Travel

Saint-Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Sophia Kozlova
Date of interview: June 2002

Lev Borisovich creates a very nice impression. He is an elderly man with massive features and a kind glance.

His speech is rather monotonous, unemotional, he narrates a bit laid-back.

However, Lev Borisovich remembers a lot of interesting details and sometimes talks about his life with great enthusiasm.

The furniture in his apartment is rather modest, but at the same time everything is very clean and neat.

• Family background
• Growing up
• During the War
• After the War
• Glossary

Family background

My paternal grandfather, Elyukim Khapun [1863-1914], was a blacksmith; and all his relatives and brothers were blacksmiths, too. His daughters only married blacksmiths; thus all men in the family were blacksmiths. They lived in Vinnitsa, in Kamenetsk-Podolsk province of Ukraine. There was not much work for a blacksmith in Vinnitsa, so they left for neighboring villages looking for day labor.

Exactly at that time [1870-1880s] the Odessa-Kishinev railroad was being constructed. Some of the relatives went there, since they lived poorly and the payment at the construction site was good. In Vinnitsa they usually repaired fences and shoed horses; such work was not difficult. At the construction site they made parts for the railroad. After that they returned to Vinnitsa.

At that time, by the beginning of the 20th century, the population of Vinnitsa was 80,000-100,000 people. My father's family had a monopoly for blacksmith's work in town. There were four marketplaces in Vinnitsa, and since peasants came there on horseback, each marketplace had to have a smithy. All blacksmiths at the marketplaces were brothers. Grandfather could not work at that time because he was old.

His brothers were very well known; they were highly-qualified blacksmiths. They didn't only repair things, they also made equipment for wells. Gypsies were their competitors, for example, they made copper basins. There was no aluminum at that time, only copper and tin.

Vinnitsa was a 70% Jewish town. Besides Jews Poles, Ukrainians and some Germans lived there, but almost no Russians. Jews were in very close relations with each other and talked only in Yiddish. If they didn't speak Yiddish, then they talked in Ukrainian with the Ukrainians who lived in town. Russian was also well known. For example, before the war people in a tram only spoke Yiddish, and some Russians and Ukrainians spoke Yiddish as well. There were beggars sitting in front of the marketplace, and they knew how to beg in Polish, if a Pole approached, and in Yiddish, if a Jew approached. All in all several languages were popular in Vinnitsa. There was a Roman Catholic church and a Lutheran Church in Vinnitsa. When the Soviets came into power, an aero club was organized in the Roman Catholic church. The Roman Catholic church was so big, that inside it an airplane was disassembled and assembled again, and it remained there. Later the Znaniye Society was set up there. Now it is the Roman Catholic church again.

There was a district in Vinnitsa, which was called Jerusalimka. There were several streets with a lot of alleyways in between. Even when one walked there with eyes closed, one knew that it was Jerusalimka because of the dreadful stench. There were two-storey houses where poor people lived. In the course of the Soviet Power all of Jerusalimka was destroyed, and Verkhnyaya and Nizhnyaya streets were built instead. Several houses were constructed in the country and all former Jerusalimka citizens were moved there.

My father, Boris Elyukimovich Khapun [1898-1970], was the youngest in the family, ninth or eleventh. I only know his brothers Nutyr and Girsh by name. They had families, but I can't tell you anything about them. The others brothers I don't remember. As a child my father studied in cheder for two or three years; he did not study anywhere else. He was proposed for some courses later on. Since everyone in the family was a blacksmith, my father also became a blacksmith; it was inevitable. Father didn't shoe horses. Plants were constructed and developed in Vinnitsa at that time [1910-1920s], and various specialists were in demand. Father went to a plant and worked there as a blacksmith. The family expanded during that time and lived in a big house in friendship.

My paternal grandmother, Golda Khapun, born in 1863, was a very gentle person. Her older daughter, aunt Peisya, was managing the whole house and ordered everyone about, including the blacksmiths; such an interesting paradox.

In 1905, they say, there was a big Jewish pogrom. It's not true that the government didn't fight against pogroms. When there was a pogrom in Vinnitsa and Berdichev, the tsarist government sent Cossacks 1, either from Don or Kuban, to suppress the pogrom-makers. Cossacks were heavily built men and behaved conceitedly towards the local population. For instance, they came to the smithy because they also needed to shoe their horses. Cossacks believed that they had a privileged status. They bumped into my uncles, or, to be more precise, grand-uncles. A conversation started and, since they behaved haughtily, they were verbally refused. A scuffle began. There were twelve Cossacks with horses, harness, weapons; and the blacksmiths were fewer in number. But when the brawl began, they beat those Cossacks up so badly that the latter weren't able to leave on their own. The Cossacks complained about it to their officer. The colonel started an investigation. Since it wasn't possible to talk to the beaten, he had to wait for some time.

I know about this incident from what my father told me. He was a small boy at the time (he was only seven years old), and he could not have seen it all, but he knew the story very well. The policemen visited the colonel, saw the beaten and started an inquest in order to punish those bandits who had beaten up the Cossacks. But the blacksmiths escaped. There was this village fool in Vinnitsa. He was short, weak and a bit twisted. The police and the Cossacks looked for the guilty but couldn't find them. At that time it was impossible not to reveal a crime.

So they caught the village fool and brought him to the colonel. The colonel said, 'What kind of Cossacks I have, that such shabby Jew men can get the better of them?' He turned out that guy and closed the case. The Cossacks suppressed that pogrom, so it cannot be simply said that the tsarist government welcomed the pogroms.

There was another interesting story about those blacksmiths. There was a draft to the tsarist army, and one day in 1898 they were all drafted into it. Since the brothers departed for the army, all their cousins and other relatives came to see them off. The draftees got drunk for courage and arrived drunk for the draft. On that day the natives began to mock at the Jewish guys, who came to the draft. The latter tolerated that for some time, but then beat them up. Blacksmiths were very strong guys, of origin and because of their occupation, since they worked with sledgehammers all day long. A serious fight began, and all draftees scattered away, so the draft was closed for that day. A guard told me about this incident when I worked at a plant in Vinnitsa. He was drafted at that time, too. He told me this story, which happened to him, and when I later asked my father about it, he told me that it had really happened.

For some time all relatives lived together in one big house. They lived in friendship and never discussed each other's family matters. My paternal grandfather and grandmother were religious people. Their family observed all holidays and fasts when they occurred. They baked matzah, kept kosher and took poultry to the shochet at the marketplace, it was not allowed otherwise. Everybody went to the carver. One brought him a chicken; he read a prayer, cut the chicken and let the blood flow. There were also women, who later plucked the chicken. No one cut the chicken on his or her own, only with the help of a carver.

Holidays were celebrated by the whole family. Hamantashen, triangles with poppy-seeds, were made for holidays [for Purim]. When everybody gathered at the table, songs were sung; and the men drank wine and plum or sour cherry nalivka. Wine and nalivka are prepared by different methods. For nalivka a big bottle is used, into which sour cherries, or plums, or raspberries or other berries are poured; then sugar is added, but no water. The sugar melts bit-by-bit and liquid appears; its volume increases and nalivka is ready. Wine is produced when the berries are drafted and wine ferments. When nalivka is produced the berries are not drafted.

The hostess cooked some refreshments; guests didn't bring any food. Men talked about their business and women talked about theirs. Men drank nalivka and women ate wine sour cherries, it was a tradition. But even for the Purim holiday, when according to tradition, everybody had to drink himself into oblivion, they never got drunk. They observed all holidays according to the Jewish tradition. Later they didn't only celebrated Jewish holidays, but also [Soviet] revolutionary ones.

All in all my relatives were superstitious. They believed that if someone was scolded, it would influence his life. And many of them, especially women, were very much afraid to be scolded. There was also a taboo among the Jews: it was prohibited to gossip. Jews have a word called 'mouser' in their language. If a person was given this nickname, everybody started to avoid him. Here's an example: My grandmother had a neighbor. When the Germans came, he, a Jew, became a priest and behaved really badly. He did not assist his fellow countrymen. Everyone was killed, but they didn't touch him. After the war he put on soldier's boots, breeches and a soldier's blouse and walked with ease. No one informed against him. Mouser means the end, a complete boycott on a person. That's why nobody said anything about that traitor.

Father was taken to the army during the Imperialistic War [WWI]. He didn't want to go to war, but he was a healthy man. However, the conditions were such, that one wasn't accepted to the army in case of absence of teeth. So father went to the dentist and pulled out healthy teeth without anesthesia. But after he had pulled out his teeth, he was nonetheless enrolled for the army. He served in the infantry under Kerensky 2. He had a picture of himself: so slender, with shoulder straps and a red bow on his chest. The Revolution had already begun, and those who were supporting it wore bows. The Jews were suppressed under the tsar, but Kerensky abolished all prohibitions, the Jewish Pale 3, for instance. That's why father supported him.

When the army and the front fell apart, everybody was allowed to go home with their weapons. My father asked for a reference note to prove that he was not a deserter. He was issued a reference note, which said: 'Berka Elyukomovich, released from the army as such.' Later he often told guests about it. He walked home on his own; trains were taken by storm. So he walked and was stopped and asked for his documents; they read his reference note and laughed.

When my father participated in the Civil War [1918-1921], there was no Communist Party in Vinnitsa; there was a trade union. The trade union protected itself from gangs, which consisted of peasants. Why not rob the Jews with impunity? The peasant bandits took carts, stole things and left. People tolerated it for some time, but then they lost all patience. They organized their own guard and began to defend themselves from the gangs. Once they rushed into a village with a weird name, there was Malye Khutora and Bolshiye Khutora, where the bandits came from.

They were in different locations. The townsmen mutilated a lot of people; some were killed. The bandits were punished, because they were rapists, robbers and mutilators. After that event the peasants' banditry stopped, but new gangs were formed: first Petlyura 4 came and then the Poles occupied the territory. A Jew, whose family was killed by Petlyura's gang, later murdered Petlyura. This Jew pursued him and found him in Paris. Petlyura had one minister who was Jewish, it was only a rumor, and I don't know details. We know his descendants, his relatives.

During the NEP 5 times [1921-1924] my father became a NEP-man and started a cooperative, and relatives joined it. They took a half-dilapidated house near the bridge, repaired it and worked there. They earned some money for their work and it was distributed not according to the contribution of the member, but according to the number of children in his family.

Aunt Peisya and uncle Boris had many children, and since I was an only child, the rule made my mother indignant. Father was the chairman but our family got least of all. Father did earn good money, but mother wasn't pleased with it all the same. However, my father couldn't behave differently. He was the youngest in the family, and he couldn't give instructions to his brothers.

His relatives must have acknowledged my father as chairman because of his organizing capabilities. He even had a nickname in the family: professor. I was surprised at that time that Ukrainians and Russians addressed him by his name and patronymic and with [the formal] 'You'. At the same time father had pupils aged 15-16, who called him Berl and addressed him with [the informal] 'you', not 'You'. I didn't express my surprise, but thought to myself, 'Why is that so'. The patronymic wasn't used because all were relatives and not only natural relatives. For instance, my aunt Peisya married Boris, and he also joined the team.

When conflicts arose, the Jews didn't appeal to the state court, it was considered indecent. For instance, when there was a conflict between a NEP- man and a worker, or between a husband and a wife (if one wanted a divorce and the other one didn't), no one even considered to appeal to the state authorities, let alone, the court. For example, carts were rented in order to deliver something. When payment time came, a dispute arose, which had to be solved. In Vinnitsa it happened the following way: one party got itself an 'attorney', a representative; the other party did the same. These people got together and settled the dispute.

If they came to an agreement, they parted; if not, both representatives consulted a third party. My father was always invited to be a judge and settle disputes. His decisions were never discussed because it was connected with serious trouble for the defeated party: respect was lost, because Jews were around. Father was respected. There was the Bar Association [a league of attorneys, professional community] with attorneys who obtained their education in Russia and abroad, but they also respected his opinion.

After the NEP time, my father joined the Communist Party, as it was prestigious, in fashion and convenient at that time. He was a man of principle, didn't change his mind and didn't take bribes. Later, when he worked at the chemical plant, he invented some things. But he was semiliterate. He told the shop master about his proposal. And the chief engineer was later given these diplomas and big bonuses for these proposals. When the sugar plant was constructed, automated scales appeared. It was German equipment, and no one knew how to repair it. Father had a look at it and fixed it.

Father's older brother Nutyr left for America in the 1920s. Before the war he wrote a letter to his relatives, saying that he was in a good position and able to assist them, if they gave him their address. They came to my father for advice. He told them, 'Why do you need it, everybody is being put into camps now'. So they never wrote back. I later looked for that uncle, but didn't find him. He sent pictures with his letter. I remember that my father was filled with indignation because of them: he was of patriarchal breed and in the picture his brother wore shorts and held a tennis racket. In his last letter Nutyr wrote that he was very busy and couldn't write letters.

He said, that his wife would be happy to correspond, but that she knew no Russian or Polish, only English. If they were satisfied with that, she would write to them. No one knew English at that time and everyone was scared. My wife is still afraid of the NKVD 6. Thus the contact was lost. Mother also called me Nutyr sometimes. She thought that I was stubborn, and that uncle was also very stubborn. He left for America in spite of his relatives asking him to stay.

When the pogroms began, and after the Soviet Power and other trouble came, many of our relatives emigrated. It was possible to emigrate during the NEP time and after. Several families got together, not only relatives, and left for America. However, when they arrived, they were not let in, embargo was already introduced. So they decided to go to Mexico. Thus five or six families lived and worked in Mexico. Aunt Sonya, Peisya and Clara also went there.

Father also wanted to leave for Mexico, but grandmother didn't want to. She had daughters and she wanted to take them with her, but father said that would be too many people and refused. So they stayed while the others left. They had a boss there who they worked for. They were semiliterate people, but craftspeople of very high qualification.

They decided to return after some time. They had no money, and were five or six families, each with no less than three or four children. They started to write to father, 'Save us, we want to come back home'. My father was well-off. He owned two houses in Vinnitsa, one of them a two-storey building. He sold the houses for nothing and sent the money to his relatives in Mexico. He also sold the houses because the collectivization started and everything would have been taken away anyway.

When his relatives were ready to go home, they told their boss about it. And he replied, 'What are you, fools? You're going to join the polar bears. The climate here is wonderful, earnings are good, why don't you stay? I will give you a raise and a house, which you will be able to redeem gradually.' But they left, suffered in the war here and almost everyone perished. Unfortunately, I don't know more about my grandparents.

My grandfather on mother's side, Leiba Simkhanovich Gutkin [1885-1918], was a tailor. To be more precise, he was more of an organizer than a tailor. He set up several tailor's workshops in Odessa, which sewed clothes for sale, mostly suits. He was mobilized into the army and fought in the Russian- Japanese war [1904-1905]. He came from Odessa, which means his behavior was rather peculiar. There was a colonel, also from Odessa. My grandfather helped that colonel very much, almost saved his life. The colonel told my grandfather: 'Why are you a Jew, get converted into Russian Orthodoxy, or at least Islam, but don't be a Jew. Then I will make you an officer and you'll be a respected man.'

In order to avoid the conversation, my grandfather told him, 'I'll think about it.' The war ended, he returned to Odessa, and the colonel started to serve at the Odessa garrison. My grandfather found out that he had come back and wanted to pay his respects to the colonel. And the latter told him again, 'I will make you an officer, reject Judaism.' My grandfather didn't. So he told him again, 'We will organize shvanya for you.' Shvanya is a tailor's workshop. Since that man was a colonel, he began to place orders with my grandfather for soldier's uniforms. Thus grandfather became the owner of several workshops.

My maternal grandmother, Lyubov Rafailovna Gutkina, nee Zakhterova [1885- 1967], came from a prosperous family. Almost all her relatives had left for America. She fell in love with grandfather and wasn't able to leave for America, because she stayed with her husband. She got married, first a son was born and then my mother. All in all she had five daughters; her son died. During World War II my mother's sisters were evacuated; only one, the youngest, perished. She had health problems, stayed in a boarding school or some special home, and for some reason they couldn't find her.

Grandmother fed the tailors at the workshops, because they worked long hours and had no time to go out to eat. She cooked lunch for them. From that time the following joke survived: Those Jews, who worked at the cooperative, were always very hungry. When grandmother gave them lunch, she had to bring bread, then the first course and then the second course. So, once she brought some bread and went to get the first course. When she came back she saw that there wasn't a breadcrumb left on the table. So she went to get some more bread. She brought it and left again to bring the first course. When she returned, there wasn't a single piece of bread left. Then her little daughter began to pull her skirt, and grandmother, strung-up with the situation, told her, 'Stop that or I'll put you on the table.'

In 1918 my grandfather died of typhus. He was looking for food in different towns, fell sick and died. My grandmother was left with four or five children in Odessa without any livelihood. The Civil War was at its height. My mother, was 13 years old. My grandmother had a sister in Vinnitsa. They exchanged letters and she moved to Vinnitsa with her children. Her sister's name was Sonya and her husband's last name was Ulman.

When my grandmother came to Vinnitsa, she lived at her uncle's place with the children for some time, but then she realized that she had to live on her own. They lived poorly and had to work. My mother and her sister Vera went to work, I don't remember what they did. The third sister entered a college and became an obstetrician, and the fourth sister became an economist. Later their condition improved but it was very difficult at first. My grandmother believed in God, but when the collectivization started and non-ferrous metals were collected from the citizens, grandmother handed in her copper candlestick for Chanukkah, and her menorah.

My mother, Esfir Lvovna Khapun, nee Gutkina [1905-1975], helped all her family after she got married. My father was a very active and hard-working man, but he worked at two or three places. In 1934-1935 a serious famine 7 broke out in Ukraine and one third of the population died. My father always worked hard and earned a lot. As a matter of fact he supported grandmother and all my mother's sisters. They needed clothes, since they were young girls. My mother always helped. My father did not interfere; he merely brought the money. My mother was a housewife. Later she worked as a nurse in a hospital.

My aunts, those who did not perish, received a higher education or secondary special education. Both my grandmothers were literate, could write in Russian, read prescriptions and understood German. I don't know where they studied. My mother went to a common school, she had beautiful handwriting, but she wasn't very literate and usually made three mistakes per page.

I would like to say a few of words about the Jewish way of speaking. Jews have always been teased for their incorrect speech, but I say that no one speaks better than a Jew. When one wants to imitate a Jew, one speaks smoothly and with a singing accent, but this isn't correct. Maybe they did speak that way in the past, but it doesn't exist anymore. Among those Jews whom I knew in Vinnitsa, everyone had higher education.

My parents met when they were both in their early twenties. After they saw each other for some time they got married. At first they lived with father's family. My mother was a young wife and wanted to cook some meal for my father, for example, a pie or vareniki, which were very popular in the Ukraine and were cooked with sour cherries' or other berries' filling. But when the boys, rather frank and spontaneous, saw such food cooked by her, they ate everything immediately. Mother was indignant with their behavior, she did not want to cook for all of them. She was an individualist. She made father move and they started to live on their own. I was already born by that time. At first father left, then his brother Girsh became a trade-union figure and was provided with an apartment; later someone else left. So one by one many departed. At the same time a lot stayed behind and lived in one house, both before and after the war. Some separated but paid visits to each others families.

Growing up

My parents were religious, but not Orthodox. They didn't pay a lot of attention to praying, but observed the traditions. We had guests on Saturdays. Father's friends came, drank nalivka, but there were no drunk people. The traditions were observed, yet not strictly; matzah was cooked. Later it was sold in stores but it was seldom purchased, because everyone got used to making it at home.

There was a synagogue in the main street in Vinnitsa. It was of the same type as the Leningrad one: A gallery for women above and places for men below. A philharmonic society was set up there during the Soviet times. There was another synagogue, in which a gym was built. Father adhered to democratic views. He didn't like the atmosphere at the synagogue. They didn't only pray there, but also solved public problems. Jews got together and settled some problem. Everyone had to speak in order to come to a mutual agreement. But if a poor man stated that something had to be done, they showed him well-off Jews and told him, 'Where are you sticking your nose into? Don't you see there are respected people here?' Father didn't like it at all, that's why he almost never attended the synagogue. He didn't like the attitude towards the poor, who were treated as if they were people of second quality.

In the Soviet time [1930s] the Vinnitsa community still existed, though the synagogues didn't operate anymore. There were four or five of them in Vinnitsa before. The main synagogue was shut down earlier, in the 1920s. There are prayers according to Jewish tradition, which can only be said if there's a minyan - ten people, all men. Such meetings were held in private houses and were half-legal. They gathered mainly at widows' places. If a widow allowed people to come to her place, they were all anxious to do so, because it was some kind of assistance to her. Money wasn't only collected for this widow, but also for some other good causes. People came to pray and make donations. As a matter of fact, I never attended these meetings; neither did my mother. But father did, since he considered it a tradition. All in all, however, he believed that if God existed, it was possible to address Him and talk to Him directly. He is Almighty, so why gather in a certain place?

Earlier people attended one certain synagogue in each district. It wasn't allowed not to come to the synagogue, because it meant loss of authority and prestige. Even if one was an unbeliever or unserious believer, or simply a sympathizer, he attended the synagogue. People came to the synagogue both to pray and to communicate. There was no other way.

Every well-off Jew had paupers whom he patronized. These people came to eat at his place not only on Saturday. Such beggars also visited our house. I remember one poor woman, who often came to our place. She always smelled very bad and I had an aversion to her. When mother took care of her, gave her bed-sheets, shirts or something else, I did not understand why she did that. But it was impossible not to help.

In Russian Orthodoxy when a person dies, funeral repast [commemoration] is organized. The deceased and his good deeds are recalled at the repast. Jews have no such funeral repasts. On the contrary, a fast was organized; people took off their shoes and sat in mourning for a whole week. We observed it all, everybody without exception.

Jews always have a matchmaker, and everybody knows that woman is a matchmaker. She has a list of all marriageable girls and young men. It was not necessary to ask her for help. If there was a pair that saw each other and planned to get married, it was still on the matchmaker's list. The matchmaker saw that there was a beautiful girl and a handsome man, who deserved each other. So she went to the family of the young man or the girl and offered them to get acquainted. They were very good psychologists and could organize it all. The tradition wasn't always maintained but matchmakers existed. They were paid for what they did. Sholem Aleichem 8 has a story about male matchmakers, two friends, who met and in the end matched two girls.

The family of the girl was supposed to pay dowry. If the family was poor, the wedding was arranged on the condition of parity. If the young man was poor and the girl was rich, her family paid. Poor girls were called soykha. They had no dowry, but they also needed to get married. So balegoles [carters] visited various houses. They were robust guys accompanied by several women. They talked to the host and hostess, 'This girl is getting married, and dowry is required.' Normally it happened in the yard, there were yards at that time and all doors and windows faced the yard.

When a certain amount of money was brought out, the balegoles looked at it and said, 'No way, that's not enough.' And if they were told, 'I have no more money', a scandal started. Women screamed, balegoles yelled and all neighbors ran out of their houses. They also visited mother, she gave money, but she usually checked, who approached. If it was a brawler, she tried to secretly leave the house. All in all, if the man said that he had no money, he was told, 'I can lend you some, you can pay back later.' It was impossible to wriggle one's way out of it. This was how a girl was prepared for a wedding if she had no parents.

Klezmer musicians were definitely present at weddings. It was an interesting Jewish tradition. They were not invited, but they wandered about looking for a wedding. Sometimes two bands came to one wedding. Such situations sometimes ended with a fight about the use of musical instruments. Why? Because the wedding organizers never paid the musicians. Those guests who ordered the music paid them. When the guests came to a wedding, they entered one by one in order to pay respect to each guest. The musicians played a flourish to each, a welcome march. And the guest in his turn had to give the musicians some money. It was all agreed beforehand. At one of the weddings my grandmother Lyubov was lost in contemplation over something, and when the musicians suddenly started to play flourish to some guest, she had a stroke. She died. She was 82 years old.

There were sahvors. If the hostess couldn't cook properly, she didn't invite the cooks, but the sahvors. They were both bakers and organizers. It wasn't their occupation in the full meaning of the word; they were just people who could cook very well. They were paid for their work, and the musicians paid them, too. If a woman was invited to organize a wedding, she immediately ran to the musicians to tell them about it. Klezmer musicians paid her for the information.

The most important dance was cher. Only the Jews have this dance. People stood in four couples crosswise. There were special figures. Gradually all these couples had to exchange partners. That is why in this dance a certain number of bars has to be played. It wasn't allowed to stop in the middle, because some of the dancing couples would go through the ritual, and others wouldn't. That's why this dance was the most expensive one. Just imagine a man, who wants to improve his image in the eyes of other guests, and for this purpose orders cher. Everybody orders dances, but those who want to prove their authority, order cher, because it's very expensive. If a waltz is ordered, the musicians, having received their payment for it, will play only several bars. Then another pays, and another. A Jewish dance is like a Georgian one, or any other Caucasian. When you see Russian or Slavic dances, you see that dancers stamp their feet. Negroes [African Americans] tap-dance, but Jews jump like dragonflies. When cher started, only those danced, who liked to dance and could dance well. And they performed such unbelievable things with their legs with such ease! It was a wonderful sight.

When I was small, five or six years old, a Jewish teacher, a melamed, began to teach me. He was hired by my parents. He was supposed to teach me Yiddish. At home I spoke Russian. But he just visited me for a short time, about a month, because I didn't understand what he wanted from me. The teacher was old. Jewish families merely hired teachers if they wanted their kids to have Jewish education because there were no cheders at that time.

There was no bar mitzvah. My parents were communists. Maybe they did something according to tradition but I don't remember. There were no special celebrations. However, when I was thirteen years old, and took liberties, violated something, or behaved badly, they reproached me, saying that I was already thirteen, how could I behave that way, one could get married at that age.

I was mainly brought up in the street, but I saw all traditions and ceremonies. Mother followed the rules and wanted me to be a decent boy, not a hooligan, who does blameworthy things. I was almost never blamed for anything. We had this boy in the neighborhood; his name was Boma. He was so fat that it was impossible to go anywhere with him, as he attracted everybody's attention. His brothers decided not to give him food anymore, and he was very hungry. They had a house with a cellar. There were no fridges at that time, and there was ice in the cellar. Ice was procured in winter, put in the cellar, so that in summer the temperature was low there. Soup, second course and other food were stored there. Since Boma was very hungry, he went into the cellar, where several neighbors kept their food (each had soup, second and third courses) for several days. And Boma ate each neighbor's food bit-by-bit. When mother found out about it, she repeated to me a hundred times that what he had done, was very bad, that it was a crime.

I remember that in my childhood theaters in Vinnitsa were always packed, especially when popular Jewish actors arrived. There were such festivals. For example, there was Epelbaum, a famous Odessa and Vinnitsa singer. Then Clara Yung came. When she arrived, there was a welter in the theater. I actually didn't seen any pure drama performances there. They were all musical shows.

I started school in 1932. There were around 70% Jews in our class. There were also Poles, Ukrainians and one German. There was no anti-Semitism in our class. One trick was played on someone once, but the person who had done it, was blamed for that and never repeated it. There was no difference between the pupils. Poles lived at the place where Boma lived. It turned out that they formed a group of their own. When I visited their place to see my friends, who lived in that house, I didn't need an interpreter. I listened to what they said and understood everything perfectly. They spoke in Polish, and I replied in Russian, and we understood each other very well.

Germans also lived in Vinnitsa. When I worked in Vinnitsa at the chemical company, a funny episode happened. I worked as an engineer in the Management Department. A large German delegation arrived in order to solve some assembly and operation problems. The General Manager invited me to the meeting. Germans sat on one side, our administration team on the other. A Russian interpreter came to help with the conversation. He was a Chekist [State Security Office employee], all interpreters were freelance Chekists. The General Manager gave an introduction speech. The interpreter translated it into German. After the German representative gave his speech, when it would have been the interpreter's job to translate, it turned out that no one needed a translation, everybody understood him. When the Germans ended their speeches, they immediately received answers to all their questions. Judging from their age, the Germans had participated in the war, and thus knew Russian. So the interpreter sat there like a dummy.

During the War

After I finished school war broke out. I was in evacuation in Tashkent with my family. We got there by train as soon as the war began, that was in 1941. I entered Ashkhabad Infantry College and was enrolled into the army from the second year of my studies. I was in the army until the end of the war. I stayed in Stalinsk, now it is called Novokuznetsk, after I was wounded. There was a metallurgical plant there. I found myself in the labor army. Those, who could not serve in the army, because of wounds, but could work for the frontline, were enrolled into such labor army. They worked in the hinter-front and close to the frontline. The college was there and it was possible to study part-time, which I did.

When my father was in evacuation, he worked at a plant. Every time they came to mobilize, father was not touched; no one could imagine that the plant management would send him away. Father worked until he fell ill. When he became very weak, he asked my friend, the manager of a park, if he could work at the attractions, because they also came out of order. The manager said, 'He's an old man, why does he want to do that?' I told my father, 'You have a pension, I'll give you money, get some rest, why work?' This was exactly what disappointed him. He didn't reply but I knew that he was displeased.

Our relatives in Vinnitsa, who were young, were evacuated. Those who were of mobilization age were enrolled into the army. Part of them perished, part came back crippled, some returned fine. Many of those who were older stayed in Vinnitsa, and they all perished. But since they were blacksmiths, and the Germans located their administrative unit in Vinnitsa and required blacksmiths, they killed aunt Mekhlya, but did not touch her husband. They took him to the unit to work for them. He was a skilled blacksmith so they kept him. They told him not to go outside, because his appearance left no doubt about his nationality. But he couldn't stand it and one day went outside. One Ukrainian saw him and told him to follow him. That Ukrainian decided to hand him over to the police, since the police paid money for each handed over Jew. Uncle was walking, thinking, 'I can kill him with one blow, but everybody in the street will see it; what else can I do?' Suddenly he saw German soldiers from the unit he worked in and they read in his eyes that he begged for assistance, though he didn't say a word. They told him, 'Follow us.' The Ukrainian said, 'I have to bring him to the police.' They started to argue. The Germans said, 'We have a military unit of our own and we are police, follow us.' The Ukrainian followed them to the unit and they started to beat him. Then he disappeared, and my uncle never saw him again. The Germans must have killed that Ukrainian.

Later on when our units began to advance, it was possible to hear artillery firing. Vinnitsa is crossed by the Buk. Germans found themselves on one side and our forces on the opposite side. And those guys, the Germans, told my uncle, 'You know, we have to leave, your forces are attacking. You have to save yourself, we can't help you anymore.' The Germans brought all men of call-up age and older, around fifty years old, to Germany. Uncle got into a former lyokh, a type of cellar, where a warehouse had been organized before. In winter pieces of ice were sawed off and that cellar was filled up with them. During summer the ice was used. But there was no ice at that time, because no one needed it under the Germans. My uncle got inside. But other men knew about that place, too. They also started to look for a hiding place and stayed in that cellar. They knew my uncle. Machine-gun firing could already be heard. One of the men said, 'If the Germans come in and see that there's a Jew among us, they'll kill us. Let's kill him, then we can say that we killed a Jew.' Some of them began to approach him, but there was this decent man, a Ukrainian, who said, 'What are you doing? You're saving your life and want to murder a man?' They calmed down. Then our people came into the cellar and my uncle was released. When his son Mordkha returned from the army, my uncle climbed onto the cart in order to go meet him. The horses got frightened, uncle fell off the cart and killed himself. He tried to save his life during the war but later perished like that. Mordkha had a family, had daughters and lived in Vinnitsa all the time. He was a very nice man. His last name was also Khapun. Once workers came up to me and said, 'Do you have relatives named Khapun?' I said, 'I don't know.' They told me, 'We know one very decent man, is he a relative of yours?' I didn't know what to say, because there were Khapuns in Vinnitsa who were Ukrainians. It turned out that it was my cousin Mordkha's relative.

There was a synagogue during evacuation in Tashkent. To be more precise, it was a big room in a private house. I went to a rabbi and told him, 'We have relatives in Odessa.' We failed to find them. One of them left for the Far East. He was in the army, graduated from college, became a lieutenant and was assigned to work in the camps [The Gulag] 9. He rescued a lot of people. My future wife's uncles were also imprisoned in the camps, and he helped them as much as he could. He almost got into prison for that himself. He had a decent commander, who told him, 'Stop it, or you'll get into prison yourself.'

After the War

When the war ended, I wanted to leave the plant where I worked. I wanted to return home. I wrote an application asking for release. But they didn't want to let me go. The chief electrician didn't even want to hear about it, he just spat at me. The plant was very big, almost as big as the Moscow district. I took them to court and the court released me, so I left to continue my studies. After the war my older cousin lived and studied in Dnepropetrovsk. I already worked as a mechanic at that time, but I needed higher education. My cousin studied at a similar metallurgical institute. We exchanged letters and he invited me to come. I visited him and we studied in the same group. I graduated from the Dnepropetrovsk Metallurgical Institute named after Stalin.

When we finished our studies, my cousin was already married and stayed in Dnepropetrovsk. I was not captivated by the city, and left. I was assigned to work in Makeyevka, in the Donetsk region. It was impossible not to go; otherwise one would have been imprisoned. I was severely injured at the plant there. There was an accident: I stepped on a hot object, tripped and burnt my hands, both palms. The pain was unbearable; I almost fainted. I was told to put my hands into cold water, I did so and it became less painful. When I took them out I felt terrible pain again. I couldn't put on my pants and eat because of the burns. I even thought that they were completely burnt, but my hands got better within a month. I don't know how they healed. I left for my home place and began to work at the chemical plant in Vinnitsa. My parents lived there, too. They came back straight after the evacuation; their house was demolished by the Germans.

In 1966 I moved to Leningrad, where I worked in Sevmormontazh, then in Glavzavstroy. [Enterprises specializing in the field of installation of various structures, like ore reloading complexes at marine ports.] I both liked and disliked my work. When I recall the brightest moments of my life, I can only recall a few events. I worked in the North and in the South, in Mariupol and in Murmansk; I was an assembler and had to travel a lot. Later I worked in Krasnoye Selo.

My boss was Jewish. I got fewer bonuses, awards and gratitude. He wanted to show that he didn't pay attention to nationality. It was very unpleasant for me. When he was on vacation, he was replaced and my relationship with the new boss was totally different. Later his attitude towards me influenced other people, too. I was Deputy Secretary of the Party Bureau. And the Party Bureau Secretary, Osetrov, had no leg. He was injured and ill most of the time. I had to do all the work for him. I was responsible for ideas and propaganda. All communists and non-party men had to attend the studies. We had a group of propagandists; I had to give them material, which I received from Raykom. [The committee of the local department of the Communist Party.] And they conducted further studies at the workshops. Sometimes I conducted these studies. It wasn't difficult for me; I managed to do everything.

There was the Marxism-Leninism University. It had to be attended by young communists; it was the supreme level of studies. I wasn't only a student there, but also a lecturer. I certainly understood the nonsense of those studies, I believed in a lot of things. First of all, now capitalism and competition are discussed, but at that time there was planned economics. I considered that nothing could be better than planned economics, where everything was prescheduled, completed; everything was known and there was no anarchy. Now it's all being denied.

My wife, Larisa Lvovna Sterenberg, was born in 1927 in Vinnitsa and lived there before the war. Later she was in Kuibyshev [Samara] in evacuation. After the war her family returned to Vinnitsa, and Larisa soon left for Moscow. She entered the Foreign Language Institute there and moved to Leningrad after graduation.

I have known Larisa since my childhood. We went to the same Russian school. She knew our class, and she even liked boys from our class, but I didn't pay attention to her. Later we became students and found ourselves among a group of friends. Our mutual friends still keep in touch. At first Larisa didn't pay attention to me. We had been dating occasionally since she was 18, but she only agreed to marry me when she was 29. We met sometimes and lived in different places. I lived in Makeyevka and she studied in Moscow. She came to Vinnitsa for holidays. I also went there for my vacation. We saw each other and there were 'high and low tides' in our relationship. She even wanted to move to my place in Makeyevka, but I understood that she wouldn't do it, so I didn't propose it to her. Later I lived in Vinnitsa, and she was already in Leningrad. She entered the Pedagogical Institute, then the post-graduate department and became a teacher of English. I worked in Vinnitsa. Once, when I went on a business trip to Leningrad, I married Larisa. After that I had to return to Vinnitsa. I lived there for some time but soon moved to Leningrad for good.

The difference between my status in Vinnitsa and in Leningrad was huge. I was an engineer and later a chief engineer in Vinnitsa. When I came to Leningrad from this rural town, people looked at me as a villager. Vinnitsa was totally different. I was 37 years old. Those, who I played with as a child, had grown up. One of them was a Raykom Secretary, another was an Obkom Secretary [Obkom, or regional committee; boss in Soviet slang] and another was an Ispolkom 10 Secretary. They all knew me perfectly well, we were in close relations and I felt at ease. There was no question whether to accept me to work or not. There were friends around, I had a name and proven myself. Once there was this man who came from Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, and decided to criticize me. And the Gorkom Secretary stood up and said, 'Look for someone else, because we know him very well, he does excellent work.'

When I came to Leningrad in 1960, I started to look for work. However, it didn't appear to be easy. All chiefs saw that I was a Jew and told me that they weren't in need of specialists. Once I came to a plant to talk to the chief. I felt that he looked at me trying to figure out if I was a Jew or not. Then he asked me to show him my passport, which I didn't need to do. I felt his peering look. He certainly didn't reject me openly. This was a peculiar diplomacy. He told me that just the day before a person was found for the position, but that he wanted to write down my data. I understood he was bluffing. I was embarrassed by the laws of that time: If one stayed without work for a month, the record of service would be interrupted. I was afraid that my work experience would be interrupted. This influences the pension and sick-list payment. I decided not to spend any more time looking for a job and took the first decent position that came along.

In 1960 our daughter Olga was born. After finishing school she wanted to go to university. I consulted a man who worked at our plant, who graduated from the university recently. We decided not to take the risk. Olga went to the Railroad Institute instead. She was the only girl at the faculty and always got excellent marks. She became a mechanical engineer. Not long ago she was at the graduates' party and everybody remembered her as being the best student. One of the teachers persuaded her to enter the post-graduate department at the Water Transport Institute after graduation. But Olga was rather indifferent to it. That teacher even called my wife, tried to persuade her and asked her to influence our daughter's decision.

I can't say that my wife and me tried to follow Jewish traditions in our family or tried to raise our daughter that way. We visited the synagogue very rarely, almost never. Of course I remembered my family's traditions, but that was more of the past, just memories of my childhood. At the same time I often tell my only grandchild, Alexandra, stories from my childhood. I want her to know what the life of her great-grandparents was like. Now that my wife and me are old, we have become more interested in our heritage, Jewish traditions and Jewish community. This is mostly thanks to Hesed. We don't only get help from it, but it also keeps us in touch with the world. We enjoy reading its newsletters, and if we could only move around better, we would take part in its social events more actively.

Glossary:

Henryk Lewandowski
Warsaw
Poland
Interviewer: Anna Szyba
Date of interview: October-November 2005

I met with Mr. Lewandowski at the Schorr Foundation on Twarda Street in Warsaw, at the heart of what once was the Jewish quarter, bustling with life. He's still very active in spite of his age, and hardly ever found at home. He's very witty and always has a joke handy. He gets serious when starting to talk about his past. He's proud of his family and of his life. Mr. Lewandowski, like many Polish Jews, does not fully appreciate the Jewish tradition and religion. He stresses his Polish identity, which he associates with education, progress, a higher social status. In his language 'assimilated' means first of all not so religious, non- traditional, progressive.

My family history
Growing up
During the war
The ghetto and the deportations
Evacuation
After the war
Family life
Recent years

My family history

I was born on 10th September 1929 in Zamosc [a town ca. 260 km south-east of Warsaw]. I was an only child. My parents were from Zamosc, both from Father's and Mother's side. My paternal grandfather, Sanel Garfinkiel, was born in 1875 already in Zamosc, but his whole family came from Ukraine, from a place called Nezhin [ca. 130 km north-east of Kiev], it's somewhere near Chernobyl. He died in 1940 of natural causes. Grandpa was an industrialist and a landowner. He owned a brewery [Livonia] in Zamosc, had an estate in Danczypol, in the Grabowiec commune [20 km east of Zamosc], a brickyard outside Zamosc - he was a wealthy man. He used to dress the European way, didn't have a beard, didn't have payes, he did have a moustache though. His Polish was not very good, not that he had a Jewish accent, but simply a peasant's manner of speaking.

When Grandpa was younger, he devoted more time to his land than to the brewery. He simply knew more of farming; he was particularly interested in horse breeding. In pre-war Poland horse breeding was an important branch of agriculture since the army used mostly horse transport. Grandpa had a good reputation as a horse-breeder. I remember he could spend all day in the stable, shouting at the stable-boys for not grooming a horse thoroughly enough, or because the manure had not been removed. I didn't know the names of my grandparents' brothers and sisters.

I remember my great-grandmother, too, the mother of my paternal grandpa, but I don't remember her name. She wore a wig [sheitl], she was very pious and wanted me badly to be very pious, too. We lived in the same house, on the premises of the brewery in Zamosc. Every morning, as I didn't wear a kippah, she would put her hand on my head so that it would be covered, and recite the prayer in Hebrew or Yiddish. I don't recall how she spoke to me, I didn't know Yiddish so she had to use Polish I suppose, but it wasn't good Polish, that's for sure. She died in 1940 of natural causes.

We had three funerals in the course of three months that year. First Grandpa Sanel died, and then both my great-grandmothers, one after another. Those were regular funerals, Jewish, with rabbis, with the so-called Chevra. The Chevra in Zamosc was headed by a Jew called Abus Frydling. They're all buried in Zamosc, in the old Jewish cemetery, upon which a housing quarter was built in the 1950s.

Grandpa Sanel's wife, Blima Wislicka, born in 1875 as well, was killed - almost before my eyes - during the liquidation of the Izbica ghetto 1 in 1942. She was from Lodz, from a Jewish patrician family, sort of. They were in the textile industry, there was the Wislicki & Rozen factory, not quite like Szeibler [1820-1881, one of the biggest textile industrialists in Lodz], but a medium-sized factory. The family was Polonized, assimilated to a large degree, there were converts among them. I have a portrait of my great-grandmother at home, she's wearing something you won't see nowadays. Frills and so on. She didn't wear a wig, she had regular hair.

I don't know how my grandparents [the Garfinkiel grandparents] met. They were not very religious, they only went to the synagogue on high holidays, for example Pesach. I don't remember them going there every Saturday. I would ask the four questions over the seder supper and Grandpa would answer them. It so happened I was the only grandson for both my paternal and maternal grandparents, so on one seder I went to the first Grandpa, and on the second to the other. The food at my grandparents' house was kosher, yet nobody made a fuss if you ate something that was not. Well, on Pesach there would be no bread in the house, of course, but I know Grandpa used to have a piece of sausage every day, or some bacon, things that couldn't have been kosher by definition.

Grandpa Sanel had four sons. One died of scarlet fever at the age of eight or ten maybe, I don't know. I didn't even know his name. Matjas was the eldest son, born in 1897, then Mieczyslaw-Mendel, born in 1899, and finally Dawid, my father, born in 1908. None of them had any religious education, I don't know if they went to a cheder, but anyway they all completed public schools, non-religious, and were religiously indifferent, they were all assimilated [without any ties to religion], and as far as I remember they spoke nice Polish.

Matjas had agricultural education, not a university degree, he completed agricultural high school. He worked in farming for a short time, then switched to journalism and writing. Because he was a well-known hunting activist, he was in the editorial staff of the 'Lowca Polski' [Polish Hunter] magazine in Warsaw. In the 1930s he was sent to Canada with a group of Polish journalists to write reportages; the outcome of that trip were books by Arkady Fiedler [1894-1985, Polish journalist, writer, naturalist, and traveler], 'Ryby spiewaja w Ukajali' [The River of Singing Fish, 1935; Mr. Lewandowski actually refers to a different book by the author, Kanada pachnaca zywica (Canada Smelling of Pine) of the same year], and a less known one by my uncle - under the name Matgarf - 'Losie i lososie' [Moose and Salmons].

His wife Maria was a daughter of Abraham Sojka, one of the wealthiest men in Poland at the time. They had one daughter, Noemi, or Nina, my age, she lives in Canada, we keep in touch. It wasn't a happy marriage, they split up in 1937 and he went to Rhodesia [today Zimbabwe]. Matjas' wife was deported with Nina to Russia, to the polar bears [that is, sent into exile to Siberia]. They came back after the war and moved to Rhodesia; Uncle had them come there, even though they were divorced, and she lived there separately, working as a shop-assistant in a department store.

There used to be this 'fashion' in Poland that we should have colonies, and possible locations were debated. There was this state official, Mieczyslaw Lepecki [1897-1969, journalist and traveler], he was a writer and also Pilsudski's 2 aide-de-camp, and he came up with the idea that vast expanses of land could be cheaply acquired in Rhodesia, so he persuaded people to go there and settle. My uncle was among those persuaded so he moved to Rhodesia. After the divorce Matjas remarried, his second wife was an English Jewish woman, they had a son, his name is Rodes; I've never met him. He's a PE teacher, he lives in Australia nowadays.

Grandpa Sanel's second son was called Mieczyslaw, he was the greatest intellectual in the family. A lawyer, he started his legal studies at Kiev University during World War I, but graduated from Warsaw University. I have his free tramway pass from 1922 with his photo on it. He was an attorney [attorney-at-law] before the war. He had a practice in Zamosc, Tomaszow Lubelski [a town ca. 40 km south of Zamosc], and for some time also in Warsaw. During the war he was the chairman of the Jewish community council in Zamosc, the so-called Judenrat 3. As far as I know, he was the only Judenrat chair to survive the war. He survived in hiding on the 'Aryan side' in Warsaw [i.e. beyond the ghetto].

He had no children, even though he was married four times. I only met his third and fourth wives. His third wife, Estera, or Tusia, was killed on the 'Aryan side' in Warsaw; Irena, the fourth one, he married after the war, she died in London. After the war he lived in Zamosc, then in Warsaw for some time, and then he remarried and immigrated [to London in 1949].

The youngest was Dawid, my father, born in 1908. He completed some kind of vocational high school, somewhere near Czestochowa [ca. 250 km south-west of Warsaw]. Grandpa had him go there, wanting him to work in the brewery and at the estate, and that was how it turned out. Except that Father and Mother generally worked only in the brewery - Grandpa advanced in years. There was also a brewer employed.

The founder of Mom's side of the family was her grandfather Psachje Jungman, born sometime between 1865 and 1870, he died around 1928-1930. He lived in Zamosc, but came probably from Krasnystaw [30 km east of Zamosc]. He spoke rather fluent Polish - he traded with the Poles, he used to sell shoe leather, among other things, so he often dealt with shoemakers.

Great-grandpa Psachje's wife was called Sura, I remember her. She died in 1940 of natural causes, before the ghetto in Zamosc 4 was created. She didn't live with Grandpa [her son], I'd never been at her apartment. I know she visited grandparents on all major holidays, and for example used to have the Saturday dinner with them. I don't remember if we exchanged at least one word. She probably had big trouble with Polish. She was very religious too, as Great-grandpa Psachje was a very religious man.

Great-grandpa Psachje had seven children. Four sons and three daughters, and all of them had their own families. Three of them left the country back before the war. They went to Argentina, for economic reasons, and to Palestine. Many members of that family survived the war.

One of the seven children of Psachje was my Grandpa, he was called Nuta. He was born in 1886 or 1887, and in 1942 they took him to Belzec 5. He used to dress the traditional Jewish way, had a little beard, wore a gabardine and that sort of a Jewish cap. Grandpa's wife, Rajzla, was born in 1890 and was murdered in 1942 [in Belzec] as well. She came from a village in the Krasnobrod commune [27 km south of Zamosc]. She spoke Polish with a peasant's accent. She had a little store in Zamosc before the war, she sold fabrics. She was religious, like every elderly woman.

They had four children. My mother, Maria, was the eldest daughter, she was born in 1908. Uncle Izaak was second, he was born in 1911. There was also the other daughter, Rachela, nicknamed Halina, of 1917 I guess, she survived the war, she even was a runner at Zegota 6, in Warsaw, she had a very 'good,' 'Aryan' appearance. She also left for Argentina after the war and died there. The youngest son, my uncle Mojzesz, or Moniek, born in 1921 or 1922, was killed in 1941 in Zamosc.

Mom's parents [Grandpa Nuta and Grandma Rajzla] had an apartment downtown, on Staszica Street, a large room and a large kitchen. The room was divided by sort of a wooden wall. The kitchen was partly divided, too, because a section of it was Grandpa's leather business, as he also traded in leather. It was a small apartment for six people.

