived. At the time after the occupation, when the Jewish Community had moved from Sarantaporou Road, we went and lived there as a family. From there I left and was sent to the front.

There were about sixty synagogues back then in Thessaloniki 8, in many different areas, and that was not because of the Community, but because every family, every group of Jews would build their own synagogue. I remember there was a great synagogue at the road that goes up from the seafront, where a large building stands today, which was built by the Jewish Community and was once a Jewish synagogue.

Of course, the Germans demolished it, and on its spot the Jewish Community built a large building, with a great deal of money. One day I went to the manager of the Community and told him, ‘So many people came to this place to pray. Couldn’t you put up a sign, saying it was a place of prayer, a synagogue?’ ‘Your idea is good,’ he replied, ‘but the times are unstable and we cannot risk it.’ That was the answer of the Community for a synagogue that indeed was once a pride of Thessaloniki, in the wealthiest area.

I didn’t have much to do with the Community. A long time ago they knew that I was a member of the Community, but I wasn’t really, I only started to live the life of the Community when I came back from Russia. I was then in a situation that I had to ask for help, in order to survive. I came back from Russia nearly naked, not alone but with my wife. And when I went to the Community asking for help the chairman, Mr. Benmayor, said that I should write an application, for me to become a member of the Community. The reply was: ‘Now that you have come to apply to be a member of the Community, you will receive your reply within the next six months.’

Meanwhile, as I was waiting, Mr. Benmayor gave me ten drachmas from the cashier’s desk, as a help from the Community. All this time, I had a friend living in Kalamaria area, who supported me, gave me and my wife a room, we went to the street markets, we had then brought some things from Russia and we sold some to get a few coins. We were getting paid rotten fruit from the Modiano market 9.

We reached the point where my wife told me, ‘If you want to die from starvation in your country, fine. I have no intention to, I have my brothers in Russia, and I’m sorry, but I will pay for my ticket and I will leave.’ She abandoned me and left for Russia. We sold all we had, rings, dresses, etc., and she got enough for her ticket and left. And there she didn’t spend a long time with her brothers, as they were Jewish too, and they found her a fine young man, married her again, and today she lives in Haifa, the same city where I used to live. I don’t know her whereabouts.

There were many brothels in the neighborhood of Vardari, and many aristocratic bordellos, were run by women. There where various streets with small houses, and usually at their doors, ladies sat, well dressed, and they used to go for walks etc. with the ones that wanted. There were also better and larger houses, at Irinis Street, again in Vardari, where this area starts and goes all the way down to Agiou Dimitriou Street. This whole street had brothels, the best ones, and the rest of the brothels were spread. They gave a part of the money to the girls and kept the rest for themselves. Thessaloniki had a bad reputation then. In these areas, the pimps used to live, and they got together in large groups with bouzouki, and they would make a lot of noise, the neighborhood of Vardari was getting known.

I can say, that part of the music and the songs of Tsitsanis 10 were from there. We, as children, teenagers, avoided these girls. However, one time my father gave me money so we would go. But I couldn’t, you know, because I didn’t like her breasts. She asked me: ‘What’s wrong?’ and I said, ‘Since your breasts are hanging, mine are hanging too […].’ So I gave her the money and left.

Usually these girls were from villages, from islands, girls that didn’t have a home. Many of them were victims of people taking advantage of them, like pimps. They would make them work and take the money they earned. And because they needed love, to have someone to care for them and love them, they would give all their earnings to their pimps.

There was a lot of trade in the city, especially on streets like Vasileos Irakliou, where the Modiano market is, that street was full of Jews who were advertising themselves, and had a variety of professions. This street was buzzing with Jews. At the start of it, close to Venizelou Street, there were two large bakeries, one belonged to Benveniste and the other to someone else – I’ve forgotten the name – and they were competing with the other bakeries in town and used to lower the prices by one drachma.

Benveniste, for example, had a simple Jew dressed up in white caftan and a funny hat and had him shout, ‘Come and get cheap bread, one drachma cheaper than all the rest.’ This competition lasted a long time, one wanted to outdo the other. Then the Benveniste family left and went to Israel and opened the first bakery in Jerusalem and you still come across their name there. The same ones don’t live any longer today, of course, but their children and their grandchildren are there. The other Jewish baker didn’t want to compete any longer, quit and later he went to forced labor.

In general the Jews at the fish market were old. It was where the Modiano market is today, most of them were Jewish fishermen, and one could go there and find any fish one wanted, certainly at higher prices than in other shops, but there you would buy the best fish.

There were other professions too: there were those that were selling bread rolls, round bread, and those that were selling things from a bucket, like milk for example, and then there were those that were selling bread with a piece of cheese and salami, the so-called ‘hunger doctor.’

So, you see, there were various professions. Many Jews were dealing in fabric. They had in their shops many Jewish youngsters as employees. If you went to Venizelou Street, there were mostly fabric shops there, and you would see the youngsters at the entrances of the shops inviting people to come inside the shop.

Where I lived in Greece we didn’t have anti-Semitism, that is, if you leave out the Campbell events 11, where a whole neighborhood got burned. It was a bunch of punks. These kinds of incidents used to happen in general in the Jewish areas. They threatened the Jews that the same things that happened to Campbell, could happen there too. I remember in ‘151,’ as youngsters, we were armed. One had a large piece of wood; the other had something else, so if anything happened, we could defend ourselves. Thankfully, a street was keeping us apart from the youngsters of Tumba, so that we could get organized and attack them, should they attack us. But in the end we remained calm, and there were no other incidents between the two groups.

From my high school days I remember that we used to take part in parades with the school. What I have to underline is that in the first year of high school I was in the school choir. It was a large choir. Professor Cameliery organized this choir, and it was good, and we always took part in all the contests of the schools of Thessaloniki. In fact one year, we won the first prize with a song for a donkey: ‘A donkey was grazing, he wasn’t asking for anything else, the poor one, than to stay strapped there, the poor one.’ We got the first prize with this song, which became very famous, and Professor Cameliery took the prize and hung it up in the school as a symbol of superiority.

I loved to watch the parades, I always used to go to places where I could see it well, I loved the Greek army, the Evzones, and generally the festive climate, and later, when I was of the age to take part in parades, I was one of the first ones in the row. I was the flag bearer of the ‘dead resistant fighters’ in the Kalamaria area, after the war, because I then lived in Kalamaria.

Even though I was very close with the trade union, we didn’t have any interest for the political parties, apart from the people that we had in the union, who we respected, whether they happened to be communists or not. I was a member of the union of the metal workers, at the Workers’ Center of Thessaloniki, and I was active. We used to go to all the metallurgical factories, we would go around Apostolidis, and other shops that were close to the station, and distribute leaflets and coupons for the union. I was such a close member of the union that when I came back as a partisan to see Thessaloniki, my curiosity dragged me to see the workers union. When I went there, the secretary looked at me and said, ‘It’s impossible, you can’t be Burla, come let’s go upstairs.’ On the third floor, there was a big bulletin board and a photo that I was lost in the war, dead. I replied, ‘Well, this is me.’

My father was from Volos, he grew up in Volos. I lived with him when I was a child, because until then my father had been in the army at Volos, but he was sent on a military mission to Chios Island. As I mentioned earlier, instead of him completing his military mission, he met my mother, took her away from her parents, and they ran away to Cairo together. My mother’s sister lived there, she helped them, found them work etc. We were born there, and there I met my father. From my mother’s side, we knew nothing, since she was taken away from her parents.

My father was born in about 1900. I don’t know when he went to do his military service. They never told us how he ‘abducted’ Mother from her parents. My father wasn’t very educated, he had finished only two classes of elementary school, but he thought that he knew a great deal. As far as the little world of Cairo, Egypt, was concerned, he started socializing with people and he wanted to make something for himself. Since my mother’s brothers where helping him, he also opened a workshop, and was doing really well: he had thirty workers, who he was friends with, Jews and Christians, but unfortunately this company of people led him again to gambling, playing cards, which resulted in the loss of all we had, and so we left Egypt penniless.

My father’s parents didn’t want to hear anything of us since our father was such a bum, who lost all his savings and left his five kids with no home. Before that he had been a merchant and when we came back he became a baker, and he worked for many years making unleavened matzah at the Floka factory. Right next to them was the baker of the Jewish Community. My mother, Esther, was a simple woman. Many said that she had gypsy roots; she had black hair, and when she died she didn’t have one white hair. She was a very good mother, she loved all of us. She loved mostly the boys, me and my younger brother, even though she was teaching the girls what to do in order to become decent ladies.

My mother helped my eldest sister a lot, by teaching her how to sew at one of the best dressmakers of Thessaloniki, who was later taken to the camps. Her customers were the richest women of Thessaloniki. Unfortunately, this woman died in the camp. She was a great woman, a gold mine, who taught my sister the art of sewing.

My second sister was a teacher, I was a turner, and my fourth sister was a worker at a biscuit factory. Her boss was Jewish, his name was Manos, and my sister fell in love with the son of the factory owner, and they left and went to the camp together. This sister of mine has an interesting story. When she was about to be deported, we had organized to leave for the mountains. I arranged things with a friend that worked in the regiment and he went into the ghetto, got her out and said, ‘Let’s go home to see your mother and father.’ When she came, we told her that we were planning to go to the mountain, and that since she was part of the family, she should come with us.

However, my sister wouldn’t hear any of it, left and was deported in the end. She was a very strong woman; my mother used to say that she should have been a man and I a woman. After what happened with my father, I had become a ‘girl.’ My sister survived the camps. Some friends of ours, both her and my friends, saw her. They told us that when they left from the concentration camps and passed through an area which the English had occupied, they got help there, at the English camp. My sister got a lot of food somehow, and she died from over-eating. Everyone knew her as a very strong woman, and she survived all this horror for three years, and then she died of over-eating! She left us with a full stomach.

Of course my mother with six children wasn’t working, but she helped every one of us. When I worked at the metallurgy factory, it was difficult for her to prepare food for me, so I had to come back home in the afternoon to eat: leave from the harbor and go up to Agiou Dimitriou, eat, and be back at work in an hour. That was happening every day because Mother wanted me to have warm food to eat, and not to take the food with me. For me it was very hard to have only an hour break during which I had to get home, eat, and then go back to work.

My father had thirty workers. Except for one or two mechanics, who were helping him, the rest were women, simple women, Jewish and Christian, and they respected him. He was very nice to women, a bit of a womanizer, too, and, of course, when they sensed that something was wrong, that he might lose the business, they didn’t really appreciated it.

My father dressed normally, as they used to dress in Egypt back then. My mother lived like her sister. Her father had a big company of wealthy Greeks that wanted to show off.

After my mother’s siblings turned us away we came back to Greece with them paying for us. And we came to Greece and didn’t know where to go, and then my father decided that we would go to Naousa where his father and uncle were. So we went to Naousa from Cairo, and lived there for six or seven years. The brother of my father helped us and he opened a small place where he worked as a small dealer.

We changed many houses here because when we left from ‘151’ my father wanted to show off, since all of us where working. Our first house was at the beach, where we had fishermen as friends. Our house was an old horse stable. We cleaned it and lived there. It didn’t even have a toilet, we used to go outside. The whole family lived there. We were leaving the door open so it would get aired out, because there was still the smell of the horses there, and most of our time, weather permitting, we would live in the courtyard. We were helping the fishermen.

After that, this Arabatzis took us and we went to ‘151.’ There where long huts, and in each one there were four families: two families at the sides, where the large rooms were and you could fit more than four people, and two in the middle that were small and could fit two to three people. In the middle there was a kitchen that was being used by everyone. They used to cook there and smoke. We lived there for many years.

When we left from there, we went to Agiou Dimitriou. We all worked by then and thus could take care of the economical matters of the house. The house there was a home. It had two floors; we were on the second floor. We had two rooms and a lounge, where we lived our life. We were very close to each other as a family. Sometimes you would see people where our house was in Agiou Dimitriou, sitting on our balcony, listening to a song we would sing in chorus. It was a good life, and we, siblings, were very close. Each one of us had their own friends.

Mother and Father didn’t read. My father only finished the second year of elementary school, and Mother knew how to read, and she wanted to read, and many times she wanted to help us with our home work, but in the end she didn’t. It was only when I was working at the workers union, that I started buying the workers’ papers, but other newspapers we wouldn’t buy. Makedonia 12 is a very old newspaper, but we weren’t reading it.

Our family wasn’t religious. When my grandfather was alive, my father was forced to keep all the religious holidays, because Father didn’t care about religion, but didn’t want to break Grandfather’s heart. Grandfather wanted the festive table, the gatherings of the family, and so everything was happening as he wished. But my father was not religious. And when my grandfather died all this passed away along with him. Perhaps once a year, on some holiday, we went to the synagogue near the neighborhood where we lived. But we went with Mother; Father wasn’t involved at all.

We didn’t have many friends that were Jewish. Most of our friends where classmates from our school: boys were friends with boys and girls were friends with friends. That was our crowd of people. All my sisters and brothers would sit together and spend the nights together, and on Saturdays we would gather for a glass of wine or a cake and pass the time. Our parents had only Christian friends. I started getting in the company of Jews only when I first asked for help. Until then I had no relationships with Jews; I didn’t really want to know them.

I cannot tell you whether there where political conversations in the house. I had my position at the Union, and there were also the parties. My father was a supporter of the political right. He even had a brother in Larissa who was a fanatic right winger. He came to our house one day and said, ‘Where is the grave of this Venizelos 13? I will go and do my thing there at the grave.’ When he found out that I was a member of the workers union he said: ‘What do you need this communist in the house for? Kick him out.’

So I left the house because of my uncle. My mother lost me, my sisters were looking for me, asking around what had happened and where I was. Then my mother took my uncle aside and told him, ‘Look, you might be right wing, and have your beliefs. Fine! As for my son I want him as he is, and I want him here, not go looking for him out in the streets.’ And after that he left and went to Larissa. My sisters came to the factory where I was working secretly, so that the bosses wouldn’t know that I was working there. I did that to make sure that if my parents came looking for me, they wouldn’t find me. One of my sisters and a friend found me while I was having my lunch at the canteen and took me home, and my mother calmed down, happy that she had found her son again.

That political influence generally came from my father’s brothers: the one that was in Larissa, Minas who was making trunks and quilts, and the one in Naousa. Less so from the one that was here in Thessaloniki, and who was an employee at the town hall. The other three were writing to each other, when one would visit someone, that they should stay joined in the party etc. You could see that they were right wingers. They didn’t like liberalism, Venizelos, who was highly regarded at the time. My father and his brothers always voted for the right. Only the one that was employed at the Town Hall because he was scared to lose his job went and voted for the liberals, because the Town Hall was in the hands of the liberals then.

The brothers wouldn’t go to political gatherings. When we came to Naousa, Father wanted to be called a communist for a while because he was looking for work and it seems that where he went the others were communists and helped him. He became a member of the communist party and he was hiding, scared that he might get caught by the security police. He came from Naousa naked and when he got to the union the others were communists and they told him, if you stay at the party you will be with us and you will work. So he was kind of forced to do that. He was scared and hiding, he knew that they were chasing the communists, and he was hiding.

The political discussions at our home started when Greece got in the war with Italy 14. When Italy started to be openly hostile to Greece, then we took position and shared our opinions in the house as a family. Because apart from me, who was a soldier and fought while serving in the army, all my sisters were working for the army, making woolens for the soldiers. There were teams, groups, of Jewish women and of Christians, that got woolen material to make things for the army.

I remember the following incident: I was an escort at the time, for a car that was bringing food for the military unit that I was serving in. Because of my frostbites, they gave me the position of a driver. We went to a city in Albania to get food to send to the men of our unit, and we found a huge ball of woolens, so we asked for this special bunch of woolens to be sent to our unit. They told us that they had to wait for the committee to come, and they would decide how these woolens would be distributed. Can you imagine how long this situation lasted? People were making woolens for the soldiers, and the soldiers were dying from the cold before the woolens were distributed.

Did we have time for holidays? We had family problems; we didn’t have time for holidays.

My father’s older brother was David, and he could have been born around 1895. They all came from Volos, in Naousa he had his family and his seven children grew up there. David was killed by the Germans, the Germans got him. They were together with a big group of Jews that were hiding in Vermion [mountain range in the Greek region of Macedonia]. Along with Uncle David there was also a sister of his, who was deaf-mute, there was a daughter of his, the sister of the mother of Alberto Eskenazi, the mother of Eskenazi was with the partisans and she had a gun, and another family of Jews that lived in Veroia. They were all hiding in a gorge and the Germans found them and took them, and we don’t even know what happened after that. They found them after September 1943.

As I said, David had seven children: the eldest was Yashim, then came Joseph who was the husband of my eldest sister and went to forced labor, the third one was Minas, Nikos, Sultana, Fani and Sarika. David was a shop assistant at a shop and he was doing a great job. In order to help them, and become independent from my father, he would take his baggage every day and he would go to the neighborhoods with fabric thrown over his forearm, and sell it so that he would be able to make a living of his own.

My father’s second brother was Minas in Larissa, who was a fanatic right-winger. He was making trunks and quilts, he was a good technician, and the whole of Larissa loved him. Until today his name is famous. The women from Larissa worshipped him like a God, he was helping the people a lot, but he was with the right wing. His wife was called Roza; they didn’t have any children of their own. They adopted a poor girl, who they sent to America after the war, and she lives there down to the present day. Every now and then she calls the family and we hear her news. She is called Gratziela. Minas died one year before my father Leon.

The fourth brother, Daniel, lived in Thessaloniki and was working at the Town Hall. He had a son that left with the partisans, with his wife, changed his name and became Christian. His name was Moshe. Daniel died in 1940 or 1941.

I was born in Cairo because my parents had left Chios Island, run away and gone to my mother’s sister. For the first three years of my life I lived there. I cannot tell you many things about Egypt, because I don’t remember. All I remember is that when I was three, I went with my older sisters for a walk along the banks of the Nile. There was a large bridge over the Nile that was a mechanical one, they would raise the bridge for the boats to pass, and then they would lower it again for the cars to cross.

We used to throw stones in the Nile, because we thought that the river was the reason that we had problems with our eyes, and for that reason, we were throwing stones, because of the bad that it was causing us. When we later went to the doctor to ask him about our eye problems, he told us, ‘The problem was not Nile, but the climate, this wet climate of Egypt, and that’s why it would be best for you to go and live in a mountain area.’ That’s probably why my parents decided to live in Naousa, for it to serve as a ‘prop’ for our good health.

The truth is that Naousa became a solid part of our life, with its cold and snow and its frosts. We lived there and we loved it: its frosts, its goodness, its large amounts of water, its springs, its forests, and its fruit. There were a lot of trees, forests of chestnut and walnut trees that were royal property. I don’t know which king these forests belonged to, but the state was guarding them, on the king’s behalf. And when the ordinary people wanted to go and pick some walnuts, they wouldn’t let them. But when the guards left, then the locals got together and were picking walnuts, all together as a team, as a union. They where selling them, and they had a better life.

We, children, loved chestnuts. The roads from Naousa to Agiou Nikolaou where the springs were, is where the chestnut trees had been planted. All the roads were full of chestnut trees. For us, children, it was quite a thing to pick chestnuts, to fill our pockets, or a little basket with them. Then we would return home happy, to celebrate and eat all these chestnuts, of course not alone, but with our parents.

After we moved to Naousa, we went to a Greek school. When we got to the sixth year, from the sixth to the seventh year, is when we started going to the Greek school; there wasn’t any other way. Together with my sisters and the children of my father’s brothers, my cousins, we had a lively life at school. I remember well when we performed in a Greek historical play: my first degree cousin and I were the leading actors of the play.

We were many: there were four of us older siblings and two younger ones, six all together, and the seven children of my uncle David, so we had a lively company at school and we would hang out together. The Christian children from Naousa loved us; we had made friends with them. I remember well one of my sisters, the one who later became a teacher, had a friend who used to sing a lot, and she was very beautiful. She was called Lisimachus, and everyone was jealous of her beauty. And believe it or not, but she remained an old maid, such a beauty, and yet she never got married!

When we went to my uncle’s in Naousa to spend the summer there, we used to go to visit her. And we would see the beauty, yearning and yet not being able to find a husband. This is how she grew up, and she died without having found her other half, a woman who we envied, not ever finding what she was looking for. Every human being is on this quest in life, to find his/her other half. For many years we used to spend the summer together, for one week or a whole month. We were neighbors as the house of my uncle was next to her house, and we could even speak to each other through the open windows and talk about our life.

In school I loved geography and I wanted to explore the map and learn things. Significant was the time that I wanted to take the exams to go to high school. You see, back then you had to take exams in order to enter high school. The teachers that were there to test us were all together and each one would ask a question. There was a student before me that was being tested in Mathematics and they asked him, ‘Write us a number for five centimeters.’ He forgot, couldn’t write it. So I raised my hand and wrote five fractions by one hundred.

Then the geography teacher came and said to me, ‘You are a Jew.’ I reply, ‘Yes.’ He says, ‘Do you speak Spanish?’ I answer, ‘I speak a little bit of Spanish, which I learned here in Thessaloniki.’ He asks me, ‘What language do they speak in Spain?’ I say, ‘Spanish.’ Upon which he says, ‘Do you know any words in Spanish?’ So I tell him a couple of words. Then he asks me, ‘Do you know the capital of Spain?’ I replied and gave him the correct answer. He continues, ‘Do you know where it is?’ ‘Of course,’ I say and he goes, ‘Show me on the map.’ […] So that passed easily.

The hard part of school was Ancient Greek for me; I didn’t like it. I finished the 1st Gymnasium, all six years, and every year I was referred for Ancient Greek. Every year! So every summer, while I was working, I was reading Ancient Greek in order to pass the exams in September for the next year of school. And many times that would cause trouble at my work-place, because I had to work, because Father didn’t have the capability to feed and maintain us. That’s why in the summer we, the children, used to get a summer job, to earn the money for our books, and to cover some expenses, in one word, to help out.

I remember I used to go to a café that was owned by a Jew, and he would serve coffee to the shops around. It was in the Ladadika area. My job was to get the orders, the coffees and teas on a tray and take them to the customers. That was my job.

I can’t say that I had many friends at school. I had friends in the neighborhood where we used to live, in ‘151.’ There were about ten of us, all between 10 and 14 years old, and I was the captain. They were all Jewish, a company of Jews. We would play with a cloth ball, and other games, and we would so pass our time pleasantly. The only obstacle was my younger brother, who was always against me; whatever I said, he would turn against me, and many times I would beat him up, but he simply wouldn’t change.

There was no problem at school due to the fact that I was Jewish. The problem was that as soon as we came to ‘151,’ my grandfather wanted me to learn Spanish and Hebrew. And they put me in a school that exists even today and is the nursery of Agios Stylianos. This was the school that was right opposite our house. And, because we were so close, my grandfather said, ‘Since you have this chance, go learn something else too.’ Fair enough, but, you see, when we first came to Naousa, I was in the fourth grade. In order to go to the school and learn Yiddish and Spanish, I had to miss out on four years of regular school, and that really hurt me. My sisters were advancing in the Greek classes, and I had to remain behind.

So I decided that I simply have to speak to my father and mother and told them, ‘Listen, this thing is not convenient for me. Can’t you ask Grandfather to retreat from his stance, so I can go to the Greek school like the other children? Instead he could spend the nights with me, since he is Jewish and wants me to learn, and teach me what he wants in Yiddish.’ And in the end we agreed on that.

So I got into a Greek school, but not the same school that my sisters were going to. They were at a school on Italias Street, while they put me close to the Theagenio, the 15th elementary school. It had a very good director and good teachers, who I loved, except the teacher of the geography class. This teacher was a shrew, and she had a stick. She used to say, ‘Lift your hand,’ and then she hit it ten times. She was called Miss Elpida, which means ‘hope,’ but we just used to call her ‘Miss.’ No hope there! Even though she knew that I was one of the best students in class, she was very strict and used to beat me a lot, she would get the stick out and start hitting my hand.

In the ‘151’ neighborhood, there where two clubs. One was called APOEL; I can’t remember the name of the other. In APOEL there was an old boxer, who was Jewish, Dino Zir, [Ouziel] he was named, and I used to go to this place to learn boxing. I remember specifically a friend in Russia that loved drinking. He was calling me ‘Byron,’ which was my pseudonym, and he used to say, ‘What a good build you have, it pleases us to see you walking around.’ I used to tell him that it wasn’t the build, but the boxing that I was learning, because my teacher used to tell us that when a boxer walks by, he should be noticed by everyone.

In this club, teenagers from the age of 20 to 25 used to gather. This was a big part of Jewish life then because many of the members of the club were living in ‘151.’ Apart from boxing, the club also had ballet training for the girls, and other activities such as drawing, mountain climbing. All these things were organized at these clubs. The teachers of these clubs were very nice, they used to live in areas nearby and they took good care of us.

At the time, the Jewish Community didn’t have a summer camp yet. When we were children we didn’t go to a summer camp. Only when we were a bit older we started to go to my uncle’s house in Naousa. I remember vividly what a good time I had there with my sisters and brother.

We spent our time with a great bunch of people and would gather almost every week, Saturday nights, at midnight, at Eptapyrgio [lit. ‘the castle of seven towers,’ built in the 9th century, used as a prison from the end of the 19th century until 1978]. We brought along food, glasses and some tsipouro [Greek pomace brandy] and we would walk up to Chortiatis mountain. This walk would take us about three to four hours, both ways, up and down the mountain. When we reached the top of the mountain in the morning, we drank some hot milk that the villagers would offer us, we would sleep for a couple of hours, and then we would celebrate all day. We used to have a great time.

From this company of people only a few are still alive today: two sisters of a good friend, the one that helped my family during the occupation, a brother and a sister of an old school friend of mine, the sister of another school friend, and a school friend of my sister that we were very close friends with. Generally, this company of people was very close to each other and we remained friends after the war; one of the families, that is, a brother and a sister, visited us and brought us things that we had given them when we were leaving for the mountain.

There was another good friend of my sister, who had taken a big stove that we had then. Her husband didn’t want her to return the stove to us, because by then she was married, and it became an issue in the family: she was saying that they ought to return it, but he was arguing why should they return a piece of furniture like this. In the end they spoke with my father and he said that if it was a matter of money, we will give them some money so they bring back the stove. It was a nice ivory stove that remained in our house as a relic.

My eldest sister Regina was a dressmaker. She had a group of girls that would gather in the house and sew. Of course they knew us, and loved us. I used to tease them when I was at the workshop; I used to say to them, ‘Girls, the one that can shout loudest, will get married first.’ And they would all shout, so they would get married first. Or I would say to them, ‘The one that speaks with the lowest voice will get married first.’ And all of them ‘but what are you talking about?’. We were teasing the girls working for my sister.

This elder sister of mine was the one that got married to a first degree cousin, the son of my father’s brother David, who was in Naousa. They were among those that went to forced labor and never came back. They left with the first train, and as they got there they didn’t even have time to think about going to a ‘lager’ [camp] to work. As soon as they arrived there, they were taken to Auschwitz. My sister left together with her husband. They didn’t have any children.

My second sister was my favorite one, Yolanda. I have picture of her here, the one with the white hair, that’s her. We were very close and the only two of the siblings that resembled each other a little; the rest of the children were like strangers. We were similar, in a way that you could tell that we were of the same parents.

Yolanda helped me a lot with my homework. I remember a year that we had to write an essay on our homeland, and I stayed up until two in the morning and I simply couldn’t think of anything nice to write. She got up and told me that the following day, with a clear mind, I would be able to write something good. I said that I had to write something that night. And we sat together and wrote the essay.

I remember that when I brought it to school the headmaster read it and really liked it, and asked all the classes to read my essay. He said that it was very well written, and was about the homeland, only it had many spelling mistakes. You see, I hadn’t asked my sister to help me on that. Everyone at school thought that the essay was written by the other Moshe Burla, my first degree cousin, the son of Daniel, who was in the same grade, but one of the other children in class said, ‘Mr. Teacher, this is not written by the Moshe of Daniel, but by the Moshe of Leon Burla.’ They were pleased because it was the first time I had written such a successful essay.

In high school I was distinctive in sports. I was doing broad jump, triplex and height. We had a gymnastics teacher who was from Pontos; I think he was called Anastasiadis. He was well built, he was a wrestler, and he was helping me and I was taking part in many school activities. Especially at the triplex that was my weakness they would give me a diploma or praise.

When we were living under the supervision of Grandfather, we would celebrate every holiday because he would organize everything. We knew that every Rosh Hashanah all the family would gather, and we would do the reading that we had to do, eat the things that we were meant to eat, and similarly on Passover when we ate matzah. When Grandfather died everything was forgotten because everyone had their own family, the family gatherings would happen less often and not on religious terms as such. We would rather gather for entertainment than a religious feast.

My grandfather organized my bar mitzvah for me, and it seems now that my grandfather taught me everything that the rabbi teaches: He also taught me how to give a speech about what I was going to do when I was going to grow up. That was after the ceremony in the synagogue, after my bar mitzvah. I went to the synagogue with my father, and all the relatives were there. There was another uncle of mine, the third son of Moshe Burla, and his family also came to my bar mitzvah ceremony.

Anyway, shortly after my bar mitzvah, my family left ‘151’ and we went to live in a house on Agiou Dimitriou Street. We got a two-story house and we were doing well because all of us were working. My older sister had her little sewing business, my sister Yolanda was a teacher, I was a turner, my younger brother made trunks, and Father became a different person than he was before, forgot the gambling and the games, and made sure to keep the family together. We had a good family life because we loved each other and were very close. Sometimes, I remember, people would gather under our balcony to hear us sing all together, the whole family.

In the summer, I used to work as an apprentice at a café. The real work started when I finished high school and got in the metallurgy of Laskaridis, in the harbor area, between 1933 and 1934, in order to learn this craft. Laskaridis was a very good technician but he was mostly involved with machines for the bakery trade, machines for making the dough of the bread, the pots. That was his job. He would pay me every Saturday two drachmas as pocket money, which I later found out that my father was giving to my boss in order to pay me. So in reality, I was working for free.

Later, I got another job in a factory in the center of Kapani, where the vegetable market is today. There, the machine-works of the Ioannidi brothers was located. They were dealing in knitting machines and their best customer was Ifanet. Ifanet was here in our neighborhood, and hundreds of people were working there and all the machines were made at this factory where my uncle found me work. My uncle was a mechanic at Ifanet and he was in charge of all the orders for the machines, so my bosses were nice to him, as they knew that he was giving them the work.

It was there I learned my trade, and when I got to the point that I thought that I was a technician, I went to a larger factory, the one of Axilithioti. We were making street-sweeper vehicles as well as lathes and milling machines. The factory was close to the municipal cemetery, and hundreds of workers worked there.

It got known there that I was a leftist and the Security Police got me. One day they came and asked me to go to the police headquarters. On the way I understood that I was going to have problems, so I bent down to tie my laces, and I swallowed all the coupons that I had form the Workers Party, worth about fifty drachmae. When we got there, my father was already there and he was friends with the Security Police, and one of my first degree cousins was there as well; he was a fascist too.

They started questioning me, so I told them, ‘Listen guys, let me clear things up. I don’t belong to any political party, I am a metal worker, I belong to the Workers Union and I am an active member. I go to the factories and incite the workers, when we are about to go on strike.’ They started looking here and there, so I said, ‘Ask the municipality where the secretary of the union is, ask the union of the tobacco industries.’ In the end they said, ‘Alright, we will let you go.’ And then this cousin told me, ‘If you carry on being involved in things like that, I will kill you with my bare hands, you will not be on this earth anymore.’

At this factory I was getting paid as a helper and not as a technician, so I had to go with my father to the work inspection. In the end they punished my employer, and made him pay me the appropriate rate from the moment that he had hired me. Then I got a substantial amount of money and had the chance to help my sisters to get enough money for their dowries, and to dress a bit better myself.

Yes, I did actively participate in this demonstration [in May 1936 in Thessaloniki] 15, which was a big demonstration. We were coming form Vardaris, we passed Dioikitirio [Government House], and then we went down from Dioikitirio to Egnatia Road and further. As soon as we got to the corner of Venizelou and Egnatia, I don’t know why but there were military cars and people were throwing stones. They said that it was the demonstrators that where throwing the stones and started shooting. But the people that were killed were people that were stigmatized from the balconies, because the informers were up there who knew the left wing and the majority of them were Jewish in Thessaloniki.

If you go to the monument of Venizelos you will see at the back that they have written the names of the ones that got killed there, most of the names were those of Jewish youngsters, we were together in teams of three. I was then working in Axilithioti and from there we left all the workers and went to the demonstration.

During the war

My father and I didn’t go to Eleutherias Square [in the summer of 1942] 16. We were hiding at home. We urged others not to go either, but the Jews were following [Rabbi] Koretz, who was telling them, ‘We are Jewish, and we should go.’

Yolanda was a teacher, she remained loyal to her family, and she came up with us to the mountains, to the partisans. She was a very good person. She was baptized in the name of Maria, because we always had a pseudonym. Yolanda came to the mountains with Father, whereas I had gone earlier. That happened because I had a great problem with the rabbi, who had a gathering at the synagogue and was urging people to go, and was saying to people that they were going to live in a different country, get money, new clothes, tools to work, and he was deceiving people to go there. Me and about ten others that could see that this wasn’t the real situation, and had heard about Koretz’s dreams, turned against him that day and we nearly got in a fight with the residents.

The ten of us went to the rabbi’s office on another day and asked him to go and be in charge of the people and leave with them to save them from the Germans and not to chain them down. He treated us really cruelly, telling us, ‘If you don’t get out of here now and leave I’m calling the Gestapo.’ And he had the button in his hand to call them.

We didn’t take his words seriously, but we where kicked out and when we got out, we had to find a way to leave, because they knew us – now that this had happened – the ‘rebels.’ Each one of us had to find his way out separately. I got in contact with the youth organization, OKNE 17 then, and I was getting ready to leave. I had with me all I needed – clothes, shoes, flask, pan, in short, everything that a soldier needs – and my main concern was to go with the rest of the youngsters to all the Jewish homes, to recruit them to go to the mountain. We did a great job, and we visited 56 Jewish houses, where young people were living.

However, the results of our work weren’t so great in the end because the rabbi had done a great job to hook these families in a way that they didn’t want in any way to be separated from each other. Where will Grandfather and Mother go? And why should we go separately? One reason was this: that the families were so close to each other that they didn’t want to separate. The other reason was that these children, in order to leave, had to get the approval of their parents, fathers, grandfathers.

As I said before, we went through 56 Jewish house and we convinced 13 people to come up to the mountain. Three people came back from the mountain alive. I don’t know who they were; they where total strangers to our family.

In fact, when we left, we found a way that the Germans wouldn’t understand where we were going. We got together at a friend’s house, close to here, in Agia Triada, at the end of the line of the tram [on Vassileos Constantinou Street]. We agreed that we would go out 50 meters to the left, and then one of us would follow 50 meters behind, and in this way, the one would watch the others’ back. In case anyone noticed any Germans, he would give a sign and the rest would have time to leave. Thirteen of us got out of the house, and everything went well.

We got to the last guard, and were then sure that we were free citizens. One of the 13 at the last moment turned back. We got him, me and a friend of mine, and told him, ‘Where are you going? We are free citizens now!’ But he said, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t have the guts, so I will return to my parents.’ And he left. So instead of 13 there were only twelve of us who went to the mountain. We had a driver that took us to a village nearby, so we would stay completely out of sight, and he told us to stay there until the evening, when people from the union would come and bring us food and water. It was a summer day, and from there on they would take care of us.

I had a sister, who was younger than Yolanda, Sarika, who also went to forced labor. She had a different problem. She was working at the biscuit industry of Manos, at the Kapani market, and she fell in love with the boss’s son. It was at the gatherings of the Jews where they got them both, and they took them to the military camp that they had here, next to the train station. When I heard about the situation, I had a friend of mine, who was working at the regiment, which was a team of gendarmes, sneak into the camp to get her out, and bring her to us. She came home and we discussed the situation, and she said, ‘That sounds fine, only that I’ve devoted my life to this person, and with him I will even go to death.’

She got up and left and went back to forced labor. She was one of the strong children in my family; many times my mother would say that she should have been a man and I should have been a girl. All these years that she stayed in forced labor, she managed to stay alive; she was let free, and got out to a camp that was liberated by the English. They were calming them down, gave them more food than they needed, and she died from eating too much. That was my sister Sarika’s fate.

Then there was Dorika, the youngest, who is still alive and lives in Israel. We nicknamed her ‘Tarzan’ because she was climbing up the mountains to look out if any Germans were coming; she was fearless. The last one was my brother, who they called Nikos, even though his real name was Slomo, I named my son after him. He died in one of the last battles with the Germans at Stavros of Veroia. There, about 120 Germans died, 20 trucks were burned; what I mean to say is that the Germans suffered a great loss.

In the end the forces came and attacked us, and there my brother got killed by a mortar. My father went the next day, and couldn’t find anything, only body parts of people. It was the day of his 20th birthday. He was a fine kid, a good worker, he worked in a factory that was making chests, and he was praiseworthy. He didn’t have many friends, he was more of a family person; he loved all of us.

They came from another route to the mountain. I left earlier with the 13 others, so they wouldn’t catch me, it was February of 1943. This friend of mine that was working at the regiment, when the announcement came out, for the neighborhood where my family was living, on Syggrou Street where the 4th Gymnasium is, when they put up the posters that the Germans would come and everyone should gather the following day at the square, he took a piece of paper saying that this house has been occupied by the Germans and he put up this piece of paper at the front door of the house. The whole family was in the house, my father and mother, my two sisters, my brother, my aunt, the one who was deaf-mute, and my grandfather.

When the Germans conquered the neighborhood, they started confiscating furniture, and pianos, and other things, took all these things from the houses of the poor people, and brought them to their warehouses. They saw the paper and thought that it was a German house, and they left. The second time they came down, my family could hear the noise on the stairs, and they were trembling with fear, but again the Germans saw the paper and left. The third time they saw that the things were still in there and they didn’t come by again. Our family watched time go by, and things got quieter as they were picking up people from neighborhood after neighborhood, until they had picked up everyone. At about three o’clock the whole place was empty. Then this friend went and opened for them and said, ‘You are free but don’t move from this place, leave the piece of paper on the door, and I’ll arrange to get you out of here.

He didn’t manage to do anything the same day, but the next day he went around with a truck of furniture, got all the family in the middle and managed, with a German admission, to bring them all the way to Naousa. Because in Naousa everyone knew our family, they helped them and took them up to the mountain. That’s why they were in Vermion, while I was at Paiko.

This friend of mine, who saved my family, was called Anastasios Trichas. Until today – it’s been about three or four years that he passed away – his children and grandchildren are very fond of us, every time there is a memorial, they invite us. They would invite me to his son’s house, which is far away in a village, to marriages, and so on. They consider me as part of their family. Every year at the name-day of their mother, annunciation day, the whole family gathers and I am the first one to go visit them.

The Germans at the beginning wanted to show their human side, that they were treating people well; they would even show it sometimes. For example, one time when I was walking from Syggrou to go to Egnatia – it was at the time that they asked the Jews to wear the stars, but I never wore it because I wanted to walk freely, to get in contact with people – I passed by a hotel at the corner of these roads, and a boot fell down from a balcony. I picked up the boot and went to the entrance, where they told me to go upstairs and give it back to the owners. I went up to the fourth floor. A girl came out, I gave her the boot and she told me to wait, and three minutes later she came back with a bag full of fresh and dried fruit. You see, these were years of hunger in Greece, and she gave me such a present! I thanked her in German, ‘Danke, Danke,’ and left.

Or another incident: one night I went with my sisters and friends to celebrate, we were getting ready to go to a tavern. As we went down from Aristotelous Street, before Ermou Street, the Germans wanted something from the girls. I pushed my sisters aside and grabbed one of them by the neck, ready to hit him. Another one got in the scene, there was noise, a crowd gathered, and then the German police turned up, whom I told that family matters were highly regarded in Greece. So the Germans wanted to hurt the girls, and we were well prepared. The German police asked the others standing around and they agreed that we were right. So they took those Germans, put them on the jeep and left. This gave us the impression that we were the bosses and not the Germans.

That was at the beginning. After that they started, not as separate people, but as a German organization, to intrude in Jewish things, confiscating the shops of the Jews, breaking in Jewish houses and taking pianos, televisions, in short, anything valuable that they could find with them. That’s how they slowly started intruding in every neighborhood. Every neighborhood had its own ghetto, and they were gathering them there and from there took them to the trains. This was happening in different places at a time, and one of these places was where we were living.

There were Greeks that helped the Jews and not the Germans. There were also Greeks that were already collaborating with the Germans, from the organizations that the Germans had set up. I remember that afterwards they created order battalions who helped the Germans in any of their actions against EAM 18 or ELAS 19.

They had great power; they covered the entire valley of Giannitsa, and the part that was Turkish speaking. There was also the area of Kilkis that was regarded as blacklisted. They were helping the Germans to do their thing. We from EAM/ELAS would go and disarm whole villages that were theirs, like the villages of Kria Vrisi, around Veroia. We went one night and got all of them with the gendarmes. Some wanted to leave, to be set free, and other gendarmes wanted to come up the mountains and stay with the partisans. They held a good position – helped, and really turned out to be fine men. There were others that followed because they didn’t know what else to do. We carried out many such attacks in villages where we knew people were thinking like that.

I took part in an operation when the Germans wanted to eliminate the people of Paiko, where I got injured by a German mortar. A serious attack by the Germans that took place in 1943. A group of German officers, who were hunters, came up to Paiko to kill wild boars. It seems that they had been told that up in Paiko they would find wild boars. They stopped exactly at the point that I was guarding. When I saw the strangers – in order to give a warning, I couldn’t shout but I had to give a signal – I had to throw a stone, for someone to come and ask me what was happening. After that they organized a team of five men to go and check what was happening.

When the Germans understood that our men were around, they got up and left. There were three Germans and a driver that brought them up. Our men didn’t think of surrounding them but they started shooting from one side, and the Germans started running away. They passed through many villages and they could see them running towards Edessa and our boys running after them to catch them. The only good thing that came out of this situation was that we got the driver and we took him up the mountain to interrogate him.

Coincidently, he was from Pontos and a resident of Ardea just like our captain. He was terrified. They told him that he shouldn’t be afraid because we were all brothers, ‘What we want from you is to help us. You will go to Edessa and tell you friends what we will tell you to say.’ He found the three of them and said that after they left, he got caught and was taken to a camp up at the mountain, where he found the partisans dressed in the best clothes, girls, nurseries and nurses dressed in white coats, food, the best meat, in short, a good life. ‘The partisans have a kingdom up there, with women working in basement workshops,’ he said. They asked him whether they could really believe him, and after his confirmation, they told him to return to his work, and not say a word to anyone.

And immediately the work started for the villages of Arcadia – there were about 40 villages –with the locals: to inform them that there were partisan units and they should support them with food and guns. And really, the villages became the food supplier for the partisans of Paiko. On Easter we even had Easter soup. In the meantime the Germans had decided that they had to eliminate Paiko and they started going to the villages in groups of 100 to 200 and conquering them. From the one side, then from the other, and they slowly started surrounding Paiko. Paiko is a mountain that can be surrounded by four sides, because there are villages all over, starting from the river Axios up to the city of Giannitsa. So they started taking the villages.

We knew that we would have to fight them in a battle one day. As we could see them getting closer to Paiko we knew that this day was drawing closer. They came up with their armor and started shooting. We were over 300 and had many people that didn’t have any armor as they had left their villages because of the Germans, and came to the mountain without anything. We were moving positions so it would seem to them that we were more than 300. This lasted a whole day. They were shooting and we were shooting back, until it became dark and they couldn’t see anymore, so we decided to leave.

Our captain, Captain Petros, commandant of the 10th division of Vermion-Paiko-Kaimaktsalan [mountain range], had a plan. A group of about fifteen Englishmen had arrived with a wireless and it seemed that they were helping the Germans and the Security police. Our captain went to speak with their group leader, who knew Greek well, and told him to call England and ask them to provide us with explosives so we could do our job, and the Germans would find themselves at a dead end in the morning. The captain told us his plan which was that if England accepted we would blow up the springs. So when the Germans would arrive in the morning to get to Paiko, blow them up and the panic that would arise would be for our benefit: to chase them and kick them out to the river Axios. If they agreed it would be a successful move, and all the village people would run and help get the German equipment.

So we were forced to attack at dawn towards the side that we knew that they were weak. We left and passed the valley of Ardaia and went to Kaimaktsalan where we found snow, a very rough mountain, and from there we moved on to Vermion. Vermion is one of the most quiet and easy mountains in Greece, it can be accessed from many sides and its easy to conquer, which is the reason why the Germans were always doing little excursions. So we got together with groups from Vermion and talked about what we could do because Vermion can be easily surrounded and they could reach us at any point.

The good thing was that it was raining all day and all these people, partisans and civilians, were caught in the rain. So the committee got together to decide what to do next. There were unions from villages that showed us a way to leave without getting on the site of the Germans. They took us down the mountain from places that only eagles can reach. Us, others with their rustic shoes, others barefoot. We managed to get out of the encirclement and go towards the valley of Siniatsiko.

It kept raining and most of the unarmed were Jewish. They were victims in the sense that they were human, and they didn’t have the force to fight with the wild animals of nature, but were quieter people. They found a place to sit to find shelter from the rain, fell asleep and when the Germans came, found many skirmished. Only few followed the route to the valley of Siniatsiko to the end. I was the only machine gun shooter in the group. We were drenched, barefoot, and when we got to the foot of the mountain, we started climbing because we knew that the Germans were following us.

We got up and got in our war positions, drenched and full of mud and waited. And the Germans started showing, who were fighters and would fight standing up, which was convenient for us because this way we had clear targets. When they started climbing to the top we were aiming at them. One here, one there, they were dropping down, and I was pleased. I was pleased because I was thinking that here is being judged the luck of the Jews against the Germans. That’s why I was saying, ‘For us the Jews, for Greece, for our homeland.’

At some point I realized that I was running out of ammunition, I told the boss and he told me that I should shoot every now and again and stay put until they bring me some more. And we continued fighting, only that when the ammunition came, I wasn’t in a position anymore to hold a gun as the Germans had shot me with a mortar and hit my finger. The captain saw the situation and told me, ‘Leave, they will take care of you at the surgery.’ They took me there and dressed the wound.

A little further on was a village, where they were accepting all of us that were not active, and they would give us food, hot water, and so on; the women worked there. They took us there, gave us shelter and a blanket, we gave them our clothes to get cleaned, and we had a chance to get dry there and spent the night there.

The Germans suffered a great loss in this battle, even though they had mortars and could shoot. The groups from Siniatsiko managed to surround the Germans and teach them a good lesson. In the history of the partisans this battle counted as one of the most aggressive ones.

Colonel Frizis had a brother that came up the mountain in Vermion. The villagers of Vermion were very supportive to all the Jews that were coming. They would help to find a place to hide, food, a glass of water. When he went to the village they found him a good hiding place, food etc. When the Germans came to the village they asked all of them to gather at the village square. The villagers told him not to come out because he wasn’t dressed as a villager and the Germans would understand that he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t listen and a soon as he appeared, a fine young lad, the Germans saw him and we lost him. We never found out what happened to him.

Then, at a gorge in Vermion, the Germans found out that there was a group hiding there. My uncle David was in this group, my aunt that was deaf-mute, a daughter of my uncle, Fani, and another family of Jews that were from Veroia or Naousa. The Germans saw them and said, ‘You are Jews,’ and took them all. That’s all we know; we never heard anything again, they all disappeared.

In general, the position of the Greeks in Thessaloniki was patriotic, they would help where they could. At least when I was getting ready to go up the mountain, a friend from far away came to find me. He was a pastry cook and during the occupation he was working on the trains. He begged me to let him take me out of Thessaloniki. ‘Michali,’ I said, ‘I thank you very much. I know you mean well, but I’m ready to leave for the mountain.’

When I came back from the mountain, I went to his place. He had a younger sister who was a secretary of EPON 20 of Ifanet, her father was an iron man in Axilithioti, we worked together, him with the red iron and the hammer and me with the turner. They were all good friends.

This is an issue: The Jews didn’t believe the Germans, they believed the ‘chief of Judaism,’ Rabbi Koretz, and he was the reason that they got all the Jews. At this big gathering at the synagogue he was telling them, ‘We will go to another country and live there, and be free. We will have our professions, so take your tools with you. Take good clothing because it is cold there, and take some money to live.’ These were the principles of the rabbi, and it was him that the people believed, the Germans were not in contact with the Jews.

There were people that would go up the mountains as we did, and we were begging them to come, but there were also other families that wanted to stay together, grandfather with grandson etc. These were the two main issues that forced the Jews and this entire Jewish crowd to go where they went. It was the destruction of the Jews in Greece. And this situation with the families being so close to each other, was a big hit for the leftists too, because we were passing house by house to ask people to come with us, but many wouldn’t.

We were supporting the left wing and that’s why we went up the mountains. At the beginning of all this, a man from the youth of OKNE approached me with the request to help to recruit youngsters. This was our organizing work, my group would go from house to house trying to recruit people. The man that gave us a boost was handicapped, walking with two sticks, and he was a fighter. His name was Stergios. One of the guys in our team was a very brave fighter; a little later they sent him to another team that needed people that were educated. He went to Mount Olympus. He was called Benveniste, and he could have done many things for the youth, but he died young. He fought on Mount Olympus and we were fighting on common grounds, until Kilkis; that was the X division.

My family were partisans. My father was a partisan; he used to fight up on the mountain. Mairy and Tarzan were fighters; they were not people that the Germans would catch, because they were partisans. My mother was on the mountain but she was hiding in the villages, no one gave her in and as she was dressed as a villager, she stayed there until the end. Whenever I was passing by Vermion I would go and see my mother, because we had good contact with Vermion from Paiko and Mount Olympus.

With my team we gathered in Oraiokastro, and we were ready to take part in the parade for the liberation of Thessaloniki. That same day I asked the captain if I could go with the rest of the lads down to Thessaloniki by foot and return in the evening. He gave me his permission and I went down, and first thing I went to the police. I asked about a family that lived in the Dioikitiriou area. They replied, ‘Yes, there are two siblings and they are both gendarmes and they are serving at this gendarmerie, and they are well, they are fine.’ I asked if I was allowed to go and visit, and they agreed. I went there with their permission and the kids were not there, but the mother, when she saw me, was so pleased, she went crazy. We had been friends since we were children. ‘We are so pleased to see that you are a partisan, we thought you were a dead man. Don’t worry, our children are fine and we will pass on your greetings.’

Then I went down to the workers union, which was our haunt […] When the secretary saw me he said, ‘Come I want to show you something.’ He took me up to the third floor and there was a big poster, with all the portraits of the ones that had been lost in the war, and a big picture of me. He says, ‘You are not dead.’ So I say, ‘Well, my picture up here implies I am, but I am not. As you can see, I am here.’ He replied, ‘We are glad that you came out alive.’

The same night I met up with my father who had come down to get food, we had a chat, and I went back to my place. We didn’t go to the parade because as we were getting ready to go, an order came that we should walk to Athens. In Athens the war had started between the English and ELAS 21. Scobie 22 had then come to Athens and the war had started against ELAS with boats and planes.

So we had to go and walk all the way to Athens to help our comrades. The road was hard, we got up to Atlanti and a notice arrived that the war had ended, the conclusion of a treaty etc. and the English would remain as bosses, so we took our wet things, and got back to our places.

Exactly after these events, we were caught in a big battle in Kilkis 23. There all the majors and the security chiefs of areas like Giannitsa, Veroia, Kilkis were armed and wanted to become the kings of Greece. They had gathered there and got a mountain that was called Agios Georgios. All the teams from Macedonia got together, from Paiko, Olympus and Vermion. We surrounded them and a battle started. By 4 o’clock in the afternoon we hadn’t managed to catch any of them. Then, and I don’t know how they managed, but they brought us from Olympus four mortars, which saved us: we started to attack the mountain that they were on, with their machine guns, and one after the other they were falling so we knew we could go up. We started going up and we finally conquered the mountain that was called Agios Georgios.

The same night we got many prisoners, except for a big team of Papadopoulos, who was a chieftain then, they managed to leave and go to Yugoslavia. We caught many and held them captive in a village that became a camp, and the next day the court martial was held in that village and they were tried. We partisans went to a village to get some sleep and the next day the captain said to me, ‘You have walked on foot enough, it’s time you go back to the warehouse, where they have all the horses and other animals. Go and make sure you pick a good horse.’

I went and chose a horse but didn’t understand that it had asthma. I managed to ride it, but it couldn’t run a lot because it would get this cough… However, I loved that horse and decided, ‘I’ll keep you. You are mine.’ So we stayed together until the end. I gave it to a villager when we resigned, and told him, ‘With this horse you can plough your land.’ We don’t know what happened to the prisoners of Kilkis. The political leadership of EAM decided what was going to happen to them, we didn’t know as we weren’t involved.

From my family, I was the last one to come back to Thessaloniki. I was the last to return because I went to Naousa, where they had told me that my mother lived, in the house of an old school friend of mine, who was now a major in the army and had come from Egypt; Mr. Oikonomou his name was and he was a captain in Naousa. He was not treating the villagers well, because Naousa was a village of partisans and he was a major of the army.

When I got to Thessaloniki, in the neighborhood of Agia Triada, I got a trolley to put my things in, and I was heading for home. It seems that one of the people that I met while arranging things had nailed me and they came from the Security Police to catch me. They took the trolley, and took me to their main offices. They asked, ‘What have you got here?’ ‘I have some blankets, some bullets and some other things.’ They took the blankets, I had five for the whole family, but they also took other things that had fallen out. And this anti-communist in Thessaloniki, the well-known Koufitsa 24, the head of the secret police said, ‘You see, Burla, everything has come back to us.’ I replied, ‘As time will go by and in the years to come, we will regain what has been taken from us. As soon as he heard that, he and a few others fell on me, and beat me up badly.

Anyway, so I got to the house wounded. When my mother saw me, she was shocked. They all had come down from the mountain, they got a house of an old Jewish family that now lived in Switzerland. This house was left empty, we let ourselves in, us and a few other Jews that later moved to Israel. So that was our haunt. And that’s how the whole family got back together and we started all over again.

The house was in Faliro, on the spot where the monument of King George stands today, to its left. It was a nice, spacious house, with many rooms. It had a nice courtyard looking out on the seaside, where we used to go swimming.

I was never an official member of the Communist Party. When I was with the partisans, I used to say that I was a communist, I would take part in all the meetings, but I never became an official member. I remained in this position because when I was in the Soviet Union and I saw the positioning of the KKE [Communist Party of Greece], it really didn’t make a good impression on me. The KKE were the ones that were taking part of the wages of the refugees from all these countries, Soviet Union, Romanian, Poland, etc. That’s why I didn’t want to become a party member, and that’s why even today I am a member of the Coalition and not of the KKE.

This connection with the left wing [with KKE] was because I was in the metal workers union and all the people around us were communists, so we simply had to be part of this, too, since all the members of the union were communists. Then I joined a group to raise money, they would give me fifty drachmas. The money was raised for the workers union. And when we did find someone that would give us money; we would take it and give him coupons in return. Those were the same coupons that I swallowed when the Security Police came to get me.

When with ELAS, as partisans, we were dressed and ready to go to the parade of Thessaloniki, they took us, and we walked to Athens to fight the English. We thought that ELAS was going to set Greece free, at least Macedonia, that we were going to predominate and that we would have elections for the mass to come out and vote the party. But England got in the way, and ruined it all for the future of the Greeks. For us it was a major hit because after that arrests and deportations started – to camps, Makronisos, Ai Stratis, Ikaria. [Editor’s note: Islands in the Aegean sea that where used mostly during the Greek Civil War (1946-1949) as lands of exile – for deportation of the members and the supporters of the Communist Party of Greece.]