In the 1970s my cousin and Grandpa's grandson, Adam Jungman, the son of Uncle [Izaak] Jungman from Argentina, came to Poland; we went to Zamosc and he wanted to visit his grandparents' apartment very much. I walked him there and said, 'Know what, it's awkward for me to go there, you go, introduce yourself as a son of so-and-so, say you want to take a look, I'll take a walk.' He came downstairs afterwards and said, 'Heniek, who used to live here?', so I said 'Six people lived here.' 'How did they coop up here, we have a bathroom that's only a bit smaller than this whole apartment.' 'That's how you lived before the war,' I said. But I remember they always had space there.

From the time I was born until sometime in 1935 or 1936 my parents and I lived downtown, right in front of the town hall. Later we moved to a company apartment on the brewery's premises. It was a two-story building: we lived on the first floor, the grandparents - Father's parents - on the second. Because the brewery was somewhat on the outskirts I sometimes stayed the night at Mom's parents; I liked it, I always slept in Grandma's room.

I was the fruit of a puppy love, so to speak. My parents were very close to each other, my mother was a very pretty girl, a petite brunette, my father was a well-built, tall, broad-shouldered redhead. Because there were differences between their financial standings - my mother's parents were not really well-off, my father's parents were considered the more affluent Jewish class - so as far as I remember the relationship was without the parents' acceptance, and the marriage took place because I was already on the way.

Mom completed a Polish gymnasium in Zamosc with the lower standard exams and she worked hard all her life. Our apartment neighbored the office and Mom sat at the papers often as early as 5am. The reason was that the food industry before the war was in constant crisis. There was overproduction and all companies in the business were on their last legs, and my mother worked so that increasing employment could be avoided and the salary money saved. Plus you know, 'the master's eye makes the horse fat.'

My father worked less, because he was also active in public life. Father was a Jabotinist 7. Jabotinsky's 8 movement had a nationalist-fascist slant, meaning they did not believe in the possibility of gaining the Jewish statehood in Palestine through negotiations, or thanks to the mercy of the British. Jabotinists believed independence could be won by means of armed struggle with not just the Brits, but the Arab movement as well. So they looked for allies. One of those allies was Mussolini 9. Italians were elbowing around in the colonies and always looking for a chance to mess up the British. They felt Palestine was one such chance.

For what I know, Jews selected by Jabotinsky [members of the Revisionist Zionists Union] were admitted to the navy military school in Civitavecchia, in Italy. It was a secular organization and, as far as I remember, well developed in Zamosc. At the 3rd May 10 and 11th November 11 parades, the military units were always followed by the Jabotinists, in their uniforms. I didn't attend the demonstrations, I was a child, but my father did, he used to lead that column of the Zamosc Jabotinists. As far as I remember, no-one had beards there, or payes, they were all dressed the secular, European fashion. You can't say the organization had a particular social class prevalence. The members were both sons of the rich families and the extremely poor ones.

I remember that because there was this Palestine emigration thing, they wanted to prepare people here in Poland for working in the kibbutzim, as farmers. My father wanted to move to Palestine, too, although in the more distant future I guess. In the meantime he organized trainings for future kibbutzim members, some of them at Grandpa's estate in Danczypol.

As I was eight or nine, Father took me with him to a training like this, to a village called Kolki, between Volodymir-Volyns'kyy and Kowel [today Ukraine]. The village administrator was a Jew, he had that 'horse tooth' [underbite, malocclusion] - as he closed his mouth, a tooth stuck out. Father had his meetings all day long and I played with the kids. It was a big training for a crowd of Jewish farmers who would become kibbutzim members.

I remember an autographed portrait of Jabotinsky hanging in my father's office. Father was a member of the national executive of the Revisionist Zionists Union, I don't remember if it was on the central level, but I know he knew Jabotinsky personally. I know that when they held the last Jabotinist congress before the war, in Vienna, in 1937 I think, my father went there. I remember exactly, because as he came back from Vienna and was driving from the railway station in Zamosc to the brewery he realized he hadn't bought any presents for us, so he stopped downtown, went to a shop owner he knew who sold toys and that sort of things, and he bought me some kind of a motorbike, which I was very proud of. A couple of days later I saw he'd bought it in a shop in Zamosc.

Jabotinsky was very popular. There was this tradition that when Jabotinsky came to a town somewhere in Poland, the organization members would unharness a horse from a cab and pull the vehicle themselves, as a way of showing appreciation for their boss. Jabotinsky died in 1940 during a sea travel, he was going from England to the United States to organize a Jewish legion to fight the Germans.

You have to admit Jabotinsky's idea has been in some way realized, because Haganah 12 and all the other organizations in Israel actually started armed struggle, even though they consisted of people who were Jabotinsky's enemies, Ben Gurion 13 was the Jewish Left after all. It turned out, however, that we need to fight, that you can't gain independence with just a bunch of agreements on paper; it has to cost you some blood.

My father was religiously indifferent. For example: he didn't like it when my maternal Grandpa Nuta took me to prayers on the Jewish holidays. He couldn't really say 'no,' but he wasn't pleased, you know, so he said to me once: 'Listen, as you're in the synagogue with Grandpa, take off your cap.' It caused a great fuss, everyone was all over Grandpa: 'How have you raised your grandson!' And it was effective: Grandpa gave me a break for a few weeks, he wasn't taking me anywhere.

The synagogue I went to with Grandpa survived, it's an architectural monument nowadays 14, it hosts a public library. As far as I remember, Mother used to go with her mother Rajzla to the women's part of that synagogue on the Jewish New Year. I'd never seen my father in a synagogue. The food we ate at home wasn't kosher. We had a maid, a Ukrainian girl, called Anna Woloszyn, I remember she used to take me to the Orthodox church every Sunday, I loved to go there, because a male church choir sang there at service.

Religious holidays were treated just like nowadays: I'm a non-believer after all, nonobservant, but we all gather as a family on Christmas. Father was a non-believer, there was always bread in the house, and I remember once during Pesach, when it's forbidden to eat bread, I helped myself to a slice and went to play outside. Father really gave me hell back then, you know, because the others saw me eating bread, and he respected their observing the rule.

From the visits at Grandma and Grandpa I remember the dishes. I sometimes had dinner at my maternal grandparents'. I still recall it, the chulent above all. I've had chulent a few times after the war on different occasions; maybe I did idealize the taste of that pre-war chulent, but everything I've eaten since, even in Israel, was not even in the same league. I also remember kugel, it was sort of a bun, and chicken broth, THE Jewish dinner dish. Another dish was what's now called the 'Jewish caviar,' a salad made of poultry liver, onion, and egg.

My parents spoke Polish at home, they switched to Yiddish only when they didn't want me to understand. They knew Yiddish, of course, Yiddish was spoken at both Grandpa Nuta's and Sanel's. I only learned to speak Yiddish during the war, as I was working at the German commandant's office with a group of Jewish workers. I can't write, I can't read in Yiddish, but as I compare it today, I'm one of the very few in the Warsaw community who understand Yiddish. Well, anyway, I don't need to put on the headphones when I'm at the Jewish Theater.

I used to see Zamosc as a beautiful, bustling city. The surroundings of Mickiewicza Square, the main [Great Market Square] and the adjoining streets of the Old Town, the Zamosc city park, one of the most beautiful parks in Poland, they were always full of people.

I remember sometime in the 1960s or 1970s I was on a business trip in the Zamosc area and had to spend a night in a hotel. And so I took a walk downtown. Deserted streets, not a person in sight. The town had a lot less inhabitants than before the war; 32,000-33,000 people lived in pre-war Zamosc, including about 14,000 Jews [Editor's note: in 1939 there were 12,000 Jews in Zamosc], very few Ukrainians, some German families, the rest were Polish families. It was a very pleasant town.

We had a military parade every year; Zamosc had a big garrison, in two barracks: the Pilsudski barracks and the Lukasinski barracks. I remember there were parades each year on 3rd May and 11th November, it was always fun for the children.

I remember the ceremonies after Pilsudski's death, they lasted several days. They transmitted it all on the radio, the burial Mass, transporting the body from Warsaw to Krakow, and later there was a newsreel devoted entirely to Pilsudski's death, I remember going to the cinema with Moniek, my youngest uncle [my mother's brother], it was overcrowded, we had to stand, I didn't see too much.

I know some of Mother's side of the family had Communist sympathies. Uncle Izaak was somewhat involved in Communism, he spent some time in prison, in Warsaw, there was also mother's cousin Jozek Jungman, who lived in Lublin, and the police were after him so he came to Grandpa and Grandma Jungman, to Zamosc, for a few days.

A story comes to my mind: there was a rabbi in Zamosc, one I would now call a patriot-rabbi. Each 3rd May and 11th November he held a service for the motherland. Jozek Jungman conspired with some other young Communists and they entered the synagogue during a service with two pigeons, with a banner attached to their tails saying 'Away with the government', or something to that effect, anti-State anyway, and then let the birds out inside. The banner unfurled and the caption was to be seen, there was a great stir of course, the service was interrupted; as far as I know nobody was proven guilty, so Jozek Jungman got away with it.

Growing up

I went to elementary school in Nowa Osada [a Zamosc suburb, founded in the 19th century], where I lived. It was a Polish elementary school. I don't recall there being a Jewish elementary school in Zamosc, there were cheders, for the little children. There was also a Jewish gymnasium, one of the very few; that uncle of mine, Izaak Jungman, completed a Jewish gymnasium. Because we lived on the outskirts, there were some Ukrainians in the neighborhood, and so the classes were mixed, Polish, Jewish, and Ukrainian. [In pre-war Poland the Ukrainian national minority dwelled mostly in the villages].

As for the school's quality, well, obviously many of the Jewish children had trouble with the Polish language since they didn't use it at home, they had that accent, and had trouble writing. Village children, not necessarily Ukrainians, but the Polish ones as well found it hard to express themselves, or to spell. There were very few white-collar children at the school, so I was one of the best as far as Polish was concerned, I spoke well and could write rather well, too. I was even elected the class president.

There were no 'Jews' and 'Poles' at school. The divide was a religious one. You'd say Jews, Catholics, and the Orthodox or Ruthenians. As we played soccer during the breaks, it was Jews versus Catholics. I don't know the origins of that, the divide dated back to the distant times when the nationality issues were not so clearly defined, and people were identified based on their denomination. For example, the Treaty of Versailles determined the Curzon Line [a 1920 projected demarcation between Poland and Soviet Russia] based not on the ethnic criterion, but the religious records. The Orthodox or Uniates were Ruthenians, the Catholics were Poles.

I'm not saying there was no anti-Semitism, but it occurred in the older grades, in gymnasium. Among these 10-, 11-, 12-year-old brats there was no such thing. Everyone attended religion classes, either Catholic or Jewish. We had a female teacher. I don't remember a thing of these classes. Maybe it's because my parents didn't really urge me to learn religion that hard.

As for the friendships, neighborhood was everything. I mean, if someone lived nearby, you hung out with him. I had some buddies living downtown, their parents were friends of my parents. They were mostly Jewish, but that was downtown, and I didn't go downtown much, once a week maybe, because it was quite a distance. I played with the Polish children on a daily basis, they lived two houses down the street, we played palant and kitschka [Editor's note: tipcat, sometimes simply called kitschka. Palant is also a different children's game, similar to cricket]. Palant [Editor's note: also called palestra] was a long wooden bat, perhaps a meter long, and kitschka was a 20 cm piece of wood. You put the kitschka on the ground, dug a little hole for the palant to be put underneath it, and then threw the kitschka in the air [and quickly hit it again]. The point was to send the kitschka flying as far as possible.

Where I lived, in Nowa Osada, in the brewery's surroundings, there were roughly 50 per cent Jews and 50 per cent Poles. I didn't have contact with the orthodox Jews, as they didn't really speak any Polish and kept to themselves. Their outfits were very dignified, the beards, the payes.

I remember a story: I was on a train with my mother, going from Zamosc to Lwow. And in Rawa Ruska [60 km north-west of Lwow, presently Ukraine], well, if you know Israel, if you've seen Mea Shearim [an ultra orthodox quarter of Jerusalem] - Rawa Ruska looked exactly like Mea Shearim. Anyway, a Jew walked into the compartment in Rawa Ruska, carrying a huge scarf, which he then wrapped a bottle of water with, put the whole thing on his seat and sat on it. I burst out laughing. Mother took me out to the aisle and told me he was a very religious Jew. It was Sabbath and Jews are not allowed to travel on Sabbath, unless they travel on water, since a sea journey could last more than a week. So he traveled on water, without breaching the religious law. I found it very funny, but that's what the tradition was.

I also remember another story: we still lived downtown, I must've been five or so, I had a big argument with my parents, I don't remember what about. I started to call them 'Jews.' I was being really rude, really anti-Semitic. I guess I'd overheard 'You Jew!' somewhere in the street and just caught on. When I calmed down, Mother started to explain to me it's bad to say such things, and that they were Jews, and that I was a Jew, too. And because I liked my uncles so much, both from Mother's and Father's side, I asked her if Uncle Mietek was a Jew, and if Uncle Iciu was a Jew, and was relieved to hear that they were. And I was an anti-Semite no more.

In 1937 or 1938 I was in the Stanislawow region [today Ivano-Frankivsk, Ukraine] with Mom and we were riding in a horse cab with some married couple to Yaremcha [ca. 200 km south of Lwow, Ukraine] I think, as we came across a group of people walking down the road, university students, young people, with staves, and they started to threaten the cabman 15. We were not hurt in any way, but Mother wanted to report it to the police anyway, which she eventually didn't.

And I remember people picketing a Jewish store a couple of times. There was this self-taught painter in Zamosc, very talented supposedly, his name was Szum, and he organized those pickets. The picketing took place a few times a year, there were no brawls, just some boys, Endek 16 paramilitaries, stood in front of the Jewish stores and wouldn't let the Poles in. They had these slogans, 'Don't shop at a Jew,' 'Poles buy Polish stuff from Poles, let that be your motto.' My parents subscribed to a Jewish magazine in Polish, 'Nasz Przeglad' 17, and in 1937 or 1938 there was some brawl at the Lwow Polytechnic 18, a Jewish student got killed. I remember his photo on the magazine cover, and an account of the events.

Of course you heard about Hitlerism from the table talks. My parents would discuss it, especially at the time of the Zbaszyn incident, in 1938, when Hitler deported to Poland all the Jews with Polish citizenship living in Germany and the Polish authorities wouldn't admit them, and so they spent a couple of days waiting in Zbaszyn 19. There were demonstrations, parliamentary interpellations as to why they were being held at the border.

Oh and I remember the table discussions about a possible Bolshevik invasion 20. I didn't even know who those Bolsheviks were. I know that at the time of the German annexation of Austria 21, or Mussolini's attack on Albania [annexation of Albania by Italy, April 1939], or even prior to that on Abyssinia [the Italian invasion of Abyssinia, 1935-1936], it was all discussed a lot at home.

For the summer I always went to Grandpa Sanel's estate in Danczypol. In later years, apart from that, I was in Yaremcha once with Mother, then in Skole [ca. 100 km south of Lwow, today Ukraine], also with her, and finally in 1939, just before the war, at the Betar 22 summer camp in Hrebenow outside Skole [10 km south of Skol]. The camp ended on 25th or maybe 26th August 1939.

The boys and girls at the camp were generally from the Lwow region, there were just the four of us from Zamosc: me, Jurek Goldwag, the other boy [Marek Perczuk], and Romcia [or Romka, diminutive for Romana Inlender] I think, I'm not sure. The camp was organized by Betar, some Jewish university students had stayed there before and left the tents; the boys slept in the tents, they were quite big - I don't remember exactly, but eight beds each I think. There was also a house, a villa, the canteen was there, and also the girls stayed at the building.

We had some organized activities, and the reveille everyday. We used to sing the Hatikvah 23, although nobody knew the song, just a few of us actually sang and the rest just pretended and lip-synched. I didn't know it, either. We also sang Polish songs, we had physical education lessons, lots of outings. I remember we went to see the Hungarian border. There were evening gatherings and campfires, one or another of the campers would recite something. We from Zamosc were the youngest participants. I've never met any of my friends from the camp again, I don't know who's made it through the war. As for us from Zamosc, that Jurek survived, and also Joram Golan; Romka was killed, and Marek was killed as well.

We went back to Zamosc via Lwow. We stayed with our friend's family for the night. We left by train, and I remember the Lwow railway station, the atmosphere was already very tense, people were leaving, arriving. I'll never forget one sight, a very dignified rabbi stood there with all his family, dressed so elegant; I used to see Jews in gabardines every day, but as we stood there I kept staring at him, he looked like some sort of a saint. Then we took the train to Zamosc. We were already on the outskirts of Zamosc when we saw an ammunition depot not far from the station, I remember the military vehicles being loaded with crates of ammunition, you could smell the war in the air. I remember it was on Friday the war broke out, 1st September 24.

In the spring of 1939 part of the Danczypol estate was to be transferred to the Landless Fund. The Land Bestowal Act was in force in pre-war times, establishing that every now and then a part of the big estates would be transferred to the Landless Fund. We went to Hrubieszow [50 km east of Zamosc] - me, Uncle Mietek [short for Mieczyslaw], my father, and a certified land-surveyor from Zamosc, Mr. Piotr Pawel Lucht. They dealt with all the official business in Hrubieszow and then we went to have lunch. They ordered a glass of wine each and water for me, I stood up and proposed a toast 'to Hitler's death.' That Lucht guy went: 'Bravo, my boy, well done!' When the war broke out and the Germans marched in, Lucht signed the Volksliste and became a Volksdeutscher 25, and he was no longer Piotr Pawel Lucht but rather Peter Paul Lucht, and he wore a badge with a 'Hakenkreuz' [German for swastika]. I always crossed the street when I saw him ahead.

During the war

Zamosc was bombed on the sixth day of war and the next day Mother and I - Father was in the army - and some other members of our family got on a wagon and went to Danczypol. A well-known Polish poet Wlodzimierz Slobodnik [1900-1991, poet, satirist], a Jew, was in Zamosc at that time and he went along with us. We rode on two wagons, and I was on the one with Slobodnik. You could hear the German planes all the time, dropping bombs somewhere far away. Each time he heard the humming above, he jumped off the wagon and ran to lie down in a ditch. Some witty soul told me to make an 'oooooo' sound, and every time I did Slobodnik jumped off the wagon and ran for cover.

So we were in Danczypol, and Father's unit was stationed somewhere east of the river Bug, he was a corporal in the artillery. I remember it when the Russians entered, on 17th September 26, and how Mother and the others commented on Molotov's 27 speech, which was very anti-Polish.

One day, around 22nd or 23rd September, we heard a cannonade, the shelling of the surrounding area lasted about an hour, and then they marched in, the Bolshevik [here derogatory for Soviet] army for all I knew. And so they came, a cavalry troop; we were all in the manor house, in the hall, and they came in, I still remember the commander saying 'Kapitalisty' [Russian for capitalists]. The Ukrainian servants were also in the house, the Soviets sat for a while and leaving, that officer said to the servants, 'It's going to be your turn now to live in these chambers.'

And they went to Grabowiec. That was the place they had been shelling, Grabowiec, a small Jewish town. Some two hours later someone came in running to my Mother to tell her that among the killed Polish soldiers was Captain Wislicki [Henryk Wislicki, Grandma Blima's brother]. Mom took the chaise [a sort of small horse carriage] and we went to Grabowiec. I didn't see the corpse, I was still a child. Mom arranged all the different funeral issues, as he had converted [to the Catholic faith].

The Germans withdrew, the Bolsheviks entered, and we went back to Zamosc. There was already a militia keeping order, mostly the Jewish and Ukrainian youth, the dregs of Zamosc, very few Poles. The Bolsheviks stayed in Zamosc for another ten days or so, after that those agreements [Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 28 took place and they withdrew. At that time most of the Jews fled from Zamosc, following the Russians 29.

Mother's brothers and sister, Rozia, Moniek, and Izaak, left for Lwow, most of my schoolmates left, too [at the end of September 1939 about 5,000 out of 13,000 Jews living in Zamosc left the city with the Russian army]. My father's brother Mieczyslaw stayed in Zamosc, and we stayed as well, for all sorts of reasons: there was the brewery, the estate, no-one knew what was going to happen in the Soviet Union, besides, my parents were not Communists. They didn't trust the Soviets, and most of the people who fled had left-wing sympathies and believed Hitler would try to carry out his most terrible plans. My parents were being a bit naive perhaps as far as this was concerned.

Father returned to Zamosc on 24th, maybe 25th September; when the Bolsheviks entered, his commander disbanded the regiment and everyone tried to get back home on his own. The brewery was still in my parents' hands at the time, we didn't live in it anymore, though, it would have been dangerous. We lived downtown, in a building belonging to Uncle Mieczyslaw.

When the Germans took Zamosc over for the second time, this time bringing their administration with them, they immediately set up the Jewish community council - the Judenrat. The mayor of Zamosc suggested candidates for the Judenrat, the Germans wanted it to represent all the social classes. The big capitalists, the middle class, the intellectuals, the merchants, the craftsmen. When I read through the list after the war and recalled each person's profession, I had to admit they'd been successful in achieving the goal. The council was set up right away, sometime in October, and my uncle [Mieczyslaw Garfinkiel] was appointed the chair; my father was also a member, his initial task was to create a charity kitchen, and afterwards a Jewish police force 30. [Editor's note: Dawid Garfinkiel was the chief of the Jewish police in Zamosc until May 1942].

The ghetto was not yet established, the Jews, however, were being expelled from all the better apartments. We were expelled, too, we moved to Lwowska Street, on the premises of the future ghetto. They began to pick people for drying up the swamps outside Zamosc, for some cleaning works. The Judenrat was to provide people for those tasks, and many volunteered, because the council gave them food in exchange. The Germans started to take away the Jewish stores. They put contributions on the communities, meaning they announced the community had to collect a certain amount of money, and the council divided that sum according to wealth.

Foodstuffs shortages began, there was no more tea for example, no imported goods. The Bug river was the borderline, there was a ford crossing near Rawa Ruska; it was an illegal crossing, but lots of people were using it, commuting between Lwow and Zamosc. They carried sugar there, bringing tea in exchange. I wasn't doing anything at that time, because the school was closed. There was this professor from the gymnasium in Zamosc, Professor Szumer, he taught us, the children, German; Mother gave me some textbooks to read and used to test what progress I'd made.

They introduced the armbands 31 as early as 1940, although at first for the 13-year-olds and older; I began to wear one in 1942. It was supposed to be a yellow patch initially, but they gave us the blue David stars.

In the spring of 1941 people were gradually expelled from downtown and moved to the Nowa Osada suburb, where the ghetto was to be situated. [All Jews from Zamosc were to be moved to Nowa Osada by 1st May 1941]. We had already lived there before. Of course the living conditions were worse this time, because we were placed in the apartment of a Mr. Robinson, a pharmacist. We were given one big room. There was the charity kitchen, people still had some supplies left, the black market was functioning, the craftsmen worked as before. You could still think it was all going to be bearable.

The ghetto and the deportations

The ghetto wasn't established until after the attack on the Soviet Union, in the fall of 1941 32. As half of the Zamosc Jews had left with the Russians there was plenty of space, and so Jews from the territories annexed to the Reich started to be deported to Zamosc. That included Wloclawek and the surrounding area [ca. 150 km north-west of Warsaw], but also the Czech and German Jews began to flow in. They were secular intellectuals, not one of them spoke a word in Yiddish, they felt really alien among us. And quite so, it was a different culture, a different civilization, they knew German well.

Just before the invasion on the Soviet Union the Germans started to construct a network of field airstrips outside Zamosc, and all the back- breaking works were assigned to the Jews from Zamosc, while the Czech and German Jews were given administration tasks. Lots of totally Germanized Jews came, ones who learned about their Jewishness from Hitler. Among them was a World War I air force captain, decorated with every single medal possible, and they made him the chief of the Jewish police. His name was Hoffman [Editor's note: Mr. Lewandowski is referring to Alwin Lippmann, a high ranking German officer, during World War I a pilot in the famous Manfred 'The Red Baron' von Richthofen's squadron]. He had the typical appearance of a German officer. He was killed later on. There were also doctors, and the health administration posts at the Judenrat were given to the German doctors, or the Czech ones. In those early times they believed they were of a higher category than the locals.

Th ere were more and more [German and Czech Jews] coming. The first arrivals took place before there were any transports to the gas chambers, but not the later ones. I remember the first transport of the Jews from Theresienstadt 33, already after the first deportation action. The first action, to Belzec, was in April 1942. We tried to explain to those Jews, that they came here and the same journey awaits them, but they would say, 'No, you'll maybe go, we're going to be left here.' I'll never forget my Mother explaining to a Czech or German Jewish woman what this whole gas thing was, and the boy of my age who was with her said, 'Mama, das ist ein Quatsch!' [German for 'Mom, that's nonsense!']. They simply wouldn't believe it.

There were four massive deportations in Zamosc. I remember them all. The first took place on 12th April 1942 I think, I'd reached the official age [of 13] on 10th April and a job at the German commandant's office had been arranged for me. Now, that gave you two advantages: documents that could prevent you from being expelled after a round-up, and the meals they served there. You could work as a bootblack, a runner, or chop wood.

There was another deportation in June and yet another in August. I remember very well the August transport, because my maternal grandpa, Nuta, went to Belzec. [Editor's note: The first deportation from Zamosc took place on 11th April 1942, the second one on 24th May the third one on 11th August, and the fourth one at the beginning of September. The final liquidation of the Zamosc ghetto took place in October 1942.]

Back before that, at the turn of 1941, Moniek, Mother's youngest brother, was killed. After Lwow and Ukraine had been taken by the Germans [as a result of the German-Soviet war in June 1941] Mom's brothers and sister returned, Uncle Izaak, however, immediately left for some place in the Krasnobrod area. Aunt Rozia and Uncle Moniek stayed in Zamosc.

As the deportations began, everyone tried to figure something out. Aunt Rozia had a 'good' appearance. A schoolmate of her from Zamosc looked a bit alike and she gave her her ID [in the name Halina Nowosadowicz], and so Rozia left for Warsaw; she later assumed the name Halina Skalska and sent the ID back to her schoolmate. 'Halina' worked for Zegota, she was a runner there.

Moniek was a young, handsome boy, popular with the girls. He was arrested by the Gestapo. It was said they sent him to Majdanek 34, but as it later turned out they did him in at the Rotunda in Zamosc. [At the Rotunda in the fall of 1941, the Gestapo shot about 30 people who had escaped in 1939 and returned to Zamosc in 1941.] That was the first victim in our family, even before the deportations, and the second one was Grandpa Nuta in August.

When Belzec [death camp] was created, everyone knew what was going to happen, but people were fooling themselves the Germans were not planning a total annihilation, that they would keep those useful for them, those working, those in the productive age. Sometime in September 1942, after the fourth expulsion, a 'J-Karte' was introduced, a 'Judenkarte' [German for 'Jewish card']. It was made of cardboard, it said the issuing authority was the police and security commandant of the Lublin district, and that the Jew so-and-so was essential for the German economy. Everyone fought to get the card, you even had to get it illegally.

But at the end of September 1942 the deportation was ordered anyway. All the Jews were herded into the market square, and only a few were released, some craftsmen - tailors, shoemakers - who worked, and so they were released but not free to go home; a building was prepared for them to live in. Just before setting off some Judenrat members were released [along with their families], they told us to go home and wait for further instructions. The rest was sent on foot to Izbica. It's 21 kilometers away, and everyone had their best clothes on.

A friend of mine, Romka Inlender, was among them, and she had a new pair of boots that were grazing her legs as she walked, so she left the column to take them off, and they shot her. Her mother went after her, and they shot the mother, too. On that way from Zamosc to Izbica more or less 70 people got killed.

We stayed in Zamosc for another four or five days, and one afternoon a Gestapo man came and told us all to get moving, we were to go to the Gestapo headquarters. So they put us all on two wagons. Nobody knew why. Someone said we would be going to Izbica. We got to the Gestapo just before the night. They transported us to Izbica the next day.

The Jews no longer hoped Izbica is here to stay, that it was going to be the ghetto for the southern part of the Lublin region. Those who had Polish friends and a chance to get a phony ID, started to look for a way out. My uncle [Mieczyslaw] already had his documents and he left for Warsaw one day with his wife, and we stayed, waiting for ours - the hideout in Warsaw was ready.

It was then that the deportations and liquidation of the Izbica ghetto took place [4th November, 1942]. Everyone ran for their lives. There was a grove in the middle of a clearing, and we ran there, Grandma Blima, Father's mother, was with us but she was an elderly woman - she simply couldn't run anymore. It was a meadow where cattle used to graze. There was a cabin of sorts, a shelter for the herdsmen, the size of a privy. And Father put his mother in there. He still didn't believe it was the liquidation of the ghetto, he thought we'll take her with us on our way back. Father went one way, and Mother, Grandma Rajzla, and I went the other.

At night we heard a train arriving at the station to take the people to Belzec; it turned out the transport headed to Sobibor 35, not Belzec. All the Jews from Zamosc had been killed in Belzec, and the last transport went to Sobibor. And so we went back to Izbica the following morning, still not knowing if it was a liquidation. We saw a couple of Jewish policemen hanging around, some other people, not a German in sight. We got in the building we lived in and saw Father in tears, because he went to take Grandma back and saw somebody had shot her.

Seeing how things were, my parents decided to go to Warsaw. There were six of us: my parents, Grandma, me, and Mr. Rozen, a friend of my parents. We decided to walk apart from each other, so that if one of us got caught it wouldn't cause us all to be killed, but still close enough to see the others. We were supposed to meet at the railway station in Krasnystaw, in the house of a railway worker, whom Grandma knew. We got on a train and got as far Rejowiec, when I saw my mother and Grandma being escorted by two 'Bahnschützer' [German for 'railway guards'] to the guardhouse. We saw them being arrested. And so we kept on our way to Warsaw - Father and I in one compartment, Mr. Rozen in the next.

We got off the train at the Dworzec Glowny station in Warsaw; it used to be where the Warszawa Srodmiescie station is located today. Father had the address of a hotel on Widok Street, where they in turn had the address of the place my mother's sister, Rachela, stayed at. We stepped out on the platform and saw at least ten people from the Zamosc ghetto had been on the same train. One of them, a very pushy gentleman, didn't know Warsaw at all and started to shout to my father, 'Where's Zlota Street?' Father wanted to leave him behind, he was afraid we'd get caught, because the man had a Jewish appearance. We started to walk away fast, he ran after us and, forgetting himself, shouted, 'Garfinkel, where's Zlota Street?'

The Warsaw police probably knew there were going to be some Jews on that train, they had some operatives at the station, some navy-blue policemen 36, anyway - they caught us all that day. The precinct was just opposite the station, on the other side of Jerozolimskie Avenue. They dragged us all there. The navy-blue policemen were questioning us: 'We're going to take you to the ghetto' 37. It was already after the main July-August deportation action 38, of course, but several tens of thousands of people still lived in the Warsaw ghetto. We started to speak with the policemen to make them let us free, and in the afternoon they eventually agreed, letting us go in groups of two or three every couple of minutes, without informing the Germans.

A characteristic thing: when we discussed with the policemen why they were persecuting us, one of them said, 'And what have your people done to our soldiers in the East in 1940, 1941?' 39. Apparently, it was an already widespread rumor that many Jews had collaborated with the Soviet authorities on the occupied territories over the Bug river. It was partly true, naturally, but that behavior wasn't as prevailing as the rumor in the General Government had it.

[Soon after that] Halina Skalska, or Rachela, contacted Rejowiec via the Home Army 40 to find out what had happened with Mom and Grandma. A 'Bahnschützer' named Lenart said he can arrange their release - for a price. She contacted him by phone, and then wrote him I think. Someone from the Home Army warned her he was not a man to be trusted, but Halina wanted to save her mother and sister. She was to meet him on neutral ground to give him the money. Meanwhile, she was told they were already dead, they had been shot. The bastard not only had murdered them, but he also wanted to make some money off it. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Rejowiec, the exact spot is unknown. After the war I've bumped that guy off with a friend of mine.

Right after the arrival in Warsaw I got a birth certificate in the name Czeslaw Waclaw Lewandowski. After a short stay with Mr. and Ms. Janowski Halina found us a new hideout, on Jerozolimskie Avenue, and so me, Father, and two more people from Zamosc were transported there, each one separately. I was ill with measles at that time; the man who was supposed to take me to the apartment said we were going to go by tram, in the 'Nur für Deutsche' [German for 'For Germans only'] compartment - he had a Nazi pin on his lapel. He was the future Attorney General, Professor Marian Rybicki [1915-1987, state official, politician]. He was a member of the Home Army and Zegota. It was thanks to the Home Army and Zegota that we later had a permanent hideout, on Krzyckiego Street; I lived there, with some breaks, until the Warsaw uprising 41.

In the meantime Mrs. Wolska [owner of the apartment] took in another lodger, Mr. Edward Lewandowski. He looked hundred per cent 'Aryan,' he shared the room with me. I was afraid, I didn't know how to explain to him my staying at home all the time. He had a regular job. It turned out he was a Jew as well. He came from Lubien near Wloclawek, his real name was Burak. His brother was in a Jewish labor camp in Piotrkow Trybunalski, and his sister, a pretty blonde, stayed outside Warsaw with a Polish family. Edward Lewandowski was arrested one day, they put him in the Pawiak prison 42 and later shot him. They didn't recognize him as a Jew.

I remember the ghetto uprising 43. There were inscriptions on the walls, and songs like this: 'One ax, one hoe, nail, stiletto/Jews with courage fight in the ghetto.' [Editor's note: 'One ax, one hoe' was a popular anti- Nazi song of the war years, a 'singable newsreel,' with new lines being added to comment on the most recent events.] You have to admit the ghetto uprising increased the respect for Jews by an order of magnitude, even for those hiding on the 'Aryan side.' It was a tragic event, no doubt. From where I lived on Krzyckiego Street you could see the glow of the blazes.

One night, 12th September, or maybe 13th, 1943, there was a massive Soviet air raid on Warsaw, they dropped lots of bombs, a few people were breaking away from the ghetto; lots of bombs fell on our neighborhood, but they also dropped leaflets signed by Wanda Wasilewska 44. I saw one, it read: 'Dear Polish brothers, Stalin declared that Poland is to be independent.'

And so I made it to the Warsaw uprising, it broke out on 1st August, I felt an absolutely free man by then. My whole involvement in the uprising was that on the second day of it the commander of my outpost sent a messenger on Sucha Street, presently Krzewickiego Street, with a report. That guy was from a different part of the city, he didn't know where Sucha Street was, plus two people were needed for the assignment, so that in case one got shot, the other would deliver the message. We reached our goal, Sucha Street, but there were no headquarters there. My comrade told me to destroy the document and we went back to Krzyckiego Street.

On 8th August the RONA [Russkaya Osvoboditelnaya Narodnaya Armiya, Russian National Liberation Army, a Waffen-SS division consisting of Red Army deserters, commanded by SS-General Major Mieczyslaw Kaminski] came. They stormed, taking over all the buildings on Krzyckiego Street, drove the people out on the street and set fire to the houses. They herded everyone on Raszynska Street and then to the so-called Zieleniak square [a groceries market], at the end of Grojecka Street.

Some terrible, tragic events took place at the Zieleniak: the RONA soldiers hung around and pulled the young women out of the crowd, there were many rapes; somehow we made it through the night and the next morning some high ranking officer appeared, it turned out to be Kaminski himself. A group of men went up to him to complain about the behavior of his subordinates. Apparently, it was effective, because their conduct was later quite acceptable. [Editor's note: Actually the scale of RONA's ongoing atrocities against civilians shocked the German commanders; the unit was withdrawn from the battle and its commander, Kaminski, court-martialed and shot - for the looting, not for the murders and rapes.]

Evacuation

In the afternoon the evacuation of civilians was ordered, we went to Szczesliwice, where they put us on a commuter train and transported us to Pruszkow 45. In Pruszkow they told us to get off and herded us to a former rail yard, we were all crammed into a huge hall; they gave us something to drink but no food, we sat there all night. The Poles from the Red Cross and the RGO [Rada Glowna Opiekuncza, Central Custodiary Council, a charity organization active during WWI and WWII] told us there was going to be a selection, some would be taken to Germany, some would stay here. But even they didn't know anything for sure, because that transit camp had just been created and there was no established practice regarding the treatment of the Warsaw civilians.

After some time they told us to get moving and led us to the train. They loaded us into the cars and the train pulled out. There were lots of locals standing along the tracks, throwing us food, fruits. The train halted every few kilometers to let the military transports going to the eastern front pass. We didn't see where we were going, but after a few hours travel we reached Lowicz [80 km west of Warsaw]; it's less than 60 kilometers from Pruszkow to Lowicz, but there were so many stops.

Lots of wagons awaited at the Lowicz station, many Germans, but also the Red Cross workers and, as it turned out, people from the surrounding villages who were to host the expelled Warsaw citizens. We stood alongside the cars, while the farmers were walking up and down the train and picking. You know, they were looking for people who could be of any help. I was a young boy, physically fit, and so a farmer asked me right away if I knew the farm work. I said my Grandpa had some land, and that my aunt was with me. 'Then bring her, too.' And so Mrs. Wolska and I went with this farmer. Everyone from Krzyckiego Street ended up there, in Rozyce, or Stara Wies [10 km east of Lowicz] - a village with two names. It was a good place to be.

I have to stress it: for me it was the most pleasant time during the occupation. First of all, what all the other people from Warsaw had just lost at that time, I had already lost in 1942: my family and my property. No-one in the village knew of my Jewish identity - I'd all but forgotten I was a Jew. Everybody, even the potential anti-Semites, had their own trouble in mind, and they weren't nosy about other people.

I attended the church. It used to look like that: the boys would hang around in front of the church, waiting for all the girls to show up, and then go in last, and after the service they'd be first to go outside to see all the girls again, leaving. It was sort of a tradition before the war, I guess it's still like that in the country. I led a normal life, anyway.

The Polish Red Cross organized the relocation of the refugees very effectively. To give an example: my aunt, Halina [Rachela], was brought to Sochaczew [25 km east of Lowicz] after the fall of the uprising, and after a couple of days she found out where I lived and contacted me. And so I went on foot to Sochaczew a few times. It was 15-16 kilometers in one direction, about 30 there and back, but I was young, I'd set out in the morning and come back in the evening, not a bit of a problem.

After the war

Time passed slowly and it was the turn of 1944, you could hear the cannonade, see the German units fleeing in panic, and two days later the Red Army marched in; I went to Sochaczew right away and Halina and I agreed I'd come back to Sochaczew in two or three days and we'd set off to Zamosc.

As I came back to Rozyce, it turned out some Russians stayed with my host. I noticed they addressed one of them 'Moyseyevich.' In Russian you use a person's first name and his or her father's name with the '-ich' ending. I figured out Moyseyevich meant Moses [son]. One of the soldiers, the commander's aide-de-camp, asked if anybody spoke German. I told him I did. He started to speak to me, but I heard he was speaking Yiddish rather than German; I winked to go outside, and told him I was a 'yevrey' [Russian for Jew]. He gave me a hug, said he was a 'yevrey' from Moldova, and that the commander is 'tozhe yevrey' [Russian for 'Jewish as well'].

Two days later I thanked my hosts for their hospitality and left. All the Warsaw citizens were heading for Sochaczew, because it was said the army will provide transport from Sochaczew to Warsaw. As we arrived in Warsaw we went to the Praga quarter right away and started to ask around about the Jewish Council 46 there, we were told it was somewhere on Jagiellonska Street; we went there, they gave us something to eat and some money, and we left for Zamosc. It was January. In a week we got on foot as far as Lublin.

From Lublin we took a train to Rejowiec, and then had to wait for a train to Zamosc. It was night, the station building was crowded with people, winter, and I suddenly heard someone's voice and said to Halina, 'Listen, I think it's my father.' And it was him alright, with Wanda [whose place he hid at after moving from Mrs. Wolska]. During the uprising my father had been transported to Warka [about 50 km south of Warsaw], and he was going to Zamosc via Warsaw just like us. He went to the house on Krzyckiego Street in Warsaw where I'd lived and they told him the Germans had shot everybody. Fearing the worst, he kept on walking to Zamosc. In 1942 I lost my mother in Rejowiec, and in 1945 I found my father there.

And so we returned to Zamosc, Uncle Izaak [my mother's brother] was already there, he worked in the municipality. Father took over the brewery. I was 16 at the time. I started to think about school. I felt bad in Zamosc, walking the streets; none of my friends survived, the few who were in Russia were not to return until later, and back then, in 1945, there was no- one around.

I wanted to become politically active, but didn't want to stay in Zamosc, I didn't get along well with my father, which was my fault. He lived with Wanda, and I was angry at him for finding someone so quickly. I only understood years later my reproaches had been unfair - he was only 37, he was a young man. One factor might have been the rumor I heard, that he'd been fooling around with that Wanda woman back before the war. Never mind. She did help him survive the war.

I decided to leave the house in the end, moved to Lublin and became a member of the Fighting Youth Union 47. I stayed with Halina for some time, she was finishing her studies at the Lublin Polytechnic, she was 27. Her second husband, Stach Rozen, lost his wife and daughter in Majdanek and he desperately wanted a daughter, eventually they adopted a girl and she got her first name after Stach's daughter - Ania, Anita. Halina and Stach left in 1948. They moved to Argentina, because some of the pre-war emigrants from the family were still there, so they had a starting point. Anita didn't even know she was an adopted child. She's coming to Poland for a longer stay next year. That Anita is pretty, very pretty, I like her very much.

At the turn of 1956 Uncle Izaak moved to Argentina as well. He was a confirmed bachelor, he didn't get married until 1952 I think, when he was about 40. His wife still lives in Argentina, she's Jewish, from Poland, her name's Zosia. They have a son and a daughter. Adam was born in 1953, he has two daughters, he works in Ukraine and visits Poland sometimes. Ewa was born in 1957, she's very pretty, she used to be a model in Argentina for quite some time. She's married, has two sons.

I started an evening school in Lublin. I completed four grades of elementary school before the war. Here you completed two grades in one year, I finished the third and the fourth and passed the lower standard exams. I went to the gymnasium ran by the Workers Universities Society in the Staszic Gymnasium building, on Raclawickie Avenue in Lublin.

I worked in the youth movement, we were creating sort of a paramilitary self-defense force; I completed a non-commissioned officer's course, I was an instructor for some time, and later the chairman of the Municipal Board of the Fighting Youth Union in Lublin. At the end of 1947, after passing my exams, I decided to move to Warsaw, to work in the National Board of the Union and to study on.

I became a student of the Political Science Academy. The course lasted three years, I got my under-graduate degree there and then they transferred me to Zielona Gora, I was made the deputy district commandant of the Sluzba Polsce organization [Duty to Poland, a paramilitary youth organization founded in January 1948, under political control of the Fighting Youth Union]. In 1951 I was transferred back to the Warsaw branch of Sluzba Polsce, and in 1952 SP spun off a new organization, the Village Sports Clubs Association. I was there, I've brought the association into being, I'd worked there for 15 years, until 1967, when I started to work for Gromada [a hotel operator and tourist agency]; in Gromada I spent 25 years short one month.

Family life

In 1954, the National Youth Olympics were held in Lublin to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the People's Republic of Poland. I was one of the organizers. There weren't so many referees in Lublin, so a group of additional track and field referees was sent in from Warsaw, including two women referees. I didn't even notice them, I didn't have time, but a colleague, who was taking care of the track and field events, said to me over dinner, 'Listen, there are these two cute referees from Warsaw, let's have them come over.' And so we had the dinner together, and that's how I met my wife.

She was born in 1933 in Chylice, near Warsaw [35 km south]. She was called Maria, her maiden name was Anusik, we called her Lusia. We met in September and got married in February 1955. In 1956 our son, Ryszard, was born, and in 1957 a daughter, Jolanta.

My mother-in-law was Polish, a simple village woman, her husband worked in a mill, he was killed in Mauthausen 48. She was left with two daughters, Jadwiga, my age, and Lusia. They lived outside Warsaw, in Chylice, in pretty hard conditions, both girls worked and studied in Warsaw. I didn't keep it a secret from Lusia I was a Jew, a few months earlier my future sister-in-law, Jadwiga, had married a Jew as well. Both sisters were Catholics, but my wife hardly ever went to church. We did celebrate all the Catholic holidays, though.

These were both civil marriages and no-one had any complaints, but with the Millennium of the Baptism of Poland celebrations [1966] my mother-in-law started to insist on baptizing the children. Okay, they were baptized; I didn't attend the ceremony, I was on a business trip. I didn't object. My father was hostile towards religion, and I'm not religious either, but I'm tolerant, I do go to church at least twice a year, to attend the services for my wife and my mother-in-law. My father was more aggressive in these matters, I'm rather passive.

My son is a construction engineer, he works at the Municipal Road Department, in the road building section, and he also works as the district road inspector in Piaseczno. He's got a wife and two girls, Agnieszka, 18 years old, and Joanna, 15 years old. They live in Warsaw.

My daughter lives in Chylice, she took over her Grandma's - my mother-in- law's - house, she's remodeled it. She graduated from the Central School of Planning and Statistics, nowadays the Warsaw School of Economics. She worked in the tourist business for a long time, for Orbis [travel agency, founded in Lwow in 1920], she was a guide, and later worked at a bank, she still does. She's single.

Recent years

I've told my children about the war, I've written my memoirs especially for them, so that they know the life's dark side, so to speak. My son is very religious [Catholic], he sometimes even gets angry at me for telling all this to my granddaughters. I always say, 'Remember, it's better that they learn certain things from me or you, than from some "kind heart" on the street.' My daughter's more interested in that story. She keeps in touch with our family in Argentina. First of all, she's met them personally, and secondly, there's no language barrier as she speaks Spanish fluently.

My elder granddaughter [Agnieszka] is interested [in Jewish culture], she even goes to the Jewish Theater to see all those special events, sometimes with me, sometimes on her own, my younger granddaughter [Joanna] is still too young.

I've never hidden [my identity], well, neither did I write 'Caution, Jew!' on my forehead. A friend of mine told me once I did a wise thing keeping the false name, so that you can't tell I'm a Jew. That way people get to know me first and only afterwards find out I'm a Jew. I think it did the trick a couple of times.

My father took over the brewery and managed it for a few years. After the nationalization he applied to immigrate to Israel but they weren't giving permissions anymore, he didn't leave until after October 1956 49, when it became legal again. He left with Wanda, but she broke up with him and later returned to Poland. Wanda was Polish, yet she settled in [in Israel] better than he did. He had big trouble with the Hebrew language, the alphabet.

In Israel my father was not politically active anymore, I know he met with Begin 50, who was not Prime Minister yet, but the opposition leader, although everyone knew he would take the power eventually. Father was angry with Begin, he didn't like that the ever so secular party was so amicable towards the religious [Jews]. Begin explained to him that they needed the American money, and that the American Jews would donate it only if the party was religious. And so my father ended up not joining the party, he was a blue-collar worker, a night guard at the Haifa harbor; later he had some health problems, he had the Buerger disease in one leg, then also in the other, and so he retired and lived off his disability pension.

I went to see Father in 1967, it was my first trip to Israel. I stayed for more than a month. I went through Greece on my way there and through Italy on the way back, so I did some sightseeing. Father lived outside Haifa at the time, in Kiriat Yam, a lot of Jews from the African and Asian countries lived there. The living conditions were rather harsh.

I've seen my father twice more, on neutral ground, in Romania [in 1967 Poland broke the diplomatic relations with Israel] 51 - first time in 1969, and then in 1983, on his 75th birthday. I wanted him to meet my son, I wanted my daughter to come, too, but she couldn't, she was the Orbis [Polish tourist operator] resident in Spain, but my son came. I worked for Gromada at that time, I could arrange a foreign trip for me and my son. He's met his Grandpa. I remember when we met for the second time, it was also our last time, in Constanta [Romania], I told him I'd been wrong holding it against him that he'd married Wanda. Although they were already divorced, I could feel he'd really hoped to hear such a statement from me, we hadn't spoken about it before but it had always been there between us.

In 1968 52 I was the deputy manager of the Dom Chlopa Hotel and was responsible for its remodeling. It was a good thing, because I was working 18-20 hours a day during the March events. Of course I knew something was going to happen, but the crew liked me, they saw my commitment with the remodeling. There were all those party meetings those days, and the party secretary came up to me and said, 'Mr. Director, there's going to be a party meeting, on that and that day, you know what gives.'

Lots of friends would come up and say, 'Heniek, take it easy, they're doing this campaign, it's going to be over in no time, it'll be quiet again.' A friend, a former Home Army soldier, said, 'Heniek [from Henryk], it's just what they did to us, they had a problem with the Home Army but they don't anymore, and it's alright now.' [Editor's note: The Home Army soldiers were persecuted by the Communist authorities after the war, about 5,000 of them were sentenced to death or many years in prison.]

All of my Jewish friends or remote relatives who had still been in Poland at that time emigrated. Only my brother-in-law and his wife stayed. My children were still very small, but my wife told me many years later she had to bring our son's birth certificate to school, he went to elementary at that time, he was eleven.

I don't regret staying in Poland. March 1968 was the last chance for me to emigrate. I was 40. If they'd fire me then, I would've gone perhaps, I even had some family abroad. I had an uncle [Mieczyslaw] in London, my other uncle [Matjas] lived in Africa, the third one lived in Argentina with his wife [Halina and Izaak]. But I felt bound with the country. I knew Poland well, I worked in tourism, there was no part of Poland I didn't know, I was in love with the country.

I retired when I was 63, I could have stayed a bit longer, but some people started to plot against me, and my wife was already in bad shape, so she needed me in the house. I retired in 1992 and she died in 1993. I remarried in December 1996.

My second wife, Maryla, birth name Kelber, is Jewish, she was born in 1942. She was adopted by a Polish family and she got her name from them: Przytula. She's from Tarnopol [today Ukraine, 250 km east of the Polish border]. She's an art historian. We've met thanks to the [Maksymilian] Kolbe Foundation, because it organized package holidays in Germany for the former concentration camps inmates, they organized the first vacation for the Children of the Holocaust 53 in 1996 and that's where we've met.

She was divorced. Her husband was Polish, they have a daughter. They split up, he was killed in a car accident in Warsaw three years ago. Her daughter lives in France, she has two sons, naughty little urchins, but actually good boys. She's a high school teacher, she teaches French, she's got a degree in French philology from Wroclaw University. I was afraid there were going to be conflicts [in the family] when I remarried after my wife's death, but I was wrong. My [second] wife settled in nicely, she gets along with my granddaughters.

I've never been a member of any Jewish organization until my retirement. I didn't want to be a fictitious member, and I didn't have the time. Only after I'd retired did I join the Children of the Holocaust; I didn't even know such an association existed, I came to join the Jewish veterans organization 54 that was being formed. I try to be as active as I can. After becoming a member of the Children of the Holocaust, I've organized two trips to Israel, in 1994 and 1998.

I speak Yiddish a little, sometimes I meet with a couple of others and we tell jokes, or we do exactly what my parents used to before the war: there's Professor Poznanska who speaks Yiddish very well, and when we wanted to discuss something just between us, we used Yiddish and no-one could understand a word.

As for other languages, I'm not really good at learning them. For example, I swotted up English many times, to no particular effect. I don't speak German well, but I can communicate. I was in Germany this year, I had a few meetings with young Germans, and I asked for an interpreter, just in case. Sometimes I needed him, sometimes not. I speak Russian rather well, and I've caught on some Ukrainian while on a post in Ukraine.

I'm a happy man today, I've got a nice pension, I'm married, I've had some health problems this year, but I'm still doing alright, I have a great family. I'd like to say one thing - I've had a tough life, but my old age is quite pleasant indeed.

Glossary

Victor Baruh
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Atanas Igov
Date of interview: April 2003

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My paternal grandfather was Nisim Baruh. He was from the town of Kjustendil, situated near the border with what is now the Republic of Macedonia. There were some stories about him - how he went to Vienna to do some business before the liberation from the Turkish [Ottoman] yoke. My maternal grandfather Nisim Gheron was from Pazardjik. I am the youngest child in my family and I don't remember my grandparents - they died long before I was born so I don't know anything about them.

My father, Sabat Baruh, was born in Kjustendil in 1878. He graduated in Pedagogy and he worked as a teacher in elementary school subjects such as writing, reading and arithmetic in Kjustendil before he came to Sofia in 1907. At this time in Sofia, as a capital it began to attract people from the countryside because there were lots of opportunities for work and a better life. He knew French and Spanish and worked as a teacher and translator in Sofia. I know that he was a translator at the headquarters of the Bulgarian army in Kjustendil during the First World War [During the First World War (1914-1918) Bulgaria was an ally with Germany and Austria- Hungary]. My father wasn't religious - we celebrated the Jewish holidays but it was due to paying respect to the tradition and it wasn't a matter of piety. I remember that my father brought home matzah - there were special stores where it was sold. He never prayed as far as I remember, nor did he ever wear a kippah. In 1934 my father fell ill and we went to live in Kjustendil where he died in 1936.

He had eight brothers - Benyamin, Ruben, Rahamin, Naim, Avram, Pinkas and Solomon and one sister - Yafa. Most of them were tradesmen and Avram was a physician. I still maintain a relationship with Avram's son Nir Baruh, who lives in Israel, as well as with other relatives. Most of them are sons and daughters of my cousins who have already died, for example Emi Baruh, the granddaughter of Pinkas. Nir Baruh left for Israel before 9th September 1944 1. As a representative of Israel he was a diplomat in Bulgaria, Cuba and the USA.

My maternal grandfather, Nisim Gheron, was from Pazardjik. I don't remember my grandparents - they had died long before I was born. My mother, Rashel Gheron was born in 1882 in the town of Pazardjik. She graduated from the Alliance Israelite Universelle 2 - something very unusual for that time because women weren't supposed to study. She was a housewife like her sisters Roza, Beya and Victoria. They lived in Pazardjik. When we were interned to Pazardjik, we lived in Victoria's house. Her brother Avram was a businessman. Roza married Yosif Astrug, who was a bank manager, but the bank went bankrupt. Their son Anri graduated in dentistry in Bordeaux, as Beya's son did too, and they came back to work here. My mother died in Pazardjik at the age of 62 during our internment. She had a heart attack from all these events.

I don't know how my parents met but their marriage was an ordinary Jewish one - they were Sephardi Jews, moderately religious. At the end of the 19th century they used to speak Ladino at home and they attended Bulgarian schools in order to learn Bulgarian and be able to communicate. I have written memoirs with a documentary character, and there's a lot of information about the Jewish life in the past - a part of it arose from some family stories. My book Beyond the Law is dedicated to the participation of the Jewish Youth in the Resistance. My family and I suffered the consequences of the Law for the Protection of the Nation 3 and probably it is due to my desire for writing that I wrote this book.

Growing up

I was born on 2nd June 1921 in Sofia. I have two brothers, Armand and Emil, who are quite older than me. Armand, born in 1908, was a communist. He thought that the victory of the social revolution would efface the contradictions between the separate nationalities so that men would be brothers, which in fact turned out to be a false conception. Before the war he was a dental mechanic; afterwards he was a writer. In September 1941, after the declaration of war by Germany on the Soviet Union, he was sent to Enikioy [town in present day northern Greece.], to a concentration camp, as he had received a political sentence in the 1930s. In 1933 he married a Jewish woman, Roza Hershkovich, but they divorced before 1944. She was an actress; she became a guerilla during the war and was killed near Pazardjik. Then Armand married Matilda, or Mati, Pinkas, an opera singer, and they have one daughter, Klery. Emil, my second brother, born in 1911, became a tradesman. He was interned to Pleven with his family in 1943-1944. He has two sons, Sabat and Yakov.

We lived in an ordinary home on Sofronii Street in the quarter of Iuchbunar 4. The neighborhood was poor; refugees from Armenia, Aegean Thrace and Macedonia lived there together with Bulgarians from the countryside. Despite the different background of the residents we lived peacefully. The house where we were tenants was situated in a yard surrounded by other buildings. Our lodging was on the second floor, there was running water. It had two rooms - there was a hall in the middle, a small kitchen and a ceiling. In my childhood there was a mezuzah in every Jewish home - a small metal or plastic tube with a special part from the Torah inside. Each time you enter the flat you should reach for it and kiss it. We had a wall stove at home. My brothers and I lived in one room; Armand was reading till very late at night, he already had a big library. A great part of it consisted of socialist writings - mostly in Russian translation. I had a little bed that my parents moved next to the stove in their room because I fell sick very often. In the yard in front of our house there was a big chestnut tree and a washbasin. Our neighbors were Turks. The father was a wealthy man but his son was a bit of a rascal - he had a sports car. A Russian family, who had come after the Russian Revolution of 1917 5, lived downstairs. I remember the woman - a very beautiful Russian lady who used to stand at the window staring out. It was like a picture - she stood behind the curtain with this very typical veil over her beautiful face - I will never forget it although I was nine or ten at the time.

When I think back, we lived very poorly - my father had a salary but he fell ill so we lived rather below the average. We could hardly make ends meet. In my childhood we have never gone on holidays, but there was one very beautiful girl on our street, Smaragda, whose parents were wealthy so they could afford to go the seaside, and she told us about it. The Jews lived very united - we went to the synagogue on holidays but we've never had any close relationships with other Jews. It was the relatives who came to our place more often - Roza and her husband Yosif came to visit us and drink coffee.

In our mahala there were a lot of refugees from Macedonia and Armenia, and many Jews. [Mahala comes from the Turkish word mahalle meaning neighborhood] Children of all nationalities were friends - we played and wandered everywhere together - to Bashkov chiflik, to Batalova vodenica [in the suburbs of Sofia at the time - literally Bashkov's farm and Batalov's water mill]. At the corner of Sofronii and Vladayska reka [a water channel that passes through Sofia] there was a police squadron - its commander was Salabashev. When I published some memoirs from the years in Septemvri [meaning September, a monthly magazine edited by the Union of the Bulgarian Writers from 1948 to 1990], the writer Stoyan Zagorchinov [1889-1969] was deeply interested in that story about Salabashev as they had been colleagues at the Military School.

On every Todorovden [the Eastern Orthodox holiday St. Theodore on 15th March], the Horse Easter, horse races were organized on the right bank of the river and many children came there even from the other bank, from Banishora [a district neighboring Iuchbunar]. Fires were lit and jumped over and awards were given to the winners. The fire brigade of Zahartchuk came as well.

We had a football team in the neighborhood. It was called Pirin because of the numerous refugees from Macedonia; we paid membership fees and we had a rag ball. [Editor's note: Pirin is a mountain range located in southwestern Bulgaria near the present day border of the Republic of Macedonia] Nikushev, who came from Rousse, grew up with us - later he became a famous football player. We nailed a box for announcements on an acacia tree on our street. The Slaviya playing field was next to our district and we needed an adult to get inside free - we didn't have money to buy tickets.

We went in groups to the recently opened swimming pool, Dianabad - I remember a barrack full of building materials where we took our clothes off and went inside. One day when we looked for our clothes we found that they had disappeared. A man came and said, 'Oh, are these yours? Now you'll get it!' He slapped us before he gave our clothes back. Sometimes on Sundays we went to the quarter where the Dunovists dwelt - I live next to this place now, close to the grave of Petar Dunov 6. We went there because they used to organize concerts - there was a hall where now the Russian Embassy is. There were many artists and musicians among them; they were vegetarians and cooked soups - bean soup for example. Now the garden next to Dunov's grave is kept clean and nice - I think that it is under the supervision of UNESCO; when Paco Raban [Spanish fashion designer] visited Bulgaria he went there - he is a follower of Dunov.

I have very good and festive memories from the synagogue. The Jewish holidays always begin at sundown - with the rise of the first star. At the festal dinner on Saturday evening there was a chicken meal. I went to buy one at Zhenskiya Pazar [the biggest market place in Sofia; the name means Women's Marketplace. It is also simply called Pazara -The Marketplace.] and then I took it to the synagogue to be slaughtered by a shochet - the special person who is in charge of killing the ritual animals. There is another one, mohel, who does the ritual circumcision of boys. I had my brit milah but I didn't have a bar mitzvah.

I remember the celebration of different holidays - for example Chanukkah, the Holiday of the Lights that is connected with the Jewish Rebellion against the Syrians and the liberation of the Temple. In the Temple there was a little jar full of lighting oil that by miracle turned out to be enough for a long time. Hence there is a very beautiful set made for Chanukkah called chanukkiyah - it has eight little vessels and the ninth is at the top as a lamp. Now I have one at home and I light it as a family tradition, usually in December. I remember that my father read something and we all stayed at home on that evening.

Another holiday I remember clearly is Simchat Torah, Torah's Joy, when the scripts are solemnly taken out; they are carried round the synagogue and everyone stretches out and kisses them. At this holiday the reading of the last text of the Torah ends and then continues from the beginning. It is a very joyous holiday - there are many songs and dances, especially among the Ashkenazi Jews. I have never attended their celebrations but I know that among the Sephardi Jews in Bulgaria there have never been such dances. Now there are some attempts for introducing these dances into the Sephardi ceremonies.

The family dinner on Pesach is called seder. We gathered at home and we left the entrance door open: 'He who is hungry, let him come in and eat.' We ate the unsalted and unleavened bread that we took from the synagogue, matzah. There was bread called boyo - it was very thick and hard and it was round compared to matzah that is rather a plain pancake. As the youngest member of the family I was given a white towel with some unleavened bread wrapped in it and I walked three times round the table - to commemorate our ancestors' exodus from Egypt. We didn't strictly observe Sabbath - we have never asked somebody to do the housework on Saturday. Usually we lit candles when we gathered at the table for dinner on Sabbath.

The Jewish community in Sofia was always very well organized - there were newspapers, different organizations - charities, for example. There were different political trends - the strongest one was Zionism. They were called the General Zionists - they had newspapers, there were meetings for founding a Jewish state. I was never present at such meetings because I wasn't a Zionist - I was a communist. After 9th September 1944 a great part of the Bulgarian Jews left for Israel because they were influenced by Zionism. My father was a moderate Zionist and my brother Armand was a communist. Although my father wasn't alien to the social idea he said of communism that no change could come from it, that it was in vain.

The communists thought that the Jewish problem couldn't be resolved by founding a separate state. They believed that the victory of the social revolution would solve the principle conflict. The Zionists and the communists represented the main trends among the Bulgarian Jewish community. The relations between them became strained at times, but sometimes the contradictions ceased - for example during the war. There was a youth organization called Hashomer Hatzair 7 whose members were socialists but they supported the idea of founding a Jewish state. They left for Israel after the war and became founders of the kibbutzim. I remember that a younger friend of mine, Izi Mezan, left for Palestine with a group of young people in 1943. He worked there at a fishing farm. After 1944 he came back to Bulgaria and he graduated in medicine. Now he is a famous neurologist. His father, the intellectual Shaul Mezan, left for Albania in 1944 as a guerilla and he was killed there. Before 1944 many of them became partisans and died. Apart from the youth organizations there were some women's organizations.

The Jewish quarter Iuchbunar was where the poorer Jews lived, those who were wealthy lived on Exarch Yosif Street, on Iskar Street; their shops were on Leghe Street. When the Law for the Protection of the Nation was voted for in 1940, the rich Jews who lived east of Maria Luiza Boulevard were ordered to move to the west and then Iuchbunar became something like a Jewish ghetto.

The Jews, especially those who were wealthy, strove to give their children good education - they wanted them to become lawyers, physicians, dentists; those who were poorer became craftsmen - tinsmiths, shoemakers, fabric workers. There were porters - the opportunities of each family determined what progress someone could make.

Zhenskiya Pazar was close to our street and we often went there to look at the goods - there were pigeons in cages and I wanted very much to have one. I was about seven when I bought a pigeon, I made a cage for it in the attic; I fed it on the dormer window and I wanted to let it fly and come back but it flew away and didn't come back. The pigeon trainers who sold them taught them to come back. There were street traders with cars who walked along the streets at dusk and sold vegetables - cucumbers, lettuce; it was cheaper to buy things from them at sundown. Now there are no cars such as these.

There were saleptchii [street traders who used to sell salep; comes from a Turkish word meaning orchid] - Albanians with cans like the boza 8 sellers who sold a drink made from the roots of salep - a hot, dense and wonderful drink especially when your throat is infected. They walked along the streets and cried, 'Salep, scalds the throat, gets the cough out'. Sometimes the grinders passed - they whetted and stropped knives and scissors.

We loved going to the movies; there were two cinemas in the neighborhood - Ufa and Exelsior. And we shicked [a slang word used at the time for entering a public place without paying the required fee]. I remember that I saw Ben Hur in Exelsior - the film about the war against the Romans, including chariots. There is a scene when many rocks began rolling and I guarded myself as if from the screen. One of the first Bulgarian films was shot on our street - its director was Ghendov [Vasil Ghendov (1891-1970) - the first Bulgarian film-maker]. I remember how they got our street paved. We were playing with lemonade marbles in the street. Everyone had to place them at their own house, and when they began erect the flagstone, one of our neighbors said, 'Well, I have no money for bread, they want me to make the pavement'.

From among my childhood friends, I still have contact with Dimitar Panov, with Vasko and Mitko Palazovi. I remember the social life as the kids see it - the policemen on horses who passed along our street - there was no pavement at that time, there were cobblestones which made sparks underneath their hooves. I remember the so-called tribunes where communists and anarchists gathered at the street and someone stood up and started to chant slogans. But they were immediately reported to the police and the policemen came to disperse the crowd with lashes and arrest them. They took the arrested on two horses to the First Police Section just behind our school Konstantin Fotinov- I saw the marks on their faces left from being beaten against the wall. [Editor's note: Konstantin Fotinov is the founder of the first Bulgarian magazine in 1841 called Liuboslovie, a literal translation of the Greek word philology - the love of words].

When I was a child my father subscribed me to the magazine Svetulka [firefly in Bulgarian] - I received it by mail and it was a great kef 9 when the issue arrived with my name on the envelope. My father began to teach us French at home from an old book. As the youngest child I was the most diligent student because my brothers had already grown up - Armand with his ideas and Emil with his own youthful friends. I still remember some French proverbs from this book: 'Ton the a ote ta toux?' - 'Oui, mon the m'a ote ma toux.' I attended a private kindergarten, Naum Dimitrov- Simtcha - it was close to Boris and Simeon Streets. My parents could afford it. Then I studied at the Central Jewish School on Kaloyan Street till the first junior high school grade so I know Ivrit very well. I was called to the higher grades to show them how well I was reading from the Tannakh. The Jewish school had the same curriculum as all Bulgarian schools as well as Hebrew and readings from the Bible. The grades consisted of 25-30 children. I remember my teacher in Hebrew, Iveret, as well as our Bulgarian teacher Izraelova. Then my father enrolled me in the Bulgarian school 'Konstantin Fotinov' on Hristo Botev Boulevard next to our home. My favorite subjects were writing and reading.

At the junior high school I had a teacher in Bulgarian, Dimitrova, she was one of my most favorite teachers. In 1934 we went to Kjustendil where I attended the Junior High School No. 2; and later the Kjustendil Boy's High School where my class supervisor was Pena Slaveykova - Pencho Slaveykov's niece [Pencho Slaveykov (1866-1912) is one of the classics of Bulgarian literature, the founder of the modernist movement]. She had graduated in Switzerland and she taught us French. Once she gave us a composition assignment in drama and my father helped me write it. She got my writing published in a newspaper for children, called Gradinka [little garden in Bulgarian] under the name of Victor Baruhov. Later I found it at the National Library - this was my first 'publication'.

Our teacher in Bulgarian was Batalov - later I found out that he had been Dimitar Talev's colleague [Dimitar Talev (1898-1966) is one of the classic Bulgarian novelists]. Once he gave us a writing topic on Les Miserables so we went to see the movie starring Harry Baur as Jean Valjean. When he returned the notebooks, he asked me to read my essay: 'Can you believe it? Unfortunately a Jewish boy wrote the most wonderful essay.' There was no offense in his words. I have never felt any anti-Semitic moods. When the Law for the Protection of the Nation was adopted there were no outrages but on the contrary - there was sympathy and compassion for us. There were some occasional attacks.

My eldest brother Armand played the violin. It remained with us from the time of my father's studies in Pedagogy. While we lived in Kjustendil in 1934-1936 I was given private lessons in violin by the husband of my Bulgarian teacher Bliznakov. They lived close to us - next to Chifte banya. When we were interned from Sofia in 1943 I sold this violin - we had no money. I still feel pity for it.

When we came back to Sofia from Kjustendil in 1936 I finished the Men's High School No. 3 in 1937 and I enrolled in Sofia University to study law and history, but I didn't graduate.

During the war

I have many more memories from the time when Hitler came to power in Germany and the persecutions began. In December 1940 the Law for the Protection of the Nation was adopted by the National Assembly and on 23rd January 1941 it was promulgated. Pursuant to the provisions of this Law, Jews were deprived of all civil rights. One of the articles of the Law for the Protection of the Nation stated that you couldn't write - you had no right to be an author. My first short story during our internment to Parazdjik was published in the newspaper Gorsky Kooperator [literally - 'a forest guard']. I can't remember how I got in touch with the editors but they got it published under the name V. Beshkov. I couldn't be published because I was a Jew. Another article stated that you couldn't be in matrimonial or non-matrimonial relationships with non-Jews. Thus, I couldn't love Bulgarian women.

In 1941, apart from the yellow star, we had to put a note on our front door - a Jewish Dwelling - which consisted of a white sheet of paper with black writing and the star of David. At the time when the Law for the Protection of the Nation was enforced I worked at a Jewish commercial company called Bratya Mizrahi [Mizrahi Brothers] but they had to decrease the number of Jewish employees because the law required that Jews employed by such companies should not exceed 50% of the total work force. I was employed in a company that was engaged in fabric trading when I went to work for the first time with the star. When my boss, Boris Zhelev, who was one of the republican officers fired from the army as a republican, saw it, he said, 'Take it off, I'll vouch for you!' There was sympathy for us everywhere.

On 24th May 1943 10 the Jews from Sofia were given notice to leave Sofia in three days on the decree of the Commissariat for Jewish Affairs 11. This Committee was founded under the special jurisdiction of the Minister of Interior [Petar Gabrovski] 12. Its headquarter was on Dondukov Boulevard in the confiscated building of Samuel Patak [a Jewish merchant], the owner of Sampatak - a well-known stationery company. The Jewish property had to be confiscated. A number of young lawyers from the pro- fascist organization, the Ratniks 13 co-operated in the Committee. They benefited from the confiscation and liquidation of the Jewish shops and other property. We had to leave with no more than 20 kilograms of luggage; it was said where, when and with which train we had to leave. They deliberately chose the holidays because they wanted to keep the whole affair a secret. Emil and his family received instructions to go to Pleven and my mother and I were to be sent to Pazardjik.

At that time my brother Armand was a prisoner at the concentration camp in Enikioy. The Enikioy concentration camp was established in September 1941 as a preventive measure against the communists because of their alliance with Germany. Its official name was 'State Security Settlement'. The prisoners had to build the fences themselves. The Communist Party, which was banned by the Protection of the State Act at the time, organized fund- raising for the prisoners, but only their relatives were allowed to send them parcels with food and other supplies. The authorities had to grant a special permission for each parcel to be sent. At the camp my brother began to translate War and Peace by Tolstoy 14- I received parts of it hidden in damadjani [demijohn]. Later this translation was published. In fact, it wasn't very good but it was the first one in Bulgarian. My brother Armand was released from Enikioy camp in November 1943.

On 24th May 15 there was a spontaneous Jewish protest and the Laborers' Party came to help us [UYW] 16. But in fact everything was spontaneous. Rabbi Daniel Zion wasn't liked by the other rabbis, went to Exarch Stefan 17 and explained everything to him. At the official public prayer on the occasion of 24th May where the tsar was present, the exarch told him, or is reported to have said, 'Boris, thou shall not chase, in order to be left unchased.' These words are from the Bible. Thousands of people gathered in the yard of the Iuchbunar synagogue [a Sephardi synagogue at the corner of Klementina boulevard and Osogovo street, demolished during the Communist rule; the Central Synagogue is located at the corner of Exarch Yosif and George Washington streets]. The Rabbi came, made a speech to calm down the crowd and the people went on a march along Osogovo Street and Klementina [now Alexandar Stamboliiski boulevard] and finally stopped at Vazrazhdane Square. The policemen encountered us there and began to run after the protesters and beat them.

I remember that a young man took a flag off a green wooden fence and walked with it at the head of the procession. When the writer Dragomir Assenov [pen name of Jacques Nisim Melamed - a famous Bulgarian writer (1926-1981)] read this in my novel 'Beyond the Law', he said, 'That was me'. A great number of protesters were arrested. We were hiding for a couple of hours next to St. Peter and Paul church and all the people who were arrested on that day were driven to a camp in Somovit on the bank of the Danube. This camp was established as a direct response to this incident. The plan was to disperse the compact Jewish population, to drive them to the Danube and then to send them to Poland and Germany. This demonstration compelled the Committee to put off the internment of the Jews from Sofia till the beginning of June. It was said that the tsar interfered.

In June my mother and I were interned to Pazardjik. From there I was taken to the forced labor groups in Kurtovo Konare [a village southwest of Plovdiv]. We worked under extremely hard conditions on the correction of Vucha's riverbed - the river swelled there and caused floods. We lived in small and dirty sheds. When we were on our way to the camp with our luggage the policeman who was accompanying us made us stop, drew his gun and said, 'Look, here you are under my command, you are not leaving the camp. I have the right to shoot.' Our rooms were separated by planks; several ex- prisoners lived here. They worked on the same site as diggers but they were paid and free - at the weekends they went to Plovdiv and when they came back they told us about their adventures in the big city - craps [the dice game] and prostitutes. We stayed there till 11th November 1943. In Pazardjik I met my brother Armand who was released from Enikioy.

In the following summer Armand and I were mobilized in the Jewish labor group in Verinsko [a village between the towns of Ihtiman and Vakarel]. We lived in tents next to some petrol tanks. In August 1944 after the Yash- Kishinev Operation at the Eastern Front some defeated German units withdrew, passing through Bulgaria. I remember that trucks full of German soldiers passed nearby. There was a Bulgarian unit in the neighborhood and they were commanded to disarm the passing German soldiers. We asked them why they didn't disarm them. 'Why don't you disarm them!', they answered. And how exactly could we do it - with spades? Afterwards they really did take captives and sent them to the yard of the Vakarel church. The Germans knew that their soldiers were there and one day an airplane flew past very close to the ground - as a final salute and in a few days they bombarded the tanks.

The government changed. But we had already removed the yellow stars beforehand. In July Slaveiko Vasilev, a famous military officer who had taken part in the coup d'état in 1923 [see events of 1923] 18, passed through. He stopped his car and said, 'You don't have stars anymore.' On 6th-7th September 1944 I was in Pazardjik; there was an ex-priest, 'the red priest', who held a meeting where he spoke a satirical and symbolic public prayer to bury fascism.

My brother Armand was called to Sofia on 9th September 1944 and I joined him at the end of 1944. My brother Emil came from Pleven to Sofia right after 1944. My brother and I lived together for a while until we found separate lodgings.

I met my future wife in Pazardjik, where she had also been interned. She was very young, 16, a high-school student. Her maiden name was Ester Leon Asher. Her father, Leon Moshe Asher, was born in the town of Samokov. He was a leatherworker. Her mother, Berta Asher,nee Ilel, was from the town of Vidin. They married in 1918 and came to live in Sofia. My wife has one brother, Mois Asher, born in 1920, who was a construction engineer and married a Bulgarian, Elena. They had one son. Mois died in 1995.

Post-war

Immediately after the wedding in 1948 my wife went to the village of Nedelino [a village in the Rhodope Mountains in the Zlatograd district, close to the Greek border] as a temporary freelance teacher at an elementary school. I visited her there and I remember how we were riding horses along the borderline with a frontier officer and looking at the Aegean Sea. I wrote a story of a woman-teacher at the border, 'At the Front Post' that was published as a serial in the newspaper Narodna Mladezh [People's Youth] in 1949 but now I see it as a bit of a conjuncture. In fact, we celebrated our wedding when she came back for the Easter vacation in the spring of 1949 in the house of my brother Armand who had already married Mati Pinkas - a lot of people gathered; it was a great fun.

When we came back to Sofia from Pazardjik, we didn't find anything - everything had disappeared: the furniture, the books, everything. We found ourselves 'at a bare meadow' [Bulgarian idiom for 'down and out']. I joined the II Guards Regiment in Radomir but I didn't leave for the front, I worked as a journalist with the Narodna Gvardiya [National Guard]. After the demobilization I worked at Partizdat publishing house as a technical editor; we produced two very good editions - one of them was a volume of poetry by Nikola Vaptsarov 19 with Radevsky as editor and Shmirgela as illustrator [Hristo Radevsky (1903-1997) is a famous Bulgarian poet; Shmirgela a famous Bulgarian artist]. Afterwards I worked at Narodna Mladezh, then at their publishing house and finally at the publishing house of Bulgarski Pisatel [Bulgarian Writer] where I was editor-in-chief at the time when I retired. Meanwhile I was also engaged in literature. I wrote ten or eleven books for adults and three books for children. My novel Beyond the Law was a success - it has six editions and it has been translated into French [under the title 'Hors-la-loi'] and English. I don't know if it's still available.

After 9th September 1944 almost all my friends left for Israel, where I have visited them several times. I have very fond memories of this; we looked at some photographs together and they even gave me a few - I had studied with some of them till the 4th grade. They warmly welcomed my wife and me. Yet I stayed in Bulgaria because at that time I was a leftist like my elder brother Armand and I thought that the Jewish question would be resolved along with the social problems. But political differences did not trouble our friendship.

Before the war I had a lot of Jewish friends - the poet Edi Arueti, Yosif Beraha, Zhak Danon. They all left for Israel after the war. Among my friends who left for Israel there were twin brothers, Haim and Solomon Mevorah, who used to live in my quarter, at the corner of Simeon Street and Antim I Street. They had Spanish citizenship. When one of them came from Israel as my guest, he wanted to see his father's shop along Pirotska Street and a dead-end street - I think it's called Bulgaria - and the Commercial High School in Lozenetz. I brought him there and he burst into tears - there was a balcony at the back of the building and he said, 'Our headmaster talked to us here.' And when the other one came to Sofia we went to see the place where they had lived - we went upstairs, we rang the bell, but the current owners weren't very kind and we didn't go inside. But they felt a great nostalgia - they were very excited when they came back to Bulgaria. In Israel they have an organization, some dance clubs, they sew traditional costumes, they dance the horo [traditional Bulgarian dances], sing Bulgarian songs and cry.

Bulgaria was the only country from the Eastern Block that permitted the free emigration of Jews to Israel - Georgi Dimitrov 20 had a role in this. 90% of the Bulgarian Jews left by 1949. In 1967 under the pressure of the Soviet Union Bulgaria broke diplomatic ties with Israel. Only Romania kept them. But the contacts with Israel never ceased, I went to Israel five times in those years. I liked the country very much - it experienced rapid development and an excellent welfare system. The Bulgarian Jews in Israel are highly regarded for their honesty and diligence, thus the breakdown in diplomatic ties didn't change much.

I was a member of the Bulgarian Communist Party but this has never influenced my attitude toward Israel. The anti-Semitism among the Bulgarian communists was due to the position of the Soviet Union. Although I was a member of the Party I experienced things that caused me to think. I wasn't a blind follower, for example in 1970 I was discharged from the magazine Plamak [flame in Bulgarian]. I saw a lot of things that I didn't approve of. The official attitude of the state toward the wars in Israel wasn't the only thing.

The Eichmann case was in 1961. I called in the UBW [The Union of the Bulgarian Writers] and they said, 'Go!' They gave me some money to cover my travel expenses. Probably I'm the only one from Eastern Europe who was present at the trial. I could send some correspondence, take notes, etc. In my books there are some recollections from the trial. It was very well guarded, there were many searches. They kept Eichmann because they were afraid of some mob law on the part of his men as well as on the part of the relatives of the victims. I was in Jerusalem in July and August during the interrogations. He was always very well dressed, he used two pairs of glasses. He was standing in a booth made of fireproof glass where he was given some documents to inspect. His line was, 'I had orders, I have never taken part in a murder.' There were many questions concerning the role of the oath, of the duty and so on.

Eichmann was the person who organized the deportations of the Jews. In Bulgaria his representative was Theodor Daneker, who in February 1943 signed the contract for the internment of the Jews with the commissioner of the Jewish Affairs Alexander Belev, 21 when 20,000 Jews from the 'new lands' had to be interned [from the Aegean Thrace and Macedonia]. On 4th March 1943 a blockade began in which not only the police but unfortunately also the Bulgarian army took part - all the members of the Committee were there with Belev and they began gathering the Jews from Aegean Thrace and bringing them to the railway stations. They were transported by the narrow- gauge railway of Demir-Hisar, which passed next to the Jewish labor camps and the people squeezed in the wagons were given bread by the people from outside - a tragic picture.

I remember a meeting with the academician Mikhail Arnaudov [Bulgarian ethnographer and literary historian (1878-1978)] who was taken to court and imprisoned after 9th September 1944 because he was Minister of Education in Bagrianov's government. He was given a library in jail in order to work there. When the academician Derzhavin from the former USSR came to Bulgaria he asked for Arnaudov and when he was told that the latter was in prison they immediately ordered his release. When the new restaurant of the UBW was opened - Djagarov made it - before the official opening we were waiting for Todor Zhivkov's arrival. Petar Pondev, the editor-in-chief of 'Bulgarski Pisatel' at the time, came in and said to me, 'Let me introduce you to Prof. Mikhail Arnaudov'. When he heard my name he said, 'Oh, Mr. Baruh, did you know that we put the stars away.' 'I know', I answered and I remembered how Slaveiko Vasilev tried to ascribe this merit to himself when he passed by the labor camp in August 1944. The merit of this government was that they tried to make an attempt to remove Bulgaria from the pro- German course even in the midst of the pressures of the day. Later I met Mikhail Arnaudov at the publishing house when we put together the second edition of Dimitar Shishmanov's book on Ivan Vazov, a book that was prepared by him.

On 39 Sveti Naum Street, where nowadays my son Valeri lives, my neighbor was Chavdar Kiuranov [Bulgarian politician, member of BCP and its successor, the Bulgarian Socialist Party] and we were both members of the Klub za Glasnost i Preustroistvo 22]. We built the apartment house together with his brother Todor Kiuranov and the artist Marko Behar. When the Berlin Wall fell down we lived with expectations but now after 10th November 1989 23 a second great disappointment came - after the disappointment of the years following 9th September 1944. A miserable situation - you can't even buy a book. The life of old people is very hard: I mean the current financial situation.

My wife Ester was a teacher in Biology. Both my children, Valeri and Shelly grew up without being educated in the Jewish traditions - it's a pity that I didn't instill them in my family. Maybe my ideas from those times had influenced this decision. Valeri graduated from Sofia Technical University with a degree in refrigerator engineering, and Shelly graduated from Sofia University in Bulgarian philology. My wife died in 1997 and now I live with Shelly and her daughter, Ada Evtimova. She is 21 and is now a student at the University of National and World Economy. They accept the Jewish traditions willingly and with great interest. I attend some activities at the Jewish Community Center in Sofia.

My children don't speak Ladino and I'm sorry for that because in my family as well as in my wife's family they used to talk in Ladino and many people knew Ivrit at that time. I know Ladino from the conversations that I listened to as a child in my family - my parents took me to weddings, to requiems, to visit some friends of theirs and gradually I learned it. It's a conserved Spanish similar to the Bulgarian in the speech of the people in the Rhodope mountains where some ancient Bulgarian words are preserved. Once in the holiday house of the UBW near Varna I came across a Spanish writer who had come to Bulgaria for an international meeting of writers. One day he was standing by the sea and I said to him, 'Espanoles en la mar' [Spaniards by the sea] - it is a radio program for fishermen in Spain. Then we met in the bar and had a talk and after he went back to Spain he wrote an anecdote of our conversations in ABC newspaper and in the meanwhile he also wrote, 'That man talked to me in Cervantes's language'. The reason for this is that while we were talking about my youth I said, 'Mi mansevez'. 'Mansevez', he said, is a word out of use nowadays. Now they say juventud."

Glossary

Sophie Pinkas
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Yulina Dadova
Date of interview: June 2003

Sophie Pinkas has been living in Sofia since 1946. Here she finished her university education and established herself as a specialist - associate professor in pediatrics in the Medical Academy. Not very tall, Mrs. Pinkas creates the impression of elegance and grace. Her first memories are of the family house in Vidin where her childhood passed under the care of her mother and grandmother. In the last ten years she has been living alone in a spacious apartment in the center of Sofia, in which she lived for many years with her husband, about whom she speaks with much love.

I was born in 1923 in the town of Vidin, where I spent my childhood. We have Spanish ancestry, but I don't know any details about how and when my ancestors came here. In Vidin we all lived in one house - my paternal grandparents, my uncles, aunts and the children. We were a united family.

I remember my paternal grandmother, Simha Pinkas, nee Beniesh, as a nice- looking, sociable and kind woman. She had grayish hair and she wasn't very tall. She dressed in darker plain clothes and she didn't wear a kerchief. While she was very friendly and loved everybody, my grandfather, Avram Pinkas, was a little bit stricter and more distanced. They talked to each other in Ladino. I don't remember with whom my grandmother kept in touch, but I remember that she got on very well with her daughters-in-law. She had four daughters-in-law and they were all very united. Even when my father's other brothers, Jacques, Sami and Josef, already married with children, had to leave the family house, the tradition remained that every Friday everyone would come to have a bath at our place: we had a big bathroom with a shower and a bath tub and we lit a geyser. On that day my mother prepared cheese crackers and sweets and when all the children had had a bath, we gathered and played in the yard, while the others drank coffee and ate sweets.

My grandfather died in Vidin, when I was very little. I knew my grandmother better, because I lived with her in Vidin and when my parents came to Sofia. My grandfather was a merchant and his four sons became merchants too. My grandmother didn't work: she was a housewife and kept the house in a very good state. She knitted very nice bed covers on ? crochet-hook as well as blankets from cotton and linen. She prepared bed and table covers for all her daughters-in-law.

My father, Leon Avram Pinkas, was born in Svishtov in 1893. As far as I know he finished his secondary trade education there. My mother, Lenka David Pinkas [nee Beraha], was born in Pirot [today Serbia], but she lived in Skopje [today Macedonia] with her family. They were Serbian Jews, but they lived later in Macedonia. My father was a military serviceman in Macedonia and met my mother there during World War I. [Bulgaria occupied Macedonia in World War I.] They married in Vienna in 1920. I know no details of their wedding, because they never talked about it. I was born in 1923 and I was the first child in the whole family. My father was a merchant in Vidin: he rented a shop and sold groceries.

My brother, Avram Leon Pinkas, is three years younger than me. We got along very well, and played together when we were little. We played 'cops and robbers' and 'chilik'. [Editor's note: 'chilik' is a stick, sharp-pointed at one of its ends, which is thrown into the air by means of another special stick called 'machka'. The one, who throws it higher, wins the game.]

I must have had dolls too, but I preferred playing with the boys outside. For example, we used to jump over a rope. We also had a horizontal bar in the yard and we tried to hang down from it for as long as we could. Our parents talked to us in Bulgarian and between them they used Bulgarian and Ladino, because my grandparents talked in Ladino. Thanks to the conversations with our grandparents we learned Ladino too.

My mother was a very beautiful and intelligent woman. Although she couldn't graduate from high school because of the war, she was clever and sociable. She loved reading books. She was subscribed to the 'Golden Seeds' book collection. We read mostly novels and my mother was the most avid reader of all. When we, the children, started reading, we read different books in Bulgarian - Western European and Bulgarian literature, for example Gorky 1, Zola [Emile (1840-1902): French writer and critic] or Dostoevsky 2.

My mother was ? WIZO activist [Jewish Zionist Women's Organization]; they were not very much involved in politics. They were more interested in cultural, social and charity activities. They organized parties, holiday celebrations, and fancy-dress balls and raised money for the poor. Meanwhile, my mother also kept the house in a perfect state. She was a very good cook and made very nice embroideries. Since my mother didn't work, she was the one who looked after us the most. She valued discipline and order very much. She insisted that we study, read, be honest and good and respect the elderly people. In this respect, I should say that she achieved a lot, because we all respected the elderly people around us.

We had a gramophone at home. When the first radio sets appeared my father brought home a special kind of radio consisting of two parts with headphones. He was interested in politics and read the newspaper regularly. There were two newspapers, which were popular at that time - 'Utro' [Morning] and 'Zora' [Dawn]. This was before World War II, when there were no other newspapers than the government dailies, which my father used to read. This was the time of the government of King Boris III 3. My father bought them and followed the political events. Especially when World War II started, we all read them very eagerly.

At home we had discussions on Israel [then Palestine] and the necessity of this state. On the whole, my father and his brothers were Zionists. His brother Jacques -originally Jacob - left for Israel [Palestine] with his wife Roza before 1926 when their son Avram was born. Jacques started working with some machines for tile production, but it seems that the business didn't go very well and he, his wife and son came back to Vidin. Here he opened a grocery store at the market. All brothers got on very well with each other and had good business relations. They ran their finances together and they might even have had a common cash-box. I remember that some of the machines for tile production were taken to Vidin and placed in a shed in the yard of the house.

Although my family wasn't rich, we didn't deprive ourselves of food or clothes. We had a maid who did the household chores. The house in which we first lived was big, with four rooms and a hall between them, where we had lunch and supper, and two kitchens. We also had a yard where we played as children. I was born in the so-called 'old house'. Next to the big house where we lived, there was another house, a smaller one, where my grandparents and parents lived first.

My parents had friends - Jewish families, with whom they often gathered on holidays and celebrations. Sometimes a few families gathered to play poker. There were two separate poker tables for the men and the women, but I have no idea why. The most often celebrated holiday from the national ones was 24th May 4 - the day of culture, enlightenment and education. When I was a student we went to manifestations and marched through the town singing songs about St. Cyril and Methodius 5 and then we danced traditional Bulgarian folklore dances. I don't remember celebrating other holidays common to Jews and Bulgarians. Maybe 3rd March - the liberation of Bulgaria [from Turkish rule] but I vaguely remember it. We, the Jews, celebrated all our Jewish holidays.

We didn't celebrate Nochi di Sabbath [Eve of Sabbath] at home, but I remember very well celebrating Pesach when the Haggadah was read. It was read by my father, a little by my brother, my uncles and my cousins. We always washed all plates and dinner sets very well for Pesach. We bought boyos [loaves of bread without salt and soda made for Pesach] and matzah. We prepared dishes typical for Pesach - with burmoelos 6 for breakfast in the morning, pastel [traditional Jewish dish made of flour and veal mince] and a soup with kneydl.

Another holiday that I remember celebrating is Purim. We made a lot of sweets and cakes on Purim. We also made ring-shaped buns with nut filling. My mother and my grandmother were excellent cooks and made delicious dishes. Our house was always full on such occasions. We all dressed up for the fancy-dress ball. Once, one of my aunts dressed as a cat, another as a chimneysweeper and my mother as a big drum. Many guests in disguise came to our house. They were all wondering if they would be able to recognize each other. We never went to the synagogue on Purim. I remember that we went to the synagogue on Sukkot when we made a tent in the yard of the synagogue.

My grandparents went to the synagogue on Pesach, Sukkot and on Yom Kippur. Especially on Yom Kippur! On Yom Kippur we all did taanit [means fast in Ivrit] and we all went to the synagogue. I don't remember from what age we started doing taanit, but we didn't do it because we were so religious, we did it more out of obstinacy, to show that we could also spend the day without eating. Our parents didn't make us do it, but we wanted to do as all the others did - maybe I was already going to school when I started doing taanit. The younger ones couldn't do it and started eating in the afternoon. In the evening before Yom Kippur we had dinner and we ate nothing on the next day. We, the children, were very enthusiastic, wondering whether we would be able to do it or not. We played in the yard of the synagogue the whole day. We didn't go much inside and were eager to hear the horn [shofar] marking the end of Yom Kippur and go home to eat. Usually, we, the children, were very proud when we managed to do the taanit.

When we had to slaughter a hen, usually the shochet came to our house to do it. We always observed the kashrut at home. My grandmother said that she didn't eat pork and nobody brought home pork. But in the pre-war years, 1939-1940, the economic situation became worse and it was very hard to keep kosher. My mother started cooking pork, although she felt guilty about it. She didn't tell my grandmother that it was pork.

Vidin was, and still is, a very interesting town, because it is situated on the banks of the Danube River. The banks itself are very beautiful. Across the river is the Romanian town Calafat, which we could see. There was a nice park, which ended at 'Babini Vidini Kuli' [Baba Vida Fortress] 7. There was a Turkish prison there before in which most of the prisoners in 1939 were political ones.

The Jewish community in Vidin was very united. Most of them were merchants and most had nice houses. Our house was also one of the more beautiful houses in town. Naturally there were a lot of poor people, but there was no hatred and rivalry between the people. The Jewish families in Vidin lived in a separate quarter called 'Kaleto'. Vidin was divided by a big fortress wall, it was called 'kale' and most of the Jewish families lived in the same part of the town. The Jewish school, the synagogue and our house were also in Kaleto. Some of our neighbors were Jewish, others were Turks, with whom we got on very well.

A Turkish junior high school was opposite our house. We talked in Bulgarian with the Turkish inhabitants. There were a lot of Turks in Vidin at that time so we kept in touch with the Turks on the one hand and with three Bulgarian families on the other. We were connected to all our neighbors with doors in the fences, which were called 'kapidzhik' [small doors] in Turkish and since we were on a street leading to the center, our neighbors - both Jews and non-Jews - passed through our yard to go to the main street. These doors helped us a lot during the curfew in 1943-44. There was a curfew for the Jews in Vidin because of the Law for the Protection of the Nation 8 and we weren't allowed to go out. In fact, Kaleto was turned into something like a ghetto and we were allowed to go out only for two hours a day - between 10am and 12am. And we observed that regulation, because there were policemen and Legionaries [see Bulgarian Legions] 9 outside. But thanks to the doors in the fences we, the children, and the adults too, could get together. Thanks to those fences we kept the social contacts with our relatives and neighbors.

I remember that when I was a child my mother and I went to Yugoslavia to visit her parents - my grandmother, Sarah Beraha, and my grandfather, David Beraha - my uncles, cousins etc. Almost every summer my mother and I went to Skopje. We usually traveled by train; there was no other possibility. Once or twice we traveled via Belgrade. We traveled on board the riverboat along the Danube, from Vidin to Belgrade to meet there my elder uncle and his family. Then we left for Skopje. We had a great time there, because we were a big family.

My grandparents and my uncles lived in the Turkish quarter in Skopje and there were only Turkish families around with whom they got along very well and were good friends. The house was big with two floors. My grandmother was a very hard-working housewife and every morning she would sit by the charcoal pan and prepare the breakfast. After breakfast we went back to play. We played a lot with the Turkish children. It was more complicated with the Turkish women, because they always had their faces veiled and never showed them; especially not to men, but they did show them to us, the children. They had interesting traditions, like the Turkish bath, for example. It was made of stones only, big stone blocks and jugs full of warm water. There was a special room for sweating - something like a sauna. All women in the family went and stayed there from morning until evening - with eating and all that. We also had a Turkish bath in Kaleto in Vidin, but we didn't stay there for a long time, because we had our own bath at home.

The shops of my father and my uncles were situated on the main trade street in Vidin where various shops of Jews and Bulgarians were located. My father's shop was very close to the high school. Opposite the high school, 200-300 meters away, was the shop of my uncle Yosef, who sold textiles, while the shop of my uncle Jacques, who also had a grocery shop, was at the market. There weren't separate shops for Jews and Bulgarians; in fact the customers were mostly Bulgarians, because people from the villages came to our shop to renew their food supplies. The youngest of the brothers, uncle Sami, had a shop in a village near Vidin, called Alexandrovo. There were one or two other Jewish families there and they maintained good relations with the Bulgarian families. Uncle Sami and my aunt Lora rented a house next to their shop. They had two boys and we loved visiting them during vacations.

There was a synagogue and a Jewish school in Kaleto. The Vidin synagogue was very big and beautiful. As far as I remember it was one of the biggest synagogues on the Balkan Peninsula. It was a two-storied building: women prayed upstairs, men downstairs. There were very beautiful colored glass windows and a big yard where we, the children, played.

We had a chazzan, who had graduated from Robert College in Tsarigrad [Bulgarian for Istanbul, Turkey]. After that he came to Vidin where he became a chazzan. He was a tall and handsome man. His name was Mois. Since I was studying French at school at that time, my parents insisted that I learn the language. So he gave me private lessons. He dressed in civil clothes when he went outside; he came to our house and I studied with him. After that he moved, I think to Israel, and our next chazzan was Avram Miko. His wife and he had very good voices and they performed some parts of the prayers using music from arias from operas by Verdi. I cannot exactly remember where he stood while singing. Probably he stood at the podium from where the prayers were read. We had a very good time at the synagogue. The prayers and the traditional Jewish weddings were very nicely performed in this way. The elder and the more pious ones protested a bit, but on the whole we all loved him, because he was a nice man. Then he left for Israel during the big aliyah in 1947-48 [see Mass Aliyah] 10, but he returned a couple of times to Bulgaria.