After the war

I was never able to see, what Thessaloniki looked like right after the war, in what condition the Jewish Community found the city, because as soon as we turned up, they started chasing us. I was getting ready for the second time to go to the mountain as a partisan. I got out of the house one day, well dressed and shaved, and an officer from the 2nd Police station – and the officers from there knew us well because the 2nd Police station was the one that was in our area – arrested me. They sent me to a tobacco shop, close to where Avez was, the spaghetti factory, in Agios Dimitrios area, and they shut me in there with others. Many of us were from Azvestohori, others from Thessaloniki. My family didn’t know where I had gone. They started looking for me; my sisters looked everywhere, and no one knew where I was.

They arrested me in May 1945, we passed through the military police and in fact, we were a team that got out on 9th May 1945, liberation day 25. We got out on the streets and started ringing the bells of Agia Triada, and we were calling people to come and celebrate the day of the defeat of the Germans, the day of the victory of the Red Army. We used loudspeakers and sound boxes.

The 2nd Police station was informed and they came and surrounded us in order to catch us. And they took us to the police station. They took us and had us line up in a column to move us close to the White Tower. The union got a note that we had been caught and they sent us their lawyer there. His name was Kefalidis, he was from the party, a good guy, and he came to defend us.

And when he got to the trial he stood in front of all the judges and told them: ‘Gentlemen, I am really sorry to see this happening. The guys were out on the streets to celebrate the liberation of humanity, for Russia that put an end to the German occupation, and put up at the Reichstag the flag of the Red Army. With these men, you should be out on the streets celebrating and not judge them as you are doing today.’ The verdict was that we were innocent, the gendarmes got afraid and left and we left singing, going home to our houses. So that was that.

And after that they caught us and first put us in the tobacco shops and deported us to barren islands. I was sent to Limnos, others where sent to other islands. There I found many good friends: a family from Kilkis, where I did my military service, sisters and brothers and children of the guys that we were at Kilkis with.

I also found someone from the village of Azvestochori, old lime kiln worker that used to make furnaces there, and he said to the committee that he should be the leader to guide the political exiles. My family found out the last minute where I was, and brought me a piece of bread, a blanket, and some other things just before the boat was leaving, so we said our goodbyes and we set off. This was the last stop.

They took us first to Limnos Island and gave us a big school, as a residence. There we didn’t stay long because the people from Limnos were very friendly with us, and started bringing us all kinds of goodies. We had anything we wanted every night. When they saw that the people were bringing us lots of stuff every night, they changed their minds and took us on another boat to Ikaria Island. And from there it went on: from Ikaria to Ai Stratis, then Makronisos, from Makronisos back to Ai Stratis, from Ai Stratis to Israel. And this is how this story of a Jew called Moshe Burla ended.

My younger sister who we used to call Tarzan, Dora, had gone to Israel earlier. She managed to get the attention of the Israeli government and have us detached from the islands that we had been sent to, and bring us to Israel. The consulate of Israel arranged that then. They said that they wanted to take us to Israel to fight against the Arabs, and we stayed there to live for a few years.

I went to Israel in September 1952. Until then I was on Ai Stratis Island. Ai Stratis was the last island for the ones that survived Makronisos. Half of those that came back to Ai Stratis, were partly handicapped, with broken necks, hands, feet, another one with a bandage around his waist, another one in a wheel chair; they where the remnants of the military police in Makronisos. Seven years in exile. I have a friend who I know spent twelve years there.

The worst thing of all, the hardest part of this situation, was that in Makronisos they were asking the deported people to sign a paper saying that they regret. Of course, no one would agree to and that’s where their game started. In all this abuse, I was lucky because one night that they barged in, as they used to do, in the pitch black dark, they would take us to a gorge, and they would do all this [….] It happened that in my position there was a writer who was handicapped. Lountemis he was called, he was in the line to get beaten up. They told him to take his clothes off and the guy from the military police told him, ‘What else can you lose from your body? Your body is already like bad shape 8, there is no part that is balanced.’

When he left and my turn came, I got it for him and me together. That night they hit and wounded my head and left me nearly handicapped. I had to run to doctors and get treated for days to feel a little better. And then the same guy, I mean one of the guys that were after us, came and told me that the best thing to do was to go to the headquarters and tell them that I was a baker’s apprentice so they can send me to the ovens, because by then they had made ovens to send food supplies to Makronisos. I went to the headquarters, I filled in my application, and fifteen days later, when I felt a little better, they sent me there. From there on, my life was calm, I would get my bread, each worker would get one loaf of bread, and we would also eat what everybody else got.

In Makronisos a group of us, six or seven Jews from many different parts of Greece, met up. I have a picture of us in my book here. Two were from Volos, both were called Cohen, one was Salvador Ovadia and the other Zaharias, two were from Thessaloniki, me and Alberto Zahon, whose wife lives here at the old people’s home, one from Kefalonia Island and the last one was Raoul Moslino, who was a photographer and whose wife’s sister lives here with us. After Ai Stratis they sent us to Israel. They got us on a boat to Pireus and from there to boats heading for Israel. They had us chained up on the boats until the moment we were leaving for Israel.

As I mentioned before, back to Ai Stratis came only the ones that had survived the abuse in Makronisos. One had lost his voice, another one his hand, the other one had no leg, all the 1200 people that had come from Makronisos were quite shaken from the situation there. For us Ai Stratis was an infirmary of sorts, for us to recover. Another good thing was that on Ai Stratis life had taken such a pace that it was like a school. We opened classes for accounting, for foreign languages, a workshop for shoe-makers, hairdressers. We had a team to take care of the garbage because the problem was that there were so many of us. We had patches of land to grow our tomatoes. We made many tents; one tent was for 14 people. We made nice complexes, we had educated people working.

We even had a dancing group that Giannis Ritsos was leading. We had the theatrical complex that was nice, and where we staged a play every month, not only for the prisoners but also for the villagers. At the beginning the police would not let them come, but when they realized that the plays didn’t have a political context, they let them. Actually, they weren’t plays, they were rather sketches.

At Ai Stratis we had written songs about how we lived. As one poet wrote: ‘In front of the trough, the doctor questions himself how to start the laundry. The lawyer seated in the corner is trying with the sewing all morning. A teacher messes with the mud, as he works with the trowel. A professor and an old guy lay down from tiredness and the poet instead of writing lines watches people. In exile, everyone learns to be tidy. With sewing and washing you can win a prize […] You laugh in your sorrow.’

And another poet, nineteen years old, a medical student from Thessaloniki, wrote a poem on bean soup. You see, when we came to Ai Stratis the government did take care of providing us with food, but what happened was that they gave us pocket money and we had to go and find food on our own. And, of course, from the land there wasn’t anything to take. There was only a small shop, which we had already ransacked. We got some fish; the villagers would give us the small fish. As for the rest we had to look around to find something. Now, the major of Sykies later went to Limnos for food and he found a large amount of beans, and they took it all and brought it to us, and it became the basic food in Makronisos: white or red bean soup.

Anyway, so this medical student wrote the following poem on bean soup: ‘Oh bean soup how tasty, from the legumes you are the antique and from honey you are sweeter. Either as a soup or as a salad or with tomatoes you are over the marmalade, you have pride, you have mincing, from all foods you are a pearl, bean soup, bean soup.’ This poem has become legendary.

From Thessaloniki they took us to Limnos Island, to a luxurious school, where they gave us milk and nice rooms. But we didn’t stay long on Limnos Island because the people were very leftist and they all came to bring us the best things in the world. Companies of people would come together from one neighborhood or factory and they would carry all kinds of products and things. The police saw what was happening and thought, ‘Well, are we going to have them well fed now or what?’ Well, of course that was out of the question, so they had to bring a boat to send us to Ikaria Island the next day. We stayed there for a long time and afterwards they took us to Makronisos and from there to Ai Stratis.

We didn’t have any assets, whatever was left from my mother when the family left for the mountain, we gave to friends. At one house they had taken a stove that they didn’t want to return, at another a light bulb; we had given away whatever we had. The furniture was either taken or broken. So we didn’t have property. What we had was what we lived from.

My wife [Matilda Burla, nee Kapon] was a comrade at the party; we got in contact at political meetings at the party. We would meet, she wanted to get married, but I didn’t really like her, and it was not the looks. Even so, the Israeli communist party got in the way and said that this marriage should be happening. And they married us; whether we liked it or not, the got us married.

Well, our life wasn’t calm, especially after the first child was born: my wife wanted him to become a scientist, while I wanted him to be a worker like me, to go out and work. All the problems that occurred in the family made me get up and leave. My wife was called Matilda and she was from the Kapon family, a well known family in Thessaloniki. They were two sisters and a brother. And they were well known in the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki because the brother of my wife had a shop with fabrics and her elder sister was very pretty; Sarah Kapon her name was.

I don’t have anything else to say about my wife. She was a simple woman, she was a bit older than me, she was born in 1916 and that’s why she was in a hurry to get married, and the communist party got in the way and did the job for her. Of course, the political party was sorry for what they had done because I was an activist in the communist party of Israel. I was breaking new grounds where the factories in the city of Haifa were concerned. After Tel Aviv, the industrial area was Haifa, and I was the main link for the workers’ demands for better living conditions. I was arguing with the bosses to get better conditions for the workers’ living conditions and their wages, their rights, even for getting the milk; I was working on these rights, pushing them to change things.

We got married at the beginning of 1953. All her siblings were together in Israel. I don’t know her parents or if any other members of the family were lost in the concentration camps. The eldest sibling, Sarah, was egocentric and a beautiful woman. My wife was a good nurse; she worked in one of the best hospitals in Haifa, the Carmel. There I had my first operation, there my mother died, the sister of my mother, the one that helped my mother go to Cairo. My wife now gets a good pension and helps her grandchildren. When I lived in that area, the whole family would get together at the hospital restaurant to eat. She was jealous because all the nurses would look at me, this good-looking young guy, whereas she was older and fatter.

My sister Yolanda came to Israel when I was already there, with two babies in her arms, and brought with her my mother and my brother-in-law, he had been an old baker’s apprentice, and then he worked with my father at the Kapani furnaces.

This was my first and only marriage. We never got divorced; we are still married. The other day my son wrote to me that he is going to Jerusalem to get my marriage certificate. It is something I need because I have filled in forms from an English company that is involved in getting back compensations from Germany for those who had been wounded. And with this paper, the marriage certificate, I will have all the paperwork done in English. I’ve paid a large amount for the translations of all these documents and with the marriage certificate all the paperwork will be complete now, in order to get the compensation. Now what exactly will happen and when, that I don’t know? I have a neighbor here that has always believed that we will get the compensations. He is just worried about who will get the compensation if this only happens in ten years’ time, if he isn’t alive any more. He will turn 93 soon.

I started working in a company where Greeks used to work, in a village in Israel called Tandura, at the beach of Haifa. All the citizens there were Greeks, I mean Jewish Greeks. They had created companies of fishermen and they took me on as a mechanic on their boat. Our job was to get the nets ready and put them up in the boats, and afterwards we headed out to the sea for fishing. Usually we would go fishing in the night, we would drop anchor where we thought there’d be fish, we would turn on the lanterns, and in the morning we would pick the fish and take them to the company for sale.

As you can imagine, you cannot always be lucky with this kind of job, so we were linked with a company that was paying us a certain percentage, and if we didn’t bring any fish, they would give us a minimum in order for us to have money to live on. And when we had fish, depending on the quantity of the fish we would get our wage. It was hard work, we would be up all night and in the morning we had to spread the nets to get them dried and mend them if they needed mending. Many times, at the moment that we had caught some great fish, a dolphin would appear and ruin everything.

After that, when I felt that this job wasn’t good for me, I went out again as a turner. I worked in many different places there, especially in the industrial area of Haifa that is called Nifratz, which means gulf, that’s the area where most of the factories were located. There I started working as a turner, at one factory, and then at another because as a communist you didn’t last long in any position. They took me on because they had heard that I was a great turner, but as soon as the time came when you’d become irremovable, they’d kick you out and you had to find another job. From a financial point of view, we lived well, as my wife had a job as a nurse at a good hospital and she would get a wage too and so we were doing fine.

Because, as I told you, my wife and I had a few problems, I had to leave Israel and that is how I got in contact with a Russian girl that worked as a librarian. We decided to leave Israel because this woman really looked like a Russian, and in Israel they didn’t have good relationships with the Russians since Russia helped the Arabs in the war. As communists we didn’t stand well either, so we had to pay to the Israeli state a certain part that anyone that gets help from the Israeli state had to pay, plus some percentages. That’s something that we couldn’t imagine to come up with. That’s why we had our papers done and left as tourists.

We went from Spain to France, to Greece, from Greece to Bulgaria and from there to the Soviet Union. It was a long journey: we left in 1957 from Israel and got to the Soviet Union in 1959, after staying in Bulgaria for six months where we had our papers done to be allowed to cross over to the Soviet Union.

The Bulgarians we worked for during those six months were very pleased with us. I worked as a turner and I made order at the factory where I worked, and my wife [Editor’s note: Mr. Burla actually means partner, as they were not married] was working at a shirt company, doing ironing. They didn’t want us to leave. But my wife wanted to get back to Russia because she had her mother there and all her siblings and her whole family. I kept telling her that Bulgaria was better as it had a better climate, a better economy etc. If we stayed there we could go visit them and they could come visit us, and we’d be in contact with her family. In the end we left for her mother’s place. My second comrade/partner was called Valia.

Yes, of course she was a leftist. When we arrived in the Soviet Union one of her two brothers welcomed us; he was an executive at a manufacturing firm. He found work for me and his sister, but he was against us because he had heard that in Israel the communist party had split into two. The party that I was in was against the one that he was in, and he didn’t like that. He always wanted me to follow the Russian line and not the Israeli one. At the beginning I had difficulties to get a position in the factory.

At the beginning we went to Kamensk Uralski, a mountain area. There at the factory 10,000 workers, worked 24 hours, three shifts of eight hours. I got a good position as a turner and I climbed the ladder to the point that a year later my portrait was hanging at the entrance as the best worker of the factory. I could have gone higher, because, for example, I was a blood donor, and the doctor of the factory proposed to me to give me a medal for this. The brother of my wife had told me not to take this medal yet as it was too early, because we didn’t know what party he supported. So I didn’t. But later on I got some smaller medals that they give to the blood donors: at the beginning a copper one and so on… I still have them.

The fact that I was a Jew in Russia made a bad impression. Every now and again someone would say something about the Jews. Generally they respected the Jews, because many that were working in the factory were people of higher education, who knew the tactics of the Soviet Union, the laws, the language.

One time, and that impressed me, when they were coming down from the party’s offices, and I had gone to make an application to become a member, one told me, ‘Don’t even bother, they don’t take Jews now. They know you well in the factory, you are praiseworthy, what else do you need?’ And indeed, I didn’t develop further because I my brother-in-law was against me, and wherever I went he was tricking me, so I wouldn’t climb higher up the ladder.

I took part in many activities such as athletics, the chorus of the factory, and at one time, with the secretary of the party, we were singing in Greek, in Spanish, in Italian. They recognized me there while my brother-in-law was always distant, and with his sister we weren’t getting along well either because she adopted a child that wasn’t normal, a child from an institution that was mentally retarded.

This situation really affected me, it ruined my mood and in the end she died long before her time. I had to become a member of the party and give the child to an institution to develop, because it was bad for his mother and me at work, it stood in our way.

Valia and I didn’t have an official wedding. We just invited a few friends, when we were still in Israel, and we didn’t have a formal wedding. We went to her mother’s and her younger sister. She loved all of them, except one younger brother, who was a former airman with the air force services in Russia. This is where he got his pension from and with the money he got some land close to some natural springs of Russia. And he wasted his life trying to enlarge this patch of land that he had bought. At the beginning it was small. When I met him, he was living there with his wife.

We stayed in Russia for 22 years. I got my pension, but even after that I continued working, until Greek friends that I had in Sohum, down in Abkhazia, convinced me to live with them. Not only just to live closer to them, but because they could see that for me it would be much easier to leave from there and go to Greece than to leave from Russia. The factory where I worked didn’t allow any employees to live outside Russia. I had to finish this career.

One sunny day, I got my things ready, put them on the train, and sent them there. When I went there later my things were already there. When I went to the house, they told me that the mother was working at the train station and she went and declared that these things were hers, and took them without a receipt. This family really stood by my side; there were four siblings, three doctors and an engineer. They kept me going and helped me go on all kinds of excursions.

I started working as a teacher for the Greeks that lived in Abkhazia, not only the children at the school, because they had arranged to go to various schools around the area, in villages where many Greeks lived, so they could start learning the Greek language. Except from the fact that I was working in two villages at the schools, I gave classes to elder students, or parents that were leaving to go to Greece, and I was getting them ready to go. I have many students like that here, who really respect me, and love me, and I have pictures of some women that were among my best students.

I have a picture of a very good friend, from the two groups that I was teaching evening classes; I had a beginners’ group and an advanced group. This girl was attending both groups to learn faster and indeed she became one of the best students. Last summer when I went with some friends to Aggelochori, which is where she lived, I told them, ‘Guys we should go and visit an acquaintance of mine.’ We went and we met her and I said to her, how did you learn Greek so well, and she said that she learned the basics thanks to me.

I came back to Greece on 5th August 1990. My friend, the one that saved my family from the Germans, came to pick me up from the airport with his family. This man helped me, took me to his house.

When I came to Thessaloniki my life was very difficult. I was taken care of by Greeks that had come from there, too, and they had sold their houses and brought their assets with them. I was going to the markets with them, so I’d make a hundred drachma or two to live on. I passed some difficult times. The moment that I started living again as a human being was when the Jewish Community reacted and didn’t want to acknowledge that I was Jewish, and told me that I had to fill in an application and would get my reply within in six months. I filled in this application and waited for six very difficult months.

Thankfully a rabbi, who used to work at the synagogue then, took me as the tenth [for a minyan] and he asked me to go and work there and get a fixed wage. This was my salvation and six months later the reply came from the Community that they have accepted me as a member of the Community and a different life began for me.

They gave me a small pension and they also gave me a small room in the attic of a house that we tried very hard to make it humane because it didn’t have water, tiles or a bathroom. I had started to live a lonely life. I would sit there with friends and eat bean soup that I used to prepare until the time came when they suggested for me to move to the old people’s home.

When I used to hear about old people’s homes I used to shake, and run away, but it happened that I went there a couple of times to see a friend of my father’s, they had known each other since childhood. I sat next to him, we chatted and he offered me a glass of Ouzo and he says: ‘As you can see, we have everything here. Why don’t you come and live here too?’ I went there for a second time and then a third time and I realized that they really did have everything. So I said to myself, ‘Why do I want to stay here where it’s hot in the summer and freezing in the winter? They have a nice life, compared to the roof that I have over my head.’ And I decided to move to the old people’s home.

I had a quarrel with the manager of the Community, because they had given me my old place without me having to pay anything as I didn’t have any income. When the time came to give me the twenty drachma that I was getting as an allowance up until then, in order to have some pocket money, the manager resisted, saying: ‘Mr. Burla, aren’t you asking for a bit too much? At the old men’s home, you have a shelter and food for free. To give you an allowance as well, don’t you think that’s asking a bit too much? Should we send you an accountant too to take care of your financial matters?’ I got very angry, and I raised my hand and slapped him. We started fighting and the employees came to stop us, and they got a few too, that were meant to be for him. In the five years that have passed since then I’ve never ever heard him even say ‘good morning’ to me.

After this once incident in Italy I had sworn myself that I’d never raise my hand again to hit anyone. What happened was the following: the General Headquarters sent me to take prisoners to the headquarters. This was during the war with Albania. I was then wounded by a shell missile and I was recovering when they came to the infirmary and said to me: ‘Since you are a man that we don’t have to take out from the army, and you are a man that knows the weapons, as you used submachine guns, you can do this job by yourself. Take these people with our written approval and bring them to the headquarters. They will sign and you will bring back the paper which says that they have surrendered.’

So we got on the way, me with the submachine gun at the back and them walking in front of me. We would say a word or two to each other in Italian, and I understood that all five of them were villagers. Only one seemed nervous. Suddenly I see him running away, so I get the gun to shoot him, and they say to me, ‘No, wait. We will call him,’ so they called his name and shouted, ‘Come back or you are going to get killed.’ But he kept running. So I got ready to shoot him.

Thankfully, some of our soldiers were coming that way, grabbed him, and brought him to me. I told him, ‘You idiot! Can’t you see how easy it would have been for you to go straight to the ground?’ And I raised my hand and hit him in the face, and by accident I gauged out his eye and as a result he was blind on one eye. So I got an unarmed guy half blind. That taught me a lesson. After that I swore that I’d never lay hand again on anyone, until this annoying general manager came my way.

I can say that my relationship with the Community is good. The president of the Community really appreciates me; there are people that recognize the sacrifices and the honors that they have given me. But this general manager has stayed the same brainless person. He passes in front of me and doesn’t even say hello. Not that it is important to me, I did get my small allowance from the Community that helps me pay my phone bill. I can cover my expenses with the pension I get from OGA, I am doing fine. I don’t need anybody.

When I left Israel my son was twelve years old. My wife insisted to give him all the money that he’d need when he reaches the age of sixteen. I got all my money out, plus 2000 that my sisters gave me, in order to get together the amount that my wife had asked me for my son. So when I finally left Israel there wasn’t anything that was holding me back. Before they wouldn’t let me leave unless I paid the amount that my wife was asking me for. When I left she had put my son in a kibbutz and I was paying for his monthly allowance. When I left and let her pay for him, a Japanese family adopted him, meaning that he was under their protection, and he had a fine time. I had left him my stamp collection, and from this collection he got great prestige, because no one in the area had such a large collection, and he was showing it to people in other kibbutzim

He didn’t learn any Greek and until today doesn’t speak the language. When I ask him, he replies in Greek, ‘I don’t understand a word.’ That’s all the Greek he knows. With my son I speak Spanish, but he knows many languages. He speaks French because his mother was French speaking, he knows Italian and Arabic. That’s why he spent a long time as a tourist guide of Arab or Italian tourist groups; he would show them historical and religious places in Israel. I happened to be there with a group of Italians and we went around the monuments and the Italian women asked me, ‘Why don’t you stay in Israel? Why do you want to leave?’ And I replied, ‘Israel is not my homeland, it is not my country, it is my second country, my homeland is Greece.’

With my son, I never talked about the war until recently when I went to visit him and my four grandchildren. That’s when we first spoke a bit about what had happened. I told him that I had written a book, and he really wanted to read it, but he can’t read in any other language than French or English. I would have been interested to get the book published in another language so that my son can read it, but I didn’t come to an agreement with the publisher.

In my opinion, many kibbutzim are political: the one is leftist, the other one is half-leftist, the other one is rightist. But, of course, there were also kibbutzim that were religious and all the residents were very religious, they would honor the Jewish religion, and there were kibbutzim that didn’t even recognize the religion.

My father is buried here while my mother is buried in Israel. My mother died in Israel; from the time she lived there, she suffered from a disease which the climate of Israel wasn’t helpful for. In fact she died at the time when her sister had come from Egypt. Both sisters died within a week. My mother died in 1969 and my father in 1970, and he is buried at the general Jewish cemetery in Stavroupoli. Every now and again I go there with my sister, we clean the grave and put flowers on it.

When my father died I was in Russia. I got a letter when he died, but it came too late, so for me to leave and go home was useless. The second wife of my father wrote this letter. She was a Christian and he had her convert to Judaism. I have a woman here at the old people’s home that got married to her husband the same day that my father married his second wife. My father was a witness to their marriage and her husband was the witness to his marriage.

The names of my grandsons are Jewish; they have nothing to do with Greek, or my name. They are names that have to do with the nature of Israel: the sun, the air, etc. For example, my son could named one of his sons after my father or my grandfather, but instead he gave his children Jewish names that have to do with nature. His elder daughter is called Edith, his first son is called Ilior, the third child is called Limor and the last one is called Noam, which means ‘spirit.’

My son lives in Jerusalem. He divorced his wife, got married a second time, and now we are expecting the fifth grandchild. My son and his second wife, have big stores with many employees as clients. They give lectures about how they should treat the customers. They go from city to city, from business to business.

With my son and grandchildren I keep contact through my daughter-in-law. Every now and again I send them some pocket money. They respect me and love me a lot. My daughter-in-law and two of my grandchildren came to visit me last year in September. When they came to Greece they wanted to see everything, and I got very tired because they also didn’t speak the language, so I had to translate everything for them. One sunny day I got a stroke and they didn’t know what to do, they lost it and took me to the hospital and then they left for Israel. I stayed in the hospital for ten days because this incident also trigger other side effects […] I’ve been having problems with my ears and with my eyes ever since. I lost my voice for ten days. Everyone in the hospital was calling me ‘the stranger.’

We still haven’t gotten anything as a compensation for the Holocaust, but we believe that we will get something, because in yesterday’s paper it said that they have already discovered the money that the Jewish Community had given to the Germans, and that this money should be returned to the Jews of Thessaloniki. Now when this money will get to us, that I don’t know.

No one asked us about our religion at the last census. On my ID it says ‘Jewish.’

The only relatives left are those of the Burla family that was making wine. Coincidently the father of this family is also called Moshe Burla. One of these days the president of the Community thought that the memorial service for Moshe Burla was for me. But the people from the Community told him that it was for the one that was making wines. We were very good friends with him.

Glossary

1 Forced labor in Greece

In July 1942 all male Jews aged 18 to 45, were registered and dispatched to work sites on the outskirts of Salonica and to the nearby towns of Veria and Katerini where they were used as laborers. The work sites were organized along military lines, each headed by a commander who was a former officer of the Greek army, under the supervision of Greek engineers and German military personnel. Malnutrition, physical abuse and deplorable living condition led to illnesses, epidemics and deaths. After lengthy negotiations, in October 1942, the Nazi authorities and the Jewish Coordinating Committee decided for the buy-out of Jews drafted into Nazi forced labor. The Jewish Community of Thessaloniki would have to pay 2 billion drachmas. [Source: Rena Molho, 'Salonica and Istanbul: Social, Political and Cultural Aspects of Jewish Life' (The Isis Press, Istanbul, 2005), p. 63]

2 Colonel Mordechai Frizis (1893-1940)

He graduated in law from the Athens University, his parents believed he would one day be a lawyer. However, the Balkan Wars of 1912-1913 installed a sense of patriotism in young Mordechai. In 1916, he entered as an officer in training in Euboea. Athens. In the Turkish-Greek war of 1921-1922, Lieutenant Mordechai and his soldiers were captured by the Turks. As a non-Christian officer he was offered his freedom. Mordechai refused, enduring eleven months of captivity with his Greek soldiers. The Greco-Italian War started on 28th October 1940. By now Mordechai was a Major in the Greek army, based out of Ioannina in Epirus, Greece, commanding the Independent Division, his orders to stop Italian attacks from Albania and through the narrow valleys and ravines of Northern Greece. Ioannina. On 4th December 1940 Major Frizis and his men encountered the Italians for the first time. Mordechai never left his men during fighting and always though of their interests; first earning him the strong loyalty of his soldiers he would call them his "boys," they in turn gave themselves the nickname the "Frizaens" or Frizis's boys. His troops would be the first to be captured by Italian soldiers. During the crossing of the Vistritsa River, mounted as always on his horse, Mordechai, led his troops against the Italians and was fatally wounded but refused to dismount, choosing instead to rally his soldiers with the now famous battle cry ‘Ayeras’ (Courage in Greek). Not having a rabbi near a priest was brought over. He placed his hand on Mordechai's head and prayed: "Hear, O Israel, the lord our God, the Lord is one." Colonel Mordechai Frizis, was the first officer in the Greek Army to be killed in World War II. A memorial to him has been erected outside the National Military Museum in Athens. In 2002 the remains of Mordechai Frizis were returned to Greece. They are buried in Thessaloniki's Jewish cemetery today.

3 ‘151’

After the Fire of 1917, the Jewish Community acquired the large No. 151 hospital, which belonged to the Italian army and was located east of the Thessaloniki. 75 wooden structures and many brick and cement structures were subsequently built to house the fire-stricken Jewish population.

4 Ladino

Also known as Judeo-Spanish, it is the spoken and written Hispanic language of Jews of Spanish and Portuguese origin. Ladino did not become a specifically Jewish language until after the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 (and Portugal in 1495) - it was merely the language of their province. It is also known as Judezmo, Dzhudezmo, or Spaniolit. When the Jews were expelled from Spain and Portugal they were cut off from the further development of the language, but they continued to speak it in the communities and countries to which they emigrated. Ladino therefore reflects the grammar and vocabulary of 15th-century Spanish. In Amsterdam, England and Italy, those Jews who continued to speak 'Ladino' were in constant contact with Spain and therefore they basically continued to speak the Castilian Spanish of the time. Ladino was nowhere near as diverse as the various forms of Yiddish, but there were still two different dialects, which corresponded to the different origins of the speakers: 'Oriental' Ladino was spoken in Turkey and Rhodes and reflected Castilian Spanish, whereas 'Western' Ladino was spoken in Greece, Macedonia, Bosnia, Serbia and Romania, and preserved the characteristics of northern Spanish and Portuguese. The vocabulary of Ladino includes hundreds of archaic Spanish words, and also includes many words from different languages: mainly from Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, Greek, French, and to a lesser extent from Italian. In the Ladino spoken in Israel, several words have been borrowed from Yiddish. For most of its lifetime, Ladino was written in the Hebrew alphabet, in Rashi script, or in Solitreo. It was only in the late 19th century that Ladino was ever written using the Latin alphabet. At various times Ladino has been spoken in North Africa, Egypt, Greece, Turkey, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Romania, France, Israel, and, to a lesser extent, in the United States and Latin America.

5 Pangalos, Theodoros (1878 –1952)

Greek general, who briefly ruled the country in 1925 and 1926. On 24th June 1925, officers loyal to Pangalos, overthrew the government in a coup. Pangalos immediately abolished the young republic and began to prosecute anyone who could possibly challenge his authority. Freedom of the press was abolished, and a number of repressive laws were enacted, while Pangalos awarded himself the Grand Cross of the Order of the Redeemer. Pangalos declared himself dictator on 3rd January 1926 and had himself elected president in April 1926. On the economic front Pangalos attempted to devalue the currency by ordering paper notes cut in half. His political and diplomatic inability however became soon apparent. He conceded too many rights to Yugoslav commerce in Thessaloniki, but worst of all, he embroiled Greece in the so-called War of the Stray Dog, harming Greece's already strained international relations. Soon, many of the officers that had helped him come to power decided that he had to be removed. On 24th August 1926, a counter-coup deposed him, and Pavlos Kountouriotis returned as president. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodoros_Pangalos_(general))

6 ELAS

Ethnikos Laikos Apeleutherotikos Stratos - National Popular Liberation Army, the central organization of the left-wing Resistance, joined also by other pro-democratic individuals. (Source: J. Hondros, Occupation and Resistance: the Greek Agony, New York, 1983.)

7 Thessaloniki International Trade Fair

Taking place every September since its foundation in 1926, it has always been a very important economic as well as cultural city event. For the last few years the Fair has been a pole of attraction and the "place" where the political programme of the government is being presented and assessed.

8 Synagogues in Thessaloniki

Before WWII there were 19 synagogues in Thessaloniki, all of which were blown up by the Germans a short time before the liberation. Already the big fire of 1917 had destroyed most of the synagogues and certainly all the historic synagogues, that is those built before 1680. Historian Rena Molho accounts that before the big fire there were about a hundred synagogues out of which 32 were recognized by the chief rabbi, 65 private small synagogues belonging to well known families and 17 small public synagogues. [Source: 1. R. Molho, 'The Jews of Thessaloniki. 1856-1919 A special community,' Ed. Themelio, Athens 2001, pp.65, 121. and 2. Helias V. Messinas, 'The Synagogues of Salonica and Veroia,' Ed. Gavrielides, Athens 1997]

9 Modiano Market

Built in 1926 by the architect Eli Modiano, son of the biggest banker of Salonica, Saul Modiano.

10 Tsitsanis, Vassilis (1915-1984)

Greek songwriter and bouzouki player. He became one of the leading Greek composers of his time and is widely regarded as one of the founders of modern Rebetika. Tsitsanis wrote more than 500 songs and is still remembered as an extraordinary bouzouki player. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vassilis_Tsitsanis)

11 Campbell Fire (Pogrom on 29th June 1931)

Responsible for the arson of the poor neighborhood Campbell was the Ethniki Enosis Ellas - National Union Greece, short: EEE also known as the 3E or the 'Iron Helmets.' This organization was the backbone of fascism in Greece in the period between the two World Wars. It was established in Thessaloniki in 1927. The most important element of the 3E political voice was anti-Semitism, an expression mostly of the Christian traders of the city in order to displace the Jewish competitors. President of the organization was a merchant, Mr. G. Cormides, there was also a secretary, a banker, D. Haritopoulos, and chief spokesman Nikos Fardis, editor-in-chief of the newspaper Makedonia. The occasion for the outbreak of anti-Semitism in Thessaloniki was the inauguration of the new Maccabi Hall in June 1931. In a principal article signed by Nikos Fardis, from Saturday, 20th June 1931, it was said that Maccabi of Thessaloniki had placed itself in favor of an Autonomous Greek Macedonia. The journalist "revealed" the conspiracy of Jews, Bulgarians, Communists and Catholics against Macedonia. Two days later, the Ministry of the Interior confirmed the newspaper's allegations despite the strict denial of the Maccabi representatives. All the anti-Semitic and fascist organizations were aroused. This marked the beginning of the riots that resulted in the pogrom of Campbell. Elefterios Venizelos was again involved after the 1917 fire, speaking at the parliament as Prime Minister, and talked with emphasis about the law-abiding stance of the Jewish population, but simultaneously permitted the prosecution of Maccabi for treason against the state. Let alone the fact that the newspaper Makedonia with the inflaming anti-Semitic publications was clearly pro-Venizelian. At the trial, held in Veroia ten months later, Fardis and the leaders of EEE were found not guilty while three refugees were found guilty, but with mitigating circumstances and therefore were freed on the spot. It is worth noting that at the 1933 general election, the Jews of Thessaloniki, in one block voted against Venizelos. [Source: Bernard Pierron, 'Juifs et chrétiens de la Grèce moderne,' Harmattan, Paris 1996, pp. 179-198]

12 Makedonia

Daily newspaper in Thessaloniki, written in Greek and published since 1911. It supported the liberal Party and was strongly distinctive for anti-Jewish article writing and journalism.

13 Venizelos, Eleftherios (1864 - 1936)

an eminent Greek revolutionary, a prominent and illustrious statesman as well as a charismatic leader in the early 20th century. Elected several times as Prime Minister of Greece and served from 1910 to 1920 and from 1928 to 1932. Venizelos had such profound influence on the internal and external affairs of Greece that he is credited with being “the maker of modern Greece.” His impact on modern Greece has been such that he is still widely known as the “Ethnarch.” (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleftherios_Venizelos)

14 Greek-Albanian War/Greek-Italian War (1940-1941)

Greece was drawn into WWII when Italian troops crossed the borders of Albania and violated Greek territory on 28th October 1940. The Italian attack of Greece seemed obvious, despite the stated disagreement of Hitler and the efforts of Ioannis Metaxas, who was trying to trying to keep the country in a neutral stance. Following a series of warning signs, culminating in the sinking of Battleship 'Elli' on 15th August 1940, by Italian torpedoes, and all of these failing to provoke the Greek government to react, the Italian Ultimatum was delivered on 28th October 1940, and it demanded the free passage of the Italian army through Greek soil, as well as sole control of a series of strategic points of the country. The rejection of the ultimatum by Metaxas was in line with the public opinion in Greece and led to the immediate declaration of war by Italy against Greece. This war took place mostly in the mountains of Hepeirous. In the Greek-Albanian War approximately 12.500 Greek Jews took part and 513 Greek Jews died fighting. The Greek counter-offensive pushed the Italians deep into Albania and the Greek army maintained the initiative throughout the winter capturing the southern Albanian towns of Corce, Aghioi Saranda, and Girocaster. [Source: Thanos Veremis, Mark Dragoumis, 'Historical Dictionary of Greece' (London 1995)]

15 Strike of 1936

In May 1936, the northern Greek port of Thessaloniki was paralysed by a widespread strike against wage controls. When workers in the tobacco factories took to the streets, the police were called in and opened fire on the unarmed strikers. Within minutes, 30 people were dead and 300 were wounded. (Source: http://revpatrickcomerford.blogspot.com/2008_04_15_archive.html)

16 Eleutherias Square

On 11th July 1942, following the order of the German Authority published by the local press, 6000-10.000 (depending on different estimations) male Jews aged from 18-45 were gathered in Eleutherias Square, in the commercial center of Thessaloniki. The aim was to enlist/mobilize them to forced labor works. Under the hot sun the armed soldiers forced them to remain standing for hours and imposed on them humiliating gymnastic exercises. The Wehrmacht army staff was taking photographs of the scene, while the Greek citizens were watching from their balconies. [Source: Marc Mazower, 'Inside Hitler's Greece' (Yale 1993)]

17 OKNE (Young Communist League of Greece)

the youth wing of the Communist Party of Greece. OKNE was founded on 28th November 1922 and was a section of the Communist Youth International. Nikolaos Zachariadis became the leader of OKNE in 1924. In 1925 OKNE was, along with the Communist Party, banned. In 1943 OKNE was replaced by another youth organization, EPON. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Communist_League_of_Greece)

18 EAM (National Liberation Front - Ethniko Apeleutherotiko Metwpo)

Founded at the end of 1942. It was the combating section of the left-wing Resistance. (Source: J. Hondros, Occupation and Resistance: the Greek Agony, New York, 1983).

19 ELAS

20 EPON

The United Panhellenic Organization of Youth, was a Greek resistance organization that was active during the Axis Occupation of Greece in World War II. EPON was the youth wing of the National Liberation Front (EAM) organization, and was established on 23rd February 1943 after the merger of ten earlier political and resistance youth organizations. Along with EAM and its other affiliates, EPON was dissolved judicially at the beginning of the Greek Civil War but continued to operate illegally until 1958. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_Panhellenic_Organization_of_Youth)

21 Dekemvriana (lit

"December events"): The term "December events" is used to describe a series of armed clashes that took place in Athens in December 1944 and January 1945, between the forces of the (communist) left and the forces that belonged to the rest of the political currents from socialist democracy (like the Prime Minister George Papandreou, leader of the "Democratic Socialistic Party") to the extreme right. The British were involved in the fight. The clashes ended with the defeat of the leftist forces. The events of December 1944 in Athens are regarded as the first act of the Greek Civil War that ended in 1949 with the defeat of K.K.E., the Communist Party. (Source: Wikipedia).

22 Scobie, Sir Ronald MacKenzie (1893-1969)

British Army officer. He was commissioned into the Royal Engineers in 1914 serving in WWI. In 1939 Scobie, a brigadier, was Deputy Director of Mobilisation at the War Office. After this he held staff positions in the Middle East and Sudan before being given command of the 70th Infantry Division, which was sent into to relieve the Australian 9th Division in Tobruk. Scobie was in command of the Tobruk fortress from 22nd October 1941 to 13th December 1941, when, as part of Operation Crusader, the 70th Infantry Division led the successful break-out from Tobruk. In February 1942 he became Deputy Adjutant General for GHQ, Middle East. On 22nd March 1943 Scobie was promoted to lieutenant general and made Chief of the General Staff, GHQ Middle East. From 11th December 1943 he was given command of III Corps which was sent to Greece to expel the Germans but ended up becoming involved in the Greek Civil War. He remained in command of British forces in Greece until after the end of the WWII. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Scobie)

23 Battle of Kilkis ( 4th November 1944)

a few days before the liberation of Greece, a battle took place between Greece and the Security Police, meaning whoever was supplied by the Germans in Macedonia. There was a great loss for both sides and the battle stopped the same day with the complete prevalence of ELAS.

24 Koufitsa, Dimitrios

Captain of the gendarmerie of the Security Police of Thessaloniki. He was murdered in 1946 by armed leftists, bringing the political aura of the city to the beginnings of the Greek Civil War.

25 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

Moris Florentin

Moris Florentin
Athens
Greece
Interviewer: Lily Mordechai
Date of the interview: February 2007

Mr. Florentin is 84 years old. He is a nice man of few words who always smiles and is always willing to help in a kind and calm manner. He and his wife live in a spacious, modern apartment in a nice suburb of Athens, very close to their son and two grandchildren. In their living room they have many different books about Thessaloniki, books with pictures, history books and novels. Mr. Florentin is slim and quite tall; he has expressive eyes and a calm, straightforward nature. He limps when he walks because of a war injury on his right leg. Even so, he is a very active man, he walks a lot, he swims in the summer and he also drives. He retired from his job at the pharmaceutical company La Roche thirteen years ago.

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

My family backgound

My ancestors left Spain, went to Italy and then settled in Thessaloniki. In Italy they stayed in Florence and that is possibly where my last name, Florentin, comes from or at least that’s what they used to say in Thessaloniki. They used to tell me that different relatives of my family must have settled in Thessaloniki at least three or four generations before I was born, but I don’t know if all this is true or not. In fact, we used to go to the Italian Synagogue, it was in Faliro close to the sea opposite the cinema ‘Paté’ and it was called ‘Kal d’ Italia.’

I don’t know much about my great-grandparents, I never met any of them; I only met my grandparents on my mother’s side. My grandfather’s name was Saltiel Zadok and my grandmother’s name was Masaltov Zadok [nee Matalon]. They were both born in Thessaloniki. My grandfather was a carpenter, he specialized in furniture making and he owned the best and biggest furniture shop in Thessaloniki, named ‘Galérie Moderne’ and it was on Tsimiski Street [main road of the interwar period in Thessaloniki].

He also owned a furniture-making factory; as long back as I can remember it was behind Tsimiski Street close to the Turkish Baths, there my grandfather had his workshop and part of the factory. Later in time, the factory specialized in making metal beds and was moved close to the train station. Even so, the shop always sold furniture.

My grandparents didn’t have friends because my grandfather worked a lot, even on Saturdays. In his free time he loved fishing and listening to music. He was an amateur fisherman so he would take the boat and go fishing whenever he could. He would also go to a café that played music and sometimes he took me with him. He sat there and drank his coffee silently; he didn’t talk much, my grandfather, but he was a real music lover. That café was by the seafront close to ‘Mediteranée’ [one of the best known and most luxurious hotels in Thessaloniki], I remember it very well.

Concerning his character he was the silent type, he was a bit reserved and he didn’t make many jokes. He wasn’t religious at all, he never went to the synagogue and he didn’t keep the Sabbath. I never met any of his relatives; I don’t think he had any.

My grandmother, Masaltov didn’t work; she stayed home and didn’t go out much. She took care of the house and the cooking, even though they also had a cleaning lady who stayed overnight. My grandmother had a brother, but I don’t remember his name. He had a wife and two children, a boy and a girl but they were much older than me. He used to go to my grandparents’ house every Saturday to keep my grandmother company. He would go on Saturday morning and leave by noon; I think he lived in the same area.

In general, my grandmother stayed home and took care of her grandchildren. I wouldn’t say she was an introvert but she didn’t have much of a social circle besides her family. My grandmother wanted to be more religious but since my grandfather was not, she was not given the chance to do so. They didn’t keep any of the traditions, the Sabbath or eating kosher food, but I remember that we used to have seder in my grandparents’ house with my uncle’s family as well, Viktor Zadok.

They used to live in an area of Thessaloniki called Exohes [area on the outer part of the eastern Byzantine walls, area of residency of the middle and upper class mainly]. Exohes was the whole area from Analipseos Street until the Depot, the bus stop was by the French Lycée, it was called ‘St. George - Agios Georgios [King George] or Vasileos Georgiou.’ It was a two-story house and my mother’s brother, Viktor Zadok, and his family lived on the top floor.

I remember my grandparents’ house; it had two bedrooms, a living room and a dining room. As you went in from the entrance you could see the living and dining room and then were the bedrooms and the kitchen. They had running water and electricity and the house was heated with what we called a ‘salamander’ [big stove for heating the whole house]. You put anthracite [type of charcoal] and it was very effective. They had a garden, which they shared with my uncle; they grew some vegetables and had some flowers too.

Jewish people mainly inhabited the area they lived in, even though there were some Christians as well. I think that the majority of people my grandparents associated with were Jewish, also their neighbors with whom they got along. Their house was not far away from ours so I used to see them almost every day, at the least I would drop in and say ‘Good morning.’

My grandfather died around 1939, before the Holocaust, my grandmother was taken from Thessaloniki to Auschwitz along with my parents, and they probably died in 1943.

On my father’s side I didn’t meet my grandparents. They were both born in Thessaloniki but they died before I was born. My grandmother’s name was Oro Florentin, I don’t remember my grandfather’s name but I have seen a picture of him. My father didn’t talk about them much.

Thessaloniki had a vibrant Jewish community. There were many synagogues; I think there was a synagogue in every neighborhood. I only remember the central one that still exists today, the Italian one and another one close to my house on Gravias Street. The main Jewish area I would say was Exohes, where we lived, even though there were Jewish people everywhere.

There was also an area where Jews from lower social classes lived; it was called 156 or ‘shesh’ as everyone called it. [Editor’s note: The area Mr. Florentin is referring to was actually called ‘151,’ and ‘6’ is a different neighborhood; there were at least 10 Jewish working class neighborhoods in Salonica]. This area was strictly lower class, poor Jews. I didn’t know anyone nor had any friends from there.

Middle class Jewish people were mainly merchants, they had shops with fabrics or other things but I don’t remember any famous Jewish people being manual workers. The main market was by the White Tower; where we lived there were only a few shops. I think both my mother and my father did the shopping but I don’t remember if they had any favorite merchants. There weren’t many incidents of Anti-Semitism but I’m sure it existed because when you heard of one happening it would stay with you.

My parents’ names were Iosif, or Pepo as everybody called him, and Ida Florentin [nee Zadok]. They were both born in Thessaloniki. Their wedding took place sometime in 1919 in Thessaloniki; I think it was an arranged marriage. My father was a money-changer; it was a common profession among Jewish people. I am not sure exactly what he did but I think he bought, changed or sent money abroad, that kind of thing. It had to do with Greek and foreign currency, for example when somebody wanted to buy golden Sovereigns Liras. But I don’t remember that very well because later on he worked in my grandfather and uncle’s business, in the furniture shop ‘Galérie Moderne.’

My mother didn’t work; she cooked and took care of my brother and me. We had a cleaning lady to help her with the housework but she didn’t stay overnight, she left in the evenings. She did most of the housework but my mother was the one who cooked. I don’t remember the cleaning lady very well, in fact I think we changed a few but what I do remember is that they all came from this village in Chalkidiki called AiVat [poor village in the mountains surrounding Thessaloniki, presently called Diavata.], all the cleaning ladies in Thessaloniki came from that village. They were middle aged, Christian women.

My parents were relatively educated people, they had both gone to school but I don’t know which schools. Their mother tongue was Ladino 1 and they spoke it between them. To my brother and me they spoke French; I think they wanted us to learn. They also knew some Greek but they spoke it with a distinct, foreign accent.

My parents usually read in French. I remember them reading the newspaper everyday; they read ‘L’Indépendant’ 2 and ‘Le Progrès’ 3. They would buy it from the kiosk and I remember specifically that my mother would read them as well. They didn’t read Greek newspapers, I am sure of that, and I don’t remember if there were Spanish ones in circulation, if there were I’m sure my parents read them.

We also had a few books in our house that were mainly novels. They weren’t religious; I mean my father wasn’t religious at all and consequently my mother didn’t practice it much, even though I think that she would have liked to. My father only went to the synagogue on Yom Kippur, Pesach and another one or two of the high holidays. Sometimes he took my brother and me along but my mother never came with us. I think the only reason my father went to the synagogue was because his brother was a ‘gisbar’ [cashier of the Jewish community] in the ‘Kal d’Italia’ and he felt obliged. We didn’t keep the Sabbath or eat kosher food.

My parents like my grandparents, were modern people for their time; they didn’t dress traditionally but I’d say in a more European way. I remember my parents having a social life; they went with their friends and had people over in the house sometimes. Their friends were mainly Jewish; I don’t think they met socially with colleagues or other Christians.

When I was really young we used to go on holiday to Portaria in Pilio, without my grandparents. We would go in August and stay for three weeks. After Ektor [Mr. Florentine’s brother] and I got older we stopped going and we spent our summers in Thessaloniki, but anyway we lived really close to the sea so we went swimming every day.

My father had sixteen siblings but I only met four, three sisters and a brother. The family was kind of torn apart because of their differences, and they were out of touch with each other, that’s why I didn’t meet his other siblings. His brother’s name was Samouil Florentin and he was a ‘gisbar’ in the ‘Kal d’Italia.’ Contrary to my father he was very religious. I think that ‘gisbar’ meant he was a cashier for the synagogue. He was married and had two children Anri [Erikos] and Nina Florentin. They used to live in Agia Triada, a quite ‘Jewish’ area of Thessaloniki, as well.

During the war Nina was saved by a Christian man whose last name was Christou; he literally pulled her out of the line when she was about to board the train for Auschwitz. After the war she married him and moved to Canada. The next time I saw her, after the war, she was Christian and so ‘croyante,’ so religious. I found it very strange! Unfortunately, she died in an air crash flying from Thessaloniki to some Greek island. She had two children, one was called Aristoteli and I don’t remember the other’s name, they live in Canada and they are both married.

I don’t know what Anri, Nina’s brother, did during the war but at some point he left for Israel and became a police officer, then he went to Canada to live with his sister and that’s where he died. When we were young we didn’t play together so much, even though our age was compatible. I think Anri was older than my brother and Nina was a couple of years younger than me.

I also met three of my father’s sisters; I don’t remember them very well because we didn’t see them often. His one sister was called Tsoutsa, she must have been a widow, because I never met her husband, but she had a daughter. Her daughter was a bit mentally weak but I don’t know in what way.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember the other sisters’ names they were widows as well, because I never met their husbands. Anyway, I don’t think my father gave them any money so I guess they had their own. We saw my father’s brother and sisters about three times a year, mainly because he felt it was his duty.

My mother had two brothers, Ludovic and Viktor Zadok. Ludovic lived and worked in Paris but died at the age of twenty-three. I don’t know what he died of, but I think it happened when I was very young because I never met him; my mother said he was a very nice person.

Viktor Zadok lived on the top floor of my grandparents’ house with his family, his wife Adina and his three daughters. Adina was like a second mother to me; she was very nice and took good care of us. Their daughters’ names were Ines, but we always called her Nika, Yvet or Veta, and Keti.

Nika lives in Israel, she was married twice, her first husband was an Israeli Jew, Nisim Levi, and they had a daughter, Donna. Unfortunately, her husband died. Nika got remarried to Moris Nissim or Boubis as we called him. He was a friend of my brother’s, Jewish, from Thessaloniki. After the war he moved to Switzerland to work in the Jewish ‘Discount Bank,’ he got a good position and almost became a manager. When Boubis retired, him and Nika left Switzerland and moved to Jerusalem where he had a house. Unfortunately, he got sick and died. At least, now Nika is in Israel and lives with her daughter and her grandchildren.

Veta married Markos Tabah and they had two daughters: Polina, who lives in Israel, and Adina, who got my aunt’s name. Around 1967 Veta died in a car accident. Her husband and she had gone on an excursion with Freddy Abravanel and on the way back they had an accident. They all came out looking fine but Veta had some internal bleeding and died the next day. After Veta’s death, Keti, her sister, married her husband, Markos Tabah. They had one daughter who they named Veta in memory of the deceased Veta. Keti’s daughter Veta married a Christian and became Christian herself.

I would say that my family had closer relations with the relatives on my mother’s side, my grandparents Masaltov and Saltiel Zadok and my uncle Viktor Zadok and his family. My parents saw Viktor often and we, the children, would see each other probably every day, we were very close especially with Nika.

My brother Ektor Iesoua Salvator Florentin, who we call Ektor, was born in 1921 and I was born in 1923; we were both born in Thessaloniki. I don’t remember going to kindergarten or having a nanny at home, so I guess my mother took care of us when we were young. We did have a French teacher though who came to our house to give us lessons. I spoke French to my mother and father but I spoke Greek to my brother. When we were young I used to play with my brother a lot, but when we grew up we weren’t so close anymore, probably because we had different friends.

Growing up

In the period before the war we moved houses about four times, I remember all of them but I don’t know when or for how long we stayed in each of them. I was born or at least my first memories are from a house on Gravias Street. This was the house of Cohen the dentist, who was quite well known in Thessaloniki at the time. He had four children, three sons and a daughter; two of the sons were about my age: Tsitsos and Morikos Cohen. At the end of this street there was a small synagogue which was very nice but I don’t remember what it was called.

Then we moved to a house on Moussouri Street close to 25th Martiou Street. This was a big house too; we lived on the second floor and below us lived Sam Modiano. This house had a garden but it was overgrown and neglected. The last two were on Koromila Street, the third one had two big bedrooms, a kitchen, a living and dining room and two big verandas; it had no garden and was on the third floor of the building. Our neighbors were a married couple, he was Jewish and she was Russian and they didn’t have any children, my mother was friends with the Russian lady and would go and visit her once in a while. The last place we lived in before we were forced to move to the ghetto was much smaller; it didn’t have a garden and it was on the second floor.

I don’t know why we moved so often but all these houses were rented. We would always take with us our furniture for the living room, the dining room and the bedroom. In all these houses we had running water and electricity and they were all heated with ‘salamanders.’ These houses were all very close to each other and also very close to my grandparent’s house. I remember most of our neighbors being Jewish.

I would say the atmosphere in my family was very good and generally, we were closer to our mother than we were to our father. My father worked a lot. He opened the shop around nine in the morning or a bit earlier, then he would come home at noon, go to work again in the evening and come home around eight or nine in the evening. At noon we all had lunch together. My father’s work was in the center of Thessaloniki, quite far from our house, it was ten stops by tram.

Financially, by the standards of Thessaloniki at the time, we were probably a middle class family, we didn’t own any property but we covered our needs sufficiently. My family didn’t own a car and I don’t remember when the first time I went into one was, but I got my driver’s license after the war, not with the intention of buying a car but just learning how to drive.

Some Sundays we went out to eat by the seaside on 25th Martiou Street, not far from where we lived. There were some ‘tavernas’ by the seafront and we went there, not often but we did. At home I would say that my mother cooked traditional Sephardim dishes, not so much Greek cuisine.

The first school I went to was the ‘Kostantinidis School,’ which was private. When I first went there, they put me in the second grade of elementary school, based on my date of birth. A little in the year they realized I was too advanced, so they promoted me to the third grade, that’s why I finished school a year earlier than other people my age. So apparently I covered the whole first and second grade at home with a teacher. I stayed in that school for two years and for fifth and sixth grade I went to another private school, the ‘Zahariadis School,’ which was very close to our house on Moussouri Street.

I don’t remember my friends from these schools but they both had a majority of Christian students. I know there were a few Jewish people like John Beza in ‘Zahariadis’ but I have no vivid memories.

For gymnasium I went to a public experimental school like the ‘Varvakios School’ in Athens, it was a very good public school. I remember some of my teachers, the Chemistry teacher Menagias and the principle who taught us Physics. He loved me very much probably because Physics was my favorite subject. Every time we had to do homework he would present mine to the class saying it was the best. But I had a secret: I used to study Physics from my brother’s book who went to the French Lycée. You might wonder what the difference was but French books phrased physics differently to Greek ones. In Greek books they start by saying, ‘If you take this, you will observe this will happen’ instead of explaining the main principle first. I preferred the French way, it was more serious and that probably explains the story with the principle.

I got along with both my teachers and my classmates. I remember some of my classmates were Giannis Tzimanis, Thanasakis Flokas, the son of the famous confectioner in Thessaloniki, Stelios Halvatzis and others. There must have been Jewish students in my school but my friends were mainly my classmates who were Christian. On weekends I went out with them, we would go to parties or to the cinema; it was really rare to go to bars at that time especially at such a young age, not like nowadays.

I never experienced Anti-Semitic behavior in school or at least anything that traumatized me. Sometimes someone would say the typical nonsense like ‘Dirty Jew’ but I think people say that sometimes when they are angry, even if they don’t really mean it.

When I was going to school, I didn’t have much free time because the classes were quite difficult or anyway quite intense. I would go in the morning and I was back by two in the afternoon. In the evening I did my homework for the next day. I didn’t have any private lessons, only a few Mathematics classes before my entrance exams for the university. I only had English classes in a British Institute in Thessaloniki. I never did any Hebrew or Jewish history lessons.

I didn’t have hobbies other than sailing in the Sailing Club but even though I was a member, my friends weren’t. With my friends I usually played basketball but we never played any football.

At that time the educational system was different, we finished gymnasium [Greek equivalent of high school. It used to be 6 grades, but nowadays it is 3 years, followed by three Lyceum years.] and got a gymnasium diploma and then whoever wanted to continue with their studies took introductory exams in the polytechnic school or university or any other school they may have wanted. In fact you could take the introductory test for more than one university, like I did. I wanted to study in the Polytechnic University of Thessaloniki to become an engineer but unfortunately I failed the entrance exams. As I still had time I also took the exams for university and I passed in the Agricultural University of Thessaloniki. The university was in an old building on Stratou Avenue, it is not there anymore.

I remember we had some really good professors like the Physics Professor, Mr. Kavasiadis, the Chemistry Professor and this other one, Rousopoulos, who was our Geology Professor. Even though it wasn’t my first choice I was relatively interested in what I was studying and the university was quite demanding. It required attending the classes, being concentrated and studying, not like now where they pass the lessons without going to classes, at least that’s what I see. I don’t think anyone was checking attendance but the system was such that it was necessary to attend classes and everybody did so.

I did three years of university and then, in 1943, during the German Occupation 4, I stopped and left for the mountain. Throughout these years I continued living with my parents and my brother, it was always the four of us.

My brother Ektor went to the French Lycée. When he was finishing elementary school in the French Lycée a law was passed that the Greek nationality was only given to people with a Greek elementary school diploma. So he came to the ‘Zahariadis School’ with me for sixth grade and then went back to the Lycée. That’s why he finished school a year later than he should have. I had a completely different group of friends to my brother probably because we went to different schools. He finished school in the French Lycée, he got the two Baccalaureates and then he started working for Sam Modiano who had an agency office [legal representative of foreign companies].

Ektor didn’t want to go to university so he got this job with Modiano, who was our neighbor in the house on Moussouri Street. This was his only job until he left Thessaloniki around 1943, a little after we moved to the ghetto. He left for Israel with his girlfriend at the time, Nina Hassid, to whom he got married after they got there. I think they left via Evia and then through Turkey. When they got there they stayed in Netanya first and then in Tel Aviv. My brother worked in a diamond-cutting factory and then gradually created his own factory.

They have two daughters, Ada Schindler and Zinet Benderski. Zinet was the name of my brother’s wife’s sister, who she lost: after the liberation she was taken to a Spanish concentration camp because her father was Spanish. Zinet has two children, Sharon and Daniel, who are both married, and Ada also has two children, but they are much younger.

I didn’t know of my brother’s whereabouts until one year after the war when my uncle Viktor told me he was alive. Now we have a very good relationship with him and his family. We don’t go so often but every time they come we see them and also sometimes we arrange to meet abroad. I see my brother every four, five years on average but we talk on the phone every week.

The war was declared on 28th October 1940 5, that’s when I finished school; I was seventeen at the time. I was in Thessaloniki during the bombings in 1941 a bit before the occupation started. The bombs were mainly dropped towards the customs area, which was far away from where we lived, so we didn’t really feel them. Of course we could hear the noise of the bombs but you have to understand that it’s not like today; the airplanes didn’t drop lots of bombs then, so the damage was more limited, or at least that’s what I think. For my family it was scary but not as much as for other people who lived closer, we didn’t really feel much during the bombings.

After I finished school, I went straight to university. We already felt the effects of the war then, there were curfews and it was really hard to find food, we got some food from the villages, just about enough to survive. For me the war started in 1941 with the occupation, when the Germans entered Thessaloniki. They marched in with their typical characteristic discipline, German manner; they had so many trucks and tanks. I remember my parents and me being very scared.

During the war

Officially, the war started in 1940 when Metaxas 6 said ‘No’ to the Italians but the occupation started later and we kind of expected it because we would see, read and hear that the Germans were coming down the north side, they had been to Bulgaria and Serbia and then came Greece’s turn. When the Germans invaded, the Italians headed to the south of Greece; here in Macedonia we were under German Occupation unfortunately. A lot of people headed south then, to Athens or just anywhere in the Italian ruled south.

The first measure the Germans took targeted specifically against Jewish people was when all Jewish men of Thessaloniki had to gather in Eleutherias Square 7. I went with my brother because we were within the age range, around twenty years old. I am not sure about my father; I think he didn’t come because he was considered too old. They made us do humiliating gymnastic exercises under the sun and then they assigned us to different places to do forced labor outside Thessaloniki.

They wanted to build rail tracks for trains; the work was really hard especially with the Germans over your head not letting you rest for even a minute. I managed to avoid the forced labor because I had a Christian friend who took me with him where he was, close to the Agricultural School, I became a member of the forced labor team over there. I did absolutely nothing there, I just sat there from morning to night, but I still had to go every day.

I am not sure how they informed us that this gathering in Eleutherias Square was happening but I think it was through the Jewish Community. During the war I didn’t think that the Jewish Community in Thessaloniki acted in the right way. The chief rabbi then was Koretsch, who was German but that wasn’t important. The problem was that he didn’t give good information to the Community members. He was telling them that it was going to be fine, they would just go to Poland to move there. He didn’t say anything about concentration camps or what might happen when they got there.

I don’t know why he did that but I thought that it was very mean of him because if he had leaked the right information that something bad was going to happen to them then maybe more Jewish people would have tried to save themselves. Some people said he knew the truth all along but I don’t know if that’s true, it might be.

At some point, the Germans emptied all the businesses and shops owned by Jewish people, especially merchants and all their merchandise was being confiscated. Around 1942 a Greek man who was co-operating with the Germans turned my grandfather’s shop ‘Galerie Moderne’ into a restaurant. From then on we were living off our savings and things became even more difficult.

The most important anti-Jewish law was to put all the Jewish people in one area of the city what they called the ghetto 8. The ghetto was between Faliro and Agia Triada and between Mizrahi and Efzonon, in that area. We were forced to move there around the beginning of 1943, between January and February. I don’t know how we were informed we had to move or how we knew where to go in the ghetto, I just remember that one day we left our house on Koromila Street and moved to the apartment in the ghetto.

We were all a bit crammed in that apartment but I guess it was still a roof over our heads. It was a very small place with two rooms and a dining room, I don’t remember if we had heating. All we really took with us was clothes; we left a lot of our furniture in our last house on Koromila Street because the owner moved in when we left. That’s why when the war finished we retrieved some of our furniture.

My father and Viktor Zadok were both looking for a way to move to Athens, Viktor found a solution first and brought my grandmother Masaltov to stay with us in the ghetto; until that point my grandmother was staying with him. Because of my grandmother, my mother and father couldn’t escape from the ghetto and so they had to stay there with her. This is something that really makes me sad because I think it was really selfish on my uncle’s side to leave my grandmother with us like this, my mother was just too nice! So Viktor and his family managed to go to Athens a bit after we moved to the ghetto.

In the ghetto we had real difficulty finding food; my father was in charge of this and most of the times he bought things from the black market or products that came from villages. After three weeks or a month, I left for the mountain 9. At the time I would say that politically I was quite ‘left’ but I wasn’t a member of any political party or group. In my university, EAM 10 was very strong among the students so I heard about their activities in the mountains and I wanted to follow them. They said, ‘Since you are wanted by the Germans anyway why don’t you go to the mountain.’ I thought about it a little while and decided to go.

EAM was an organization that was 90 percent communist; its military branch was called ELAS 11 and there as well most of the members were communists. This organization was created during the occupation. I was sure I wanted to go to the mountain and since my parents didn’t oppose my decision I went, and I left the four of them – my mother, my father, my brother and my grandmother – in the ghetto.

Later on I found out my brother left the ghetto as well and went to Israel. I think my brother didn’t come with me because he had different plans with his girlfriend. As for my parents and my grandmother I am assuming they were deported 12 from the ghetto to Auschwitz were they must have been exterminated, I would think that people their age were sent directly to the gas chambers. The day I left for the mountain was the last time I ever saw them.

It was the 20th or 21st of March 1943 and I left with a friend of mine called John Bezas. He lived really close to our apartment in the ghetto, at some point I told him about what I was going to do and he decided he wanted to come with me. So that day, we wore working clothes and caps, we took the star off and passed the ghetto guards with ease like nothing was going on.

We found our contact and he took us outside Thessaloniki to a place where we could start ascending the mountain. He said, ‘Sleep here tonight and I will bring another fifteen people tomorrow.’ The next day he came back alone and said, ‘Stay here another night, I will come tomorrow with twenty-five people.’ We thought, ‘Of course we will wait, if so many more Jewish people will come as well.’ But then on the third day he showed up alone again. I never understood why no more young people came to the mountain, but I think that they had a hard time leaving their families.

After our two days waiting for the people that never showed up we started walking towards Giannitsa, sometimes we would come across a carriage and they would take us a few kilometers further. I remember on Axios Bridge we found a café and we decided to take a coffee break – John Bezas, our contact and me. As I opened the door to enter the café this guy tells me, ‘You’d better not go in there it’s full of Germans.’ I don’t understand how he realized we were fugitives or that I was Jewish, but he did. ‘You’d better not go inside,’ he said and probably saved our lives with his words.

So we didn’t go in and left in a rush, we got to Giannitsa and from there gradually we climbed up Paiko Mountain, this was our first mountain. Then we went to Kaimaktsalan another mountain close to the borders with Skopje [today Republic of Macedonia], and from there we walked across the whole of Macedonia from the borders with Albania up until the sea. We went from village to village trying to avoid the Germans; we were not ready for confrontations yet.

The ELAS people taught me how to use weapons because I hadn’t been to the army yet. After a while we were full of lice; we went there clean and naturally all the lice came on us, on our hair but also all over our body and clothes. I watched the others trying to de-lice themselves and their clothes; they would sit for hours. I never did that because I figured that I would kill ten and then twenty would come on me; there was no point in trying but it was really, really itchy. I guess that after all a person can get used to anything. I mean the situation on the mountain wasn’t the best but compared to what was in store for us in Germany it was paradise.

The contact left us with an already organized group of people from all over Greece, Kavala, Drama, Serres and Thessaloniki. There were very few Jewish people in my group I only remember one, a tobacco worker from Kavala nevertheless during our moving we crossed paths with maybe another ten Jewish people from different ELAS groups. The groups were all over the place but they all had a leader who was called Capitan Something, for example, Capitan Black etc.

We all had nicknames, I was Nikos and John Bezas was Takis; that was enough, the people on the mountain were not interested in finding out anything more. What I mean is that if you wanted to tell them they would listen but there was no obligation to discuss where you came from or who you were. There was zero Anti-Semitism and I don’t even think I ever heard the word Jewish.

These teams communicated with each other by sending messengers, people that took the information from one group to another. I was a simple soldier, only for a period of two months I was in charge of a sheepfold. As I was supposedly an agriculturalist I was in charge of the project. We found an abandoned village and we gathered all the sheep with one or two locals that knew how to make cheese. They would take the sheep to pasture and make the cheese after.

When I went back to the group my friend John Beza wasn’t there, the English had come looking for people who spoke English so they took him with them. I was a bit upset because if I hadn’t been in the sheepfold I would have been able to go with them, as I spoke good English. On the mountain there were certain groups of the English army that were sent to observe our tactics against the Germans, give us advice on how to act and information about where to go etc. I think it would have been better to be with the English because next time I crossed paths with John he was well dressed, clean with a uniform.

We were almost constantly on the move because of the Germans, sometimes if the village was ‘free’ we stayed in schools and houses, if the village wasn’t free we stayed in the forest without anything, no tents, all we had on us was our clothes and our weapon. In West Macedonia there were certain villages that were ‘free,’ this was the ‘Free Greece’ as it was called but of course there was always the fear the Germans would come so we never stayed long.

In order to find out if a village was free or not, there were certain people that observed and informed us. Sometimes we were welcome and sometimes not, but even then the villagers didn’t have a choice but to give us food. So we ate in the villages but we didn’t take much with us because we couldn’t carry much and we usually found something to eat.

In fact, I don’t think I even lost much weight. Only one time we went eight days without any food or water, it was a really rough time, the Germans had surrounded us and we couldn’t escape from any direction. We stayed in places we could hide without any food of course; we ended up eating the leaves from trees. I don’t remember what happened in the end but we found a way out and then went to a monastery where we ate a lot. We didn’t have connections with the church but in the monasteries they had to accept us.

There was always the fear that we would get involved in a battle, especially after some point that the English started blowing up rail tracks in the Tembi area. They wanted to cut the train connection between Thessaloniki and Athens because the Germans were using the trains for their purposes. So whilst the English were working on blowing up the rail tracks, we would guard the surrounding area. We were their protection; thankfully I never came face to face with them.

The Germans were furious about these damages and they were trying to think up a way to neutralize the English teams or us, the Resistance, to save them the trouble of fixing the rail tracks every time. It was then that we found ourselves in a village called Karia on the north side of Mount Olympus, above Rapsani.

We always set up watching points with binoculars to see what was happening. At some point we saw a German squad from far away, we saw they had trucks and they were about four hundred, we were only eighty men. Even so we were fortunate because the road the Germans were on crossed a little river that had hills on the left and right side, these hills had many trees on them and that’s where we were hiding.

On their way the Germans saw the little river and decided to take off their clothes and start bathing. They knew we were in the village and they were coming for us but they didn’t know we had left the village and that we had positioned ourselves ahead of them, so as to ‘welcome’ them one or two kilometers further down. When we saw their condition we started going down the hills shooting and exterminating them. Many Germans were killed on that day, the rest were so lost that they left leaving their clothes and weapons behind.

As we were coming down the hill I was almost at river level ready to jump in a ditch, at that moment I got shot, the bullet entered my thigh from the front and exited at the back of my leg. Of course I fell down and started bleeding a lot, another soldier came and tried to put me on a mule; in the meantime most of the mules were loaded with guns, weapons and other things the Germans left behind. It was impossible for me to sit on the mule because my leg was completely dislocated. I said, ‘I have a broken bone you can’t put me on a mule, it’s too high.’ He said, ‘don’t worry,’ he put me on the ground, he tied my leg up the best way he could and put a sort of blanket over me, and said, ‘They will come and take you with a stretcher.’

I thought to myself they will never come. It started getting darker and darker and then this German airplane started flying over the area, shooting randomly in case anybody was still there that they could kill. I started putting soil and grass on my blanket to camouflage myself, that was all I could think of doing. Anyway, I don’t know how long I stayed there, I must have fallen unconscious but suddenly people started shouting my name, it was eight villagers and a soldier with a stretcher, they put me on it and took me to the village, which was about three quarters of an hour away on foot. There was an English doctor there who put a dressing on my leg and then we left straightaway because we couldn’t stay in that village any longer.

We moved to another village that had a hospital in the school building. I don’t know if anyone died but four or five of us got injured, the other ones were lightly injured. The most seriously hurt were a man with a similar leg injury to mine and another man who had been shot in the head.

Anyway, that day a doctor, a surgeon, had come to the mountain by the name of Theodoros Labrakis, his brother was the Labrakis that was murdered in Thessaloniki after the war. He had a clinic in Piraeus called ‘White Cross’ and he was an excellent surgeon. He used anything he could find, paring knives, Swiss army knives and saws and operated on the guy with the head injury. Thank God he took the bullet out because until then that man was very violent, swearing, throwing chairs around even assaulting us. Anyway he survived.

In my case the bullet had come out and the bone was in pieces. Another doctor who was there said, ‘We should cut off his leg because we don’t have anti-gangrene treatment and if he gets gangrene he will die.’ Labrakis said, ‘No I will not cut it off.’ Later on, he told me that he had been boiling an axe for three days in a row just in case he had had to cut my leg off. Fortunately I didn’t get gangrene, but I was in so much pain he had to give me morphine. After a few days I started asking for more and he said, ‘Enough with the morphine, I don’t want it to become an addiction.’

So I owe my leg to Dr. Labrakis who unfortunately died one or two years after we came down the mountain. He only treated a few people in that hospital and then he left, he was also moving from place to place.

I got shot on 6th May 1944 and from then on I was being moved from hospital to hospital, we were constantly changing villages because of the Germans. One day, shortly after I managed to keep my leg, we were in a hospital somewhere and we found out that the Germans were coming to that village. Everyone wanted to leave but they didn’t know what to do with us.

They took the three of us, the man with the head injury, me and the other man with the leg injury to a tap of running water outside the village. Of course this was very dangerous but they didn’t know what else to do with us. I think we stayed there for four days, us with the leg injury couldn’t move so the poor man with the head injury would take what we called ‘boukla,’ a wooden bucket for water, and he would bring both of us water to drink. One day the Germans came to the tap, we were totally silent and thank God they didn’t discover us because they would have definitely slaughtered us.

In the meantime my injury had been infested with flies and worms and it was itchy. Four days later I saw the doctor and I told him, ‘Doctor look what’s happened to my leg.’ And he said, ‘Very well, at least they ate up all the puss.’ He cleaned it of course but I couldn’t believe what he had said: ‘They ate away all the puss.’

So I was hurt in May 1944 and until September they were carrying me on the stretcher from place to place. The man with the head injury was fine after some time so I was left with the other man with the leg injury. He was from a village called Aiginio in Macedonia, he was the father of this man who caused trouble in a nightclub and killed someone; I don’t remember his name but I know he is out of prison now. I don’t know if his father is still alive but I doubt it because he was much older than me then.

The time I spent on the mountain we probably walked the whole mountain range of Pindos from the borders of Ipiros to the borders of Serbia and from Albania until the sea, village to village. When I left the ghetto I took nothing with me, I was wearing a pair of black boots but after a while they were completely destroyed. The situation with our shoes was a drama, in fact a lot of the time we were barefoot. I am not sure what we were wearing, I guess things they gave us in the villages and then at some point the English gave us some uniforms.

Looking back I would say that going to the mountain was a good idea. I can’t say that I have kept friends from then because the situation was different up there but still we were all very close to each other, really. Most of the people there were communists, members of the K.K.E. [Communist Party of Greece]; I wasn’t a communist but I didn’t mind them because I do believe there are some good things in this ideology.

I think my most profound experience was that I realized the stamina of the human organism and by saying stamina I mean the way man and nature complete each other and the way the human organism can cure itself. For example there was this guy named Dick Benveniste – he is dead now – who got diphtheria on the mountain – no hospital, no doctor, no medicine, nothing. At that time the Italians had made some kind of agreement and a lot of them came to the mountain. There was this Italian man that took care of him, he would take him out of his tent to do his needs and fed him, any way he could because Dick couldn’t even open his mouth. In the end he recovered, he went back to Thessaloniki, he married and had children. He died not so long after the end of the war but still this showed me how much the human body can endure.

I remember I never even got a headache or a fever, if we wanted to wash we would go to the river which was freezing cold but it didn’t bother us. I stayed with the same group almost from the beginning to the end. There weren’t any women in my group but occasionally, when we were on the move, I saw a few, not many though.

When the liberation finally arrived everybody came down from the mountain but it didn’t happen all at once, it happened in segments from the south to the north, I think Thessaloniki was liberated in October 1944. But places like Kozani and Lamia had been liberated before so a lot of Resistance soldiers came down the mountain from there.

I guess what the Liberation meant for us was that the enemies had left, someone took over from there and there were elections but I was out of it because I was in the hospital. We found out about the liberation from the villagers and after certain areas were free, I was taken to the hospital of some big village. I think it was in October 1944 they took me to Thessaloniki, to this hospital in Votsi after the Depot, it was a makeshift hospital in the palace of a pasha. The first thing they did was to de-lice me, the English had some machines and I don’t know what they put on me but all the lice were gone from my body and my clothes.

As my injury didn’t heal I had to stay in that hospital until February 1945, almost ten months. Of course, back then there were no surgeries to put screws and metal in the leg so what they did was that they put concrete to open the leg so that it stuck back by itself. The human organism is a very strong thing and even though my leg stuck back, it got stuck differently to what it should have and it became six centimeters shorter than the other one.

I didn’t have to pay anything to the hospital, everything was free: my stay, the food. At some point I got anchylosis on my leg and there was a nurse there, her name was Eleni Rimaki – I remember her clearly – and she said, ‘We need to break it, you can’t stay like this.’ It sounded easy in theory but the pain was unbearable. The other guy with the same injury as me stopped trying after a week he couldn’t bear it. I did it for a month and a half. It was not like physiotherapy or massage, it was practically breaking the knee but I’m happy I did it because now I can even ride a bike.

One time I was in Italy visiting an old friend and he said, ‘I will take you to this surgeon to examine your leg.’ The surgeon said, ‘I can lengthen your leg if that’s what you want but I see you’re walking very well with your orthopedic shoe.’ So I didn’t do anything. It never hurt me, and now sixty-four years later, it just started hurting. Now I went to this doctor who said, ‘You have osteoarthritis and we need to do joint plastic surgery. We’ll cut the bone and we’ll put a plastic one to lengthen it, we’ll see what happens.’

After the hospital I stayed in Thessaloniki with Miko Alvo, his brother Danny and an elderly aunt of his. When we found each other after the war we arranged a meeting and he said, ‘You will come and stay with me.’ I agreed and I was very grateful because I didn’t have anywhere to go.

For two years, between 1945 and 1947, I was working for the Greek English Intelligence Center in Thessaloniki and living with Miko. I was doing translations because I knew English. My supervisor there was a man called Stahtopoulos, later on he was charged of something – I am not sure what – and he ended up in prison.

After I came out of the hospital I had an intense feeling of happiness because I got myself out of this situation and I could walk. We created a group of friends and we went out and drank our ouzo in such a happy way, like we were saying, ‘Finally the occupation is over and we can enjoy certain things.’ In that group of friends there were both Jewish and Christian people: Mimis Kazakis, a lawyer, Takis Ksitzoglou, a journalist, Klitos Kirou and Panos Fasitis, both poets, Nikos Saltiel and the girls, Anna Leon and Dolly Boton.

At some point soon after the end of the war I went to get a passport so I could visit my brother in Israel and the officer said, ‘You can’t have a passport.’ I asked him, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘You can have a passport only if you denounce communism etc.’ I asked him again, ‘Why? I am not a communist, I don’t have anything to denounce’ ‘You are.’ ‘I am not.’ And then he said, ‘No passport’ and I said, ‘I don’t want one.’

Six months later an officer came to my office and said, ‘If you file an application for a passport we will give it to you.’ Nothing else. And he left. I was a bit shocked that an officer had come all the way to my office to tell me that, but I filed the application and got my passport. Around 1949 or 1950 that was, and I went to Israel to see my brother after all of this, it was a very strong experience.

After the war

After World War II, there was the civil war 13, basically all the resistance communists from the mountains had hid their guns, which was exactly what their opponents, the government party feared. After the civil war came the great exodus of the communists and they went to places like Yugoslavia, Georgia, Taskendi, which is in Georgia, Kazakhstan etc. A lot of them stayed for good but some of them returned later on.

As for me, politically I had no involvement but my beliefs were left then and are left now. We felt the civil war in our daily lives because there was turmoil in Athens, nothing was functioning properly, to the extent that there were battles in Sidagma [very central area in Athens]. Emigrating never crossed my mind but I know a lot of people who did and went to Israel but also Canada, Italy, the USA.

When I was working for the Greek English Intelligence Organization I met a couple of English Jewish officers including a man named Shapiro. At the time I was walking with a stick because the wound hadn’t healed properly, I still had a band over it that I changed every day and occasionally little bones would come out of it. The doctor had said not to worry because the wound would heal after all the bones came out. After ten or fifteen little bones had come out the wound truly healed.

However, Shapiro said he would put me in an English hospital because at the time penicillin had just been discovered. So I went and got a shot of it. There was this Scottish nurse there who would go around saying, ‘I can’t believe we are giving this expensive drug to Greeks.’ Everyday the same thing, she annoyed me very much, to the extent that I regretted going. In fact, I thought English people were weird because they had a little bucket where they did everything; they washed their hands and their face, as well.

Anyway I got the penicillin shot but it didn’t do anything to me, as I didn’t have any bacteria for it to kill. In the meantime I got in touch with my uncle Viktor Zadok, who was in Israel, and he said, ‘What will we do with the shop?’ I am not sure how my uncle tracked me down but I should assume it wasn’t very difficult.

The shop was there but the merchandise was gone and it wasn’t in a very good condition. My uncle went to Israel like my brother and then, after the liberation, he went back to Athens. Then he came to Thessaloniki to see the state of the family business, and finally he settled in Athens. Viktor tried to make ‘Galerie Moderne’ work but he couldn’t and shortly after, he gave up and left for Athens.

In 1948 my uncle said, ‘Come to Athens and work for me.’ I had nothing left in Thessaloniki so I did. I didn’t have any property but my uncle Viktor had the house my grandparents and he used to live in before the war, and it was in a good condition when he found it. After the war the family members I kept in contact with were my uncle Viktor Zadok, my brother and my uncle Viktor’s daughters, especially Veta. I used to see her a lot socially, probably about every two weeks until her tragic death in 1962.

I moved to Athens and I was working for my uncle from 1948 until 1953 when I opened my own business. I had an agency office that imported floor polish, wax and plastic domestic utensils. I lost a lot of money because the plastic utensils I imported were expensive compared to the Greek ones in the market. I ran my own business for four years and then my wife continued it for quite a few years after I left.

My next job was in Hoffman – La Roche, Pavlos Aseo had the company’s representation in Greece at the time. I didn’t know much about pharmaceuticals but I learned the job quite quickly. Later on the company La Roche made its proper branch – La Roche Hellas – in Greece and I continued working for them. I became commercial manager for the vitamin section of the company until my retirement in 1993.

I never faced any problems with the fact that I was Jewish in any of my jobs. When my wife was in charge of the business the manager of the company we were importing from wanted to visit from England, he did, we met him and it all went well. The next year the owner of the company wanted to come so I took him out for lunch to Kineta. We ate in the only ‘taverna’ that was open, which was not a luxurious one. Anyway we sat down and there was a picture on the wall of the greatest Resistance Capitan.

As we were eating he said the word ‘andartis.’ [Editor’s note: Greek expression for one who revolts or, one who resists, but after WWII it was codified to mean resistance fighter.] I asked him, ‘Where do you know that word from?’ He said that during the war he had been sent by the English, by parachute, to Mount Olympus. He said his real job was a doctor but his father insisted on him working for their company.

We started talking about when, where, how he was there and we found out that on 6th May 1945 the English doctor who treated me first was him. His name is William Felton and I will never forget it. He came to Athens again later on and tried to convince me to import another product of his but I didn’t buy it in the end. He had five children and later on he became General Director of ‘Hallmark,’ the company that makes greeting cards.

My wife’s name is Ester Florentin [nee Altcheh] but everybody calls her Nina. She was born in 1932 so we have nine years of age difference between us. She speaks Greek, Hebrew, French, English and Ladino. She lived in Thessaloniki with her family until 1943, then they moved to Athens and hid in Iraklio [suburb of Athens], in the house of a Christian family. That family wanted to keep Nina as their own child and so betrayed the rest of my wife’s family – her mother, her father and her brother. They all went to Auschwitz.

Nina stayed with the Christian family during the war but after the liberation she left for Israel, she must have been about thirteen at the time. She went to Israel with one of these boats that took Jewish people there, she had no money and stayed in a kibbutz for a year. Then she went to school in Jerusalem for five years and now she speaks perfect Hebrew. In Greece she had to stop going to school after the sixth grade of elementary school.

Her father and brother died in the concentration camps. Thankfully, her mother Kleri Atcheh returned after the war; she weighed just thirty-six kilos then. Her mother went to Israel to find Nina, imagine that they saw each other after such a long time. After a short time in Israel her mother returned to Greece, Nina stayed there a little longer in one of her aunts’ house.

When Nina came back to Greece in 1950 she was seventeen years old. That’s when we found ourselves in the same group of friends; they were Viktor Messinas, Sam Nehama, Markos Tabah, Veta Tabah, my cousin, Nina and another friend of hers that is in Israel now. So, I met her in 1950, we became friends, we loved each other and then we got married in 1951. When we married she was nineteen years old and we have been married for fifty-two years.

I didn’t know Nina before the war but I knew her mother very well. She really wanted us to get married and since things were going in that direction anyway, she was very happy for us. I wasn’t looking for a Jewish girl to marry; I would have married her even if she had been Christian but since it happened naturally I didn’t mind. Now I am happy she is Jewish because from what I have seen from my son, who is married to a Christian girl, things are easier for a couple if they have the same religion, even if that is agnostic. I am not religious at all but my wife is more than me; I think it’s because her family, when she was growing up, was very religious.

We got married in the synagogue here in Athens, we had a rather small marriage because we didn’t have much money at the time. Of course, we invited all our friends and family but we didn’t have a reception or anything. We celebrated alone in a hotel in Paleo Faliro. Until then I was living alone in an apartment on Aiolou Street in the center of Athens. When we married we moved to Kipseli on Eptanisou Street. I was making some money working for my uncle, I don’t know if Nina was taking any money from her mother but we were just about getting by the first years.

After two years we had our first child, our daughter Ida, she was probably a bit rushed but it doesn’t matter now. I don’t remember my wife’s father’s real name, I never met him because he died in Auschwitz. After the war, my mother-in-law married Alfredo Beza. He was a very nice man and we were very close to them. For about forty years, every Saturday, we had lunch in their house, in the beginning just my wife and me, then with my children and even more recently with my grandchildren. Unfortunately, Kleri died five years ago.

I would say that my wife cooks traditional Sephardic dishes I like the pies very much and my favorite sweet dish is ‘sotlach’ which is a kind of sweet pie with milk and syrup. My favorite food though is Greek and it’s ‘fasolada’ [typical Greek bean soup].

We have two children a girl, Ida Nadia Florentin, named after my mother Ida, and a son, Iosif Tony Florentin, Iosif like my father. They were both born in Athens, my daughter in 1952 – she will be 54 at the end of the year – and my son in 1956 – now he is 51 years old. When Ida was born we were living at my mother-in-law’s house on Kalimnou Street in Kipseli. When Tony was born we had moved into our own house, which was very close to my mother-in-law’s.

Their mother tongue is Greek but they had extra-school English classes in a ‘frodistirio’ [foreign language school] and private French lessons. They also heard a lot of Ladino because of their grandparents and then at some point my son decided to also learn Spanish and went to the Cervantes Institute for two or three years. My wife and I always spoke Greek in front of them and also between us. They didn’t go to the Jewish school because I don’t think it existed back then but even if it had we wouldn’t have sent them there.

Growing up, the children had a very close relationship with their grandparents, my wife’s mother and her stepfather Alfredo. Alfredo was a real grandfather to the children and he loved them like his own. We never had disagreements on their upbringing and we would see each other almost every day. The children loved their grandmother and grandfather very much. Nina did the cooking in our house but every Saturday we would have lunch at my mother-in-law’s house.

The children grew up in a not very religious environment. Of course, they knew they were Jewish straightaway but as I am not very religious, I didn’t explain much to them. Their mother and grandmother taught them a few things about Judaism; my father-in-law wasn’t very religious. The Jewish holidays like the seder night [Pesach] we used to spend with the children’s grandparents. We didn’t really celebrate other holidays, for example Rosh Hashanah we exchanged some presents and that was it.

My children didn’t have many Jewish friends because they both went to Greek schools. I would say their upbringing was quite liberal, they brought their friends home and went out with them. We had no problem with that. We used to go on holiday for fifteen days in August to Tsagarada in Pilio, to a hotel; now we have a summerhouse in Porto Rafti [place on the outskirts of Athens] but we bought that twelve years ago when our children were already much older.

They also used to go to a summer camp for a while in the summers so we got sometime for ourselves. I don’t remember sending them to the Jewish camp but they went to various other ones like the Moraitis Summer Camp in Ekali [northern suburb of Athens].

I was always interested whether they had problems in school because of their religion so I asked them a few times and they both said they hadn’t faced any problems. We talked to them about the war and what had happened when they were much older; I think their grandmother talked to them more than us because she was more ready to talk about her experiences. My wife couldn’t because she was reminded of her brother who died, and I never really talked to them about my injury and my time on the mountain. Now they know everything, at some point I wrote my story down and they read it, but I didn’t talk about it much.

When the children were young I was very busy so I didn’t really have time to read the newspapers. I only used to read Greek newspapers, ‘Eleftherotipia,’ when it came out and before that ‘Vima.’ Also, the first few years we avoided going out with our friends a lot, but by the time we moved to the Androu Street house in Kipseli [densely populated area in Athens] the children were old enough to be left alone. We went out with our friends to the cinema, to ‘tavernas’ to eat, to the theater. They were mainly other Jewish couples. Of course we had some Christian friends but we didn’t see them as often.

With our Jewish friends, especially in the beginning we always talked about the war, later on we still talked about it, but not so much. With our Christian friends we didn’t really initiate discussions on Jewish topics but if they wanted to ask something we were very open to answer to them. That’s not to say that there were topics I felt embarrassed to discuss with them, I just didn’t choose to a lot of the time.

We also traveled a lot; we have been to England, Switzerland, France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Cyprus, Turkey and Israel. We used to go as part of organized tours for pleasure, usually it was only my wife and I. I think with the children we only went to France together once, for a marriage or something because we have some family there. For business I only went to Switzerland and I used to go alone on these trips.

My daughter Ida was born at a point when our financial situation was terrible and we had to struggle for a while but, thankfully, by the time my son was born things were better. I have a very vivid memory of Ida’s childhood because when she was born and for a few months after she was very sick, to the extent that our pediatrician said, ‘If she is meant to die she will die.’ That was not a good thing for a doctor to say to a mother and a father.

Anyway a while after, she started getting better and then she relapsed again. We took her to a doctor, a professor named Horemis, and he said it was tuberculosis so he started treating her for that. Thank God there was another doctor, a very good one, Saroglou, who said, ‘I disagree with the professor.’ He took all his books down and he was telling me, ‘All I am doing is spending time on your daughter.’ He discovered that it was a disease called ‘Purpura’ where you get this red rash in certain places so he said stop all the tuberculosis medicine and give her this.’ A little while later she recovered and now she is perfectly healthy

That was a really rough period for my wife and me. Ida and Tony went to kindergarten and elementary school in a private school named ‘Ziridis School.’ Then for gymnasium Ida went to ‘Pierce College,’ the American College of Greece. She studied in the Pharmacy University of Athens for four years and came out with a pharmacist degree. Then she went to Paris to do her master’s in molecular biology for another three years.

When she returned she got a job in a drug warehouse and then in the National Research Institute. She quit her job a year ago and she did a degree in London on the Montessori technique for kindergartens. This year she didn’t manage to find a job but she is still looking. She is not married and she doesn’t have any children.

Tony had his bar mitzvah. He studied with the rabbi of Athens at the time whose name was Bartzilai, he said his words very well even though he was a bit stressed. It took place in the synagogue of Athens in the morning, we had invited a lot of people and then at night we had a party in our house where he invited his friends and we invited ours.

From Tony’s childhood there is one incident I remember very vividly. He was a boy scout from the age of six and then one day, when he was sixteen, they went walking from Athens to Parnitha [a mountain close to Athens]. That day it snowed a lot and we lost their tracks for a while. Anyway they made it back but we were really scared for a while.

For gymnasium, Tony went to the ‘Varvakios School,’ which is a good public, experimental school. He passed in the Polytechnic University of Athens and became a mechanical engineer, then he went to Paris for a postgraduate diploma in the mechanics of production and renewable sources of energy for six years. He got a distinction for his dissertation and was also awarded by the French academy.

In the six years he was there we visited him once. They both stayed with us during their studies in Athens but they both lived alone when they came back from their studies in Paris. For me my children’s’ education was very important I wanted them to do something that would educate them but that they could also find a job with. When they left for Paris we were sad in a happy way because they had left to do something good for themselves.

Now, Tony my son is manager in D.E.P.A., the Public Gas Supply Corporation of Greece. When he was in Paris he got married to a woman from the Czech Republic but he got a divorce from her and then married again, in 1985, Ioanna, who is Christian Orthodox, so they had a civil marriage. They met in Athens; they lived together for three years and then got married. She did all her studies in Germany and now she is a German teacher at university. They have two children: Philip, who is eleven years old, and Faedon Florentin, who is nine years old.

Right now the children don’t have a religion but they know both about Christianity and Judaism. They talk about Purim and get Rosh Hashanah presents but they have a Christmas tree during Christmas etc. My wife has taken them to the synagogue and their mother is absolutely fine with that.

They live in the building opposite us; my wife and I never put pressure on them to live close to us but when we moved here from Maroussi [middle class area in the north of Athens] they decided they wanted to buy a house close to us. We have very good relationship with our grandchildren and also with my son and his wife. We see our grandsons very often. Of course there might be periods of ten days or so that we haven’t seen them but in general they come and say ‘hi’ and stay with us a few hours.

I talk to my son and my daughter almost every day, sometimes we get together and eat but not something standard like it was when their grandmother was alive. We usually gather with my son, his family and my daughter for certain Jewish holidays like the seder night or other occasions. We gather in our house and my wife does the cooking.

Nowadays in the summer, we go to our summerhouse in Porto Rafti from the 1st of July until mid-August. It is a two-story house so my grandsons usually come with us and stay on the same floor as my wife and me. My son and his wife stay on the second floor. My grandsons love Porto Rafti. We swim in the sea, they play around, I think they really love that place. Then around the end of August we go to Abano in Italy for fifteen days. Abano is a spa town, my wife has mud baths and I swim in the swimming pool half an hour a day. I love that place and every year I can’t wait to go there.

As for my grandchildren there are certain things I would do different if they were my children. The oldest one is very smart but he doesn’t study or read books and I think his education is lacking important things like orthography, proper Greek language or just more depth in what he studies. I think he should read a book outside school, a children’s book, but I don’t want to intervene because their parents spend enough time on them.

I have a good relationship with my grandchildren but my wife has an even closer one, I try but they just have more contact with her. Sometimes I want to say certain things but I don’t want to intervene and insist on anything. Until now I haven’t spoken to them about the war and my stories.

More recently, my wife and I had a very nice group of friends but unfortunately two of them died and the other one can’t see very well so he doesn’t drive. Now we see a lot of Matoula Benroubi and her husband Andreas, we see them almost once a week. We go to ‘tavernas’ and eat, we don’t go to the cinema, I haven’t been to the cinema in five years. I don’t really know why. Anyway we also talk about the past about how things used to be and at least I enjoy these conversations very much.

I am not involved in the Jewish community or the different committees and I never was. I have a computer and e-mail but right now I haven’t set it up because when we moved I put one computer on the side and then my son brought me a laptop and on that one sometimes I push the wrong buttons and I ruin everything. But anyway, at some point I took some computer lessons, thankfully, but my wife didn’t. I think she should have done. My grandsons know everything about computers, while to me it’s the strangest thing and so they help me sometimes.

Glossary:

1 Ladino

2 L’ Indépendant

Jewish daily evening newspaper, published in French, one of the most important and long lived newspapers published between 1909-1941, when it was closed down by the Germans in April 1941. It did not endorse any political views and defended vehemently the rights of the Jews. (Source: Repf. Frezis: O evraikos typos stin Ellada, in Greek Volos, 1999 pp. 107-108)

3 Le Progrés

One of the 7 French-Jewish newspapers published in Salonica up until 1941.

4 German Occupation

In the spring of 1941, Germans defeated the Greek army and occupied Greece until October 1944. The country was divided in three zones of occupation. Thrace and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia were occupied by Bulgaria, Germany occupied Macedonia including Thessaloniki, Piraeus and western Crete and Italy occupied the remaining mainland and the islands. Now depending of where the Jews lived, defined both their future and the possibilities of escape. Greek resistance groups, communists or not, fought against the occupation in an effort to save Greece but also the Jews living in Greece. Approximately 8,000 to 10,000 Greek Jews survived the Holocaust, due to the refusal, to a great extent, of the Greeks, as well as the leadership of the Greek Orthodox Church, to cooperate with the Germans for the application of their plan to deport all of them. Furthermore, the Italian authorities up to their surrender in 1943 refused to facilitate or to permit the deportation of the Jews from the Italian zone of occupation. (Source: www.ushmm.org/greece/nonflash/gr/intro.htm).

5 Greek-Albanian War/Greek-Italian War (1940-1941)

6 Metaxas, Ioannis (1871-1941)

Greek General and Prime Minister of Greece from 1936 until his death. A staunch monarchist, he supported Constantine I and opposed Greek entry into WWI. Metaxas left Greece with the king, neither returning until 1920. When the monarchy was displaced in 1922, Metaxas moved into politics and founded the Party of Free Opinion in 1923. After a disputed plebiscite George II, son of Constantine I, returned to take the throne in 1935. The elections of 1936 produced a deadlock between Panagis Tsaldaris and Themistoklis Sophoulis. The political situation was further polarized by the gains made by the Communist Party of Greece (KKE). Disliking the Communists and fearing a coup, George II appointed Metaxas, then minister of war, to be interim prime minister. Widespread industrial unrest in May allowed Metaxas to declare a state of emergency. He suspended the parliament indefinitely and annulled various articles of the constitution. By 4th August 1936, Metaxas was effectively dictator. Patterning his regime on other authoritarian European governments (most notably Mussolini’s fascist regime), Metaxas banned political parties, arrested his opponents, criminalized strikes and introduced widespread censorship of the media. But he did not have great popular support or a strong ideology. The Metaxas government sought to pacify the working classes by raising wages, regulating hours and trying to improve working conditions. For rural areas agricultural prices were raised and farm debts were taken on by the government. Despite these efforts the Greek people generally moved towards the political left, but without actively opposing Metaxas.

7 Eleutherias Square

8 Ghetto

Until the German occupation there was never a ghetto in Thessaloniki. During the occupation the Germans created three main ghettos: 1. Eastern Thessaloniki: Fleming Street Ghetto, 2. Western Thessalonica: Sygrou Street Ghetto, 3. Baron Hirsch Ghetto in the Baron de Hirsch neighborhood. These were formerly neighborhoods with a dense, yet not exclusively Jewish population. (Source: Mark Mazower, Inside Hitler's Greece: The Experience of Occupation, 1941-44, New Haven and London)

9 Andartiko or Mountain

Abbreviation for Greek Resistance during World War II, composed of civilians and members of the communist party. They formed an army stationed in various mountainous locations of the Greek countryside where they formed groups of resistance; andartis: in Greek: one who revolts or, one who resists.

10 EAM (National Liberation Front - Ethniko Apeleutherotiko Metwpo)

Founded at the end of 1942. It was the combating section of the left-wing Resistance. (Source: J. Hondros, Occupation and Resistance: the Greek Agony, New York, 1983).

11 ELAS

12 Deportations of Greek Jews

The Jewish population of Thessaloniki started being deported to Baron Hirsch camp as of 25th February 1943. The first train that took away Salonican Jews left the city on 15th March 1943 and arrived in Auschwitz on 20th March 1943. One deportation followed another and by 18th August 1943, a total of 19 convoys with 48.533 people had left the city. [Source: Rena Molho, 'Salonica and Istanbul: Social, Political and Cultural Aspects of Jewish Life' (The Isis Press, Istanbul, 2005), p. 66]

13 Greek Civil War (1946-1949)

Also known as Kinima or Movement, fought from 1946 to 1949 by the Governmental forces, receiving logistical support by the United Kingdom at first and later by the United States, and the Democratic Army of Greece, the military branch of the Greek Communist Party (KKE), was the result of a highly polarized struggle between leftists and rightists which started from 1943 and targeted the power vacuum that the German occupation during World War II had created. One of the first conflicts of the Cold War, according to some analysts it represents the first example of a post-war Western interference in the internal politics of a foreign country, and it marked the first serious test of the Churchill-Stalin percentages agreement. (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_Civil_War)

Golda Osherovna Gutner

Golda Osherovna Gutner
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Yelena Tsarovskaya
Date of interview: November 2001

My name is Golda Osherovna Gutner I was born on August 15, 1916, in the town of Konotop, Ukraine.
Let me start with my grandfather, my mother’s father. I don’t know where he came from. I only know that he was born into a very poor Jewish family. His name was Boruch Lurye. He was a tinsmith and owned a workshop with work-hands in Konotop. The buckets and other articles they made they took to fairs. Mother told me that as a young man my grandfather was a solider. At that time soldiers were to serve in the army for 25 years. He got very sick in the army. According to my mother, the doctors told my grandfather that he should go to St. Petersburg, to the tsar himself, and get a release from the army. I don’t know who received him in St. Petersburg in reality, but he took his documents about kidney disease there; he was transferred to the reserve and returned to Konotop, to his wife. Grandfather died at the age of 48, in 1905, from his kidney disease. In those times young people created families. Grandfather was around 17 years old when he married my grandmother, Fruma-Tsivye. (I don’t know her maiden name). She was around 16 years old. She was a housewife. They had 14 children, but only six of them survived: three sons and three daughters. The eldest child was Soreh-Liba, born in 1875. Then Meishko was born 1888, then Rakhil and Avram were born, and Shlemka was born in 1899. I have practically no memories of my grandmother Fruma-Tsivye, because she died at the end of 1918-1919, when I was too young.
Keeping order around the house of such a large family and feeding the workers of – all of these duties rested on the shoulders of my grandmother Fruma-Tsivye. They also had cows. Their children certainly helped the parents. Everyone was working. They owned nothing but the workshop. Aunt Soreh-Liba, for instance, soldered together with her father’s workers.
Soreh-Liba, the eldest daughter of my grandparents, married a worker from grandfather’s workshop – Vengerov. They were in love with each other; when he was in the army, she waited for him. After grandfather’s death Vengerov owned the workshop. Brothers Meishko, Avram and Shlemka first worked for Vengerov. But Vengerov had a difficult character, and the brothers organized their own workshop. They were great friends. Unfortunately, Meishko was a sportsman and died at the age of 37 because of a heart disease. Then Avram and Shlemka began to provide for his family (two daughters and wife Beilya). Soon, Avram got sick with leukemia. He died either in 1932 or 1933. He left son Boris (named in honor of grandfather), daughter Fruma (named in honor of grandmother), and the wife. So, Shlemka alone provided for his own family and the families of his brothers. My father said that his ancestors came from Austro-Hungary. His grandfather was a rabbi (I don’t know his name). He was somebody special – he was buried in a crypt, with a lamp always burning in it. That rabbi had three sons. One of them was my grandfather, Ele Gurevich. His brothers came to visit us from Kharkov in 1920-s. I was named in honor of father’s grandmother. My mother said that my great-grandmother Golda came to visit us too. She liked to drink tea very much, so she always carried her own kettle with her and asked people to boil tea for her only in this kettle. As she was drinking tea, she always said in Yiddish, “Grandmother Golda loves tea”. Grandfather Ele Gurevich was a watchmaker, and his wife, grandmother Sima – a housewife. Besides my father, they also had daughters: Fanya, Liza, Gita, and son Shura (Mulya). They lived in the town of Radul, Belarus. During the Civil War there was a White Guard gang, so around 1921-1922 they moved from Belarus to Konotop (because life was quieter here). In the beginning, they lived with us, and then uncle Meishko found a flat for them and a little store where they opened a coffee-shop. All of this was during NEP∗.
Grandmother Sima was a brunette, but already grey, while grandfather was blond. He had a beard with grey hairs in it. My father looked like grandfather, but he was brunette; and I look like my father. I have the same form of the nose like my grandfather. Grandmother was a tall thin woman, who always wore long skirts, reaching her heals. Nobody else dressed like this in Konotop. She never wore any wigs, and I don’t remember anybody else in our town who would wear a wig. My grandfather wore regular clothes. On his head he always wore a yarmulke, but I remember he always wore a cap on top. When he came to us, he took off the cap, but left his yarmulke on. Grandfather visited us often. He liked playing with us. We played cards a lot. I remember when I was young and played him, if I lost, he always hugged me and laughed heartily. Grandfather died around 1928, but grandmother Sima died first. I think she died because of pneumonia. When grandmother was buried grandfather got sick. He was rushed to the hospital. I remember visiting him there, bringing him food, and he looked very content. Around 3 weeks after grandmother’s death he also died. I remember his funeral very well. He lied on straw and was buried without a coffin. His grave was covered with wooden boards. Then we took off our shoes, which is called “siveh” [this Jewish rite of farewell with decedent- seven days of mourning], and sat on the floor for the whole week (I exactly not litter what it is. Know only that was beside Jews such tradition). Gradually, these traditions died away. When my grandparents died, special white shrouds (“takhrikhim”) were sewn. Special people sewed them by hand. But afterwards there were no such people any more. However, when in 1957 my father died because of cancer, such a “takhrikhim” was sewn for him, and he was wrapped in a taleth (a special cover for Jewish men during prayer), and a costume was put on top of it. By the way, we took this taleth to evacuation with us.
My father, Osher Isaac Elevich Gurevich, was born in 1883 in Belarus. There he got his education. I think he finished a cheder and then learned Russian on his own, this was it is required for life and work. He was a very good tailor. My father sewed clothes for men: coats, special costumes, and military coats for officers. After the revolution, father worked in an artel for some time, but he did not like it there. So, he began to work alone and pay taxes. Before the war, in 1930-s, he got some additional training and began to sew for women, because, he said, women always ordered more than men. When he was young he never sat at one place for a long time, but lived and worked in different places, and in the beginning of the 20th century he found himself in Konotop. Father grew up near the Dnepr River. He was a good swimmer and an oarsman. In Radul, their house stood almost over the river. When revolutionaries had their meetings, my father helped them cross the Dnepr. He was huge and was often standing on duty for them. Right before the October Revolution, father rescued some revolutionary in Konotop. He put that man among the workers of his workshop, and the tsarist police did not find him.
My mother, Chaya Lurye, rented a small store and traded in various small articles there. In that store she met my father. Then my father met mother’s brother Meishko. They became good friends. Brothers liked sports very much – there was a “cult of muscles” in the family. Every time a guy would come to ask for my mother’s hand, Meishko, as her brother, would always try that guy’s jacket on. If the jacket was small for him, it meant the guy was not developed physically enough (this was general jacket, Meishko wanted that husband daughter's was physically strong person, either as this himself). Gurevich’s jacket was too big for Meishko. My parents married in autumn 1907. I not know was beside them wedding. My father was a raven-head with black eyes.
He was not a party member, but he sympathized with revolutionists. Probably due to being a good tailor, he had to work for his boss (when I was born he already had his own workshop with hire-hands). But he always said, “A boss is a boss”.
My mother, Chaya Borukhovna Lurye, was born in 1885 in Konotop. She was not tall; she had blue eyes and blond hair. I think she finished cheder, because she was quite literate in Yiddish. I also think she learned Russian on her own. Just like everybody else in the family, she was quite religious; she had a special seat in the synagogue. When she went to the synagogue, she wore a special outfit. I remember she had a scarf, which was beautiful. Mother always celebrated all Jewish holidays. She was a fanatic before the war, but not after the war. We never ate pork at home. We always prepared to every holiday. In autumn she bought geese and fed them well until Passover. Before Passover, no matter what the weather was, she hired somebody to whitewash the whole house. Then she cleaned the house of all “khumyts” (leaven; according to the Jewish tradition, there should be nothing made of leaven in the house on Passover). We had special crockery for Passover. We always made special Passover wine of cherry. My mother made huge jars of such wine. My grandparents would come to the first Passover seder. We all sat around a big table, and there were a lot of delicious things on the table – so many that I don’t even know how people could eat all of them! There was stuffed fish and other delicious things. Foods for the whole Passover week were cooked on geese fat only. My mother also had a lot of pans and she cooked things with fat, with flour, with poppy, and with matzos. Special people (I not know who were these people, but think that they worked in synagogue) baked matzos for Passover. At the seder, my father sat on special pillows, and brother Boris asked the four traditional questions (he studied in cheder for some time, but there were no cheders after the revolution). For the whole evening people would sit there, eat and tell interesting stories. All of this was done in Yiddish. We all spoke Yiddish at home. Yiddish was the native language for all of my relatives. I also remember there was a holiday when a chicken was rotated over head. Mother would give us all chickens, then she would put them in a basket and I went through the town to shoichet (Jewish ritual butcher). Mother told me how a chicken’s head should be put under the wing so that there would be no blood. She trusted me with money to pay the shoichet, even though I was only ten years old. But we were very independent at that age; mother taught us to do everything: clean the flat, wash windows (every ten days), clean the dust, and wash every leaf of the plants we grew (she liked them). We baked bread every week. She bolted flour and made dough, and I had to knead dough with my fists. I once asked her, “How long should I be doing this?” and my mother answered, “Until beads of sweat appear in the other corner of the room. Every Friday we did a major cleaning of the house.
Mother was a housewife. She only hired a babysitter when she gave birth to two twins. When I was born there was no babysitter. There were no water pipes, and when we had to wash we brought water from the well. In summer we carried water ourselves, but in winter we hired a special man. In winter we washed clothes in the river in ice-holes. We carried things on slides. We always were clean. We also washed in bath once a week.
Mother had very good music ear – she sang and danced well. When she was young she was invited to Jewish weddings that it there sang. In Konotop she’s all knew and much liked to listen as she sings.She liked both Jewish and Ukrainian songs. Aunt Soreh-Liba’s son once said, “When aunt Chaika comes, no actors are needed – people will be listening to her alone”. My father could not sing, but he liked singing. He even sang in a choir.
In 1908 my mother and father had twins: Boris, named in honor of grandfather Borukh, and Ida. For some reasons they were always ashamed of admitting that they were twins. Eight years later I was born. At that time our family stayed at the house of a rich Jew, Kozlovsky. His house was located downtown. It was a two-floor good house made of bricks with a big yard. It also had two courtyard houses. I remember horses in the yard. The main house had two big good rooms. My father’s workshop was located in one room, so workers were sitting there. But during the Civil War, the military occupied the whole house. My mother found a place for us to live on the outskirts. We settled in Yarkovskaya Street. It was an absolutely Ukrainian street, with only a few Jewish families. There was no anti-Semitism in Konotop prior to the war. My mother had Ukrainian friends, whom she knew from her youth, and they spoke fluent Yiddish with her (they little knew Yiddish, therefore that always veins amongst Jews). Among the Jewish families was the family of Tsitovskies.. Their son, Chaim, born in 1920, was awarded the title of the Hero of the Soviet Union for crossing the Dnepr during the Second World War. I think he is the only Hero of the Soviet Union who was born in Konotop. The museum of Konotop has his portrait and a memorial board. My mother’s brothers with their wives often came to visit us. We had a large hall where we all played and ran after each other. They had families, but they still ran after each other like kids. There were no TV, radio or lights then, so it was the only entertainment. Sometimes we also played cards. My father liked to eat sunflower seeds when he talked to somebody.
There was a club of handicraftsmen in Konotop. Jew Topkin was in charge of that club. My father always attended this club in winter and took me with him. Topkin delivered lectures. There was also a good drama theater in this club. They staged various plays. I also recited a poem on Lenin’s death in that theater and was awarded Lenin’s portrait for this. The Jewish theater of Zaslavsky came to Konotop. They showed “Tevye Tevel” by Sholom-Aleichem all this occurred indoors club. My parents took me with them to watch it. Some other famous actors came to our town. I think it was in the middle of 1920-s.
Konotop was a small town, but there were a lot of Jews there. There were 4 synagogues in it. The Jews were chiefly found in the center of the town. There were many tailors and shoemakers among them; also there were those who fixed bicycles. The division into rich and poor was very strong. The rich had their own stores and two-floor houses, but the rich ones often helped the poor ones. We were quite poor (life was better only right before the war). The most difficult years were the 1931-1933-s. In order to survive we sold articles made of precious metals and bought some foods instead.
At home we spoke only Yiddish before the war. My brother even went to cheder before the revolution. When I was young, there were Jewish schools in Konotop, but I went to a Russian school (even though most of the students in my class were Jewish). I finished 7 classes. I also learned music for 6 years (parents bought a piano from our neighbor). After school I finished a one-year accountancy school and since 1932 I was working as an accountant in a flax-storing company.
All Konotop boys, just like my brother Boris, were trained in Vengerov’s workshop. My brother studied metalwork in this workshop for several years. Then he said he wanted to continue his studies. Vengerov supported his idea, considering him very smart. My brother dreamt of studying in Moscow, but my mother did not like Moscow for some reason, and in around 1929 my brother Boris went to study in Kharkov, to aunt Rakhil. In Kharkov he worked at a plant as a tool-maker and simultaneously studied at the Workers’ Department . Then he entered the Heavy Engineering Institute. My parents could not help him financially, for these were the difficult 1930-s. He lived in a dormitory on his scholarship. He was a good student. He graduated around 1936. He was sent to work in Sverdlovsk (now Yekaterinburg) to the “Uralmash” plant. From that plant he was sent to Leningrad, to the Higher Military Academy, where he studied for another two years. From there he was sent to Kramatorsk, where he worked as an engineer up to the beginning of the war.