The Jewish school was a two-storied house. There were four rooms and an office used as a teachers' room on the first floor. There was an inner wooden staircase to the second floor where there were other classrooms. I remember five classrooms. There was also a yard. Adoni Koen was the headmaster and taught us Ivrit. He was a very strict teacher; the children treated him with much respect. The other teacher was Adoni Bito [mister], who also taught Ivrit, but he wasn't nearly as strict. There were also two or three female teachers. I remember most vividly Giveret Ernesta, who taught Bulgarian. She was a very pretty, plump woman, always smiling and kind to the children. I liked her a lot and long after I left Vidin, when we returned from time to time, I always visited her. The other teacher was Giveret Buka [miss], who taught us maths.

As most school curriculums in the country, ours included reading, writing and maths, which we called it 'calculation'. We studied Ivrit - reading and writing. I don't remember if we studied history, maybe some basic things. From the school subjects I preferred reading; I liked poems. Only Jews studied in that school. It was a Jewish municipal school, supported by the consistory. Bulgarians had other schools. Even in Kaleto there was a Bulgarian school where some Jews also studied. They came to our school for the Sunday classes in Ivrit. My brother also studied in the Jewish school in his first four grades. The school had a Hebraic focus, putting emphasis on the studies of Jewish history and Ivrit.

There were two cinemas - a Jew living in Kaleto owned one, the other was in the center of the town in the community house 'Tsviat' [color in Bulgarian]. There was a curfew for the students in the high school and we couldn't stay outside until late. There was a teacher in our high school, of whom everybody was afraid. His name was Balabanov and he walked around the streets looking for students who were not observing the regulations. I don't remember at what time we should have been at home - 8 or 9pm - but we never broke that rule.

After the Jewish school we studied in a junior high school, which had three grades - first, second and third. Then we went to high school, which started from the fourth grade. I link this period with my best friend, Jina Mashiah: we were simply inseparable. Her real name was Reyna, but we called her Jina. She was a very poor girl without a father. Her mother, a poor woman, supported three children by sewing shirts at home. I remember that my mother helped them a lot by giving them money and clothes. We lived on the same street; our houses faced each other. We went to school together in the mornings and sat together in the classroom. I was one of the shortest children, she was one of the tallest, but nevertheless we sat together in the first row. We returned home together, she often came to have lunch with us and then we started studying.

My brother teased us the entire time saying that we were 'klyutskarki' - this word is not used any more. It means someone who likes studying - that we were reading all the time. Since we studied Latin in high school, which was very hard for us, we sat for hours translating from Latin into Bulgarian and from Bulgarian into Latin. My mother would usually bring us some food while we were studying and when we finished, she gave us some money to go for a walk in the town's garden. It was the so-called 'stargalo' - the garden was located along the Danube and all young people arranged their meetings and went for a walk there. At that time uniforms were obligatory - the school uniforms and the berets. There was a confectionery nearby - we went there to eat some cakes and drink boza 11. We often went to the cinema.

In Vidin before 9th September 1944 12 there was no theater, concerts, and philharmonic orchestra at all. The town was a small one - around 16,000 people. But we had the chance to learn a lot about music from the Military orchestra. The military club was in the park in Vidin and in front of the club there was a nice platform. Every Sunday afternoon the military orchestra, which was mostly a brass band, went out to play. Usually they played overtures from various operas, popular pieces and they always put a notice outside what they would be playing. We went to listen to them and in this way we enriched our music knowledge, this being the only way to do it.

We had a piano at home and my mother insisted that I learn to play it. I started taking lessons and my brother did so too. I was more eager than him, but I wasn't very gifted. My brother didn't want to do it at all: he was always looking at the clock on the piano, counting the hours. My mother was very persevering and stayed beside us during our lessons, listening to our teacher. Although they bought the piano for us, my mother was also eager to learn something. She listened to our teacher and later reproduced it by herself.

We had Hashomer Hatzair 13, Betar 14 and Maccabi 15 in Vidin. I was a member of Maccabi, which was more of a sports organization. We gathered and played sports games. We had some kind of uniforms - white shirts and dark blue skirts. We had a sports hall with gymnastic apparatuses - two wooden horizontal bars - and we played a lot there. The older Jewish girls and boys told us about Israel and its history. On Sunday we went around the houses with a moneybox and raised money for charity, for Keren Kayemet 16. We were usually two or three children, a boy and a girl, walking from house to house. I don't remember anything particular about these organizations. When I was in high school my interests were directed to the UYW 17, the political youth organization.

During that time the creation of fascist organizations - Legionaries, Ratniks 18, 'Otets Paisii' had already begun. There were also some anti- Semitic activities. They insulted us, called us 'chifuti' 19 and said, 'why don't you leave?' Especially after the successes of Hitler's army in Europe and its invasion in the Soviet Union, the anti-Semites became very active. We, the Jews, decided that we should do something. This was the beginning of our left convictions and our desire to fight the fascist harassment of Jews. We had a UYW group consisting of a number of people; we raised money. Besides money, we later also collected clothes for the partisans. We read philosophic, progressive literature, which I didn't understand at all at the beginning. For example, Marx... I cannot say how many of us Jews there were, but compared to the number of Bulgarians, I think we formed the bigger percentage.

Our UYW group became very active when the Jews interned from Sofia came to Vidin [see Internment of Jews in Bulgaria] 20. There were many nice young and enthusiastic people among them. They had greater experience in the progressive UYW movement in Sofia. We started having meetings, we read lectures, discussed fascism or communism - we divided into a group defending fascism and a group against it, each defending its argument. We exchanged a lot of interesting ideas. Very nice poems were recited, poems by Vaptsarov 21, Smirnenski [classics of Bulgarian poetry]. From the foreign authors we loved the Soviet ones a lot. We read Maxim Gorky 22 and Chekhov 23 and some of the newer ones. 'How Steel was Hardened' [by Nikolay Ostrovski] and other revolutionary books were passed from hand to hand, they were not available in the libraries.

Usually we met at some big house. Once we organized a meeting in our house. We often disguised our meetings as youth gatherings and we kept them secret from our parents. My father was more conservative, but I didn't have any problems with him. My mother often gave us money and clothes for the organization. At some point my brother became the person in charge of a new UYW group. When Jews from Sofia came, we accommodated them. There were a lot of Jewish families from Sofia in our house. There was a room in the attic where my brother lived, because it was too crowded in the house. In fact, this room became an illegal UYW office - there was a mimeograph used for printing leaflets, weapons were hidden and then sent to the partisans. Sometimes Bulgarian boys from the organization hid there.

When we graduated from high school in 1942 we [Jewish students] weren't allowed to go to the traditional students' graduation ball, which was organized in the Officers' Club. Then we, the boys and the girls, because we were divided into a girls' high school and a boys' high school, decided to gather at home and listen to the gramophone. We decided not to dress up, but to wear our school uniforms. We had a great time eating, drinking and dancing all night.

In 1941-42 people were already talking about deportation and camps. I remember that my mother had sewn a big rucksack for each of us, which we filled with clothes and underwear. We had them ready, because we heard that we could be summoned suddenly during the night. Moreover, we knew what was happening in Poland, in Austria and in France. This worried us most of all. According to the Law for the Protection of the Nation nobody worked, nobody was allowed to study, my father's shop was closed. We lived on the little amount of money we had saved. Our radio set was jammed. We couldn't get any radio stations. My father liked to listen to Radio London, but the radio set was jammed. Still, he somehow found out how to get rid of it and he listened to Radio London in the evenings. In this way we received more objective information about what was happening at the front.

We got along very well with the Jewish families who came to Vidin from Sofia after 24th May 1943 24. I cannot say how many people came: thousands. At every Jewish house two-tree families were accommodated depending on how big the house was and the owners lived only in one of the rooms. Many of the Jews were accommodated in the Jewish school. The adults played cards and poker, gathered to chat and celebrate the holidays. Since I wasn't allowed to work or study, my mother insisted that I go to a friend of hers who had something like a workshop for women's clothes and learn some elementary things about sewing. But I didn't like sewing at all and I didn't go. Now I regret that, because I can't sew even an ordinary hem.

My father was mobilized as an officer in one of the [forced] labor camps 25. He was a lieutenant. He was mobilized somewhere around Svoge [near Sofia], but I don't know where exactly. He didn't work as a labor service man; he was in his officer's rank. My mother was very worried about her relatives in Yugoslavia. At that time there were so many rumors, and only vague information in the newspapers. We didn't have any news from our relatives; we didn't know what was happening. We heard about the death camps, about Poland, the Czech lands, but we didn't know what was happening in Macedonia. We had more information only after 9th September and we tried to get more details through the International Red Cross, but we weren't successful. When my mother's relatives were deported in 1943, we knew nothing about that. Later we learned that they died in Treblinka. Only uncle Zdravko Beraha and two cousins - Jacques Beraha's son, David Beraha, and Yosif Beraha's, son David Beraha, who was known as Bato, saved themselves by escaping from Yugoslavia through Albania and Italy and from there on to Sao Paolo, Brazil.

The Bulgarian police, who was then in Skopje gathered the Jews in warehouses and schools in order to deport them to the death camps [see Bulgarian Occupation of Macedonia in World War II] 26. Before they sealed the house in Skopje, my grandmother Sarah hid her son Zdravko and the two grandsons in the basement, thinking that they would be sent to labor camps where it would be hardest for the men. All of my other relatives went to the meeting points and from there they were transported to Treblinka where they were killed right away. We learned the truth about our relatives in the camps much later. We made a lot of attempts to understand what had happened with them; we also contacted the International Red Cross.

Some years ago two volumes on the history of the Skopje Jews were published in Macedonia, written in Macedonian and English. I found them at the place of a fellow-countryman here in Bulgaria, who had brought them from Macedonia. The title of the book is 'Evreite vo Makedonia vo Vtorata svetska voina 1941-1945' ['The Jews in Macedonia in World War II, 1941- 1945']. Its authors are Jamila Kolonomos and Dr. Vera Vangeli. The two volumes described in minute detail the facts around the deportation and the painful death of the Macedonian Jews in Treblinka. They also included a complete list of the deported people. I copied the page with the list, which included the name of my relatives.

During that time my uncle Zdravko and the two boys, thanks to the help of Albanian and Turkish neighbors, escaped disguised as veiled women riding donkeys to Albania. There they met the other brother, Albert, who, sensing the direction the events were taking, had gone there to find if it would be possible to escape with the whole family. They started working there. From Albania they moved to Italy where they also worked. Then Zdravko remained in Switzerland and Albert and the two boys left for Latin America: Brazil and Venezuela.

In late August 1944 the amnesty and the abolishment of the laws forbidding us to study were announced. At that time we were still in Vidin. Then I, a friend of mine, who was interned from Sofia - Neli Duelias - and two more friends decided to go to Lovech where the Medical Faculty had been moved to apply to study medicine. From Lovech we went for some time to Pleven. There we got in touch with other illegal UYW members. We wanted them to arrange for our transfer to a partisan squad, not as illegal members, but as activists taking part in the struggle. They told us to wait for a while, because the Soviet army was nearing Bulgaria. We remained for a couple of days in Pleven and on 7th September we took part in the liberation of the political prisoners in Pleven prison. On 9th September weapons were distributed in Pleven and on 10th September we returned to Vidin.

Then we were told that Germans had invaded Kula and volunteers were needed for defense [Kula is situated on the border with Yugoslavia]. A friend of mine, Paulina Arie, who later left for Israel, and I decided to enroll. We met Zhivko Zhivkov, who had been in Vidin prison. We told him we wanted to be volunteers. And he said, 'what are you doing, where are you going?' At the same time a group of young male volunteers from the village of Archar arrived. They told us to join them. We got on a truck, we were given weapons and boxes with cartridges and we left for Kula.

After it got dark, they told us to get off the truck and take positions. We could hear shooting and we went to the left side of the road together with the men from Archar, carrying the heavy boxes with cartridges. At one point we realized that we were lost. The men started complaining about the heavy boxes and decided to throw them away. Then we suggested that we should open the boxes and take out the cartridges, which were arranged in cartridge belts. We put them on and we left the empty boxes. This was my first night at the front and I will never forget it. In the morning we joined the other groups.

There weren't only volunteers, but also military officers and soldiers from the 3rd Vidin Regiment. My first combat was not during the night, but on the next day. We took position near the road leading to Kula. Suddenly heavy shooting started. My friend Paulina and I were lying on the ground when they started shooting at us. Then I told her, 'If one of the shells hits me, I prefer that it kills me. I prefer to die rather than be disabled.' There were many such moments at the front later on, which I will never forget. At some point we learned that Jacques Koen was badly injured. He was the first victim of the war among us. He was a political prisoner, just released from prison. He was hit in the head by a shell during his first night at the front. Jacques was transported to hospital, but he died a few months later. There were a lot of Jewish volunteers at the front. The girls were about ten, the boys around ten too or a bit more. Some of them returned home earlier, others stayed longer. I spent a month and a half at the front. After that I returned to Vidin. We were now allowed to study and I went to Sofia.

I started studying medicine. I was admitted easily because I had been at the front. I rented a room at the flat of one of the families, who lived in our house during the internment. I started studying in December 1944. I started studying in Sofia, but I was recalled to work in the UYW in Vidin. Then I left my studies and I went back. In UYW I did some political work, which had to be paid, but since they had no money, I worked almost for free. When my brother graduated from high school he left for Sofia and finished his medical university education earlier than me. My parents remained in Vidin; my father did not have a job anymore, because his shop had been confiscated. After the war a Bulgarian family had replaced the Turkish family who had been our neighbors and who had left for Turkey. Our new neighbors were a lawyer and his wife and we got along very well with them.

During the mass aliyah in 1947-1948 two of my father's brothers, Sami and Yosef, left with their families for Israel. His third brother, Jacques, who had been to Israel before, remained in Bulgaria. Our family also stayed here. Since we were enrolled in university, we didn't discuss the subject of leaving at all. But there was a period when my father wanted us to leave very much. He even tried to persuade my mother, but she was absolutely against it. She said that she was not going to leaving without us. The reason why I didn't leave was because of my studying and because my husband and I had different political views and opinions.

During the first post-war years life was very hard, everyone was poor, but the relations between the people were very good. We had no problems: there were no anti-Semitic attitudes against us in Vidin or in the university when I got back, or in the political Party Committees and unions. In the first years we were mostly friends with our colleagues in the UYW, the colleagues from the District Committee of the UYW and from the Party Committee. We had much work to do then, because we went to the villages in the district to organize UYW branches there. The villages were in a very miserable condition; we would often catch scabies and lice.

My husband's name is Nissim Moiseev Kohenov, but everyone knew him as Simcho. He was born on 25th December 1922, the third son of a Jewish family of intellectuals. His father, Moisey Kohenov, was one of the very first doctors in Vidin and maybe one of the first doctors in Bulgaria. He was a very good specialist in internal diseases, very distinguished, having graduated in Vienna. Their family was quite well off; his mother didn't work. She had studied in some college in Vienna. They spoke German at home and Bulgarian too, of course. My father's family was Sephardim [see Sephardi Jewry] 27 and they spoke German, because Dr. Kohenov graduated in Vienna and his wife, my mother-in-law, was with him. They also spoke Ladino, but didn't use it much. The father took part in all wars. All the three sons are very intelligent. The eldest one, Santi, left for France to study and remained to live there. The other one, David, got a university degree in medicine in France and then moved to Israel.

While he was in the labor camps my husband was arrested for illegal activities and sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment. He spent more than a year and a half in Vidin prison - until 8th September 1944 when the prison was liberated and the authorities overthrown. He took an active part in that event and started work in the District Committee of the UYW becoming its secretary. After 9th September he devoted himself to political work, at first in the UYW and then in the Party. Later, after 1951, the Central Committee of the Party sent a group to the Military Ministry to organize and head the political departments in the army. So he was sent as a political officer and spent nine years in that position. While he was in the army, he graduated and defended his dissertation at the Military Political Academy. After the army he became a research secretary in the Contemporary and Social Theories Institute.

My husband and I met right after 9th September 1944. The Jewish origin wasn't decisive in my choice for a partner. It was all the same to me whether I would marry a person of Jewish or non-Jewish origin; it just happened that I married a Jew. We loved each other very much and we had a very nice life, recently we celebrated our 50th anniversary. We had known each other for a long time, because we lived in the same neighborhood, but we had never been friends before. He was more distant, colder and more serious. He had excellent marks in high school, and a comprehensive knowledge of the world. He painted very good pictures and loved music. We became friends and fell in love while we worked in the UYW, in the District Committee of the UYW.

We married in 1946. My wedding was very untraditional. The day we decided to marry was a Friday. At that time we both worked in the UYW organization in Vidin and we decided that we had to marry on that day. We had some meetings in the morning and at noon, at around 1:30, while I was having lunch at home, my husband came and we decided to go and marry before the registrar. At that time weddings were made by signing at the registrar in the municipality. I didn't have a wedding gown; I was wearing a plain dress, a red one with white spots. My brother from Sofia, who was a university student, had come to Vidin. He knew that we were going to be married. On our way we met another friend from the committee and invited him too. When we signed, we had to hurry off, because my husband had another meeting while I, as a bride, was given a day off. I went home, my mother had prepared dinner and we invited guests - friends and relatives. My husband had a lot of work to do, so the guests had already arrived and he was still not home. We didn't have a religious wedding, because at that time we were following the communist ideals.

I gave birth to my son Mois in 1947 in Vidin. At that time my husband was sent to work in the Central Committee of the UYW. While I was still pregnant, I had to choose whether to go to Sofia with him and continue my studies, which I had interrupted, or to continue working in Vidin. I decided that it would be better if I continued my studies and went back to Sofia. There I was allowed to start from the second year, although I had taken no exams from the first year and it was extremely hard for me, because I had to study for all exams from both years. But I managed to do it.

We had a very good time as students. My mother looked after the child and I had all the time I needed to study. I took my son only when we went to manifestations. We went to a lot of manifestations at that time: on various holidays such as 9th September, 1st May. Usually, we, the university students, gathered at a certain hour on the day of the manifestation, for example on 9th September or 24th May. We gathered in front of the Medical Academy by faculties and groups. I always took my son with me. Then we marched to the former 9th September Square, now named Alexander Batenberg in front of the mausoleum [of Georgi Dimitrov] and the palace [the former king's palace]. We weren't ordered in neat lines, we just passed with much enthusiasm, singing, carrying slogans on science, the fatherland and the Slavic script. We always had a lot of fun. Sometimes we organized parties after the manifestations.

We were politically active; we had a party organization. I became a member of the Party in Vidin in 1946. It happened at a meeting of the party organization in the neighborhood where we lived - the Jewish living estate Kaleto. In order to be accepted, one had to present two recommendations from older members. My recommendations were from people living in my neighborhood, Jews, but I don't remember their names. I graduated in 1952 and got a job in Sofia.

I don't remember if we had Jewish friends. Most of our friends were Bulgarians and we got along very well with them. It so happened that when we came to Sofia, we didn't know any Jewish families here. Most of my husband's colleagues at the Central Committee were Bulgarians as well as those in the army. Most of the people with whom we had worked during our youth in Sofia were still here and we went out with them.

Of course, at some point there was some general attitude of mistrust towards us Jews during the trial against the army doctors in the Soviet Union, in Leningrad [see Doctor's Plot] 28. The authorities were reluctant to have Jews working at responsible positions, although this attitude was not expressed officially. My husband had to leave the army, because he felt that he was treated differently for being a Jew. This happened in 1951. This general mistrust meant that Jews had very slim opportunities to make a career. My brother also had problems, because he was a military doctor in the Military Medical Academy.

There was also negative attitude towards the people who were leaving for Israel. I'm not very sure if Jews were allowed to immigrate to Israel in the 1950s, but a family, who were friends of ours, moved to Israel in the 1960s. I think that if someone wanted and had close relatives in Israel, they could go. That family moved, because the parents of my friend had already emigrated. She didn't have any problems from the authorities when leaving for Israel.

On the whole all the countries in the Soviet camp were against Israel. I didn't approve of that attitude towards Israel; I was definitely an advocate for the state of Israel! Everybody at home was convinced that the state of Israel must exist and Israeli people should be given the opportunity to live at peace.

It wasn't a secret that during that period my husband and I experienced some disappointments. My husband was very active politically and true to his ideals. We were disappointed by the policy of the party, which deviated from the path, which had been designed earlier. There were a lot of digressions in the interior and foreign policy. We disapproved of the totalitarianism, which was imposed, and of some economic issues. We were also very critical of the Revival Process in Bulgaria 29. So, we were in favor of the democratic changes, which unfortunately also disappointed us later on.

My first job was as a chief doctor of the children's nursery 'Racho Angelov'. It included 70 children and staff - nurses, a pedagogue, orderlies and me. My whole life was devoted to this nursery. It operated during the week and children were taken home during the weekends. Everybody living in the Knyazhevo living estate knew me. At that time Prof. Kolarov was the director of the Pediatrics Institute. One day the institute management came to see how we worked. They liked everything and invited me to work in the institute. After five years of work in the nursery, I went to the Pediatrics Institute as head of the physiological ward. I worked in the institute from 1957 to my retirement.

I have very nice memories from my work. I had a lot of night shifts. I saved a lot of children. Even now parents stop me on the street thanking me for saving their child, which is really a rewarding experience. One night shift there was an earthquake - I can't remember the year - and it was very frightening. I was the only doctor on duty and I was wondering what to do with all those 300 children, who were currently hospitalized. The nurses couldn't take care of more than two or three children at the same time. We had children in incubators - in the ward for prematurely born children. They couldn't be moved outside. All the other children were sleeping. I could do nothing but go around all wards and departments and tell the nurses to stay by the children and do nothing else so that we could react fast if the moment came. It was a scary night. I will never forget it, because it was one of those moments when you don't know how to act. I never gave up in my work. I've had many professional awards - I also have the Order of St. St. Cyril and Methodius - Second Degree. I have donated blood for free every year and have been awarded for that too. On the whole, I was quite brave.

We kept in touch with our relatives in Israel. They came to visit us, we went there too and my parents also visited Israel. I went there for the first time in the 1960s. I traveled by plane. My relatives, my father's two brothers and their families, welcomed me at the airport. Since we were a very united family and I was the eldest daughter, they all loved me. One of my uncles lived in Haifa; the other lived in Sela, which was very close to Haifa. The first evening after my arrival, our two families gathered at Uncle Sela's place. I was very impressed by everything. We also went to Tel Aviv, which was a very nice and big city then. My uncle took me to Jerusalem; we traveled by train. When I saw it with my own eyes, I changed a little my attitude to what I thought was wrong - not about the order, but about the relations with the Arab people, that you cannot establish a secure atmosphere in the state. Yet, we were big patriots here in Bulgaria and we were not very positive about their leaving for Israel, but we never argued with our relatives about it. This was their choice, and a choice of most of the Jewish families in Bulgaria.

My father's brothers and their families returned often to Bulgaria. We also kept in touch by mail. We have always been interested in life in Israel. We read books, newspapers and magazines, but only those that were published in Bulgaria. There was no other way to keep us informed. We exchanged letters regularly with our relatives, but it was more of a correspondence on the family issues and financial situation.

My son also loved his cousins and relatives in Israel very much. He visited Israel for the first time later on. He had no problems for being a Jew and he has always felt Jewish. My husband disapproved of Zionism. During his studies in Vidin he wasn't a member of any Jewish organizations. He joined the illegal UYW from its very beginning before 9th September 1944. But when in 1990 I managed to convince him to come with me to Israel, he was very positively impressed. We spent around a month with our cousins. What he saw in Israel significantly changed his attitude towards the country.

We maintain very good relations with our relatives in Brazil and Venezuela. They also came to visit us. We haven't been to Venezuela, but we have been to Brazil. The brother who lived in Italy and Switzerland and the other one who lived in Venezuela after the war were quite well off and helped us a lot. They not only visited us, but also sent us money and presents.

After 9th September we celebrated Rosh Hashanah and Pesach as family holidays without following the religious rituals. We didn't do taanit for Yom Kippur. My mother made ruskitas for Purim, which were made of alhashuf ['burikitas al hashu' and 'burikitas al ruskitas' are one and the same thing. It is a pastry or a ring-shaped bun with a filling of nuts and sugar, prepared for Purim]. My mother's cuisine was a Jewish one. Unfortunately, we didn't keep kosher and we didn't go to the synagogue. The whole family gathered only on high holidays like Pesach.

My mother liked making the hard-boiled Jewish eggs for Pesach. We also bought matzah from the synagogue for Pesach, although we ate ordinary bread too. We also made burmoelos. We buy matzah nowadays too. We didn't decorate a Christmas tree for Christmas, but we decorated a New Year's tree for our son when he was little and for our granddaughters. Always! But not for Christmas, for New Year's Eve!

We stopped speaking Ladino at home when my grandmother died. My parents and my aunt spoke it but rarely. My son understands spoken Ladino, although he doesn't speak it. My husband doesn't speak Ladino since his family spoke German.

We didn't go to the synagogue. My husband put a lot of effort into trying to convince authorities to restore the synagogue in Vidin, but without success. Even during communism he made a lot of presentations and wrote many letters. He even went in person to the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party, but they always said that there was no money. After the changes [following the events of 10th November 1989] 30, in 1990, when I went to Israel with him, he went to some Bulgarian-Israeli committees, but at that time they were raising money for the Sofia synagogue and they said they couldn't spare more money. In fact, all the money went for the restoration of the Sofia synagogue and the Vidin one fell into decay. One of the ideas of my husband was to turn the synagogue into a concert hall or a gallery. He also fought much for the house of Jules Pascin [born in Vidin in 1885 as Julius Pinkas: painter, aquarellist, engraver], which was destroyed. He wrote a lot of letters and went in person to the Central Committee and other places. We couldn't do anything in the end.

From the Bulgarian holidays we always celebrated New Year's Eve, then we celebrated 1st May, 2nd June [Bulgaria national day, marking the birth of the great Bulgarian poet and revolutionary Hristo Botev. Also the day of commemoration those who perished in the anti-fascist resistance.], 24th May, 9th September and 7th November -October Revolution Day 31. We never decorated eggs on Easter. [Christian Easter tradition, widespread in many countries in Central and Eastern Europe.]

We didn't celebrate name days [widespread in Catholic and Eastern Orthodox countries, originates from days dedicated to Saints], but people always congratulated me on the day of Faith, Hope and Love and their mother Sofia [Eastern Orthodox holiday on 17th September, also the official holiday of the capital of Bulgaria, Sofia.] In fact, I was the only one in the family who had a name day. But when my son married Vera - this is my daughter-in- law's name - she introduced some traditions into the family. When she has a name day, we congratulate her. Since they started living separately, sometimes she decorates eggs for Easter, but not because she is religious, just to follow the tradition.

My granddaughters, Sofia Terzieva, nee Kohenova, and Dora Kohenova, also feel Jewish, although their mother is Bulgarian. They are married to Bulgarians, but they consider themselves Jews. We were never ashamed or afraid to say that we were Jews. My son considers himself a Jew, because he was born one and was brought up in a Jewish family. But he didn't have a religious upbringing. He considers religion a science, something that should be known.

As far as politics was concerned, my son's ideas were very close to ours. He liked the military and wanted to study in the Naval School in Varna, but we didn't want him to. He graduated from the Machine Construction Technical School and now he is an engineer. After the changes he wanted to leave for Israel, because there weren't many job opportunities here. He had a nice job before the changes, but afterwards the management fired the progressive and left-oriented people, and he remained without a job. He couldn't find another job and wanted very much to leave, but his wife Vera didn't want to. He insisted that the children leave too, but they also hesitated. They have all been to Israel, but they still live in Bulgaria. After 1990 my son wanted to leave, my niece - my brother's daughter and her family left then - but he didn't go, because his wife, who is a Bulgarian, didn't want to. If he had left, with his profession as a machine engineer, he would have been able to find a good job. Now, he can no longer find a job in Israel, because he is more than 50 years old. That is also true of my granddaughters. They already have families here and their husbands are not Jews.

My family and I think that the hard period we experienced before the war and the first years after it in terms of economic situation and opportunities for cultural progress ended. After the 1950s life changed and I think that until 1980-85 we lived much better. I can say that for my private life too. We weren't very rich, but we didn't deprive ourselves of anything. We had every opportunity to lead a normal life, to study, work and travel. We loved traveling and did that a lot - in Bulgaria and abroad. We had this apartment that my father bought for us, and a car. We changed our car two or three times. So, I think that on the whole we lived very well.

When the changes took place, we were in favor of them, because we thought things would improve in Bulgaria and some bad aspects of the so-called socialism - it wasn't really socialism, but was called in this way - would be eliminated and things would progress in a democratic European spirit. But we were disappointed quickly. I consider this thirteen-year period as one of the worst periods in the history of Bulgaria - not only in terms of economy, but in all respects. Our family is also not well off. Although my pension isn't that small and my husband's one wasn't either, it's not enough. We cannot afford many things - all kinds of cultural activities such as concerts, theaters, and travels. And this hatred and these relations between the people, the various political groups! Politically, I am still left-oriented.

I don't think that the attitude towards Jews has changed after 1989. I feel that there is some special attitude towards Jews. This is displayed by politicians and reflected in the Israeli policy regarding the Arabs. I don't think there is any danger of official anti-Semitism in Bulgaria, but I think that some people treat Jews differently.

I'm not very active in the Jewish community; I don't take an active part in the activities of Shalom 32. I just don't feel like it. I have close friends, who are Jews and with whom I meet. I go to Shalom, because there is a 'Club of the Jewish Women War Veterans'. There are seven of us in it and we meet once a month. We meet, chat, drink coffee and participate in activities related to the war - for example, on 9th May, the end of World War II, we go to the monument of the Soviet Army. On 2nd June we go to the Monument of the Unknown Soldier, and on 3rd March we lay flowers at the Doctors' Monument [memorial monument in the center of Sofia in memory of the doctors who died in the Russian-Turkish liberation war]. We also celebrate our birthdays and some significant historic dates. Last year I was asked to deliver a report in front of the club 'Golden Age' on the occasion of 9th May. These days I also take part in a doctors' group at Shalom. I don't go to the synagogue on Jewish holidays. It has very special museum value for me. When I have guests, I always take them to see the synagogue.

Glossary

Margarita Kamiyenovskaya
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: June 2005

The chairwoman of the Jewish Community of Estonia, Tsilya Laoud, introduced me to Margarita Kamiyenovskaya. Her family had been friends with Margarita's before Tsilya was born. They have almost kin relations. Margarita lives by herself in a one-room apartment in the central district of the city. An abundance of books is the first thing you see in her apartment. Most of them are in German, English and French. Margarita has been an avid reader since childhood. She still reads a lot. Margarita is a remarkable woman. She is petite, slim and has an excellent posture. Her gray cropped hair is well done. She smiles often and her smile is charming. She is very benevolent and wins you over at once. It took me only a couple of minutes to get the feeling that I had known her all my life. Margarita has a great sense of humor and we often laughed during our conversation. In spite of a long and hard life, Margarita has managed to preserve the feeling of being young and optimistic. This woman is worth being admired.

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary:

Family background

My father's parents were born in Tallinn. I don't know when my paternal grandparents were born. The only thing I can say about my grandmother is that her name was Chava and that she was a housewife. My grandmother died before I was born. There is nothing I know about her kin. My grandfather Shmoul-David Shouman had a small two-storied house. He leased two or three rooms in the house. It was the main income of the family. My grandfather had a brother. I don't know his first name, but his last name was Shouman as well. He lived with his wife in Tartu [about 170km from Tallinn]. He was very religious. He sacredly observed all Jewish traditions, and the kashrut.

There were four children in the family. The eldest was Anna [see Common name] 1, Jewish name Chana. The second was Sarah. My father's third sister was Marzi but her nickname was Masha. My father was the youngest, the long-awaited son. He was born on 16th January 1883. In accordance with the certificate, issued by the town rabbi, he went through the circumcision rite on the eighth day after he was born and was given the name Movshe- Shlem. His father had initially named him Morits.

According to my father, my grandparents were religious. They went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. They observed the kashrut and marked holidays at home. They must have tried raising their children to be religious. My father got some sort of religious education in his childhood. He diverged from religion when he was an adult.

Out of the three sisters, only Anna was married. Her husband's name was Soskin. She became a widow at a rather young age and didn't re-marry. She had no children. I remember her being a widow. Sarah and Marzi remained single. Both of them obtained education and worked. Sarah finished obstetrician courses and worked as an obstetrician in a Jewish town hospital. Marzi graduated from the Medical Department of Tartu University and worked as a therapist.

My grandfather made sure that his children got a good education. My father went to Revelskaya lyceum [in Tsarist Russia Tallinn was called Revel before 1917] and studied there for ten years. Upon graduation Father left for Germany and entered a university in Geiselberg. He studied there and obtained his degree of Doctor of Medicine. After that he was on probation for two years at the university clinic. Then he went back to Estonia, but he wasn't entitled to work on the territory of the Russian empire with a degree from Geiselberg University. He had to sit for some exams in a Russian university to confirm his doctor's degree. He left for Tartu. It was called Yuriev at that time. He stayed at his grandfather's brother's place. My father started getting ready for the exams in all the subjects taught at the medical faculty of the university. He passed all the exams and in 1911 he was reinstated the title of a doctor at the medical faculty of the Emperor's Yuriev University.

My mother was from Kiev [today Ukraine]. I never met my maternal grandparents. I know their names from my mother's birth certificate, which unfortunately isn't preserved. It was written there that her father, Shoulim Shor, born in Pereyaslov [today Ukraine], and her mother Rivka [affectionate for Riva], nee Golberg, were the parents of the daughter born on 6th September 1890 and named Dvosya. My mother was the only daughter. My grandmother died when my mother was little, and my grandfather got married again when the customary mourning period was over. He had another daughter in the second marriage. I don't remember her name.

My mother went to a private Realschule 2 in Kiev. She did well and finished a full course there. This is all I know about my mother's childhood. Her family lived in Kiev. She told me about the Jewish pogroms [see Pogroms in Ukraine] 3, which had taken place in Ukraine before the revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 4 and during the Civil War 5.Once my maternal grandfather was chased by pogrom-makers. He barely reached his friend's house. He even lost his rubber boots on the way. He spent the night at his friend's place after having called home. There were a lot of Jews in that district. There was a military unit in the vicinity. The Jews collected money and paid the soldiers monthly so that they maintained order. After that no pogroms took place in that district.

Growing up

During World War I, my father was a battalion doctor in the tsarist army. His unit was positioned in Kiev for a while. He met my mother somehow and they got married in Kiev on 22nd October 1915. They must have had a traditional Jewish wedding as my mother's parents were religious. When the unit, where my father served, was transferred to Kharkov [440km from Kiev], my mother left with him. I was born in Kharkov on 28th July 1917. I was named Margarita. I wasn't given a Jewish name. When I turned one, my father was demobilized and my parents moved to Tallinn. I don't remember where our family lived upon our arrival in Tallinn. My parents didn't stay together for a long time. Shortly after moving to Tallinn, my father was drafted into the army again.

In late 1918 the Estonian War of Liberation 6 was unleashed and my father was drafted into the Estonian People's Army. The Estonian army fought with the Estonian communists, who were supported by the Red Army. In 1919 Estonia was attacked by German troops and they had to struggle against them. My father was a combat doctor and he took part in the battles. In 1920 Russia recognized Estonia as an independent state [see Estonian Independence] 7. The period of the First Estonian Republic 8 commenced. My father told me about his military service. He was a battalion doctor and saved many lives. The soldiers gave him a large silver glass-holder with an engraving. He told me funny stories about what had happened to him during his service. Once, their unit had stayed at some station for a long time. There were no toilets and the soldiers had to relieve themselves wherever they could. The entire territory was contaminated. My father submitted a report to the battalion commander who gave an order to build a toilet. It was a long wooden barrack with a huge pit with wooden planking with 25 holes. When it was ready, my father and the commander looked at it admiringly. A soldier was passing by, whistled approvingly and looking at the toilet squatted nearby.

My father was demobilized and he came back home. My parents rented an apartment in the center of Tallinn. A Jew, Berkovich, was the landlord.

My father worked as a doctor for an insurance company, which was involved in insurance and medical services for the marines and port workers. Besides that, he had a private practice. He had an office at home and received patients there. There was a law in the period of the First Estonian Republic regarding medicine: no doctor was entitled to refuse a patient for medical assistance. If a doctor was called during an accident, he was supposed to render assistance whether the patient was able to pay or not. We lived in the vicinity of the Tallinn port and my father was often called to the harbor at night. It was a very dangerous district. He had a permit from the police to keep a gun in case he had to go to the port as per night call. He never used it. My father said that there were fishy people who appeared in the darkness. They came up and encircled him. Then he heard somebody whisper, 'Don't touch him, he's a doctor', and those people left.

I should say that there was an apple-pie order in prewar Estonia. Police took efforts to maintain the order. There was a policeman on every corner and each of them was on vigil and did his best to make sure that nothing bad happened on his site. If something came up, they would run to the place of the incident. People respected the policemen and appreciated their work.

At that time the Jewish youth was actively getting ready to leave for Palestine. There were Zionist youth organizations, which nurtured future settlers for Palestine and taught them the necessary professions. But the quota for immigration to Palestine from Estonia was inconsiderable at that time and many people who wished to build the new state didn't manage to get there. Since my father was a port doctor, he knew all the captains very well. Many Jewish guys who wanted to leave for Palestine were hired as sailors with the help of my father and their dream to reach Palestine came true.

Even in the tsarist times in Estonia there was no five percent quota 9 for the Jewish students, which was enforced throughout the Russian empire. That is why a large number of Jews went to Tartu to study at the university there. I remember, once I was on an excursion at Tartu University and the following was written in German on a cell wall, 'I sat here for teasing a Jewish student Khan.' It was proof that even in tsarist times anti-Semitism was persecuted in Estonia. There was a Judaic department in Tartu University at that time. Of course, I can't say that there was no anti- Semitism in the period of the Estonian Republic. I think it has always been in all countries at all times and will always be there while Jews are alive.

It was true that there was no official state anti-Semitism during Estonian times. There has never been a [Jewish] Pale of Settlement 10 in Estonia, there was no such notion as a shtetl, a small place. Jews were free to settle in any place they wished. Jews mostly settled in big cities such as Tallinn and Tartu. The only restriction for the Jewish youth was to study in military schools. There was a lot of Jewish intelligentsia. Many enterprises, stores and restaurants belonged to Jews. They gained even more rights in 1926 when the Jewish Culture Autonomy 11 was established as per resolution of the Estonian government. The Jewish Culture Autonomy ruled Jewish life in the country. There were numerous Jewish organizations. There was a students' fund which had been organized by Tartu University where poor students received donations from rich Jewish families to fund their studies. There were students' corporations. The Jewish theater was open as well as Jewish schools and lyceums.

My father was the only one who worked in our family. My mother was a housewife. She took care of me and the household. I was an only child. At first, my mother did all the chores by herself, but she was rather feeble. When my father started making good money, he hired a maid.

I had been bilingual since childhood. My father always spoke German to me and my mother spoke Russian. So, it's hard for me to say which of these languages I consider to be my native. Both of those languages were my first. Of course, soon I became fluent in Estonian living in an Estonian environment and playing with Estonian children. Nobody spoke Yiddish at home.

I can't say that my parents were religious. Some Jewish traditions were definitely observed. My father always contributed money to charity. Though rarely, my father did go to the synagogue. I don't know on which days. It seems to me that my mother didn't go to the synagogue except on Yom Kippur. It was the only holiday we always marked at home the way it was supposed to be. We conducted the kapores rite, but we didn't do it with a living hen, but with money. Then we took that money to the synagogue for indigent people. We obligatorily fasted all day long on Yom-Kippur in accordance with the tradition. I still fast on Yom-Kippur. On Yom Kippur my parents used to spend almost the whole day in the synagogue. I also went to the synagogue on that day, but not for the whole day. At home dishes of Jewish cuisine were cooked, such as chicken broth, and gefilte fish. We had matzah on Pesach, we didn't eat bread. We didn't mark any other Jewish holidays at home.

The chief rabbi of Estonia, Aba Gomer 12, lived on the ground floor of our house. He was a very intelligent and well-bred man, a doctor of philosophy of Bonn University. Every Saturday Doctor Gomer invited to his place children who studied at Jewish schools. He told them the history of the Jewish people and after the classes his wife treated all the children to tea and a scrumptious pie. Those Sabbath classes at Dr. Gomer's place were very interesting. On Jewish holidays, he invited all the representatives of the Jewish intelligentsia and their families, who rarely visited the synagogue, to his home. We marked all the holidays at his house. I remember Pesach best of all. We always went to Dr. Gomer's house on pascal seder. He conducted it with all rites being observed. There were goblets with wine for each guest and one for the prophet Elijah. There were ten traditional pascal dishes. When he read a prayer, he always told us the story behind it and the meaning of it. I vividly remember all of it. When Tallinn was occupied by fascists in 1941 Dr. Gomer refused to evacuate. He said he had no right to leave while at least one Jew remained in the city. When we came back from evacuation, we were told that the Germans had taunted and then finally murdered him.

When I turned eight, my parents sent me to the German girls' lyceum. It was considered to be the best in Tallinn in terms of education. Not only children of Germans went there, but also many Estonians and Jews. The tuition fee was rather high. It was mandatory to wear the uniform consisting of a navy blue jacket, skirt, and beret with three white stripes. We also wore a lyceum badge on the chest.

Teaching was in German. It wasn't hard for me as I had been speaking German with my father since childhood. Estonian, English and French were taught at the lyceum. We were taught so well that even when I went on vacation to Paris for a couple of weeks and told people that I had to be off to work, they thought that I was about to leave France to go on vacation, they didn't believe that I wasn't French.

I was the only Jew in my class. I was friends with a Jewish girl, Anita, who studied in the parallel group. My other friends were two Estonian girls and one Swedish girl. I wasn't friends with the Germans.

Even though I went to a German lyceum, my class teacher always used to tell me on the eve of the Jewish holidays that I could stay home on the occasion of the holiday. On Yom Kippur, Anita and I went to the synagogue for half a day and then we strolled along the city. We stopped by the show windows of confectionary stores and enjoyed looking at deserts, knowing that we couldn't eat them. The next day we weren't willing to eat them either.

When in 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany, there were no changes for us in Estonia on the whole, but since that time our teachers starting saying upon entering the classroom, 'Heil Hitler!' But I can't say that they started treating me or the other Jews differently.

My father adored to go for a saunter. I accompanied him. As I grew up, our routes became longer. We went hiking throughout Estonia. We left home on Saturday and came back late Sunday. My mother didn't join us as she was delicate. My father and I spent the night in hamlets. Estonian peasants didn't cluster together in villages. Each peasant family settled on a small or large farmstead depending on the prosperity of the hosts. Whichever hamlet we came across, hospitable hosts offered us something to eat, fresh milk and to stay overnight. Estonians were good people. There were no thieves. Dwellers of Estonian hamlets didn't even lock their doors when they left the house. They just propped up the door with a broomstick which meant that the hosts weren't in. My father and I were mad about the sea. My father was an excellent swimmer and he taught me how to swim. I spent a lot of time at the seaside in summer time. There was a beach not far from our home. There were swimming courses held by an instructor. I also took those courses. I swam for seven kilometers every day. Then I hired a kayak and went across the gulf. On the way back I longed to swim, so when I was half way I jumped off the kayak and swam. Then I got back on and went back home. I also went in for water jumping. I enjoyed swimming with my father. Once, my father saved a drowning man. Apart from swimming I went skiing and did gymnastics. There was the Maccabi club [see Maccabi World Union] 13, which offered a lot of sports activities. There was a wonderful gym there.

Besides Maccabi there were a lot of Jewish youth organizations in Tallinn, such as Hashomer Hatzair 14 and Betar 15. I was a member of the youth organization WIZO 16. It was a ladies' Zionist organization with an affiliate for the youth. The main task of WIZO was to propagate the Zionist movement as a liberation movement of the Jewish people, i.e. giving up being a slave and becoming a valuable Israeli citizen. Another very important goal was the prosperity of Israel. Money was collected for Palestine. It was allocated to the construction of houses, kindergartens, aid for the wounded. Of course, one of WIZO's tasks was to take care of elderly people. WIZO volunteers visited elderly people, took food to them, cleaned their apartments, and read out loud to them. The Jewish community did a lot for those people as well, but WIZO made its contribution as well. Even now, going back to the past, I realize how much WIZO had done in order for us to become kind and sympathetic people, willing to help those who are needy without being asked and convinced. We were taught those things at WIZO.

I remember one Estonian journalist, whose name I don't remember, who was a terrible anti-Semite. Almost all of his articles contained some infamous things about Jews. Then he went to Palestine and changed completely afterwards. His articles on Palestine were full of admiration and he never wrote anything bad about Jews after that.

I finished a full course at the lyceum, eleven grades, in 1936. My parents decided that I should take some time off after schooling. First I went on a voyage to Sweden. Then my friend and I went to Finland. I think the Olympic Games were being held at that time. During Estonian times the round trip to Finland cost five kronas. It's difficult for me to convert it into any modern currency; all I can say is that I could buy two kilograms of butter now with the amount I paid for the trip. A foreign passport wasn't required. We just had to pay one krona for the certificate at the police station. My friend and I arrived in Helsinki [Finland's capital] and had problems with accommodation. There were no rooms available at the hotels. We spent one night on the ship we had traveled on, and the next day we were about to go back home when we were discussing that problem, a lady came up to us and suggested that we stay at her place. This Finnish lady took us to her place and said that we would stay there by ourselves as she moved to the village during the summer. She added if we were to leave before her return, we should leave the money and keys on the table. I'm telling you this story to emphasize that it was natural for people to trust each other.

Upon my return to Tallinn, I started looking for a job. I was told that in some enterprise there was an open position of a clerk, proficient in foreign languages. We were taught clerical work and foreign languages at school. Thus, I went there, but I wasn't given the job because of some lame excuse. I was hired for the same position at a Jewish firm.

The impact of fascism was noticeable. I spent my first vacation in Paris in the summer of 1937. On my way to France I had to change trains in Berlin [today Germany]. I had to wait for the train on the platform. SS patrols were walking on the platform. Suddenly I saw a Jew with sidelocks in a long black coat and black hat. He was probably a rabbi. Without paying attention to the SS soldiers, he went along the platform calmly and with dignity. Then he sat down on a bench. He must have been waiting for the train. I was rapt with his courage. I didn't feel comfortable in the presence of the black SS uniforms, and I didn't stand out as much as he did. Besides, I didn't know that much about the attitude of fascists towards Jews.

By the beginning of the 1930s my mother had gone to the USSR to visit her family. My grandfather had left Kiev for Moscow [today Russia], where his younger daughter lived. It was hard to get a visa to the USSR. Since my father was a very good doctor and often called to the Soviet embassy to render medical assistance, the ambassador issued my mother a visa as per my father's request. I don't remember everything my mother told me about her trip. What I remember is that the first thing upon my mother's arrival was my grandfather's warning that the janitor of their house was employed by the NKVD 17, so my mother had to watch her conversation. There was another amusing case. My mother was definitely dressed in a different way from the Soviet people, who were mostly dressed very poorly. Once on a warm day, my mother took off her coat and carried it in her hand and almost every passer-by asked if she was selling it.

Following her trip to Moscow, my mother corresponded with her stepsister for a while. She had married some great either state or political leader. When the period of repressions commenced in the USSR [see Great Terror (1934-1938)] 18, her sister's husband was arrested and shot and she was sent into exile. We stopped corresponding after that. I know that after the war she came back from exile, but she feared to write [see Keep in touch with relatives abroad] 19. Very many people were afraid at that time.

We had to move to another apartment. There was an economic recession in Estonia and the price of apartments went up considerably. A landlord wasn't entitled to raise the lease rate for those who already lived in his house. Then Berkovich decided to evict all former dwellers to lease the vacated apartment at a more expensive rate. Some people moved out, but my father and another Estonian family living on the second floor, refused to leave. Berkovich resorted to all kinds of tricks to make us leave. First he did some repair works in front of the house: he put some boards along our house so that it would be hard to enter the building. He didn't succeed. Then he came into our kitchen and started cutting our floor as if preparing it for fixing. My father took out a pistol and told him to leave. Finally we found another place to stay and moved out.