In 1933, my sister got married and moved to Kiev. I also wanted to live in a big city. In March 1937 I moved to Kiev. I lived with my sister and worked as a bookkeeper at a paintwork base. But I did not work there for long; I moved on to another organization, “Spetstorg”, where I also worked as a bookkeeper. This organization serviced exclusively the military. This organization sent me to Lvov in February 1940. I liked Lvov very much. (Just like other western regions of Ukraine, Lvov was part of Poland until 1939. In 1939, these lands were annexed to the Soviet Republic of Ukraine). I rented a room from a landlady, who treated me very nicely. I was young, I was not even 24 years old. I would go to different places, like dances, and I had many acquaintances. One of them was a military man. There is a wonderful park in Lvov – Stryisky. He and I spent June 21, Saturday, in that park. The next day he invited me to the Opera Theater to a ballet. In the morning next day I woke up from a sound of thunder. I thought to myself, “Oh, if there is thunder, it means it is raining, so how will I go to the theater?” I opened my eyes and saw the son shining. So, where did the thunder come from? Then I heard the landlady crying, “German has attacked us!” They called “Germans” – “German”.
Her husband left the day before and went to another town. They had two boys, Monek and Manek. It was a good Jewish family. The landlady was begging me to take them with me. I began to cry. I wept a lot on that day. That military man came to me and said, “Leave everything and flee immediately. Our men left in nightgowns, with only wives and children”. I spent that night in a shelter. I was the secretary of the Komsomol organization, so I was naturally waiting for some instructions. But my chief accountant, Natan Markovich Fridman, was a very good man. He told me, “Pack immediately and we will leave together”. We went to the train station. It was impossible to get on the first train, because its doors were locked. Our coworker Ostrovsky went to see us off. He found an open window in the second train, even though the doors were barricaded by suitcases. He opened the door to let people get on. We also took the sister of our chef; they came from Leningrad. Thus we left: no tickets, no money. Natan Markovich was a decent man. We could have gone to any canteen that belonged to our organization and taken some money. But neither he nor I did that. We left Lvov on June 23, in the evening, and arrived in Kiev on June 27. We stopped at every station; there were a lot of people. The train was overcrowded. People even sat on the floor. When we reached one more station, we saw that train that we could not get on – it was totally bombed and destroyed. Our train was also bombed. During the bombings we would run out of the train and lie down on the ground. In Kiev we stopped not at the central station, but in Darnitsa. I went to my sister’s house across the town, at night, in total darkness. When my sister saw me, she passed out – everybody was convinced I was already dead.
Kiev was also bombed. From Kiev, my sister and niece (sister’s husband was at the front) we moved to Konotop, to our parents. We began to get ready to further evacuation. Father sewed big bags. He also bought a pair of horses and a large cart (father could drive horses very well. Back after the civil war he drove to a village to exchange clothes for foods). All our belongings, even old clothes, we put on this cart and moved eastward. Roads were heavily bombed. Two weeks later we reached Voronezh. Only there we got on a train. In the middle of October we reached Pugachevsk, which is behind the Volga River, in Saratov region. It was already cold. We found a small room to rent, but when its landowner heard my parents speaking in Yiddish, she immediately exclaimed, “I don’t want to have any Jews here!” So, we had to look for another place. We settled with a family: a couple with two children, a 14-year-old boy and a 12-year-old girl. Their house was very poor; they had absolutely nothing there. Even in the villages in Ukraine I have never seen such poor families. In Ukrainian villages people at least have trees and flowers around their houses, but here they had nothing. My father found some wooden boards and made us trestle-beds. He could do everything with his own hands. My mother and I slept on a big trestle-bed, while he slept in a smaller one; for my sister and niece we found a real bed somewhere. It was good that we had brought bed sheets with us. But the bad thing was that our neighbors behind the wall quarreled and swore all the time. We never heard such words before. That is why mother sought and found another flat, and in spring we moved to live with a woman, whose husband was killed at the front. I quickly found a job as a bookkeeper at a mill department. Mother and sister did not work. My sister got money for her killed husband (he was killed in the first days of the war; we only got one postcard from him). At the work I was given a small land plot, but the soil there was like rock. My sister, mother and I worked hard on that land. We planted melons, water-melons, and pumpkins. My father sewed things.

When the war broke out, my brother Boris volunteered to go to the front. But at the military enlistment office he was told that specialists like him were needed in the rear. So, he was sent to Kuibyshev. We knew nothing about him. From Pugachevsk, from evacuation, we wrote to every institution we could; we had a whole folder with correspondence. Finally, with great difficulty, we found him. He was working at the aircraft-building plant in Kuibyshev.
Kuibyshev was located 150-200 km away from Pugachevsk. Sister Ida went to see him in Kuibyshev. When she came to his dormitory, none of his friends believed it was his real sister: he had blond hair and blue eyes, just like our mother, while she was a brunette with dark eyes. Due to his appearance, many people thought my brother was Russian. But he never changed his name or patronymic. Kuibyshev was in famine. My brother had to work hard; sometimes he even slept at the plant. They were building the plant and putting out products at the same time. It was very cold, and their hands froze to the metal. Everyone worked for the front back then. They put out armor. My sister met his girlfriend, Katya, whom brother married after the war. But I will tell you later about this.
From Pugachevsk, I was sent to work in Moscow, to the metro-building company. I worked as a bookkeeper. I lived outside Moscow, in a horrible dormitory with rats and no heat. At the same time I studied at the Red Cross courses and worked at a hospital. I felt ill with furunculocis. As soon as Kiev was liberated (November 6, 1943), I began to pursue return to Kiev. It was impossible for the evacuated to simply return to the places they wanted. My parents returned to Konotop in June, 1944, but I was pursuing permission to go back to Kiev. On my way to Kiev I visited parents, and on September 1, 1944 I came to Kiev. I had no problems with finding a job. I began to work as a chief accountant at a small plant. Its director and most of its workers were Jewish. We found that the room my sister used to live in before the war was occupied. A bad man settled there: he did not live in Kiev before the war, but he was a lawyer, and he knew all ways in and out. Then a wonderful law was issued that one could fight for his/her own flat if one had registration in Kiev and a flat. We had all of it because we settled with our far relative Murochka (her husband was repressed in 1937 and died; she was arrested, but returned home). When the court made the decision that our former flat belonged to us, this lawyer made the court terminate its decision; he gave false testimonies and even bribed the court. The chief of the registration office knew us before the war (I even remember his name – Klimov), but he told the court he knew nothing. With great difficulties, through different court institutions, we could finally get back our flat two years later (despite the fact that my sister had every right to have it, because her husband was killed at the front).
Immediately after the end of the war, my brother Boris married that Katya, whom he met in Kuibyshev and about whom my sister Ida told us. He brought Katya to Konotop. Boris was 37 then. Boris and Katya loved each other very much. My mother was certainly very concerned that her daughter-in-law would be Russian, but my father told her not to talk about this. So, mother received them very well. My brother remained to live in Kuibyshev for the rest of his life, together with Katya and his children.
In 1945, when the war was over, I found out that I had no winter coat. My father found some fabric to make coats for me and my sister. It was hard to get vacation at that time, so I went to Konotop on October Revolution holiday. The Vengerov family settled with my parents after the war. And before the war they lived next door to the family of my future husband. They were great friends. My aunt Soreh-Liba nursed my future husband, young Benyumchik. He was treated like their own child. So, on the October Revolution holiday in 1945, Benyamin Gutner had a leave from the military. He came from Germany to see his parents and came to visit my parents and the Vengerovs. He came, wearing a naval uniform. He was happy to see me. We sat and talked for a while. He found out when I was going back to Kiev and said he would be going together with me. Before the war he worked in Kiev and had friends there. He wanted to see these friends and walk the streets of Kiev. He still had time to do that. His mother gave him a whole suitcase of food. So, he took his suitcase and my bag and we got on the train. When we came to Kiev, my sister was happy to see him alive. In the morning I went to work, and in the evening, my sister said that he had asked her whether I would refuse to marry him should he make a proposal.
Benyusik and I went to the theater. In the break he went to the buffet and bought me a bar of chocolate. It cost 100 rubles then! I told him I would not eat it at the theater but at home, together with my sister Ida. It was a rare occasion when somebody could eat chocolate, because it was right after the war.
So, then he mastered up boldness and made me a proposal. He had to serve some more and then he wanted to marry me. I said I was worried about being 29 years old and two years older than he. To this he said that he wanted to have a quiet and good wife. And with that he left. At the same time a client came to my father, a good Jewish guy, who also was interested in me. His father was a hat-maker – “kifner” in Yiddish. But by that time Benyusik had written a letter to my parents. So, I rejected that other guy. Benyusik and I had no correspondence.
We had not no wedding ceremony: we simply had a dinner at my parents’ house and invited close relatives. My aunt, his parents and cousins came. After the wedding we returned to Kiev. Almost immediately after moving to Kiev he became very ill. During the war he had a leg injury. But when he was fighting he forgot all about that wound, and only in Kiev he began to feel sharp pains in his leg. He also had high fever. X-ray could be done only privately. He could not walk – I almost had to carry him. He had to undergo a surgery. He had a surgery in November 1946. His bone was drilled and pus was taken out of it. But after the surgery the wound would not heal. The New Year was close, but he was still in the hospital. My mother came to visit us and suggested that he should go see a very good doctor in Konotop – a close friend of my father. His wound was open till spring and no X-ray showed anything. In April my pregnancy leave began, and we went to Konotop. The city hospital was ruined; they had nothing there, we had to bring bed sheets with us (just like now!). But the main thing was that I trusted the doctor. Another operation was made and the doctors saw that the previous surgeon left a cotton ball in his wound, and he had that cotton ball for six months. Our doctor assured us that on May 1 he would even dance. It all took place in April.

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

On May 9 we returned to Kiev. And on May 19, 1947, my daughter Sima was born. She was named in honor of my father’s mother. My husband certainly wanted a son, but he was happy to have a daughter too. Our second daughter, Bella, was born four years later. She was named in honor of my husband’s grandmother, Beile. After the birth of my second daughter I did not work for 16 years until my children became more or less independent.
Prior to the war we sensed no anti-Semitism at all, but after the war our children and us felt it all the time – at school and especially in entering university. Sima finished school with honors, and in her written exam in mathematics (in entering the Kiev Polytechnic Institute) she received an excellent mark, but at the next oral exam she was given a poor mark. She was able to enter the correspondence department of the Aviation Institute only a few years later, when she was already working. Bella also had problems with entering university. But even though we had problems with anti-Semitism, I’m sure I would have never endured emigration.
After my father’s death in 1957, we took mother from Konotop to Kiev. First she lived with the sister, then with me. Soreh-Liba died in Kiev too, in 1963. She also moved to live with her children – she had four of them. The youngest, Rakhil, died in 1936 in Kharkov. She had three children. Neither Soreh-Liba nor Rakhil worked outside the house after getting married.
My mother and her brother Shleimka, unlike other relatives, lived for a long time. Mother died in Kiev in 1978 at the age of 93. Shleimka also died being older than 90. His last years he lived in Minsk at his son’s.
My husband was a worker, and most of his life he worked as a plumber at construction objects. He died in Kiev in 1998.
I would like to tell you some more about my brother, Boris. He spent all his life at that plant in Kuibyshev. His and Katya’s elder daughter was born in 1946, but when she was 12 years old she died because of leukemia. Then they had two more children – Alla and Mikhail. Their children never changed their last name or patronymic.
My brother was the chief constructor. But during the Soviet Union’s fight against cosmopolitism, in early 1950-s, a Jew, Gurevich, could not remain the chief constructor. So, the plant’s director made him a teacher in the plants’ technical school and put him in charge of a desigh bureau. Of course, after Stalin’s death he could work better again. But he never shared about the nature of his work. I only know that he spent months in Moscow in business trips.
In 1978, I received tragic news about his death. He died from stomach cancer. It was hard for me to think that I would burry my brother. My children stayed with my mother, while my husband and I went to Kuibyshev. The whole plant expressed great honor to him. The cemetery (this was common town, not Jewish graveyard) was far from the town, and there was a truck covered with carpets (it was in March when it was still cold). But the workers did not put the coffin on the truck – they carried it to the cemetery in turns. They made a great funeral banquet for him. I know that Jews do not do such things, but at that place people did that. The tables of the plant’s canteen were covered, but not everyone could fit in. So again, people took turns. Many people spoke about him, shared how he taught, how he treated students, what a wonderful and honest person he was. In 1985 I went to Kuibyshev to visit Katya and her children. Katya invited me to the plant’s museum, which speaks a lot about Boris. It even has his big portrait. We came to the museum when a tour was held for children. The director of the museum told them how my brother started that plant with the first nail and what difficulties he faced. After the tour, the director invited me to his office and sadly said that he had asked Boris many times to write about himself and the plant, but Boris was a very modest person, so he wrote nothing.
My sister Ida always lives and worked in the Kiev. We with her were very friendly, children grow together. After the death of Boris, in 1989, she with the family emigrated to USA. Regrettably we can communicate on the telephone only and much seldom. I know that beside them there all well.
Praise God, we had a good life. My husbands was working, and on top of his salary he always tried to find some part-time work, for instance, fix something for the neighbors. I went to the sewing courses and after a year of studies I began to sew everything for myself and children. I did not want to pay somebody else to sew for us. When I was sewing, some things I knew exactly, other things I tried to understand. My children also learned sewing from me. Then I bought an electrict sewing machine and began to take orders from other people. It was hard at that time to buy decent clothes at the store, so I sewed for anyone who ordered and never denied help to anyone.
I’m now living with my youngest daughter, Bella. Being old is certainly not a happy thing. I need to buy medicine and food, while my pension is small. I would be in despair if there were no Kiev charity fund “Khesed Avot” that helps us a lot. It helps us not only with foods and medicines, but also with care and warm words to us. I really appreciate them very much.
I do not approve of emigration.
You see, when you come to Israel, you realize that you are a foreigner there. It’s in my nature. When I was leaving Moscow, my friends would beg me to stay, promised to provide a room for me, warned about ruins in my native town where I was going. But I told them, “It’s my home”. When I came to Konotop and walked into the town, the road was full of my tears. I saw that it was mine, my home. Once we wanted to go to Germany, but then I said, “No, I’m not going. I can’t go there. I can’t hear that language. I can’t live there. I’m not going”. My husband agreed with me that it would be better for us to stay home. I know people are moving to America, to Germany. Well, we paid too much for moving to Germany – we paid with rivers of blood. I can’t imagine how Jews can live in Germany, in that situation. The Germans hate us!

Petr Weber

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

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

My family background

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

Growing up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

During the war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After the war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glossary:

1 Slovak State (1939-1945)

Czechoslovakia, which was created after the disintegration of Austria-Hungary, lasted until it was broken up by the Munich Pact of 1938; Slovakia became a separate (autonomous) republic on 6th October 1938 with Jozef Tiso as Slovak PM. Becoming suspicious of the Slovakian moves to gain independence, the Prague government applied martial law and deposed Tiso at the beginning of March 1939, replacing him with Karol Sidor. Slovakian personalities appealed to Hitler, who used this appeal as a pretext for making Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia a German protectorate. On 14th March 1939 the Slovak Diet declared the independence of Slovakia, which in fact was a nominal one, tightly controlled by Nazi Germany.

2 Czechs in Slovakia from 1938–1945

The rise of Fascism in Europe also had its impact on the fate of Czechs living in Slovakia. The Vienna Arbitration of 1938 had as its consequence the loss of southern Slovakia to Hungary, as a result of which the number of Czechs living in Slovakia declined. A Slovak census held on 31st December 1938 listed 77,488 persons of Czech nationality, a majority of which did not have Slovak residential status. During the period of Slovak autonomy (1938-1939) a government decree was in effect, on the basis of which 9,000 Czech civil servants were let go. The situation of the Czech population grew even worse after the creation of the Slovak State (1939-1945), when these people had the status of foreigners. As a result, by 1943 there were only 31,451 Czechs left in Slovakia.

3 Karlovy Vary (German name

Karlsbad): The most famous Bohemian spa, named after Bohemian King Charles (Karel) IV, who allegedly found the springs during a hunting expedition in 1358. It was one of the most popular resorts among the royalty and aristocracy in Europe for centuries.

4 Socialist Youth Union (SZM)

a voluntary mass social organization of the youth of former Czechoslovakia. It continued in the revolutionary tradition of children’s and youth movements from the time of the bourgeois Czechoslovak Republic and the anti-Fascist national liberation movement, and was a successor to the Czechoslovak Youth Union, which ceased to exist during the time of the societal crisis of 1968. In November 1969 the Federal Council of Children’s and Youth Organizations was created, which put together the concept of the SZM. In 1970, with the help of the Czechoslovak Communist Party, individual SZM youth organizations were created, first in Slovakia and later in Czechia, which underwent an overall unification from 9-11th November 1970 at a founding conference in Prague. The Pioneer organization of the Socialist Youth Union formed a relatively independent part of this whole. Its highest organ was the national conference. In 1975 the SZM was awarded the Order of Klement Gottwald for the building of the socialist state. The press organ in Czechia was Mlada Fronta and Smena in Slovakia. The SZM’s activities ceased after the year 1989.

5 Prague Spring

A period of democratic reforms in Czechoslovakia, from January to August 1968. Reformatory politicians were secretly elected to leading functions of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (KSC). Josef Smrkovsky became president of the National Assembly, and Oldrich Cernik became the Prime Minister. Connected with the reformist efforts was also an important figure on the Czechoslovak political scene, Alexander Dubcek, General Secretary of the KSC Central Committee (UV KSC). In April 1968 the UV KSC adopted the party’s Action Program, which was meant to show the new path to socialism. It promised fundamental economic and political reforms. On 21st March 1968, at a meeting of representatives of the USSR, Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria, East Germany and Czechoslovakia in Dresden, Germany, the Czechoslovaks were notified that the course of events in their country was not to the liking of the remaining conference participants, and that they should implement appropriate measures. In July 1968 a meeting in Warsaw took place, where the reformist efforts in Czechoslovakia were designated as “counter-revolutionary.” The invasion of the USSR and Warsaw Pact armed forces on the night of 20th August 1968, and the signing of the so-called Moscow Protocol ended the process of democratization, and the Normalization period began.

6 Political changes in 1969

Following the Prague Spring of 1968, which was suppressed by armies of the Soviet Union and its satellite states, a program of ‘normalization’ was initiated. Normalization meant the restoration of continuity with the pre-reform period and it entailed thoroughgoing political repression and the return to ideological conformity. Top levels of government, the leadership of social organizations and the party organization were purged of all reformist elements. Publishing houses and film studios were placed under new direction. Censorship was strictly imposed, and a campaign of militant atheism was organized. A new government was set up at the beginning of 1970, and, later that year, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union signed the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance, which incorporated the principle of limited sovereignty. Soviet troops remained stationed in Czechoslovakia and Soviet advisers supervised the functioning of the Ministry of Interior and the security apparatus.

7 Voice of America (VOA)

is the official international radio and television broadcasting service of the United States federal government. VOA was organized in 1942 under the Office of War Information with news programs aimed at areas in Europe and North Africa under the occupation of Nazi Germany. VOA began broadcasting on February 24, 1942. During the Cold War, VOA was placed under the U.S. Information Agency.

8 Samizdat literature in Czechoslovakia

Samizdat literature: The secret publication and distribution of government-banned literature in the former Soviet block. Typically, it was typewritten on thin paper (to facilitate the production of as many carbon copies as possible) and circulated by hand, initially to a group of trusted friends, who then made further typewritten copies and distributed them clandestinely. Material circulated in this way included fiction, poetry, memoirs, historical works, political treatises, petitions, religious tracts, and journals. The penalty for those accused of being involved in samizdat activities varied according to the political climate, from harassment to detention or severe terms of imprisonment. In Czechoslovakia, there was a boom in Samizdat literature after 1948 and, in particular, after 1968, with the establishment of a number of Samizdat editions supervised by writers, literary critics and publicists: Petlice (editor L. Vaculik), Expedice (editor J. Lopatka), as well as, among others, Ceska expedice (Czech Expedition), Popelnice (Garbage Can) and Prazska imaginace (Prague Imagination).

9 Velvet Revolution

Also known as November Events, this term is used for the period between 17th November and 29th December 1989, which resulted in the downfall of the Czechoslovak communist regime. A non-violent political revolution in Czechoslovakia that meant the transition from Communist dictatorship to democracy. The Velvet Revolution began with a police attack against Prague students on 17th November 1989. That same month the citizen’s democratic movement Civic Forum (OF) in Czech and Public Against Violence (VPN) in Slovakia were formed. On 10th December a government of National Reconciliation was established, which started to realize democratic reforms. On 29th December Vaclav Havel was elected president. In June 1990 the first democratic elections since 1948 took place.

Iosif Gotlib

Date of interview: October 2003
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

Iosif Gotlib lives in a three-bedroom apartment in a new district of Lvov. His wife Antonina, daughter Lilia and Lilia’s son Anton, their grandson, live with him. They have standard 1970s style furniture in their apartment. One can tell that they enjoy doing things with their own hands: they’ve taken a lot of effort to make their dwelling comfortable and cozy. They did repairs in their apartment and Iosif’s wife Antonina placed her embroidery patterns on the walls. Iosif made shelves and stands for pot plants. Their apartment is very clean and bright. There are many pot plants and there are photographs of Iosif and his wife, their children and grandchildren on the walls. Iosif is a man of average height, thin. He was ill and it affected his speech, but he willingly agreed to give this interview and said a lot about his life and family. Although he doesn’t go out, he takes a vivid interest in everything happening around him. He reads a lot and likes to discuss what he has read.

I didn’t know my father’s parents or any members of his family. Since my father’s patronymic was Mikhailovich [the customary polite address in Russian is by first and patronymic name, which consists of one’s father’s name and a suffix: –ovna for women and –ovich for men], I can guess that my paternal grandfather’s name was Moishe which is Mikhail in Russian [common name] 1. I don’t know anything about my grandmother. My father Abram Gotlib was born in the town of Sudhza [250 km from Moscow] Kursk province in Russia in 1888. All I know about my father’s childhood or youth is that he became an orphan young. Somehow he moved to St. Petersburg where he entered the medical Faculty of the university. I don’t know where my father studied before he entered the university. Although my father was a Jew, and at that time there was a Jewish admission [five percent] quota 2 in Russian higher educational institutions, my father was admitted. My father was a very talented and educated man. He knew 5 European languages: English, French, German, Italian and Romanian; he could draw well and play the piano. After finishing his studies he was trained in a hospital for a year where he obtained qualifications as a surgeon. My father worked in this hospital until the beginning of World War I. When Russia entered the war my father was recruited to the tsarist army. He was a surgeon in a frontline hospital.

I know a little bit more about my mother’s family. My maternal grandfather David Levandovskiy and grandmother whose name I don’t know lived in Voyutichi village in 13 km from Sambor town of Lvov region [600 km from Kiev], in the Russian Empire. I don’t know their birth date or place. I remember a portrait of grandfather David that we had at home. My grandfather had a big gray beard and had a black suit and yarmulka on. I remember my grandmother a little. She was short, fat and very kind. She spoke drawlingly and always smiled and wore long dark clothing and a black kerchief. She has a silk shawl with fringes that she wore to the synagogue. The grandparents spoke Yiddish at home, but they all knew Polish and Russian. My mother told me that her parents were religious. They always celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My grandfather went to the synagogue on Saturday and Jewish holidays and my grandmother only went there on Jewish holidays.

My grandfather was a cabinetmaker and my grandmother was a housewife, as was customary with patriarchal Jewish families. Their children were born in Voyutichi. Haim was an older son and then Shymon was born. I don’t know their dates of birth. My mother Dora was born in 1896, and her younger brother Leizer was born in 1898. My mother was still a child when the family moved to Lvov [510 km from Kiev]. It’s hard to say why they decided to move. My mother told me that there was no anti-Semitism at the time when she was young. It appeared after World War I when even Jewish pogroms in Russia 3 happened, but Lvov was a big town and there were no pogroms in it. They happened in smaller towns where they were not afraid of facing any resistance. In Lvov there were no national conflicts. There were synagogues and Jewish schools. Jews also owned trade. There were Jewish teachers, doctors and lawyers, but of course, the majority of the Jewish population were poor craftsmen.

My maternal grandparents rented an apartment from a Jewish owner in Lvov. He owned a 4-storied house that he leased. He also owned a store on the first floor of this house. The owner and his family lived on the 2nd floor and had tenants in remaining apartments. There was a small hut in the yard of this house that my grandfather also rented from him and had his carpenter shop there. They manufactured furniture, doors and window frames in this shop. My grandfather had his shop closed on Saturday. His two older sons also worked with him. Leizer, the youngest son, died during flu epidemic in 1913. Grandfather David died in 1915. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Lvov. After grandfather died his sons inherited his shop.

My mother’s brothers studied in a Polish school and cheder. My mother also finished 8 grades of a polish school. Girls didn’t go to cheder and my grandfather made arrangements with a melamed to give my mother classes at home. He came every other days and taught my mother to read and write in Yiddish and read in Hebrew and taught her prayers. My mother was very talented and wanted to continue her education, but there were very limited opportunities for women at that time. There was a choice of going to Froebel school 4 training governesses or becoming a medical nurse. After finishing school my mother went to study at 1-year school of medical nurses in Lvov. After finishing this school in 1915 she and other graduates were sent to a hospital at the front where my future parents met. They worked in the same hospital. They fell in love with each other and got married in 1917. They didn’t have a Jewish wedding, but registered their marriage. When in 1917 a revolution 5 took place in Russia and the Russian Empire fell apart, new borders were established. The Western Ukraine was annexed to Poland 6. There was famine and war in Russia. My mother’s family lived in Poland and my mother convinced him to move to her mother in Poland.

After they moved to Poland my father’s life was hard. Poland didn’t recognize his Russian doctor’s diploma. He had to take exams in polish, but he didn’t know it. He tried to work illegally in Lvov, but it was dangerous. My parents moved to Biskovichi village Sambor district Lvov region [580 km from Kiev] also belonging to Poland. My mother’s family helped them with money, and they bought a house. My father worked as a veterinary. My mother didn’t work after getting married. Their first baby David was born in 1917. He was named after my mother’s father. In 1919 my older sister Sima was born. After Sima Moishe, named after my father’s father, was born in 1921. I was born in November 1922 and named Iosif-Leizer. My sister Haya was born in 1925. Shmil was born in 1928, and in 1930 Eshiye, the youngest boy, was born.

Our house was rather big. It was built from thick beams faced with airbricks. It was divided into two parts. There was a fore room and there was a door to two small rooms serving as my father’s veterinary office. The living quarters were on the right. There were four rooms: my parents’ bedroom, boys’ room, girls’ room and a living room. There was a big kitchen where we had meals on weekdays. On Sabbath and Jewish holidays we had meals in the living room. There was a wood stoked stove in the kitchen. It heated the kitchen and my mother cooked on it. There were smaller heating stoves in the rooms. We had household chores to do. However small we were, we fetched water, sawed wood and the girls washed dishes and cleaned the house. There was a small orchard in the backyard, few trees, a woodshed, a toilet and a small well. My father worked from morning till night. Sometimes his customers brought their animals to him and sometimes he had to go examine them at their places. Villagers mostly paid him with food products. My mother often helped my father in his office.

My parents were religious. My mother and father observed Jewish traditions. We always celebrated Sabbath at home. My mother baked challahs on Friday morning and cooked food for two days. She put cholnt with meat, beans and potatoes and a big pot with two big chickens boiling in it into the stove. In the evening my mother lit candles and she prayed, then father blessed the meal and we sat down to dinner. My father didn’t work on Saturday. He read the Torah and told us, kids, stories about Jewish life and Jewish religion. We spoke Yiddish and Polish at home. There was no synagogue in Biskovichi. There were three other Jewish family in the village besides us. The rest of the population was Polish, Ukrainian and there were few Russians. Neighbors got along well and helped each other. On Saturday our polish neighbor came to stoke our stove, boil water for tea, heat food and light the lamps. My mother always gave her some money or some treatments. On Jewish holidays another neighbor rode my mother and father on his wagon to the synagogue in Sambor in 8 km from Biskovichi. Our neighbor took care of us, children.

I remember when my father had to do his job as a surgeon. There was no doctor or assistant doctor in Biskovichi. A midwife came to help with childbirth. She witnessed almost all children of Biskovichi born to this world. There was a wealthy Polish villager in Biskovichi, I don’t remember his name now. He had 250 cows, farm fields and a big forest area. His wife had problems at labor and the midwife couldn’t do anything to help her. The woman was dying and this farmer came to ask my father for help. My father refused at first saying that he had no right to operate on her, but the farmer begged him to rescue his wife and baby and my father agreed. My father warned him that if authorities heard about it he would have to pay a big fine and the villager promised that he would pay it if it came to it. My father went to his home and then he sent for mother. They made Cesarean section and the woman and her baby survived. They named this boy Kazimir and he became a close friend of my younger sister Haya and brother Shmil. His father was grateful to my father. Every winter he supported our family with vegetables, flour and meat.

My mother’s distant relatives Shpringers lived in Sambor. They didn’t have children and convinced my parents to let them adopt their older son David. David moved in with them and they gave him the last name of Gotlib-Shpringer. My brother David lived with his adoptive parents and occasionally visited us.

There was one 4-year Polish school in Biskovichi. My older sister Sima and brother Moishe went to study there. I also went to this school in 1929. I was doing well at school. I was the only Jew in my class, but I didn’t face any bad attitudes due to my nationality. I had few Jewish, Polish and Russian friends. We didn’t think about who was of what nationality.

In 1930 there was a big fire in Biskovichi. Few houses in our street including our house burnt down. Our neighbors offered us to live in their houses while my father was to build a house for us, but my father decided otherwise. My father received compensation from the municipality for his burnt house and managed to buy a house in Sambor for this money. Sambor was a small town, but it seemed huge to me compared to Biskovichi. The majority of population was Jewish, but there was also Polish, Russian and Ukrainian population. There were few synagogues, Jewish schools and even a Jewish grammar school. Jews mostly dealt in trade and craftsmanship in Sambor. They owned all stores and all shoemakers, fur dealers, tailors, joiners and barbers were also Jews. Jews mainly resided in the center of the town. Land was more expensive in the center and the houses stood very close to one another. My father bought a house in the central street. It was a brick house with 3 rooms and a kitchen. My parents lived in one room, sons in another and the third room was for the girls. There was a big kitchen with a storeroom and a spacious fore room. There was only space for a small wood shed in the yard. There were wood stoked stoves and a well in a nearby street.

After we moved to Sambor it was difficult for my father to find a job. Veterinarians were not in such big demand in town as they were in a village and on the other hand, my father was not allowed to work as a doctor. He was good at drawing and woodcarving and he chose to do this to earn his living. My father carved wood sculptures. He didn’t learn carving anywhere before, but he somehow happened to do it well. Wealthier people used to decorate their gardens with them. He also made stucco decorations on ceilings and building facades. All of a sudden his works happened to be in demand and my father began to earn a lot. My mother began to work as well. She was a very good cook and began to do this to earn her living. She cooked at weddings or other celebrations in wealthy families. Of course, it had to be kosher food and her clients wanted to be sure that their cook followed kashrut at home. My mother followed kashrut strictly. She did not only have special dishes for meat and milk products, but also, plates, spoons and even dish wash sponges for meat and dairy products. My mother soon became a very popular cook in Sambor and she even had to refuse from orders since she was busy in other houses on those days when they wanted her to cook in their houses. Cooking usually took a week before a party. Mother baked strudels, honey cookies and other pastries and one day before a party she cooked other dishes. My mother had two Jewish assistant ladies preparing food products for cooking and washing utensils. My mother did the cooking herself, she didn’t let anyone else to do it. She had a notebook where she put her orders for months ahead.

At home my sisters were helping mother with cooking. My mother taught Sima and Haya everything she knew herself. She said the girls would always be able to earn their living if need be. Of course, we began to have a wealthier life. Shortly after she went to work, my mother bought a piano that she had long dreamed about. She had wonderful hearing. She didn’t know notes, but she played tunes by ear. I remember that we gathered in our parents’ room on Saturday and sang Jewish songs that we knew many and my mother accompanied for us and sang too. Later my parents bought my older brother Moishe an accordion and he often played with my mother. Later he began to teach me to play. Our family was very close and I often recall those happy hours.

My father went to the synagogue in our street on Saturdays and Jewish holidays. It was a small synagogue and there was no room for women in it. The boys went to the synagogue with our father after they turned 7, it was a custom in Sambor that children started going to the synagogue at this age. My father didn’t have a beard or payes. He only had small moustache. He wore a hat to go out and a yarmulka to the synagogue. He put it on inside the synagogue and they took it off to go home. We, boys, also took our yarmulka to the synagogue and didn’t have our head covered elsewhere. Of course, when it was cold we wore caps or hats. I remember that my older brother and I usually went to play football with other boys after the synagogue. My mother went to a bigger synagogue in the neighboring street also on Sabbath and holidays. My mother didn’t take her daughters with her. My mother didn’t wear a wig. She had a long plait. When my mother went out she clipped it on the back of her head. My mother only wore a kerchief to go to the synagogue and at home on Sabbath or holidays.

We celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. Before Pesach we cleaned the house. Everything was shining with cleanness. No breadcrumbs were to be found anywhere. After the cleaning all breadcrumbs or pieces of bread were taken to the yard to be burnt. We also took away our everyday kitchen utensils and took down a box with special Pesach dishes from the attic. There was crockery and kitchen utensils – casseroles and frying pans - stored in the box. My mother also kept her dishes for making matzah separately. She had a bowl for dough for matzah, a rolling pin and even a wheel to make holes on matzah. My mother baked herself. Sometimes our neighbors joined her and they made matzah for together for their families. My mother always cooked a lot before holidays. She only baked her pastries from matzah flour. My older brother and I took turns to crash matzah in a copper mortar and then sieved it. My mother made strudels, honey cakes and Pesach cookies with raisins from sieved matzah. Mother always made chicken broth with dumplings from matzah flour, a chicken neck stuffed with fried flour and chicken liver and gefilte fish at Pesach. I’ve never tried such delicious forshmak as my mother made. There was a white tablecloth with embroidered lions and quotes from the Torah on it for seder at Pesach. In the evening the family got together for seder. My father sat at the head of the table. He recited a prayer and then broke a piece of matzah into three pieces and put away the middle part. It was called afikoman and we had it to finish the seder. One of the children had to find the afikoman and give it back to the father for a redemption. When I did it I asked my father sweets or toys in return. Then I asked him traditional four questions in Hebrew. My father answered me. The front door was open to let Prophet Elijah 7 in. There was a big wine glass with wine for him on the table. We bought wine for Pesach at the synagogue, red and very sweet. During seder each of us had to drink four glasses of wine. Children drank wine from small glasses. After answering questions my father recited a prayer and we sang Pesach songs. Nobody went to bed until seder was over. Younger children happened to fall asleep sitting at the table. My mother or father didn’t work through 8 days of Pesach. We visited our parents’ acquaintances and they visited us.

At Rosh Hashanah my parents went to the synagogue in the morning. In the morning my mother put a dish with apple pieces and a bowl of honey. When our parents came back from the synagogue we dipped apples in honey and ate them. There was Yom Kippur 10 days later. On this day children above 8 years of age had to fast from the morning till the lunch time. After bar mitzvah we fasted all day long. A day before my mother made a hearty dinner. We had to finish our meal before the first star when fasting began. Frankly, I never fasted. Of course, my parents didn’t know about it since I didn’t eat at home. There was a Ukrainian family living nearby and the boys from this family were my friends. During the fast I ran to their house and they gave me something to eat. My parents stayed at the synagogue a whole day on Yom Kippur. They came back home in the evening and we sat down to a festive dinner.

On Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the backyard. There was a table inside and we prayed and had meals only in the sukkah. I also had two other favorite holidays: Chanukkah and Purim. On Chanukkah all our visitors gave children some money. My parents had many acquaintances and before evening I collected quite a sufficient sum. I spent this money buying sugar candy and ergots. There were dark brown hard and very sweet ergots sold in stores. We liked chewing them and my sisters made necklaces from their seeds. Purim was a merry holiday. There were performers in costumes coming to houses. My mother made lots of pastries at Purim. There was a tradition to take pastries to relatives and neighbors and children were running around with trays of treatments and they brought us theirs. In every house we went we got something sweets or some coins in return.

In Sambor we also went to a Polish school. My brother and I studied at school and cheder. There were religion classes at school for Catholic children. Their teacher was a Roman Catholic priest. Children with different faith could go home. I had a good voice and ear and I sang in a school choir. After finishing school Sima and Moishe went to a Jewish grammar school and so did I later. My parents had to pay for the grammar school, but they could afford such expenses at that time. We studied all general subjects in Yiddish. We had two religious classes twice a week. A rabbi came to conduct these classes. Some children skipped classes of religion. It was allowed and in their school records book they had a dash instead of a mark for this class. It didn’t take me long to understand that it was more fun to play football than sit in class and I began to skip these classes along with other children. Of course, my parents didn’t know about it. I had all excellent marks in all other subjects.

I turned 13 in 1935 and became of age. I had a bar mitzvah at the synagogue that my father attended. A melamed from the cheder prepared me for bar mitzvah. I don’t remember any details, but I remember that on Saturday after my birthday I went to the Torah stand at the synagogue and read a section from the Torah, there is a special section for a boy to read on his bar mitzvah. On this day I had a tallit on for the first time in my life. It was quite a ceremony and everybody greeted me. My father brought a bottle of vodka and lekakh to the synagogue and after bar mitzvah the attendants enjoyed the treatments. In the evening my mother arranged a special dinner for the occasion. My mother’s brothers came from Lvov. They visited us on almost all Jewish holidays. Haim was married and had two sons, a little older than me. He always came with his family. My cousins and I were friends. Shymon didn’t have a family.

Sometimes we visited my mother’s relatives in Lvov. In 1936 my grandmother, my mother’s mother died. She was buried near my grandfather according to the Jewish tradition in the Jewish cemetery. I remember that on my grandmother’s funeral a woman approached my mother and me and tore up our clothes. I didn’t understand why she did this and my mother explained that it was a sign of the mourning. Haim, an older son, recited the Kaddish at the funeral. I don’t know whether any of my mother’s brothers recited Kaddish or sat shivah after grandmother, but we went home. My mother’s brother Haim perished tragically in an accident in 1940. He was buried near his parents. Shymon died of typhus in evacuation in the 1940s. After his death I lost contact with Shymon’s family.

In 1937 our quiet family life came to an end. My father was making stucco molding on the facade of a building and fell from scaffolds. He had a severe cranium injury. He was taken to hospital and after he recovered his doctors didn’t allow him to continue doing any physical works, particularly working on elevation. My father returned home, but he couldn’t work any more. He suffered from headaches and dizziness. My mother was the only breadwinner in the family. We were hard up and Moishe had to quit grammar school. Moishe became an apprentice in a railcar depot and I became an apprentice of a joiner. I studied 2 years and in 1939 I was to take my specialty exam and obtain a certificate of qualification, but this didn’t happen after the fascist Germany attacked Poland. In August 1939 German troops came to Poland and the Great Patriotic War 8 began. My older brother David Gotlib-Shpringer was mobilized to the army.

Before German intervention there was no anti-Semitism in Poland. There were routinely incidents, but they were rare. We didn’t see Germans in Sambor. We read in newspapers and heard on the radio about intervention of Soviet troops. We had a radio at home. By the way, there were newspapers issued during the war. Of course, they were not delivered to people’s homes, but they were sold at post offices. We didn’t know anything about the Soviet Union before. When Soviet troops liberated Poland from fascists Sambor and Lvov districts were annexed to the USSR [annexation of Eastern Poland]. They became a part of the Ukrainian SSR. We were very happy about it. We thought that the USSR was a country of justice and equal possibilities for all nations and that it was a country where there was no anti-Semitism. There were many newcomers from the USSR. They were holding high official posts. The Russian language was introduced everywhere and it took me no time to pick it up. I liked Soviet girls very much. I remember once telling my mother that I would only marry a Russian girl and she jokingly threatened me with her rolling pin. Soviet authorities began their struggle against religion 9. They began to close temples of all religions and conduct anti-religious propaganda. Moishe and I became convinced atheists and my mother and father were distressed by it. They kept observing Jewish traditions and we were telling them that they were holding to vestige of the past.

During the Soviet regime private shops became the property of the state. The owner of the joiner shop where I was an apprentice was also taken away from my master. I failed too obtain my certificate of qualification. However, the railroad depot of Sambor employed me as a joiner. In the first months of my employment I joined Komsomol 10. There was a Jewish chief of the training department of the depot. His surname was Shluze. He suggested that I attended training classes for locomotive operators after work in the evening. I studied there 6 months and I was a successful trainee. I had a medical examination and there were no restrictions. I passed all exams and obtained a certificate of qualification to work as assistant locomotive operator of freight and passenger trains. I took my first trip in June 1940. Since then I worked as assistant locomotive operator and I earned well. My older brother Moishe worked as track foreman in this same depot. The younger children went to school. Since Moishe and I went to work the material situation in our family improved.

I could play few musical instruments: piano, accordion, saxophone. I took part in an amateur club of the Sambor depot. There was a brass orchestra that often performed at concerts. I was a saxophone player, a dancer, master of ceremonies and a soloist singer. So I went on trips according to the schedule to be able to attend rehearsals. In January 1941 our orchestra went to a contest of amateur performers in Moscow. After a concert organizers of this contest approached me and offered to move to Moscow and join the Lazar Kaganovich 11 ensemble. They promised that I would be able to obtain a certificate of locomotive operator in Moscow. I said I had to think it over and talk about it at home. When I came to Sambor and told my mother about this offer she asked me to work in Sambor till my younger sister and brothers finished school. The family needed my earnings. I agreed with my mother and wrote to Moscow that I would join them a couple of years later.

At 6 o’clock in the morning of 22 June 1941 I was to take a trip to Germany as an assistant locomotive operator. I came to the depot at 5 o’clock in the morning to obtain documents and do the final inspection of the locomotive before departure. I was surprised that there were no lights in the depot and there were many people in military uniforms on the platform. The depot radio announced that all depot employees had to stay in the depot and if they left it they would be executed. I didn’t understand what happened. At about 10 o’clock one of militaries announced that Germany attacked the Soviet Union without an announcement and that we were at war. I climbed my locomotive and saw another operator incinerating his documents: a Party membership card, certificate and something else. Then we were ordered to drive the locomotive to a train. When we drove there I saw that the train consisted of platforms for cattle transportation with hastily made plank sides and roofs. There were women and children crowding on the platform. It turned out that we were to evacuate families of the Harrison of Sambor. We headed Stryi and then Gusiatin. The train was bombed on the way, but it wasn’t damaged, fortunately. We stopped in Gusiatin for passengers to get water and food and members of the locomotive crew could rest. I fell asleep and when I woke up I saw that the locomotive operator was dead. He was killed with a shell splinter. There was no replacement operator available in the depot in Gusiatin. They provided an assistant and I had to drive the locomotive. We reached Kharkov [430 km from Kiev], our point of destination. Went to the depot office to get a job task. There was a military sitting there. He looked at my documents and gave me an application form to fill up. I wrote in this form that I studied German in a grammar school and when he saw it he told me to wait aside. There were few others in the group waiting. We boarded a truck and it left. We had no idea where we were going. We drove for few days. We were taken to a camp where they took us to take a bath and then we were given military uniforms. We didn’t know where the camp was located. Only later it turned out that it was in Moscow region. Few days we learned to shoot and crawl and studied service regulations. Then we were distributed to military units. I joined an intelligence unit as an interpreter, my major duty was to interpret interrogation of German captives. The regiment was deployed near Moscow. This was September 1941. There were no actions near Moscow and we moved to Byelorussia. I went scouting with the unit several times.

We lived in trenches for the most part. We excavated wider and deeper trenches and placed planks on top. We had branches of the ground floors and slept on our overcoats. Of course, these were unbearable conditions. Everything was difficult: washing and even combing. Combs and razors broke and there was nowhere to get new ones. We shaved with sharp blades or knives: whatever we had. For this reason many frontline men grew beards and moustache, though the service regulations didn’t allow it. In a short time we all got lice. There were happy moments when we could stay in village houses and got an opportunity to wash and put ourselves in order. There were no men, only elderly omen, in villages. All men of 18 through 50 years of age were at the front. Village women sympathized with us and gave us better food, though they didn’t have enough either. We could wash in a public bathroom when there was one in villages, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen often.

There was a field kitchen moving with our regiment. Food product supplies were delivered from the rear. There were delays during combat action, but then we had dried bread and tinned meat. It was hard for smokers. There were delays with tobacco delivery and then they smoked dry leaves and dried rind. Tobacco served as currency: one could exchange anything for it.

I didn’t stay long at the front. In January 1942 I was wounded in my arm and head. Our regiment medical unit provided first aid and then sent me to a rear hospital in Karaganda, Kazakhstan, in 2500 km from home, where I stayed for almost two months. When I was released from hospital I went to a military registry office to request them to send me back to my unit. The military commandant looked at my documents and said that there was a railroad crew formed in Karaganda and that he was sending me there. There were 3 columns formed and I joined the 28th locomotive column. There were 10-15 crews in each column, 12 members in each: 2 locomotive operators, 2 assistants, 2 stokers, 2 chiefs, 2 escort men, 2 foremen: those were 2 crews. We worked two shifts on trips: one crew taking a rest, another one working. There was a railcar carriage for crews to take a rest. There were plank beds and an iron stove where we could make something to eat. Chiefs and escort members were officers and the rest were privates. We hauled military force and military loads. We drove at night to avoid raids. When we transported weapons, especially rockets for ‘Katyusha’ units [Editor’s note: The Katyusha Rocket ‘Multiple Rocket Launcher’ BM-21], we attached those shipments in the middle of a train so that Germans couldn’t recognize their location. We hauled people, tanks and planes – anything. As a rule our destination points were near the frontline so that people or equipment could reach it promptly. There were frequent air raids. Almost in every trip there were losses of staff: crewmembers were wounded or killed. We looked death in the eyes every day. Of course, it was scaring, but not at work. During the shift I was calm and concentrated.

Only during my short service in the intelligence unit I didn’t face any anti-Semitism. When I was in the column they often called me zhyd [Editor’s note: ‘Zhydy’ (kike) – abusive nickname of Jews in the Soviet Union] in my absence or even looking me in my eyes. At first it was a shock for me and I tried to hit the counterpart, but then I tried to explain that it wasn’t nationality that mattered I don’t know which of these worked, but I didn’t suffer abuse again. But who knows what they were saying when I wasn’t there… They also awarded Jews so reluctantly and only when they couldn’t help doing it.

In 1944 I submitted my application to the Communist Party. Two locomotive operators of our column gave me recommendations. There was one-year term of candidateship before they admitted to the Party. I believed that to be a Party member was an honorable and responsible thing and that a communist had to be an example for all.

In March 1945 we already began to drive trains in the direction of Germany. In late March 1945 our crew was awarded with orders. A locomotive operator of my crew was awarded an Order of the great Patriotic war of the 1st grade and I was awarded the same order of the 2nd grade. I was also awarded medals ‘For Courage’ for fighting for various towns. [Editor’s note: There are orders and medals awarded to him for his combat deeds and labor achievements on his jacket, including the Order of Great Patriotic War, Order of Glory, medal for Defense of Stalingrad.]

In late April 1945 our train was running in the vicinity of Berlin, about 30 km. We didn’t reach Berlin, though. I remember a funny incident at a big station. A Soviet colonel came to the train and asked for a locomotive operator. I responded and he asked me to follow him. We came to the station and I saw a beautiful shining car there. This colonel said: ‘Start this car’ and I replied that I was a locomotive operator, not a car driver. He grew mad, called me stupid and told me to go away. He thought that everything that could move operated in the same way.

I met my wife in this locomotive column. In late 1944 our column was stationed in Nida, a Byelorussian town. Many girls came to work in the depot at Komsomol assignment. They sent a young girl from Pskov to work as a stoker with me. Antonina Fomina was born in Pskov in 1926. Her parents were farmers. Antonina had 3 brothers and 2 sisters. She was very industrious with her work. At first I didn’t take much notice of her. Later she told me that she noted my accuracy. Some operators had their cabin dirty or there was coal near the stove, but they didn’t care. I liked to keep my work place clean and orderly and then it felt better to work. I shaved every day and washed my uniform. She liked it and took a closer look at me. I was seeing Galina, a Jewish girl working in the depot. We went for walks and went dancing at he club. Once we went dancing and Galina refused to dance with me saying that she was tired, but almost right away she went for a dance with another guy. Of course, I felt hurt and told her that we would not be meeting any more. She jerked at me angrily: ‘Maybe you’ll marry your stoker girl?’ I replied: ‘That’s a good idea of yours!’ It was a joke then, but I took a closer look at Galina: she was a nice girl. Hardworking and pretty and I could see that she liked me. I invited Antonina to dance and then we began to take walks in the town after work. Shortly afterward I asked Antonina to be my wife. Since we were both assigned as military we had to obtain permission of chief of headquarters Stepanov and column commissar Natanin to get married. They signed our request and on 12 January 1945 we went to a registry office in Grodno, the nearest Byelorussian town where we got married. We had a wedding party at our work. There were tables set in the dining hall and chief of the column made us a wedding gift: few bottles of vodka. There was another gift: we were allowed 10 days of leave.

In the middle of 1944 I met with my family. I didn’t even know whether they were alive before. From Sambor they evacuated to the Ural and returned to our house after liberation of Sambor. My older brother David perished at the front in 1943 and the rest of my family survived. My parents couldn’t even imagine that I would marry a non-Jewish girl. Of course, I told my mother that I had my wife to meet her. My mother asked me to not tell my father that I got married. Even my sisters and brothers told me off for marrying a non-Jewish girl. I told them that I wouldn’t give up my wife for anybody. My future life showed me that I was right. When they met Antonina they got to liking her, even my mother. My father never knew that Antonina was my wife, he thought that she was just my friend. We stayed few days with them and then left for our unit.

We were near Berlin on Victory Day 12. Everybody was happy that this terrible war was over. People greeted and hugged one another. There were fireworks in the evening and orchestras playing in squares and streets. My wife and I were looking forward to demobilization, but we were told that our column was staying in Germany. We transported the military, military shipments and food. Only in October 1945 our column returned to Nida in Byelorussia. Only 19 of 300 who were initially in our column survived. We were awarded Stalin’s award letters. In this letter they thanked us for outstanding labor during the war on Stalin’s behalf and wished us success in peaceful labor.

I demobilized in early 1946. Railroad men from the Baltic Republics often came to Nida and they invited young locomotive operators to come to work there. They promised us lodging and good salaries, but I wanted to go back to Sambor where my family was. I didn’t know that my parents and siblings emigrated to Israel in late 1945. Only my older brother Moishe stayed in Sambor. But we didn’t meet with him: Moishe perished in early 1946. I didn’t know about it for a long time. They wrote me, but I didn’t receive their letter. My wife and I arrived at Sambor and went to my house: and there were strangers there. They told me that my family moved out. I felt distressed and bitter about it. I didn’t know that I could claim my house to be returned to me and nobody told me there was this opportunity. My wife and I were accommodated in the hostel of the railroad depot. I went to work there as a locomotive operator. In November 1946 our son Pyotr was born.

There were people who still remembered me in the railroad depot of Sambor. I submitted my application to the Party again and obtained recommendations. Chief of depot authorized me to organize an amateur club. I spent a lot of time organizing a choir and an orchestra. We began to perform at parties and in contests. My wife didn’t like it that I spent there my time that I could spend with my family. Later she confessed that she was jealous. Whatever, but she posed an ultimatum: a family or an orchestra. I chose a family, of course, but I had to give up my orchestra. When the Party bureau was reviewing my application, they blamed me that I didn’t accomplish my Party task: that I gave up this amateur activity. They didn’t admit me to the Party. I became a member of the party only in 1956. I was a convinced communist and a convinced atheist. Religion has been alien to me.

In 1950 I was sent to work in a depot of Lanovtsy station [360 km from Kiev] where I became chief of the depot. My wife and son stayed in Sambor till I received a lodging. In April 1951 our daughter Lilia was born in Sambor. In 1952 I received a dwelling in Lanovtsy and my family moved in with me. Antonina didn’t go to work. She was to stay with our baby daughter till she turned one year of age. Then our son went to a kindergarten and our daughter was sent to a nursery school. My wife went to work in the depot.

After the war anti-Semitism grew stronger. Cosmopolite processes 13 began. This period didn’t affect my family or our surrounding and I sincerely believed that the party was denouncing its enemies. Another round of anti-Semitism started after the Doctors’ Plot 14 in January 1953. And again I believed it was true that many Jews happened to be enemies and saboteurs of the soviet power. Of course, I didn’t tie Stalin’s name to the growth of anti-Semitism. When on 5 March 1953 Stalin died, it was a big blow and horror for me like for the majority of Soviet people. I remember, the railroad issued an order for all locomotives to stop on all stations with their horns on at 13 hours on 5 March. My locomotive stopped at Drogobych station and the horn was on for 5 minutes.

After Khrushchev’s 15 speech on the 20th Party Congress 16 my eyes opened. At first I believed him in disbelief. The thing is, we didn’t know what was happening in the USSR before 1939 when we lived in Poland. And later we didn’t have enough information. Gradually I began to think about it and compare things. I got to know that there were trains prepared to deport Jews to Birobijan 17, Siberia. From Khrushchev’s speech I understood that the ‘doctors’ plot’ and other ‘plots’ were organized specifically to strengthen anti-Semitism to justify deportation of Jews to Siberia. I understood that Stalin eliminated all Party officials and military leaders because they presented a threat to him, not because they were plotters and spies, as we were told. However, all Stalin’s followers were also destroying the country, each in his own way. But I understood this only later.

Locomotives were gradually replaced with electric locomotives. I finished a locomotive school with honors and they sent me to a depot in Chanyzh station [460 km from Kiev]. My family moved to Chanyzh with me. Our children went to school and my wife and I went to work. I liked spending my weekends with the family. We went for walks, to the cinema and theater. We didn’t celebrate any Jewish or Russian religious holidays at home. We celebrated birthdays and Soviet holidays. In the morning we went to a parade and then Antonina arranged a festive dinner at home. We often invited friends and colleagues. We traveled on our summer vacations. I could have free railroad tickets for the family and we traveled a lot across the country. We traveled to the south and north of the USSR and we liked tourist trips.

In 1966 I was transferred to the depot in Uzhhorod [700 km from Kiev], in Subcarpathia. This was a bigger town compared to where we lived before. We received a small 2-bedroom apartment called ‘khruschovka’ 18 and said it was to be our temporary dwelling and that we would receive another apartment. We lived in this ‘temporary’ dwelling for 12 years and only recently we got a comfortable apartment.

My wife decided to go to study. She finished a medical school and went to work as a lab assistant in a dermatovenerologic dispensary clinic where she worked until retirement.

My children studied well at school. They were ordinary Soviet children. They became pioneers and then Komsomol members. They didn’t face any anti-Semitism. They had my typical Jewish surname of Gotlib, but my wife and I decided to change their nationality to their mother's to avoid problems in the future, in the passport they are written down as Russian. My son liked my job very much. After school he often came to the depot where he helped me and asked questions. After finishing school he decided to enter the Locomotive faculty in a Railroad School in Lvov. He passed his entrance exams successfully and was admitted. My son studied well and received wonderful recommendations after every training session. After finishing this school Pyotr received a mandatory job 19 to the locomotive depot of Lvov. He worked there 3 years. In 1967, when his 3-year job assignment was over, Pyotr got a transfer to Uzhhorod depot. Back in Lvov he married Tatiana Yakovenko, a Ukrainian girl. My first grandson Pyotr was born in 1968, and my granddaughter Svetlana was born in 1976. Pyotr received a 2-bedroom apartment in Lvov. He worked at the depot until retirement. Locomotive operators retire at the age of 55. Pyotr has grandchildren. My grandson Pyotr’s daughter Kristina Gotlib was born in 1993, and Svetlana’s son Saveliy Andriyanov was born in 1992. Pyotr and Svetlana have non-Jewish spouses. This has never been a matter of importance in out family. What mattered was that they were nice people and loved our children.

My daughter Lilia finished school with a silver medal. She entered the Faculty of Electronics of Uzhhorod University. Upon graduation Svetlana got a job assignment to work as an engineer at Uzhhorod instrument making plant. She lives with us. Her private life never worked out. Her son Anton Gotlib was born in 1985. Now he is a 2nd-year student of Uzhhorod university. After perestroika the plant where Svetlana worked closed down. She went to work as an accountant at the department of railway passenger and freight transportation. She works there now.

From 1946 I’ve tried to find my family. I sent requests to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and tried to search them through the Red Cross. They replied that they had no information about them. Later I gave up those efforts: for a citizen of the USSR it was dangerous to have relatives abroad 20. Besides, I was a Party member. They found me after we moved to Uzhhorod in the late 1970s. I received a letter from my younger sister Haya. She wrote that she wanted to come to the USSR to see me, but they didn’t issue her an entry visa. She went to Hungary. It was easier for residents of Subcarpathia to obtain a Hungarian visa compared to the rest of the USSR and I went to Budapest to meet with my sister. Of course, we were so happy to see each other. We didn’t even hope that we would meet again. My sister told me about my dear ones. After returning from the front my older brother Moishe worked in the depot of Sambor. He perished in 1946, he was smashed between two trains. He was married, but they didn’t have children. My father died in Israel at the age of 67 in 1955. After he died my mother lived with Sima and her family. Sima married a Jewish man in Sambor before they moved to Israel. She didn’t work after getting married. She has a son, but I don’t remember his name. Haya married a Jewish man from the USSR in Israel. Her family name is Strikovskaya. She finished an accounting school in Israel and worked as an accountant till she retired. Haya and her husband have two daughters: Tsviya and Esta. They are married to Jewish men and live in Haifa. I don’t remember their marital surnames. My younger brother Shmil finished a Construction College in Israel and worked as a construction superintendent. He is married and has a son and two grandsons. He named his son Abram after our father. Shmil and his family have lived in New York, USA, for over 20 years. The youngest, Eshiye, finished a construction school and made stucco decorations. Eshiye got married in Israel. His wife’s name is Sarra. They have no children. In 1966 Eshiye moved to New York, USA. Eshiye and his wife loved each other, but unfortunately, they had no children. Eshiye was the best at music in our family. He could play any instrument and had wonderful voice. Regretfully, my brother died too early. He had throat cancer. He had few surgeries, but they didn’t help. Eshiye died in New York in 1972. I couldn’t go to his funeral due to strong iron curtain 21, separating the USSR from the rest of the world. We couldn’t even imagine traveling abroad on a visit. Later, in 1982 my sister could come to Uzhhorod and we met again.

When in the 1970s Jews began to move to Israel, I didn’t want to go. I love my wife so and I was afraid she would face this prejudiced attitude as Jews face here. Also, my children were not considered to be Jews according to Jewish laws because their mother wasn’t a Jew. According to the Jewish law, there are two ways someone can be a Jew. You can either be born a Jew, which means that your mother is Jewish, or you can convert. A convert is called a ger which literally means stranger. Being born a Jew means that if your mother is Jewish then so are you, if she isn’t then neither are you. It doesn’t matter whether your father is Jewish or not. Besides, I didn’t hope to find a job at my age and I didn’t want to be a dependent receiving welfare. However, I sympathized with those who decided to leave and wished them to be happy with their new life.

I became a pensioner in 1977, but I continued to work in the depot. Firstly, it was hard to live without working. It seemed to me I would die if I quit my job. Besides, it was hard to live on a pension. I had to support my daughter. I got a job of a track dispatcher. It was an interesting and responsible job and I liked it. I worked in the depot until 1992. Only after I had my first stroke my family talked me out of going to work.

When perestroika 22 became I thought that Gorbachev’s 23 promises were idle. Whatever hadn’t they promised on behalf of the Party… But then there were notable changes. The dead wall separating the USSR from the rest of the world, fell down. Soviet people got an opportunity to travel to other countries and invite their relatives and friends from abroad. In 1991 I visited my relatives in Israel. It happened a year before, in 1990, that my wonderful and beloved mother died. She lived 94 years and until her last days she was in sound mind and she remained kind. I never saw her. I only managed to visit her grave in a Jewish cemetery in Rishon LeZiyyon. My mother and father were buried nearby and according to Jewish rules, of course. 2 months of my stay in Israel flew by like one day. I met with my family and saw my friends who had moved there long before. Israel is a beautiful country and I am happy to have visited it at least at my old age. Of course, perestroika gave me this opportunity. However, I think perestroika took away from much more than it gave. During perestroika our society divided into the rich and the poor. I still think they shouldn’t have allowed this. In the end perestroika ended in the breakup of the USSR [editor’s note: Breakup of the USSR: Yeltsin in 1991 signed a deal with Russia's neighbours that formalized the break up of the Soviet Union. The USSR was replaced by the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS).]. Life became harder. I was an ace, the best locomotive operator, I have over 20 awards for my work, but now I am a beggar.

After declaration of independence the rebirth of the Jewish life in Ukraine began. Before Hesed was established in Uzhhorod in 1999 the Jewish community began its activities in Uzhhorod. People began to go to the synagogue freely and stopped hiding their Jewish identity. I’ve never attended the synagogue. I’ve been an atheist, though I believe in some superior force supervising us. My wife Antonina began to attend a women’s club at the synagogue. We joke at home that Antonina is more Jewish than me. At least, it was her initiative to celebrate Jewish holidays at home. We do not celebrate Sabbath. On Jewish holidays Antonina cooks traditional Jewish food. We always have matzah at Pesach. However, we also have bread at home at Pesach since my grandson doesn’t think it necessary to refuse from it. As for my wife and I, we do not eat bread at Pesach. My wife insists that I do not fast. She doesn’t think my health condition is fit for fasting. I’ve never strived to it, but I’ve got adjusted. Almost all of my wife’s friends are Jewish ladies. They taught her to cook traditional Jewish food and my wife cooks for holidays. Only my mother could make as delicious gefilte fish as my wife. My wife and I read Jewish newspapers and magazines Vek (Century), and Yevreyskiye Vesti (Jewish news) that we receive in Hesed and then we discuss what we’ve read. Of course, Hesed helps us to survive. They used to bring us meals from Hesed, but my wife and I decided we would have them brings us food packages rather than cooked meals. Not because their meals were not good. It’s just that I, like any other man, think that my wife can cook better. Hesed provides medications and makes arrangements for a stay in hospital, if necessary. When my grandson Anton was at school he went to Jewish summer camps. He is much closer to Jewish life than me. Unfortunately, after my illness I cannot go to meeting or concerts in Hesed. I hardly ever leave my home, but we constantly feel Hesed’s care. This is how it should be: if Jews hadn’t supported each other, they wouldn’t have survived and wouldn’t remain a nation through centuries.

Glossary:

1 Common name

Russified or Russian first names used by Jews in everyday life and adopted in official documents. The Russification of first names was one of the manifestations of the assimilation of Russian Jews at the turn of the 19th and 20th century. In some cases only the spelling and pronunciation of Jewish names was russified (e.g. Isaac instead of Yitskhak; Boris instead of Borukh), while in other cases traditional Jewish names were replaced by similarly sounding Russian names (e.g. Eugenia instead of Ghita; Yury instead of Yuda). When state anti-Semitism intensified in the USSR at the end of the 1940s, most Jewish parents stopped giving their children traditional Jewish names to avoid discrimination.

2 Five percent quota

In tsarist Russia the number of Jews in higher educational institutions could not exceed 5% of the total number of students.

3 Pogroms in Ukraine

In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.

4 Froebel Institute

F. W. A. Froebel (1783-1852), German educational theorist, developed the idea of raising children in kindergartens. In Russia the Froebel training institutions functioned from 1872-1917 The three-year training was intended for tutors of children in families and kindergartens.

5 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

6 Annexation of Eastern Poland

According to a secret clause in the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact defining Soviet and German territorial spheres of influence in Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union occupied Eastern Poland in September 1939. In early November the newly annexed lands were divided up between the Ukranian and the Belarusian Soviet Republics.

7 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.

8 Great Patriotic War

9 Struggle against religion

10 Komsomol

11 Kaganovich, Lazar (1893-1991)

Soviet Communist leader. A Jewish shoemaker and labor organizer, he joined the Communist Party in 1911. He rose quickly through the party ranks and by 1930 he had become Moscow party secretary-general and a member of the Politburo. He was an influential proponent of forced collectivization and played a role in the purges of 1936-38. He was known for his ruthless and merciless personality. He became commissar for transportation (1935) and after the purges was responsible for heavy industrial policy in the Soviet Union. In 1957, he joined in an unsuccessful attempt to oust Khrushchev and was stripped of all his posts.

12 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

13 Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’

14 Doctors’ Plot

15 Khrushchev, Nikita (1894-1971)

16 At the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956 Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what had happened in the USSR during Stalin’s leadership

17 Birobidzhan

Formed in 1928 to give Soviet Jews a home territory and to increase settlement along the vulnerable borders of the Soviet Far East, the area was raised to the status of an autonomous region in 1934. Influenced by an effective propaganda campaign, and starvation in the east, 41,000 Soviet Jews relocated to the area between the late 1920s and early 1930s. But, by 1938 28,000 of them had fled the regions harsh conditions, There were Jewish schools and synagogues up until the 1940s, when there was a resurgence of religious repression after World War II. The Soviet government wanted the forced deportation of all Jews to Birobidzhan to be completed by the middle of the 1950s. But in 1953 Stalin died and the deportation was cancelled. Despite some remaining Yiddish influences - including a Yiddish newspaper - Jewish cultural activity in the region has declined enormously since Stalin's anti-cosmopolitanism campaigns and since the liberalization of Jewish emigration in the 1970s. Jews now make up less than 2% of the region's population.

18 Khrushchovka

Five-storied apartment buildings with small one, two or three-bedroom apartments, named after Nikita Khrushchev, head of the Communist Party and the Soviet Union after Stalin’s death. These apartment buildings were constructed in the framework of Khrushchev’s program of cheap dwelling in the new neighborhood of Kiev.

19 Mandatory job assignment in the USSR

Graduates of higher educational institutions had to complete a mandatory 2-year job assignment issued by the institution from which they graduated. After finishing this assignment young people were allowed to get employment at their discretion in any town or organization.

20 Keep in touch with relatives abroad

The authorities could arrest an individual corresponding with his/her relatives abroad and charge him/her with espionage, send them to concentration camp or even sentence them to death.

21 Iron Curtain

22 Perestroika (Russian for restructuring)

23 Gorbachev, Mikhail (1931- )

Anna Gliena

Anna Gliena
Lvov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: December 2002

Anna Gliena lives in an old and beautiful house in one the most picturesque streets in Lvov. I ring the doorbell and an old stout woman opens the door. She inquires me about the purpose of my visit. She happens to be Anna Timofeeva, a Russian woman that attends to Anna Gliena. The mistress of the house has been bed-ridden for a long time. She has a number of old-age ailments that could be cured given the right care, but one can tell that she lacks such care. There is old furniture in the room that becomes of vale nowadays while back in 1950s those cupboards, sideboards and stools were easily thrown away as old junk. She has portraits of her mother and brother on the walls. Anna’s bed sheets have not been changed for long. She has a dirty and creased kerchief on her head. She doesn’t seem to care. When I ask her if I could take a photo of her next time when she had her hair done she refuses flatly. However, Anna is glad to have this opportunity to tell her story. Her attendant lends her ears to our conversation and Anna cannot talk openly in her presence, particularly when it comes to discussion of specific Jewish subjects. Anna Timofeevna is reluctant to follow my request to wait somewhere else until we finish our discussion. Even when she leaves I know that she is eavesdropping from behind the door. She makes her living by attending to Anna Gliena and she suspects a competitor in every visitor. Anna Gliena has promised to leave her apartment to this woman’s son and now she has fallen to be dependent on this woman.

My maternal grandfather Iosif Meyerovich was born in a town within the Pale of Settlement 1 in the Russian Empire in the 1860s. When he grew of age he was recruited to the tsarist army and served in it 25 years. He was a tailor and inherited this profession. He must have been very good at it since he made uniforms to his commanders. At the beginning of his service Iosif Meyerovich lived in a barrack with other soldiers. His regiment was in a small Lithuanian town of Ponedele town my mother told me. I’ve never again heard this word. My brother and I were trying to find the town, but failed.

My mother told me it was a very small town and the majority of its population was Jewish. There was a synagogue in the center: a plank rectangular building with an upper tier for women. It was a poor synagogue with no decorations inside or outside the building. There was a one-storied brick building across the street from the synagogue: a Jewish bank. Most of the buildings in the town were made of wood. Jews were craftsmen in their majority: tailors, shoemakers, bakers or merchants.

On Jewish holidays, Pesach in particular, Jewish soldiers were allowed to dress up in their uniforms for special occasions to go to the synagogue and then they could visit some hospitable Jewish family to celebrate seder. My grandfather went to a tailor’s family, of course. He met his daughter Leya. She was 16 years old and Iosif was 25. This was in 1885. A Russian colonel – my grandfather made uniforms for him, gave his permission to their marriage. According to the family legend he even attended their wedding. They had a traditional Jewish wedding party with a chuppah, a rabbi from the synagogue and a number of guests. My grandfather Iosif Meyerovich and my grandmother’s family were religious and observed all Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays. My mother recalled that her father got up early in the morning and prayed. He fasted and went to the synagogue every Saturday. He had finished cheder and could read Jewish religious books in Hebrew. Shortly after the wedding my grandfather obtained permission to live with his family. He rented a small wooden house where he arranged a small shop in the basement. He didn’t have a sewing machine and did all work manually. After serving in the army 25 years my grandfather didn’t live long. He died in 1902. Iosif Meyerovich had asthma and my mother heard him dying of an asthmatic fit in the next-door room.

My mother told me little about her mother. Se said she was a humble Jewish woman. She wore a wig and was a good housewife. My grandmother gave birth to another baby almost every year. They were weak and sickly and my mother was the only survivor. Grandmother Leya died in 1904. I don’t know what caused her death. My grandmother and grandfather were buried at the Jewish cemetery in accordance with all Jewish traditions.

My mother Rosa, was born in 1887. In their Jewish neighborhood in her town Yiddish was the language they spoke in families and sang songs in Yiddish, so of course, it was my mother’s mother tongue. My grandfather’s clients spoke Russian to grandfather when they came to make orders so my mother picked up this language when she was a child. Many residents in Lithuania spoke German and my mother picked up this language as well. In this way my mother that had no education and never studied, could only write her signature and read a little, could also speak a few languages. My mother rarely recalled her childhood in this small town. She liked talking about fairs on Christian holidays and colorful performances. There was no religious or national segregation and people enjoyed these gatherings and had lots of fun. This was probably the only entertainment in this small town.

After her parents died my mother had a small amount of money that she decided to spend on traveling. In early 20th century it was common for young people to travel to European countries. They formed groups (most often these were professional groups: of teachers, doctors or post office employees) of young people that had common interests, etc. There were Jewish groups of young people that were fond of traveling. These tours were not so costly. My mother recalled their tour to Germany. They stayed in inexpensive hotels in Bremen, Munich, Dresden and toured these towns. They also went to Great Britain. My mother told me that when they got to London they were unaware of the rules and customs in this city. One of them was that if a young girl went out with her head uncovered it meant that she was a girl of easy virtue and they might take her to a brothel. When my mother heard about it she bought a little hat. My mother even thought of staying in London and getting a job of a housemaid, shop assistant or seamstress. She didn’t feel like going back to her small town. She liked many things about this huge city, but she couldn’t find a job and besides, she became sickly due to the climate: frequent fogs and dampness. She had splitting headaches and gained migraine that she suffered from for the rest of her life. Rosa Meyerovich had to leave London. She was going back via Warsaw [before 1918 Warsaw was a part of the Russian Empire]. My mother was a tall, stately and pretty girl with big hazel eyes. She liked to dress according to the fashion. She had beautiful black hair that she liked to arrange in a popped manner. She also had a beautiful voice and she liked singing. She sang Jewish songs in Yiddish and popular songs in other languages. One couldn’t help being attracted by such girl. My mother met a young shoemaker in Warsaw that happened to be Samuel Gliena, a Jew. He came from a small town near Warsaw. I don’t remember its name.

I have never heard of a Jewish family from a small town near Warsaw with such strange family name. It doesn’t sound Jewish or Polish. My father’s family was very poor. There were poor Jews living in this small town. My father’s father Froim Gliena was born in 1860s. He was a shoemaker, but he could hardly earn enough to support his family. There were more shoemakers than residents that could afford to buy an extra pair of shoes. My grandfather was very religious. His life consisted of prayers and work. He believed that his being a righteous man would one day bring wealth into his family, but there was only poverty awaiting for them. My grandmother Khana was born in 1865. She was a plain religious woman with no education. She had to go to work for a Polish landlord for additional earnings to make ends meet. She often got payment in food products rather than money.

They spoke Yiddish in the family. My grandfather studied in cheder and could write in Yiddish, but I don’t think he could read anything, but his book of prayers. My grandmother had no education whatsoever, and the letters that we received from her in 1930s were written by somebody else. Grandmother was very old. My father left his home when he was young. My grandfather and grandmother died tragically. In 1939, when Germans came to Poland, they set my grandparents’ home on fire and my grandparents perished. We got to know about this after World War II. I don’t know what happened to my father’s sisters and brothers: there were at least 12 of them. My father told me their names, but I don’t remember.

My father Samuel Gliena was born in this small town near Warsaw in 1885. He left for Warsaw on foot when he turned 14. He became an apprentice of a shoemaker for ‘food and accommodation’. He worked and slept in the shop in the basement of his master’s house. There was not a single tree in the yard. This was a Jewish neighborhood in the town and life was no different there from the life of Jewish families in a small and poor Jewish town. My father did not only have to do work in his master’s shop, but also look after his children and do other housekeeping chores. My father didn’t like to recall his youth. He didn’t have any bad feelings toward his master and his family, though. Those people had a hard life. My father learned to make shoes and boots within 2-3 years. He got his own clients and began to dress up to fashion and pay attention to girls. In 1904 Samuel Gliena met a bright young girl traveling from London. It was love at first sight. My mother stayed in Warsaw and moved in with my father in his basement. They got married shortly afterward. They had a wedding in Warsaw. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and a rabbi from the nearest synagogue. Everybody admired the beauty of the bride and my father always worshipped my mother ever after.

1905 was an uneasy year with continuous clashes between Poles and Ukrainians, Ukrainians and Jews and there were revolutionary ideas in the air. Somebody advised my father to move to Kharkov. They said it was quieter and easier to find a job there. The newly weds moved to Kharkov and rented an apartment in Goncharovka Street. My father got a job in a shoe shop. The owner of the shop was a Jew. He closed his shop on Saturday and Jewish holidays. My mother was a housewife. They observed Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays. My mother followed kashrut when cooking, but I wouldn’t call my family deeply religious. My father didn’t wear a kippah and shave his beard, but he had a moustache. My mother only covered her hair when going to the synagogue on Pesach and Yom Kippur. However, mother lit candles every Friday before Sabbath. She put on a kerchief and prayed over candles. Each time she mentioned that this was how her mother used to do it and that beautiful silver candlesticks were the only thing she got from her parents. These candlesticks disappeared during the Great Patriotic War 2.

In 1909 my older brother Osher was born. Later he began to be called with a Russian name of Roman 3. A year later in 1910 Bella was born and in 1914 Israel was born.

My mother told me that Bella was a very sweet girl. She was a very clean girl and when my mother had a headache she closed shutters on the windows saying ‘Mother, you go lie down and I shall wash dishes and clean up’. Bella died of scarlet fever at the age of 5. My brother Israel also died at that time. He had a bloody flux. My mother was in hospital with Bella and the little boy was in his nanny’s care. He must have grabbed something from the floor and eaten it that caused the bloody flux. Bella and Israel died in 1915 and were buried at the Jewish cemetery in accordance with the Jewish traditions. My parents often went to the cemetery and my father used to take me there, too. I remember that their graves were by a wall and there were boards with their names in Yiddish on the graves.

I was born in 1917. My mother was very weak and sickly and had migraines. She hired a nanny to look after me. My nanny’s name was Anna Grigorenko. She was a Ukrainian woman. She spoke beautiful Ukrainian and sang Ukrainian songs. My mother and father spoke Yiddish. I picked up Yiddish and Ukrainian. Since Russian is spoken much in Kharkov I picked up Russian, too. My older brother Osher became the dearest person in my life. He was the nicest and most handsome man and had a beautiful voice. My brother studied at a grammar school in Kharkov. However, after the revolution of 1917 4 this grammar school was dismissed and my brother followed into my father’s steps. My brother was a hardworking person and everything he took up worked out very well. Osher became fond of theater and attended a drama club in a cultural center. He was very talented and got to play the leading roles in Ukrainian plays and performances about the Civil War 5. Performances were in Russian or Ukranian. There was a theater near our house. My mother and brother were both theatergoers. My mother told me that there were actors living in the neighborhood and they often invited my mother to their performances. She used to take my brother to the theater with her. Some playwrights and screenwriters noted my brother’s gifts and sent him to study at the studio in the Russian Drama Theater in Kharkov. He started work in touring groups, or drama clubs in kolkhozes until he got a job at the theater for young spectators in Kharkov before the Great Patriotic War. When working in the theater my brother changed his name to Roman. It doesn’t mean that he was ashamed of his Jewish name, but it was better for his career to have a Russian name working in a Russian theater. At home my brother switched to Yiddish. Our father taught my brother to read in Yiddish. We had Talmud books at home and my father and brother read them. I remember that at Pesach they recited prayers. I was small and fell asleep early. They woke me up at midnight when it was time for seder. I don’t remember celebration of other religious holidays at home. My parents went to synagogue 2-3 times a year, but they didn’t take me with them. We had Russian classics at home: Pushkin 6, Lermontov 7 and many others and I read a lot when I went to school and learned to read.

I have dim memories about the period of Revolution or Civil War – I was too young. I know that life was very hard and at times we had no food at home. I remember sitting on the porch waiting for my mother and father coming back from the market. I was very happy when they brought something for me. Once they brought me a little dress and I was so happy.

In 1918 the shop where my father worked was converted into a factory. My father worked a lot and when he came home in the evening he continued working: he was fixing shoes for all neighbors. My father was a kind man and couldn’t refuse anybody. Due to his kindness we lost one room. We had two rooms and a kitchen. It goes without saying that we didn’t have a bathroom or toilet. There was a tap and a sink in the kitchen, but we fetched water from a well. There was a bucket in the kitchen that served as a toilet and there was a toilet facility in the yard. There was a wood stoked stove that heated the rooms. However, this was a common apartment for the time. In 1923 my father bumped into an acquaintance that he knew when living in Poland. That man said that he had divorced his wife and had no place to live. My father offered him to stay at our place overnight. He came and stayed and a week later his wife joined him. They began to live in this room. I remember that her name was Sophia, but I don’t remember his name. They were Jews. Some time later they moved out, but then another woman came to live in this room.

I remember the day when Lenin 8 died in January 1924. I remember people crying and grieving a lot. There was a shop in our house and a big portrait of Lenin in its window. I came to kiss the glass where the portrait was behind it and my lips froze to the glass. When I tore them off the glass they were bleeding. What a fool I was. We all believed in the Soviet power and Lenin was a holy man for us.

I went to school in 1924. On the first day I went there by myself. I was a brave girl. At that time it was common for Russian children to study in Russian schools, Ukrainian children went to Ukrainian schools and Jewish children went to Jewish schools. Thus, I went to a Jewish school. There were four Jewish schools in Kharkov. We studied Yiddish, Russian, mathematics, physics and drawing. We studied in Yiddish and had Jewish teachers. I don’t remember their names, but I remember that they were nice and cheerful. I was elected a head girl in my class. I became a young Octobrist 9 in the first or second grade. We had badges with a portrait of young Lenin and were called ‘Lenin’s grandchildren’. Later we became pioneers. My parents were proud that their daughter was taking such active part in public activities. I organized gathering of metal scrap at school. We picked waste casseroles and samovars and felt proud that we could make our contribution in manufacture of new tractors and locomotives for our country.

My childhood dream was to become an actress. I went to a ballet class at the age of 10. My brother was working in the opera comedy theater and he arranged for me to take classes with their prima ballerina Klavochka. There were two other girls in her class. We began to come out onto the stage when required. Then one day my brother came home and said ‘That’s it for you. I am to be the only actor in our family'. It turned out that he noted one ballerina of indecent conduct and forbade me to continue my studies. I didn’t mind. I was fond of skating. Skating stretches one’s muscle’s while in ballet they need to be strained.

I had many friends at school. Many of our boys perished at the front during the Great patriotic War. My closest friend was Nadia Kartud. We were sitting at the same desk in class. We were like sisters and even dressed alike. Nadia’s mother made clothes for us. Nadia finished a college and became a librarian. She married a Soviet German man 10 from Saratov before the Great Patriotic War. When the Great Patriotic War began he was arrested. Many Germans were arrested then. Soviet authorities didn’t trust them and feared their cooperation with fascists. Nadia followed him to Siberia. Their son was born there. I also had other friends: Inna Kisler, Cheva Boguslavskaya. When I visited Kharkov in 1978 we got together at Nadia’s home and we recalled our school years. Nadia’s husband had died and about ten years ago Nadia’s son moved to Israel. Nadia went with him. She died few years ago.

My mother went to work when I was at school. She took work to do at home. She made leather bags of straps of leather. Later she made them in a shop. She used to sing when working. This shop sent my mother to a likbez 11 school. My mother learned to read well, but she couldn’t write whatsoever. At times she had splitting headaches and put her head under cold water to reduce the pain. She was awarded a trip to a resort in Odessa in 1934 for her remarkable performance at work. Then her management made arrangements for her to retire and get a pension of an invalid. It was a miserable pension. We could hardly make ends meet, but my mother could not really go to work.

I remember in 1933 at the time of forced famine 12 my mother and I had to stand in lines for bread. Later there were bread coupons issued: there were different rates for workers, clerks and dependents. My father was a worker and had a worker’s bread coupon. I remember stared people in the streets, but I saw no dead bodies, Perhaps, I was just lucky to have not seen them.

I went to work at the age of 16 to help to support the family. I became a tutor in a kindergarten. I just bumped into this job announcement in a street: ‘’A kindergarten tutor required’. I went to the kindergarten to ask and they hired me without delay. I liked children and did well at work, even though I had no professional education. There were children of various nationalities in the kindergarten. Their piano teacher suggested that we staged short puppet performances for the children. Again, it worked out well. We began to show these fairy tales in other kindergartens and clubs. I was thinking of going to work in a puppet theater, but somehow it never came to it. My parents were not very happy with my job. I earned little and they thought it wasn’t a serious profession.
There was a museum of Skovoroda [Hryhori Skovoroda (1722 –1794) Ukrainian philosopher, mystic, poet, author of the collection of poems Garden of Divine Songs.]. There was inventory in their library and I just happened to drop by. I got amused to see so many books and I began to work in libraries. The first library where I worked was the central scientific library at Kharkov University. I released books by the lists that students submitted to a librarian. There was a five-storied book storeroom and I ran up and down the stairs to find all books needed, but later I learned the stocks and didn’t have to run that much. There were books in Russian and Ukrainian. I don’t remember Jewish books. Later I finished a course for librarians. I liked books and this work. I worked in the library until the war began in 1941.
We believed what newspapers wrote to be true. When I got lists of authors to extract their books from stocks I didn’t give it much thought. I never considered why those authors were honored before and then became ‘enemies of the people’ [‘Enemy of the people’: an official way mass media called political prisoners in the USSR] all of a sudden. Later they began to say: ‘1937, 1937’ – a horrific deadly year [Great Terror] 13, but then it was just life and we enjoyed being young and sang Soviet songs -‘Hey how good life is in the Soviet country…’ When our acquaintances got arrested we believed they were guilty and did something wrong to the Soviet power. We were common people and there weren’t too many among us that suffered arrests. My father continued his work at the shoe factory. When he was not at work he fixed shoes of our neighbors and friends. My mother was a housewife and went to synagogue on Jewish holidays. The biggest pleasure for my mother was going to the theater. Later my mother got fond of the sound cinema. She watched Soviet comedies many times and sang songs from them. My friends and I went dancing or to concerts on weekends and holidays. We also went to the cinema or out of town whenever weather permitted.

My brother Osher became one of the leading actors in the theater for young spectators and played leading roles. They staged plays about heroes of the Civil War, denunciation of enemies of the Soviet power. Their performances developed patriotic feelings and hatred toward enemies in children. We often went to the theater. The art director of the theater valued my brother high. He received a small room in a communal apartment 14 near the theater. My brother married an actress. Her name was Claudia and she was Russian. My father and mother were not very happy about his marriage, but not because she was not a Jew – this was a matter of no importance at the time - , but because they thought Claudia was a frivolous and flippant person. Osher was very independent. He respected our parents, but he relied on his own opinions. Well, he should have listened to his parents. He divorced his wife few years later. They didn’t have children. He had lovers afterward, but he never remarried.

My personal life didn’t develop, even though I had many friends and was a sociable girl. In 1939 I met Boris Suchodolski, a young worker of Kharkov tractor plant. He was tall, blond, joyful and nice. We met at the library and he invited me to go dancing in the cultural center. In 1940 we were married at a registry office. We only had a civil ceremony. We didn’t have a wedding party. I didn’t have a wedding gown. I took few hours off work and Boris worked 2nd shift on this day. I came home after work and told my mother that I got married. My mother was upset and cried, but not because he was Russian, but because she believed that girls had to get married in a different manner and according to the rules. I lived with Boris in his room that he received from the plant, but I often went to see my parents. Boris came from the family of workers and his parents treated me nicely, but we never came to knowing more about each other. In July 1941 Boris Suchodolski was recruited to the army and perished shortly afterward. I even didn’t have his photograph as if he had never existed.

We didn’t think about the war. Newspapers wrote that Germans were our biggest friends and we believed it. Shortly before the war I borrowed “The Oppermanns” by Lion Feuchtwanger 15. This work was written in 1933. [It was an instant response to the political situation in Germany, prompted by interest in British government circles in making an anti-Nazi film.]

When the war began my husband went to the army and I returned to my parents’ home. The theater where my brother was working was to evacuate. Many actors were taken to the army and many volunteered to the front. My brother had no replacement and when he received a warrant to come to the military registry office secretary of the Party unit of the theater went to see chief of the registry office, explained the situation to him and obtained a temporary permit for my brother to stay at the theater.

The theater provided train boarding tickets to members of families of its employees and my brother obtained such for my mother and was having one filled up for me. My mother was living at the theater with my brother. She worked at the costumes office and I was staying at home with my father, a cat and a dog. Later the cat ran away. We couldn’t obtain a train ticket at the railway station for a long time and when we finally got one we still didn’t have a boarding permit for my father, since he wasn’t a theater employee and it was hard to get them for relatives.

My father went to the railway station with us and even got into a railcar and I was hoping that he was going with us when an actress came and said ‘it is too overcrowded here. Those that do not have official grounds to be here, leave the car’. This was the first time in my life when I heard the phrase ‘Jews know their ways’. My father got up and went out. He was very proud. My brother that time was getting a boarding ticket for our father. My father said before he stepped off the stairs: ‘Kind meyne [Yiddish for my child], we shall not see each other again. Take care’. And he left. We were trying to look for him, but he was not there. Then our train stooped in the outskirts of Kharkov and I wanted to run back to look for our father, but he had left. That was it. When Kharkov was liberated I wrote letters to our Russian neighbors that I thought stayed during the occupation, but they didn’t reply. I don’t know anything. All I know is that he is not to be found anywhere in the world. Nobody knows what happened to Papa. Of course, he perished during the occupation, but how and where? I will never know. Our theater was on tour in Kharkov in 1947. I went to our house, came as far as our porch and fainted. There were different tenants in the house. Nobody knew me.

We were told that we were moving to Ulan-Ude, farther than the Lake Baikal, 4500 km from home. Our trip lasted two or three months. There were air raids and people scattered around to hide, but mother said ‘I am not going out, I am staying here’. I stayed with her. We didn’t have money or food, nothing, but the watch that my father gave me. We had to sell it to get some food. There were free meals given at some stations, but how was one supposed to survive in between?

We covered 3000 km and got off at Poltoratskoye village in about 250 km from the Lake Balkhash in Southern Kazakhstan. There were steppes and desert around. There were Kazakhs selling tomatoes and potatoes, but we didn’t have any money or clothes to exchange for food. We were accommodated in the cultural center. There was a little stove in this building. We received food packages at the kolkhoz where I worked in the field picking cotton. The plants had rough stems with thorns that injured hands. After work we took a bunch of stems to stoke the stove.

There were no Russian-speaking residents in this village. They were Kazakh and Uzbek people that didn’t seem to care about the theater or culture in the general sense. We were transferred to Pavlodar, the capital of Northern Kazakhstan. We covered over 700 km on a truck across the steppe. We had rehearsals and performances in Pavlodar and received food packages. It’s hard to tell how exhausted and starved people were. We received flour with water and people asked three or more treatments so starved they were.

Our theater gave performances in Ukrainian in Kharkov and we had to translate them into Russian. I worked at the audience department at the theater. I was to go to factories and plants, schools and hospitals to distribute tickets. My mother continued working in the costumes office. There were many Jewish employees at the theater. They got together on Jewish holidays, lit candles and made matzah from the flour that we received. I don’t think there was a synagogue in Pavlodar since there were no local Jews in Pavlodar. Our theater toured to kolkhozes and smaller towns. We had performances on the subjects of the time: about the front, victory, partisans and women working heroically in the rear and waiting for their husbands.

I faced open anti-Semitism for the first time in Pavlodar. It generated from those that evacuated from Western Ukraine and Belarus. They contracted hatred toward Jews from fascists. [Editor’s note: the anti-Semitic sentiments of the Belarussian and Ukrainian evacuees were most probably not the result of any Nazi impact. As early as the 17th Century Chmielnicki in the Ukraine perpetrated large-scale massacres. In the late 19th and early 20th Century pogroms were widespread in the Ukraine and in Belarus. Between 1903 and 1906, among others, Gomel, Odessa, Kiev, Kaments Podolsk were scenes of mass killings of Jews] There were Jews in evacuation in the town. Life was very hard and if they noticed that a Jew was doing better than the others they hissed wickedly ‘Ouh, zhydy!’ [kikes].

We stayed in Pavlodar until autumn 1942, until we received an order from Moscow about moving to Novokuznetsk [called Stalinsk at the time]. We stayed there about two years. Novokuznetsk is a big industrial town in the south of Siberia, on the Tom River in 4500 km from Kiev. It was built during the Soviet regime. Many people evacuated to this town. They worked at military enterprises ‘forging the victory’, as they said. There was order and discipline in the town. We were accommodated in the hostel of the town theater. Director of the theater offered me a position of chief administrator of the theater. He arranged a meeting with all employees of the theater and introduced me to them. This was a great promotion. We continued going on tours and I was responsible for making accommodations for actors. We stayed in various apartments. There was another actor living with us and my mother, my brother and I shared one room. The owner of this apartment lodged in the kitchen. The temperatures dropped down to minus 60° and the owner took her cow into the kitchen since it was freezing in the cowshed. The cow, of course, felt free with her needs in the kitchen.

All employees at the theater supported each other. Our theater shared the building with a theater from Zaporozhye, but our theater was more popular since we had wonderful performances. My brother played the leading roles in them.

Of course, we watched the situation at the front. The day of liberation of Kharkov in autumn 1943 was our happiest day. We were eager to go home, but to do this we needed a special order or permit.

When Ukraine was liberated we were notified that or theater was moving to Lvov. We were well aware that thee was nothing good waiting for us in Kharkov while there were facilities and apartments in Lvov available in 1944-1945 since it had been annexed to the USSR in 1939 [Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 16. A part of its population left the town with the Germans, almost all Poles moved to Poland and another part of its population was deported to Siberia. There were many abandoned houses and apartments.

I was authorized to make arrangements for our departure. There was a crew of carpenters working for us. People in Siberia are very nice and friendly. These carpenters made me a stool and a table, a chest of drawers and boxes where we packed all our belongings. They understood that we were going back into poverty and uncertainty, into ruined towns where no enterprises worked and there were no provisions. They felt sorry for us and wanted to help. They also gave me glass pieces for windows ‘You shall come and see that the glass is broken in the windows’. When we arrived we installed this glass in our balcony windows in Lvov. We went to Lvov by train where we had a railcar at our disposal.

We arrived in Lvov in autumn 1944, October or November. We were accommodated in a house in Galitskaya Street, a house for actors. We had a big room and a kitchen. We had a kitchen of our own while other actors had a common kitchen. We were privileged since my brother was a leading actor and I was one of key personnel at the theater. We got this apartment in 1945. It was on the fifth floor and there was no elevator in the house.

The theater was accommodated in the former cinema theater with no stage or curtains. We began to look for a more accommodating building and found one that housed a Jewish theater before the war. The Jewish theater moved to Poland and we obtained permission to move into their building. It took us sometime to get things in order there, but it was a nice cozy and warm building.

In Lvov we performed for young spectators teaching them to be Soviet patriots. We performed in Ukrainian. My mother, brother and I were living together. It was hard for my mother to walk upstairs to the fifth floor and my brother started looking for an apartment on the first or second floor. He found one on the third floor: there were 3 nice rooms, a big kitchen and a balcony facing the yard. We moved in there. It was an abandoned apartment and there were no special permissions needed for such houses or apartments. My brother loved our mother dearly. They spoke Yiddish to one another and with his colleagues my brother spoke perfect Ukrainian.

My mother went to a synagogue in Lvov. She went there early in the morning at Yom Kippur and came back home late at night. I felt sorry for her when she spent there a whole day without eating a thing and I went to pick her home from there. She was aging and she still suffered from headaches, but she never lost her love of songs. She often sang in Yiddish and Russian to us. We had an old record player back in Kharkov. After the war we bought a new one and collected records.

I never kept the fact that I am a Jew a secret. In 1949, when I had to obtain a new passport I went to the passport office and a passport clerk looked up at me when it came to item 5 17 and asked ‘What do I put in here? And I replied ‘what you see in my old passport’. She looked at me closely, probably thinking ‘What a fool you are’. I said again: ‘write what it says there. This is what I was born and I shall die what I am’. Many Jew changed their nationality then.

In 1949 struggle against cosmopolitans 18 began. One Jewish producer was fired from our theater. They told him that he was staging the wrong plays and at the meeting they called him a ‘cosmopolite with no roots’. Everybody knew that there was a censoring department that selected the repertoire, but nobody said a word. My brother didn’t have any problems being the leading actor. As for me, I did have some. Director of the theater said to me: 'You know, Anna, you need to wear fancier clothes and get a lorgnette and you should meet the audience you’re your lorgnette’. I didn’t know what a lorgnette was. I thought it was some kind of glasses and why did I ever need glasses having no sight problems? [stereotypical outfit of artists at the time] There were other picks intended to prepare the grounds for removing me from my position. I was upset, of course. I was with the theater at the most trying time during the war in Siberia and I was a reliable employee and all of a sudden they didn’t need me. In 1950 I went to work at the puppet theater. My theater management tried to convince me to resume my work at the theater, but I refused. In 1954 they addressed me again and I returned to work at the theater for young spectators. I thought I was familiar with the situation there and I gave so much effort to this theater. I worked in the administration, but it wasn’t a key position.

Neither my brother nor I were members of the party, but we were its devoted friends, or, I would say, we loved truth and at that time the words ‘party’ and ‘truth’ were synonyms for us.…

Then newspapers began to publish strange articles condemning Jews. People began to talk openly that there could be no trust in Jewish doctors. It was a beginning of the ‘doctors’ plot’ 19. I remember when a drunken janitor was lamenting in our yard that she would rather die than visit a Jewish doctor. Why die then?

When Stalin died in 1953 I cried, and so did many people. Everybody grieved for him. It was terrible. Although he was a hard man he tried to do best for people. He reduced prices for food and we won the victory with him.

I failed to have a family of my own. I had acquaintances, of course, but I was always busy. My mother was often sick and so was my brother, and then my mother had to go to hospital and I had to visit her in hospital and do work at home and go to work at the theater. My brother had heart problems. When he got ill he used to come by the window and say: ‘When I died bury me at the Jewish cemetery and may there be music’. He died of heart attack in 1973, at the age of 64. I did as my brother asked me, but I couldn’t go on living in this apartment. I had hallucinations there. I exchanged that 3-room apartment for this 2-room one. I kept my brother’s furniture. He had a taste for beautiful things that we could buy inexpensive at that time in Lvov.

The two of us lived in this apartment for four years. In 1977 my mother died and I was alone. Shortly before she died my mother said bitterly: Feigel, feigele, (little bird) how will you live all by yourself?’ My mother was so concerned about my loneliness; she had foreseen my lonely life at the old age. Our mother was a holy person for us. She was a very nice person, she liked theater, cinema, she liked arts. She was smart and my brother and I listened to opinion. She believed in God and celebrated all Jewish holidays. I buried my mother near my brother’s grave. I had a beautiful gravestone installed on their graves.

I have been alone for 25 years. There were friends and acquaintances when I was stronger. I tried to help and support people and didn’t feel my loneliness so acutely. I was chairman of the housing committee of our house and the neighboring one for 17 years. I was responsible for all maintenance issues. I didn’t do it for money. I did many good things, but who cares? I never traveled on vacations. My mother was often ill and I couldn’t leave her, and then when she died I didn’t want to go alone.

Before 1983 I worked at the theater distributing tickets at schools. Then I grew older and retired.

My mother, brother or I never considered moving to Israel. My mother said ‘it is not my Motherland and I shall not go there’. My brother despised those that were moving there, even when they were his friends. We were interested in what was happening there, but we did not consider moving to this country.

When perestroika 20 began I was terrified at how they could ruin such great country. I recalled how we were welcomed in Siberia during the war and now they were in a different country. We were a Ukrainian theater and nobody closed it. To crown it all, I had my saving for my old age, but they were lost and I am a sick miserable old woman. My acquaintances asked me why I didn’t ask Hesed for help, but I didn’t want to, I was ashamed to ask them. I don’t remember the details, but somehow they got me on their lists. I used to buy matzah to celebrate Pesach. Well, anyway, this was the only holiday that I celebrated. Maybe I didn’t follow all rules, but I always had matzah. I receive food packages from Hesed and they help me to do my laundry, but I am helpless now. My neighbor introduced me to Anna Fyodorova. She lives with me. She cooks for me and helps me and I promised her to leave this apartment to her son. We may argue every now and then, but then we make it up with her. I depend on her much. I cannot even go to the cemetery. My mother and brother have graves nearby and I’ve prepared a place for myself there, but now I don’t know whether they will bury me there or throw into a different place. You understand, I would like to be with my dear ones so much.

I stay in bed, read a little or watch TV and sometimes short verses come to my thoughts and I put them down:
‘Winter, winter, winter again,
Cold, it’s cold, it’s freezing cold,
It snows, there’s snowstorm, blizzard.
That’s winter’.

Or:

                     ‘How unexpectedly the old age has come
                     How fast the years passed
                     Like a dream, like a day, like the Moon
                     Lives A.G. in this world – old, ill and forgotten by all, abandoned’

1 Jewish Pale of Settlement

2 Great Patriotic War

3 Common name

4 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

5 Civil War (1918-1920)

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

6 Alexandr PUSHKIN [26 May 1799 - 29 January 1837], Greatest Russian poet, founder of classical Russian poetry

Born June 6, 1799, in Moscow, into a noble family. Took particular pride in his great-grandfather Hannibal, a black general who served Peter the Great. Educated at the Imperial Lyceum at Tsarskoye Selo. Most important works include a verse novel ‘Evgeny Onegin’ (‘Eugene Onegin’), which is considered the first of the great Russian novels (although in verse), as well as verse dramas ‘Boris Godunov’, ‘Poltava’, ‘Mednyi vsadnik’ (‘The Bronze Horseman’), ‘Mozart i Salieri’ (‘Mozart and Salieri’), ‘Kamennyi gost’ (‘The Stone Guest’), ‘Pir vo vremya chumy’ (‘Feast in the Time of the Plague’), poems ‘Ruslan and Ludmila’, ‘Kavkazskii plennik’ (‘The Prisoner of the Caucasus’, ‘Bakhchisaraiskii Fontan’ (‘The Fountain of Bakhchisarai’), ‘Tsygane’ (‘The Gypsies’), novel ‘Kapitanskaya dochka’ (‘The Captain's Daughter’). Killed at the duel, 10 to 50 thousand people came to his funeral.

7 Lermontov, Mikhail, (1814-1841)

Russian poet and novelist. His poetic reputation, second in Russia only to Pushkin's, rests upon the lyric and narrative works of his last five years. Lermontov, who had sought a position in fashionable society, became enormously critical of it. His novel, A Hero of Our Time (1840), is partly autobiographical. It consists of five tales about Pechorin, a disenchanted and bored nobleman. The novel is considered a classic of Russian psychological realism.

8 Lenin, Nikolay (1870-1924)

Pseudonym of Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, the Russian Communist leader. A profound student of Marxism, and a revolutionary in the 1890s. He became the leader of the Bolshevik faction of the Social Democratic Party, whom he led to power in the coup d’état of 25th October 1917. Lenin became head of the Soviet state and retained this post until his death.

9 Young Octobrist

In Russian Oktyabrenok, or ‘pre-pioneer’, designates Soviet children of seven years or over preparing for entry into the pioneer organization.

10 German colonists

Ancestors of German peasants, who were invited by Empress Catherine II in the 18th century to settle in Russia.

11 Likbez - Soviet educational institutions for adults that had no education

Those people had classes in the evening few times a week for a year. ‘Likbez’ derived from Russian ‘liquidation of ignorance’

12 Famine in Ukraine

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

13 Great Terror (1934-1938)

During the Great Terror, or Great Purges, which included the notorious show trials of Stalin's former Bolshevik opponents in 1936-1938 and reached its peak in 1937 and 1938, millions of innocent Soviet citizens were sent off to labor camps or killed in prison. The major targets of the Great Terror were communists. Over half of the people who were arrested were members of the party at the time of their arrest. The armed forces, the Communist Party, and the government in general were purged of all allegedly dissident persons; the victims were generally sentenced to death or to long terms of hard labor. Much of the purge was carried out in secret, and only a few cases were tried in public ‘show trials’. By the time the terror subsided in 1939, Stalin had managed to bring both the party and the public to a state of complete submission to his rule. Soviet society was so atomized and the people so fearful of reprisals that mass arrests were no longer necessary. Stalin ruled as absolute dictator of the Soviet Union until his death in March 1953.

14 Communal apartment

The Soviet power wanted to improve housing conditions by requisitioning ‘excess’ living space of wealthy families after the Revolution of 1917. Apartments were shared by several families with each family occupying one room and sharing the kitchen, toilet and bathroom with other tenants. Because of the chronic shortage of dwelling space in towns shared apartments continued to exist for decades. Despite state programs for the construction of more houses and the liquidation of shared apartments, which began in the 1960s, shared apartments still exist today.

15 Feuchtwanger, Lion 1884-1958, German novelist

A pacifist, socialist, and friend of both Thomas Mann and Bertolt Brecht, he fled Germany for France in 1933; he was later arrested but dramatically escaped to the United States in 1940. Often concerned with Jewish history, his works are also noted for their lucid analyses of contemporary problems.

16 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

Non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union, which became known under the name of Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Engaged in a border war with Japan in the Far East and fearing the German advance in the west, the Soviet government began secret negotiations for a non-aggression pact with Germany in 1939. In August 1939 it suddenly announced the conclusion of a Soviet-German agreement of friendship and non-aggression. The Pact contained a secret clause providing for the partition of Poland and for Soviet and German spheres of influence in Eastern Europe.
In accordance with the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, which divided Eastern Europe into German and Soviet troops November 1 1939 the USSR Supreme Soviet passed the law on Western Ukraine's membership in the USSR and inclusion in the Ukrainian SSR.

17 Item 5

This was the nationality factor, which was included on all job application forms, Jews, who were considered a separate nationality in the Soviet Union, were not favored in this respect from the end of World War WII until the late 1980s.

18 Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’

19 Doctors’ Plot

The Doctors’ Plot was an alleged conspiracy of a group of Moscow doctors to murder leading government and party officials. In January 1953, the Soviet press reported that nine doctors, six of whom were Jewish, had been arrested and confessed their guilt. As Stalin died in March 1953, the trial never took place. The official paper of the party, the Pravda, later announced that the charges against the doctors were false and their confessions obtained by torture. This case was one of the worst anti-Semitic incidents during Stalin’s reign. In his secret speech at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956 Khrushchev stated that Stalin wanted to use the Plot to purge the top Soviet leadership.

20 Perestroika

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s. Perestroika [restructuring] was the term attached to the attempts (1985–91) by Mikhail Gorbachev to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratize the Communist party organization. By 1991, perestroika was on the wane, and after the failed August Coup of 1991 was eclipsed by the dramatic changes in the constitution of the union.

Semyon Ghendler

Semyon Ghendler
Ternopol
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

When I arrived at his home, Semyon Ghendler wasn't expecting me. I was joined by the chief of the local Hesed. Semyon was planning to go to the polyclinic, but when we came he cancelled his visit to the doctor and agreed to give me an interview. Semyon is tall and still strong man. He is cheerful and has a good sense of humor. When telling his story he smoked a lot. It was exciting for him to remember the past and his loved ones. After the interview, Semyon told me that he hadn't expected the interview process to be so hard. Semyon lives in a two-bedroom apartment in a five-story building that his crew built in the 1960s. He has a set of furniture bought in the 1970s: a living room set, some plain crockery in the cupboard and classical books in the bookcase. Semyon told me there was no furniture in another room: his son took it to the apartment where he lives with his wife. His apartment doesn’t look like any other bachelor’s dwelling. One can tell that Semyon loves living and his sense of humor helps him to cope with it.

Family Background

My paternal grandfather Nuta, or Nathan Ghendler was born in Ovruch Volyn province (Zhytomir region at present, 250 km from Kiev) in the 1860s [in the early 20th century the population of Ovruch constituted about 8 thousand people and half of them were Jewish]. In 1850 Ovruch became the Hasidic 1 center. There was a Hasidic synagogue and a private Jewish school in Ovruch. In the early 20th century Ovruch became the center of Zionist activities. During the Civil War 2 the power in town switched 15 times and there were pogroms 3. The most blood shedding pogrom was arranged by Petliura groups 4 in late 1918 – within 17 days they exterminated about one hundred Jews. Soviet authorities closed the synagogue during the period of struggle against religion 5 in the middle of the 1930s. I don’t know what my grandfather Nuta was doing before the revolution of 1917 6. When I knew him in the 1930s he didn’t work and received a small pension. My grandfather was a strong and tall man with a big gray beard. He always wore a cap and never even sat down to a meal with no headpiece on. My grandfather was religious and prayed every morning with his tallit and tefillin on. On Saturday and Jewish holidays he went to the synagogue with grandmother Feiga. Grandmother Feiga was born in the late 1960s. She was three years younger than my grandfather. She was a small and thin old woman. She wore a kerchief. She had no education whatsoever and was a quiet and taciturn woman. She was a housewife. They lived in a small house with three small rooms and a kitchen. There was a big Russian stove 7 in the kitchen. My grandmother cooked delicious food in it. She baked pies and challah bread for Sabbath. There was a small vegetable garden and a few fruit trees near the house. My grandmother Feiga never went to work. She did housekeeping and raised her children like all Jewish women at the time.

I don’t know exactly how many children Nuta and Feiga had. Some children died in infancy. I know of four children including my father. Froim, the oldest, was born in the late 1890s. Froim became a baker and owned a bakery before 1917. During the Soviet period he was director of a state owned bakery that was later modified into a bread factory. In my childhood my parents and I visited his bakery and he treated us to nice hot rolls. Before the Great Patriotic War 8 Froim, his wife and their sons Osia and Lyova lived in Ovruch. When the Great Patriotic War began their sons were recruited to the army and Froim and his wife evacuated. After the war Froim and his wife moved to Kiev where their older son worked as an engineer. Lyova settled down in Subcarpathia 9 in Uzhhorod [850 km from Kiev] where he worked as chief engineer at the furniture factory. Froim died in the middle of the 1960s. I lost contact with Osia and Lyova’s families. I don’t even know whether they are still living. Froim was raised religious like all Jewish boys, but he was an atheist and didn’t observe Jewish traditions. However, he respected his parents and always attended celebrations of Jewish holidays in my grandfather’s home.

My father also had two sisters, whose names I don’t remember. One of them lived in Ovruch. Her son was named Shloime like me. He perished during the Great Patriotic War. Her daughter Zinaida was a dentist. In the 1970s she moved to Israel with her family. I wasn’t in contact with her after the Great Patriotic War. As for the second sister, who lived in Korosten not far from Ovruch, I only saw her once in my life at a family gathering in my grandfather’s home before the great Patriotic War. During the war she was in evacuation and after the war she lived in Simferopol in the Crimea, 800 km from Kiev. I know that she was married, but I don’t know how many children she had or their names. I never met with my aunt after the war and don’t know when she died.