During the War

In 1939, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 20 was signed between the USSR and Germany. Soviet military bases were founded in Estonia [see Estonia in 1939- 1940] 21. The USSR motivated it by acerbated international environment and the necessity to protect adjacent countries from attack. At that time the Soviet military didn't communicate with the local population. Probably their commanders had forbidden them to do that. We felt the Soviet presence in 1940. At that time the parliament was dissolved and the government resigned due to numerous demonstrations of the workers demanding resignations from the government. A new government held elections and the communist party, which was previously banned, came to power. After that the government addressed a request to the Soviet Union regarding Estonia joining the USSR. This took place on 6th August 1940. Estonia became a Soviet Republic.

Many things changed in our lives. It was the first time when I saw the queues in the grocery stores. My mother, having been in the USSR and having a better picture of Soviet reality, was deterred. She said that we would have to look for a smaller apartment as they would start accommodating new- comers from the USSR. The NKVD office was in front of our house so the dwellers of the houses nearby and in front of it were evicted. My mother found a small apartment for us and we moved in there. People's property was expropriated. Enterprises, and stores were taken over and they called it nationalization. The owner was merely turned out and the management was taken over by the commissar assigned by the Soviet regime [see Political officer] 22. It was scary. Every day was boding new trouble. There was no resistance as everybody was aware that nothing could be done against the military power of the USSR.

Then came the day of deportation: 14th June 1941 [see Soviet Deportation of Estonian Civilians] 23. It was probably the darkest day in the history of Estonia. It didn't just change the fate of the people deported from Estonia, but also the destiny of the remaining Estonian Jews. The list of people to be deported was made beforehand and we found out about that only later. The car with NKVD officers went to people's houses and these people were given half an hour to pack. Then they were taken to the train station, where all arrangements were made for their departure. The men were sent to the Gulag 24 and the women and children were exiled. Politicians, people who disapproved of the Soviet power, rich people, i.e. the owners of real estates, well-off peasants who came to prosperity by working hard, were to be exiled from Estonia. There were cases where people were exiled for no reason.

There was a Jewish family, Olephson, who lived not far from our house. They owned a small store in front of our house. They didn't have any hired employees. They did all the work by themselves to make a living. I remember that one night the NKVD stormed their apartment and took them away. It was dreadful. 10,000 people were exiled, whereas the total population of Estonia was about 1,000,000. There were mostly Estonians among the exiled, but there were also Jews, Russians and Belarusian. Nationality didn't matter. It was ideology that mattered. It can't be compared to the Holocaust, but Stalin's camps weren't much better than Hitler's. Of course, it's clear why Estonians started to hate the Russians after that. The atrocities happening in Estonia during the war, when Estonians murdered Jews, commenced on that very day. Estonians recognized fascists as liberators from Soviet oppression and strove to do anything for the Germans. They chose the lesser of two evils.

22nd June 1941 was a Sunday. It was an ordinary weekend morning, when people could stay longer in bed and then start the day. At noon Molotov's 25 speech was broadcast on the radio, where he announced that fascists had attacked [the USSR] without declaring war and he added, 'Our cause is just and we will win.'

Soon the Germans started air raids. Trains heading for the rear of Russia departed from Tallinn railway station. Authorized employees of Estonia were evacuated and my father was among them as he was a doctor. Thus, our family had no choice but to leave. My father tried convincing three of his sisters to get evacuated with him, but they flatly refused. They thought that three elderly political ladies, fluent in German, had nothing to fear. If the Soviet regime didn't exile them, the Germans would do no harm to them. People say that they were murdered by the Germans in 1941, but I think they were merely killed by Estonians. It might have happened before the Germans' arrival. There were cases like that.

We left for evacuation. We didn't know where exactly we were going. All we knew was that we were heading for the rear of Russia. Since we took the train in which high officials where, there was a luggage compartment. We were able to take only the most precious things we had. We stopped in Tatarstan [today Russia] and then we were taken to a Tartar village called Staraya Kulatka [900 km east of Moscow]. Our family was accommodated in the house of a local. We had barely settled in, when the commissar of the local NKVD showed up. I had a typewriter and of course I had taken it with me. I don't know how the commissar found out about that but he asked me questions and said that he was confiscating it as it was a means of propaganda. We were naive at that time and didn't know about omni-power, omniscience and permissiveness, enjoyed by NKVD USSR. My father wasn't scared. He told the NKVD activist that the most considerable means of propaganda was the tongue and asked whether he would cut out our tongues? My father turned him out and the commissar left embittered.

I didn't know what was in store for us, but we were lucky. There wasn't a single medical worker in the village, not even a medical assistant. On that day, the mother of the NKVD commissar got ill and he came to my father for help. After that he left us in peace. Life in Staraya Kulatka was hard. It was a Mohammedan village and we were housed in the hut of a local, Mullah. As far as I understood, in accordance with Islam any harm done by a Mohammedan to an infidel would be pleasing Allah. Thus, they treated us accordingly. We weren't mere infidels to them, we were Jews: their most malicious enemies. I remember once, Mullah decided to do us good. We lived from hand to mouth and ate only potatoes. We didn't even have bread. Our hosts were pretty prosperous. They had a lot of sheep and ate meat every day. One day there was a great Muslim holiday. I don't remember which one, but on that day Allah had to do good to everybody. Our host decided to do good to us. He said that on that day we were allowed to boil our potatoes in their meat soup. We were so hungry that we agreed to that. I remember it very vaguely.

We stayed for about half a year in Staraya Kulatka. Then we moved to a grain Sovkhoz 26 not far from Syzran [today Russia] [800 km east of Moscow]. My father worked as a doctor in the Sovkhoz and I did odd jobs. In fall and summer I worked in the fields. We were given a room in the barracks where the sovkhoz workers and evacuees lived. There was a loudspeaker in every room. Of course, we were naive and didn't know that the loudspeaker was used for other purposes but listening to the radio. Once, the director of the sovkhoz was angry with my father and said he knew all we were talking about. Then one of my father's patients warned him not to talk about politics in the room as there was a loudspeaker there. It was a powerful dynamic speaker and if somebody was connected to it he could hear all conversations in the room.

We stayed in the grain sovkhoz for less than a year as my father was taken to Syzran. It was a miners' town. My father worked in the hospital. It was very primitive. There wasn't even a lab. My father worked in the therapeutic department and received patients. Medicine was given in the hospital as per prescription of the doctor, and the junior medical employees stole medicine. Doctors constantly checked with every patient whether they had taken their medicine. If they hadn't, it meant that it had been stolen.

The locals treated us fairly well. But the crime situation in the town was horrible. There was larceny and plunder. There was an unwritten law: if you saw a person being robbed, you had to keep silent. If you warned the victim, the gangsters might beat you black and blue or even kill you. There was another rule: if you caught a thief who was trying to rob you, you could do to him anything you liked, either beat or kill him, and nobody would interfere. The police preferred to stay away in both cases.

After we moved to Syzran, I worked in the office of the municipal health care department. Then I was mobilized to anti-aircraft defense. The command center of the anti-aircraft troops was deep in the earth and we had to stay there for 24 hours and then we could take a day off for another 24 hours. I was a telephone operator. There were two dozen phones and one operations phone connected to the observation post. Syzran was located at the Volga River, so the position in the town was semi-military. When the German aircrafts were approaching the town, we were to report from the observation post over the operations phone. The person on duty was to stay at the table and if the phone rang, he had to pick up the receiver within a second and a half and answer the call.

There was a bunk in another corner of the room, where people on duty could lie down, but they were afraid to do so as it was impossible to reach the phone in a second and a half. Once I was very tired and took a nap. I woke up from the sound of my own voice. I was by the phone and said, 'Headquarters of the anti-aircraft defense troops. The operating orderly speaking!' There were a lot of mice in the headquarters. Once, I was at the table, wearing valenki [warm Russian felt boots], and the mice were running on my feet. After the anti-aircraft defense I was sent to nurses' courses. At that time my mother and I stayed together. My father had left as he was called to Leningrad [today St. Petersburg, Russia]. All Estonian doctors were called to work in Leningrad at that time. My father was transferred to Tallinn in 1944 before the war was over. We went back to Tallinn in fall 1944.

After the War

We got our previous apartment back. My father regained his work. It was definitely hard at first. We starved. Products could be purchased only with food cards [see Card system] 27. We managed somehow. I worked for Vtorsyryo [The company's name originates from the words 'secondary raw materials'. The firm took scrap metal and paper litter from the citizens at dirt cheap prices and sent those materials to processing facilities]. The firm was headed by a Jew, Kamusher, and he talked me into working there. The war wasn't over and the unemployed youth was mobilized for work at the plants. I was daunted by such a prospect, so I accepted the offer to work for Vtorsyryo.

Upon our return to Tallinn we found out about the behavior of Estonians during the German occupation. There was a small grocery store on our street, where we were regular customers. The owner of the store was Estonian who ostensibly treated us nicely. When the Germans came to Tallinn, he took them to our apartment and told them that there were Jews living there. We were lucky not to have been in Tallinn at that time. My father had a marvelous painting given to him by an artist from Vienna [today Austria]. The painting was called 'Praying Jew.' When leaving for evacuation, we hadn't taken it with us as it was rather big, so it stayed in the apartment. When we went back, we found it on the garret. It had been pierced with bayonets all over.

A very pleasant Estonian man was in charge of the storage facility at our work. He was respected at work and was elected the chairman of the comrade's court [Editor's note: In the USSR there were comrade's courts, consisting of the most respectable members of the team. Those courts were meant for minor delinquencies and violations of certain orders or standards by the employees of the enterprise. They could make an administrative penalty: deprivation of bonus, make a reprimand etc.]. His wife also worked in our office. Both of them had a good attitude towards the Jews who had returned from evacuation, and helped them. After the war there was a demonstrative trial in Tallinn, where those, who facilitated the Germans in fuselage of Jews and Estonians, were condemned.

The trial took place in the cinema building and people could get in there with special passes. My friend gave me his pass for one day and I went there. Indicated were the interrogated and the things discussed were horrifying. Suddenly I saw a familiar face on the stage. It was that pleasant Estonian, who had treated the Jews so well. During his interrogation it was found out that there was a board which processed capital punishment sentences and he was the chairman of that board. He was tried and sentenced to the Gulag. He got severely ill there. In a couple years he was released from the camp and returned to Tallinn. Of course, I went to work very worried and shared the things I had witnessed. The Estonians didn't change their opinion of that person, but the Jews, of course, took it the way I did. His wife remained at work and after that she tried to ingratiate herself with me.

I can't say that the Soviet regime was always fair at the punishment of people. My father had a good friend, a Jew. His wife came from Estonian Germans. They had two daughters, who I was friends with. That family wasn't evacuated. When the Germans came to Tallinn, my father's friend was arrested immediately and shot shortly afterwards. When Estonia was liberated, his wife and children were exiled as Germans. They were sent to a kolkhoz 28 and given a tiny hut. It was like a den. It was hard to imagine anything of the kind. I am short, and I could easily reach the ceiling. My friends' mother met an exiled Estonian of German origin, Taube, and they got married there. Only when the daughters received their passports, where their Jewish nationality was indicated, were they able to come back to Tallinn. [Editor's note: In the USSR the ethnic identity was indicated in citizens' passports. The situation in the Soviet Union was such that Jews had problems with entering higher educational institutions, finding jobs, traveling to foreign countries, etc.] One of the daughters didn't return, she made a living there. She repaired her hut, planted vegetables and fruits in the garden. I used to visit her often in summer. The place was beautiful. It was on the bank of the lake. I was able to swim there for a long time.

After the war I heard from my German lyceum alumni, who lived in Germany. Many Estonian Germans left Estonia in 1939 when Hitler called upon Germans, living out of Germany, to go back to their motherland. After the war most of my classmates came back to Tallinn. They were so tender and amiable. After being in Tallinn they founded a fund in Germany for the alumni of our lyceum and sent money from time to time. They didn't send big amounts, but still it was helpful. Only one of them is still alive. She calls me at times. She said she would come over in August. She is my age. And this is the age when people don't make long-term plans.

In 1945 I met my mother's cousin, who lived in a town outside Moscow called Cherkizovo [today Russia]. I was assigned the director of the production department and was sent to Cherkizovo to attend refreshing courses. I settled in the hostel. My mother gave me her cousin's address and I went to see her. She lived with two daughters. The next day she came to my hostel and took me to her place. I lived with her for two months. At that time Cherkizovo was like a village. There was not even water supply. There was a water pump in the corner and everybody went to fetch water from there. It was scary to live there. In that period of time packs of gangsters who had been released from prison, being pardoned after the war, were active. It was dangerous when it got dark. One could be robbed and killed. I went home late by tram and it was frightening to walk along the deserted streets.

The Tallinn synagogue 29 was destroyed during the bombing of Tallinn by the Soviet aviation in March 1944. In the post-war period there was no synagogue in Tallinn. I remember, shortly after the war, Tallinn Jews started collecting money for the construction of the synagogue. They came to my father. Of course, he gave as much as he could. He said that he wasn't religious, but a Jew. Soviet authorities banned the construction of the synagogue. There was an anti-religion struggle in Estonia, which commenced in the USSR in the 1920-30s [see Struggle against religion] 30. The Jewish community created a small semi-legal prayer house. It was a small premise, where people would go and pray. My father also went there. On holidays there were many people and on Yom Kippur even those who didn't show up in the prayer house on other occasions, came to pray. After Rabbi Aba Gomer had been killed by the Germans, there was no rabbi in the community. After the war Tallinn Jews had no opportunity to maintain a rabbi and his family. There were people who applied for the position of the rabbi, but they had no rabbinical education. They could be called rabbi conditionally. One of them was the gabbai, the elder of a religious synagogue. There was no organized Jewish life.

I got married after the war. I don't remember how I met my husband. Roubin Kamiyenovskiy was born in Tartu and graduated from Tartu University. He was a Jew. Before the Soviet regime came to power, I often attended students' dancing parties, arranged by the university. We probably met there. Later, when I went to Tartu on business trips, Roubin went to Tallinn. I can't remember how many years passed. My memory fails me now. After graduating from university, Roubin became a lawyer and worked as legal counselor. When the war was unleashed, he was drafted in the lines. With the foundation of the Estonian Rifle Corps 31, Roubin was transferred there. He had served in the corps until Victory Day, but in 1945 he wasn't demobilized. He was still serving in the army as a lieutenant. We got married when Roubin was in the army. We went to the marriage registration office and he said that he had to be off to the military unit on the same day. We didn't have a Jewish wedding.

My father-in-law was very pious and he didn't forgive us. Roubin's elder brother had a true Jewish wedding under a chuppah, carried out by a rabbi. My father-in-law used to say that he had only one daughter-in-law, the wife of his elder son. Only after my husband's death, at his funeral, his father said that I had been married for three years and even if I had lived with his son for 30 years, I wouldn't have been able to do more than I had done in those three years. Roubin was afflicted with quinsy. He didn't stay in bed and had a complication on the endocardium. He was sick for two years, mostly staying in hospital. It was dreadful. The conditions in the hospital are much to be deplored now, but back in that time they were simply inhuman. Then his front-line comrade was appointed the Minister of Health of Estonia. I had an appointment with him and he made arrangements for Roubin to be transferred to a governmental hospital. The conditions were much better there, but it was of no help. I was at work during the day and at night I was on duty in the hospital, staying by my husband's bed. It was scary. Roubin died in that hospital in 1951.

My father died before my husband in 1949. Before his death, my father started talking about his funeral and said that the burial service would be read by Gourevich, who had been a cantor in the Tallinn synagogue before the war. My father was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn in accordance with the Jewish rites. The funeral service was carried out by people who were applying for the position of the rabbi. My husband was buried next to my father.

In 1948 Israel became an official state. It was great news for our family. Finally, after 2000 years of exile Jews had their own state. We followed scarce messages in the papers, in case anything was mentioned on life in Israel.

All of us had Soviet passports. We were surprised that there was a section for nationality in our passports, but that made the work of HR departments and the NKVD easier. In 1948 anti-cosmopolitan campaigns commenced in the USSR [see Campaign against 'cosmopolitans'] 32. Every day we read articles in the papers about rootless cosmopolitans, who were willing to do harm to the USSR: actors, artists, scientists, writers. All of them were Jews. The Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 33 was exterminated and its members were executed or exiled to the Gulag. A Jewish actor, Solomon Mikhoels 34, was assassinated. Estonians were indifferent to that, but those who came from the USSR, ardently condemned cosmopolitans. That campaign kindled anti-Semitism, but it wasn't done by Estonians, but by the new-comers. Then repressions commenced. In 1949 many citizens of Estonia were deported. Many of them were deported for the second time. They came from the first exile and were to be exiled again. I understood that something even more dreadful was brewing, and I was right.

In January 1953 the Doctors' Plot 35 commenced. Of course, it wasn't as horrible in Estonia as it was in Russia. One of my colleagues had returned from Leningrad and said that when he was in the tram, the ticket-collector and some passengers were discussing what should be done with the Jews in the tram. They suggested that the Jews should be ousted from the tram, but the ticket-collector talked them out of it in a peculiar way saying that it wasn't the time. Of course, nothing of the kind happened here. Though, directors of enterprises were ordered by Moscow to fire all Jews. Sometimes people were dissolved for 'incompetence'. I was called to the HR department and was told to write a resignation letter. I did. My direct boss, an Estonian, was fired probably for 'wrong' recruitment. I was looking for a job for three months, but as soon as the HR department saw my passport, it turned out that there were no job openings. Then my former boss offered me a job as a supplier in a service company he worked for. We collected scrap metal in the dumps and cut fir tree branches before New Year. I hoped that our life would change for the better after the Twentieth Party Congress 36, when Khrushchev 37 held a speech, exposing Stalin's crimes. There were no quick changes. Only after ten years or so I got a good job. I was hired as a dispatcher in a company, dealing with timber: Lespromsbyt. Then I was in charge of the transportation department. I worked there until my retirement.

My mother and I remained by ourselves in the apartment after my father's death. In Soviet terms our apartment was too big for two people. I was called to the Ispolkom 38 and told that half of our apartment would have to be occupied [by some other tenants] and that we would be left with two rooms. Our acquaintances, an Estonian couple, needed lodging and we gave them half of our apartment. We decided that if we had to share the apartment, it would be better to do that with people we knew. We made a big mistake. Our new neighbors started harassing us, nagging at every trifle. It happened so that my mother was afraid to go into the kitchen when I wasn't around. Before going to work I cooked lunch for my mother and left it in her room. She warmed it on a small electric oven. This went on for a long time. A new house was built in front of ours and we exchanged both our rooms for a one-room apartment in a new building. I still live there.

In the 1970s a new wave of immigrations of Jews to Israel started. I sympathized with those who had made up their minds to leave, and later I was happy for them when I found out that they had settled in well. I couldn't think of immigration for two reasons: my mother was feeble and started feeling unwell with age. She wouldn't have been able to survive the change. I was the only one she had. The other reason was that I could never stand heat. I couldn't even sunbathe on the beach.

When I turned 55 I had to resign. My mother was seriously ill by then and I couldn't leave her alone. It was impossible to live on two skimpy pension benefits. I stayed home for a couple of months and realized that both of us would starve to death. There was a telephone station by our house and I went there to work as a janitor. It was hard work for me. There were high ceilings and I had to climb the step-ladder every day to dust them. I didn't want to lose that job because it was nearby. If my mother had a fit, she called me and I ran home. It happened almost every day. Then there was a time, when I couldn't leave my mother even for an hour and I had to quit my job. It was hard. I sold my jewelry, silverware, even our silver goblets for pascal seder, and books. My mother died in 1991. There was a burial plot for my mother next to my father's grave. Before her death she told me to have her buried over my father and leave the second empty lot for me. That was the way I did it. Of course, my mother was buried in strict accordance to the Jewish rites.

I felt very rueful after my mother's death. I remained by myself. Reading was the only thing that saved me. I always adored reading books in English, French and German. Sometimes I read in Estonian. I asked for permission to work in the library, in the foreign languages department. I worked for a couple of months for free and then I was hired and paid a salary. All employees of the library were Estonians and all of them treated me very nicely. I quit that job a long time ago, but still they come over for a visit and bring me books to read. I can't afford to buy things and it's hard for me to go to the library. They usually bring me foreign books which help me not to forget the language.

Perestroika 39 commenced in the 1980s. Maybe for the reason that Gorbachev 40 was younger than his predecessors he understood that the previous regime couldn't exist anymore, and the time for change had come. We really noticed daily changes at first and it made us happy. In the end, the USSR got the liberties guaranteed by the constitution, but not enforced in actuality. For the first time in so many years we were able to openly correspond with people living abroad and visit other countries. We gained the freedom of speech, in meetings, the press, and religion. There was much less anti-Semitism after perestroika. It was always been present in everyday life, but now there was no state anti-Semitism. When Gorbachev was in power the Jewish community of Estonia 41 was officially registered. It was the first officially recognized Jewish community on the territory of the USSR. They even approved symbolism: Magen David and hexagram. It wasn't possible before as it was considered propaganda of Zionism.

In the USSR Zionism was a synonym of fascism. The Community was given the building of the former Jewish lyceum [see Tallinn Jewish Gymnasium] 42. In 1990 the Jewish community revived the ladies' Zionist organization, WIZO. Of course, in Estonia we couldn't collect money for Israel, as we didn't have such money. The women from WIZO helped sick people, visited hospitals, brought food, congratulated people on holidays, brought humanitarian help and gave it to people for free. They did what they could and the WIZO motto in many countries of the world was: if Diaspora is strong, Israel is strong. Unfortunately, mostly elderly people worked in WIZO, but they were very active. Many of them left for America, Israel, some of them went to Germany, unfortunately. I can't understand those Jews who are leaving for Germany. Even now I can't forget those things that happened during the war and I can't forgive the Germans. I realize that those Germans who were involved in the bloodshed of Jews, aren't alive, but I can't take it out of my heart.

Then perestroika was slumping down and things became as they were. People got used to their freedom and regaining the old way of life was appalling. There was no fear of the all-mighty KGB 43 and people started fighting for their rights. Perestroika ended up in the breakup of the USSR [1991]. I think that was really good. For us, Estonians, there was a holiday when Estonia was declared independent [see Reestablishment of the Estonian Republic] 44. We regained things lost in 1940. Our national flag with white, blue and black colors was raised on the tower again. People were crying from joy. By the way, the teacher of Estonian from the Tallinn Jewish lyceum, had kept our flag during the entire Soviet period. She was an excellent teacher. During the Soviet post-war period she was indigent and the Estonian Jews helped her out as she managed to preserve the Estonian flag because for us Jews living in Estonia, it has always been our motherland. All Estonian Jews spoke Estonian no matter what language they spoke at home. I can't understand how people could live in a country without knowing its language. I have always been surprised by Jews and Russians, who have settled in Estonia after the war and thought it unnecessary to learn Estonian. There are people, who were born here, and can't say a word in Estonian. Now they are fighting for the introduction of the Russian language. Would they have demanded that if they had gone to Germany or USA? I can't comprehend it.

Of course, when the independence was declared, life became more difficult. More than half of my pension benefit is spent on utility payments. Our Jewish community is helping me a lot. I often used to go there. I didn't just have lunch there, but I also attended concerts and lectures. All Jewish holidays are marked in the community. I was present at the pascal seder as well. The community does a great job. In 2000 the Jewish community was happy to have a rabbi. He is a young man from Israel. He came here with his wife. He does a lot for the revival of the religion, which was banned during the Soviet regime. A small synagogue has been open on the second floor of our community centre since 2000. The foundations of a new synagogue have been laid in the yard. Owing to local sponsors the community managed to restore the synagogue on the cemetery and ablution premise. Unfortunately, it's hard for me to leave home and I rarely go to the community centre. I'm always taken care of by the community. Every other day they bring lunch for me. All I have to do is to warm it. I'm visited by volunteers. They call me asking me what I need. Of course, the community provides material assistance, but what is done by my friends from the community is of no lesser importance as I don't feel bereft and lonely.

Glossary:

Bella Kisselgof
Novorossiysk
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War

Family background

I was born in Enakievo in the Donetsk region of Ukraine on May 14, 1936. My father's name was Grigory Kisselgof. He was born in the village of Novo-Vitebsk in the province of Ekaterinoslav (Dnepropetrovsk region) in 1903. My mother Sofia Rivkina was born on October 10, 1906 in the same village. Several generations of my ancestors lived in Novo-Vitebsk.

Novo-Vitebsk is an old Jewish colony founded during the reign of Empress Ekaterina II (1729 - 1796). At her order several Jewish colonies were founded around Ekaterinoslav. The Jewish population of these colonies was basically involved in farming. There were handicraftsmen, merchants and teachers, but farmers constituted the majority. People moved into tiny and comfortable houses with facilities that were built specifically for them. These estates were inherited by the following generations. There was a synagogue in the central square in each little town. The population spoke Yiddish and the official documentation in the town houses was issued in Yiddish.

My father finished the eighth grade at a secondary school in Novo-Vitebsk. He didn't have any professional education. My father was intelligent and had good organizational skills. I know very little about the family of my father Grigory (Gersh) Kisselgof. In 1941, at the beginning of the war, he went to fight at the front and perished. While he was still with us I was too young to show any interest in the family history. After he died his family terminated any relationships with my mother. My mother tried to avoid any talk on the subject of his family. So, I don't even know the name of my father's mother. My grandfather's name was Mordko, and later he was called Mark. I also know that my father had a brother named Lyova and a sister named Dvoira.

I know much more about my mother's family. My grandmother told me a lot about her parents. I have photos of my great-grandparents. My great-grandfather's name was Gedalia Dreitser. He was born in the late 1830s. His parents lived in Novo-Vitebsk. He was the youngest of his many sisters and brothers, but I don't know how many children were in their family. When Gedalia reached the age of 18, he went into the tsarist army as a private. The term of service was 25 years. Whetn it was his time to retire he got a house with furniture and all utilities built in Novo-Vitebsk for him, all paid for by the tsarist treasury. It was a usual thing at that time. The soldiers retired when they were about 43 years old and they were to start their life anew. And the tsarist government made all necessary provisions for them to begin their civil life. They could choose where they wanted to settle down. My great-grandfather chose Novo-Vitebsk to be near his family. After he came to Novo-Vitebsk he married a young girl named Bruha. I don't know any details about how they met or about their wedding. They started having children almost every year or every year and a half. The oldest was their daughter Haislova, born in 1875. Then there was another daughter born in 1877. My grandmother Riva was born in 1878, and in 1879 their daughter Luba (Liebe) was born. The youngest was Sonia, born in 1881.

My great-grandmother Bruha Dreitser was born in Novo-Vitebsk in the 1850s. She was the youngest daughter in a very poor family. From childhood she had to work hard. She was so eager to study. My grandmother told me that when her older brothers were doing their homework - they studied at cheder - she was fussing around them trying to understand what they were talking about or reading. She learned her ABCs and some mathematics in this way. My grandmother recalled that after Bruha finished with her house chores she took a book in Yiddish or Hebrew to read. It was the best pastime for her. Her daughters had a teacher at home and their mother helped them to do their homework. She was known in the town as an intelligent and wise woman. People often asked her advice. She knew everything - why a fruit tree gave no fruit, or how to cure a sick child, and how to get more milk from a cow. People often tried to give her some money for her advice but she never accepted any. If they gave her a present she accepted it, but always gave something in return. According to the Jewish traditions a woman couldn't be an arbitrator, but people elected my great- grandmother as a member of the town arbitrary court several times. She was loved and respected. My grandmother told me that when my great- grandmother Bruhashe died in 1921 the whole population of the town came to her funeral, and they said that life would be more difficult without Bruha.

My great-grandfather Gedalia Dreitser and great-grandmother Bruha Dreitser were religious people. They taught their daughters to respect the Jewish religion and traditions. Gedalia and Bruha went to the synagogue on Saturdays. They always met Sabbath and my great- grandmother lit candles. They celebrated Jewish holidays and my great- grandmother strictly followed the rules for a kosher kitchen. My grandmother Riva learned from her to cook traditional Jewish food and taught my mother all her skills. When my mother was cooking, she always mentioned that it was how her mother used to do it. My mother told me that the whole family got together in the house of Gedalia and Bruha at Pesach. My mother didn't remember many details, but she always told me about the beautiful dishes and delicious food and sais that my great-grandmother was always happy that all her children followed the tradition of getting together at their parents' home.

The family lived well. The ex-soldiers who had excellent service performance records were paid a good monthly pension. This was a sufficient amount of money and my great-grandfather could just stay at home, but he couldn't help working. He became a carpenter and he always had many orders. My great- grandmother was a housewife. They had an orchard and a vegetable garden and my great-grandmother kept chickens and sold chicken meat and eggs. They spoke Yiddish at home. Besides receiving a pension, my great-grandfather also had the right of free education for his children. But there was no school in the town and all his daughters got a religious education at home. Later, they all studied in the Russian grammar school in Ekaterinoslav (Dnepropetrovsk). They lived in the hostel of that grammar school. The girls studied well. They were exempted from attending Christian classes. Senior school children had dressmaking classes and my grandmother Riva was proficient in this skill. Later she made clothes for the whole family.

All of the girls married. I don't remember their husbands' names, unfortunately. Haislova married a teacher. They had three children. She died after the war, in the 1960s. Another sister of my grandmother and her husband left for America. I don't know her name and we have no further information about them. Luba's husband was a timber dealer. They had two sons. I know that Luba survived during the war, but I remember no details about her life. I don't remember much about Sonia either. She was married to a doctor. Her husband perished on the front during WWI. Sonia married a second time and that is all I know about her. My great-grandfather, Gedalia Dreitser, died in 1917. He and my grandmother Bruha were buried at the Jewish cemetery in Novo- Vitebsk.

My maternal grandmother Riva Dreitser-Rivkina returned to her parents in Novo-Vitebsk after finishing grammar school. In 1898 she married my maternal grandfather Shymon Rivkin from Novo-Vitebsk. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with the rabbi and the chuppah. The party lasted three days in the yard of Gedalia's house. All the inhabitants of the town were guests. Klezmers from Ekaterinoslav played for three days. After the wedding the newlyweds lived with their parents for about two years until they moved into their own house built by grandfather. It was a wooden house with all necessary utility buildings in the yard. There were three rooms, a closet and a kitchen in the house. There was also a plot of land with two apple trees and a few raspberry and black currant bushes. There was also a well in the yard.

My grandfather Shymon Rivkin was born in 1870. I know little about his family. He had a few brothers. At age thirteen, the boys were to study a profession. After my grandfather had his bar mitzvah, his father offered him a choice of three professions - shoemaker, tailor or blacksmith. My grandfather chose the profession of blacksmith. He was an apprentice at first, and then an assistant until he became a very good blacksmith. When he started earning enough money to provide for the family he married my grandmother Riva.

After they got married my grandmother was a housewife. My grandparents were religious people. They led a traditional Jewish way of life. On Fridays they went to the synagogue and my grandmother lit candles at home. They celebrated Jewish holidays in the family. I don't know the details, but I believe my grandmother prepared for the holidays as thoroughly as her mother Bruha. I remember my grandmother's gomentashes, little triangle pies with poppy seeds that my grandmother made for Purim. This was in Enakievo when she visited us. I remember my grandfather praying when he was visiting us in Enakievo. I had to leave the room, but I could look through the doorway to see how he put on his thales and tefillin to say his prayers.

Their first son was born in 1900. I don't know his name. Mama never talked about him. When he was thirteen he fell onto the cement floor at cheder while playing with other boys and died from concussion a few days later. In 1902 their daughter Luba was born, and then their son Grisha in 1903. In 1906 my mother Sofia was born. In 1907 their son Misha was born, and in 1917 Foya (Efim), the last child in the family, was born.

Tthe oldest son - the boy that died - and Grisha went to cheder. After the revolution in 1917 a secondary school was opened in Novo- Vitebsk and all the children studied there. All members of the family spoke in Yiddish but they all knew Russian. Novo-Vitebsk did not suffer from pogroms. In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews, robbed and burned their houses, raped women and killed children. My mother told me that various gangs were there, but there were no murders. They might whip somebody while galloping on their horse, but there were no robberies or killings. Nobody in our family suffered from such crimes.

The revolution of 1917 did not affect our way of life in Novo- Vitebsk. There were only two changes - they opened an 8-year secondary school, and started issuing all documentation in Russian. However, the stamps in the village council were printed in Yiddish.

My mother and her brothers were enthusiastic about the revolution. My grandparents were more skeptical about it, although their family was not that wealthy. My grandfather's earnings were enough only to buy the most necessary things for the family. My grandmother was a wonderful cook. She managed to keep the family well- fed and well-dressed for relatively small amounts of money. She made our clothes from the same fabric, but of different design. There is a family photo where all the clothes the family members are wearing were made by my grandmother.

In the 1920s the young men in the Rivkin family got bored with the dull life of a small Jewish town, and before the late 1920s they all moved to Gorlovka, a mining town in Donbass. By that time Luba and my mother were both married in Novo-Vitebsk. They had no wedding parties. The young people were rejecting Jewish traditions in beginning a new life. Civil marriages were popular at that time, and weddings were considered a bourgeois vestige. My grandparents were very unhappy that their daughter rejected the Jewish traditions, but they had to accept her decision, and they got along well with their sons-in-law.

My Aunt Luba married Aron Dolzhansky, an engineer. Luba was a housewife. They had two children: Ziama, born in 1923, and Mosia (Mihail), born in 1925. When the Great Patriotic War began, Luba's husband and sons went to the front. Aron was summoned from Gorlovka to the war at the very beginning, and Ziama and Mosia were summoned from Fergana when we were there in the evacuation. Ziama went at the end of 1941, and Mosia went to the front in 1943 when he was 17. He went as far as Berlin and when the war was over he was only 20. Mosia returned home after demobilization from the army in 1946. He passed exams for the 10th form of secondary school. He was very intelligent. He was educated at the Kharkov Engineering and Construction Institute and stayed to work in Kharkov afterwards. He got married there and had two sons. When he was 40, he drowned in the Donets River while swimming. His children live in Donetsk, but we do not keep in touch with each other.

Ziama's profession was the military. He studied at the Commandment Military College and as a military professional, moved from one town to another. He got an assignment in Lvov, settled down there, and retired with the rank of colonel. In the late 1970s, Ziama, his wife and their son moved to Israel. Ziama had a heart problem and couldn't get used to the climate there. He died soon after the move.

Luba and Aron settled down in Gorlovka after the war. My grandmother and grandfather lived with them. Luba died in 1978. Aron died some time before her.

Grisha lived in Gorlovka after the war, and worked at the mine headquarters. He married a Russian girl. At that time, after the revolution, nationality didn't matter to young people. All were Soviet people and internationalists. Uncle Grisha and his wife had a son. Uncle Grisha perished at the front in 1943. He served at the Stalingrad front with my father and that is all we know about him. My grandfather and grandmother got along well with their daughter-in-law, at least, on the surface. They also welcomed Misha's Russian wife. Uncle Misha also lived in Gorlovka before the war. He worked at the production association. He married at age 18, and his wife at 16. My mother told me the story of his marriage. Mama had a friend named Elena, a Russian girl. Misha was renting a room in Gorlovka then. He saw Lena where Mama lived, took her by the hand and they went to his home and started living together. There was no national issue in Donbass, the miners' region. They lived in a civil marriage. In 1936 Yury, their first son, was born. Misha was at the front during the war. After he returned they had another son, Victor. When it was time for the boy to go to school, Misha and Elena got officially married. Misha worked at the association and did some commerce. He died in 1982.

My mother's youngest brother Foya (Efim), finished tank school in Dnepropetrovsk in 1939. He was immediately summoned to the army and participated in the war wit Finland. After the Finnish war he served at the Great Patriotic War and then at the war with Japan. He fought in the wars for eight years. After the war he settled down in Chernovtsy and married a Jewish woman named Etia. After three years he and his wife moved to Lvov where he worked as a cab driver. He divorced his wife to marry a woman who was twenty-two years younger. They had a son. After my uncle died in 1990, his wife and son emigrated to Israel.

At first, my grandparents visited their children in Gorlovka and Enakievo. In 1932 they moved in with Luba and Aron in Gorlovka.

My parents didn't stay long in Gorlovka. They lived in a huge wooden barracks with many rooms on both sides of a long corridor. Mama worked as a typist and at the Department of Mines and my father had logistics work. They got along well with their Russian and Ukrainian neighbors. Soon my parents moved from Gorlovka to Enakievo. Mama was a housewife, and Papa worked at the headquarters of the mine "Red Profintern" located in Verovka in the outskirts of Enakievo. I was born in 1936.

Growing up

Our family lived in a small, shabby wooden house at 139 Partisanskaya Street. We shared this house with another family that occupied half of the house. There was a summer kitchen and a well in the yard. There was a corner stove in this summer kitchen. Later I remember the same stove in our house in Chernovtsy after the war.

This other family was Jewish. There was a woman named Etia and her husband, and they had a son named Mosia. Etia became my mother's friend. Mosia was a hooligan of a boy and he didn't like me because I was a girl. Once my mother left me at Etia's care. She was busy with something and wasn't paying attention to us. Mosia took advantage of this situation and tarred my head. I had long hair and it took Mama and Etia a long time to wash this tar off my hair. Another time Mosia decided to check what was inside an eye and stuck a nail into my eye. Mama had to take me to the clinic. Fortunately, they saved my eye.

My grandparents' visits were a holiday for me. Sometimes they brought my cousin Yura with them. We were the same age and played together. We spoke Russian in the house. My parents switched to Yiddish only when they wanted to keep something a secret from me. During my grandparents' visits the adults communicated in Yiddish and spoke Russian to the children. After the revolution my parents became atheists. We didn't celebrate holidays or observe Jewish traditions in the house. I was also raised an atheist and an internationalist. Such was our era.

Mama told me there was no anti-Semitism in Donbass. One never heard the word "zhyd." Mama said that if it even occurred to somebody to say this word--and it might have been only a drunken person--he would be taken to the militia at once. I don't know whether there were many Jews in Enakievo at that time. I was five when we left during the war and was too young to give a thought to such things. But I know for sure that there were not many of them after the war. There was no synagogue in Enakievo or Gorlovka. Mama didn't tell me anything about the famine of 1931-33. (Editor's note: The artificially arranged famine in Ukraine in 1920 took away millions of people. It was arranged by Stalin to suppress the protesting peasants who didn't want to join collective farms. 1930-1934 - the years of dreadful forced famine in Ukraine. The authorities took away the last food products from farmers. People were dying in the streets; whole villages were passing away. The authorities arranged this specifically to suppress the rebellious farmers who didn't want to accept the Soviet power and join the collective farms.) I don't think the famine ever reached Donbass. This region of miners had good food products and supplies available.

The Repression of 1937 and the following years didn't touch upon our family. Mama told me that at that time a person could go to bed in the evening never knowing whether he would wake up in his bed. The authorities even arrested common people. Our neighbor, a tailor, was arrested for speaking out some careless word.

I know about the pre-war years from what Mama used to tell me. Mama said that even when Hitler came to power in Germany, nobody believed that he would enter into a war against the USSR. State propaganda convinced people that the country was so strong, it wouldn't occur to anybody to attack us. If it ever happened, we would win a prompt victory and defeat our enemy. Adults and children believed this. Children were raised with patriotic feelings. I didn't go to kindergarten, but I knew from my childhood that besides my family, I had two other grandfathers - Granddaddy Lenin and Granddaddy Stalin. Mama taught me patriotic poems. I remember one: "I'm a little girl dancing and singing, I've never seen Stalin, but I love him."

During the War

I have clear memories of the first day of the war. Germans began bombing Donbass almost immediately. It was of strategic interest to them, being the center of the USSR coal industry. The war began on Sunday morning, June 22, 1941. (Editor's note: On June 22, 1941 at 5 o'clock in the morning fascist Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring a war. On this day the Great patriotic War began.) It was a warm day, and my mother was taking a bath in our summer kitchen in the yard. When the bombs were falling she ran out of there covered in soapsuds. The bombings never stopped. We lived across the street from the metallurgical plant which was constantly bombed. The bombing was frightening. Then bomb-proof shelters were constructed, and people hid there during the air raids. People began to panic. Nobody knew what was going on.

My father and uncles were summoned to the front in the first few days of the war. Mama and I moved to Gorlovka - it was too terrifying to stay in Enakievo. My grandfather Shymon and Luba's sons were the only men with us. We went to the station to board a train. People at the station were boarding open railroad cars loaded with wheat. So, we traveled on this wheat. We were bombed the whole time. We crossed the Caspian Sea on a boat and ended up in Krasnovodsk. I was seasick on the boat. Then we went on to Fergana in the Uzbek SSR (Uzbekistan). At first we lived in a covered wagon in Beshbala on the outskirts of Fergana. Later we moved to a rented room in Fergana.

I remember going to the post office every day to check whether there was any mail for us. I was a little girl and they recognized me at the post office and gave me all our family's letters. Papa's letters were rare and he perished in 1943. Mama wanted to send a photograph of us to Papa, but we didn't know the number of his field mail. We kept the photo and Mama used to say that we would send it soon. In 1943 after the battle of Stalingrad we received notification that my father had been killed.

Ziama was summoned to the front from Fergana at the end of 1941, and Misha in 1943. Mama and grandmother worked at home for a shop. They knitted socks and gloves to send to the front. Once a week they took their ready products to the shop and received yarn for the next order. Luba didn't work. As the wife of a military man she received a provision certificate from her husband Aron. We shared one room. My grandfather was 71 before the beginning of the war, but nevertheless, he took a job as a blacksmith. Later he was taken to the mercury mine in the vicinity of Fergana. He was a provider for the family. Food supplies were very good there and they could receive food in exchange for their cards instead of money. Grandfather sent us flour, cereals and other food products. My grandmother was trying to feed the whole family, but there was still not enough food.

I went to the 1st grade when I was in the evacuation. It was a Russian school. I hardly have any school memories. I remember a Tatar girl that I shared my desk with. There were many evacuated children from all the towns. I didn't know their nationality - it was of no interest to me. I remember that my first teacher came from Leningrad. I finished the third grad in Fergana.

Mama had hardly any food at all during the war. We didn't have meat or even common food products. We had cereals and flour but Mama was leaving all the food we had for me. I remember Mama boiled potatoes and gave them to me to eat. She drank the water from the boiled potatoes. We survived due to the fruit in Fergana. Grapes were inexpensive. Mama used to buy a kilo of grapes and this was our lunch. Another good thing was that the weather was warm. There were aryks in the town and children used to swim in them. Mama was very afraid that I might drown. But I learned to swim there. Another memory is scary. There were rumors in the town that children were kidnapped to be turned into soap. Once I was kidnapped. My mother and grandmother were busy with knitting and I was outside playing with other kids. A Zoo was on tour in Fergana. It was fenced, and we kids were looking through the holes. A woman approached me asking whether I wanted to go inside. I agreed. She promised to buy me some apples, took me by my hand and we went on. Mama often told me that I shouldn't go away with strangers, but this woman was nice and I was eager to go to the Zoo. And I wanted apples, as we were always starving. We walked for a long time until we reached a street with many steel doors around. The woman knocked and knocked but nobody opened the door and she left me there. I can't remember how I got home, but I know that Mama was crying for a long time when I told her about it.

I remember Victory Day, May 8, 1945. People in the streets were crying, laughing and kissing. There were fireworks in the evening, the first fireworks I had ever seen in my life. I didn't understand why Mama was crying when everybody around was laughing. Mama was thinking about Papa . . . .

After the War

The war was over and we had to think about going back home. Mama was so weak that she couldn't walk. My grandmother was afraid that our trip back might be too much for Mama. In 1946 my mother's brother Foya came to pick us up. He was still in the army then, but he got a vacation to move us to Donbass. He was the only one to help us. Papa and Grisha were gone and Misha, Aron and Luba's sons were still in the army. Uncle Foya took us all - my grandmother, grandfather, Aunt Luba, mama and me, and we all went back to Donbass. Luba, my grandmother and grandfather returned to their house, which wasn't damaged during the bombings. I will tell you something about my grandmother. She knew the Bible very well: both the Old and New testaments. After the war Luba's neighbor was a Christian priest named Father Vassiliy. In the evening he and my grandmother used to sit in the yard discussing religious subjects. The priest said that my grandmother was the best and most intelligent company he had ever had. At 86, I remember, my grandmother read newspapers, was interested in policy and any political events. My grandfather didn't care about these. My grandmother died in Gorlovka in 1967. My grandfather died before her in the 1950s. They remained religious people throughout their life and tried to observe traditions and celebrate holidays. They didn't go to synagogue often. They were both buried at the Jewish corner of the cemetery in Gorlovka.

Mama and I came to Enakievo. Or house was destroyed. It just collapsed from old age. The roof fell down and the windows were broken. But we moved in there anyway. In Enakievo I finished the fourth grade at school. I became a Pioneer there in the most routinely way - we just got our red neckties.

Uncle Foya demobilized at the end of 1947. He didn't come back to Donbass. When in 1940 the Soviet Army occupied Bukovina, Uncle Foya was among the first soldiers there on his tank. He was in Chernovtsy and the people welcomed the soldiers with flowers. He liked the town very much. He decided to move there and got married after he settled down in Chernovtsy (editor's note: Czernovitz in German: the town was the last frontier stop in the pre-1918 Austro-Hungarian Empire and retained a certain European culture.

In 1948 uncle Foya came to Enakievo and took me and Mama to Chernovtsy. Uncle Foya was married and their family had a room in a communal apartment. We stayed with them for some time. I went to the 5th grade of Russian school No. 2. The school was far from where we lived, but it was the best school in town. My mother worked making braziers at home for Fedkovich factory. She didn't get much for her work, but still, it was something. This money was basic in our family budget plus a small pension for my deceased father.

I was growing fast and was so weak that I couldn't make it up the stairs to our second floor classroom. Mama gave me cod-liver oil to improve my health. We had one textbook for several schoolchildren and we were doing our homework in groups. I was doing well at school. I don't remember how many Jewish children there were in our class. I was raised at a time when nationality didn't matter. Only in Chernovtsy did I begin to identify with Jewish nationality. Now, when looking at my school photographs, I realize there must have been quite a few Jews in that school. I wasn't a very sociable girl. The majority of my school friends happened to be Jewish. There are not many left in Chernovtsy. My friend Sima Grinfeld, Goldman after she married her husband, is in Israel. Frosia Koetskaya, another friend, died recently. Alla Kozinskaya is in America.

We were modest girls. We went to the parties wearing our school uniforms. Sometimes we went to the parties at the boys' school. Usually such parties were arranged on the Soviet holidays of the 1st of May or November 7, Constitution Day. In the morning we went to the parade and then had concerts and parties at school. We didn't celebrate holidays at home. Mama and I were poor. On holidays Mama tried to make a cake to make it more festive for me. We had holiday parties only on my birthday or at the New Year.

We had a good class and a good teacher. My favorite teacher taught the Russian language and literature. Her name was Bertha Iosifovna Ginsburg, a Jew, and she is still living, and I meet with her. She taught us to write and speak intelligently and thanks to her many of us entered the institutes. I was very fond of physics and mathematics. I became a Komsomol member when I was in the eighth grade. It didn't't change much in my life. I didn't care about ideology, but I realized that it would be easier to enter the institute for a Komsomol member. I've never been fond of social activities. I didn't have any hobbies besides studying.

In 1948 the campaign against cosmopolitism began. I remember somebody from our class brought in a poem by Ilia Erenburg. (Editor's Note: Ilia Erenburg (1891-1967) was a well-known and controversial Russian writer, and Jew. His adventure novels show the philosophic and satirical panorama of life in Europe and Russia in the 1910s and 20s. As a reporter, he was prolific and a strong Stalinist for years. His most lasting achievement is The Black Book, which he wrote with Vassily Grossman, another Jewish writer. The Black Book, written in 1946, was translated into English only 2002 and details with great specificity the massacre of Jews in the Soviet Union by both SS and Wehrmacht troops.)

I believe the title of the poem was "Why they don't like us" and it was about the attitude towards Jews, written in Russian. I copied it and showed my friend and Mama. Mama got very pale from fear and told me to throw it away while we were free. She told me to show it to no one. I was 12 years old and didn't understand much of it. None of our teachers or my schoolmates' parents suffered then. Unfortunately, I don't remember anything about the "Doctors' case."

I remember Stalin's death in March 1953. We all were crying at school - the girls and teachers. We all believed that the world had turned upside down. I don't remember crying. I didn't't cry often. I don't know whether people cried sincerely or just pretended, but there were lots of tears shed.

Uncle Foya and his family moved to Lvov (editor's note: Lemberg in German, another Austro-Hungarian city that first went to Poland, then the Soviet Union in 1945). He worked as a cab driver there. Mama and I lived in the same room where we had lived with them before. Mama was a beautiful woman and many men liked her a lot. But she was faithful to the memory of my father and had no thoughts about marrying again.

In 1954 I finished school. I wanted to be involved in polygraphy but there was no such department in Chernovtsy. I entered the Technology Department at the Lvov Institute of Polygraphy. I've never faced any anti-Semitism. Chernovtsy was a different town in this respect - the majority of its population was Jewish. There wasn't any anti-Semitism in Lvov or Novorossiysk where I had my job assignment upon graduation from the institute.

I lived in Lvov for five years. I had three friends who were my co-students, and we rented apartments and lived together. One of the girls was Ukrainian, from Ivano-Frankovsk--her name was Zina Odynets-- another one was a half-Jew from Lvov named Dina Shtykova, and the third was Bella Birman, a Jew from Kiev. We were very close friends. I don't remember any Jewish lecturer, but there might have been a few. When I was a fourth year student I began to look for an apartment and met Faina Vishnepolskaya. She was a doctor. Her husband had died and she didn't want to be alone in the apartment. Faina had a three-room apartment. She was a tall Jew and was very possessive and decisive. She didn't seem to welcome me at the beginning. She gave me keys to her apartment and I moved in. My room was cold in winter and I moved into the room where she was residing. We lived like a family. We cooked together and shared everything. We became great friends and stayed such until she died. Later I came to Lvov on business trips and came to Faina like to my home. After Faina died, I remained a friend of her niece Sofia until she emigrated to Israel in the 1970s.

Life in Lvov was beautiful. My friends and I went to concerts and theaters. There was a beautiful Opera house in Lvov and we didn't miss a single performance. We liked to go to the Philharmonic. We bought the cheapest tickets; they were called "student tickets." Lvov is a beautiful ancient town with beautiful architecture. We enjoyed walking in the town, looking at its buildings.

In 1959 after graduation I got a job assignment at the printing house in Novorossiysk. I worked there for two years. I was foreman and then shop supervisor. I also rented an apartment there. In two years I returned home to Mama. I found a job at the production association that was converted into the chemical goods in two years' time. I was a forewoman at first and then had engineering positions. We had a very nice and intelligent director who advocated for internationalist ideas. Perhaps, credit must be given to him that we didn't have any expressions of anti-Semitism at our factory. I worked there my whole life until retirement. I lived with my mother. We received a two-room apartment as a family of the deceased at the front. Now I live here alone.

I remember how many Jews were emigrating to Israel in the 1970s. There were no condemning meetings at our enterprise. Once an engineer who was going to emigrate was transferred to the worker's position two months before his departure. I sympathized with those who were going to leave. I had nobody there to go to. Later, after Uncle Foya died his son and his wife moved to Israel in the 1990s. Mama and I didn't even raise the issue of emigration. I'm used to this life and it would be difficult to get used to a different way of life. Besides, I have a heart problem and high blood pressure, and I cannot stand the heat. My close friend moved there. We correspond with her. She is retired and has a good life there. Israel is a beautiful country taking good care of its people. But I have no energy to start life anew.

I was gradually promoted at work and my salary was increasing. I received bonuses. Mama was pensioned by then. She had a very small pension. We could provide for ourselves, though. Mama died in 1992. Since then I've lived alone. (Editor's Note: The interviewee didn't want to go into the details of her personal life. She probably didn't have a family, because she never had an opportunity to arrange her personal life).

The Jewish way of life has been actively promoted in the recent years. Hesed undertakes lots of activities. There are different clubs and many activities in Hesed. I like the literature club and the aging people's club. We come there to communicate, meet and see one another. There are different people in those clubs. We discuss interesting subjects and read in front of the audience. It is important that there is a place where people can talk. We celebrate holidays together. We celebrated Purim in the theater, for example. They also have a program for children - "Mazltov". I like Director, Mr. Fooks. He is full of energy and sociable and sincere man. He likes his work and enjoys caring about people and we like him, too. Recently, I have come to identify myself as a Jew. I am concerned about Israel. I wouldn't treat a person in a different way because his nationality is different. Most important for me is whether a person is honest. Recently, I have communicated mostly with Jews. I feel close to them. I am a radio announcer. We have a radio program in Yiddish and Ukrainian that is broadcast once a month - "The Jewish Word". It lasts for half an hour but preparation takes a long while. It is an interesting process and I like the feeling that I'm doing something that people need. We get many letters from our listeners after every broadcast. I know that our work is not in vain.

I began to study the history of the Jewish people. Unfortunately, it is much worse with the religion. I have no basis to accept it. I'm not prepared. It is all new to me and I'm missing something. But I hope that I still have time.

Agnessa Margolina
Uzhgorod
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: April 2003

Agnessa Margolina lives alone in a standard five-storied 1970s apartment building in a new district of Uzhgorod. She has a one-bedroom apartment. Her furniture was also built back in the 1970s. Agnessa is fond of growing room plants. She has pots with plants everywhere; on the windowsill, on the table and on specially manufactured stands. Agnessa is a short, slim and very vivid woman. She looks young for her age. She wears her gray hair in a knot. Agnessa is a witty woman. She likes joking and laughing. She still finds life interesting. She has bookcases full of books in the room. Most of them are books by Russian classic writers and books by Jewish writers and poets; classics by Sholem Aleichem 1, Peretz Markish 2 and others, and modern authors. There are many photographs on the walls and on the bookshelves. Agnessa is very sociable. She spends most of her time at home, but she is constantly on the phone talking to her acquaintances and neighbors. They call to discuss the latest news or daily life matters. When Hesed opened she made many new friends. She doesn't feel lonely.

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family backgrownd

My paternal grandfather, Boruch Margolin, was born in a village in Kiev region in the 1860s. I don't know where exactly he was born. My grandfather died long before I was born. I have no information about his family either. Of all my grandfather's relatives I only met his younger sister Hana once. She lived with her husband and son in Kiev. All I know about her is that she refused to evacuate from Kiev during the Great Patriotic War 3. On 30th September 1941 she was shot in Babi Yar 4 along with many other Jews from Kiev. My paternal grandmother's name was Cherna. I don't know her maiden name. My grandmother was born in Borispol village, about 30 kilometers from Kiev, in the 1860s. After he got married my grandfather moved to Borispol. He rented a mill and worked at it. My grandmother was a housewife. I heard that my grandfather was a big tall man. My grandmother was short and slim and she was very pretty when she was young. I cannot tell you about Borispol. I've never been there and my father didn't tell me about their town or house.

There were seven children in the family. They were all born in Borispol. I don't know their dates of birth, but I can tell who was older or younger than my father. Rosa was the oldest. Then came two daughters, Sima and Nenia. Then my father Khaskel was born and then came his brothers Peretz and Shaya. The youngest was Beila, born in 1900. I don't even know my father's correct date of birth. His documents say he was born in 1894, but my father once told me that he was significantly older than what was written in his documents. This had something to do with recruitment to the army, but I don't know any details. My father hardly ever spoke to me about his childhood. I have no information about his family life or religiosity either.

I cannot tell how my father's brothers and sister lived before the Revolution of 1917 5. I only know that during World War I my grandfather sent my father's younger brother to the USA to save him from the army. I don't know how my father began to work.

The Revolution of 1917 brought changes into the life of my father's family. Borispol isn't far from Kiev. The Civil War 6 following the Revolution came to Borispol. The power in Kiev switched from one group to another. There were gangs 7 coming to town. Once a gang came to Borispol in 1918. I don't know any details. All I know is that the family failed to hide away. Bandits came to their house demanding food and money. Before they left they shot grandfather and my father's younger brother, Shaya. My grandfather and Shaya were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Borispol. Shortly afterwards the family left Borispol. My grandmother and her daughters moved to Kiev and my father, who was already married, went to Sumy.

My father's older sister Rosa married Avraam Stoyanovski, a Jewish man from Borispol. I don't know what Avraam did for a living. Rosa was a housewife. They had three children: two daughters, Fenia and Ida, and a son, Semyon. Rosa's family moved to Kiev in 1918. That year Rosa's husband died of typhoid. She had to raise her three children alone. She worked very hard all her life. She was a seamstress in the garment factory in Kiev. Rosa's older daughter became a teacher of history and her younger daughter became a teacher of the Ukrainian language and literature. They married Jewish men and had daughters. Semyon is a sculptor. He is a laureate of a state award. During the war their family was in evacuation in Ufa where both daughters worked as teachers. They returned to Kiev in 1944. Rosa wasn't religious after the Revolution. She didn't observe any Jewish traditions. Rosa died in Kiev in the 1970s at the age of over 80. She was buried in the Jewish section of a town cemetery. Her children still live in Kiev. I keep in touch with them. They sometimes visit me.

Sima married Samuel Shevtsov, a Jewish man from Kiev. They had two children: Sarra and Boris After she got married Sarra finished medical college and worked as a speech therapist in the children's hospital. Sima's family didn't observe any Jewish traditions or celebrate Jewish holidays. Sima's son died in a car accident at the age of about seven. He was hit by a car. Sima died of malaria in evacuation in the town of Nukha, Azerbaijan, in 1942. Sara and her family live in the USA. I have no information about them.

My father's sister Nenia was a dressmaker. She was married and her last name in marriage was Freidina. Nenia's family wasn't religious after the Revolution, but they always celebrated Jewish holidays. They lived in Kiev. Nenia had two children: Ludmila and Boris. During the war they were in evacuation in Middle Asia and after the war they returned to Kiev. Aunt Nenia died in Kiev in the 1960s. I have no information about her children.

My father's younger sister Beila got married in Kiev in 1931. I don't remember what her last name in marriage was. Her older daughter, Fania, was born in 1932 and her son, Boris, was born in 1937. Beila didn't work after she got married. I don't remember her husband. Beila wasn't religious and her family didn't celebrate Jewish holidays or observe Jewish traditions. During the war she and her children were in evacuation in Nukha with us. After the war her family returned to Kiev. In 1989 Beila emigrated to Israel with her son's family. She died there in 1995.

I didn't know my mother's parents. Her father's name was Juda Efest. As for my mother's mother I don't know anything about her. My mother's parents died during an epidemic of Spanish influenza in 1903. I don't know where my mother was born. There were many children in the family. I never met any of my mother's sisters or brothers, but I heard about them. My mother's sister Sonia and her brothers Nisl and Gersh were older than her. My mother also had a younger brother named Leib. This is all I know about them. My mother Golda was born in 1896. After their parents died the children were taken to my grandparents numerous relatives' families living in various towns.

My mother was raised in the family of my grandmother's sister Shyfra, who lived in Borispol. I met her when I was a child. She had a hard life. She married a widower that had children. Grandmother Shyfra didn't have children of her own. She raised stepchildren. Grandmother Shyfra was a very kind and caring woman. She also looked after me later. She died in 1928. I don't know anything about my mother's childhood. I was too small to ask questions and when I grew up there was nobody to ask.

My parents lived in the same street in Borispol and knew each other since childhood. They got married in 1917. I don't know whether they had a traditional Jewish wedding. They were both beautiful. My father had a small thoroughly trimmed beard. He didn't have payes. He wore dark suits, light shirts and ties. He wore a hat outside and a yarmulka at home. My mother didn't wear a wig and she didn't wear a shawl either. She had beautiful thick hair that she wore in a knot. She wore common clothes. My parents lived with Grandmother Shyfra and her husband in their house in Borispol. Their children had their own families at that time and left their parents' home. I never met any of them.

After bandits attacked them and killed my grandfather and my father's brother Shaya my parents didn't want to stay in Borispol and moved to Sumy, a town in the northeast of Ukraine,about 350 kilometers from Kiev. They decided for Sumy since some relatives of my mother lived in this town, but I didn't know any of them. I cannot say what my father did for a living in Sumy, either. I was born in Sumy on 17th November 1920. At birth I was named Gnesia and this is the name written in my documents. When I went to school everybody began to call me Agnessa, a Russian name [common name] 8. My family spoke Yiddish at home, I said my first words in Yiddish as well. I can vaguely remember my mother. When I was a bit over three years old she died at childbirth. This happened on 6th April 1924. The baby was stillborn. They were both buried in the Jewish cemetery in Sumy.

I stayed in our neighbor's home during the funeral and thus cannot say anything about the funeral itself. My father's older sister Sima came to Sumy to take us to Kiev. I was taken to Cherna, my father's mother. She lived in a big four-storied building on Kontraktovaya Square in Podol 9, an old district of Kiev. My grandmother lived in a room in a crowded communal apartment 10 on the fourth floor and Aunt Rosa and her family lived on the second floor of this building. My father didn't live with us. Nobody told me where he lived and I still don't know where he lived all this time. I lived with my grandmother for a whole year without seeing my father. Nobody told me that my mother had died and I kept crying asking them to take me to my mother.

I remember my grandmother Cherna. She was a short woman. She didn't wear a wig or a shawl. She had thick curly hair. It was gray. She wore casual clothes in the fashion of that time. She liked dark skirts and white blouses with laces or embroidery. The only language my grandmother spoke was Yiddish and I never heard her say one word in Russian.

A year passed and then my father's sister Nenia took me to my father, who lived in Brovary, in the suburbs of Kiev. Nenia told me that I would have a new mother. That way I found out that my father had remarried. His second wife's name was Rasia. I don't remember her maiden name. Rasia was much younger than my father. She was born in 1902. Later I got to know that my grandmother Cherna, who was Rasia's mother's distant relative, arranged for them to meet. My father and Rasia had a Jewish wedding. Brovary was a small provincial town and there was no synagogue there. My father and Rasia had their wedding in the synagogue on Schekavitskaya Street in Podol, Kiev.

They settled down in the big two-storied brick house of Rasia's parents. There were ten rooms in the house. There was a stove for heating the house. There was no running water and the water was fetched from a well in the street. There was a small backyard with two apple trees, and a toilet made from planks. Rasia had four sisters and two brothers. The brothers were married and lived with their families elsewhere. The sisters were single. They lived in their parents' house. We had two rooms: one bigger room with a table, a wardrobe, two armchairs, a sofa where I slept and a smaller room that served as my father and Rasia's bedroom.

We lived from hand-to-mouth. My father was an accountant at the district consumer union, but he probably earned very little there. My stepmother had to go to work. She worked for a shop making gloves. She took work home. She had a sewing machine and she made these gloves working from morning till night. It was hard work and she rubbed her hands sore with that rough cloth. Neither my father nor stepmother had time to spend with me.

I remember Grandfather Avraam, Rasia's father, very well. He was very old and very kind. Adults didn't treat me like somebody important and always commented, 'She is just a child', while my grandfather understood that I was lonely and sad. He always had time and a kind word for me. I always tried to be where he was and he was very pleased that I could speak Yiddish. In the family of my stepmother only her parents spoke Yiddish. Rasia, her brothers and her sisters spoke Ukrainian. My grandfather began to teach me how to read and write in Yiddish and I learned a few letters. My grandfather wore a big black silk yarmulka and a black woolen hat when going out. He had a small gray beard, but no payes. He died in his sleep in 1926. He was buried in accordance with Jewish rules in the Jewish section of the town cemetery. I wasn't allowed to go to the cemetery since it was located rather far away and I was too small to walk there. I remember that my grandfather was lying covered with a sheet on some straw on the floor in a room. My grandmother and the daughters wore black gowns were sitting around him and lamenting. My grandfather was taken to the cemetery on a horse-driven cart. That's all I remember.

My father was religious. At that time Soviet authorities began to persecute religion 11. Propagandists came to houses to tell religious people that there was no God and that before the Revolution religion helped rich people to exploit the poor by promising them paradise after death. People like my father, who worked in state institutions, weren't allowed to go to synagogues or churches. They could even lose their jobs if they did. My father continued observing Jewish traditions regardless. He went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays or on the date of my mother's death. He prayed at home every day. I remember that I sometimes asked my stepmother where my father was and she said that he wasn't to be bothered since he was praying. Rasia didn't approve of his religiosity. She thought that if they lived during the Soviet regime they were to follow its rules.

I don't remember whether we celebrated Sabbath at home, but we celebrated Jewish holidays; that I remember well. Those were hard years and I remember holidays since we could eat more delicious food than ever. Rasia's mother took responsibility for the preparations for holidays. On Pesach the house was always thoroughly cleaned and washed. Window frames and doors were painted. I was to look for breadcrumbs in the house that were then burned. Before Pesach my grandmother and her daughters made matzah. There was always a lot of matzah made to last throughout Pesach. On the first day of Pesach all my grandmother's children got together in her home. Married sons brought their families with them. The oldest son conducted the seder. There were silver wine glasses for adults and little cups for children on the table. Everybody, even children, drank wine this evening. There was an extra glass with wine in the center of the table. My father explained to me that it was a glass for Elijah the Prophet 12, who came to each Jewish home that evening. I remember my cousins and I waited for Elijah to come to the house. Sometimes it even seemed that the wine stirred a little in the glass. I also remember Yom Kippur when children and adults fasted for 24 hours. My grandmother baked hamantashen on Purim. I learned the story of Purim from Rasia's father, my grandfather. The heroes of the story are Esther, a beautiful young Jewish woman living in Persia, and her cousin Mordecai, who saved the Jewish people, Ahasuerus, King of Persia, and evil Haman, the arrogant, egotistical advisor to the king.

I also liked Chanukkah for getting some money from all visitors on this day. Later I bought fruit drops and sunflower seeds for this money. I don't remember other holidays. Probably, there were no celebrations on other holidays.

My brother Boris was born in 1926. His Jewish name was Boruch. He was named after my grandfather, who was killed by bandits. My younger brother, Shaya, named after my father's younger brother, who was also killed, was born in 1928. They were circumcised on the eight day after their birth. I remember that quite a few old Jews with long beards and wearing black clothes and black hats attended this ritual. I think they were my father and stepmother's relatives from other towns. After the ritual they had a meal in a big room. A rabbi from Kiev sat at the head of the table.

Even after my brothers were born my stepmother still had to go to work. My father became rather sickly and often missed work. My stepmother actually was the breadwinner in the family. I became a baby-sitter for my brothers at the age of six. I was looking after them doing everything necessary. Both brothers called their mother 'Aunt Rasia' like I did. I'm used to calling them 'kids' and even now it's hard for me to call them 'brothers'. They are my 'kids'. I can't say that I didn't get along with my stepmother, but my childhood was very hard. I felt lack of motherly love and care and Rasia either didn't want or couldn't give these to me. She treated me like a servant that had to work off the food that she ate.

I went to the first grade at the age of eight. There was no Jewish school in Brovary and I went to a Ukrainian elementary school. I don't remember whether there were Jewish children in our class. At that time the national policy of the USSR propagated that there were no nationalities in the Soviet Union. There was only one nation: Soviet people. The issue of nationality was of no significance. I don't remember any anti-Semitism. I had no problems studying in a Ukrainian school since I was used to talking Ukrainian with my stepmother.

Growing up

I finished my first year at school in Brovary. In 1929 my father got a job as an accountant at the knitwear factory in Kiev and we moved there. My father got two rooms in a communal apartment in an old two-storied house in Kurenyovka, a workers' district in Kiev. Six other families lived in this apartment. Three of them were Jewish families. All tenants got along well and tried to support and help each other. Children played together in the yard. There was a common kitchen with primus stoves on tables, stools and windowsill. There was always the smell of kerosene in the kitchen. There was a long hallway with many doors to all rooms. There was no running water in the apartment and we fetched water from a pump in the yard. There was a toilet in the yard. The rooms were heated with wood-stoked stoves because wood was less expensive than coal. There was a tiled stove in each room. There were dim bulbs with cloth shades. We moved our furniture into this apartment from Brovary.

My stepmother went to work at a garment shop located near the house. The shop made working clothes. My stepmother brought cuts to put them together at home. She worked at the sewing machine from morning till night. My father also worked a lot and came home late at night. I had to look after my brothers again since there was nobody else to do it. When I had to go to school my brothers went to kindergarten and elementary school. I went to the Ukrainian lower secondary school in the house next to ours. Almost half of my classmates were Jewish. There were also Jewish teachers. I had no opportunity to do homework at home. After classes I had work to do: take my brothers from elementary school and kindergarten, give them lunch and look after them. I also had to wash dishes and clean the apartment. There was hardly any time left to do homework.

I liked literature at school. We didn't have books at home and I borrowed some from the school library. I also liked mathematics. I studied well at school. I was a sociable girl and had many friends. I didn't chose my friends according to their nationality, but somehow most of my friends happened to be Jewish. I liked singing and joined the school choir when I was in the 2nd grade. We learned songs praising the Party and Stalin, in which children thanked them for our happy childhood. These songs called Lenin and Stalin 'Grannies'. We sincerely believed in all this. When I was in the 4th grade I went to a dance club. We danced Russian, Ukrainian, Moldavian and Polish folk dances.

I became a pioneer in the 4th grade. I was very excited about it. I was afraid they wouldn't admit me since I wasn't among the best in our studies. However, we were all admitted. I remember the ceremony. We were lined up in the schoolyard and the senior pioneer tutor recited the oath of young Leninists that we repeated after her. Then Komsomol 13 members tied red neckties on us and gave each of us a book. I got a 'Pioneer Hero' book about a pioneer that saved kolkhoz crops from fire.

When I became a pioneer I began to conduct anti-religious propaganda at home. At school we were told that we had to teach our retrograde parents that there was no God and that all about him was a fantasy. My father came home late from work and I waited for him on purpose to explain to him how wrong he was. My father got angry and argued with me, but since then he stopped praying at home or he did it when I didn't see. Now with regret and shame I can say that we, pioneers, were taught to be informers. Our idol was Pavlik Morozov 14. Perhaps, my father was just afraid that I would tell someone at school about his religiosity and he would have problems at work. We didn't celebrate Jewish holidays at home any more. We celebrated Soviet holidays at school. On 1st May and 7th November [October Revolution Day] 15 schoolchildren and the school administration went to a parade in the morning and then came back to school. We prepared a concert to which we invited our parents and relatives. We tried to perform as best as we could.

My grandmother Cherna celebrated Jewish holidays at home. Although her daughters, who lived in Kiev, didn't celebrate any Jewish holidays at home and were far from observing Jewish traditions they visited my grandmother with their families on Jewish holidays. Only Nenia was religious. I remember my brothers and me visiting my grandmother on Pesach when she treated us to matzah. I didn't eat it and didn't allow my brothers to eat matzah. I explained to them that it was a religious holiday and Soviet schoolchildren weren't supposed to participate in it. I was an extremist, maybe because of my age.

My brothers went to a Jewish school in Podol that had just opened then. It was far from where we lived, but we could take a tram to get there. The language of teaching was Yiddish, but that was the only difference to any other Soviet school. The school curriculum was the same for all schools. My brothers studied well. They had time to do their homework, which I didn't. They had almost all excellent marks in their school record book. At home we spoke Ukrainian.

I remember the famine in 1932-33 16. My father worked at the factory where employees often received food packages. My stepmother also got food instead of money as payment for her work. The food stores were empty. Even when they were selling something there were long lines to get food. Villagers came to Kiev looking for jobs and food. People were dying in the streets. I remember once standing in line for bread. A woman standing before me fell. I tried to support her, but saw that she had stopped breathing. Many people died, but our family managed through this time somehow.

In summer 1934 I finished the 7th grade. I didn't have an opportunity to continue my studies since I had to take care of my brothers. I went to work as an accounting clerk at a shop making sheepskin coats. It was in Darnitsa, in the left bank district in Kiev. Commuting there was difficult especially in winter. I didn't have proper clothes and got cold. I worked there for three years until the father of my friend Feldman, who was the director of the Leather and Shoe Technical School at the shoe factory, offered me work at the factory. He said I could study at the school in the evening. I was eager to study and I went to work as an apprentice to a worker preparing raw work pieces. Employees of the factory could enter school without exams and I entered the Faculty of Shoe Production. There were many Jewish employees in the factory and many Jewish students in the school. I made friends at school. I rarely met with my former schoolmates. Many of them studied in colleges. They had new friends and new interests in life.

I joined the Komsomol League at the Technical School. I was a good student and a good employee. The Komsomol committee of the factory gave me a recommendation and I obtained my Komsomol membership certificate at the district Komsomol committee. I believed that since I had become a Komsomol member I had to improve my studies and work.

My family didn't suffer during the period of arrests that began in 1936 and lasted until the war began [the so-called Great Terror] 17. However, I couldn't help noticing that some of our neighbors and some of my colleagues disappeared, but we didn't discuss any of these subjects at home. The moment someone mentioned that somebody was arrested my stepmother cut off the discussion. She was afraid that our neighbors might hear.

I somehow didn't give a thought to Hitler's rise to power. I was probably not smart enough to understand what it meant. Later I heard that Hitler was exterminating Jews in Germany. My friends and I often went to the cinema where they often showed films about fascism in Germany. There was a film called Professor Mamlock 18. I don't remember any details, but I remember that it was about the persecution of Jews. I had some idea of what was going on. When Hitler attacked Poland we began to have military training at work. We were taught how to use gas masks, provide first aid to the wounded and take necessary measures during a chemical attack. However, I didn't think that a war could come to our country. We often got together at my colleague Ida Ginsburg's home. There were Jewish guys in this group of about 20-22 years of age. They often said that the war was inevitable and I was trying to convince them that our army was the strongest in the world and Hitler wouldn't dare to attack us. I was sure that it was true; I didn't have the slightest idea what a war was like.

My father got very ill in 1938. He couldn't go to work. He had severe heart problems. He died in 1939. My grandmother Cherna insisted that he was buried in Lukianovka Jewish cemetery 19 in Kiev in accordance with Jewish traditions. Nenia's husband recited the Kaddish for him. Nobody sat shivah for my father. In the 1960s this cemetery was closed and a TV tower was built on the site. We moved my father's ashes to the Jewish section of a new town cemetery.

During the war

In June 1941 I passed my last exams at the Technical School. On 30th June we were to have the ceremony of receiving diplomas, and a prom. My brothers were on vacation. Boris finished the 7th grade and Shaya the 6th grade at school. On Sunday morning, 22nd June 1941, my friend and I went to the cinema. The film had just started when all lights went out. We thought this was due to a technical problem, but over a loud speaker they announced that Kiev was being bombed by the Germans. We were asked to go home and listen to the news on the radio. I don't remember how I managed to get home. I heard the roar of explosions in the distance. There was only one radio in an apartment in our house. All tenants got together in this apartment. At noon we heard the speech by Molotov 20. He announced that fascist Germany had started to attack the Soviet Union without declaring a war. Then Stalin spoke. He said that we would win and we were convinced that it would be so.

Panic began on the first days of the war. People bought up all products in stores. There were long lines in all stores. I kept going to work. Our factory began to manufacture boots for the front. My brothers joined a pioneer unit. Pioneers patrolled streets taking people to bomb shelters during air raids. I was very concerned about my brothers. We didn't think about evacuation. We believed that our army would beat the enemy in the near future: we were raised this way and that's what we were told all the time. In late July there were rumors that evacuation would begin in Kiev. Then there were announcements on posts which said that those that weren't evacuating with their enterprises were to receive evacuation papers in their residential agencies. I stood in line a whole day to receive an evacuation paper for our family: it was on a cigarette paper and we could hardly read our names.

In August 1941 enterprises began to evacuate. They evacuated their employees and equipment. We went into evacuation by ourselves. Grandmother Cherna, my father's sisters Sima and Beila and their three children were going with us. We couldn't take much luggage with us, but some food. Boris, Beila's younger son, was just four years old. I carried him and my stepmother carried a suitcase with clothes. My brothers had some textbooks for their next year at school. We boarded a cattle freight train at the railway station. There were three-tier plank beds along the walls in the carriage. People crowded in the passage and on the platform. There were no toilets. When we were leaving Kiev was being bombed. We were bombed on the way, too. Then the train stopped and people scattered around hiding under carriages. When the planes left we returned to our carriages and the train moved on. Some people got killed and wounded during air raids.

We didn't know our point of destination. When the train stopped at stations we could get off to get some water or go to the toilet. We were scared to get off the train not knowing when it was going to move again. Sometimes we could buy some food from locals at stations. I don't remember how long our trip lasted, but it was very long. We reached Krasnodar [a town about 1,000 km from Kiev]. We were accommodated in the evacuation office of a school building. There were mattresses on the floor where people slept side by side. We got a meal twice a day: some soup and cereal. We were glad to get at least this miserable food. All of us, except for old people and children, were taken to work in a nearby kolkhoz 21. It was harvest season and grain had to be removed so that Germans wouldn't get it. We worked very hard. 50-kilo-bags of grain were loaded at the threshing floor and we had to carry them over a distance of about 200 meters where they were loaded onto trucks. My stepmother, brothers and aunts went to work. My grandmother and the little ones stayed in the evacuation office.

When the harvesting was over I went to work as an attendant in a hospital. Hospitals for the badly wounded were usually based in the rear. I believed that it was my duty as a Komsomol member to help the wounded. I washed and fed the patients and read books to them. I begged them to eat and it was like feeding little children. Sometimes I was given a piece of bread that I took home to the children. We stayed there for over a year. Then we were told that Germans were approaching Krasnodar and we had to move on. It was March 1942. I remember the train going past trains with wounded people. When our train stopped we often got some bread or a bowl of soup from a sanitary train. They didn't have enough food themselves, but they wanted to share it with poor refugees. We got to Makhachkala, a town in Azerbaijan [about 2000 km from Kiev] and from there we went to Nukha town, about 150 kilometers from Makhachkala by boat, across the Caspian Sea. We stayed there until 1944.

Nukha was a small town at the Caspian Sea. The local population was Azerbaijani and there were a few Russians. There were no Jews. There was a silk and garment factory. The local population was poor. There were small plots of land near their the houses, but since the soil was salty they could hardly grow anything. Drinking water from wells was also a bit salty. Although locals were forced to give accommodation to those that came into evacuation, they were sympathetic and friendly with us. I don't remember one single case of anti-Semitism or rude or irritable attitudes throughout the whole time of our life in Nukha. Local people tried to help and support us. They shared with us whatever little they had.

As soon as we got off the boat in Nukha we were sent to a sauna. Our clothes were disinfected. Perhaps this helped to avoid typhoid in Nukha. My grandmother, my father's sisters and their children and we got accommodation in the house of a local woman. She had an airbrick house [bricks made from cut straw mixed with clay and dried in the sun]. She gave us two small rooms: one for my stepmother, my grandmother, my brothers and me and another one for Sima and Beila and their children. The owner of the house gave us what she could. There was a clay floor in the house. She gave us woven rugs to put on the floor, bed sheets and some crockery. We got planks at the evacuation agency and made trestle beds, stools and a table. We didn't have any warm clothes with us. We were lucky that winters in Nukha were mild. We got jobs at the evacuation office. They asked me whether I could count. I thought they were asking about mathematics that we had studied at school and said that I could. I was sent to work at the accounting office of the local silk factory. Their employee - a man - received a call-up from a military registry office. He was allowed to train a replacement at work for two months before going to the front. I had to work and learn simultaneously. Of course, I made mistakes since I had never dealt with accounting before, but I grasped things quickly and two months later I became chief accountant.

My older brother, Boris, went to work as a weaver in this factory and my younger brother, Shaya, was a courier for the director of the factory. He had problems sometimes since the director of the factory didn't speak a word of Russian while we didn't know Azerbaijani. Shaya had to ask a secretary to help him. She spoke a little Russian. We picked up some Azerbaijani soon, though. A local sovkhoz bred silkworms and supplied cocoons to the factory. They were dipped in special solutions in shops to get a thin silk thread from them. These threads were woven and the silk fabric was taken to a garment factory where they made underwear for pilots that was light and warm. Therefore, the factory was on the list of military enterprises. We received bread coupons at the factory and got a hot meal at the canteen. We got some soup and cereal. Sometimes we got a 50-gram cube of bread, as big as half a matchbox. My brothers and I tried to save this bread for my stepmother and grandmother. I also took my soup home. My stepmother couldn't get a job. She stayed at home looking after our grandmother and the little ones. We didn't observe any Jewish traditions in evacuation. We didn't celebrate any Jewish holidays and following the kashrut was out of the question considering the circumstances. We ate what we could get. We didn't celebrate Soviet holidays either.

In the evening when I came home I was almost dead on my feet. Sima and Beila got a job in a kolkhoz, 50 kilometers from town. They worked six days a week and had a day off on Sunday. They received food as payment for their work. My stepmother decided to go to the kolkhoz. She took my younger brother Shaya with her. The kolkhoz was located in a swampy lowland area. There were many malaria mosquitoes and the death rate from malaria was very high. After a couple of months my stepmother and Shaya fell ill with malaria. I heard about it and went to the kolkhoz to take them home. The chairman of the kolkhoz gave me a donkey-driven cart to take them back to Nukha. They were taken to the local hospital. My stepmother died within a week, in October 1942. My father's sister Sima contracted malaria. She died ten days after my stepmother died and a week later my grandmother passed away. There was no Jewish cemetery in Nukha since there was no local Jewish population in the town. The leader of the party unit of the factory, he was a Muslim, told me that he knew prayers and that Jews and Muslims had similar rituals. He conducted the funerals of my stepmother, Sima and my grandmother. I don't know what prayers he recited since he did it in Azerbaijani. Beila kept Sima's children. 22 years ago, in 1980, my brother Shaya was on a business trip in Azerbaijan. He went to Nukha to go to the cemetery. Local residents helped him to find the house where we had lived during evacuation. The owner of the house recognized my brother and invited him to come in. It turned out that he and his family had been looking after the graves of our dear ones throughout all these years.

My brother was the only survivor of all members of our family that had malaria. He was very ill and had a high fever. I came to hospital after work and stayed there overnight. My brother was afraid of being alone. I was very happy that he survived. Unfortunately, this illness had a severe impact on his health condition. Malaria affected his heart. Shaya was often ill and had heart problems lateron. He was sickly and physically weak.

There was only an Azerbaijani school in Nukha when we arrived there. Later, when so many people came into evacuation, the town administration opened a Russian lower secondary school. My brothers went to school in the evening and in June 1944 they finished lower secondary school.

In August 1944 we heard that Soviet troops had liberated Kiev. We decided to go home. We didn't have money to buy tickets. We traveled on the roof of a carriage. There were seven of us: my brothers and I and Beila with three children. Before our departure the owner of the house where we lived went hunting and brought a deer home. His wife fried meat and gave it to us preserved in fat. This was our food during the trip. It was a cold fall. I found a worn and torn military coat and it served us as a blanket and coat for a long time.

When we arrived Kiev we stayed at the railway station overnight. Our house was ruined. In the morning I told my brothers to go to medical school. They wanted to become doctors, but since they only had lower secondary education they couldn't enter Medical College. My brothers met with Ivan Pevtsov, the deputy director of the school. They were admitted without exams. They returned and told me to go see Pevtsov as well. He asked me what I could do. When he heard that I had worked as an accountant he offered me a job at his accounting office.

We received two small rooms: four and two square meters. They were a former shower and restrooms. There was a steel bed in the bigger room where we slept. We had one blanket for the three of us. We received bread coupons. Shaya went to get bread on the first day and somebody stole it from him. We didn't have any food whatsoever. We tried to move as little as possible staying in bed exhausted. When Pevtsov found out that I didn't come to work he came to see me. He lost his leg after he had been wounded at the front. When we told him about what had happened he gave us his bread coupon and some money. I got 400 grams of millet and we were happy about it. We picked potato peels from a garbage bin near the canteen. In the daytime we went to see where they were and in the evening, when it got dark, we went to pick them. This saved us from starvation. In September 1944 school began and my brothers were happy to study.

I met my future husband at the home of my former school friend. I bumped into her on the street in 1944. I was very glad to see her again. I came to see her after work sometimes. On one of those evenings she introduced me to Israel Katz, a Jew and student at the Military Medical Academy. Israel was born in the town of Krasnoye, Vinnitsa region [about 200 kilometers from Kiev] in 1921. His father, Solomon Katz, was a member of the Party and an NKVD 22 officer. During the Civil War he volunteered to the Red Army and went to the front. When the Civil War was over he was offered to work with the NKVD. His mother's name was Maria. Israel's younger brother, Grigori, was born in 1924. When Israel was ten his mother left the family. Solomon was never at home and she got tired of it. Solomon remarried and had two daughters with his second wife, but Israel never talked about them. When the war began Solomon went to the army and perished during the defense of Kiev in 1941.

In 1939 after finishing school Israel entered Kiev Military Medical Academy. When the Great Patriotic War began the academy evacuated to Middle Asia. Israel was there, too. The Academy returned to Kiev in 1944 and so did Israel.

After the war

Israel finished the academy in February 1945. We got married a few days before he graduated. We just had a civil ceremony in a registry office. My husband got a job assignment as a military doctor in a division in Budapest. He left. I couldn't follow him since my brothers hadn't finished school and I didn't want to leave them. My older brother, Boris, was rather sickly after evacuation. I stayed with my brothers. My husband came to see me about twice a year. My brothers finished school in May 1946 and received their [mandatory] job assignments 23 in Uzhgorod, where they were to work as assistant doctors. My brothers left there. They got accommodation in a room in a hostel.

My husband wrote me that their regiment was moving to Kiev. A few people from that regiment came to Kiev to make accommodation arrangements for officers. They brought me a letter from my husband and a food parcel. Later they told me that my husband's regiment reached the Soviet border from where it was sent back to Budapest. My husband's friends were going back to join their regiment and I decided to go with them. In Chop, a town on the border with Hungary, I had to get off the train. I stayed in the waiting room at the railway station. My husband came to pick me up after two days. He was transferred to Austria. He had an invitation letter for me to serve as an official permit. I only needed to have it stamped in Uzhgorod. I was glad to have this opportunity to see my brothers in Uzhgorod. In Uzhgorod we went to the military office and it turned out that on that day they received an order forbidding military officers to take their wives abroad with them. We were late. We walked in the town and I was crying. We were to be separated again. We went to see my brothers in the hostel. They were very happy to see me. I was like a mother for them. We lived in my brothers' room in the hostel for a week before my husband left. When he left I thought that I didn't want to go back to Kiev. My brothers were in Uzhgorod and in Kiev I was alone. I stayed in Uzhgorod.

Uzhgorod is a very beautiful town: it's clean and nice. There are beautiful houses in town. People in Uzhgorod are nice and friendly. There was a Hungarian, Ukrainian, Czech and Jewish population in Uzhgorod. The Jewish population was numerous. People were tolerant and friendly. There was a synagogue and a Jewish school. Neither my brothers nor I were religious. It was the way we were raised, but I liked it when religious people could go to the synagogue freely and celebrate Jewish holidays openly without hiding like my father had to.

I began to look for a job. I got an offer: there was a vacancy of an accountant at the forestry office. I was happy to get this job. I lived with my brothers in their room in the hostel. In January 1947 my son Semyon was born. After he was born my brothers and I moved to a small dark room in a communal apartment that we received from the health department. We repaired and refurbished it. There was a kitchen, bathroom, running water and toilet in the apartment that we were very happy about. I corresponded with my husband.

Two months after my son was born I had to go back to work. I got a job as a nurse in the same nursery where my two-month-old son went. When my son went to kindergarten I got a job as an accountant at the canteen there and later I became the director of this canteen. When my son went to school I went to work at the accounting office of a printing house. I worked there until I retired. Many of my colleagues were Jewish. I never faced any anti-Semitism at work.

I led a closed life. I had few friends and they were my Jewish colleagues for the most part. After work I rushed home where my son and brothers waited for me. We were rather hard up. We couldn't afford any entertainment. We didn't celebrate Jewish holidays. We only celebrated our birthdays at home. We had celebrations at work on Soviet holidays.

My marriage failed. My husband was on military service abroad and couldn't visit me often. I couldn't go to see him either. We met twice a year maximum. After a few years he suggested that we should divorce. I was so used to my status of a loner that I agreed. We got divorced. He supported me sending money until our son grew up. He sometimes came to see our son. That's all I can tell about him. I don't know what happened to him afterwards. I don't even know if he's still alive. It's sad, but what can one do about things...

My brothers completed their mandatory two-year assignment and entered the Medical Faculty of Uzhgorod University in 1948. They graduated from there successfully. My younger brother was the best student in his group; the older one had problems. He was often ill and missed classes. My younger brother's professor wanted him to continue his studies at the post-graduate school. Shaya was to receive a 'red diploma' [diploma with a red cover issued to graduates that had all excellent marks. Other diplomas had a blue cover]. After passing his state exams he went to the dean's office where he signed up for the receipt of a red diploma and then, a few hours later, he received a diploma in a blue cover at the ceremony. Someone in the management didn't like the idea of a Jewish post-graduate student. I remember Shaya coming home that evening. He threw his diploma on the table angrily. This was one of the very few cases in my life when I faced anti- Semitism. Both of my brothers received a job assignment in Subcarpathia: my older brother was to work in Uzhgorod and my younger brother in Irshava town, 120 kilometers from Uzhgorod.

My brother Boris died in Uzhgorod on 30th May 1955 at the age of 29. He died of a heart attack. He had a weak heart due to the malaria that he had in evacuation. We buried him in the Jewish section of the town cemetery. His colleagues and former fellow students came to the funeral.

My younger brother, Shaya, lived his life in Irshava. He was a well-known and respected doctor. Shaya married Galia Bezuglaya, a local Ukrainian girl, in 1957. I was very upset that my brother was marrying a non-Jewish girl. I was afraid that if there was an argument, which wasn't an unusual thing in a family, my brother's wife might say an anti-Semitic word. Fortunately, it didn't happen. My wife's brother and I became very close in the flow of years. Their son Boris, named after Shaya's older brother, was born in 1960. After finishing school Boris decided to become a doctor. He finished a Medical College in Uzhgorod. He works as a doctor in Irshava. Boris is married and has a wonderful daughter. For his achievements in healthcare Shaya was awarded the order of the Red Labor Banner. He died in Irshava in 1992. Shaya was buried in the common cemetery in Irshava. I keep in touch with his wife and his son's family. They sometimes visit me.

In January 1953 the time of the Doctors' Plot 24 began. This was the first time in my life when I doubted that officials were telling us the truth. I lived in a communal apartment. One of our neighbors was a military man and his family. We were the same age and they were our friends. My son and their daughters were also friends. When the Doctors' Plot began he came home one evening and had a long discussion with his wife. When she came to the kitchen she said, 'These Jewish doctors should have been smothered in their mother's wombs'. They knew that I was a Jew and we got along well with them and I was surprised to hear from her that doctors would poison Stalin. Even a bigger surprise for me was that she emphasized that they were Jewish doctors. They were friendly as usual, but my attitude changed. This phrase was like a splinter in my memory and I couldn't forget it. I couldn't believe in their sincerity any more. I didn't believe what newspapers wrote about doctors, but I couldn't even imagine that this lie was one of Stalin's doings. He had been an idol for me since I was a child.

On 5th March 1953 Stalin died. I remember those horrible days. People cried without trying to hide their tears. I also cried after him like I didn't cry after my close ones. Everybody said the same: how we were going to live when he wasn't there and what was going to happen to the country and people. It took me some time to believe what Khrushchev 25 said about Stalin at the Twentieth Party Congress 26. At first I thought it was slander that Khrushchev needed to stand out and he chose this way to do it. I lived with this conviction many years. Only during perestroika 27 when many books, films and performances about that time were published I came to understanding many things. Many years had to pass before I began to understand.

My son Semyon studied at a secondary school and a music school. He was good at music, but he lost interest in what he was doing quickly. I had to force him to play. He finished seven years of music school with honors and seven years of secondary school. Semyon went in for sports. He was a candidate for a master of sports in gymnastics. I wished he went to study at a medical school, but he had no interest in medicine. After finishing a higher secondary school he entered the extramural department of Lvov Road College. By the end of his studies he became chief engineer of the regional road transport department. Upon graduation Semyon went to the army in the rank of an officer. After his service in the army he returned to Uzhgorod and went to work.

My son married Nina Mirmelshtein, a Jewish girl, in 1976. She was born in Uzhgorod in 1950. Her parents are doctors. She graduated from the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics at Uzhgorod University and went to work in a village, 150 kilometers from Uzhgorod. She was a teacher at school. Upon completion of her two-year assignment Nina returned to Uzhgorod. She couldn't find work at school and went to work as an economist at the Machine Building Plant. My son didn't have a Jewish wedding.

My older granddaughter, Julia, was born in 1977, and the younger one, Evgenia, in 1981. My son and his family came to see me. I was so happy to see my granddaughters. I helped my daughter-in-law with what I could. The girls had many interests in life. They were healthy girls. My older granddaughter was learning to play chess. In 1989 she took the first place among schoolchildren of Subcarpathia. My younger granddaughter was fond of sports. They also studied music and foreign languages.

After my son got married I received a one-bedroom apartment in a new house that the printing house built for its employees. We came to work at the construction site at weekends to do some cleaning. My son and his wife also received a two-bedroom apartment. I have a one-bedroom apartment with all comforts and a telephone.

I never joined the Communist Party, but I was a Soviet person with a Soviet mentality. When Jews began to move to Israel in the 1970s I was indignant about it. Of course, I didn't even consider this option. I couldn't understand my acquaintances or friends that submitted their documents to obtain a permit for departure. I didn't know how they could leave their country to go to Israel where everything was so different.

I also felt negative about perestroika. I thought it was wrong and that private entrepreneurship was not a good idea and there could be no capitalism in our country. Later a change for the better became obvious. The fall of the Iron Curtain 28, which separated the USSR from the rest of the world, was one example of such improvement.

My son and his family decided to move to Israel in 1990. Nina's parents were going with them. My son tried to convince me to go with them, but I decided to stay here. I was 70 and this wasn't the age to start a new life. Semyon settled down in Ramla. My son and his wife work twelve hours a day, but they are happy. My older granddaughter, Julia, went to the army after finishing school. After her military service she returned home and entered the Faculty of Mathematics at Tel Aviv University. The younger one, Evgenia, finished school and is in the army now. I visited them in 1995 and in 2000. I liked Israel, though I felt a little constraint without speaking Ivrit. It's a beautiful country. My heart sinks when I think that there is a war and people die. I liked the young people in Israel. They are so different from us. They are so free and self-confident. They love their country and are proud that their fathers and grandfathers built it. My granddaughters took me around. We went to other towns, museums and theaters. I enjoyed these trips, but even after I visited Israel, I didn't want to move there. I'm 80 already. It isn't the age to begin a new life.

In 1999 Hesed was established in Uzhgorod. This organization supports the revival of the Jewish way of life in Ukraine. We, old people, are very happy about it. When we retire we have to face loneliness and helplessness. We suffer much about lack of communication. Hesed has changed this situation. Volunteers visit old people and talk to them. They deliver delicious food to us. There are clubs in Hesed. They have interesting programs and we can get together there. Every Sunday we attend performances of the drama studio of Hesed. They stage Sholem Aleichem plays. I like theater and enjoy every performance to the utmost. We celebrate Jewish traditions in Hesed. I've become closer to Jewish traditions and am happy about it. I speak Yiddish with my new friends at Hesed. It's very pleasant for me. I'm very much interested in such things. I have a visiting nurse at home. She's become close to me. She brings me Jewish newspapers and magazines from Hesed. I have new friends and my life has become full, thanks to Hesed.

Glossary

Lev Drobyazko
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Tatyana Chaika

My name is Lev Yevgenyevich Drobyazko, and I was born in May 1937 in
Moscow. Soon after my birth, my parents moved to Kiev. And here I lived all
of my life, with the exception of three years in evacuation. The history of
my name has nothing in common with any Jewish traditions, but nonetheless,
it is interesting. My parents, especially my father, admired the "leftist
front" in literature and art, and that is why they wanted to name me Lef.
Fortunately, those clerks who registered my name knew nothing about my
parents' intentions and registered me with the traditional name - Lev. And
I like it.

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

My family background

When I was born, my father, Yevgeny Drobyazko, a famous Ukrainian
writer and translator, was 35 years old; my mother, Leah Vaisblat, had just
turned 32. I was their firstborn. My parents had known each other for a
very long time, approximately 10 years before their wedding, but there was
a problem with my mother's father. He was the famous Rabbi Nukhim Vaisblat,
and he was very much against his daughter's marriage to a Russian Orthodox
man, so their wedding could take place only after the rabbi's death. It is
also worth noting that my father's father, Anton Drobyazko, never opposed
my parents' wedding. So, when I was born, I combined two different cultures
and two family lines, each of which is interesting.

I know about the family of my father from family legends, even though
I remember my grandfather, Anton Drobyazko. When he was arrested in June
1941, I was four years old. In Kiev, our family lived not far from him, and
I saw him quite often. He was very kind, smiled a lot, and expressed a lot
of love to me. He came from a family of potters, but for outstanding
services as a lawyer the tsar granted him the status of a nobleman at the
age of 40. He graduated from Kiev University's Law Department, and began
his career in a court in Nezhin, Ukraine. He had a very good career. After
the revolution he worked as an editor and translator in various publishing
companies in Ukraine, and in 1926 he and a team of authors issued Ukraine's
first Soviet Law Dictionary. He worked as an editor and a translator until
1941, when he was arrested.