My father Zachari Ghendler was born in Ovruch in 1904. He received traditional Jewish education: he finished cheder and four years of Jewish elementary school. He knew Yiddish well and he also knew the Torah, but during the Soviet regime he was an atheist. In 1917, during the revolution, my father joined the Red army like many Jewish young people escaping from pogroms and poverty in their towns hoping for a different life. My father served in cavalry. After the Civil War my father was a laborer at different jobs. In 1925, when he met my mother, he was a laborer at the leather factory: he handled skin leather.

My mother came from Zhytomir. Her father Iegoshua Leiba Shlyoma Oks was born in Zhytomir in 1878 and grandmother Esther was born in Zhytomir in 1880. [Editor’s note: Zhytomir is a regional town in Ukraine, 150 km from Kiev. In 1926 its population constituted a little over 100 thousand people and 39% of it was Jewish. Two thirds of all craftsmen in the town were Jewish. Zhytomir was one of historical centers of Hasidism. Before the revolution of 1917 there were few dozens synagogues and a rabbi seminary in the town. After the revolution religious activities gradually decayed and by the early 1930s there was one synagogue operating in the town]. My grandfather finished cheder and went to work. He became a high skilled cabinetmaker. Before the revolution he worked for his employer and after the revolution he went to work for the ‘Bogatyr’ furniture shop that became a furniture factory in the 1930s. My grandfather earned well. After the revolution he manufactured furniture on private orders. My grandfather was very religious. In the 1930s, when I knew him, my grandfather wore a small well-groomed 3-4 days’ growth beard. He also wore a cap or a hat, but I never saw him wearing a kippah. My grandfather always prayed before going to work with his tallit and tefillin on. On Friday, Saturday and Jewish holidays he went to the synagogue. His employers respected him so much that they allowed him to not come to work on Saturday. Instead, he came to work on Sunday to do his portion of work. My grandfather’s portrait was on the board of honor of the factory [Editor’s note: every factory, plant, or any other state enterprise in the Soviet Union had a board of honor with portraits of the best workers of the factory. It was a great honor to have one’s portrait there]. Grandmother Esther was a housewife. She always dusted their tiny apartment. They lived in two rooms and had a kitchen, but when their children grew up and moved out they had a tenant in one room. I loved visiting my grandfather and grandmother and remember their room very well. They had a beautiful carved cupboard that grandfather made himself, a wardrobe and chairs with high carved backs. There were snow white napkins on the cupboard that my grandmother made and seven little elephants: a symbol of happiness at the time. I knew only one grandfather’s brother named Moishe. He was a jeweler in Zhytomir. I saw him several times. He was a presentable man with a beard. Moishe died shortly before the Great Patriotic War. I know nothing about his children Zachar and Rachil. I don’t know whether my grandfather had other brothers or sisters and I have no information about my grandmother’s family either.

My grandparents had three children: my mother and two brothers, one older than my mother and one younger. My mother’s brothers finished cheder. They grew up to be atheists. In the 1930s they joined the Communist Party. Aron, the older brother, born in 1902, dealt in trade. He was married, but divorced his wife. From Zhytomir Aron moved to Fastov where he worked at the railway station of Grebyonki and later in Nezhin. During the great Patriotic War Aron was in evacuation somewhere in the Urals. His second wife’s name was Olga, she was Russian. They didn’t have any children. After the war Aron and Olga returned to Nezhin where Aron died in the middle 1960s.

My mother’s younger brother Lazar was born in 1908. Lazar finished Kiev Engineering Construction College and worked as an engineer in Dnepropetrovsk, 350 km from Kiev. His wife was Russian. I don’t remember her name. Their daughter had a strange name of Saida. We called her Saya. During the great Patriotic War Lazar served in an engineering unit building bridges and fortifications for frontline forces. After the war he returned to Dnepropetrovsk. Lazar died in the early 1970s. His daughter Saida and her family live in Dnepropetrovsk.

My mother Yelizaveta Ghendler (nee Oks) was a withdrawn person. I know little about her life before marriage. She was born in Zhytomir in 1905. At home she was called Lyonia for some reason. Though her parents were religious they decided to give their daughter secular education. My mother finished a Russian grammar school in 1918. I don’t know whether my mother worked before the early 1920s, when she met my father. They met in 1925 and fell in love with one another. My father was a strong handsome man. My mother was young and fair-haired. They made a beautiful match, but they couldn’t get married right away. My grandparents Oks were against their marriage. They believed my mother could find a better match with education equal to her own, but my mother wouldn’t even consider another man. In 1926 my mother’s parents gave up and my parents got married. I don’t know any details about their wedding. All I know is that it was a traditional Jewish wedding. The young couple was so happy to have their parents’ consent that they didn’t argue about having a chuppah, and rabbi and a marriage contract, though by this time they had given up religion. They had a traditional wedding in Zhytomir where they invited relatives from Ovruch and Korosten and then my parents had a civil ceremony in a registry office.

My parents settled down with distant relatives on my mother’s side. I guess, my mother’s parents didn’t quite approve of their daughter’s misalliance, as they thought of it. My parents lived their first years together in a small room in a long building. I was born on 8 November 1927. I was named Shlyoma, but later I changed this name to the Russian name 10 of Semyon for convenience.

Growing Up

I have some memories of my childhood. I remember visiting my maternal grandfather and grandmother at Chanukkah. Of course, I learned the name of the holiday later, but I remember delicious doughnuts that my grandmother made and I also received some money from them. My grandmother made delicious pastries and the biggest offence for her was when somebody told her that they had eaten more delicious doughnuts. My grandfather took me to the synagogue: a big two-storied building in the center of Zhytomir. When my grandmother went with us she went upstairs and my grandfather and I stayed downstairs. We often visited my father’s parents in Ovruch. I remember the first Pesach in my life that we celebrated in their house. My father’s relatives got together on this holiday and his sister came from Korosten. There was a table beautifully set for dinner. My grandfather was reclining on two cushions with his back to the door. I was to find a piece of matzah that he hid under a cushion. There was a lot of laughter and comments while I was looking for it. Then my grandfather conducted seder and I posed four questions to him about the nature of this holiday and my father helped me. I think I have such bright memories about these celebrations since they were unusual for me. We didn’t observe Jewish traditions in our family, though my mother or father never joined Komsomol 11 or the party, but they were atheists. In the early 1930s we lived in Olevsk of Zhytomir region, 70 km from Zhytomir. My father was offered to work in a store and the family moved to this town. We lived with some relatives in a wooden house with a garret. I have dim memories of famine in 1932-33 12, when my father brought some packages from his work. This was dried bread that we dipped in water before eating them. I remember a constant feeling of hunger, but nobody died in our family, though there were dead people in the streets every morning and special trucks picked them. We stayed in Olevsk less than a year. My father proved to be good in trading business. Although he didn’t have any special education he was offered to become director of a fish store and in 1935 he got an offer to become director of a big food store in Zhytomir. We returned to Zhytomir.

We got an apartment in Zhytomir. In 1935 my mother gave birth to my sister, named Polina. That same year I went to a Russian school. My parents didn’t even discuss my going to a Jewish school. We spoke Russian in the family. My parents rarely switched to Yiddish when they didn’t want me to understand the subject of their discussions. My grandfather still took me to the synagogue on Saturday, but I lost interest in it. I ran away from him until my mother told him to stop taking me with him. I preferred to spend time playing with my friends. There were Russian, Ukrainian and Polish children among my friends. Nationality didn’t matter. We spoke Russian and enjoyed spending time together. There were few Jewish families among our neighbors. They didn’t observe any Jewish traditions either. A Jewish family lived in a small house in the middle of our yard. The father was chairman of the regional consumer association. His last name was Shames. His son Betia was my friend. Our neighbor, doctor Shapiro, was a Jew. He was a member of the party and deputy of the town council.

We lived in a small apartment. There were two rooms and a small kitchen. I remember the furniture that my father bought: big nickel-plated beds and a wardrobe. The table was always covered with a fancy tablecloth and there were linen covers on the chairs and the sofa. My father had an average income sufficient to make a decent living. My mother didn’t work before the Great Patriotic War.

My friends and I played war and pirate games and football. We often went fishing to the Teterev River. There were picturesque spots in the area: I can still remember the smell of newly mown hay and meadow herbs. On weekends my parents and I went to the riverbank. My father went swimming and my mother was waiting on the bank looking at him. They enjoyed talking to one another and my sister and I joined our friends. Another boys’ hobby was keeping pigeons. My father made a pigeon house in the yard and we spent there all our spare time.

I had many friends of various nationalities at school. There was no such issue as nationality before the war. I studied well and was fond of mathematic and physics. I also liked geography. My pioneer errand was issuance of a wall newspaper where I was an editor. I visited my grandfather in Ovruch on my summer vacations. I also spent my vacations in a pioneer camp on the Teterev River. We celebrated Soviet holidays at school: there were pioneer marches on 1 May and 7 November 13, and on the international Day of young people on 1 September. We always went to parades on holidays. It was a lot of fun. We also celebrated Soviet holidays at home. My parents invited their friends. They danced to the wireless and sang Soviet songs. The only reminder of Jewish traditions was matzah that my grandfather always brought at Pesach. At Pesach and Rosh Hashanah we visited my grandfather where they had family gatherings or went to visit my father’s parents in Ovruch. The family discussed family news and enjoyed getting together. My grandparents understood that the generation of my parents was not religious and didn’t say prayers in their presence.

The Great Terror

When in the late 1930s arrests began [Great Terror] 14, my father had a fear of being arrested, even though he wasn’t a party member. Many of his friends and acquaintances holding key positions were arrested. I think my father understood that it was despotism, but my parents didn't have any discussions in my presence. There was the feeling of alarm in our house like in many others. I remember that some time in 1938 the doorbell rang late at night. My father asked who it was before opening the door. It was a stranger. His surname was Litvak and he was a Jew. My parents took him to the kitchen, gave him some food and money and he left. From their words I understood that this man escaped from his hometown in fear of arrest and visited my father as his old acquaintance. I don’t know what happened to him then. After this visit my father had many sleepless nights fearing arrest. If somebody saw our late visitor they would have reported and my father would have been arrested for giving shelter to an ‘enemy of the people’ 15. My mother prepared a bag with underwear and dried bread for my father. This bag was in a corner in the kitchen for a long time. Fortunately, nothing of the kind happened in our family.

During the War

On 22 June 1941 my friend Beba Shames and I were to go to a pioneer camp. At 12 o’clock we listened to Molotov 16 on the radio. He said that the Great Patriotic War began. On 24 June 1941 my father volunteered to the army. Two days later we received a subpoena for him to make an appearance at the military registry office. So, he would have been recruited anyways. Some time later we received a letter from my father from somewhere near Lvov. Shortly afterward he came home during the retreat of our troops. I can still remember him in his uniform, having a gun. He was an officer. This was on 4 July 1941. My father washed and helped my mother to pack and then we went to the railway station on a truck waiting for us. My father took us to the station where we boarded a train heading to the East. My father kissed us and then stood with my mother on the platform for a long while. I even felt hurt that he spent so much time with her saying such a short ‘good bye’ to us. He hugged and kissed her. I didn’t know then that I was seeing him for the last time.

It took us four days to get to Kharkov, about 450 km away. In Kharkov we stayed with our distant relatives for about a month. Everybody still believed that the war was to be over soon and we would return home. In early August grandfather Iegoshua and grandmother Esther came to Kharkov. German troops were near Zhytomir. We moved on to the East. Our trip lasted for about a month and a half. When the train stopped we exchanged what we had with us for food. I remember exchanging a bar of soap for a carrot that I brought in my cap to the railcar. I was very proud of myself. At times we got a hot meal at stations, but most often it was some boiling water. We arrived in Cheliabinsk in the Ural, 1500 kilometers from our home. Cheliabinsk was a big industrial town. There were many plants in the town and many enterprises evacuated from the western part of the country. We stayed in the evacuation agency few days until we were accommodated in a barrack with other families. It was a wooden barrack with plywood or curtain partitions. My mother, my sister and I and my grandfather Iegoshua and my grandmother Esther lived in one of these small rooms several days until uncle Aron who came to Cheliabinsk after we did went to work at a big plant and received a room. He was manager of metal stocks at the plant.

Our life was gradually setting up. My grandfather went to work as a carpenter in the “Cheliabstroi” construction company. My grandfather got along well with his colleagues. My grandfather and grandmother tried to observe Jewish traditions. There was no synagogue in Cheliabinsk and my grandfather prayed in a corner of our room twice a day. My grandfather didn’t go to work on Saturday. He discussed this condition before getting this employment and his management showed understanding of his requirement. There was a hospital near our barrack and my mother went to work there as a logistics attendant. She received a room in the hospital and my mother, my sister and I went to live there. I went to the 7th grade at school. My sister stayed at home. Early in the morning I went to stand in line to buy bread. There were bread cards to get rationed bread and there was always too little of it.

We received only one letter from my father in September 1941. He wrote us from near Kiev. We didn’t have any information about his parents, grandmother Feiga and grandfather Nuta Ghendler. My mother often cried at night. I felt responsible for my mother and sister being the only man in the family. I took no interest in studies. Thought I had learned all that I needed. I wanted to go to work to support my mother. I talked with my mother and she helped me to become an apprentice of a joiner at a military plant. I was very proud to be going to work every morning. I also received a food card that was sufficient support to our family. I smoked a lot and was very glad to receive a pack of tobacco once a month like an adult man. I worked for almost a year until I went to study at the factory vocational school in 1943. I was to become an electrician. After finishing this school I received my certificate of secondary education and went to work as an electrician at the Cheliabinsk tractor plant. I also could live in a hostel. I made friends with other workers who were older than me. We used to have a drink every now and then and I began to meet with girls. My mother didn’t like this at all. She still believed I was a child. We often argued and once I didn’t see my mother for two or three months. It was 1944 and Zhytomir was liberated. Once I bumped into a man from Zhytomir and he was surprised to see me in Cheliabinsk. It turned out that my mother, my sister, my grandfather and grandmother had left for Zhytomir. I felt so hurt that tears came into my eyes. I still don’t know why they were so cruel to me. My mother told me later that she wanted to teach me a lesson, but I still believe it was unjust. When I got to know that my family had left I left the town as well. I didn’t quit officially and had no documents with me. I climbed the roof of a railcar to go to my Motherland. I didn’t have a permit for reevacuation or any other document. It took me a long time to get to my town. Conductors caught me and told me to get off the train and then militia caught me as well. I ran away from militia and other militiamen helped me to get on another train when they heard my story. Then finally I arrived at Zhytomir almost three weeks later.

In Zhytomir I only found my grandfather and grandmother who lived in their apartment. My mother and sister were visiting their acquaintances in Kazan. There were other tenants in our apartment and there were no belongings of ours left. Our Polish neighbors Ignatovich took our most valuable belongings: the “Singer” sewing machine, bed sheets and some crockery. They were keeping them for us. They also gave me shelter. Then my mother arrived. It’s hard to describe how we met. We were both crying asking each other forgiveness. The Ignatoviches gave us one room in their apartment. They also made a door in the room. My mother didn’t want to go to court to get back our apartment. We couldn’t get any information about my father for a long time. My mother wrote letters to various organization, but their only response was: ‘His surname is not in the lists of deceased or missing’. Few days later a man from Zhytomir, my father’s fellow comrade, told us that my father perished near Kanev in 100 km from Kiev, and was buried in a common grave with writer Arkadiy Gaidar 17. In the 1960s my sister and I visited Kanev. We found the grave where according to what this man told us my father was buried in Kanev. This grave in on a steep bank over the Dnieper.

In 1944, when we returned to Zhytomir, we had to think about how to survive. My mother learned to type in Cheliabinsk. She went to work as a typist in an office. My sister went to school. My father’s brother told us that grandfather Nuta and grandmother Feiga were killed with other Jews of Ovruch in late August 1941.

In late 1944 I received a subpoena to the army. I went to serve in the Navy. In early January 1945 we boarded a train to the Far East in Zhytomir. At first I was a ship’s boy and then became a sailor on the ‘Kalinin’ cruiser. I participated in the war with Japan 18. In 1945 our cruiser transported Soviet landing troops to Korea. I served 7 years in the navy: this was a standard term in those years. Although service in the navy is hard I enjoy recalling this time. Firstly, I ate heartily for the first time in my life. We got sufficient food. They gave us American tinned meat. What else would a young man want: rich food and good friends. I had many friends. There was another Jewish Navy man on our boat and we never faced any prejudiced or abusive attitudes. We were all equal. In the evening we played chess, read and went on a leave together. I cannot say anything about open state anti-Semitism in the late 1940s –early 1950s. We had political classes, but our officers managed to avoid any issues related to anti-Semitic campaigns. In 1947 I received a letter saying that grandmother Esther died. She suffered from a mental illness for few years. My grandfather died in 1963. They were buried in the Jewish section of the town cemetery in Zhytomir. I don’t know whether anybody recited the Kaddish for them.

After the War

In late 1952 I demobilized and returned to Zhytomir. This was the period of the Doctors’ Plot 19. For me this anti-Semitic propaganda in newspapers was terrible. Shortly afterward, in March 1953 Stalin died. I grieved after him sincerely. I attended a mourning meeting in the center of Zhytomir with other towns folks. I never related Stalin’s name to the horrors of what was happening around. I was too young to analyze.

I worked as an electrician for few months. At that time I met my wife to be, a girl, and we fell in love with each other. Natalia Danilyuk, nee Kuznetsova, had already been married. She had divorced before we met. She was born in Zhytomir in 1929. Her father who was Russian perished during the great Patriotic War. Her mother was a Jew named Sheina. Natalia and her mother lived in a very small room. I knew I needed to have a place to live with my family. There were no perspectives in Zhytomir in this regard and in spring 1953 moved to Cheliabinsk writing my friends there. It was easier to find a job in Cheliabinsk. I went to work as a construction electrician at the Cheliabinsk metallurgical plant. Later I became a foreman, site manager and then was promoted to assistant manager of the ventilation shop. I had many friends. They were workers of various nationalities and we got along well. Only once I was abused. It happened at the very beginning of my career in Cheliabinsk. On a payday members of my crew were waiting for their turn to receive salary. I joined them later and then one guy from the line said: ‘Get out of here, stand in line and forget your zhydovskiye [Russian offensive for Jewish] tricks’. My friends said to me: ‘Semyon, if you let him go you are a weak man and a ninny and we are not your friends’. We waited for the guy at the entrance check point and I beat him up.

I received a room in a hostel. Natalia came to live with me and in summer 1953 we got married. We had a civil ceremony in a registry office. Natalia went to work as a shop assistant at a baker’s shop. In 1954 Alexandr was born. We received a one-bedroom apartment. 12 years later, in 1966, our twins Georgi and Zhanna were born. We began to consider moving to Ukraine where our mothers were living and climate was pleasant and ripe apples and apricots were falling onto the ground. Fruit and vegetables were expensive in Cheliabinsk and besides, we were homesick. In 1967 I sent a job request to Vinnitsa construction department. They sent their response with a job offer. I already had a reputation in my branch of industry. When I came there to be employed their manager seeing that I didn’t have special education, was a Jew and was no member of the party refused to employ me. A man from a higher level organization came to my help. He knew my qualifications and said that my qualification was rolling mill 2300, tube mill in Cheliabinsk that I constructed was better than any college education and then I got employment. My job was construction of a roll bearing plant in Vinnitsa. This site was in a poor condition when I came to work, but then I handled it and we became one of the best sites. My wife and children were waiting in Cheliabinsk. It was difficult to get an apartment in Vinnitsa and I decided to go back to Cheliabinsk where we at least had an apartment, but this time my manager didn’t want to let me go. He assigned me site manager of a construction site in Western Ukraine, 370 km from Kiev, in Ternopol. It was construction of a big cotton factory. I received a room in a communal apartment 20. My family joined me and there were five of us living in one room. I went to talk with first secretary of the regional Party committee and told him that if they didn’t give me an apartment I would go back to Cheliabinsk where they would be glad to have me. First secretary ordered me to complete construction of a school within two weeks and if I managed he promised to give me an apartment. I went back to talk to my crew. When they heard what it was about they worked day and night to complete this construction. In August 1968 I received a two-bedroom apartment. This is where I live now. Later I finished the extramural department of Construction College in Mogilyov-Podolskiy. Some time later my wife’s mother Sheina moved to Ternopol. She lived separately from us. Sheina was religious, and she celebrated Pesach and we visited her at her request. We didn’t observe any traditions or celebrate Jewish holidays in our family.

We had many friends. We celebrated 1 May and 7 November. My crew members and I came to my place after parades. Natalia cooked and we had parties. We often had outings with shashlyk [barbecue]. In summer we took our children to the seashore and when they grew older we sent them to a pioneer camp and spent vacations together, just the two of us. When the time came for our children to identify their nationality they chose to be Russian and adopt my wife father’s surname of Danilyuk. I understood it would make it easier for them to get education and make a career this way. I loved my wife dearly. Before retiring in the middle of the 1980s I decided to make some money for our old age. I went to the construction of an oil pipeline in Tumen in 3000 km east from home. They paid very well for work. I lived in a tent. Living and climatic conditions there were very hard. My wife fell ill and in late 1987 I returned to Ternopol. Natalia had cancer. In late 1989 she died. I went back to the north after she was buried and worked there sometime longer. I cannot forget my wife. She was the only woman I loved in my life. Since then I’ve been alone.

After finishing school my sister Polina finished mechanical school in Zhytomir. There she met her future husband Vladimir Lukashevich. Vladimir is a half-breed like my wife. His father was Russian and his mother was Jewish. He finished a military school and was sent to Rybinsk in Moldova. Their daughter Irina was born in Rybinsk. My mother went to my sister to help her raise her daughter. Few years later Polina’s son Sergei was born. Both children received education. Sergei finished a technical school and Irina finished a precious metal vocational school in Kiev. Sergei and Irina have families. In the early 1990s my sister, her husband and their children moved to Israel. Her husband died in Israel. My sister lives with her daughter in Haifa. I correspond with her.

My mother was alone for many years. In the middle of 1960s she married our distant relative Isaac Zhuravski. I was glad that my mother was not alone any longer. Living in Cheliabinsk I couldn’t support her. However, their marriage lasted less than a year: Isaac was pathologically greedy and my mother divorced him. She lived in Zhytomir until 1990. When I returned from the North she moved in with me here. She remained an atheist even at her old age. She didn’t observe Jewish traditions. She died in 1992. She was buried in the town cemetery and there were no rituals observed at her funeral.

My older son Alexandr graduated from the State University in Perm. He is an economist. During perestroika 21 Alexandr finished college and became a high skilled expert in stocks. Alexandr lives in Kirov in Russia, 800 km from Moscow. My son is different from me in his marital life. He has a third wife now. I don’t know them. Alexandr rarely comes to see me and he always comes alone. His sons from the first marriage Leonid, born in 1976, and Maxim, born in 1978, do not communicate with him or me.

My daughter Zhanna married Victor Shanenkov, Russian, after finishing school. He was on service in Ternopol. He came from Dzhambul in Kazakhstan. When his term of service was over Zhanna followed him to Dzhambul in 3000 km from home. Their marriage failed. In 1989 Victor left for Greece leaving his wife and daughter Alina at home. Zhanna married a civil pilot, but it didn’t work either. He was fired from work for drinking. He became a drunkard and disappeared. Zhanna had a daughter from him named Natalia after my wife. Zhanna lives in Dzhambul. She works as a secretary in a company. Natalia finished school and entered Medical College in Velikiy Novgorod where her grandmother, Victor’s wife, lives. To his honor I need to mention that Victor supports Zhanna and Natalia.

My younger son Georgi entered Odessa artillery school after finishing secondary school. After finishing it he served in Poland. When out troops were leaving Eastern Europe in the 1990s he retired from the army. His first wife was Bulgarian. Georgi divorced her. She left their son David with her mother and went to work in Poland. We don’t know where David is now. Georgi married a woman with a child. She is Russian. Her daughter Kristina gets along well with Georgi and with me. She calls me ‘grandfather’. I treat her as my granddaughter and at Chanukkah I always give her some money as customary with Jewish families.

I had a good life. I had many friends wherever I was. The huge Soviet Union was my home and I feel bad about the breakup 22 of the country. I still have friends in Cheliabinsk, Tumen and other towns. They often call me, even at night, due to the time difference. However, I feel sad about not being able to visit them like I used to when we might come all of a sudden without notification. We often went with families to Odessa, the Crimea or Caucasus. We cannot afford this now. In the past my monthly salary was enough to buy plane tickets and stay in any town of the USSR for a couple of weeks with my family and now I have to think twice even about commuting in the town. A ticket to the nearest town costs half of my pension, not to mention planes. All my savings that I earned so hard working in the north were gone when perestroika began. My sons support me and I try to support my daughter. The only positive thing that I see in perestroika is democracy for minorities, including Jews. I am a member of the Jewish community in Ternopol. Of course, I shall never become religious, but I like studying Yiddish, Jewish traditions and celebrating Jewish holidays in the community. The local Hesed provides assistance to pensioners. I’ve been to Israel. I admired this country. It was built with love, but I understood that I would never be able to live there. It’s a different country for me with a different life style and hard climate. I couldn’t wait until my month’s long visit to my sister was over and I could return to Ternopol.

Glossary:

1 Hasid

2 Civil War (1918-1920)

3 Pogroms in Ukraine

In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.

4 Petliura, Simon (1879-1926)

Ukrainian politician, member of the Ukrainian Social Democratic Working Party, one of the leaders of Centralnaya Rada (Central Council), the national government of Ukraine (1917-1918). Military units under his command killed Jews during the Civil War in Ukraine. In the Soviet-Polish war he was on the side of Poland; in 1920 he emigrated. He was killed in Paris by the Jewish nationalist Schwarzbard in revenge for the pogroms against Jews in Ukraine.

5 Struggle against religion

6 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

7 Russian stove

Big stone stove stoked with wood. They were usually built in a corner of the kitchen and served to heat the house and cook food. It had a bench that made a comfortable bed for children and adults in wintertime.

8 Great Patriotic War

9 Subcarpathia (also known as Ruthenia, Russian and Ukrainian name Zakarpatie)

Region situated on the border of the Carpathian Mountains with the Middle Danube lowland. The regional capitals are Uzhhorod, Berehovo, Mukachevo, Khust. It belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy until World War I; and the Saint-Germain convention declared its annexation to Czechoslovakia in 1919. It is impossible to give exact historical statistics of the language and ethnic groups living in this geographical unit: the largest groups in the interwar period were Hungarians, Rusyns, Russians, Ukrainians, Czech and Slovaks. In addition there was also a considerable Jewish and Gypsy population. In accordance with the first Vienna Decision of 1938, the area of Subcarpathia mainly inhabited by Hungarians was ceded to Hungary. The rest of the region, was proclaimed a new state called Carpathian Ukraine in 1939, with Khust as its capital, but it only existed for four and a half months, and was occupied by Hungary in March 1939. Subcarpathia was taken over by Soviet troops and local guerrillas in 1944. In 1945, Czechoslovakia ceded the area to the USSR and it gained the name Carpatho-Ukraine. The region became part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic in 1945. When Ukraine became independent in 1991, the region became an administrative region under the name of Transcarpathia.

10 Common name

11 Komsomol

12 Famine in Ukraine

13 October Revolution Day

14 Great Terror (1934-1938)

15 ‘Enemy of the people’

an official way mass media called political prisoners in the USSR.

16 Molotov, Viacheslav Mikhailovich (1890-1986)

Statesman and member of the Communist Party leadership. From 1939, Minister of Foreign Affairs. On June 22, 1941 he announced the German attack on the USSR on the radio. He and Eden also worked out the percentages agreement after the war, about Soviet and western spheres of influence in the new Europe.

17 Gaidar, Arkadiy (born Golikov) (1904-1941)

Russian writer who wrote about the revolutionary struggle and the construction of a new life.

18 War with Japan

19 Doctors’ Plot

20 Shared apartment

21 Perestroika

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s. Perestroika [restructuring] was the term attached to the attempts (1985–91) by Mikhail Gorbachev to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratise the Communist party organization. By 1991, perestroika was on the wane, and after the failed August Coup of 1991 was eclipsed by the dramatic changes in the constitution of the union.

22 Breakup of the USSR

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

Beila Gabis

Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: June 2003

Beila is a corpulent woman. She dresses in a nice gown for home. Beila lives alone in a nice big apartment on the first floor of a two-storied house in the center of Ternopol. She has good quality furniture, carpets and fancy crockery. There are inexpensive, but carefully chosen pictures on the walls and intricate vases, napkins and china statues on the shelves. She appears to be a smart and wise lady. She does all housework on her own. She is a great cook, makes delicious cakes for sales. She has her own clients who are her friends or acquaintances and their friends and acquaintances. Whoever had tried Beila’s pastries call her before holidays to order. Beila enjoys baking and is always ready to make her friends happy making pastries for them for a symbolic price.

My family backgrownd

My family background

My parents came from smaller Jewish towns in Vinnitsa province: my mother was from Layzhin, my father was from Bershad’. My maternal grandmother Beila, died when my mother was 2 years old. I was named after her. I remember my grandfather David Gutelmacher very well. My grandmother and grandfather were born in Layzhin in 1870s. My grandfather was a high skilled fur dresser. He dressed fur and made fur coats and hats. He provided well for the family. My grandparents had two children: my mother and her brother Naum. My mother told me that they had a big stone house in the center of the town. My grandfather’s shop was on the first floor. Some time after my grandmother died my grandfather remarried. I don’t remember his second wife’s name. After he remarried my mother’s maternal grandmother took my mother to live with her. She was afraid that the stepmother would not be kind to my mother. My mother’s brother Naum, who was two years older than my mother, stayed with his father and stepmother. My grandfather and his second wife had another daughter: Esther and my mother’s brother was closer to her than my mother.

Naum, born in 1898, finished cheder, a Jewish school, but he grew up to be far from professing religion. Naum got some business education during the Soviet regime and became chief accountant of the State Bank in due time. He lived and worked in Kharkov and later he moved to Kiev. He often visited us before the Great Patriotic War 1. Naum was a bachelor and he was always eager to see his nieces and nephews. He always brought us toys and sweets. During the Great Patriotic War Naum was in evacuation with the bank. After the war he returned to Kiev. At his venerable age he married a woman with a child whom I never saw. Naum died in Kiev in 1968.

My mother had no relationships with her stepsister Esther. Perhaps, this had to do with some feeling of jealousy. Esther was about 5 years younger than my mother. Esther worked in a pharmacy. She married chief accountant of pharmaceutical agency. He was a widower and had three children. His last name was Lerner. He was a well-mannered man. He treated us nicely. They didn’t have common children. During the Great Patriotic War she was in evacuation. After the war she returned to Layzhin. Esther’s husband died shortly after the war. Esther died in the 1970s. She hardly ever contacted my mother, but she and I corresponded. She visited me in 1967.

My mother Lisa (her Jewish name was Leya) Gutelmacher, born in 1900, was raised in her grandmother’s home. Her grandmother was a widow by then. She adored my mother and feeling sorry for the orphan indulged in all her whims and fancies. My mother’s grandmother must have been quite wealthy since she managed to give my mother a good education. She finished Russian and Jewish grammar schools in Layzhin. She had fluent Russian and knew mathematics. She was a well-educated woman for her time. My great grandmother’s family was religious and my mother observed Jewish traditions her whole life. She knew Hebrew and could read the Torah and Talmud that was rare with women of her time. I don’t know whether my mother had aunts or uncles. I only know one: my grandmother Beila’s sister Tuba whom my mother loved dearly. Tuba was a striking beauty. She wore beautiful long gowns, furs and expensive jewelry. Shortly before the revolution of 1917 2 a Jewish millionaire from America came on a visit to his hometown of Bershad’. He fell in love with Tuba, married her and they left for USA. Tuba left her beautiful gowns and jewelry to my mother.

My father Chaim Fainshtein was the same age with my mother. He came from a wealthy Jewish family in Bershad’. His parents, Berko and Riva Fainshtein, were born in Bershad’ in the 1870s. My grandfather Berko owned a meat factory that manufactured sausage and tinned meat. After nationalization 3 this was the only big enterprise in the town. My grandmother Rivka was a smart and business-oriented woman. She owned a restaurant. Unfortunately, I don’t remember its name. I can still remember my grandmother Rivka: a beautiful stately woman wearing a lace hairpin in her fluffed up black hair, wearing a wide gypsy style skirt with big pockets where she kept a key ring with keys and a purse. Grandmother was the head of the family: she was busy from morning till night giving orders to housemaids, clerk and cooks at the restaurant. She kept records and audited bills in the restaurant by herself. Based on the above mentioned I think that my grandmother must have had a good education. I will also tell you later about my grandmother pedagogical talents. Grandfather Berko was not so intelligent as my grandmother, but he was also as smart and business-oriented as she. He was very religious and started every day with a prayer putting on his tallit and tefillin. He always wore a kippah and had a small beard. Grandmother Rivka told me that she had 15 children. Eight of them died. The children were raised religious. The boys finished cheder and got secular education if they wished. My grandmother and grandfather thought it their duty to give their children a good education. However, all of them sooner or later became atheists. It was a demand of their time… The children lived in Bershad’ or in the vicinity. When they were getting married their parents bought houses for them in nearby towns.

The oldest brother Menachem was born in 1897. He was affectionately called Menasha. He was a worker and turner. He had a wife and four children and resided with his family in Chechel’nik near Bershad’. They were wealthy and in 1929 our family and their family were sent away to Kherson steppes as kulaks 4, – I shall talk about it later. After we returned my father and Menachem were demobilized to the construction of Dneprovskaya hydropower plant where he fell ill with tuberculosis and it took him many years to get cured. I fail to guess why Menachem, a sickly aging man, was recruited to the army when the Great Patriotic War began. However, he went to the war and perished at the front. His wife Hana and children were in the ghetto in Chechel’nik. Fortunately, they survived, but we never met after the war and I don’t have any information about them. The only thing I remember is that their daughters’ names were Perl and Golda, but I don’t remember their sons’ names.

The next child in the family was Enta, born in 1905. She fell in love with her cousin brother Aizek who lived in grandmother’s house. His parents, my grandmother’s sister and her husband, were killed during a Petlura 5 pogrom 6 in Kryzhopol town where they lived. My grandmother took the boy to her home. Aizek severely injured his genitals at the buttery where he was working and couldn’t have children. Enta insisted on marrying him, nevertheless. She said she wanted him and as for children, well, they could adopt them. They loved each other dearly. However, they asked my mother to let them raise me, but would a mother give away her child even to someone of her own family. Enta finished a vocational school and became a designer. At the beginning of the Great Patriotic War Aizek was recruited to the army and Enta, my grandmother and Enta’s sisters evacuated to Tashkent. Aizek perished at the front. After the war Enta married a widower with eight children. Enta loved them very much and became a mother to them. Her husband died in the late 1950s and Enta raised his children. The children supported her when she became old. Enta died in the middle of the 1970s.

Uncle Isaac, Itzyk, born in 1910 worked at the buttery in Bershad’. We didn’t get along with his wife who was a taleteller. My mother hated it and so did I when I grew up. Itzyk’s daughter Surah was exactly like her mother. Itzyk was at the front. He was the only man in our family who returned home after the war. When we met after the war we hugged each other and kept crying for a while. Itzyk came home a sickly, nervous and exhausted man and died about three years later. I have no contacts with his family. I know that Surah lived in Odessa and his older son Aron worked as a driver in Bershad’.

My father’s brother Avrum, born in 1912, finished the Polytechnic College in Vinnitsa. He got a job assignment at the distillery in Bershad’. I remember one event where Arum was involved that can serve as an example of educating a grown up son whom my grandmother Rivka handled perfectly. When Avrum received his first salary he bought vodka for his foreman and crew which was a tradition at that time. Avrum was not used to drinking. He returned home tipsy. Grandmother didn‘t say a word. In two or three days was Avrum’s birthday. Grandmother gave him a nice big money box. Everybody was surprised: why would a big guy need a moneybox? Avrum was hurt, but he didn’t show it. Before going to bed he came to give grandmother his usual kiss and couldn’t help asking her why she made such strange present to him. I stayed at my grandmother’s that night. I was reading a book in bed and I stayed quiet as a mouse waiting for my grandmother’s reply. She said ‘Now, Avrum, when you buy vodka you shall drop exactly the same amount of money into this moneybox. One day you will open it and see how much you’ve stolen from yourself’. He rose, kissed my grandmother and thanked her for teaching him. He didn’t drink from then on. He became a very good engineer. He worked in Layzhin and Nemirov. Before the Great Patriotic War he became chief engineer of the distillery in Bershad’. When the war began he was demobilized to the army regardless of his poor sight. He didn’t return from this war. His wife Lisa, a Jew, a beautiful and intelligent woman with higher education, married a tinsmith after the war since she needed support. She gave good education to her only daughter Manechka. Manechka married a director of a bank. They moved to USA in the 1970s.

My grandmother’s younger son Israel, born in 1913, died when he was young. When the family was deported to Kherson steppes in 1929 he got sunstroke in the field and died. I have dim memories, but he seemed a nice handsome boy to me.

Freida, a nice pretty girl, was the youngest in the family. She was 8 years older than I and we often played with dolls together. I loved Freida. She was like a sister to me. Freida finished a technological school and was director of a diner at a distillery. She fell in love with Noeh Bershad’ski, a Jewish man much older than she. They had a daughter: Genia. Noeh was recruited to the army at the beginning of the war and he perished at the front. Freida, Enta and grandmother were in evacuation together. After the war she remarried and moved to the Ural. We corresponded before the 1990s, but then our correspondence terminated. This is all information I have about Freida.

My father Chaim Fainshtein was born in 1900. After finishing cheder he studied at the Jewish primary school and then he began to help his father at the meat factory. I don’t have any information about my father’s family during the revolution 1917 or Civil War 7, but they managed through this hard period all right. My parents got to know each other through a matchmaker that was a customary thing with Jewish families. They got married in 1924. It goes without saying that they had a Jewish wedding with a chuppah. There were many guests at their wedding in Bershad’. The family was big. My grandmother said that the family constituted one hundred to one hundred and sixty members when they got together for a celebration at her home. Therefore, there were even more guests at the wedding. On the next day my parents had a civil ceremony in a registry office. They lived in grandmother Riva’s house few months until their parents bought them a house.

I was born on 23 December 1925. By the way, my mother and paternal grandmother had their first argument ever about giving me a name. My grandmother wanted to name me after her relative while my mother insisted that I was named after her mother. I was named Beila. I spent my childhood and youth in Bershad’.

Bershad’ always seemed beautiful, quiet and calm to me. Its streets buried in verdure ran down to the Dochna River turning around the town on three sides. Jews resided in the central part of the town. They were craftsmen for the most part: tailors, shoemakers, coopers and glasscutters. Ukrainians had farmlands in the outskirts of the town supplying vegetables, potatoes and dairies. There was also a Russian neighborhood in the town. The street had the name of ‘katsapskaya’ (slang nickname for Russian – ‘katsap’). Russians made pickled vegetables – pickles, apples and watermelons, selling them at the market. Jews attended a beautiful synagogue in the center of the town and Russians and Ukrainians went to a church by the river. Every time crossing the river I glimpsed at this beautiful and attractive church. I wanted to go inside, but Jewish children were not allowed to go to church and I only admired the building and liked the sound of the bells ringing. Grandmother and our family lived in Piski Bershad’, a Ukrainian area in the outskirts of the town. Grandmother owned a meat factory located there and the family had a house nearby. We observed traditions and the holidays, but I don’t remember any details.

My first memories are associated with the period of dispossession of kulaks 3, or to put it simply – elimination of wealthier population by Soviet authorities. In spring 1929, after Pesach, we were woken up in the middle of a night and I probably remember this night due to the fear I felt. I was under the age of 4. My mother gave birth to my brother Boris some time before. My father, my mother, the baby and I were taken to a black car that people later called ‘Black Maria’. My mother only managed to grab some valuables from her box and few diapers for the baby. We left silver tableware, carpets, furniture and clothing at home. We got no explanation. We were taken to the railway station where we were ordered to board a freight train. We were holding hands. It was dark and we didn’t see who else was there. When father said something to mother, we heard grandmother Riva calling him: she recognized her son by his voice. Grandmother and grandfather had been taken to the train before us. Other members of our family were there, too: uncle Isaac, Izia, Freida and later uncle Menachem and his family came. I don’t remember any details about the trip. I only remember that it was cold in the train and my mother dried diapers on her chest. We were taken to Kherson steppes where we were accommodated in wooden barracks with cracks in the walls. However, authorities promised to build houses for us before winter. There were big bowls outside where my grandmother and other women cooked food. Of course, kashrut was out of the question, but we got more or less sufficient food. There was even some meat in the soup we got. My parents worked in the field and took my brother and me with them: it was unsafe to leave children in barracks. There were jackals in the steppe and there were rumors that they attacked younger children. There were ancient Skythian sculptures of women in the steppe whom I was afraid of. I was also afraid of numerous gophers that were like rats. They ate grain and for this they were hunted for. Men poured water into their holes. When gophers came onto the surface men killed them with sticks and took them to fur supply shop. Their fur was in demand. My father also did this. On the way back he told me to sit on a cart. There was a heap of dead animals and began crying. My father was a kind and nice man, but that time he lost his temper and began to whip me. I was screaming and my grandmother heard me. She came and took the whip from my father and told him off. In the evening my father cried feeling sorry for what he did. Now I understand that my father just lost his temper. This was the only time he lifted his hand against me. We stayed in the steppe until late autumn. It got very cold and nobody followed the promise to build houses. My father decided it was better to go back home than starve to death or die from cold. He thought that even if we had to go to prison we would go back. The rest of our family were of the same opinion. One day our father hired a wagon. Grandmother and grandfather and the children sat on it and we didn’t have any luggage with us. We got to the railway station where we got on a train to Bershad. There were all of us on our way back: our family, grandmother and grandfather, uncle Isaac, Izia, Freida, uncle Menachem and his family. We returned to Bershad.

When we arrived my grandmother and grandfather returned to their house. Our house became a meat supply office. Our Ukrainian neighbors offered us accommodation in their house. In about two days Soviet officials came to this house. They asked my parents why we returned without permission. My father told them about living conditions and cold there. On the next day my father and uncle Menachem were mobilized to the construction of Dnepro GES power plant in Zaporozhe. A Jewish family offered my mother two rooms in their house. We lived there for free. In spring 1930 my father and uncle Menachem returned from the construction site. The working conditions there were very hard, they worked standing in knee-deep water and uncle Menachem fell ill with tuberculosis. My father had swollen veins on his legs from hard work, but he must have worked hard there and earned appreciation of the management since he got employment at the meat factory that belonged to our family in the past. In summer 1930 he joined the Party. From then on my father was afraid of observing Jewish traditions. We didn’t observe Sabbath or other Jewish holidays. Soviet authorities began an active struggle against religion 8. My father worked on Saturdays. He was sent to work in Torostyanets and then in Golovanevsk where he was director of meat supply agency. My mother and I followed my father. In Golovanevsk my second brother was born. My mother named him Tonia after her favorite aunt Tuba (first letters in their names were the same). My grandmother Rivka stopped speaking with my mother again since she wanted a different name for the boy. In early 1932 we returned to Bershad’ where my father became director of meat supply agency and his office was in our former house. We received a room in this same house. There was a carpet on the doorway to my father’s office and we could hear what was going on in my father’s office and my mother knew the exact time when she had to warm up my father’s dinner. My mother also went to work. She became an accountant at the mill.

I spent much time with my grandmother Riva whom I loved dearly. She observed Sabbath. On every Friday evening it was a beautiful ceremony. We, children, watched our grandmother lighting candles and grandfather saying prayers over them and blessing the wine and challah and dipping a piece of challah in salt… My grandmother baked delicious challah bread topped with some spicy seeds! I’ve never eaten challah so delicious again in my life. My grandmother also cooked the most delicious Gefilte fish. And the most important thing – grandmother baked each grandchild his or her favorite pastry. After dinner grandmother sat into a snug armchair near the stove and we sat on small stools beside her. We told her what happened during a week, how we behaved and what marks we got at school. We showed her our school record sheet and if there was a ‘3’ or, God forbid a ‘2’ there grandmother didn’t give one his delicious gift. Grandmother also let her most obedient grandchildren stay with her overnight, and there was nothing better for me than stay in her wide bed, hug and kiss her good night.

My father’s office purchased meat that was canned and shipped to Kharkov and Moscow and sometimes the office arranged for shipment of cattle. During shipment cattle lost some weight and then there were discrepancies in documents. Once a claim was sent from Leningrad and my father went there to clarify the situation. While he was away his chief accountant and engineer ran away. They had done some damage. My mother didn’t know anything about it. When my father returned from Leningrad he went directly to his office. My mother was cooking his lunch listening to what was going on in my father’s office. My father didn’t come in the evening or late at night. My mother went out to ask the guard what happened and he told her that my father was arrested by two people wearing civilian outfits. My mother ran to NKVD 9 office where they told her that her husband was arrested for suspicion in sabotage. My father was in prison in Vinnitsa. My mother notified his brother Naum about this and he came immediately. My uncle arranged a meeting with my father and also got photographs of the saboteurs who ran away to submit them for an overall search. I can remember well our meeting with my father. My grandmother, Enta, my mother and I went to see him. There were few families waiting in a big room. My father and other prisoners were taken there. My father had lost weight and looked devastated. He lifted me to a wide windowsill and kissed. My mother gave him a bowl of cold meat in jelly that she had bought at the market. It was my father’s favorite. My father took a spoon and… fainted. We didn’t understand what happened and again gave him the bowl when he regained consciousness. He looked at it and fainted again. Then, when he came to his senses he waved his hand to put the bowl away. My grandmother took a closer look at the bowl and saw a little child’s finger in it. This happened in 1932, when famine 10 began in Ukraine. We didn’t quite feel it, but there were cases of cannibalism. After that my father fainted every time hearing the word ‘cholodets’ – cold meat jelly.

In few months the saboteurs were found at the border with Japan where they wanted to escape. They were taken to Vinnitsa and admitted that they had committed theft. My father was released. He resumed his membership in the Party and was given compensation for the period he stayed in prison. However, there was moral damage that was irreparable. My mother took almost all her jewelry to Torgsin 11 during the period that my father was in prison. We also suffered from hunger. Uncle Naum supported us. He brought us food packages. He didn’t trust postal services: he knew they would never reach the addressee. In 1933, at the age of seven and a half years I went to school. I attended the second shift at school and one evening four adult men pursued me. I screamed and a pedestrian rescued me and took me home. From then on I didn’t go to school. There was cannibalism: children were killed to make sausage. I was a plump and appetizing girl and those cannibals couldn’t resist the temptation. My parents decided to keep me home for my sake. Therefore, I went again to the first form a year after.

There were Jewish schools, but my parents decided that, considering further perspective it was rather advantageous to go to a Ukrainian school in Piski Bershad’ where we lived. I studied well and became a pioneer at school. In 1938 my parents bought a small house with thatched roof in the center of the town. They were planning to remove the old stuff and build a new house on the spot. I went to another Ukrainian school near the center of the town. There were more Jewish children in this school. I had Jewish and non-Jewish friends. We didn’t care about nationality. Many Ukrainians spoke Yiddish and Jews spoke Ukrainian in Bershad’.

My father was recruited to the army in 1939 and participated in the campaign of annexation of some Polish regions to Ukraine 12 and in the Finnish War 13. I became my mother’s support and help. My mother left for work early to arrive there on time: at that time one could be sent to court even for being 5 minutes late. My mother left me a list of chores. Our family was already bigger; my sister Genia was born in 1935 and in 1938 – my brother named David after my father’s father who had passed away. I had to take him to nursery school and her to kindergarten, cook dinner, buy bread and go to school. In 1940 my mother arranged for me to become a lab assistant’s apprentice. She wanted me to go to work after finishing the seventh form and continue my studies at an extramural department. I liked working at he mill. I liked grain sampling and testing. Besides, I could take this little grain home that was of help. However, my dream was to study medicine and become a doctor. After finishing school in 1941 my friend and I took our documents to a Medical School in Gaisin, a neighboring town. In the middle of July we received a letter of admission from the School. My mother opened the letter and there was much ado at home: my mother wanted me stay home. She didn’t think she could manage without me. My father was in Western Ukraine. On 21 June 1941 we received his telegram where he told us that he was demobilized and was on his way home. He sent this cable from a railroad station. On Sunday 22 June 1941 I was in bed longer. I was at the prom the night before and my mother and I returned home late. My mother woke me up saying ‘Daughter, the war began’. My father never reached home. He returned to his military unit.

There were big black plates of radios in the streets in Bershad’ where there were crowds of people listening to latest news. On 3 July Stalin spoke on the radio. By that time almost all men in our family were already at the front. On 24 June uncle Avrum, Noeh – my aunt’s husband, and other men left. My friends and I studied first medical aid at school: we learned to apply bandages and carry stretchers. We were patriots and went to the registry office to volunteer to the front. They sent us home saying that we were still too young for the front. Soviet troops were retreating and they moved through Bershad’ town. Soldiers looked exhausted. Many had their arms or heads bandaged. Slightly wounded were on horse-driven carts. My friends and I were on the bridge across the river. When we saw someone with red armbands we asked them to take us with them. Somebody told our parents that we were there. My mother told me off and locked me in the house. I did regret more than once that I didn’t get to the front when we were in evacuation. There was more certainty at the front: one knew that one would either die or survive. There is nothing worse than staying in a ghetto, exposed to humiliation and beating.

On one hot afternoon we were having lunch in the house. The window was open and I saw all of a sudden a man in a uniform lifting my little brother Dima. I got frightened at first and then recognized my father. My mother dropped a heavy frying pan in the kitchen hearing me screaming. We ran outside and hang on our father. We were telling him to come inside, but he was in a hurry. There was a truck with other officers waiting for my father. He only dropped home to tell us that we had to evacuate. He saw refugees from occupied territories that told him about brutality of fascists and mass extermination of Jews in Poland. Our neighbors and grandmother came to our yard. They listened to what my father was telling us. I shall never forget how our father unclasped our hands and even sort of got angry and ran back to the truck. He turned back once shouting to our mother ‘Leave, you must not stay!’ This was the last time I saw our father. In 1944 we received an official notification that he was missing. I don’t even know where he was buried or if he was buried at all.

In few days my grandmother and aunts evacuated. Grandfather Berko refused to go with them. He stayed in Enta’s house. My mother also refused to evacuate. She said we didn’t have money and that it was too hard for her to leave with five children. My mother remembered Germans from WWI when they were polite and she decided they could not change dramatically. Later she regretted much that she didn’t follow our father’s direction.

During air raids we went to the basement. Our mother made some kind of shelter in the basement: the old door was nailed up covered with wood and rags. Mother also somehow pulled heavy boulder stones to camouflage the door. There was only a narrow opening in the basement through which we could squeeze into the shelter. This shelter saved us many times during occupation.

Germans came to Bershad’ in late July. There was a strong bombing and water in the river was almost boiling from bombs. Residents stayed in their houses and my mother forbade me to go outside. Somebody told me later that few Ukrainians came to meet German troops with bread and salt on embroidered towels. The first to come into the town were Hungarians on motorcycles. They moved on and on the next day German front troops came also on motorcycles. They also ignored the locals, but on the next day an SS Sonderverband and policemen from Western Ukraine came with them. There were posters ordering Jews to come for registration everywhere. Germans and policemen came to houses to rob, rape and kill. A German and a policeman came to our house. They tore off a mezuzah and the German rushed it with his boot. The policeman pinched me on my breast hard. Then they searched the house looking for gold and money, something we hadn’t had for a long time. They took away new notebooks, pencils and pens that our mother bought children to go school. When they went to another room I picked the mezuzah: I always wanted to know what was inside, but my mother ordered me to leave it where it was. The searchers turned the house upside down. Before leaving the policeman noticed my little golden earrings. My grandmother had little earrings made from her ring when I was born and pierced them into my ears. He unlocked one earring, but another one didn’t unlock and he pulled it down injuring my earlobe. I couldn’t say a work. My brother embraced me by my knees. He got frightened seeing my ear bleeding.

On the next day we were taken to the ghetto: few streets were fenced with barbed wire. We stayed in someone’s house just few days until the area of the ghetto spread to our street. We returned to our house. Life behind bars was terrible. The ghetto in Bershad’ was divided into two parts: an upper part on a hill and a lower part where we were. We were not allowed to leave the ghetto: there were policemen guarding the gate. My mother always applied some smelly herbs to keep Germans and policemen away. They raped young girls. They broke into a neighboring house and raped my friend Chaika. They knocked her mother out hitting her with a rifle butt. My other friend Raya’s sister was raped. Their mother was screaming and they shot her. Raya, her sister and their little brother lost their mother. Another beautiful woman was raped in the presence of her husband. When he tried to protect her they shot him.

In few weeks Romanian troops took command in the ghetto: our ghetto became a part of Transnistria 14 Romanians were greedy and could be bought off. A Jewish community and Judenrat were established in the ghetto. Judenrat was responsible for order and cleanness in the ghetto. They had to arrange for timely removal of dead corpses and forming groups of inmates to go to work. My mother was concerned about me. She told me to stay in the shelter and asked the community to not send me to work. I feel ashamed to say that it often happened that some Jews in the community didn’t protect us from occupants. If they didn’t include me in the list of a work crew they charged my mother to pay two marks per day. They wanted to benefit from their own kinship. We didn’t have any money. We were starving. Every now and then Ukrainians brought some food to the ghetto. One of my mother’s acquaintances bribed Romanians to take my brothers Boris and Tonia to her home. They helped her about the house and she gave them some food. There were two Rud’ brothers in the ghetto. They worked as guards in my father’s office. They were policemen in the ghetto and informed our mother about when she needed to hide us in the shelter to avoid doing some particularly hard work.

The commandant of the ghetto inspired fear and horror in all inmates of the ghetto. I’ve forgotten his last name, but he was Fuhrer’s favorite. He was a young sleek man. He had his boots shining with polish and walked in the ghetto with a whip and his little spitz dog. He could have all male inmates lined up and shoot each one that he didn’t like. He called our street the ‘Street of pretty girls’ and often came here to select another girl for amusement. After he satiated with a girl they killed her. Their corpses couldn’t be removed for three days until he gave a direction to do so. I remember a fearful accident. The commandant ordered all to gather in the square. There was a pregnant woman in the front row. She was deported from Moldavia. There were inmates from Moldavia, Romania, the Baltic Republics, Yugoslavia and France in the ghetto. They arrived in autumn 1941. The commandant didn’t like the woman for some reason. He ordered her to come nearer, took out a knife and cut her belly open. A living baby fell onto the ground and he crushed it with his boot. I screamed and my mother pushed me to keep silent. I still have this horrifying scene before my eyes. The woman died of loss of blood.

Fascists made injections to younger children and made them swallow some powder. Seeing a fascist or a policeman they rolled up their sleeves. Soon an epidemic of typhoid began. I think they infected children purposely. My sister Genia and then grandfather Berko fell ill and died. I don’t remember their funerals since I was ill with typhoid. I think those who died were taken to the cemetery in Bershad’ and buried in a common grave. I was ill for a long time. When I recovered my mother tried to keep me in the shelter. When she couldn’t do it, I went to work like other young people. Romanians made stables in the synagogue and the cultural center. Once in December girls were taken to the synagogue and ordered to wash the floors: they were going to make a casino for officers in there. The water was ice cold. We were given buckets and spades. I recognized one policeman. He used to be a Komsomol leader 15 in our school. I believed he stayed in the ghetto on purpose to help us. We believed that every Komsomol official was an example of honor, decency and devotion to his country and people. I thought he belonged to an underground group, but he told us that if we didn’t finish this task in three hours he would report that we were Komsomol members and they would shoot us. I wasn’t a Komsomol then. We took to scrubbing the floors. The mud was mixed with our blood flowing from under the nails. I came home with my ice cold bleeding hands and my mother and I cried desperately!

One night we heard noise, yelling in Romanian and crying. Another group of Jews arrived at the ghetto. In the morning my mother saw light in my grandfather’s window as if somebody was trying to light a candle. She went to the house and saw Jews sleeping side by side on the floor. It was cold and they could well freeze to death in the house. My mother woke me up, boiled a big bucket of water and sent me to the house to give those people at least a cup of boiling water to warm up. I came into the house when I heard someone saying ‘Look, she is so much like our Bella!’ Then I met the Aizner family. Their daughter Bella died on the way to the ghetto. They were not even allowed to bury her. My mother invited them to stay with us and we became friends. Their son Yakov liked me a lot. His mother’s name was Lisa, like my mother. She also liked me much. They told us that their family was rich, that they owned factories and plants in Romania and that they had relatives in America. They believed their relatives were going to rescue them through Red Cross. Aunt Lisa began to convince my mother and me to take me with them under a name of their daughter Bella and when we were free – marry Yakov. My mother told me to agree. In a month Red Cross couriers began to visit the ghetto. They had lists of Jews. They came to our house, wrote my name down as Yakov’s sister and left. Yakov was handsome, but I wasn’t particularly fond of him. Perhaps, I was too young and was afraid of the forthcoming marriage. Yakov began to work in the Jewish police. The policemen made lists of people to go to work every day, and also decided who was to be sterilized and provided this ‘material’ to fascists. He could manage to not include me on any lists: tried to save me from work and helped me to avoid sterilization. Young girls and women got injections of formalin into uterus. It caused inflammation and high fever. Someone died, some survived, but could never have children. German doctors made these injections. There was one Romanian Jew Landau among them. He was deported from Romania with his wife and two-year-old daughter. His wife died and he was ordered to make those injections. His hands were shaking and he said he could not live with it. He hanged himself shortly afterward. There was also a Ukrainian gynecologist in the camp. He enjoyed mutilating Jewish women. He was taken to court after the war.

On one hand, I was grateful to Yakov, but I didn’t want to marry him. In about 3 months Yakov told me to be ready. A courier was coming to pick us up. I felt awfully sorry for my mother and my brothers. I thought I would never forgive myself if I survived and they didn’t. When Yakov came I said that I loved my family and couldn’t possibly leave them and that if he loved me why didn’t he stay in the ghetto himself. He came back with his bag and said he would stay. His mother came. She begged me to either go with them or at least tell her son to come with his parents. I promised her I would do it. I told Yakov that I would never marry him. He left me and I went hysterical. My mother was very upset. She hoped that I might escape from that Hell where we were. In two days the Aizners knocked on our window at 6 in the morning – they were leaving the ghetto. My mother went outside to say ‘good bye’ to them, but I didn’t dare.

In some time Eva who lived in our house came home with an acquaintance of hers, a young man from Yedintsy town [today Moldova] where the girl also came from. His name was Motia Gabis. He told us his story. He was born in Yedintsy in 1921. His father owned a buttery and his mother was a teacher of the Russian language. His father Ouri and Motia also finished a grammar school. In 1940 the Soviet regime 16 was established and Motia had to go to a secondary school to obtain a certificate to be able to enter a college. When the Great Patriotic War began the Gabis family failed to evacuate. When fascists came to Yedintsy Dmitri Bogutsak, Moldavian neighbor of the Gabis family, came to shoot Motia’s family. Eva hiding in her house saw this happening. Motia’s father and mother fell and then fell Motia, wounded, and then Ouri fell. Eva decided they were all dead. She was astounded to meet Motia in the ghetto in Gershad. Motia and my brother were lucky since their wounds were not lethal. Bullets only tore their clothes and made some scratches on them. They stayed quiet until night when they came to their friends’ house where they got first aid. After they recovered they had to stay in hiding. Motia and his brother got to Ukraine concealing their identity. Fascists captured them and sent to the ‘Dead Loop’ death camp 17. Motia and Ouri escaped from there, too. They kept hiding in Ukrainian villages. From what Motia told us I understood that our relatives Menachem’s wife and their children gave shelter to them. They stayed with my aunt until they got stronger. Later I joked that my uncle’s wife heated up a husband for me! Motia and his brother Ouri were taken to the construction of abridge in Nikolaev. Their work conditions were very hard. They slept in pits they excavated themselves. Almost all of them died at this construction.

I didn’t like Motia at first sight. He was wearing torn trousers and a ragged jacket. My mother and I were undoing old carpets for yarn and knitting woolen socks for sale. Motia started helping me. My mother liked Motia at once. She wanted to take Motia to live with us, but was afraid of rumors: he was a young man and I was a young woman… Then Eva said ‘Why doesn’t Beila marry Motia?’ I didn’t quite accept this idea. Motia visited us every evening. Once he said that if I married him I would never regret it, that he would care about me and we would have a good life. I agreed: not because I loved him, but because I felt sorry for him. He was very happy and kept telling everybody about the forthcoming wedding. There was a rabbi in the group of Moldavian Jews. He conducted the ceremony of engagement in accordance with Jewish traditions. He even issued a paper that I lost, regretfully, but I’ve kept ketubbah, a wedding contract, written on a page from a school notebook. We also had a chuppah made from old blankets. Our best friends held sticks with a chuppah spread on them. There was not one tallit in the ghetto: fascists took all tallits and tefillins away from older Jews. However, the rabbi wedded us and my mother gave her blessing. Shortly before the wedding Motia’s former Ukrainian schoolmate Kolia Kolkey recognized Motia. He was recruited to the Romanian army and was a guard in the ghetto. He hugged Motia. He helped us a lot. He tried not to send us to work when he was on duty. Our wedding was when he was on duty, too. He brought some food and two live chickens to the wedding. Of course, it was a different wedding. We didn’t have any guests since we were not allowed to gather in groups or walk in the streets after curfew. This happened in late 1942.

We received information about the situation at the front. Partisans spread flyers with information about victories of the Soviet army. There was a partisan unit near Bershad’. The majority of partisans were Jews in it. Commanding officer Yasha Thales was a former secretary of the town Komsomol committee. Some of the partisans were sons of inmates of the ghetto. Every now and then another men disappeared from the ghetto joining partisans. Partisans had contact inmates in the ghetto. In the middle of 1943 the inmates collected money for partisans. Every inmate contributed as much as they could afford. We didn’t have any money. They made a list of contributors indicating the amount of contributions for some reason and gave this list to one family that buried it in their basement. This family consisted of parents and two children: a teenage boy and a daughter. There was a traitor in the ghetto. Fascists got to know about the money. One night they came to this family demanding the list. They began to torture the girl before the boy’s eyes. He couldn’t bear it and took them to the basement and got a bottle with the list inside. Fascists killed the boy and then all other members of the family. Then they shot everybody on this list. This lasted several days. We were hiding in our basement and could hear gunshots.

In 1943 fascists were retreating. We were happy about the victorious advance of the Soviet army, but our situation in the ghetto was getting worse with each coming day. Fascists replaced Romanians in the ghetto and started preparation to liquidation of the ghetto. They started from the upper ghetto. They took inmates on trucks to a quarry where they were shooting them. There were also mobile gas chambers where they smothered people with exhaust gas. Only about 320 inmates survived in the upper ghetto. They were in the last truck that Germans left on the road. As for the lower ghetto, fascists decided to flood us. They were going to blast bridges and then the wave would flood our town. Partisans informed us on German plans and we were awaiting death.

On 11 March 1944 fascists broke into our house and took my husband and me away. My mother thought it was their next shooting action, but we joined a group of about 20 younger people and were taken to a quarry with dead corpses. A day before beautiful white snow covered the ground and the sight of dead bodies was horrifying. We were ordered to pull these bodies with boat hooks and place in piles: wood and bodies. I was 5 months pregnant and it was hard for me to pull the corpses, not to mention the horror I felt, but it was impossible to leave the place. They were policemen with dogs guarding us. They prepared canisters with gasoline. When we completed the piles fascists set them on fire that produced horrifying black smoke. The snow became black. I was scared to death. Germans were in a hurry since they could hear the roar of the frontline approaching. When we returned home I kept crying and couldn’t tell my mother where we had been. At night of 13 to 14 March we were at home. The ghetto was wide-awake. People were saying ‘good bye’ to one another awaiting death. At 5 am we heard shooting and then we heard ‘Folks, come out. You are safe!’ It was a whirlpool. People were jumping out of the windows. Those were partisans and Yasha Thales was the first one who came in. I saw a woman die of infarction from joy when she ran to hug a partisan. Soviet troops came in about an hour. We were happy and couldn’t believe we survived.

In few days after we were released mobilization to the front began. My husband decided to go to the front hoping to find that bandit who killed his parents. He told me to wait for his brother Ouri to come back from Nikolaev and then come to Yedintsy, his hometown. When my husband came to Romania he got to know that Mitia Bogutsak who had killed his parents ran away to Romania. Motia decided to volunteer to the front. He knew Romanian and French languages and was recruited as interpreter in headquarters of 24th frontier regiment. Ouri returned in April and we went to Moldavia on foot. In Mohilev-Podolsk we boarded a platform in a military train heading to the front. It took us to Yedintsy. I went to headquarters of the division where Motia was on service and general Kapustin, commanding officer of the division, promised to find Motia and grant him a short leave. He kept his word and Motia came on 3-day leave a day after. We stayed together and then my husband had to go back. I went to the executive committee and they were glad to see me. They needed somebody who knew Russian. They sent me to the registry office where I copied lists of recruits.

In a couple of months I went to work at the public education office. I studied a course of pedagogic and also taught young Moldavians elementary grammar: they couldn’t even sign their name. In June 1944 I gave birth to a girl in a military hospital. Was nobody to look after the baby and I quit the Pedagogical School. I went to work, but ran home every few hours, and sometimes my landlady looked after the baby. If I hadn’t worked we would have had nothing to live on. An inspector at my work began to pick on me: I still don’t know whether he was an anti-Semite or he wanted intimacy with me. I had to quit the district public education office. I got employment at the military construction agency that constructed facilities at the border. I indicated in my resume that I was in the ghetto and the lieutenant who was reviewing it told me to skip this part of my biography so that nobody knew that I was in the occupied area. There was a lot of suspicion toward those who stayed in occupied areas. They were treated almost like traitors of their Motherland. I revised my resume indicating that I was in evacuation and got a job of cash messenger. I got a higher salary plus compensation for confidentiality.

My baby conceived in terrible conditions of the ghetto. She died at the age of a year and a half. I was afraid of notifying my husband in the army. He came on leave during October holidays in 1945. Motia was very sad when he heard that his daughter, whom he had never seen, died. He wanted to demobilize, but only students and teachers were the first to demobilize. I obtained a request for demobilization for my husband. He studied two years at the Pedagogical College for two years and could be determined as a student. In two days I returned home late: I took salary to workers on the border. I saw a uniform hanging on the back of a chair. Motia was back. I was so happy. He and I went to see my mother in Bershad’.

There was terrible news waiting for us. Grandmother Riva didn’t return from evacuation. In July 1941 she was on the way in evacuation with my father’s sisters. Their train was bombed and grandmother Riva lost her leg. She was put on a sanitary train that left without my aunts. Enta and Freida lost track of her. They worked in a kolkhoz in about 50 km from Tashkent [Uzbekistan]. In summer 1942 they were selling vegetables from kolkhoz at a market in Tashkent. They met an acquaintance from Bershad’. They were talking about families and Freida mentioned that they had lost grandmother Riva. The woman they met told them that grandmother Riva was a beggar at the railway station in Tashkent. She was in hospital where someone stole her money and valuables and she had nothing to do, but beg. Freida and Enta rushed to find their mother. At the railway station they were horrified to find out that she had died on a platform few days before. We cried desperately! I still cannot stand the thought that my beloved grandmother died like a lost beggar. The only consolation that occurred to me was the probably God took her away, so that she never got to know that all of her sons and sons-in-law perished at the front. Itzyk was the only survivor, but he also passed away shortly after the war

My mother and brothers lived in our half-ruined house. They were very poor. It took her a long time to obtain approval for allowing her a pension for the children to be paid for their father who had perished at the front. It was a miserable pension. There was no work, the mill was ruined. My mother wrote letters and requests for other people and they paid her for this work. Motia and I decided to take my younger brother David with us. He turned 7 in 1945. He went to school in Yedintsy. I raised my younger brother.

Motia became director of military trade supply agency and was a teacher in an evening school. He studied at the extramural department in a College in Vinnitsa. After finishing it he got a job assignment 18 in Ternopol. We moved to Ternopol. In 1948 my son Semyon was born there and in 1951 – a girl. I named her Rimma after my grandmother. Motia kept his word that he gave me in the ghetto. He took good care of the children and me. He worked hard and created wonderful living conditions for us. Motia also insisted that I didn’t go to work. So, I stayed at home with the children.

I supported my mother sending her money and parcels. We visited her once a year and stayed few weeks. In 1973, when we received a big apartment, I took my mother to live with us. She died in 1974. She was buried at the town cemetery. We didn’t observe Jewish traditions, but I raised the children as Jews. They knew about the great suffering their nation had to go through.

We’ve never been interested in politics. No members of our family ever joined the Party. We lived our life and didn’t care about any political occurrences in the country. We spent our summer vacations in the Crimea. Most of our friends were Jews, but we didn’t segregate people by nationality. It just happened to be so. We didn’t observe any Jewish holidays or celebrate Soviet holidays. We only celebrated calendar New Year, birthdays and Victory Day, 9 May 19 when our friends visited us. We had a small party and sang songs of the wartime. My husband, my brothers and I drank a shot of vodka on the memorable day of 14 March, the day of liberation from the ghetto.

My older brother Boris finished a lower secondary school and studied at FZU vocational school. He studied in Donetsk and lived in a hostel. After his service in the army he returned to Donetsk. His childhood friend Nina Kooperman became his wife. She also was in the ghetto in Bershad’ with her mother. After the war they moved to Donetsk. Boris had two children: Alla, a librarian, lives in Nazareth in Israel with her family, and Grigori who also lives in Israel. Boris died on infarction in 1997. Tonia, my brother, lives in Rudnitsa town, Vinnitsa region. He divorced his first wife Betia. They had two children who live in Israel now. Tonia remarried. He is very ill and very poor.

The youngest David has always been with us. He also lives in Ternopol. David finished Polytechnic College and became an engineer. He is a pensioner, but he still works. He is chairman of the Jewish community in Ternopol. David’s Russian wife Tamara Volinyak helps him with his work and makes her own contribution into the life of community. David has twin daughters, born in 1965: Inna and Lilia. They finished Technological College, but they don’t work meanwhile. Inna has a daughter, called Lilia who is married.

My son Semyon finished a Polytechnic College. He worked as a car engineer for many years. Now he works at a private company. Semyon divorced his first wife. His second wife Galena, is a Jewish woman, has two children from her first marriage. Still, Semyon was kind to them. They live not far from us in Ternopol and we often see each other.

My daughter Rimma met her future husband Alexandr Rozenberg in college. They got married in 1973 when they were students. There were many guests at their wedding, but it wasn’t a Jewish wedding. Rimma and her husband worked at the Lvov TV factory Electron. They moved to Israel in 1990. Alexandr works in Sokhnut 20 and Rimma is a housewife. They like their new life very much. My husband and I had the same opinion about emigration. We were happy about the establishment of an independent Jewish state. Like all other Jews we followed the events and struggle, particularly, during the Six-Day-War 21, the war of Judgment Day 22. We wished happiness to all those moving to Israel or America, but we ourselves did not want to go to Israel. We remembered but too well how Jewish leaders and Judenrat behaved in the ghetto trying to benefit from us. Neither Motia nor I ever wanted to live our life among only Jews. Besides, our home and family graves are here.

I think I am a very happy woman regardless of all ordeals that we had to go through. My husband and I were always together and we were close. He died in 1994. It was a huge loss for me. I buried him beside my mother’s grave at the town cemetery. I am very happy for our children and glad that their life is different from ours. Rimma’s daughter lives in Israel. She married a Jewish man from Israel. There was a big traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to attend the party, but I’ve seen a video cassette and it was beautiful. I often look at photographs in the family album. In one of them a rabbi hands beautiful dressed up Lena, my beloved granddaughter a ketubbah and I recall my bitter wedding in the ghetto and my ketubbah. Only because I kept this document I could prove that I was an inmate of a ghetto during the war. Now I receive a solid German pension. I wouldn’t manage with the pension our state pays.

There are some economic difficulties, but I am glad that independent Ukraine gives good opportunities for every nation, including Jews, to develop. I’ve never been religious. I help my brother with his work in the community. He asks my advice and I am ready to help. I observe Sabbath as tribute to tradition and homage to my family. I light candles and make something delicious. I invite my son and his family or my neighbors. They gave me a book of prayers and I pray for the health and wealth of my loved ones. I don’t attend Hesed: there is a lot of bureaucracy there, those officials: I don’t like the atmosphere like this. I am old, but I am very optimistic about the future. I would dream to travel to Israel and I love my Motherland Ukraine more than anything in the world. I used to have a dacha. Once a neighbor – a drunkard and rascal – called me zhydovka [kike]. He told me to get out to Israel. I replied to him that I am proud to be a Jew and that if I wanted I would go to Israel and if not – I would stay in my Motherland Ukraine. I told him that he is a disgrace to Ukraine and drinks away its riches and people in Israel have built a prosperous country on stones and the rest of the world admires this country. I hope to see my children, my granddaughter and grandson in Israel. I would dream to see Israel with my own eyes and bow to this great land created by human blood and sweat, to the country and its people. I hope that this dream will come true. My children promised me to buy and send me a plane ticket.

1 Great Patriotic War

2 Nationalization

confiscation of private businesses or property after the revolution of 1917 in Russia.

3 Kulaks

The majority of wealthy peasants that refused to join collective farms and give their grain and property to Soviet power were called kulaks, declared enemies of the people and exterminated in the 1930s.

4 Petliura, Simon (1879-1926)

5 Pogroms in Ukraine

In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.

6 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

7 Civil War (1918-1920)

8 Struggle against religion

9 NKVD

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

10 Famine in Ukraine

11 Torgsin stores

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

12 In 1940, the Baltic republics (Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania) came under the rule of the neighboring Soviet Union (USSR)

November 1 1939: The USSR Supreme Soviet passed the law on Western Ukraine's membership in the USSR and inclusion in the Ukrainian SSR.

13 Soviet-Finnish War (1939-40)

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

14 Transnistria

Area between the rivers Dnestr and Bug, and the Black Sea. It was ruled by the Romanians and during World War II it was used as a huge ghetto to which Jews from Bukovina and Moldavia were deported.

15 Komsomol

16 In 1812 Russia managed to annex the eastern half of the Romanian Principality of Moldavia

From then until the First World War, the territory known as Bessarabia (Basarabia in Romanian) changed hands between Romania and Russia several times. After the First World War, Bessarabia joined Romania, but Moscow never accepted this union. In June 1940, Moscow delivered to Bucharest an ultimatum to evacuate, in four days, Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina (Bucovina). Romania had no choice but to yield. The two ceded provinces had an area of 51,000 square kilometers, or some 20,000 square miles and 3.9 million inhabitants mostly Romanians. It was then Romania's turn to reject the settlement and in June 1941 joined Germany and attacked the Soviet Union. In 1944, however, the USSR reannexed the area, occupied the entire country of Romania and, shortly thereafter, imposed a communist government in Bucharest.

17 Dead Loop concentration camp

There were no mass shootings in the Romanian occupation zone of Transnistria in 1941-1944. Unlike Germans Romanians were trying to resolve the ‘Jewish issue’ by bloodless methods: isolation of Jews in ghettos and camps where they were to be gradually brought to extinction from hunger and diseases.
On 11 November the civil governor of Transnistria Alexianu issued Order #22 for deportation of Jews in colonies. A concentration camp for Jewish residents of Tulchin (3005 in total) was established in Pechera village Schpikovskiy district Vinnitsa region in December 1941. On 1 January 1942 a group of Jews from Brazlaw and in few days Jews from Ladyzhyn and Vapniaki, from Rogozin in August and in late July, October and November – 3500 Jews from Mogilyov-Podolskiy were herded to Pechera. This concentration camp is known as the ‘Dead Loop’. In total about 9000 people from various towns in Vinnitsa region were kept in the camp. They were accommodated in the former 2-storied recreation center building. There were up to 50 tenants in one room. No provisions were made for the most basic necessities of the inmates. Inmates hardly got any food and the building had no heating. About 2 500 Jews were taken away by Germans for forced labor. None of them returned. In March 1944 Soviet troops liberated the camp. There were 1550 survivors left in the camp.

18 Mandatory job assignment in the USSR

19 On May, 9 - The Great Patriotic War ended for the Soviet Union on 9th May 1945

This day of a victory was a grandiose and most liked holiday in the USSR.

20 The World Israeli Jewish Agency called Sokhnut was established in 1929

It is an international voluntary Jewish organization that functions in 58 countries all over the world. Its center is in Jerusalem. Before the state of Israel was created the world Jewish community and the World Zionist organization used Sokhnut as a tool for renaissance of the Jewish national hearth in the former Palestine that was under British mandate at the time. When Israel was declared an independent state in 1947 the Sokhnut directed its activities into the World Jewish communities focusing its efforts at strengthening peace, friendship and harmony between nations, rebirth and development of the cultural and spiritual heritage of the Jewish people, preservation of its national originality and creation of necessary conditions for further development of the ties of Diaspora with its historical Motherland.

21 Six-Day-War

The first strikes of the Six-Day-War happened on June 5th, 1967 by the Israeli Air Force. The entire war only lasted 132 hours and 30 minutes. The fighting on the Egyptian side only lasted four days, while fighting on the Jordanian side lasted three. Despite the short length of the war, this was one of the most dramatic and devastating wars ever fought between Israel and all of the Arab nations. This war resulted in a depression that lasted for many years after it ended. The Six-Day-War increased tension between the Arab nations and the Western World because of the change in mentalities and political orientations of the Arab nations.

22 Yom Kippur War

The Arab-Israeli War of 1973, also known as the Yom Kippur War or the Ramadan War, was a war between Israel on one side and Egypt and Syria on the other side. It was the fourth major military confrontation between Israel and the Arab states. The war lasted for three weeks: it started on 6th October, 1973 and ended on 22nd October on the Syrian front and on 26th October on the Egyptian front.

Lev Dubinski

Interviewer: Roman Lenchovski
Date of interview: October 2002

Lev Dubinski lives in a three-room apartment in a solid brick house in Industrialnaya Street at some distance from the center of town. His wife Elena received this apartment back in 1961. Lev and his wife Elena Shepenkova, their daughters Irina and Lilia and Lev’s parents Peisach and Maria used to live in this apartment at the beginning. Now his younger daughter Lilia and her husband Yuri Maltzev live with Lev. We had our discussion in Lev’s room, full of books. There are technical books as well as Russian, Ukrainian, Jewish and German classics. We sit at the round table where Lev’s family used to get together before the war. Lev is a slim gray-haired man of average height with a friendly face. He has deep shrewd eyes and clear logical manner of speaking. When we talked about his grandfathers and great grandfather, his aunts and uncles his memory failed him at times and his voice quivered. There were tears in his eyes…Lev was an expert in the energy field. He is a veteran of the war. He is depressed about the uncertainty of the future.

My memory goes as far as to my great-grandfather in the history of my family. I don’t know his name since my father always called him ‘grandfather’. He was born in a small Jewish town [shtethl] in Kiev province in 1840s. Then he lived in Taborov town near Belaya Tserkov in Kiev Province, where he was Assistant Manager at the countess Branitskaya’s estate. There was Ukrainian, Russian and Jewish population in Taborov. Jews constituted about one third of the population. They dealt in trade and crafts. My great grandfather told us that at his time there were few synagogues, cheder and Jewish hospital in Taborov. Yiddish and Ukrainian were equally spoken in the town. My grandfather Srul Simcha Dubinski was born in Taborov in 1870. He got married at the age of 18. His wife Sarra (I don’t know her maiden name) was younger than he. She must have also come from Taborov. I am sure they had a Jewish wedding with a chuppah and a rabbi. It couldn’t have been otherwise at that time. They spoke Yiddish in the family, observed Jewish traditions and went to synagogue. Grandmother Sarra was a housewife. In 1889 their first baby Iosif was born. Two years later Revekka was born. Then came my father Peisach in 1893, in 1896 Lev was born and in 1898 — Mark. Isaac was born in 1906 and in 1909 — Pinia was born. Grandfather Srul Simcha didn’t have a profession. He may have finished cheder. For some time he was a stableman for a landlord in Skvira, near Belaya Tserkov, but he kept looking for something better in his life. He had to provide better for his family, he thought. He obtained a visa to USA where he moved in 1911 hoping to earn some money and take his family to America. Grandmother Sarra and the children stayed with his father. Great-grandfather kept a tavern in Taborov to support his grandchildren, but the family was poor anyway: children had to share one pair of shoes. My father always admired and loved his grandfather. He thought he was a self-sacrificing man. I remember how our father took my sister and me to the hospital where our great grandfather was in late 1920s. Medical assistants carried him outside in his stretches to say his farewells to us. He died shortly afterward. He was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions at the Jewish cemetery in Taborov.

My father, Peisach Dubinski was born in Taborov in 1893. At the time his father Srul Simcha was a stableman for countess Branitskaya and the family lived near the mansion in the vicinity of Taborov. Although there was a cheder my father went to a parish school [Orthodox Christian school]. The Cheder was located at a long distance from home and for this reason my father’s parents sent him to a parish school. My father said that his schoolmates teased him a lot and it was anti-Semitic attitude. He was the only Jewish boy at school. Ukrainian boys were fair-haired snub-nosed boys while my father had a typical Semitic appearance: brunette with a big nose. Besides, he spoke Ukrainian with a strong Jewish accent that also resulted in a lot of teasing. However, one teacher stood for him. At religion classes the priest held up my father as an example ‘Look, although this is a Jewish boy he knows Christian prayers best of all of you’. My father attended Christian lessons since it was mandatory for all pupils to attend all classes. He knew Christian prayers best among all other pupils. My father studied successfully at school and manager of the estate in Taborov hired him to teach his son. After finishing the parish school where he studied 4 years my father went to work in a hardware store. He told us that he lived in an attic. He was eager to study and read, but he didn’t get a chance to continue his education.

In America my grandfather Srul Simcha worked at a button factory saving money for boat tickets. He sent tickets before the Revolution of 1917 1 and his daughter Revekka came to America. She also worked at the button factory where she joined the Communist Party and became its active member. My father also received a ticket to America. He got as far as Antwerp where for some reason he didn’t get immigrant visa from the commission to move on and he had to go back home.

In 1914 when World War I began my father’s older brother Iosif was recruited to the army. He took part in the war and was captured. At the beginning of World War I the Pale of Settlement 2 was abolished and Jews began moving to bigger towns. The Jewish population in Kiev increased significantly. My great-grandfather Dubinski, grandmother Sarra and her sons also moved to Kiev from Taborov. The family rented an apartment in Basseynaya Street in Kiev. My father and his brothers went to work as shop assistants in an hardware store.

Shortly afterward my father met Maria Reizis, a Jewish girl from Belaya Tserkov. The Reizis family also moved to Kiev after the Pale of Settlement was abolished. They rented an apartment in the center of the town. My parents got married in 1916. They had a Jewish wedding. They installed a chuppah in the yard of the house where Maria lived. The ceremony was conducted by a rabbi from Brodski synagogue [Brodski family] 3. The newly weds settled down in the Maria parents’ apartment on the corner of Prozorovskogo and Saksaganskogo Streets in the center of the town.

My maternal grandfather Meyer Reizis was born in a town near Belaya Tserkov in 1864. He finished cheder, but he didn’t continue his studies. He was smart, though. He worked at a mill sorting out bags with grain and then he became an assistant accountant in an office. His wife Liya was born in a town near Belaya Tserkov in 1867. After the wedding the newly weds moved to Belaya Tserkov. My grandfather earned little for sorting bags and my grandmother kept cows and sold dairies.

My grandfather Meyer had 2 sisters and brothers. I only knew one sister Miriam Reizis, born near Belaya Tserkov in 1860s. She lived in Belaya Tserkov later. She didn’t have any education and was a housewife. Miriam had two daughters: her older daughter Tsypoira was deaf and dumb. I don’t remember her older daughter’s name. They lived in Basseynaya Street in Kiev. Both daughters perished in Babi Yar 4 in 1941. She also had a son named Moisey. He worked as a doctor in Belaya Tserkov. He was much respected. He never refused people and helped them for free whenever they needed him. Miriam died in Belaya Tserkov before the war. Moisey moved to Kiev with his family after the war. He died in 1980s.

They had five children: their oldest daughter Tsypoira was born in late 1880s. She had no education and was a housewife. She had a Jewish husband named Yakov Yezril and two sons. Her older son Michael, born in 1910, had meningitis when a child and was epileptic. He finished a secondary school, but he never went to work due to his health condition. He was very interested in politics: Stalin and other leaders were his idols. When in evacuation during the war he fell ill with tuberculosis and died. The second son – Naum, was born in 1914. He finished Kiev Industrial College and was a radio engineer. In 1941, at the beginning of the war he was in a group of radio operators that received a task to blast a radio station. I don’t know whether they completed their task, but I know that they all perished in a camp for prisoners-of-war near Kiev. Naum’s wife, Sonia Volodarskaya, Jew, was raising their son Mark, born in early 1941. My parents supported Mark and Sonia, particularly, after Tsypoira died in 1953. Mark finished Kiev Polytechnic College. He is an energy engineer. Sonia died in Kiev in late 1980s, and Mark moved to Israel in 1989. We’ve lost contact with him.

After Tsypoira there was Polina, born in 1891. She didn’t have any education. Her father taught her to read and write a little. He also taught Tsypoira. Polina was a housewife. She was short and plain and grandmother always felt sorry for her. Polina was married to a nice and kind Jewish man Lev Zagrebel’ny. He was a prisoner during World War I. When he returned home he wanted to marry Elia, the youngest sister, but grandmother said ‘No, you shall marry Polina I dare to say’. She got a nice dowry and he married Polina. Their son Boris became a design engineer. He worked at a military plant in Moscow and retired in the rank of lieutenant colonel. Lev dealt in commerce. He died in 1947. Polina’s neighbor looked after Polina and Boris sent her money to pay her neighbor for care. My wife and I were working then. We also helped Polina whenever we could. She died in Kiev in early 1980s.

My mother Maria Reizis was born in 1893. My mother was beautiful and smart. She was one of the best pupils in the grammar school in Belaya Tserkov. She finished grammar school with honors. Elia, the youngest sister, was 3 years younger than my mother. She also studied in grammar school, which she didn’t finish. Elia married Lev, my father’s brother. They had a daughter named Mary. She was born in 1923. She graduated from Kiev State University and was a Ukrainian teacher at school. She liked Ukrainian literature and was fond of Ukrainian folk songs. Elia’s son Moisey was born in 1924. He was 17 when the Great Patriotic War 5 began. He went to excavate trenches near Donetsk. He returned home in late September 1941 and went to Babi Yar in Kiev with other Jews.

My grandparents’ youngest son Moisey was born in 1900. He finished cheder and grammar school. My mother told me that he was extremely strong: all other boys in Belaya Tserkov were afraid of him. He was tall, strong, healthy and handsome. He always protected my mother from the young men that were too insistent demanding her attention. When in 1915 the Pale of Settlement was abolished my grandfather Meyer decided to move his family to Kiev. He wanted his son Moisey to get a good education and arrange successful marriages for his daughters. Moisey entered Kiev Medical College. In 1918 he married Lisa Spector, a Jewish girl. A year later their daughter Lusia was born. Moisey sympathized with the Whites 6, but when in 1919 during the Civil War 7 Denikin 8 units came to town his neighbors reported that he was a communist and provided medical care to the Red Army troops. He was a devoted doctor and never refused patients regardless of their political convictions or nationality. They lived in 9, Basseynaya Street. One night Denikin’s soldiers took him away from home. There is a family legend that relatives wanted to give ransom for Moisey. They collected some gold, but when they came to his guards it was already too late. Moisey was gone. Relatives began to search for Moisey, but they failed. Few days later they heard that Denikin troops shot their prisoners at the town cemetery. Grandfather Meyer and my father went there and found Moisey. [his body] They buried him at the Lukianovska Jewish cemetery 9 in accordance with the Jewish tradition. This was a tragic death of a strong 19-year-old man. His daughter was 3 months old when he perished. Lusia died of tuberculosis in 1932 and Lisa perished in Babi Yar in 1941. There was only one photo brooch of Moisey. Grandmother Liya always wore it. She felt guilty that the family came up with their ransom too late.

In Kiev grandfather Meyer opened a store selling construction materials. It was located in the center of the town. Grandmother worked there as a shop assistant. The store was closed at the end of NEP 10 in 1929. My grandparents moved to 21 Malo-Vasilkovskaya Street near the Brodski synagogue. They rented an apartment in a private house. There was a terrace and two connecting rooms in this apartment. They were poor, but their relatives came to celebrate Jewish holidays with them anyway. Their children and their families were not religious and didn’t observe any Jewish traditions in their homes, but they enjoyed visiting their parents on Jewish holidays. My grandfather and grandmother were religious. They went to the Brodski synagogue. My grandfather wore a black yarmulka and had a short gray-haired bear and moustache. He was a slim short man. He wasn’t a pedantic orthodox that follows all rules and rituals, but they always celebrated Sabbath. My grandmother wore a kerchief that was a rule for Jewish women. On Friday my mother’s sisters and their families visited their parents and my grandmother lit candles. My grandparents always celebrated Pesach. I remember one celebration. The table was covered with a snow white tablecloth. There was red wine, fancy wine glasses and food on the table. I was surprised to see wine since we never had strong drinks at home. Grandfather sat at the head of the table with a white cloth with black stripes on him. This was a tallit. He had leather boxes on his forehead and on his hand: tefillin. I also remember Chanukkah: a merry holiday when the whole family got together to celebrate. Grandfather gave his grandchildren Chanukkah gelt. There was a chanukkiah with 7 candles and one in the center. When my mother’s sisters and my father’s brothers got together for a celebration they only spoke Yiddish.

Grandfather spoke Russian to his grandchildren and Yiddish – to grandmother and his children. Our grandmother spoke Ukrainian that she could hardly speak to the grandchildren and Yiddish – to her children and our grandfather. She was a very kind woman, but she had no education whatsoever. However, she loved us dearly and we did love her. I also have happy memories of my grandfather. He loved his grandchildren dearly. He often asked me ‘Who do I love most of all?’ and I replied ‘Me’ and he said ‘That’s right!’ Maria and other children also made a right guess since he really loved all of us a lot. There were many children paying in the yard where my grandparents lived. There was a volleyball grid stretched and Maria and I liked to go and play volleyball with other children.

I was born in Kiev on 7th December 1916. Less than a year later the October revolution took place. My relatives had different reactions to this event. In 1917 Iosif returned from the front and moved to America. In February 1917 my father’s brother Mark joined the Bolshevik Party and took part in the revolution. My mother’s father Meyer Reizis was skeptical about the revolution. As for my father, I remember him saying ‘Of course, there were many bad things, but look how the country changed! Look at the houses! Nobody has to share one pair of boots to go to school! My great grandfather also had a loyal attitude toward the revolution since his family was very poor before the revolution and he could compare things. For some time grandfather Srul Simcha kept in touch: he sent boat tickets for his wife and children and in Revekka returned in 1921 to take her mother and brothers with her. However, my father Peisach and his brother Lev were already married. They stayed here and so did their brother Mark. Grandmother Sarra, Isaac and Pinia moved to America. During NEP they sent us money and we could buy things in Torgsin stores 11. I remember they sent us $10 during Famine in Ukraine 12 in 1930s. This was a big support for us. My grandmother had eye problems in America. Later we lost contact with them. In 1930s correspondence with relatives abroad was forbidden 13. If one only mentioned having relatives in America in application forms it put an end to one’s career.

My father’s brother Lev had no education. After moving to Kiev he worked as a shop assistant in a store. He married my mother’s younger sister Elia Reizis. They lived in Basseynaya Street.

Mark finished the Military Academy in Moscow in the rank of a division commissar. He was a well read and intelligent man. He went into the revolution. After finishing the Academy Mark lived in Kiev. Then his unit was transferred to Borisov in Belarus where he was chief of Harrison. He didn’t make a prompt military career, though. He was an honest and outspoken man. Mark was married, but had no children. His wife was a housewife. In 1937, during Stalin’s purges 14 Mark avoided arrest only by miracle. A colleague of his spoke at one meeting. He said some people fail to be watchful: for example, Mark Dubinski hadn’t determined one single ‘enemy of the people’ 15. Mark came home, packed his bag and sat expecting an arrest, but nothing happened. In the morning it turned out that the man who said this at the meeting was arrested. Mark’s commanding officer sent Mark to a provincial division where he could be safe. When the Great Patriotic War began he was promoted to the rank of senior commissar of a battalion and sent to the front near Yelna in the vicinity of Smolensk. He got wounded in his arm and had to go to hospital. After the hospital he was demobilized. He lived in Moscow and worked as human resource inspector in the Navy Ministry. He had a nice apartment. He was a law obedient communist. I think he understood what was going on, but he believed in the idea, however strange it may seem. He had many doubts at the end of his life. He had some inner fear since 1937. My sister Maria lived in Moscow since 1943. Mark was very attached to her. He treated her like a daughter. She said that at the end of his life Mark had persecution mania that made life unbearable. She couldn’t open the door to a postman, call a doctor or let a medical nurse in. He went to distant bakeries to buy bread so that shop assistants didn’t remember him. He had never had anti-Soviet spirits, but there was some bitterness that he suffered from. He came to see Maria to warm up a little. He brought presents for her children. When Mark was a widower Maria asked whether he could obtain a permit for one of her sons to reside in his apartment so that after he died the apartment could belong to her children, but he refused explaining that he couldn’t reveal any documents to keep safe. This was evident persecution mania. Mark died in Moscow in 1985. He was buried at the town cemetery and his apartment went to some outsiders.

I went to synagogue with my [maternal] grandfather carrying his prayer book I was a cute boy: I had golden curls and was called ‘a little lord’ in my childhood. I remember that when in 1930s Soviet authorities began their struggle against religion 16 they closed Christian, Catholic and Jewish religious institutions. The Brodski synagogue was closed in 1931 our grandfather called Maria and me to help load the Torah scrolls on a truck. I don’t know where they hauled all these valuables. Shortly afterward our grandfather fell ill. He had to stay in bed and our mother went to look after him. He died of lung cancer in 1934. He was buried near Moisey’s grave at the town cemetery in accordance with the Jewish tradition. When grandfather died my grandmother and my mother’s sister Tsypoira sat on the floor for 7 days. My mother told me it was a requirement of the Jewish procedures.

My parents were raised in religious families, but they were not religious themselves. They thought there was too much suffering in life and if God existed he wouldn’t allow things to happen. They attended synagogue when they were children, but, as my father and mother stated it was a ‘childish faith’.

We lived in a 4-storied house on the corner of Prozorovskaya and Saksaganskogo Streets in the very center of the city. There were Jewish, Ukrainian, Russian and Polish tenants. My parents were always busy and I spent much time outside playing with other children. We didn’t care about nationality. My parents spoke Yiddish at home, particularly, when they were arguing and didn’t want us to understand the subject of their discussion. They spoke Russian to Maria and me. I could understand Yiddish well, but I could hardly speak any. My parents tried to teach me to read in Yiddish, but I was an impatient pupil and didn’t learn much. My parents spoke Yiddish until the end of their days. My father and mother read many Russian books: they were particularly fond of Russian classics Gorky 17 and Gogol 18. They spoke fluent Russian.

My father was an assistant accountant in a trade association. My mother was a housewife. She spent a lot of her time in the kitchen and I heard her singing there. She sang Soviet popular songs, but I don’t remember her singing Jewish songs.

We had very close relationships with my mother’s sisters and their families. They didn’t observe any Jewish traditions. Perhaps, they had faith inside, but they were far from orthodox beliefs. [Editor’s note: probably practices] Besides, in 1920s the Soviet regime struggled against religion. My parents didn’t observe Jewish traditions. I remember my mother eating brown bread at Pesach – she liked it. She always asked Maria and me ‘Please, don’t tell your grandmother or grandfather that I’ve eaten brown bread’. And we kept it a secret. My father liked pork fat and cracklings very much. His breakfast consisted of brown bread with cracklings that he liked through his life. This is the way I remember my parents, but I don’t know whether they had different habits before.

I liked meeting with my cousins Michael, Naum, Boris and Moisey, but I spent most of the time with my friends in the street. On 1st May 1923 my sister Maria was born. She was the first baby in our family, born after my mother’s brother Moisey perished and was named after him: the first letter in her name was the same as in Moisey’s name. I remember that my mother was feeling ill and my father took Maria after he came from work and sang songs in Yiddish carrying her around our roundtable covered with a nice tablecloth. My childhood memories come back to me whenever I hear Jewish tunes.

In 1924 I went to the first grade at Russian school # 33 in Gorky Street near our house. We had a wonderful teacher. Her name was Nina Badibelova, a very intelligent lady. Her father was a general. She loved children. She was strict with us, but fair and we loved her in return. She read poems by Pushkin 19 and Shevchenko 20 in Russian to us. After I finished the 4th grade our school was turned into a Jewish school. All it meant was that the language of teaching changed to Yiddish. Everything else was the same. I really had a poor conduct of Yiddish and I went to study in Russian school # 53. I wish I knew Yiddish and Ivrit. My parents decided that I had to go to a Russian school. They thought that one had to follow the rules of the country one lived in. I also understood that I had to learn Russian. My school was a grammar school for girls before the revolution. It was located in Fundukleyevskaya Street. We had very good teachers that used to teach in the former grammar school. Maxim Tkach was a wonderful teacher of Ukrainian. I began to read Ukrainian books then. At that time I began studying Ukrainian culture. I liked literature and was fond of reading, but I didn’t choose it for profession. I read everything that fell upon me. Later I became fond of Dostoyevskiy 21. I also read Sholem Alechem 22 and other Jewish authors in Russian. I read Ukrainian authors: Shevchenko 23 and Lesia Ukrainka 24. I was growing up in the Russian culture and I do not have any preferences based on national origins. I identified myself as a Jew and I knew that my parents were Jews, that their mother tongue was Yiddish and that grandfather went to synagogue, but it had no effect on me.

I studied well and was a leader at school and in my street. My friends respected me and listened to my opinions. I didn’t face any anti-Semitism. I became a pioneer at school. We wore red neckties and sang ‘Rise in flames, blue nights…’ – a hymn of pioneers. We also competed in our studies. In 1931, at the age of 14 I finished lower secondary school and submitted my application to the Electrotechnical College. I wasn’t even allowed to take exams since my father was a clerk and there was a quota based on one’s origin in higher educational institutions. Then I passed tests at the employment agency that gave me a letter of recommendation to go to a factory vocational school. There were children of white-collar workers studying there after they failed to enter higher educational institutions. There were also children of workers, of course. There was a rather high level of education and many of my contemporaries made good careers in future. This school gave secondary education and a profession. After two years of studies I got a profession of 3-grade electrician. There was a 7-grade category for this profession and my grade was good for me considering that I was only a 16-year-old teenager. This qualification enabled me to work as a general electrician on any enterprise, unless it came to some specific situations that required higher qualifications.

I remember the period of famine in 1933. We didn’t quite suffer from hunger since there were better food supplies in big towns. Our neighbor Kuznitcinskiy that had a wife and two daughters brought his son from his first marriage. Their boy was swollen from hunger. The boy’s stepmother didn’t quite like him, but they rescued him from death anyway. I also saw a woman in the street dying from starvation. The famine was explained by the fact that ‘enemies of the people’ were hiding bread and there was not enough of it, therefore. I didn’t really believe it. Nowadays some TV channels, radio stations and newspapers state that it was an intended extermination of the Ukrainian people. I think that it was just ruthless policy of collectivization 25. They took away everything from villagers leaving them to starve to death. The motto was – who is not with us is against us. They showed no mercy to people exterminating them.

After finishing my school I went to work as an electrician at the cashier manufacture plant and went to study in the evening department of Rabfak 26 to complete my secondary education. I met Elena Shepenkova, a Russian girl, at the rabfak. Elena lost her mother at the age of 3 and was raised by her father Iosif Shepenkov. Maria told me later that my mother wasn’t quite happy that I was seeing a Russian girl, but she did not mentioned it to me. She only said at the beginning ‘She is an orphan. If you are not serious about it – just leave her alone’. I was serious about her. ‘

In 1934 I passed my entrance exams to Kiev Industrial College with all excellent marks, but was not admitted. Their official response was ‘there are no vacancies’. The admission commission said I had to gain work experience since one year that I had was not enough. This was unfair: there were other students that passed their exams with worse marks, but were admitted. This was social injustice again, but what could I do? I returned to my rabfak school where I studied for another year and worked as a junior radio engineer at the RV-9 radio station. There was a nice work team there: engineer on duty was a Jew, chief engineer was Russian and technicians: Russian, Ukrainian, Polish and even a Tatar men. This radio station broadcast all over Ukraine. I was gaining life and work experience. A year later, in 1935 I took exams at the Industrial College again. I didn’t pass my exams as successfully as a year before, but I was admitted to the Electric Engineering Faculty. I studied in College and worked at the radio station for another half year. There was a coupon system. All employees received food coupons. So did I. A coupon was worth 600 rubles per month that was a lot of money (more than a stipend). I worked night shifts, but my friends let me sleep a little to be fit for studies. Half a year later I quit. I understood it was too hard to work night shifts and study.

1937, a year of Stalin’s purges, began [Great Terror]. Director of our college Efimov, a nice man that always supported students and worked out improvements of the studying processes disappeared one day. We were told that he was an ‘enemy of the people’. I said to my friend ‘Kolia, he does not seem to be an ‘enemy of the people’. He replied ‘What do we know anyway? I don’t think he is an enemy, but who knows? Let us not discuss this subject’. We understood that it was dangerous to discuss certain subjects. There were general meetings condemning people. Secretary of the Faculty stood up, made a speech and said ‘there is a proposal to condemn this person and issue the following resolution’. Then the resolution was pronounced and all attendants expressed their approval by raising hands. For some people it was just a matter of making a career and others were indifferent. Only brave people having their own principles dared to speak against a crowd. We were conformists. If someone decided to go against a common line one had to be prepared for oppressions. For us it might mean expel from College or even arrest. We didn’t have a right to have our own opinions. There was one chief and one single point of view: everything he said was to be followed.

I joined Komsomol 27 after a while. I wasn’t a big politician, but I already had my doubts about the situation in the country. Almost all of my co-students were Komsomol members. Only those that didn’t study well were not admitted. In 1939, when I was 23, a secretary of our Komsomol unit asked me ‘What is it all about? Why aren’t you joining Komsomol?’ I replied ‘My studies take all of my time. Besides, I am not ready from a political point of view’. He said ‘Stop it. If you have specific reasons let’s talk about them’. I had relatives abroad and it was very dangerous. We were not in touch, but I kept this fact a secret. One of my co-students was expelled for reading books by Trotsky 28 that was put of favor at the time. It took us quite an effort to stand for him since he was about to be expelled from College. I decided to stop being a black sheep and joined Komsomol in 1939. I attended meetings to keep up with the crowd and paid my monthly fees on time. At some meetings they discussed students that had to improve their studies, but there were hardly any political subjects on the agenda.

After finishing the Rabfak school, Elena entered the Faculty of Chemical Equipment Manufacture at the Industrial College. We got married in 1939 and lived with my parents. They partitioned half of their room for us. A year after Elena finished the College and got a job assignment 29 to Tuapse in the Caucasus [in Russia]. She was on the family way then. I was assigned to a military training in College that extended my studies in College for half a year. We wrote a letter to the plant in Tuapse where she was to be employed requesting them to release her due to her ‘condition’. They gave us their consent and Elena received a ‘free’ diploma.

I finished College in March 1941 and got a diploma of power engineer. I went to work as an engineer to the power plant in Kiev regenerator rubber plant in Darnitsa on the left bank of the Dnieper. On 18th May 1941, a month before the Great Patriotic War our older daughter Irina was born. In June 1941 my sister Maria finished school and entered the Music Pedagogic Department in Kiev Conservatory. She had a prom on 22nd June and at 4 a.m. in the morning Kiev was bombed. The war began. My plant was getting ready for evacuation. Our management left for Kharkov before everybody else. I received a subpoena to the military registry office and mobilized on 7th July. I was included in the team of 12 experts with higher electric engineering education to study at the Faculty of Special Equipment in the Leningrad Air Force Academy named after Voroshylov. When we arrived in Leningrad the Military Academy had evacuated to Yoshkar Ola in Central Asia [today Russia in 3200 km from Kiev]. We were lucky to be late since pilots that entered the Academy in 1941 perished in their first battles. They didn’t have sufficient training and flew planes that couldn’t compete with German planes. Our team took training in the flak school in Leningrad. After finishing this school in October 1941 we were sent to the flak battery in Didkovo village near Moscow. We were in the flak defense of Moscow. I was an artillery man all through the war. Artillery units were in few kilometers from the front line at the distance of a cannon shell flight from the front line. On 7 July 1941 my wife and our baby evacuated on a boat-pulled barge. Elena evacuated with her aunt that worked at the Bolshevik plant. They reached Dnepropetrovsk and from there they traveled to Sukhoy Log, Sverdlovsk region by coal transportation trains.

My father was 48 years old in 1941. He was also mobilized: in early July was sent to labor units in Donetsk. From there authorities sent them back home. My mother and sister were not planning to evacuate. They didn’t think the war was going to last long and they believed that Germans were civilized people. Maria was demobilized to excavate trenches, but mother kept her at home. Elena’s father Iosif Shepenkov was chief accountant in Kiev Sugar Trust. He helped my mother, Maria, Elia and Mary to evacuate with his company. They reached Kursk [about 400 km from Moscow] where Maria entered a Pedagogic College. However, they had to move on since the front line was coming near the town. My father returned to Kiev in early September and Iosif helped him to evacuate as well. Iosif decided to stay in Kiev: he had trombophlebitis and it was hard for him to move. My father reached Kursk and they headed for Kuibyshev [today Samara in Russia, 1000 km from Moscow ] in Central Asia where they got a letter from Elena. She wrote she was waiting for them in Sukhoy Log village [2300 km from Kiev]. Before we parted we agreed to write post restante to bigger regional towns. When they met with Elena my mother stayed with our little daughter at home and Elena went to work as chief mechanic at the Salvageable non-Ferrous Metal Plant. My father was a storage keeper at this plant. He had a kitchen garden near his storage facility where he grew potatoes. It helped them to survive during the war.

The Kiev Conservatory evacuated to Sukhoy Log and my mother hoped that Maria would study there, but Maria didn’t have an instrument and had to give up music. She went to work in hospital evacuated from Leningrad. She was employed for the position of an attendant, but she was actually an entertainment specialist: she played for patients, but she also looked after them and cut and fetched wood for stoves. In late 1942 the hospital returned to Leningrad. Maria was a civilian and did not go there. In August 1943 Maria came to Moscow. She found me in Did’kovo where our flak battery was deployed and stayed with me 3 days. That year she entered the Faculty of Economics in Moscow State University.

Many military joined the Party at the front. One commander of our regiment said ‘You must submit your application to join the Party’ and I replied ‘I am not worthy to join it yet’. He said ‘Stop chattering like that. You are an officer with a higher education and you spoil this whole picture here. Just write a request’. I had no choice and I submitted my request, but I felt a more decent and honest man when I did not belong to the Party.

In November 1943, as soon as Kiev was liberated I requested a leave and went to Kiev to search for my cousin brother Naum, son of my mother’s sister Tsypoira. I got a drive to the outskirts of Kiev and from there I had to walk since there was no transportation. I walked along the railroad track keeping my hand on my gun: there were numerous bandits on he roads. A patrol officer stopped me to check documents and warned me: ‘When you reach Kreschatik [Kreschatik is the main street of Kiev] walk in the middle of the street beware of bandits and ruins’. Elena’s father Iosif Shepenkov stayed in Kiev. He was a Christian and Germans didn’t touch him. Iosif wrote me that Naum was sent to a concentration camp in Darnitsa. It was the end of November: it was cold and got dark early. It was hard to see Kreschatik in ruins. My wife and I used to enjoy its beauty before the war. I got to the left bank and found ashes at the concentration camp site. I talked with local residents, but found no traces of Naum.

Our neighbors told me that Liya and Elia’s son Moisey perished. When it became clear that Germans were coming to Kiev grandmother, her daughter Tsypoira, her son Michael, her husband Yakov, her daughter-in-law Sonia and her grandson Mark hired a horse-driven wagon and moved to the east. There was also their luggage on the wagon and they had to walk behind the wagon. My grandmother was an old woman and could hardly walk. She said she wanted to go back home. She kind of foresaw her death. She said she wanted to die at home. She got a ride back home. Grandmother Liya came to her apartment in September 1941. When on 29 September all Jews were ordered to go to Babi Yar the janitor woman reported on her. Other neighbors tried to rescue my grandmother pushing her bed behind a wardrobe, but the janitor reported to policemen that there was another Jewish woman in the house. This janitor wanted my grandmother’s room and she got it afterward. At that same time Elia’s 17-year-old son Moisey came to his grandmother from where they were excavating trenches. Policemen dragged my grandmother from the 2nd floor. She was actually paralyzed and when it became clear that she couldn’t march to Babi Yar Germans shot her right near the entrance to the house. Her daughter Tsypoira lived in this house in Malo-Vasilkovskaya Street for a longtime after the war. My grandmother, Moisey and Naum had no graves. There are no traces of them. There is nothing left.

There was a heavy load on my heart when I returned to my unit. Our flak battery was near Moscow until 1944.

In 1944 Elena, our 3-year-old daughter Irina and my parents returned to Kiev from evacuation. There were neighbors residing in our apartment. They didn’t want to move out and Elena, our daughter and my parents had to live with my mother’s sister Elia in Institutskaya Street. There was too little space for all of them. They lived in a garret and there was no gas or toilet there, of course. My mother cooked on a primus stove. Elena told me that every evening she rushed home to make sure that a dry wooden house was still there. Elena went to work as an engineer at ‘Ukrgiprogas’ Institute, my father was a shop assistant in a hardware store and my mother was a housewife.

After the war with Germany was over in spring 1944 our artillery units was sent to the Far East to fight against Japan 30. I shall not speak about the war with Germany or Japan. Those memories are too hard to bear. Our military drank a lot on the Japanese front – probably because they were too bored. They were looking for hard drinks. Once they got some wood alcohol and I remember a young lieutenant that kept asking ‘Will I get blind from drinking this?’ He did. When the war with Japan was over our officers had bags and trains loaded with what they looted. I felt angry about it. My wife was always proud that I never got involved in it. I bought a piece of Japanese silk for her and this was all I brought. I finished the war in the rank of captain. I was awarded medals for the victory over Germany and Japan.