His wife, my grandmother, Maria Lebova, also came from a family of
Russian noblemen. Having received a wonderful education, she provided the
same for her two sons. Having no financial needs in her life, my
grandmother spent all her life working as a teacher in various schools,
particular, in Kiev. She was a modern, emancipated woman, who wanted to
benefit people with her labor.

My grandparents were Russian Orthodox, but they welcomed the Soviet
power, nevertheless, and were quite loyal to it. Anton Drobyazko and Maria
Lebova had two children: Yevgeny, my father, and Anatoly. Even though both
had good educations, their social orientation was quite different. The
Civil War, which followed the Revolution of 1917, split the family. My
father, just like his parents, embraced the Revolution and everything it
brought. Anatoly, however, rejected the Revolution and actively fought
against it. He was a White Guard officer, and graduated from the military
school of the White Guard. He was reported missing in 1919 during his fight
against the proletariat.

After my grandmother's death in 1924, my grandfather Anton lived in
Kiev, actively working in Soviet publishing structures. On June 30, 1941,
at the age of 71, he was arrested by the State Security Service and
condemned, charged with anti-Soviet propaganda and with welcoming Hitler
and the fascists, and he was sentenced to death. His court hearings never
took place, however, and he, too, was reported missing. I found
investigative materials pertaining to his case only in 1997-1998, and they
stated that the fate of the condemned Anton Drobyazko is unclear. Most
likely he was shot during the evacuation of the prisoners of the
Lukyanovksaya prison at the end of August or the beginning of September
1941. As far as I know, the arrest of my grandfather had no effect on my
father's career.

It is peculiar that in my memories of my father, I never remember him
sleeping. I usually saw him working, or sitting in an armchair with a
pencil and a piece of paper in his hand, reading. He was member of the
Writers' Union, an author and a translator. He knew eight European and all
the Slavic languages. He translated classical European poetry into
Ukrainian. The main work of his life was the first translation into
Ukrainian of Dante. He also translated many other authors. He learned all
these languages in school and on his own. He graduated from the Law
Department of Kiev University and from the Department of Film Producers of
the Kiev Theatrical Institute. Both prior to and after the Second World
War, up to his death in 1981 (at the age of 83), my father translated
poetry, edited and published texts, and staged plays in Kiev theaters. All
his life my father was a pioneer in work and in society. He was an atheist.

In 1922 or 1923, at a literature meeting, my father met my mother;
they fell in love quickly and lastingly. But this wonderful fact did not
mean that they could get married. Young Leah Vaisblat was also an atheist
and a person of advanced views. When they married, my mother was 28, and my
father 32. Even though she defied her father's will and married a gentile,
my mother still remained Jewish. She never gave up her maiden name and
remained Vaisblat for the rest of her life as a sign of honor, love and
respect to her family.

This was a wonderful family, and I would like to tell you about it.
Unfortunately, I know nothing about the history of the Vaisblat family
prior to her father, my grandfather, who died before I was born. But I know
a lot about him. My grandfather, Nukhim Yankelevich Vaisblat, was born in
the middle of the 19th century - between 1850 and 1860 - in the town of
Malin, in the Kiev region. Malin then was a typical Jewish town. The first
education my grandfather received was in the cheder of Malin, and later he
finished his studies at a school for rabbis, probably in Kiev. At a young
age he became the rabbi of Malin's Jewish community and became famous for
his knowledge and and even his quick wit.

In the 1880s, a so-called Eternal Jewish Calendar was widely
circulated around the Malin, Berdichev, and Kiev Jewish communities. This
calendar was calculated and compiled by my grandfather. The Berdichev
printing house published it in 1887.

During the 1890s, Nukhim Vaisblat and his family moved to Kiev, where,
according to my mother, he was the chief rabbi of the so-called Soldiers'
Synagogue, a position he retained until the end of his life. According to
other sources, he was the chief rabbi of the Merchants Synagogue of Kiev.
It was a very good career for someone who came from the small town of
Malin. Nukhim Vaisblat held high status not only within the Kiev Jewish
community, but also outside it. The family of the Vaisblats settled in
Zhilyanskaya Street, which was famous for the fact that only Jewish
merchants of the first class and high clergy were allowed to settle there
because of the "Jewish Pale" law.

Rabbi Nukhim had eleven children. He married when he was still living
in Malin. He chose to marry a poor girl who worked as a twister at the rag
workshop of the Malin Paper Factory. It was hard work that did not pay
well. As a result of this work, my grandmother became ill with
tuberculosis. She died from it many years later. My grandmother's name was
Basya-Rakhuma Shloimovna; her maiden name was Lerman. She was born in
Narodichi.

My grandparents and their eleven children occupied a seven-room flat.
This flat belonged to them until the Revolution. They also had servants.
After the revolution and before the death of my grandfather in 1925 and my
grandmother in 1927, the government began to allow other people to live in
the same flat (making it into what was known as a "communal flat") until
finally, my grandparents' children had only two rooms left. The Vaisblat
family was very Orthodox, keeping every Jewish tradition, holiday, and
kashrut. All eleven children received a primary Jewish education in cheder.
Later, eight sons and one daughter - my mother - also received a secular
education. All eleven became famous and made contributions either to Jewish
culture, or to secular science and culture. All of the siblings had
different destinies, but one thing they shared in common - none of the
rabbi's sons became a rabbi.

The first son of rabbi Nukhim and Basya Vaisblat was born in 1880 in
Malin. He left Malin very early, after finishing secondary school. In Kiev
he was trained as a builder and worked in construction. Yankel, later Yakov
Vaisblat, lived an absolutely secular life; he was very handsome, he played
cards and billiards, had lots of girl-friends, and saw many countries
during his construction tours. He never had a family of his own. He died at
the age of 44 from tuberculosis, catching the infection from his mother, my
grandmother.

Their second son, Vladimir, was born two years after Yakov. He
received not only a secular, but also a philosophical education in Germany.
At the beginning of the 20th century, Vladimir became very famous in Russia
as an expert in the arts, as a literary critic and also as a publisher. He
was one of the sponsors of the World Exhibition of Kiev in 1913. Even
though Vladimir was Jewish, the tsar gave him permission to act as an
official representative of Russia at the World Book Exhibition in Leipzig
in 1914. In addition, Vladimir was known for his knowledge of theater. He
also collected porcelain, carpets and paintings. He died in 1944 from
typhus after returning to Kiev from evacuation. He left his wife, Lubov,
his son, Alexander, and a daughter, Iya, all of whom preserved his literary
and artistic heritage for the rest of their lives.

There is an interesting episode concerning Vladimir in that family's
legend. When he returned home from Germany in 1906, being a highly educated
man and an atheist, he sat down at the dinner table without a yarmulke and
prayer, and Rabbi Nukhim threw him out. No man was ever allowed to sit at
the table in that house without a yarmulke and prayer. This is fascinating,
because Rabbi Nukhim had paid for his children's higher secular education.
(Since he wanted his Jewish children to go to a regular secondary school,
he had to pay not only for their education, but also for the education of
two poor Russian Orthodox students per each of his own children).
Nevertheless, Rabbi Nukhim never denied financial support to his children,
and never forced them to choose any particular profession. But Jewish
traditions were considered holy in that house.

Their third son, Solomon, became a famous dental surgeon. He graduated
from the Medical Institute of Kiev in 1922 and later created the method of
conduction anesthesia in stomatology. Since the 1930s Solomon was Professor
of Stomatology at the Medical Institute of Kiev, and after World War II -
the pro-rector of this Institute. Solomon Vaisblat had a large dental
practice in Kiev both prior to and after the war. Moreover, he insisted
that all of his brothers should become dentists as well, and Kiev is very
familiar with the dental dynasty of the Vaisblats. During the course of the
war - from 1941 through 1945 - Solomon Vaisblat worked as a military dental
surgeon in the hospital of Stalinabad (now Dushanbe, the Soviet Republic of
Tadjikistan). Solomon performed his first experiments with conduction
anesthesia on himself, with the help of his younger brother, Aron. Aron
then was the second person to experience the benefits of conduction
anesthesia. Later, he, too, became a dental surgeon. Two of Solomon's
daughters also became famous doctors in Kiev. Both of them are still
living. One of them lives and works in Germany, the other in Australia.
Solomon died in 1965 at the age of 79, having left a huge number of
students and good memories of his life.

The eldest daughter in the Vaisblat family was my Aunt Genya. Her
husband's last name was Genderfeld. She was born in 1890 and was the only
child of the rabbi who was home-schooled in Jewish subjects. Jewish
teachers taught her at home, and she was good at Hebrew, knew all the
Jewish holidays, traditions, and recipes for Jewish cooking, in general
everything that a Jewish woman ought to know. Genya could also speak and
write French. In 1910-1915 she was considered one of the most beautiful
Jewish girls of Kiev. At her wedding at the Brodsky Synagogue in Kiev there
were so many guests, that the carriage wagons which brought them to the
celebration occupied all the streets within a two block radius of the
synagogue. In July 1941 Aunt Genya and her two children, my mother, and I
were evacuated together, while Aunt Genya's husband, Israel Genderfeld, who
actively propagated the idea that nobody needed to leave Kiev because the
Germans were a highly cultured nation, stayed here and was subsequently
killed in in Babi Yar1. Aunt Genya was the oldest girl in the family, so
she brought up my mother, and was like a second grandmother to me. She died
in Kiev in 1980 at the age of 90.

The next child in that family was my Uncle Israel. Under the influence
and insistence of his elder brother Solomon, he became a doctor -a neuro-
pathologist. Prior to the war he was Chief Neuro-pathologist at the Naval
Hospital in Odessa. He spent the entire Second World War as a military
doctor. After returning to Kiev as a Major in the Soviet Army, Israel could
not find a job here. Due to a strange twist of fate he found himself at
Gagres, in the Caucasus, where he became Chief Neuro-pathologist at the
"Ukraine" Health Center, which served the Soviet government officials.
Israel was the first child in Rabbi Nukhim's family who married a Russian
girl. This was sometime in the 1930s, after the death of the rabbi. His
wife, Nadezhda Alexeyevna Kiseleva, moved back to her homeland, Siberia,
after her husband died, and we lost communication with her and her
children. Israel died in 1970 at the age of 70 plus.

The next child in the family was my Aunt Tsipa, Tsipora. Later, she
was registered as Tsilya. After getting married, she became Tsilya
Medvedeva. Despite her Jewish education and the Jewish lifestyle at home,
she, just like her brother, married a Russian man. Her son, whose name I
unfortunately don't remember, went deaf after an injury at the age of 4,
and since there was no special school for the deaf in Kiev at that time, my
aunt and her husband had to move to Leningrad where they could give their
boy an education. It will sound strange, but that boy, being almost
absolutely deaf physically, had an absolute musical ear. He played the
violin wonderfully. Prior to the war, Aunt Tsilya gave birth to another
child -a daughter named Maria. During the Second World War that whole
family stayed in Leningrad and found themselves in that horrible siege by
the Germans. The women survived, while the men - husband and son - died.
After the war, Aunt Tsilya and her daughter Maria lived in Leningrad. They
are no longer living.

The next one was my Uncle Yosif. He was born in 1897, and in 1920 or
1922 he graduated from the Arts College with honors. He thus "broke the
tradition" of Nukhim's children, most of whom became either dentists or
doctors. Elder brothers did not like such behavior from their younger
brother, and tried so hard to influence Yosif that he had to leave his
family and Kiev in 1922 and go to Moscow to pursue his interests. In Moscow
Yosif graduated from the Art Institute. Prior to the war he was a famous
Soviet artist, who had his own studio in Moscow and exhibitions almost
every year. From 1941 through 1945 he lived in Kuibyshev, working as an
artist and teaching several children's and young people's art clubs. After
the war he returned to Moscow and then to Kiev, but in 1950 he was sent to
the gulag. We still have no idea what he was arrested for. Probably, for a
bad joke. He had to serve ten years of hard labor in Kolyma (East of
Russia). Fortunately, he served only five years there, because times had
changed, and he was released in 1956, not after rehabilitation, but for the
then customary definition - "for health reasons." From 1958 on, he lived
outside Moscow, working as a painter to the best of his abilities. He even
married. During the day he was a happy man who smiled a lot, but at night
only his relatives knew that he either did not sleep at all, or cried in
his sleep. He lived to the age of 82, and if not for the camp, he probably
would have lived much longer. He had no children.

My mother had two more brothers - Aron, who was born in 1900, and
Emil, or Milya, who was born in 1915. I will talk about them together
because their lives were similar and they died together. Aron became a
dentist, worked as a senior lecturer at the Kiev Stomatology Institute, and
had a private practice of his own. Emil was only able to graduate from the
Stomatology Institute before the war broke out. Aron served as a military
doctor at the front. In the first month of the war he found himself in the
German encirclement and then in the Syrets camp for prisoners of war in
Kiev, which was practically the same as Babi Yar. Emil turned out to be
there as well. My mother and I learned about them after the war from those
few prisoners of that Syrets concentration camp who survived - by the way,
due to Aron and Emil. Both brothers worked as doctors and took part in an
amazing, even unique procedure that was carried out by the Germans. In
addition to the normal procedure employed by the Germans to identify Jewish
males, which was pretty simple, due to Jewish circumcision, there was also
a skull examination and special blood tests, which were supposed to make
Jewish identification definitive. Aron and Emil were supposed to conduct
such tests - and they did their best to help people escape being identified
as Jews. I personally heard these stories after the war, but unfortunately,
I was too young back then, so I don't remember the details. I am not even
sure how the brothers died. They may have been shot and thus shared the
destiny of all Babi Yar victims. Or they could have committed suicide,
taking the poison they possessed as dentists. There was a custom at my
grandfather's house: every dentist had in his possession gold and strong
poisons. When they went to fight the fascists, they put strong poisons into
the lockets they wore around their necks. Both brothers died without
families. They left only good memories behind.

However, this was not the end of the story of the dentists from the
family of the rabbi - there was one more son, Isaac, who attended cheder,
then secondary school, and graduated from the Dental Department of the
Medical Institute - this was already a tradition in the family; he became a
dentist in Kiev's Military Hospital. He spent the war years as a military
doctor. After the war he worked in Kiev, becoming renowned and loved by his
patients. He died in 1996 at the age of 93, having seen the death of all of
his many brothers and sisters. His wife, Maria Yefimovna Kats, united the
line of Vaisblat with the line of Brodsky. She was a relative of the famous
Brodsky who was a sugar plant owner, and she was certainly a dentist.
Moreover, the son of Isaac and Maria, born in 1925 right after the death of
Rabbi Nukhim Vaisblat and was named after him, also became a dentist.

My mother, Leah Vaisblat, Rabbi Vaisblat's tenth child, was born in
Kiev in1905 and brought up there. After obtaining a Jewish education at
home, she studied at a secondary school and then attended the artistic
reading studio of Sladkopevtsev which was very famous and popular in Kiev
in the 1920s. Then she worked in a library. By the way, she attended that
studio together with her brother Milya, who was also a very good artist, as
good as his brother Yosif. For several years Milya attended the Jewish
artistic studio "Esther" and only upon his brother's strong insistence
became a dentist.

The turning point in my mother's life was her marriage to my father,
Yevgeny Drobyazko. Her elder brothers, Solomon and Vladimir, waited ten
years before they would speak with my gentile father, and certainly not
until after the death of Rabbi Nukhim and Basya Vaisblat. The marriage of
my parents was typical in its other characteristic: apart from uniting
people from the Russian Orthodox and the Jewish Orthodox families, it also
united two strong atheists. Nevertheless, this marriage was very happy for
my father and my mother. From her marriage until her death, my mother's
main profession was being the wife of the famous Ukrainian writer and
translator Yevgeny Drobyazko, and serving as his literary secretary.
Mother's Jewish education was also an advantage in this union: she actively
helped father in his Yiddish to Ukranian translations. They translated
Sholom Aleichem's works into Ukrainian together. Side by side, my parents
lived a long life. They lived through the war, the evacuation, and through
post-war hard times. My mother kept father's literary salon in the 1950s,
1960s and 1970s, and she preserved our house up to her death in 1997. She
died at the age of 92.

Growing up during the war

The first things I remember relate to pre-war Kiev. We lived in the
same seven room flat; there were seven of us: my parents, Genya and her
husband, Milya, Yosif, and me. We lived in three rooms, while the four
other rooms were occupied by our neighbors.

My mother's brothers and sisters surrounded me all my life, and I
remember most of them pretty well. They all spoke Russian at home, which
also became my native language, but Aunt Genya, when she was excited,
combined Russian and Yiddish words, and the more excited she grew, the more
Yiddish words she used. The adults also spoke Yiddish when they wanted to
keep a secret from me. But I learned to understand them very quickly. This
understanding came to me automatically - nobody ever taught me Yiddish on
purpose. Our neighbors were gentiles, but our relations with them were
fine.

At the beginning of the war I was four years old. I remember bombings
and people running to shelters. The sound of sirens and bombings made me
pass out and get very sick. I began to lose a lot of weight, and doctors
insisted that I should be evacuated from Kiev immediately.

In August 1941 we were evacuated from Kiev, having left behind our
relatives and my two babysitters - Lyalya and Galya. It was impossible for
people to evacuate on their own, so we were evacuated with the Kiev
military hospital, where my uncle Isaac worked. My mother and I, Aunt Genya
and her two children, as well as Uncle Isaac's family - we were all put on
the medical train to Kharkov. Despite the red crosses on our railcars we
were constantly being bombed. German planes were flying low over the train,
I could clearly see their pilots. I looked at one of them, and he looked
directly at me, smiling ... and bombed us.

It took us a surprisingly short time to get to Kharkov. Life there was
almost like before the war: flowers were sold, music was played, only,
antiaircraft guns stood on the roofs. But the relative quiet did not last
long. Soon afterwards bombing raids began there, too, and I again was
losing weight and passing out.

We had communications with Kiev then. We learned that practically all
the Vaisblats had left Kiev for various places: the front or evacuation.

At the end of September, right before our departure further eastward,
my father came from Kiev to Kharkov on foot. He had spent all that time as
a military correspondent of the Writers' Union outside Kiev. When on
September 18 he returned to Kiev, he found out that it was no longer
possible to evacuate in any normal way, so he packed and went to Kharkov on
foot. It took him 14 days. Considering the conditions of those times and
his extremely bad eyesight, it was a real miracle he made it. Father
brought a special paper for work in Novosibirsk, and so we travelled there
by train.

I remember that road as a nightmare. There were a lot of bombing
raids. My physical and nervous condition grew even worse. In the town of
Votkins, Udmurtia, far from Novosibirsk (Russia), we got off the train and
spent the whole evacuation period there. My father found a job at the
newspaper of the "Arsena" plant. Gradually, I recovered. I even went to
school there and finished first grade prior to our return to Kiev.

During the first two years of evacuation my parents lost a lot of
weight because of lack of food and the different climate. They also lost
almost all of their teeth. But I don't remember being too hungry there.

Very soon I began to understand the Udmurtian language of the local
population, but there was only the Russian school in the town. Soon, the
Russian-speaking population multiplied and was greater than the local, and
Russian was heard everywhere. I heard no other language spoken besides
those two in Votkinsk.

In 1942 my parents already knew about the shooting in Babi Yar. I
don't know how this information reached them. Aunt Genya cried hard over
her husband's death. During the summer of 1942 they also learned about the
death of Aron and Milya Vaisblats. I remember how hysterical my mother and
aunt were at the news.

Then we were moved to a two-floor house. It had more room but was very
uncomfortable and cold. Our main staple food during evacuation was pumpkin
in every possible form. Very seldom we bought milk, which was so frozen
that it could be taken home in a sack. Bread was baked with sawdust, then
bran, and finally, machine oil. It was practically impossible to eat such
bread, but even that was hard to get on bread cards. We could trade
additional bread, milk and even bear meat for gold with the local
population (we still had some gold left). We could also trade gold for
women's underwear, which was very popular among the locals, because the
local girls wore the slips as ball-dresses on holidays. My parents were
paid with money for their work, but it was practically impossible to buy
anything with this money. Paper money was was practically worthless for
anything but wallpaper. However, sometimes we could buy pieces of bread and
food cards with this money at the market, and then receive slices of bread
and bits of other foods at the store.

We lived in Votkinsk almost up to mid-1945. Victory and the end of the
war brought practically no change in our lifestyle or diet. I remember that
Victory Day was celebrated in Votkinsk. But again, it was impossible to
return to Kiev on our own, just as it was impossible to leave it before. We
needed an invitation. Fortunately, my father received this special
invitation, and I went to the second grade in Kiev in September.

It took us about sixteen days to get to Kiev by train. The main
problem on the way was the presence of thieves: homeless teenagers climbed
onto the roofs of railcars and put iron rods through the open windows,
hooking and taking out whatever they could. Sometimes they even took babies
out this way. In general, this was the time when I first encountered
bandits and anarchy.

Post-war

I remember that Kiev was in ruins in September 1945. Our flat was
occupied by the personal driver of the State Security Minister, so it was
closed to us. For some time we rented a tiny flat on Malo-Podvalna Street,
and then moved to a semi-basement of the writers' house in Lenin Street.
This semi-basement was soon occupied by three professors' families.

To me, our flat in that semi-basement looked like a palace after the
tiny flat we had rented on Malo-Podvalna immediately after evacuation.
There were seven of us living there, and our "family" comprised a unique
combination of nations, cultures and post-war lives.

The second wife of my father's father, Anton Drobyazko, stayed in Kiev
during the war to wait for her husband. She hoped he would not be shot by
the KGB. She was left alone in a three-room flat. But she was afraid to
live alone, so she allowed her laundress to live with her. Her laundress
brought her own sister to live with them. After the war, her sister's
husband, who had lost a leg in the war, returned to her, and so all four of
them lived in those three rooms. In 1945 someone remembered that
grandfather Anton's wife was "an enemy of the people" and was supposed to
be thrown out of Kiev. She was spared only due to her old age. But she and
her three "guests" were left to live only in one room, while two bigger
rooms were given to the chief of the house management department. And a
month later we arrived. In the small room we slept like this: grandmother
on one bed, the invalid and his wife on another bed; the laundress on the
floor between the two beds, while my parents and I slept under the table.
We lived like that until 1949. The strange thing is that the atmosphere in
that flat was quiet and, I can even say, friendly. Even the anti-Semitic
excesses of the invalid did not break the peace, though sometimes he would
get drunk and threaten to "get even with all the Jews". By the way, when we
finally moved to the writers' house, he personally helped us to settle
there and fix all the wooden details of our new home, for we became his
"Jewish friends".

I can say that this was the first situation where I first realized I
was Jewish. But there was another side to that process. The school I was
transferred to in connection with moving to Lenin Street when I was already
in the sixth grade, was 80% Jewish. By that time I fully understood what
this could mean.

The 1950s were coming, and all of our many relatives from the Vaisblat
family had returned to Kiev. We had a lot of victims in the war. In the
beginning of 1950, apart from my mother and Aunt Genya, only two of their
brothers lived in Kiev - Solomon and Isaac, with their families.
Financially, they lived much better than we did. But I don't remember
receiving any considerable aid from them, probably because of the proud
nature of my mother.

In 1950, Uncle Yosif was suddenly arrested, which ruined my well-
measured life. It was a tragedy for our family. The tragedy was aggravated
by the fact that by that time, all of the surviving Vaisblats, except for
the sisters, had already joined the Communist Party. Moreover, all of them
were born into the family of a rabbi, and Vladimir and Isaac used to be
BUND2 members in the past. This combination was too hard to bear. So, all
the brother-Communists went to their party organizations and submitted a
written denial from their brother Yosif. It was the only way for them to
preserve their families, their careers, and their lives. My mother was the
only person who did not do it without risking the life of her family. She
wrote no denial because she was not a Communist, and because she was the
wife of a Soviet writer, that is, a man involved in the Soviet ideology. My
mother and father had two packed bags ready in case they would be arrested.
They expected to be arrested at any time, but fortunately, they never were.
My mother was the only person in that family, who sent regular letters and
packages to Uncle Yosif in prison. All of this changed the atmosphere in
our house and made me grow up faster. After finishing school and technical
college I tried to find a job in one of the highly controlled
organizations. That's where they found out the nationality of my mother -
and they immediately rejected me. The shock was especially great due to the
contrast with my last school and technical college, which were 80% Jewish.
We had both Jewish students and teachers, and Russian and Ukrainian
children felt comfortable only when they imitated our mentality, jokes,
pronunciation, etc. I never heard the word "kike"3 at school. I once
heard this word said against me when I went to the ninth grade, I believe,
and I beat up my offender within an inch of his life. Thus, anti-Semitism
became real for me, too. But neither my friends nor I had any parallels
with the fascists in our minds. I also had a way of escape, a certain
national niche, because I was first the son of a famous Ukrainian writer,
and only then the son of a Jewish mother. Being Jewish was a matter of
secondary importance when I went to school and to college.

Up to grade 8, I was an excellent student. And then my sphere of
interests changed radically and I did not want to study any more. I was
more interested in sports, friends and movies. We would go to movies and
watch every available one. But we did not go to watch any common movie in
any common cinema. The Writers' Union, where I could go with my father's
pass, showed so-called "closed" movies, which the general Soviet audience
was forbidden to see for a very long time. I finished school in 1954 with
not very good marks and certainly failed at the exams to enter the
architecture department of the Construction Institute. I worked for one
year, then tried to take the same exams again, and failed a second time.

After my second failure I tried to enroll in the architecture college,
but I could only enroll in the department of industrial and civil
construction. College saved me from mandatory army service, but gave me
nothing information-wise, having practically passed by me. I finally
finished my studies there in 1958 and received my diploma. It spoke nothing
to my heart or to my mind.

In order to avoid army service, I tried to find a job in military or
paramilitary organizations, but nobody wanted to take me due to the "bad"
last name of my mother, which showed that I was Jewish. Due to the common
efforts of our relatives and friends, such a job was finally found, and a
few years later the problem of my army service was no longer relevant,
because my parents retired on pension and I was their only provider. This
is when I finally got real work at the Academy of Architecture and began to
prepare for an institute. I entered the Construction Institute in 1960 at
the age of 23. At that time I was already married and had a young son. So,
naturally, I could study only at evening classes, combining work and
studies. Nevertheless, I was so eager to study that I graduated from the
Institute with honors.

I married at the age of 22. I met my future wife, Nelya Aronovna
Kantorovich, at a Komsomol4 meeting at the Academy of Architecture. She
was not even 20 at the time. However, our parents, both hers and mine,
received positively the news of our desire to marry so early.

But we had no place to stay. First, we rented two small rooms in
Klovsky Street, then at our house, from the writer Riva Balyasnaya, who
returned from the GULAG in 1962 just as many other residents of our
writers' house had. In the 1950s people were arrested from every family
that lived in that house. By the beginning of the 1960s, all those who
survived the camps and prisons, returned. There were not many. I remember
only three Jewish families who returned.

Nobody spoke about Israel at the time. Israel as a reality and as my
historical homeland was revealed to me only in 1969 due to the efforts of a
friend and colleague. But even prior to that, I was learning some Jewish
traditions and history through the family of my wife, starting from the
fact that we had an almost Jewish wedding: no chupa, of course, but a
Jewish orchestra in a restaurant. It was very seldom done in the 1960s and
required a lot of courage.

I should say that the national climate at my work and at my wife's
work was quite bearable. The next wave of anti-Semitism reached us through
our young son Alexey. I remember when he was six years old he ran to me at
the health center, and I first thought he was running because he missed me
so much. But as it turned out, he ran to me with the request to show my
passport to his friends and prove that I was not Jewish. When I was away,
his friends teased him as being a "kike." In general, judging from my son's
experience, I believe the anti-Semitism of the 1960s and 1970s was even
crueler, but the reaction of the Jewish youth was different. From about the
age of ten, Alexey has been wearing the Star of David (5x6 cm), thus far
from hiding, but actively demonstrating his Jewish identity. And certainly,
unlike me, he knew at a very young age what Babi Yar was all about.

I can say that the 1960s were the years of my Jewish self-
identification. And then the 1970s came with their official policy of anti-
Semitism, which was provoked, as I understand it now, by the changes in the
attitude of the Soviet government towards Israel. After the Six Day War,
Israel became not only a forbidden topic of discussion in Soviet society,
but also a country, which had to be reproached in every way possible. By
the end of the 1970s I was firmly convinced that I would move to Israel. I
delayed temporarily because I was waiting for my friends, who were serving
in the army or worked in secret establishments at the time. We were
planning to leave together with them some time later. Time passed by. Some
of my friends left. Not one of our relatives left, though - all of them had
pretty good lives here. Nelya and I also had no economic reasons to leave.
We had only ideological and emotional reasons. I was absolutely convinced
and sincerely believed that all the Jews should live in Israel. But I had
no real opportunity to leave then. My mother, who was surely Jewish in her
identification, categorically opposed all talks about emigration. She
believed her homeland was here. The enthusiasm of my wife also grew cold
with time.

In the 1990s, the priorities of my plans, as well as the plans of my
wife, were gradually moving towards our son, his interests and abilities.
He finished his studies at the sports boarding school and then at the
Institute of Physical Culture. For some time he was involved in big sports
(boat-racing), but had to quit for health reasons. For a while he had no
work and was very down morally. We were fearful for his future, but strange
as it may sound, it was the army service that I once tried to avoid that
helped him get up on his feet again. So, our son found his calling in the
army service as a paramedic. Genetics is a great thing! In the army he
worked in different offices as a paramedic. I believe this is what he
really liked in life. But he refused to study at the Medical Institute and
instead entered the modern business world. His national and social
orientation was moving constantly towards his Jewishness, and now his
friends are mostly Jewish. I don't exclude the possibility that this was
caused by former complexes and offences he experienced as a child. Even now
he wears a huge Star of David, given to him as a present by his gentile
wife. As far as I know, Alexey fully identifies himself with the Jews, but
economically, socially and morally he is rooted in this country, with its
difficulties and problems. Obviously, his view of this country's future is
more optimistic than mine.

Very recently I started thinking that maybe he is right. It happened
on Hanukkah in December 2001, while I was listening to my 4-year-old
granddaughter Zhenya, Alexey's daughter, reading a poem in Yiddish. First,
her parents (her Jewish father and gentile mother) brought her to the
artistic reading studio, and now my wife and I, her Jewish grandparents,
are taking her there. We are doing our best to inspire a love of reading in
her, so that she may inherit our library.

Our current activities are now very important to my wife and me. After
retiring on pension four years ago, we joined the Jewish Studies Institute.
I am now working on the history of Jewish writers in Ukraine, while my wife
is working on the history of Jewish theaters.

Glossary

1 Babiy Yar - the location of the first mass shooting of the Jewish
population, carried out openly by the Germans on September 29-30, 1941, in
Kiev. After the war, people spoke in whispers about Jewish murders, because
according to the official version of the Soviet government, the German
Nazis killed Soviet people of different nationalities in equal portions.
Whoever expressed another opinion risked being thrown into prison.

Baby Pisetskaya
Odessa
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ada Goldferb
Date of interview: June 2003

Baby Pisetskaya, an old gray-haired woman of average stature lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment on the 9th floor in a new building in a new district called Kotovski, about 20 kilometers from Odessa city center. There was a fire in the building back in 1992, while she was in hospital. Her apartment was severely damaged and there are still pieces of wallpaper hanging from the walls, broken tiles on the floor and cracked ceilings. All furniture, but a wardrobe and a floor mirror, burned during the fire. Few books were spared by the fire. Now there are a few pieces of old furniture some relatives gave Baby that they failed to sell before moving abroad. The plant where Baby had worked, also gave her a few pieces of furniture. Within the past ten years Baby lost her two children: her son Vladimir perished during the fire and her daughter Flora died in 2002. Despite her dispirited condition Baby talked very vividly about the life of her family that was once big and close to her.

My paternal grandfather Menachem-Nuchem Pisetski was born to a wealthy family in Odessa in 1878. I know for sure that my grandfather had a sister and a brother. His brother Max lived in London. I don't know how he happened to get there, but I remember that he always sent us parcels with matzah before Pesach. The boxes were labeled 'kosher le-Pesach' ['kosher for Pesach' in Hebrew]. He also sent tea and fabrics from there. I have no information about my grandfather's sister Rachil. My grandfather told me that his family was very religious: they followed the kashrut and observed all Jewish holidays. My grandfather attended cheder. Since my grandfather was a tailor he went to the synagogue for tailors located in Remeslennaya Street in the center of Odessa. Shlyoma Karasyov, my maternal great- grandfather, worked as a shammash in that synagogue. Most likely, it was my great-grandfather Shlyoma who introduced my grandfather to my grandmother.

My grandmother Riva-Zelda Pisetskaya, nee Karasyova, was one year older than my grandfather. She was born in Odessa in 1877. My grandmother's sister Minia was married to Chaim Berinski, a tailor. Minia, her husband and their three children Motl, Favel and Chovele were killed by fascists in Odessa in 1941, during the Great Patriotic War 1. Their older son Misha, who was at the front, was the only survivor in their family. After the war Misha lived in Sverdlovsk. My grandmother also had another brother: Iosif Karasyov who lived in Uspenskaya Street in the center of town with his wife and three children: Mera, Beba and Naum. I know that they lived a long life in Odessa. My grandmother and grandfather got married in 1898. They had a happy marriage: in the first three years their first three children were born: Yakov, my father Fridel and Betia.

In 1905 my grandfather, grandmother and their three children moved to Uman, a small provincial town in the west of Ukraine, escaping from the terrible Odessa pogrom 2 that year. [Uman was a district town in Kiev province; according to the poll of 1897 the population of Uman was 31,016 and 17,945 of them were Jews.] Uman was located in the Volyn-Podolsk Hills on the banks of the Umanka and Kamenka Rivers. It was a small town with one- storied buildings. There was a substantial Jewish population in the town at the beginning of the 20th century. They were involved in commerce and crafts. There were tailors, barbers and shoemakers among the Jewish population. There were a few synagogues and a shochet in town. There is a popular park called Sophievka in Uman, it was founded by Count Felix Pototsky at the end of the 18th century.

My grandfather bought a big and beautiful house with columns in the center of the town and opened a garment shop. His clients were wealthy ladies. There was a big room in the front part of the house where my grandfather received his clients. It also served as a shop as such; there were assistant tailors sitting at their desks, mannequins and two sewing machines in this same room. The next room was a big living room where our family got together at Sabbath and on Jewish holidays. There was a big table covered with a velvet tablecloth with tassels, chairs and a big oak cupboard with fancy china in it. On holidays we ate from this china crockery with silver tableware: forks, knives and spoons. There were eight rooms altogether in the house. My grandfather sold two of them to a confectioner called Galetka, maybe for his business, who owned an ice-cream cafe across the street from the town garden. There were annex buildings near the house that were leased to some Jews.

I remember my grandfather very well: he was of average height, baldish, had a moustache, but no beard. My grandmother was very beautiful; she had very thick long hair that she combed with a metal comb. She wore a lace shawl. She also wore hats. My grandparents had six more children in Uman. In total, they had nine children. They were all raised religiously and spoke Yiddish. All boys studied in cheder and the girls were educated at home.

My father's older brother Yakov was born in Odessa in 1899. In 1917, after the October Revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 3. Yakov was attracted by communist ideas. He became a communist. He married Milia, a Jewish girl, in Uman. They moved to Kharkov in 1920. They weren't religious. Yakov worked in the All-Russian Central Executive Committee - I don't have any details about the position he held there. His daughter Luba was born in 1920 and his second daughter Flora followed in 1924. During the Great Patriotic War they were all evacuated to Tashkent [today Uzbekistan]. Uncle Yakov was released from military service since the thumb of his right hand was deformed.

After the war the family returned to Kharkov. Their older daughter Luba and her husband Michael Gorwitz moved to Kiev. Her husband was a chief architect in Kiev. They had two children. Michael died in the 1970s and Luba and her son moved to Luba's daughter in Moscow. Yakov's younger daughter Flora was single. She lived with her parents in Kharkov. Uncle Yakov died in 1988 and aunt Milia passed away shortly afterwards. After her parents died Aunt Flora moved to her sister Luba in Moscow. Luba, her children and their families and Flora moved to Austria in 1998. That's all the information I have about them.

My father's sister Betia was born in Odessa in 1903. She married a Jewish shoemaker called Pinchus Skliar in 1924. They lived in a room in my grandfather's house: Pinchus made shoes and there was always the smell of leather in their room. Their son Syoma was born in 1925. In 1929 they moved to Odessa where their daughter Rosa was born in 1937. Betia's husband went to the front in 1941. He perished that same year. Betia, her children and my grandparents evacuated to Tashkent.

After the war Betia returned to Odessa with her children. They lived in Uspenskaya Street in the center of town. Aunt Betia died in 1978. Betia's son Syoma got married. His wife Fira was a Jew. They both worked, but I don't have any information about their jobs. Syoma died in 1971. His daughter Rosa married Misha Zelener, a Jewish man. In the late 1950s their two children were born: a boy and a girl. Rosa and her family moved to Germany in the 1990s.

My father's younger brother Semyon was born in Uman in 1905. He married Rosa, a Jewish girl, in 1925. I don't know what he did for a living. He and Rosa lived across the street from where we lived. Their son Mitia was born in 1927 and Lyolia followed in 1929. In 1932 they moved to Moscow. During the Great Patriotic War Semyon was at the front and his wife and their children were in Moscow. Semyon returned home after the war. He died after an eye surgery in the late 1970s. There happened to be a tumor in his eye. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Moscow. Rosa died in the 1980s in Moscow and is buried near her husband.

Their son Mitia was the director of the photo laboratory of Moscow State University. His wife's name was Ida. She was a Jew. They had children and grandchildren. There was a tragic accident in their family: their daughter gave her child a pill, the child choked and died. Mitia's daughter moved somewhere abroad. I don't know where exactly she moved to. Mitia died in 1999. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Moscow. Lyolia went in for weight lifting. He was a coach at the sports association called Spartak. Lyolia was married to Rosa. They had children and grandchildren. Lyolia died recently, sometime around 2000, but I don't know when exactly. I don't know where he was buried, either. His wife Rosa died a long while ago. Lyolia's daughter lives in Germany.

My father's younger sister Manya was born in Uman in 1907. She married David Kalika in 1929. David was the son of the chazzan of the Berla Kalika synagogue in Uman. Manya and David moved to Kharkov in 1930. David worked at the Kharkov tractor plant. They had two children: Busia and Arkadi. During the Great Patriotic War David, his wife and children evacuated to Tashkent where they survived the war. David Kalika's family perished in Uman. When the Germans came to Uman they lined up all Jews in a column headed by Lusik Brozer, the retarded son of the pharmacist, who carried a red flag. The Germans forced David's brother Samuel, a Jewish actor, to sing a song and the Jews marched to the spot where they were shot. They were killed near the railway station. We got to know this from our neighbors in the 1960s.

After the war Manya and David stayed in Tashkent. David died in Tashkent in 1972 and Manya died in 1977. Their daughter Busia finished a college of foreign languages and became an English teacher. She married an Uzbek man who became a professor at polytechnic college. Their daughter Rimma died of brain growth in 1987. Busia moved to the USA in 1990. Her husband stayed in Tashkent. Busia's brother Arkadi died of a heart attack in Tashkent in 1976. He had a wife Nelia and a daughter Marina. Marina got married and had a son. She died at the age of 21, when her son was three years old. Nelia, Arkadi's widow, and her grandson moved to the USA.

My father's younger brother Izia was born in Uman in 1909. Izia served in the army in Nikolaev. I remember that my grandmother visited him there. After he returned home Izia got married. His wife was Jewish. Her name was Manya. They lived in Odessa. They had three children: the oldest, Beba, was born in 1930, and the twins Polia and Sopha were born in 1937. They said in the family that Izia finished the Mikhoels 4 drama school and worked at the Jewish Theater in Odessa. During the Great Patriotic War he was at the front. He had many decorations. Manya and her children were in evacuation in Tashkent.

After the war they returned to Odessa. Izia worked at the Jewish Theater until it was closed in 1948. Izia went to work at the Philharmonic. In 1953, during the time of the Doctors' Plot 5, he was arrested as an 'enemy of the people' 6 and sentenced to ten years in Norilsk, Krasnoyarsk region. He was released after five years of imprisonment when Khrushchev 7 came to power. He had all his war decorations returned to him [see Rehabilitation in the Soviet Union] 8. The authorities sent him to a recreation center for two months to improve his health. After returning from exile he went to work as administrator with the Odessa Philharmonic. He died in 1971. His wife Manya and her daughters Beba, Polia and Sopha moved to the USA in the late 1970s. Manya and Sopha have already died and I've lost contact with the others.

My father's sister Ida was born in Uman in 1911. She finished a secondary school. She moved to Odessa with my grandfather in 1929. In 1935 she married Isaac Konstantinovski, a Jewish man. Their daughter Sopha was born in 1936. At the beginning of the Great Patriotic War Isaac went to the front and perished. Ida and her daughter Sopha evacuated to Tashkent. After the war Ida worked as a shop assistant in a food store until the elderly age of 81. Her daughter Sopha was married and had two children. Aunt Ida died in 1993. Sopha died of diabetes in 1999.

My father's younger brother Isaac was born in Uman in 1913. I don't know where he studied or what he did for a living. He lived in Odessa from 1929. He got married before the Great Patriotic War. His wife's name was Riva. They had two children: Gisia and Abrasha. During the war he went to the front where he perished. Riva and the children evacuated to Tashkent. After the war Riva worked at the tea-packing factory in Odessa. I don't know any details about what she was doing there. Gisia married Aby, a Jewish man. They had two sons. After her mother died - I don't know in what year - she, her husband and their children moved to Israel. I have no more information about her. Abrasha was single. He passed away in Odessa. I don't remember when or of what he died.

My father's youngest sister Chaya was born in 1919. She finished a lower secondary school in Odessa. Chaya married Israel Meyerson, a Jewish man, in 1936. They had a Jewish wedding with a chuppah. There was a big wedding party. All her brothers and sisters and their families from Kharkov, Moscow and Kursk came to her wedding in Odessa. The wedding was in my grandparents' home. There was even an article about this wedding in a Jewish newspaper - I don't remember, which newspaper it was, but my father told me that there was even a photo of our family published. Chaya and Israel had a son called Senia. When the Great Patriotic War began Chaya and her family evacuated to Tashkent. Israel went to the front and in 1943 his family received the notification of his death.

After the war Chaya worked in a catering company. My grandparents helped her to raise her son. Her son got married and moved to Baku. Later he emigrated to the USA with his family. He was supposed to take his mother there, but then he divorced his wife and remarried. His mother stayed at home. Chaya was going to move to Israel in the year 2000. She even bought a ticket, but a few days before her departure she died of extensive myocardial infarction.

My father Fridel Pisetski was born in Odessa in 1901. In 1905 he moved to Uman with his parents. He studied in cheder. Then my grandfather sent him to learn the barber's profession. My father was 17 when the October Revolution took place. In 1919 he was mobilized to the Red army. He served in a military unit that fought against gangs 9 in Ukraine. Their unit was near Gaisin where he met his future wife, my mother.

I know little about my maternal grandmother Beila Gabova, nee Yasinova. I don't know where or when she was born or who her parents were. All I know is that she lived in Ternovka, Gaisin district, Podolsk province. My grandmother's brother was a communist. He was the chairman of Ternovka village council and was killed by bandits in his own office in 1919.

My maternal grandfather Yakov Grabov was born in Ternovka in the 1870s. He was a blacksmith. He was religious. He finished cheder. My grandfather was a gabbai at the synagogue. My grandparents got married in 1901. Grandmother gave birth to five children. My grandfather told me that his family followed the kashrut, observed all Jewish holidays and fasted. In 1914 my grandfather Yakov was mobilized to serve in World War I. He was captured by Austrians and spent two years in captivity. He returned home in 1917 and began to build a house with Grandmother Beila.

My grandmother Beila died in Ternovka in 1917. In 1919 my grandfather married Sara, the widow of Grandmother Beila's brother. Grandfather Yakov loved his second wife very much. Sara was a convinced communist and he even got adjusted to her views. Sara had a son from her first marriage: Chaim. She had a daughter Shelia and a son Lyova born from her second marriage with Grandfather Yakov. In the 1930s, when the Jewish autonomous region [Birobidzhan] 10 was established, at the initiative of grandmother Sara, they moved to Birobidzhan with their younger children: Rosa, Luba, Shelia and Lyova. They were accommodated in a barrack at first and later they received an apartment. My grandfather was old when they moved and I don't know whether he still worked there. Grandmother Sara went to work, but I don't know any details.

My grandfather didn't tell me about their life in Birobidzhan. I know that their son Lyova drowned before the Great Patriotic War. He was 13. Grandfather Yakov visited us in Kursk. During the war he also visited us in Kazakhstan. After the Great Patriotic War my grandfather and Grandmother Sara moved to Chaim, Sara's son from her first marriage, in Boguslav, Kiev region. Grandfather Yakov died of throat cancer in 1948. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Boguslav. After he died Grandmother Sara and her daughter Shelia moved to Lugansk. She died there at an old age in the 1960s.

My mother's brother Foma was born in Ternovka in 1904. Uncle Foma lived with his Jewish wife Genia in Kursk. Their daughter Asia was born in 1934. They observed all Jewish holidays. Foma and his father-in-law owned a confectionary. He worked as a confectioner until the Great Patriotic War. In late 1941 he and my father went to the front. Foma perished in 1942 and my father saw him dying. His wife Genia and their daughter Asia, born in 1938, evacuated, but I don't know where they were in evacuation. Asia got lost on the way and was sent to a children's home. She was found promptly. After the war they returned to their house in Kursk. Genia worked as a shop assistant after the war. I don't remember when she died. Asia finished the faculty of foreign languages at some pedagogical college. She married a Russian man. They had two sons: Igor and Oleg. Asia and her husband moved to Germany in 2001.

My mother's sister Rachil was born in Ternovka in 1908. She married David Shwartz, a Jewish man, in 1929. They lived in Kzyl-Orda. I don't know what profession Rachil's husband had. Their son Boria was born in 1930, and a few years later they moved to Kursk. Their daughter Ania was born in 1938. Rachil had another son, who died in infancy. Before the war Rachil was selling beer in a kiosk. They observed all Jewish holidays. During the war they evacuated to Tashkent where Rachil's husband died of tuberculosis in 1942. Rachil and her children returned to Kursk after the war and then, in 1948, they moved to Odessa. She worked as a shop assistant in a bakery store in the center of town. I don't remember when Rachil died. Her son Boris and his family left for the USA in 1998. Boris had heart problems and when the plane landed he died at the airport. Rachil's daughter Ania and her family moved to Germany in 1999.

My mother's sister Rosa was born in 1910 as far as I know. Rosa lived in Birobidzhan. She married Michael Olchedoevski there. Michael was at the front during the war. They had two children. Later they all moved to Khabarovsk. I don't know when they died since we didn't communicate with them.

My mother's younger sister Luba was born in 1913. I don't know where she studied. She moved to Birobidzhan with my maternal grandparents. There she married Michael Khotimski, a Jewish man. He was 30 years older than Luba. He finished a grammar school and was the director of a suitcase factory. They didn't have any children. In the early 1930s they moved to Kursk where Luba's husband became the director of a brewery. They had a house in Yamskaya Sloboda in the suburb of the town. Michael's mother lived with them. She was religious and observed all Jewish traditions. When the Great Patriotic War began Luba and her family evacuated to the village of Antonovka, Sarkansk district in Kazakhstan. Luba's mother-in-law died on the way to evacuation. After the Great Patriotic War they returned to Kursk and later they moved to Rostov. Many years later Michael died of throat cancer and Luba moved to Kiev. Her cousin Fima acquainted her with his wife's relative. Luba had diabetes. She had her leg amputated. She died in Kiev in the late 1990s.

My mother's half-sister Shelia was born in 1924. She left for Birobidzhan with her parents. She finished a Jewish school and a college there. She was the director of a shoe factory. After the Great Patriotic War she moved to Boguslav with her parents. Her stepbrother Chaim lived there and worked in a barbershop. He made wigs. Later he moved to Darnitsa in Kiev where he had a house. After my maternal grandfather Yakov died in 1948 Shelia and her mother moved to Lugansk. Shelia still lives there today.