In 1946 when the war with Japan was over I returned to Kiev. I had to apply to court to have our apartment back. The court refused us since there were no archives left after the war and there was no solid evidence that the apartment belonged to us. We needed witnesses to confirm that we had lodged there and that my parents were a husband and wife since there was no marriage certificate left. Where could we find a witness to prove that they got married in 1915? Elena’s father Iosif and her stepmother were our witnesses. Iosif to joke afterward: Well, I am like their best friend – I was at their wedding’, but of course, our parents were not even acquainted at that time. I got a good job of personal assistant to the Minister of Transport. I got a letter of recommendation at work that I was told to take to Rudenko [General Prosecutor of the USSR]. I took all documents from the court, including a letter from my work and a letter of solicitation signed by Maxim Rylskiy 31, a well-known Ukrainian poet that was a deputy at that time to Moscow. I had to wait for my appointment for 3 days. The Prosecutor was an overpowering man. He was sitting at his desk in a long office and when I entered the office I heard him saying ‘Well, and how is the captain doing?’ I was wearing my military uniform. I said ‘The captain cannot accommodate his family in our own apartment’. – ‘How come?’ – ‘Occupied’. - ‘By whom?’ – ‘Neighbors’. - ‘Do you mean to say that a combat officer that came from the war cannot accommodate his family in a normal apartment? Give me your papers and come back tomorrow’. He reviewed all papers carefully. When I came a day later his secretary had all my papers with his resolution. This was how I got back my apartment.

On 28 December 1947 our younger daughter Lilia was born. Lilia identified herself as a Jew since she was a child. When she grew up she told us the following story. When she was in the first grade their teacher had to fill up a form and began to ask children their nationality. When it was my daughter’s turn the teacher asked ‘Lilia, and how about you?’ Then she continued ‘Well, you are Russian’, but Lilia corrected her with her voice trembling: ‘No, I am a Jew’. Some of her classmates giggled. During a break Abrasha, a Jewish boy, pointed his finger at Lilia saying ‘Did you hear this? Did you? She is a Jew!’ and another Jewish boy Garik Bresler protected Lilia saying ‘Go away, you fool!’ and Lilia kept saying ‘Yes, I am a Jew!’ Although we never discussed this subject in the family, she understood that Jews needed protection. Probably, the Yiddish language her grandmother and grandfather spoke and the general atmosphere in the house had their influence on the child’s mind.

Lilia liked going to parades when she was small. She went with Elena or me on 1 May or 7 November 32. In 1950s going to parades was mandatory. My colleagues carried Lilia on their shoulders and gave her candy and balloons. There was dancing and singing around and she enjoyed it a lot.

Anti-Jewish state campaigns [Campaign against cosmopolitans] 33 of late 1940s - early 1950s had no impact on us. Of course, those newspaper publications about ‘rootless’ cosmopolites’ or ‘murderers in white robes’ during the period of the doctors’ plot 34 in 1953 were disgusting. All people having sound mind understood that it was nonsense, but they kept quiet. They were scared remembering 1937 when people were removed for saying one hasty word. When Stalin died in 1953 it became easier to breath, though there was confusion in the first moments: aren’t things turning to worse? There were ‘local performers’ that inspired fear in people even at the time when Stalin was an unquestionable authority.

My sister Maria finished Moscow State University in 1949 and was planning to go back to Kiev. When she was a student she met with a Spanish student Anastacio Mancilia-Cruis. Maria lied to Anastacio that she was going to get married in Kiev. He took her to her train, but when she arrived home there was a telegram waiting for her. It said ‘Don’t do anything’. He came to Kiev with the next train and came to our house wearing boots, jacket and worn trousers: this was all he had. Our mother was ill and could not be bothered with Anastacio’s non-Jewish origin. My father said to my mother ‘Maria, the girl loves him!’ They bought Anastacio a new suit and he married my sister. They had a civil ceremony in a registry office. He always had warm relationships with our parents.

Maria’s husband Spaniard Anastacio Mancilia-Cruis was born in Viscaria province in Spain in 1924. His father, a Basque, was a miner and his mother was a housewife both of they Spaniards. There were six children in the family. His father was a socialist and his mother was a communist. When the war in Spain 35 began in 1936 Anastacio and other Spanish children were taken to the USSR. They lived in a children’s home in Yevpatoria. When the Great Patriotic War began this children’s house evacuated to Saratov [in over 1 thousand km from Kiev]. Anastacio studied successfully in a Rabfak and worked and for his successes he got a stipend in Saratov University. The war was over. He finished his first year on the Faculty of Economics when the dean of the faculty told him to continue his studies in Moscow. He arrived in Moscow in 1944 and met Maria. They got married in 1949. In 1950 their older son Thomas was born. They often came to visit us in Kiev. Anastacio graduated from the University and took up postgraduate studies. After finishing his studies he was a lecturer in higher educational institutions in Moscow. In 1962 they moved to Cuba and lived in Havana for 3 years. Maria taught Russian in the Academy of the Russian language and Anastacio – political economy in Havana University. Anastacio was a convinced communist: honest and bright. After they returned from Cuba he worked at the Institute of Social Sciences where he was Professor of Economics and Doctor of Sciences. His father died in Spain in 1949 and his mother was sentenced to 19 years of imprisonment as a communist. In 1957 she was released from prison and died shortly afterward. Two days before she died Maria gave birth to Vladimir, their second son. My sister worked as an editor in business publications. Since 1968 she has been editor of the ‘Issues of Economics’, a journal in Moscow. Her husband Anastacio died in Moscow in 1987.

Thomas finished Moscow Medical College. In 1985 he moved to Madrid. He works as anesthesiologist in a military hospital there. His wife Margarita Hones-Bruno is Spanish. Their daughters Laura and Margarita can hardly speak any Russian. They identify themselves as Spaniards and do not remember any Jewish roots. Maria’s younger son Vladimir was a biologist. He drew very well. His wife was an art expert. He also knew history of arts very well. Vladimir died of sarcoma in 1996, at the age of 39. His older son Alexandr lives in Strasburg. He is a philologist and sociologist. His younger son Piotr works at a TV channel in Moscow.

In 1970 we all of a sudden found my father’ sister Revekka. She was about 80 years old. She lived with her son John Ravinski, his wife, their grandson and great-granddaughter. Revekka and her son were communists. He was against the war in Vietnam and emigrated to Moscow from America under the name of Stanley Bender. Revekka got in touch with my father and I arranged a business trip to Moscow where I went with my father. We met secretly with Mark, Maria and Lilia that studied in Moscow. Since I never mentioned any relatives living abroad they couldn’t pop up as if from nowhere. Even in 1970 this line item about relatives abroad was quite ominous. Revekka and my father spoke Yiddish. Our father translated it for us. John had a good conduct of English. [John grew up in the USA] In Moscow he worked for the ‘Progress’ publishing house. He translated Marx and Engels. They lived in the Soviet Union for about a year, but they didn’t like it here and moved to China. From there they moved to Cuba and then to Chile. John fought with Salvador Allende 36, and was executed with him in 1973. Revekka died from sorrow in 1974. She was buried in Santiago de Chile.

In 1961 my wife received a 3-room apartment in Industrialnaya Street from design institute ‘Ukrgiprogas’ where she was working. It was far from the center, but we were happy that Elena and I, my parents and the girls had their own rooms. In 1966 Lilia finished a secondary school and tried to enter the State University in Kiev, but failed. She worked at a plant for 2 years. In 1968 Lilia entered the College of Economic Statistics in Moscow. She lived with Maria’s family. In 1973 after finishing the college she returned to Kiev and got married shortly afterward. Her husband Yuri Maltzev was Russian and came from Siberia. In 1975 their son Michael was born. In 1977 Lilia and Michael moved in with Yuri. There was too little space and every now and then they came to stay with us. Lilia has worked as an economist: she started at a plant, then worked in the State Computer Center and now she works for a private company. Irina, the older daughter, has lived in Kiev. After finishing school she entered Kiev Polytechnic College. She finished it in 1957 and became a programmer engineer. At first she worked at the programming bureau in the Antonov plant and then went to work at the Autotrans computer center. Irina married Anatoli Gordienko, a Ukrainian man. In 1965 their daughter Anna was born. She finished the Public Economy College in Kiev. She is an accountant there. Her daughter Elena was born in 1990.

Since 1953 I worked in design institute ‘Energoset’project’. I was chief of high-voltage power line design department. In 1970s my nationality issue had an impact on my career. There was a vacancy of chief engineer in my institute. I was an incumbent for this position, but the district Party committee did not approve me for this position due to my Jewish identity. Chief of department was the highest position for a Jew. A Jew could not become director or chief engineer – such was the state policy. However, my wife and I had a good life. We earned well. We went to the cinema and theater and spent our summer vacations at the seashore. We didn’t celebrate any holidays specifically, but we liked to invite friends for a party on Soviet holidays and birthdays and we also visited our friends. Occasionally we went to the theater or cinema, or went for a walk on weekends, but most often we stayed at home enjoying quiet family reunions. We usually spent vacations in the Crimea or Caucasus where we went with the family.

My friends were trying to convince me to move to Israel in 1970s. My argumentation to them was that I had a Russian wife and half-Russian daughters. I also told them that I didn’t know the language. I had a good job here and a good family and I thought that my place was here. My daughters and grandchildren say now that they wish we moved. In 1984 I retired, but at times I worked at Energoset’project under an employment agreement before 1993. My mother lived with sound mind until the age of almost 90. She was the head of the household until the end of her life. She died in 1983 and my father died in 1987. They were buried at the Jewish corner of the town cemetery.

Perestroika 37 began in the middle of 1980s opening our eyes to the crimes of the Soviet regime. I subscribed to a number of newspapers and magazines: we got an opportunity to read everything that had been forbidden before. Many people lost their remaining faith in the Soviet regime. However, this doesn’t mean that everything was bad about socialism. There was stability and social protection. We lost our savings and became poor in an instant. We lost certainty about our future and the future for our children.

In 1990 Elena died at the age of 75. We lived together for 51 years. We celebrated our golden wedding. I was a lucky man: I had a good wife, good family and interesting work. Regretfully, the end of my life is sad. I am limited in my interests. I do not subscribe to newspapers and I don’t go to the cinema: I can’t afford it. I am careful about my old TV set that I bought in 1970s: if something goes wrong I won’t be able to have it repaired. It is depressing to think about what tomorrow has in stock for me. Life becomes more expensive: the apartment fee is 1.5 times higher than it used to be. I receive a small pension. My daughters offer their support, but this alienates us to some extent. They know I don’t like it when they offer their help and they can feel it. My health condition leaves much to be desired: I have hypertension and ischemic disease of the heart. I need expensive medications, but I can’t afford to buy them. There is a privilege for veterans of the war to receive free medications, but in the recent years I’ve only received them twice. Since 1984 I stayed in the military hospital only once. Social insurance agency arranged a course of recreation and I went to a recreation center once. There is a governmental order that veterans of the war can go to recreation centers once a year for free and if they choose not to they can have monetary reimbursement, but the insurance agency explained to me that they receive smaller allowances with every passing year. They don’t have any reimbursement money and they don't have a possibility to send me to recreation center. Before the 50th anniversary of victory the veterans’ committee gave me two envelopes to mail greetings to my fellow comrades and a piece of butter for food package. In the past they had a store with lower prices for veterans of the war. Now it is an ordinary store and some prices are even higher than in other shops. People have become more aggressive and less sociable. In the past neighbors were like friends coming to see each other or share little things. Now, every one sticks to his cell caring only about how to survive. Nobody comes to see me and I do not go out. I cannot afford to have guests and, besides, everyone is busy doing their own things. My fellow comrades are gone. There are few of us left, but we hardly ever meet. The only pleasant thing is a nearby library where I go to borrow books.

After my wife, Elena died I live with Elena [grand daughter] and Yuri [son in law]. My daughters are good to me, but they cannot provide any significant support. I pray for them to be able to carry on. I have a sweet great-granddaughter Sasha, Michael’s daughter, born in 1994. We spend much time together taking a walk in the park and playing.

In recent years I’ve received assistance from Hesed: they deliver food packages to old people and sometimes they provide medications for free. There is also a recreation center where we can stay. I am glad they care about us, old Jewish people. I celebrate birthdays of my close people and a calendar New Year. I haven’t turned to observing Jewish traditions or celebrating Jewish holidays since it is too late to change habits at my age.

GLOSSARY:

1 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WORLD WAR I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

2 Jewish Pale of Settlement

certain provinces in the Russian Empire were designated for permanent Jewish residence and the Jewish population (apart from certain privileged families) was only allowed to live in these areas.

3 Brodski family – Russian sugar manufacturers

They started sugar manufacturing business in 1840s. Organized the 1st sugar syndicate in Russia in (1887). Sponsored construction of hospitals and asylums in Kiev and other towns in Russia, including the biggest and most beautiful synagogue in Kiev.

4 Babi Yar

Babi Yar is the site of the first mass shooting of Jews that was carried out openly by fascists. On 29th and 30th September 1941 33,771 Jews were shot there by a special SS unit and Ukrainian militia men. During the Nazi occupation of Kiev between 1941 and 1943 over a 100,000 people were killed in Babi Yar, most of whom were Jewish. The Germans tried in vain to efface the traces of the mass grave in August 1943 and the Soviet public learnt about mass murder after World War II.

5 Great Patriotic War

6 Whites

Soon after buying peace with Germany, the Soviet state found itself under attack from other quarters. By the spring of 1918, elements dissatisfied with the radical policies of the communists (as the Bolsheviks started calling themselves) established centers of resistance in southern and Siberian Russia. Beginning in April 1918, anticommunist forces, called the Whites and often led by former officers of the tsarist army, began to clash with the Red Army, which Trotsky, named commissar of war in the Soviet government, organized to defend the new state. A civil war to determine the future of Russia had begun.

7 Civil War (1918-1920)

8 Denikin, Anton Ivanovich (1872-1947)

White Army general. During the Civil War he fought against the Red Army in the South of Ukraine.

9 Lukianovka Jewish cemetery

It was opened on the outskirts of Kiev in the late 1890s and functioned until 1941. Many monuments and tombs were destroyed during the German occupation of the town in 1941-1943. In 1961 the municipal authorities closed the cemetery and Jewish families had to rebury their relatives in the Jewish sections of a new city cemetery within half a year. A TV Center was built on the site of the former Lukianovka cemetery.

10 NEP

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

11 Torgsin stores

12 Famine in Ukraine

13 Keep in touch with relatives abroad

The authorities could arrest an individual corresponding with his/her relatives abroad and charge him/her with espionage, send them to concentration camp or even sentence them to death.

14 Great Terror (1934-1938)

During the Great Terror, or Great Purges, which included the notorious show trials of Stalin's former Bolshevik opponents in 1936-1938 and reached its peak in 1937 and 1938, millions of innocent Soviet citizens were sent off to labor camps or killed in prison. The major targets of the Great Terror were communists. Over half of the people who were arrested were members of the party at the time of their arrest. The armed forces, the Communist Party, and the government in general were purged of all allegedly dissident persons; the victims were generally sentenced to death or to long terms of hard labor. Much of the purge was carried out in secret, and only a few cases were tried in public ‘show trials’. By the time the terror subsided in 1939, Stalin had managed to bring both the party and the public to a state of complete submission to his rule. Soviet society was so atomized and the people so fearful of reprisals that mass arrests were no longer necessary. Stalin ruled as absolute dictator of the Soviet Union until his death in March 1953.

15 ‘Enemy of the people’

an official way mass media called political prisoners in the USSR.

16 Struggle against religion

17 Gorky, Maxim, real name

Alexei Peshkov (1868-1936): Russian writer, publicist and revolutionary.

18 Nikolay GOGOL (1809-52) Great Russian novelist, dramatist, satirist, founder of the so-called critical realism in Russian literature, best known for his novel MERTVYE DUSHI I-II (1842, Dead Souls)

Gogol's prose is characterized by imaginative power and linguistic playfulness. As an exposer of the defects of human character Gogol could be called the Hieronymus Bosch of Russian literature.

19 Alexandr PUSHKIN [26 May 1799 - 29 January 1837], Greatest Russian poet, founder of classical Russian poetry

20 Shevchenko T

G. (1814-1861): Ukrainian national poet and painter. His poems are an expression of love of the Ukraine, and sympathy with its people and their hard life. In his poetry Shevchenko stood up against the social and national oppression of his country. His painting initiated realism in Ukrainian art.

21 Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881) – Russian novelist, journalist, short-story writer whose psychological penetration into the human soul had a profound influence on the 20th century novel

Dostoevsky's novels have much autobiographical elements, but ultimately they deal with moral and philosophical questions. He presented interacting characters with contrasting views or ideas about freedom of choice, Socialism, atheisms, good and evil, happiness and so forth. Dostoevsky's central obsession was God, whom his characters constantly search through painful errors and humiliations. An epileptic all his life, Dostoevsky died in St. Petersburg on February 9 (New Style), 1881. He was buried in the Aleksandr Nevsky monastery, St. Petersburg. His wife Anna Grigoryevna devoted the rest of her life to cherish the literary heritage of her husband. Dostoevsky's novels anticipated many of the ideas of Nietzsche and Freud. Dostoevsky himself was strongly influenced by such thinkers as Aleksandr Herzen and Vissarion Belinsky. He saw that great art must have liberty to develop on its own terms, but it always deals with central social concerns.

22 Sholem Aleichem, real name was Shalom Nohumovich Rabinovich (1859-1916)

Jewish writer. He lived in Russia and moved to the US in 1914. He wrote about the life of Jews in Russia in Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian.

23 Shevchenko T

24 Ukrainka, Lesia (1871-1913)

Ukrainian poet and dramatist. Ukrainka spent most of her life abroad struggling to recuperate from tuberculosis. Her principal plays, using themes from Western and classical literature, include Cassandra (1908) and In the Desert (1909). The Forest Song (1912) is her dramatic poem based on Slavic mythology.

25 Collectivization

In the late 1920s - early 1930s private farms were liquidated and collective farms established by force on a mass scale in the USSR. Many peasants were arrested during this process. As a result of the collectivization, the number of farmers and the amount of agricultural production was greatly reduced and famine struck in the Ukraine, the Northern Caucasus, the Volga and other regions in 1932-33.

26 Rabfak

Educational institutions for young people without secondary education, specifically established by the Soviet power.

27 Komsomol

28 Trotsky, Lev Davidovich (born Bronshtein) (1879-1940)

Russian revolutionary, politician and statesman. Trotsky participated in the social-democratic movement from 1894 and supported the idea of the unification of Bolsheviks and Mensheviks from 1906. In 1905 he developed the idea of the ‘permanent revolution’. He was one of the leaders of the October Revolution and a founder of the Red Army. He widely applied repressive measures to support the discipline and ‘bring everything into revolutionary order’ at the front and the home front. The intense struggle with Stalin for the leadership ended with Trotsky's defeat. In 1924 his views were declared petty-bourgeois deviation. In 1927 he was expelled from the Communist Party, and exiled to Kazakhstan, and in 1929 abroad. He lived in Turkey, Norway and then Mexico. He excoriated Stalin's regime as a bureaucratic degeneration of the proletarian power. He was murdered in Mexico by Stalin’s order.

29 Mandatory job assignment in the USSR

30 War with Japan

In 1945 the war in Europe was over, but in the Far East Japan was still fighting against the anti-fascist coalition countries and China. The USSR declared war on Japan on 8 August 1945 and Japan signed the act of capitulation in September 1945.
31 Maxim Rylskiy (1895-1964), Ukrainian poet, Academician, Ukrainian Academy of sciences (1943), Academician, USSR Academy of sciences (1958). Was arrested in 1930-31. Lyrical poems, translations, works in literature and folk literature.
32 October Revolution Day: October 25 (according to the old calendar), 1917 went down in history as victory day for the Great October Socialist Revolution in Russia. This day is the most significant date in the history of the USSR. Today the anniversary is celebrated as ‘Day of Accord and Reconciliation’ on November 7.
33 Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’: The campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’, i.e. Jews, was initiated in articles in the central organs of the Communist Party in 1949. The campaign was directed primarily at the Jewish intelligentsia and it was the first public attack on Soviet Jews as Jews. ‘Cosmopolitans’ writers were accused of hating the Russian people, of supporting Zionism, etc. Many Yiddish writers as well as the leaders of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee were arrested in November 1948 on charges that they maintained ties with Zionism and with American ‘imperialism’. They were executed secretly in 1952. The anti-Semitic Doctors’ Plot was launched in January 1953. A wave of anti-Semitism spread through the USSR. Jews were removed from their positions, and rumors of an imminent mass deportation of Jews to the eastern part of the USSR began to spread. Stalin’s death in March 1953 put an end to the campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’.

34 Doctors’ Plot

The Doctors’ Plot was an alleged conspiracy of a group of Moscow doctors to murder leading government and party officials. In January 1953, the Soviet press reported that nine doctors, six of whom were Jewish, had been arrested and confessed their guilt. As Stalin died in March 1953, the trial never took place. The official paper of the party, the Pravda, later announced that the charges against the doctors were false and their confessions obtained by torture. This case was one of the worst anti-Semitic incidents during Stalin’s reign. In his secret speech at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956 Khrushchev stated that Stalin wanted to use the Plot to purge the top Soviet leadership.

35 Civil War in Spain – Spain between 1936-1939 was the staging ground for Hitler's Blitzkrieg giving General Franco victory over the Republican government

The Spanish Civil War was not only a battle against fascism, but a social revolution. It involved all of Europe and the political forces of the left and the right, in the struggle to defend socialism and democracy from the forces of reaction.

36 Salvador Allende, Chilean politician, Salvador Allende was a life-long Marxist

He served in the Chilean Senate from 1945 to 1970 and made three unsuccessful bids for the presidency, before finally winning the position in 1970. Allende attempted to implement large-scale social reforms, as well as the nationalization of many Chilean industries. Allende's opponents, supported by the CIA, overthrew him in 1973. Allende died during the coup.

37 Perestroika

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s. Perestroika [restructuring] was the term attached to the attempts (1985–91) by Mikhail Gorbachev to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratise the Communist party organization. By 1991, perestroika was on the wane, and after the failed August Coup of 1991 was eclipsed by the dramatic changes in the constitution of the union.

Vera Dreezo

Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Oksana Kuntsevskaya
Date of interview: August 2003

Vera Dreezo is a very nice and friendly small woman. She looks good for her age of 74 years. She lives in a house built in 1980s at quite a distance from the center of Kiev. She lives in a two-room apartment that was recently renovated. Hers is a nice apartment. She has photographs on the walls. Many of them are of her theatrical work. Vera does shopping and cleans her apartment herself. She has a caring son and daughter-in-law and a grown up granddaughter that often come to see her. They live nearby. Vera tries to take care of her everyday chores, but when she has problems her son is there to resolve them. Besides, Vera has many acquaintances and friends. She leads an active life.

My family background

My maternal great grandfather’s name was Ghenad Bairach. I don’t know his year of birth or death. He was a cantonist 1. My great grandfather served 25 years in the tsarist army and was given permission to settle down in Kiev regardless the existing restrictions about the Pale of Settlement 2. This permission spread on his heirs as well. My great grandfather lived in Mokraya Street Solomenka [at present this is one of central districts, but at his time it was in the outskirts of Kiev]. He had a house, but I don’t know whether he bought it or built it for himself. My mother told me that my great grandfather was an extremely strong man. My mother told me that when Denikin troops 3 came to Kiev in 1917 his son-in-law Iosif Mikhailovski took his three daughters to the house of Ghenad Bairach. Someone reported to Denikin troops where the girls were hiding and Denikin soldiers tried to break through the gate. My great grandfather took a horse cart shaft and moved on them. When they saw him they ran away. He was a man of great strength. I don’t have information about my great grandmother or how many children they had.

My maternal grandmother’s name was Dvoira Mikhailovskaya, nee Bairach. I was given the name of Vera after her. Our names sound alike. I don’t know when my grandmother was born, when she married Iosif Mikhailovski or whether she had any education. I don’t know where she came from or who were her parents came from. My mother told me that before the Revolution 4 her father Iosif Mikhailovski was selling hay and had horses for transportation purposes. He was a wealthy man, but of course, after the Revolution and Civil War 5 Soviet authorities expropriated his horses.

After my grandmother and grandfather got married they lived in my grandfather’s house in Solomenka near where my great grandfather lived. The first floor was made of stone and the second floor was wooden, but plastered. I’ve been in this house. I remember us climbing squeaking stairs with handrails leading to the second floor. There were such small rooms in the house. My grandfather rented out the first floor at the time when I remember before the Great Patriotic War 6, and his family lodged on the 2nd floor. Grandmother Dvoira had eight children. Two children died in infancy and one boy died in his teens. I don’t know their names. Five children survived: Michael, my mother Ghita, Meyer, Ethel and Lyolia. They are all gone. My grandfather gave education to his children. The boys studied at a realschule in Kiev and the girls studied in a grammar school. By the way, my grandfather paid for his three daughters and for three Christian girls whose parents were poor.

Their family wasn’t religious. They spoke Russian and didn’t celebrate even the biggest holidays, although I wouldn’t be that sure about it. I guess my grandfather’s 25-year service played its role. He may have forgotten all rules when he was in the army. My grandmother had a housemaid to help her around the house. Besides, the children had a nanny. My mother told me little about her childhood and her brothers and sisters.

My mother’s older brother Michael Mikhailovski, born approximately in 1900 – 1901, finished a realschule 7 in Kiev before the revolution and worked as a trade shipments forwarder. Michael didn’t have a smooth marital life. He was married three times. His three wives were Jewish. Michael divorced his first and second wives. In his second marriage he had two sons: Boris, born in 1927, and Arkadi, born in 1936. When the Great Patriotic War began Michael was recruited to the army. I don’t know where exactly he served. He was awarded two orders of Red Star. Shortly after he returned from the front he got married for a third time. He worked in a supply company in Kiev. Then he resigned. His third wife Fania – all I know about her is her name - and he did housework and counted how many berries they would put in each varenik [dumpling with filling]. Michael took after my grandfather: same appearance and same bad character. He and his wife visited us every now and then. He didn’t observe any Jewish traditions and spoke Russian. I didn’t keep in touch with his children and cannot say whether they observed any traditions. Michael died of cancer in 1970s. His older son Boris buried his father in their family grave at Berkovtsy [town cemetery in Kiev] and then moved to America with his family. I don’t have any information about him. I don’t have any information about Michael’s younger son.

My mother’s middle brother Meyer Mikhailovski, born in 1903, also finished a realschule in Kiev. He was a bachelor. He worked at the 4th shoe factory in Kiev. He went to work there as a worker and was promoted to foreman. Meyer lived in the room where our family lived. When my mother got married she took him from the factory hostel to live with us. On the first days of the Great Patriotic War he was drafted to the army and was awarded two orders of Red Banner. After the Great Patriotic War Meyer returned home and worked at the 4th shoe factory. He helped us to get our room in the communal apartment 8 back after the war. He lived there until he died. Meyer was a devoted and convinced communist. He rejected anything associated with religion. He died some time in 1960s and was buried in Berkovtsy.

My mother’s younger sister Ethel Mikhailovskaya, born in 1906, I guess, she studied in a grammar school like her sisters. I have no information about her. Once my mother mentioned that Ethel got married in 1920s and moved somewhere far away. I don’t know any details since I never saw her.

My mother’s younger sister Lyolia Berezina, nee Mikhailovskaya, born in 1909, finished elementary course of grammar school before 1917 and then studied in a Russian secondary school in Kiev. Her husband Pyotr Berezin was Russian. I don’t know what he did for a living. Their son Victor was born in 1931. However, Lyolia’s husband turned out to be a drunkard and they divorced. She was ill with spandelite. She often stayed in hospital and there was a common idea in the family that Lyolia was ill and always needed help. She worked at a factory in Kiev. I don’t know what she did there. When the Great Patriotic War began Lyolia evacuated with my mother, my sister Zoya and me. My father was responsible for the evacuation of families of employees of refrigeration factory. Besides my mother, Zoya and me he was allowed to arrange for evacuation of one additional person. I can remember well that mother was begging of my father to have Lyolia and her son going with us. This was 21 July 1941. Father was a very honest man. He replied ‘If I allow for two more people to evacuate other people will talk that I am making arrangements for my relatives pointing their fingers at me. I just cannot allow it to happen. Lyolia and Vitia will go by next train in two weeks’. What Lyolia did – she left Vitia with his Russian grandmother and joined us. I couldn’t forgive her that she had left her own child. Vitia was 10 years old. It took him a long time to adjust to the thought that his mother had left him behind. It was a big shock for him. His grandmother lived with her second son and his family in Solomenka. First somebody reported that there was a ‘zhydyonok’ [offensive term for a Jewish child] hiding and Gestapo soldiers came for him. He was beaten and taken away and stayed a whole night in a cellar with rats. Next morning this grandmother and her Russian or Ukrainian neighbor ran to the police office where they both screamed him out of his captivity. About ten days later Vitia overheard his uncle’s wife saying ‘I will report on this zhydyonok anyway!’ At that time there were posters ordering Jews to come to the Babi Yar 9 all over the town. He left home and through all years of the war he was wandering all over Ukraine, from one house to another. Lyolia recalled him in evacuation. As soon as Kiev was liberated she wrote her mother-in-law asking ‘Where is Vitia?’ She replied ‘I don’t know whether he is alive.’ Vitia returned to his grandmother after Kiev was liberated in November 1944. We were in Orenburg [today Russia, over 2000 km to the east from Kiev], when we received a letter saying that he was alive. We demanded that he came to Orenburg and then we all returned to Kiev. Victor worked as a tram driver and was married three times. Now he is a pensioner. I went to the Hesed where I got to know that he wasn’t on the list of prisoners since he was on the occupied territory. I went to the archives with him and we obtained all necessary documents to confirm that he has a status of a former prisoner. He receives a German pension.

After we returned to Kiev Lyolia went back to work at the factory. She didn’t remarry and lived with her son’s family. Victor treated his mother coolly. He probably didn’t forgive her betrayal of him, but mother is mother. Lyolia spoke Russian and didn’t observe any Jewish traditions. She died in 1970s and was buried at Berkovtsy cemetery.

My mother Ghita Mikhailovskaya was born on 18 November 1904. She studied in a grammar school like her sisters. My mother told me that before the revolution they studied Hebrew and, so it seems, Yiddish that she has forgotten in the course of time. I only can’t remember whether they had a teacher at home or studied the languages in grammar school.

Grandmother died of typhoid in 1916 when my mother was 12. After she died grandfather married a Russian housemaid. She was a plain woman and had no education. Wealthier Jews used to have non-Jewish housemaids (goy they were called). The name of this housemaid was Tosia. She and grandfather had three children of their own. I have no information about those children.

Tosia worked as a cleaning woman or attendant in a hospital in Kiev after the revolution. I don’t know what grandfather was doing after the revolution. He was tall and thin and had a thin face. He was kind and talked to me nicely, but he didn’t support us.

I don’t know whether my grandfather went to synagogue, but I know that they celebrated Pesach and also Easter with his second wife. I don’t know any details, but they celebrated these holidays more likely as a tribute to tradition since they were not religious. My mother and I visited them somewhere in the middle of holidays. I remember that we ate matzah.

After he remarried grandfather stopped supporting his older children. He probably thought they already could take care of themselves. Grandfather was and indomitable man and was interested in political subjects. In 1930s he was charged of Trotskism 10 and imprisoned. Later he was released, but I don’t know of any details. My mother didn’t keep in touch with grandfather and his second family. It seems grandfather died in late 1930s.

My mother and her sisters were having a hard time, especially during the Civil war. My mother couldn’t complete her education having to support her younger sisters. She worked at fairs and exhibitions as a cashier or did any work she could get. My mother and her sisters were renting a room. Basically, my mother told me very little about this period of her life. I cannot imagine how they survived these hardships. In 1925 or so my mother began to work as a cashier in a grocery store in the center of Kiev where she met my father.

My father Ilia Minevich (Elia in the Jewish manner) [Common name] 11 was born in Mozyr somewhere in Vinnitsa region in 1904. I cannot tell about this town since I’ve never been there. I know very little about my paternal grandfather – just what my mother told me. My mother said he was a steward in somebody’s mansion in Mozyr. This is all I know about my grandfather. I have no information about my paternal grandmother either. My mother also told me that my father had a brother and an older sister. All I know about them is that my father sister’s name was Elza and she danced and sang in the gypsy theater in Kiev before the Great Patriotic War. My father brother’s name was Iosif. He perished at the front.

My mother told me a short story about my father’s childhood. There was a solar eclipse when my father turned nine. He looked at the sun without a special glass and – he got blind. The owner of the mansion where his father was a steward wished to give him money for medical treatment and my grandfather took my father to many doctors until one doctor said that as suddenly as he got blind he would see. This happened to be true: my father began to see a year later.

I don’t know what kind of education my father had. In 1920s he went into trade after a Komsomol appeal 12. I don’t know any details, but in late 1920s he moved to Kiev where he was appointed as director of a food store. This was when he met my mother and fell in love with her. However, by that time my father had been married. His wife was a Jewish girl, a seamstress. They didn’t have any children and as the time passed they became different. She remained a provincial girl with hardly any interests while my father was fond of reading, was interested in politics and self education.

My mother didn’t want to meet with him since he was married. My mother told me that my father’s mother came to Kiev and came to my mother’s work to see her. She said: ‘Please marry him, he loves you. He will divorce his wife and leave her a sewing machine’. A sewing machine was of incredible value! My father divorced shortly afterward and married my mother in 1928. My mother said they didn’t have a wedding, just a civil ceremony in a registry office. Shortly afterward my father became director of a trade center (four stores on a crossing in the center of Kiev). This was an area where all artistic elite resided.

I remember my father very well – he was taller than average and a very handsome man, but what was most important about him was his extraordinary voice. My mother told me a family legend. My father was very kind to his subordinates. Most of them were women and he never hesitated to help them lift something heavy or help with anything. One late night – and stores were open until midnight at that time my father was signing helping shop assistants. There was only one customer in the store at that late hour: he was short, fatty, bold and had a stick… he hit the counter with his stick ordering ‘Come out who is singing there!’ This was Grigoriy Veryovka 13. He was trying to talk my father into going to school to learn to sing ‘You’ll be singing in the Bolshoi Theater 14 two years from today!’ My father had a rare baritone bass. He had a very strong voice. He liked signing Ukrainian folk songs, Jewish songs, Russian songs and arias. However, my mother got jealous about his perspectives and my father refused undertaking a career of a singer. Then, when father perished my mother was terribly sorry that she had not allowed him to study singing. He might have survived if he had been an actor.

In 1929 my father received a room in a communal apartment with five other tenants in the center of Kiev. This apartment probably belonged to a rich man before. There was a big kitchen and a bathroom with a big closet shelves inside. The bathroom was used as wood storage – there was stove heating in the apartment before the Great Patriotic War. There were primus stoves 15 and later – kerosene stoves and then when gas supply was installed there were two or three gas stoves brought into the kitchen to replace the old stoves. Two families shared one stove. There were arguments about who cleaned the stove and who didn’t. Each family had a bulb in the hallway and an electric doorbell. It was bad when one rang a wrong bell or lit a wrong bulb! Tenants also took turns to wash the floor in the hallway. I remember washing the floors in this big hallway when I was in the tenth form after the Great Patriotic War.

I was born in this room on 18 November 1929. I didn’t go to a nursery school or kindergarten. My mother became a housewife when I was born. One of our neighbors taught my mother to cook since my mother had lost her parents at an early age and didn’t know how to do it. She learned to cook gefilte fish, pudding, pancakes and stew. I don’t know whether our neighbors were Jewish, probably because I didn’t care. All housewives shared their recipes gladly and cooked dishes of various cuisines in our kitchen: Russian, Ukrainian and Jewish. I learned from her when I grew up. My father hired me a nanny to help mother with the housework. Her name was Varia and she came from a Ukrainian village. At the beginning she slept in the mezzanine closet in the bathroom. There was a ladder to climb there and I used to climb this ladder visiting her there. I liked it there. She had an icon and some other little things there. My nanny got ill before the Great Patriotic War. There were polyp or something identified in her throat. My father gave Varia money to pay for a surgery. Varia loved me and my sister dearly. She never got married. My father helped her to receive a small room near the kitchen in an apartment on the 4th floor of the building where we lived. She died after the Great Patriotic War and we buried her.

In 1937 my younger sister Zoya was born. By that time my father received a bigger room in the same apartment where we lived. There was a big double bed in the room, some low table by an opposite wall and my sister’s bed. There was a coach with a high back upholstered with black artificial leather where I slept. There was an oval table beside it. There was a partial to separate a corner for my mother’s brother Meyer. There was a small stove. The window of our room faced a backyard where there was a shed and garbage containers.

The most terrible thing about our apartment were huge red rats. They were there before and after the war. We had to stamp our feet to scare away all rats before coming into the hallway. When we returned to this room after the war there were even more rats there. There was an anti-aircraft defense headquarters before and in the first years after the war in the basement of our house. The windows to this basement that were right underneath our window were closed with sheet steel and there was a fire emergency staircase near those windows. The rats ran up and down the staircase, got over this sheet steel to our window tapping on it. This was a terrible life!

In 1938 refrigeration factory #2 was built in Demeyevka [a distant district in Kiev]. It is still there and I buy ice-cream produced there. My father became a commercial director of this factory that same year. I've already told you how the family of the commercial director lived. My mother had two dresses: one made of crepe de chine and one of wool. My father had a suit, a coat and a cap. However, our situation improved a little. My father went to a recreation center a couple of times. His management also promised to give him an apartment since there were five of us living in one room: my father, my mother, two children and my mother’s brother Meyer.

My parents were friends with two neighboring Jewish families: the Abramsons and Grabovs. They often got together to play cards, have a drink and chat. Since I was sleeping on the coach in the same room I often overheard their discussions before falling asleep. They talked about arrests [Great Terror (1934-1938)]16, but I didn’t understand it. I cannot remember by what miracle this period didn’t have an impact on our family. They also discussed their family life. Somehow they came to the decision to have another baby almost simultaneously and their younger children were of the same age.

My parents liked going to the cinema, theaters and football matches. They were theater goers and went to theaters with their friends. They went to the Franko Theater [Ukrainian Drama], and discussed how actors were playing, they also went to the Opera Theater and discussed Patorzhynskiy [Ivan Sergeyevich Patorzhynskiy (1896 – 1960) – a famous Soviet bass singer], famous Litvinenko-Volgemut [Maria Litvinenko-Volgemut (1892-1966): a famous Soviet opera singer, lyrical dramatic soprano], of course! I often went to the theater for young spectators. We had many books in Russian by classical and modern writers. My parents were very fond of reading. We were an ordinary Soviet family. A family of a Soviet employee. My parents were convinced atheists and we didn’t celebrate any religious holidays.

I went to Russian lower secondary school #48 in 1936. I finished the 4th grade before the Great Patriotic War.

I remember very well that in late 1930s my father went on trips to other Soviet republic on training. Once he brought a recipe for kefir [fermented dairy drink] from the Caucasus and had it introduced in production. This was how production of kefir started in Kiev and nobody can tell me otherwise. It was delicious kefir, so rich! In 1939 my father initiated opening of two ice-cream shops in Kiev. The refrigeration factory began to produce various ice-creams, frozen fruit, juiced berries and ice-cream cakes. This was new experience since before this there were ice-cream stands where a vendor just put ice-cream in waffle scoops. This was my father’s idea to make ice-cream shops. There were nice table and stools in these shops where my mother took me. Director of the shop where we went came to say hallo to us.

I remember the beginning of the Great Patriotic War. I woke up on the dawn of 22 June 1941 hearing my mother and father talking. My father was saying ‘No, this is just another training. Don’t worry!’ and mother replied ‘This cannot be training’. I remember what she said and in the afternoon we heard Molotov 17 speaking on the radio.

We left Kiev on 21 July: my mother, Zoya, I and aunt Lilia. My father took us to the station. He said ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be back soon!’ It was a common belief that the war would be over within 2-3 months.

My father perished near Kiev on 21 September 1941 when Soviet troops were retreating. This village was called Borshchi. Actually, my father had a ‘white card’ of release from the army service [this was a release from service in the tsarist army before the revolution of 1917 issued by a medical commission that determined that a young man was unfit for military service], but he volunteered to a Territorial Army unit [Fighting battalion]18, where he was deputy commanding officer. Director of the refrigeration factory was commanding officer of the unit. They were moving in a field when another bombing began. My father was moving ahead of the column in a white refrigeration truck. A bomb hit it killing my father. His employees that witnessed how he died told us about it. However, my mother always hoped that he was alive, but then we understood that he was gone since he would have let us know where he was. We received pension for him.

Our trip by train lasted over a month. We were moving to the refrigeration factory named after Engels [over 1500 km to the east from Kiev]. The refrigeration center was located in the middle of the steppe. There were barracks for employees of the center. Povolzhye Germans [German colonist] 19 also resided there. I still remember how delicious bread they baked! When you pushed at it and then let go it stretched back. There was brown and white bread.

We were accommodated in a four-storey hostel of the refrigeration center. It was still under construction. A few families were sleeping in one room on the floor. Many women kept hoping that their husbands would return when the war was over. My mother was smart and realistic and went to work as a cashier in a local store. Shortly after we returned German families began to be deported to the north. Actually, the situation was difficult. I saw things like ‘Heil Hitler’ or ‘Beat yids!’ written on the walls of houses. Besides, there were talks that Povolzhye Germans launched signal flares… Perhaps, some of them supported Germans. One cannot blame a whole nation. I remember how Germans were deported. I guess they were given three days to get ready. They were not allowed to take any furniture or utensils with them. They were cursing and crying. If a husband was Russian and his wife German they had an opportunity to get permission to stay home, but when a husband was German his wife had to follow him. When they moved out we were accommodated in their barracks.

We were given lodging in a very narrow room of about 9 square meters. My mother and Zoya shared one bed and Lyolia slept on another. I had a folding bed unfolded in the evening. There was a primus or a kerosene stove in the corridor. Aunt Lyolia did the housekeeping. Germans left their food stocks and we had food at the beginning.

In 1942 my mother’s brother Meyer came to see us on his leave. He was awarded an Order of Red Star and a leave. He told us later how he received an award: ‘everybody else started running, but I stayed in my trench throwing grenades at those German tanks…’ When Meyer saw our living conditions he said he was taking us with him. Their military unit was sent to be remanned in Orenburg [about 2000 km to the east].

Meyer’s Military unit was deployed in Kagarlyk near Orenburg. It was a Tatar village of one long street with no windows facing the street. Tatars and Uzbeks build their houses facing a street. They grew sheep. There was a herd of sheep walking along the street in the morning stirring up clouds of dust. In the evening they were coming back and the dust crunched in our teeth.

We were accommodated in a clay house with no stove. My uncle sent us a soldier to make a stove. He was wearing a fading shirt and looked like a frog with his mouth and those hands… He built a stove, but it collapsed. He said in accented Russian: ‘It’s all right, don’t worry, I will make you another stove…’ He made another stove that collapsed, too. Only the third one was more or less there. It generated so much smoke, it was a nightmare. Families of the military did shopping in a store across the street. There was brown bread, vinegar, oil, garlic and green tomatoes that never got ripe in this area. Lyolia made doughnuts of this brown bread and garlic, salads of green tomatoes, spring onions and garlic. The locals didn’t have a friendly attitude. Their ordinary answer to any question was ‘Ne belmes’ (‘I don’t understand’ in Tatar). I don’t know whether they didn’t understand or just didn’t want to talk.

There was no school in Kagarlyk and before September uncle Meyer’s military unit was to leave Kagarlyk. We didn’t want to stay among strangers. Then my mother ventured to travel to Orenburg hoping to find some lodging and a job. There was a truck routing to Orenburg from the military unit every other day. My uncle made all necessary arrangements for her return trip. Mother took a slice of bread and a bottle of water, few green tomatoes and some garlic and went to Orenburg. She walked across the town for half a day, but couldn’t find any work or lodging. She got tired and sat down on a porch of a house – there were four-storied buildings in the center of the town, but the rest of them were one-storied houses. She was sitting there chewing when all of a sudden she heard somebody addressing her ‘Ghita Iosifovna’ [the customary polite address in Russian is by first and second name. The latter (patronimic) consists of one’s father’s name and a suffix: –ovna for women and –ovich for men, i.e. if Ghita’s father’s name was Iosif, her patronimic is ‘Iosifovna’], what are you doing here?’ She raises her eyes and sees Aaron Brodski, our neighbor in Kiev. In Orenburg Aaron was chief engineer of aviation repair plant. She threw herself on his chest and began to cry telling him her story. He took her to his place where she had a bath and a meal and then they helped her to rent an apartment. Mother came back home happy and told us that we could go to Orenburg. This was actually a room leading to two other rooms where owners of the apartment lived.

My mother soon met a man from Kiev who knew my father well and he helped her with employment at the meat packing factory where she was a shipment forwarder. Actually she delivered meat on horse-driven carts. However, she could bring home some bare ribs or beef legs and my aunt made us studen’ [studen’, or holodets: a cold meat dish, usually made of boiled bones with little meat on them, the meat is mixed with the bouillon and cooled, after which it becomes jelly-like because of high percentage of gelatin in it] of them. It helped us to survive. Half a year later mother found another apartment in the basement of a house. There were window shutters closing from the side of a street. I remember how local bandits tried to break into our lodging through the windows. They removed those shutters, but we were screaming there and they ran away. The locals only spoke in curses they didn’t know any other language. There were many bugs in the houses. It was an ordinary thing for them.

My sister and I fell very ill in Orenburg: I had paratyphoid and Zoya had pneumonia. Fortunately, we found a doctor: professor Ierusalimski from Moscow. Zoya had high fever and professor told mother to get some sulfidine, a new medication. Mother managed to get some and Zoya began to recover. Mother was exhausted: she went to work during a day and at night she sat beside Zoya’s bed watching her. I don’t know how she managed to live through it, but she never gave up and stood the circumstances.

I went to a Russian school for girls in Orenburg. I actively participated in pioneer and Komsomol activities 20. Other children elected me chairman of our school pioneer unit council. I liked it. I was responsible for organizing meetings, political classes, visits to local hospitals to attend to patients and perform concerts. Once our school Party organizer Nadezhda Ivanovna said to me ‘Vera, you will make a speech about your pioneer organization and your work at the regional Komsomol conference. I will help you to write your speech.’ When we sat to prepare the speech she began to dictate it to me. She was dictating about something I hadn’t done. I was an honest girl and I really did a lot of work that I was planning to talk about. I said ‘Nadezhda Ivanovna, but this is not what we’ve done!’ ‘It’s all right, you put it down and then you will read this part of your speech.’ Actually, after this I gave up my Komsomol activities. On our way back to Kiev I purposely ‘lost’ my Komsomol membership card due to my disappointment in such activities. Then in Kiev I resumed my membership in Komsomol. I needed it to continue my studies in a higher educational institution. But when I entered a college I ‘lost’ it again. However, since students had to be Komsomol members I joined Komsomol again. I couldn’t afford to be a ‘black sheep’.

I was responsible for fetching water to the house. My aunt was weak and sickly and mother was at work. In 1942 - 1943 winter was very severe. We fetched water from pumps. There was so much ice on the ground that the pump was in the middle of an ice hill. I climbed that hill, and waited until water squirted in my bucket. I left my shoulder yoke down the hill. There was also a line of people to get water. You can imagine, I once slipped and fell and the water poured out of my buckets. I got wet, but other people didn’t allow me to refill my buckets. I had to stand in line waiting for my turn.

We were so happy to hear the word ‘Victory!’ in May 1945! We began to get prepared to go home. My mother, I, Zoya, aunt Lyolia and Vitia went back by freight train. We returned to our apartment. There was no furniture left. Varia, our nanny, watched where our furniture was gone and our mother demanded it back. Later my mother’s brothers and sisters also received lodgings. Meyer stayed with us. I lived there until I got married.

In Kiev I went to the 9th grade of school #53 in 1945. There were Ukrainian classes beginning from the 5th form in all Russian schools in Kiev. I hadn’t studied Ukrainian in evacuation and was dismissed from these classes. I had many friends and we went to the cinema, theater or just for a walk in the park missing many classes at school. I already decided to enter Theatrical College after school and focused on literature and history.

My mother took over any job to support the family. She was selling things and got involved in illegal apartment exchange business. We were surviving. We were often hungry. Our mother received a pension for our father, but it was a miserable amount.

In September 1945 my sister Zoya went to new Russian school #135. She was the best student at school and was to receive a medal after school [the highest award to best students of secondary schools in the USSR]. However, after finishing school in 1955 she received only a silver medal. Zoya had a classmate whose father was a Party official. There was limited number of gold and silver medal awards and that girl received a gold medal. This injustice was the first big shock in her life. She entered the Faculty of Sanitary Hygiene in Kiev Medical College. She was to take one entrance exams. She passed it successfully and finished her college successfully. She married Zheldakov, a Russian man. They have one son, Ilya. She went to work at the Institute of food hygiene where she defended thesis and became candidate of sciences [Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees] 21. She got a job offer in the Academic Institute named after Sysin in Moscow and they decided to move to Moscow. My mother moved to Moscow with Zoya in 1965 and lived there until she died in 1980. She was buried at the town cemetery in Moscow. Zoya became director of a laboratory. She was scientific secretary of the All-Union department of Water Environment Safety. She defended her doctor’s dissertation. She is still at the head of her laboratory and is one of 7 leading water ecologists in the world.

After finishing school I entered the Theatrical College. I have dim memories of the years of my studies, 1946 – 1951. we studied and had rehearsals, went for walks and to discos. We often went to the cinema. After finishing college I went to work at the theater for young spectators where I met my husband Vilia [full name Vilen] Dreezo.

My husband Vilia Dreezo, a Jew, was born in Kiev, I guess, in 1928. His father Ovsey Driez was a Jewish poet [Ovsey Driez (1908 – 1971) a Soviet Jewish writer] Ovsey was born in the Jewish town of Krasnoye in Vinnitsa region. Ovsey Driez wrote in Yiddish. He received a traditional Jewish education and studied in a Ukrainian secondary school and Kiev Art School. In 1934 he volunteered to the Red Army where he served in front troops until 1947. In 1939 – 1941 he was in Western Ukraine. He was helping Jewish refugees that escaped from the Nazis. During the war he met Lidia Ionova, a Russian woman from Moscow. He moved to Moscow with her and lived in Moscow until the end of his life. My husband’s mother Ida Biz divorced Ovsey in the late 1930s and she was married a second time when I met her. I know little about her life. I know that she was a Yiddish teacher in a Jewish school in Kiev before the war. When this school was closed Ida became a teacher of the Russian literature and language in a Ukrainian school. Many other Jewish teachers changed their specializations and made best teachers in schools.
Vilia didn’t tell me about his childhood. I know that he finished a secondary school in Kiev in 1946 and in 1947 he went to serve in the army. By the way, he changed his father’s last name. An Honored journalist of Ukraine Vladlen Novozhylov described this episode in his book ‘Soldiers from Evbaz’. He was Vilia’s fellow comrade and they knew each other since they were at school. Vilia and Vladlen went in for shooting training. Vilia was training to shoot from a small caliber rifle and became a champion of Ukraine and Vladlen learned to shoot from a gun. They served in the same military unit. Other fellow comrades teased Vilia finding the surname of Driez extremely funny. Vladlen got a clerk in their office drunk and made him add ‘o’ at the end. This was how my husband had his surname changed to Dreezo.

Vilia demobilized in 1952 and went to work at our theater as electrician. He was promoted to electric engineering manager. We met and Vilia courted me for a while. We got married in 1954. We had a civil ceremony in a registry office. There was no wedding party.

We lived with Vilia’s mother Ida. They had two rooms in a communal apartment in the house for writers. Formerly chairman of the union of writers of Ukraine Kirilenko arrested in 1937 lived in this apartment. He must have been executed. His family received a certificate that it happened when he was trying to escape. There were four rooms in the apartment. Two of them the Driez family received. Vilia and I were accommodated in the go-through room in this apartment.

My son Alyosha [full name Aleksei] was born in 1956. We had a common balcony with the family of Sosyura [Vladimir Sosyura (1898-1965): a famous Soviet Ukrainian poet]. About two weeks after Alyosha was born Maria Gavrilovna Sosyura brought us a baby-carriage. So my Alyosha grew up in the baby-carriage that formerly belonged to the Sosyura family. We had good relationships with them.

My mother-in-law spoke fluent Yiddish. She exchanged words in Yiddish with her second husband. However, they spoke Russian in the family. We kept our good relationships even after I divorced Vilia. She helped me to look after Alyosha. She was a smart woman.

My husband’s family didn’t celebrate any Jewish holidays. They were a Soviet family. Ida Aronovna was a convinced ‘Orthodox’ communist. We celebrated New Year, 1 May, day of October Revolution 22 and Victory Day 23. We had parties and sang Soviet songs. My husband and I had many friends. We went to theaters and concerts. There were jazz bands from other countries coming on tours.

I’ve never faced any national discrimination; at school, college or at work – never. Perhaps I was lucky to be working with intelligent people. On 5 March 1953 there was a mourning meeting at the theater. I made a speech and said ‘Stalin is like air for us. We can’t live without breathing air’ – what nonsense I was saying, but at that time this was what we believed and thought.

I'd rather not talk about my private life. I didn’t have it. My son and I lived in a one-room apartment since early 1960s. I left my theater to looked after my son and if I had stayed at the theater I would have returned home late at night. I was a housewife for few years. I didn’t get a chance to go back to work at the theater: there were no vacancies. In 1960 I went to work as a consultant at Kiev Institute of advanced training of teachers. I was responsible for making arrangements for conferences, discussions of new school curricula, innovations and school academic plans. I retired from this position in 1984.

My son Aleksei Dreezo went to the first grade of a Russian school in Kiev in 1963. He was always aware of his parents’ and his own Jewish identity and had no problems with it. We didn’t observe any Jewish traditions. I even didn’t know any. We would have been even afraid of coming close to a synagogue [Struggle against religion] 24. Of course, I cannot turn to religion at the end of my life or observe any traditions or celebrate holidays. We celebrated Soviet and family events and holidays and invited my colleagues and later – my son’s friends. Aleksei studied well at school and had many friends. After finishing school he entered the Production faculty of the Kiev College of Culture. He finished it in 1977 and was producer of concerts for a long time. Aleksei married his co-student, a Ukrainian girl. I liked my daughter-in-law and was happy that my son found his second ‘half’. Aleksei has a grown up daughter, my granddaughter. She studies in the conservatory in Kiev. They speak Russian and Ukrainian in their family. They do not observe any Jewish traditions. They celebrated Soviet holidays in the past.

In 1991 perestroika 25 began [Editor’s note: perestroika was actually launched before 1991, right after Gorbachev came to power in 1985]. My son and his wife lost their jobs. My granddaughter entered the music school named after Lysenko and they needed money to pay for her studies. Their situation was very hard. Somebody recommended me to go to Hesed, this charity organization. I liked the friendly atmosphere there and nice people. They provided food assistance and medications to people. I also wanted to do something good. I suggested that I could read lectures. In 1992 was 90th birthday anniversary of Ovsey Driez and we made a very nice soiree dedicated to him. I spoke about him. To prepare for my lectures I went to libraries and archives and read magazines and newspapers. I got acquainted with the Jewish culture going too deep into Judaism. The lectures that I read can be united under the title ‘Jews and the world culture’.

Neither my son nor I have considered emigration. Aleksei and his wife work for private business that has nothing to do with their education. They deal in commerce. I can’t speak for my children, but speaking for myself I can say that I’ve found my niche. Of course, it’s not easy to lecture to people and travel a lot, but it’s interesting. I meet with many nice people traveling to Ukrainian towns. I lecture to them and they tell me about themselves. This gives me a feeling of the fullness of life.