My mother Sonia Grabova was born in Ternovka in 1902, although her documents stated that she was born in 1904. My mother studied in cheder for girls 11. She spoke fluent Yiddish. My mother was 15 when Grandmother Beila died, but until then my grandmother managed to teach my mother many things. My mother was good at housekeeping, knew all Jewish traditions and could cook traditional Jewish food. At the age of 17 my mother met my father. This happened near Gaisin in 1919. The Red army military unit in which my father served stopped there. The local population sympathized with the Red army that protected them from bandits. They shared their food, however little they had, with the military. My mother also brought food to this unit.

My parents got married in 1920. They had a Jewish wedding in Uman. After the wedding they moved into my grandfather Menachem's house in Uman. Their son Syoma was born in 1921. My father's military unit was sent to fight with basmach [anti-Soviet rebel in Central Asia, 1920s. Supposedly from Uzbek word, 'basmachi'] gangs in the town of Verny [today Alma-Ata] in Middle Asia. My brother was nine months old when my mother took him to the railway station from where my father was departing. Syoma caught a cold and died of diphtheria. My mother continued living in Grandfather Menachem's house. She was much loved there. She waited for my father for about three years. My father returned in 1923. Grandfather Menachem was a wealthy man. When my father returned to Uman my grandfather gave him money to buy a barbershop in Sadovaya Street in the center of Uman.

I was born on 16th May 1924 and my younger sister Shelia was born on 13th April 1926. I have bright memories about the years that we spent in Uman. We all lived in Grandfather Menachem's house. Daughters and daughters-in- law helped my grandmother with the cooking, and my grandmother also had housemaids to help her around the house. I remember one called Nastia and another one called Asia; they were Ukrainian girls. The family always got together on Jewish holidays. At Sabbath my mother baked challah. My grandparents had special crockery for Pesach. My grandmother made ground horseradish and cooked geese for the seder. I also remember that at the beginning of the seder at Pesach my grandfather put the afikoman under a pillow and I had to find it. I was too small then to remember more details about it. At Chanukkah my grandfather made little bags into which he put golden coins and hung those bags around our necks.

Grandfather Menachem went to the synagogue regularly. I remember that he put on his tallit and tefillin when he prayed at home. I was five then and remember that I stood beside him and kissed the cubes - tefillin, and my grandfather kissed the edges of his tallit.

There was a hotel near my grandfather's house. It collapsed during an earthquake in 1932. Actors of the Jewish Musical Comedy Theater of Fischson stayed in this hotel when the theater was on tour in Uman. I still have the paper with the advertisement about it. Clara Yung and Beba Yunesca, actresses of this theater, used to rehearse in a big room in my grandfather's house. We had no piano at home and a violinist came with them. I was five years old then and attended all their rehearsals. Then we organized family concerts at home for ourselves where I sang arias from musicals. Our family was fond of music and we always had a lot of fun at home.

In 1929 my grandmother, grandfather and the younger children Izia, Ida, Isaac and Chaya moved to Odessa. By 1929 the NEP 12 was almost done with due to galloping taxes that made it impossible to keep smaller stores and shops. There were no other jobs in smaller towns and for this reason my grandparents moved to Odessa where they stayed in a two-bedroom apartment on the first floor in the center of town. My grandfather was a skilled tailor. He had apprentices and numerous clients. When the Great Patriotic War began my grandparents evacuated to Tashkent with their daughters, daughters-in-law and grandchildren.

When my grandparents moved to Odessa, we stayed in my grandfather's house. I remember going to the Sophievka park in Uman with my parents and Shelia. My father also took us to Puscha-Voditsa in Kiev where I saw a train for the first time in my life. I went to a Ukrainian school in the center of town in 1930 at the age of six. I became a Young Octobrist 13 at this school. In 1933, during the period of the famine 14, I fell ill with typhoid. To be able to buy medicines and more food for me, my parents took their silverware to the Torgsin store 15. My father had to give his barbershop to the state. He couldn't keep it because of the high taxes. Then my mother had twisted bowels. She had a surgery and had to stay in hospital for a long while. In 1934 my father took my mother to the Kuyalnik 16 recreation center in Odessa. My sister Shelia and I stayed with my mother's sisters Rachil and Luba who lived in Kursk.

In 1935 my parents sold their house in Uman and we moved to Kursk. Kursk was an industrial town near Moscow. There were one and two-storied buildings in town. There are two rivers near Kursk: the Seyn and the Tuskar river; and there are mixed woods around the town. Many Jews lived in Kursk before the war. There was a synagogue in town. My parents bought a one- bedroom apartment on the second floor near the railroad spur in the center of town. There was a stove stoked with coal and wood. There was a table and chairs in the center of the room, a big wardrobe with a mirror by the wall and a desk where Shelia and I did our homework. There was also a nickel- plated bed on which my parents slept. There was a screen and two beds behind it where Shelia and I slept. My father was the first one in town to learn to make permanent wave and I remember that his clients - the most elegant women of Kursk - came to our house to have their hair done before holidays.

My sister and I studied in a secondary school. My sister studied French and I studied German at school. We also passed our tests for GTO [ready for labor and defense] and 'Voroshylov 17 rifle shooter' badges. I attended an artistic embroidery club and wrote poems. I was a pioneer and attended a club in the House of Pioneers. I sang with a string orchestra. I liked singing and got invitations to sing on the radio and in concerts. Our string orchestra gave concerts at kolkhozes and factories. I sang songs from the repertory of Claudia Shulzhenko. [Claudia Ivanovna Shulzhenko, 1906-1984, a Soviet pop singer, whose name is associated with the start of Soviet pop singing.] In 1939 I took part in the children's radio festival dedicated to the 22nd anniversary of the October Revolution where I was awarded the first prize. I still have this award. There were newspaper publications about me and I kept these articles. In 1939, when the Finnish campaign [see Soviet-Finnish War] 18 began, our school was transformed into a hospital and we moved to another school. We gave concerts in hospitals.

In 1940 I was awarded a trip to Sochi on the Black Sea for my successful studies. I went with Abdulla Yusupov, a Tatar boy from another school. This was an unforgettable tour: we went mountaineering and bathed in the sea. We had bus tours to the towns of Adler and Chosta. We went to places of interest and took a drive on the funicular.

Shelia and I had many Jewish and Russian friends. We didn't care about nationality: there was no anti-Semitism in Kursk before the war. My sister and I and our friends went to swim in the river, celebrated Soviet holidays and went to parades. There were many gatherings in our apartment. My friends from the orchestra visited me. We sang, danced and had a lot of fun.

We observed the main Jewish holidays in the family of my mother's sister Luba, whose husband was the director of a brewery. They had a big house that could easily accommodate all members of our big family: my mother's brother Foma, his wife Genia and daughter Asia, Aunt Rachil, her husband David and their children, Boris and Ania, and us. At Pesach my mother baked matzah, cooked gefilte fish and chicken broth and made keyzele [matzah pudding], and brought it all to Luba. We spent the seder, led by Luba's husband Michael, all together.

I joined the Komsomol 19 when I was in the 10th grade. I finished school with honors in 1941. On 21st June 1941 we had a prom. According to school traditions we went for a walk in the woods after the prom. On 22nd June we heard that the Great Patriotic War had begun. I managed to submit my documents to Voronezh Aviation College and was admitted without exams. Schools in Kursk were transformed into hospitals. Our orchestra gave concerts in hospitals and to the military units leaving for the front. I sang the 'Katyusha' song by Blanter, which was always a big success. [Blanter, Matvey Isaacovich, 1903-1991, popular Soviet composer.] At one of those concerts Blanter gave me the notes of this song.

One night in November 1941 we were moving toward the front line. It was cold and dark when all of a sudden rockets lit our column and German planes began to drop metal barrels on us. One barrel fell onto my legs and I fainted. When I regained consciousness, it turned out that I had a fracture of a cannon bone in one leg and a bruise on another leg. I was taken to a hospital in Kursk where I had a cast applied on my leg and another leg was fixed on a support. My ward was on the second floor. At night the first bombardment of Kursk began. I was thrown into the corridor by the blast wave. All other patients were running downstairs and nobody paid any attention to me. Then another patient grabbed me and dragged me outside where we found shelter in a trench. We stayed there until morning. When I was taken back to my ward on stretches I heard that many people had been killed or wounded that night.

In late 1941 my father and my mother's brother Foma went to the front. I had got a little better by then and my mother and aunts began to prepare for evacuation. There were freight carriages for transportation of horses on the railroad spur. Our neighbors helped us to clean up all manure from one carriage. I was taken there on stretches and my mother, my sister Shelia, Aunt Luba, her husband and his mother, Aunt Rachil and her children also got into this carriage. We reached Kuibyshev [present-day Samara]. The trip was long and exhausting. There were air raids and many carriages burnt down.

In Kuibyshev we changed trains and moved on. At one station my mother got off the train to get some food when our train moved to another track. We got so scared that my mother wouldn't find us when the train moved back and all ended well. Aunt Luba's mother-in-law died on the way. She was old and traveling was too much for her. We reached Maaly station in Alma-Ata region, Kazakhstan. Representatives of authorities inspected the train to identify the wounded or ill passengers. I and a distant relative of ours were taken on a truck to a hospital in Sarkand on the border with China. I saw Kazakh people, mountains topped with snow, beautiful landscapes and a donkey for the first time in my life. My mother, sister and other relatives were taken to a kolkhoz 20 in the village of Antonovka. My mother was very worried that I was in a different place, but when I got better I was released from hospital and joined my family. My mother and other relatives did miscellaneous work in the kolkhoz. Luba's husband Michael was a secretary at the village council. Besides, he was responsible for aryk wells. When I came to Antonovka I was given two bulls and a wagon to transport kok-sagyz [a plant] - raw material for rubber manufacturing. We got lodging in a house and the local population treated us nicely, but I could hardly bear the local climate and was allergic to water.

In 1942 my father got into encirclement. He was wounded and was lying on a cart when a German soldier shot him into his belly. The bullet got stuck in his pelvis. At that moment a cannon shell exploded nearby. The horses got scared and bolted off. This saved my father's life. When his military unit got out of this encirclement my father got into hospital. He was treated in Makhachkala and then transferred to Kirovograd. When he recovered he was demobilized from the army.

My father got our address from our relatives who lived in Moscow during the Great Patriotic War and then he came to Antonovka. He worked in a shop that made valenki boots [traditional Russian felt boots] for the front. To refresh my knowledge of school subjects I went to the 10th grade at the local school for the second time. My sister Shelia also went to the local school. There was a frontier military unit near the village where we stayed and they began to invite me to give concerts to the military. The military helped me to find out via the evacuation agency in Buguruslan that my college was evacuated to Tashkent. [Editor's note: The evacuation agency in Buguruslan, Orenburg region, was an inquiry office that collected information about people, institutions and enterprises.] My father's parents Riva and Menachem and their children were in evacuation there. Uzbek people were very friendly with those who came to their towns during evacuation. I arrived in Tashkent in 1942. I passed my exams for the first year of studies at college and became a 2nd-year student at the Faculty of Aircraft Building. I attended classes and in the evening my fellow students and I unloaded bread. My parents sent me parcels with food every now and then.

In 1943 Kursk was liberated and my father came to Tashkent to pick me up. I finished three years in college. The villagers liked my mother a lot. She was awarded a piglet for her good work. We returned to Kursk within a month after it was liberated. There were other tenants in our apartment and there were no belongings left. We turned to the court and were issued a positive decision. We moved back into our apartment. I began to work in the Paris Commune shop.

In late 1943 the district Komsomol committee gave me the task to teach people about defense of chemical weapons. I lived in Prokhorovka station in the building that housed the telegraph office during the Kursk battle 21. I didn't really have time to do any training. There were anti-tank mines everywhere and I followed field engineers clearing fields from mines and installing signs saying 'clear of mines'. Then women wearing worn out clothes and bast shoes came onto the fields to plough the soil covered with many splinters from cannon shells. I stayed there until late 1944. After returning to Kursk I worked as a corrector with Kurskaya Pravda [Kursk Truth], a Soviet daily newspaper, and studied in an evening music school. I was an active Komsomol member and was elected as a delegate to the 3rd district conference of the Komsomol in Kursk.

In 1944 I married Pavel Glukhov, a Russian man. He was born in Ulianovsk. He was one year older than I. He finished a flying school and went to the front. He was wounded in 1943 and sent to hospital in Kursk where I met him. After we got married he continued to serve in his Air Force military unit. I remember, that when I was pregnant my mother forced me to fast at Yom Kippur: my parents continued to observe some Jewish traditions. My son Vladimir was born on 21st January 1946. We named him after Vladimir Illich Lenin since that year was an anniversary of his death. 1946 was a difficult year: there was a lack of food in the country. As a corrector with the Kurskaya Pravda newspaper, I received food coupons. In 1947 my husband and I separated - he was a womanizer. I haven't heard about him ever since.

Life was hard in Kursk after the war. There were many criminal gangs in the town; one of them was called 'Black Cat'. In June 1947 my father, mother, my sister Shelia, my son and I moved to Odessa to my father's grandparents Menachem-Nuchem and Riva-Zelda. We lived in a small two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a house in the center of town. There was an outside toilet in the yard near our apartment. My father's brother Izia and his family lived with us. Grandfather and grandmother lived with their daughter Ida in her prewar apartment in Ostrovidova Street in the center of town. My father's younger sister Chaya and her son Senia lived there, too.

My father went to work as a barber. He was chairman of the barbers' guild. Our district Komsomol committee appointed me as deputy director at the recreation center of the Kinap plant, but it was a seasonal job. In 1948 I went to work at the Sanitas shop that manufactured lighters, powder compacts, cigarette cases and other haberdashery. I was a stamp operator. In this shop I met my second husband Misha Tetelman, a Jewish man.

Misha was born in Voznesensk, Nikolaev region, in 1914. He was ten years older than I and he wasn't religious at all. Misha was an engraver, but he had a job as a press operator in this shop. During the war he was a tank man at the front. I don't know exactly in what location at the front he was, but he had many decorations.

We got married in 1948. We had a civil wedding. By that time my father had bought an apartment in the basement of the house where Aunt Ida lived. There were two rooms, a kitchen and a big hallway in this apartment. My husband and I lived there with my parents. There was a stove stoked with coal and wood. It was hard to buy anything in stores after the war. My mother made curtains with frills from gauze to somehow decorate the apartment.

My daughter Flora was born in 1949. I quit my job to take care of the children. We were a big and nice family. My grandfather, grandmother, aunt Ida and aunt Chaya lived in the same building and we saw each other frequently. Besides, all our relatives who lived in Odessa came to celebrate Soviet and Jewish holidays and birthdays with us. My mother and I cooked delicious food. We often had guests and life was fun. We helped and supported each other. When our relatives' children were getting married we went to their wedding parties.

However little space we had to live we supported and helped each other. My grandfather was rather old, but he continued sewing. He still had many private clients. My grandmother did all the housekeeping. On Jewish holidays they put on their fancy clothes and went to the synagogue. My grandmother had a brain tumor, but she ignored it for a long time. It turned out to be malignant. My grandmother Riva died in 1953. She had a Jewish funeral and was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Since neither my father nor Uncle Izia could pray there was a man invited to recite the Kaddish and my mother sat shivah. After my grandmother died I began to escort my grandfather to the synagogue. My mother stayed at home to look after the children. My grandfather took his tallit and tefillin in a bag to the synagogue with him. In 1954 my grandfather got into a car accident when crossing a street alone. He died. He had a Jewish funeral and was buried near my grandmother's grave. The Kaddish was recited by a Jew invited from the Jewish cemetery.

On 5th March 1953 Stalin died. I was raised in Stalin's era. I was a member of the Komsomol and believed in Stalin enormously. I grieved a lot after him.

My sister Shelia finished a course of post office employees after the war. Then she took a course of advanced training in Kishinev. She was head of department of mail shipments at the Central Post Office in Odessa. Shelia remained single for a long time. In 1962 she went to visit my father's younger brother Semyon in Moscow and he acquainted her with his co-tenant Boris Rodinski. Boris was Russian. They got married and in 1963 their son Sergei was born. Then Shelia, her husband and their son moved to Odessa. Sergei was six years old when my sister died suddenly of breast cancer. Shortly afterward Boris married a woman from Bershad'. His second wife was kind to her stepson. The three of them moved to Israel in 1990. We corresponded until 1993. Now I have no contact with Sergei any more.

My second husband got fond of drinking and life with him became unbearable. When Flora went to school in 1956 I divorced my husband. Misha died of cerebral hemorrhage in 1967. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery. After we divorced I went to work as commodity manager at the diner and restaurant trust. Then I became diner director at the Epsilon plant. The diner was awarded the title of a model diner. When there was a cholera epidemic in Odessa in 1970 I quit my job. I got another job offer at the quality assurance department of the plant. Later I worked as logistics supervisor at the plant. My department was responsible for non-ferrous metal supplies. I still took part in the amateur art club, where I sang. We gave concerts in Berdiansk and Leningrad. Flora and I lived in our old apartment and my father received a new apartment in Tiraspolskaya Street nearby.

My son Vladimir lived with my parents. They loved him dearly and created all conditions for his studies. He studied well at school and had many friends of various nationalities. He didn't face any anti-Semitism at school. After finishing the 8th grade in 1962 he went to work at the Poligraphmach plant. He finished an evening secondary school and entered a machine tool manufacture college. After finishing it he was summoned to the army. Vladimir served in an Air Force unit in Nizhneudinsk, Irkutsk region not far from the border with China. I was very concerned about him during the 'Chinese events'. [Editor's note: The interviewee is referring to the Great Proletarian Culture Revolution in China, 1966-1969. The Chinese were alarmed by steady Soviet military build-ups along their common border. The Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 heightened Chinese apprehensions. In March 1969 Chinese and Soviet troops clashed on Zhenbao Island (known to the Soviets as Damanskiy Island) in the disputed Wusuli Jiang (Ussuri River) border area.] In 1967 Vladimir got a 24-day leave for excellent performance. He came to Odessa where he married Ida, a Jewish girl, whom he knew from the time before he went to the army. Shortly afterward his regiment relocated to Vyshniy Volochek. There he finished a school of sergeants and was sent to the town of Karakalpakiya in Uzbekistan. His wife Ida stayed with her parents in Odessa. She gave birth to a son in 1968. He was named Viacheslav. I got along well with her and my grandson. After the army Vladimir was a production engineer at the plant of radial drilling units. His marriage failed and in 1970 they divorced. Ida and her son moved to the USA in the 1980s.

After they divorced my son moved in with my parents into their one-bedroom apartment in Tairovo district of Odessa that my father received in 1972 as an invalid of the Great Patriotic War. My father worked in a barbershop in the center of Odessa his whole life. He died in 1973. My mother and my son lived in that same apartment by themselves. In 1980 my mother died and my son had to go to court to prove his right of ownership for this apartment. In 1982 Vladimir went on business to a plant in Leningrad where he met his future wife Rita. They got married shortly afterward and Rita moved in with Vladimir. I helped them to do repairs in this one-bedroom apartment and bought them new furniture on installments. In 1983 their son Felix was born. My son was happy with his second wife and had a good job.

In the 1970s many Jews began to move to Israel. The situation was hard; there were meetings where anti-Semitic speeches were made. I believed everything that was said at such meetings. I had a negative attitude toward departure and I still do, as a matter of fact. I'm sure that this country, Ukraine, is my only motherland.

My daughter Flora finished school in 1967. She went to work as a quality controller at the resistance unit plant. Later she came to work at the Epsilon plant. In 1973 Flora married a Russian man. They didn't have any children. Their marriage failed and they got divorced. Flora never remarried. In 1978 I received a two-bedroom apartment on the ninth floor in a house in Bocharov Street in Kotovskiy district of Odessa. Flora and I moved there. We both worked at the Epsilon plant. We had good salaries and bought new furniture, a TV set and a fridge on installments. When I went on business trips I always bought books: in the 1970s and 1980s there were better supplies of Russian fiction and books by foreign authors to provincial towns. Flora and I loved each other dearly. She was a wonderful daughter. Our friends, relatives, my son, my daughter-in-law Rita and my grandson Felix often came to see us. I got along well with Rita and I loved my grandson. I spent my vacations in recreation centers in the Caucasus. I bought vacations at the plant that were mostly paid by the trade union. I went to resorts such as Pitsunda, Gagry, Sochi, Adler and Kobuleti.

In 1992 I fell severely ill and had to go to hospital. My daughter Flora spent most of her time taking care of me in hospital. Vladimir came to visit me and on such days he stayed in our apartment. One night my son choked to death due to the smoke during a fire in an apartment on our floor. After he died Rita and Felix moved to Leningrad. We used to correspond at the beginning, but then she stopped writing. I heard they moved abroad: to the USA, I believe.

Vladimir's death was a hard blow to me and Flora. I turned 70 in 1994. I retired. My health condition was poor. Flora had diabetes and the level of sugar in her blood increased dramatically. A few years later doctors diagnosed a cyst and she had a surgery in 1995. After the surgery her diabetes got worse and Flora began to lose sight. In January 2002 she was taken to the endocrinological department of a regional hospital with acute diabetes. She had to stay in hospital for two months. Then she was released. She was feeling better. On 16th May, on my birthday, my friends came to congratulate me. Flora felt very well and looked bright and we received our guests together. At 2am she got worse and when the ambulance arrived there was nothing they could do to help her.

Here I am: alone, lonely, weak and in a terrible physical and moral condition at my old age of 79. I feel so bad that I never leave home now. My grandchildren live in the USA, but I have no contact with them. I don't even know in what town they live. Since my daughter's death a social employee of Hesed helps me. I'm so grateful to her that she cleans my apartment and brings me medications and food products. I think it is so good that we have Hesed. I appreciate what they are doing. In 1991 the Jewish life began to revive in Odessa: they restored the synagogue in Remeslennaya Street [Osipov Street at present] where my grandfather Menachem and great-grandfather Shlyoma once used to go. But I can't go there since I'm too weak.

Glossary

Életrajz

Greif Ruth 72 éves, rövid ősz hajú asszony. Mindig azt a fülbevalót hordja, ami még a nagyanyjáé volt; családi örökség. Egy tömbház négyszobás lakásában él; egyedüli lakótársa egy kis kutya, akihez mindig németül beszél. A lakás az első perctől, ahogy belép az ember, magára vonja a figyelmet: minden egyes bútor és minden dísz valódi mestermű, minden darabnak külön története és értéke van. A falakon eredeti festmények, amelyek közül néhány a román nemzeti örökség része. A nappaliban egy 200 éves komód áll, kézzel festett Sèvres porcelán berakással, bronz szobrokkal, antik ezüst ékszertartókkal és egy szekreterrel, amely egy 19. századi, neves brassói orvosé, Fabriciuszé volt. Amikor Greif Ruth megjavíttatta, egy titkos fiókra is rábukkant, benne néhány recepttel, amit maga a doktor írt. Mindennél többre becsüli a művészetet és a régiségeket, és egész lénye a megalapozott kultúra és a jó ízlés nemes hangulatát árasztja, mellyel manapság olyan ritkán van alkalmunk találkozni.

Apai nagyapámat nem ismertem, de tudom, hogy Goldsteinnak hívták. Felesége Goldstein Rozália volt, az én nagyanyám, aki [Nagy]Szebenben született 1874-ben. Annyit tudok, hogy szegények voltak, és amikor én már a világon voltam, a nagyanyám [Nagy]Szebenben lakott, és az apám [Goldstein Béla] segítette. Egész életében háziasszony volt, nem kapott nyugdíjat. Gyerekkoromban többször meglátogattam; egy régi, szegényes házban lakott, aminek egyetlen szobája, egy konyhája és egy fürdőszobája volt. Volt egy kis kertje is, hagymát, salátát és más zöldségeket termesztett benne. Azt hiszem, tyúkokat is tartott, de ennyi volt az egész. Nem viselt parókát. Az erdélyi zsidóasszonyok nemigen hordtak ilyesmit. Egyedül végezte a ház körüli munkákat, nem engedhette meg magának, hogy cselédet tartson. Nem volt kóser konyhája, és csak a nagyünnepeket tartotta meg: húsvétkor [Pészah] nem fogyasztott lisztes ételt vagy kenyeret, és elment a zsinagógába. Jom Kipur alkalmával böjtölt is. Nagyanyám a ház körüli munkával, a kerttel volt elfoglalva, de nem mondhatom, hogy jól emlékszem rá: nyolcéves koromban eljöttem [Nagy]Szebenből, és azután csak ritkán látogattam meg.

Nem volt alkalmam a nagyanyámmal tölteni az ünnepeket, de a Pészahot mindig az apám rokonságával töltöttük: Weiss Heinrich apám unokatestvére volt – az ő apja és az én Goldstein nagyapám testvérek voltak. Nagyon vallásos családja volt, szerettem velük tölteni az ünnepeket: külön edényeik voltak a tejnek és a húsnak, és kóser volt a Pészahjuk, erre az ünnepre külön edényeik voltak. És soha nem volt disznóhús a konyhájukban [lásd: étkezési törvények]. A családjukban mindig megtartották a péntek esti szertartást, gyertyát gyújtottak, bárheszt ettek, hagyományos kalácsot és csollentet libahússal. Először kezet mostak, aztán elmondták az imát. Pészahkor semmit nem ettek kenyérrel, de volt sütemény vagy más fogások, amik máceszlisztből készültek: máceszlisztből készült gombóc, főtt krumpli és tojás. Ennek a receptjét is tudom, a gombóc lehet édes is, sós is, attól függ, hogyan akarják sütni. Levesbe való nokedlit is készítettek máceszlisztből és tojásból [A pészahi húslevesbe készült maceszgaluska nem azonos a maceszgombóccal vagy knédlivel. Tojássárgáját kevernek el maceszliszttel és sóval, majd hozzákeverik a habbá vert fehérjét, és a forró levesbe beleszaggatják a galuskát. – A szerk.]. A húsvéti ételekhez általában sok tojás kell. Heinrich [nagy]szebeni volt, de rég kiment Izraelbe, még 1949-ben.

[Nagy]Szeben akkoriban még nem volt olyan népes város, de gondolom, hogy sok zsidó volt, és onnan nem deportálták őket. Sok rokonom élt [Nagy]Szebenben, főleg az apám oldaláról, sok unokatestvére és nagybátyja élt ott, akik igen vallásosak voltak. Már nem tudom, melyikükkel milyen rokonságban álltunk, olyan régen volt, de mindnyájan apám oldaláról valók voltak.

Apámnak egy lánytestvére volt, Mutzel Margit (szül. Goldstein Margit), aki Csernovicban [Czernowitz] született, és háziasszony volt. Egy zsidóhoz ment férjhez, akit Mutzelnek hívtak; két lányuk született. A férje lengyel volt, de úgy tudom, Bukarestben tanult, és ott lett mérnök. Margit nénémmel először Bukarestben éltek. A [II. világ]háború után, nem tudom, pontosan mikor, Lengyelországba költöztek, Wrocławba. A férj az ottani egyetem rektora lett. Emlékszem, mondták apámnak, hogy még a háború után is nagyon erős volt az antiszemitizmus Lengyelországban, és ezért ők mindig titkolták, hogy zsidók. Még a lányaik sem tudtak róla. Nem tudom, vallásosak voltak-e vagy sem. Margit Lengyelországban halt meg az 1980-as években.

Egy fiútestvérük is volt, Goldstein András, szintén csernovici születésű. Ő egyedülálló volt, és az 1990-es években halt meg. Tisztviselőként dolgozott. András [Nagy]Szebenben élt, és ott is halt meg.

Apám egyik unokatestvérét Goldstein Józsefnek, a másikat Goldstein Imrének hívták. Imrének volt egy fűszerboltja, amit a szüleivel közösen vezettek. Nem emlékszem, mi volt az apám nagybátyjának a neve, de a nagynénje tudom, hogy Paula volt. Mindkét unokafivér Brassóba költözött és tudom, hogy József egy optikai iskolában tanult, aztán nyitott egy kis üzletet a belvárosban.

Apám, Goldstein Béla 1906-ban született [Nagy]Szebenben. Magyar volt az anyanyelve, és érettségizett. Először egy kis dohányboltja volt, amit egyedül vitt, majd az anyám segítségével, miután megnősült.

Az anyai nagyanyám, Goldsmann Eszter valamikor az 1880-as években született Türkösön, annak a hét falunak egyikében, ami ma Szecseleváros [A Brassó vm.-ben lévő Hétfalusi járást tulajdonképpen hét, egymás mellett fekvő csángó község képezte, együttesen Hétfalunak nevezték őket: Bácsfalu, Csernátfalu, Hosszúfalu, Türkös, Tatrang, Purkerecz, Zajzon. A hét faluból négy – Bácsfalu, Csernátfalu, Hosszúfalu, Türkös – teljesen össszeépült egymással, ezt a falukonglomerátumot nevezték Szecselevárosnak. Türkösnek magának 1891-ben 3300 fő (52% magyar és 47% román), 1910-ben 3200 fő lakosa volt. – A szerk.]. A férje, Goldsmann Bernard korán meghalt, mikor ő még fiatal volt, de soha nem ment újra férjhez. Amikor már én is éltem, nagymamám Brassóban élt. Bérelt lakásban lakott, soha nem volt saját háza. Az udvart több más lakóval kellett megosztania, nem volt köztük zsidó; ennek ellenére nagyon nagyra becsülték. Keményen dolgozott: volt egy boltja, amit reggeltől késő estig nyitva tartott. Ugyanabban a házban lakott, ahol a bolt is volt; a boltból át lehetett menni a nappaliba, és volt még két külön bejáratú szobája. Volt konyhája és fürdőszobája is. Mindenféle finomságot árult a boltban, kolbászt és egyéb húsféléket, csokoládét, likőrt. És ő csinált mindent: ő foglalkozott a raktárral, a könyveléssel, a kiszolgálással; nagyon energikus és fürge asszony volt, nem volt segítsége. Állattartásra, konyhakertre nem volt ideje, túlságosan lekötötte az üzlet. Amióta ismertem, sosem volt szabadságon, nem hagyhatta ott a boltot, nem akarta elveszíteni a vevőit.

Amikor 1940-ben [Nagy]Szebenből Brassóba költöztünk, egy darabig nála laktunk, ameddig lakást nem találtunk magunknak. Szerettem a nagyanyám mellett lenni a boltban; többnyire igen tele volt vevőkkel, mivel jó helyen volt, és jól ment az üzlet. Velem kicsit szigorúan bánt, emlékszem, féltem tőle, de ezzel együtt bámulatos asszony volt. Megvoltak a kedvenc finomságaim a boltban, a szebeni szalámi, aminek különleges zamata, íze volt és a tejcsokoládé. Azt hiszem, nagyanyám Magyarországról hozatta az árut, főleg a csokoládét. Persze a bolt nem volt kóser, árult disznóhúsból készült termékeket is.

Nagyanyám megtartotta a Hosszúnapot, Jom Kipurt; ekkor böjtölt is. Pészahkor nem evett kenyeret tíz napig, csak máceszt [Pészahkor csak nyolc napig kell máceszt enni. – A szerk.], és a nagyünnepeken elment a zsinagógába. De nem tartotta a kóserséget, nehéz is lett volna az üzlet mellett. Péntek este azért mindig gyújtott gyertyát, és elmondta az áldást, szombaton pedig zárva tartotta a boltot [lásd: szombati munkavégzés tilalma]. A szomszédaival jó viszonyban volt. Emlékszem, Purimkor hámántáskát sütött, és küldött belőle a keresztény szomszédoknak [A hámántáska vagy humentás kelt tésztából készült sült tészta. Négyszögletesre vágott, majd félbe hajtott táskácskák, szilvalekvárral vagy cukros mákkal töltve. – A szerk.]. Előfordult, hogy velem küldte, és én szívesen mentem. Miután Brassóba költöztünk, sok időt töltöttem nála. A legionárius uralom alatt [lásd: legionárius mozgalom; Antonescu-rezsim] elvették tőle a házat és az üzletet, akkor a nagyanyám kibérelt a Lupeni utcában egy hatszobás házat, mindegyik szobának külön bejárata volt. Egy szobát megtartott magának, a többit kiadta, és ebből élt. Az 1970-es években halt meg, itt van eltemetve a brassói zsidó temetőben.

Anyámnak egy testvére volt, Klausner Erzsébet (szül. Goldsmann Erzsébet), aki 1907-ben született Szecselevárosban [Brassó vm.]. Egy zsidóhoz ment férjhez itt, Brassóban, Benzel Edmundhoz, aki egy faipari vállalat üzletvezetője volt. Vonatszerencsétlenségben halt meg. A nagynéném jó néhány év múlva újra férjhez ment, egy Klausner nevű zsidóhoz, akivel Bukarestbe költöztek, de nem lett gyerekük. Nem emlékszem, hogy a férfi mivel foglalkozott, de neki is volt egy korábbi házassága, és abból volt két gyereke. Amikor a legionáriusok hatalomra kerültek, a gyerekeit Nagyváradra küldte egy barátjához, abban a reményben, hogy ott nagyobb biztonságban lesznek. A két gyereket azonban Auschwitzba deportálták és ott vesztek, a felesége pedig belebetegedett a bánatba és meghalt. Erzsébet néném Bukarestben halt meg 1995-ben, ott temették el a zsidó temetőben.

Édesanyám, Goldsmann Piroska 1909-ben született Türkös faluban, Brassó mellett. Ő is tudott magyarul, és volt érettségije. A szüleim házassága nem megszervezett házasság volt; tudom, hogyan történt, mert anyám elmondta. Apám anyja, Rozália nagyanyám, meghívta anyámat és a testvérét, Erzsébetet [Nagy]Szebenbe. Rozália nagyanyám és Eszter nagyanyám ismerték egymást, tulajdonképpen jó unokatestvérek voltak – első unokatestvérek, a szüleik testvérek voltak, de nem tudom a nevüket –, és úgy tudom, tartották a kapcsolatot, amennyire csak lehetett, lévén, hogy más-más városban éltek. Szóval, Rozália nagyanyám meghívta a lányokat egy rövid nyaralásra, és azt hiszem, nála laktak. Anyám és a testvére két hetet töltött ott, így anyám megismerkedett az apámmal és a nővérével. Jó barátnők lettek Margittal, de ennyi volt az egész. De a [nagy]szebeni társaságban voltak más zsidó fiúk is, akik elhívták olykor sétálni anyámat ide-oda. Akkor apámnak már megvolt a dohányboltja, és ahogy mesélte, egy nap az ablakból meglátta anyámat, amint karon fogva sétál egy másik fiúval. Akkor hirtelen féltékeny lett, és elkezdett tetszeni neki anyám, már többnek látta, mint unokatestvérnek.

A mi bécsi történetünk a következő volt: apámnak, mielőtt megnősült, volt egy jó barátja, aki kiment Bécsbe, és nyitott egy bicikliműhelyt. Jól ment az üzlet, és hívta apámat is. Apám már eljegyezte anyámat, de azért elment. Egy év múlva visszajött, és feleségül vette anyámat. 1929-ben házasodtak össze a zsinagógában, rabbival [lásd: házasság, esküvői szertartás], és ketubájuk is volt. Utána együtt mentek Bécsbe. Én Bécsben születtem 1932-ben, és hároméves koromig éltünk ott. Apám üzlettársa volt annak a bicikliműhelyes barátjának – a nevére már nem emlékszem –, és néhány évig ott éltek. De végül csődbe mentek, és hála istennek, anyám és apám visszajött Romániába. Néhány évre rá aztán megkezdődött a háború, és a németek elfoglalták Ausztriát [lásd: Anschluss]. Semmire sem emlékszem az akkori Bécsből, még túl kicsi voltam. De hat évvel ezelőtt, 1998-ban elutaztam Bécsbe, látni akartam a várost, ahol születtem és a helyeket, amikről az anyám mesélt. Fölkerestem az ottani zsidó hitközséget, elmentem a schönbrunni kastélyba [A császári család palotája és nyári tartózkodási helye. – A szerk.] és a katedrálisba.

A szüleim egymás között magyarul beszéltek, de velem csak németül. De azért én el-elcsíptem a magyar szavakat, amikor ők egymással beszélgettek. Végül egész jól beszéltem németül is.

A szüleim egyenesen [Nagy]Szebenbe jöttek, ahol volt egy dohányboltjuk. A bolt nem ott volt, ahol laktunk, hanem [Nagy]Szeben főterén béreltük egy házban: egy helyiség volt, és volt egy kis raktárhelyiség hátul. A szüleim szolgálták ki a vevőket, nem volt alkalmazottjuk. Árultak cigarettát, bélyeget, szivart, pipát és dohányt kis kartondobozban. Apám nem dohányzott, de anyám igen, különösen miután Brassóba költöztünk, mindegyre rágyújtott egy-egy cigarettára. A bolt csak két háztömbnyire volt a lakásunktól, ami a Brukenthal utcában volt, a város központjában. Ezt is béreltük, a második emeleten laktunk: két szobánk, konyhánk és fürdőszobánk volt, víz és villany bevezetve. Emlékszem, a nappaliban perzsaszőnyegünk volt, de a lakásban készen vásárolt bútor volt, nem volt semmi különleges. Volt udvarunk is, de anyám nem kertészkedett: a kert a szomszédokkal közös volt. A szomszédok románok voltak, és volt néhány szász is, azt hiszem. Jól egyeztünk a szomszédokkal, de barátság nem volt köztünk. Erre nem volt idő, de csak azért nem, mert a szüleim sokat dolgoztak. Amíg [Nagy]Szebenben laktunk, nem emlékszem, hogy a szüleim egyszer is elmentek volna szabadságra. Nem engedhették meg maguknak, hogy otthagyják a boltot, senkire nem bízhatták volna, nem volt alkalmazottjuk. Akkoriban az emberek így gondolkodtak: előbb a munka, aztán a szórakozás. És én sem voltam vakációzni vagy táborozni soha. Akkoriban még nem voltak nyári gyermektáborok. Mikor akadt egy kis szabadidejük, a szüleim színházba jártak, de nem tudom, hogy bálokba jártak-e. Az ünnepeket a rokonokkal töltöttük – ők voltak a barátaink.

Volt egy szász cselédünk, aki a házat és a konyhát rendben tartotta. Katinak hívták. Nagydarab asszony volt, mindig nagy, hosszú fodros szoknyában és fodros blúzban járt, és vastagtalpú fekete cipőben. Akkoriban ilyet viseltek a szász nők. Kati rám is vigyázott, mert a szüleimet erősen lefoglalta a dohánybolt. (Arra is emlékszem, hogy német óvodába jártam, de már nem tudom, hogy milyen volt.) Katival nagyokat sétáltunk, a piacra is magával vitt. A piac nagyon tiszta és rendezett volt, mindent standokról árultak. Általában szász parasztok jártak be oda, és ők a mai napig nagyon tiszták, becsületesek és rendesek. Anyám is, Kati is főzött, de nem tartottuk a kóserséget; talán még disznóhúst is ettünk.

Volt otthon könyvtárunk. Anyám sok regényt olvasott, apám pedig a lexikonokat, a nehéz filozófiai könyveket kedvelte. Minden este, mielőtt lefeküdt, egy halom könyvet tett az éjjeliszekrényére, én meg mindig azzal hecceltem, hogy „Az összest el akarod olvasni még ma este?”. Olyankor azt válaszolta: „Nem, de mindegyikből olvasok valamit.” Mindketten németül olvastak. Vallásos könyveink is voltak; megvolt a Szidur héberül, román és német fordítással, a Hagada Pészahra. A szüleim újságokat is járattak, például az „Universul”-t, egyedül erre emlékszem [Az „Universul” (Világ) volt az első napilap, először 1884-ben jelent meg, jobboldali irányultságú volt. – A szerk.]. Apám semmilyen politikai pártnak nem volt tagja, de tudom, hogy szociáldemokrata meggyőződésű volt, nem kommunista; anyám viszont egyáltalán nem politizált. Ami az olvasást illeti, engem sosem kellett nyaggatniuk. Szenvedélyesen olvastam magam is. Akár a takaró alatt is, elemlámpával. Ezek az anyám könyvei voltak, amiket nem lett volna szabad még abban a korban olvasnom, mert egy magamfajta lánynak kissé túlságosan szókimondóak voltak!

A szüleim nem voltak nagyon vallásosak: apámnak nem volt pájesze, anyám nem viselt parókát. De a nagyünnepeket mindketten megtartották. Péntek esténként anyám gyertyát gyújtott, és elmondta az áldást, vacsorára pedig bárheszt is ettünk. Apám minden szombaton elment a zsinagógába, a minjánhoz, és mindketten próbálták megtartani a Sábátot. Azt hiszem, volt olyan, hogy az apám péntek este is elment a zsinagógába. A minjánra minden alkalommal elment. Szombatonként az üzlet zárva volt, és anyám igyekezett nem dolgozni. Anyám és én csak a nagyünnepeken mentünk a templomba. Akkoriban a nőknek nem kellett járniuk, csak a nagyobb ünnepeken. A szombatokat és vasárnapokat nem kellett otthon töltsem, számomra nem volt különleges program. A szüleim beszéltek nekem a vallásról és a hagyományról – többnyire anyám; ő szeretett ilyesmikről olvasni. Mesélt nekem a történelmünkről, az egyiptomi kivonulásról, Mózesről, Ádámról és Éváról, Ábrahámról, az első zsidókról. Apám is elég vallásos volt, és megesett, hogy szombatonként beszélt nekem a történelemről, a Tóráról, a hagyományokról és ilyesmikről.

Hanukakor kaptam hanukaajándékot, és a hitközségnél töltöttem a napot a társaimmal. Ilyenkor tenderlivel [lásd: denderli] játszottunk. Szükeszkor [lásd: Szukot] is elmentünk a zsinagógába, de apám soha nem épített szukát. Kedvenc ünnepem a húsvét [Pészah] volt. Ekkor az egész család az asztal köré gyűlt, és apám felolvasott a Hagadából. Rendszerint én dugtam el az afikóment vagy valamelyik fiatalabb barátunk – mert mindig voltak nálunk barátok is –, és mindig a legkisebbnek kell eldugnia az afikóment. A széderestet apám vezette, és persze neki kellett megkeresnie az afikóment, majd kellett gondosodnia arról, hogy megkapjam az ajándékomat. De amikor az apám egész családja összegyűlt, akkor a legidősebb vezette a széderestet, és az, úgy tudom, az apám nagybátyja volt. A szüleim mindig böjtöltek Jom Kipurkor és én magam is, bár még csak gyerek voltam: előbb csak 10 óráig, majd 12-ig, végül egész nap. Azt hiszem, tizenkét éves koromban már egész nap böjtöltem.

A [nagy]szebeni zsidó hitközség kicsi volt; nem tudom megmondani, hány zsidó tartozott oda, de tudom, hogy a hitközségi irodák, a zsidó iskola és a templom mind egy udvaron volt, a vasútállomás mellett. A [nagy]szebeni zsidók nagy része kereskedő volt vagy üzlettulajdonos. Az összes ottani rokonomnak üzlete volt. Voltak orvosok és ékszerészek is, mint a barátnőm szülei, de nem sokan. Egyetlen zsinagóga volt, de voltak közhivatalnokok is, mint a sakterek vagy a háhámok [Háhám (hákhám) (héber, ’bölcs’) – a rabbi viselte ezt a címet a szefárd közösségekben. – A szerk.]. Volt egy héder is, de az csak fiúknak. A hitközségnek volt egy zsidó elemi iskolája is, lányok és fiúk számára egyaránt. A városban mindenfelé laktak zsidók, de azt hiszem, legtöbben a zsinagóga közelében: az apám rokonai, az unokatestvérei, a fivére és a nővére a családjukkal, mind ott laktak.

Amikor [Nagy]Szebenben laktunk, az anyagi helyzetünk elég jó volt, közepes, de nem éltünk szegénységben. Emlékszem, első osztályos koromban skarlátos lettem, és otthon kellett ülnöm. Nem fektettek be a kórházba, mivel ez ragályos betegség. Akkoriban még nem volt penicillin, csak a háború után fedezték fel [A penicillin tömeggyártása 1940-ben kezdődött meg az Egyesült Államokban. – A szerk.], így a szüleim mandarinnal és naranccsal kezeltek, emlékszem, a konyhánk tele volt gyümölcsös kosarakkal: a C-vitamin segített.

Kiskoromban anyám este nyolckor ágyba dugott, reggel nyolckor pedig felköltött. Emiatt azt képzeltem, hogy este nyolckor megáll a nap, az óra is, és reggel nyolckor újra elindul! Arra is emlékszem, hogy volt egy Springer Rose-Marie nevű barátnőm, aki velünk szemben lakott, együtt nőttünk fel. Azt hiszem, két évvel idősebb volt nálam. Az édesanyja orvosnő volt, az édesapja ékszerész. Mindig együtt játszottunk, vagy a mi udvarunkon, vagy az övéken; szerettünk a város közepén lévő parkban is sétálni, ahol szép fasorok voltak. Rose-Marie [Nagy]Szebenben maradt, és zsidó iskolába járt.

[Nagy]Szebenben nem szembesültem az antiszemitizmussal, talán azért, mert zsidó elemibe jártam. Ugyanazokat a tantárgyakat tanították ott, mint bármelyik állami iskolában; tudom, hogy mindig gond volt a hely, két osztályt, az elsőt és a másodikat összevonták egy terembe. Itt az elemiben a tanítónk egy Káin nevű zsidó volt. Nagyon vallásos volt, soha nem jött fedetlen fővel az osztályba, mindig kipát hordott. A vallásórát is ő tartotta: megtanította az ábécét, hogy hogyan kell a héber imádságokat olvasni, dolgokat az Ótestamentumból, de arra már nem emlékszem, milyen gyakran volt vallásóránk. Én rendszerint jobban kedveltem az irodalmat, mint a számtant. Amikor elemis voltam, valaki – az anyám vagy Kati – mindig értem jött órák után. De egyszer elkéstek, hát úgy döntöttem, egyedül megyek haza. Ehelyett azonban eltévedtem, és úgy egy órával később érkeztem haza. Otthon anyám jól helybenhagyott; már mindenhol keresett.

Nem emlékszem, hogy részt vettem volna az iskolával a május elsejei parádékon vagy a király napján [május 10-én]. Csernovicban [akkor: Cernăuţi] például szokás volt az ilyesmi. A férjem mesélte, hogy ő őr volt, „strajer” románul, vagyis strázsa, és látta Károly királyt [lásd: II. Károly román király]. Nem hiszem, hogy a zsidó iskolákban lett volna ilyesmi.

Nem tudom, miért költöztünk Brassóba. Akkor jöttünk ide, amikor a második elemit kezdtem, 1940-ben. Apám itt egy Juhász nevű magyarral társulva csinált egy fogászatianyag-lerakatot. Papíron ez az üzlettársa volt a lerakat tulajdonosa [lásd: stróman], és ő bonyolította le az összes utazást, mivel a zsidóknak nem volt szabad vonatra ülniük [lásd: zsidótörvények Romániában].

A városban egy rendes állami iskolába írattak, az Agrişelor utcában. Akkortájt a torna volt az egyik hobbim. A tanárom Farkas Borbála volt, zsidó. Budapesten tanult ritmikus tornát, nagyon tehetséges volt. Otthon tartotta az órákat, több lány is járt hozzá. Akkor még elemista voltam. Arra is emlékszem, hogy jó néhány éven át naplót vezettem, még miután férjhez mentem is; volt egy kulcsa, nekem pedig volt időm írni bele.

Amikor az állami iskolába jártam, volt egy zsidó barátnőm, Graunfelds Juditnak hívták. Egy utcában laktunk, de az iskolától ő lakott távolabb, és mindig ő jött értem, hogy együtt menjünk. Egy osztályba jártunk, egyidősek voltunk. Az utunk egy német fiú középiskola előtt vezetett el, és valahányszor arra jártunk, a fiúk lejöttek és megütöttek, vagy „büdös zsidónak” neveztek. A német fiúk mindkettőnket többször is elcsépeltek. Tudták, hogy zsidók vagyunk, lehet, hogy látták, merre megyünk; mi kisiskolás lányok voltunk, ők pedig középiskolások, de ez sosem tartotta vissza őket. Egyiküket láttam később, felnőtt korában; úgy tett, mintha nem ismerne meg. A tanárok nem avatkoztak bele. A szüleim tudtak ezekről a verésekről, de nem tehettek semmit; abban az időben örültünk, ha ennyivel megúsztuk. Persze egyedül ezzel a zsidó lánykával barátkoztam. Ő gazdag családból származott. Az egyik nővére Feiler Dezsőhöz ment feleségül, aki a hitközség elnöke volt. Emlékszem, Feiler Dezső nővérének volt egy szoknyafodrozó műhelye, ami nagyon jól ment. Végül mind kimentek Izraelbe.

Emlékszem, Judittal jókat csatangoltunk, olyan kalandos módra. Egyszer elmentünk a röptérre, ahol ma a vasútállomás van, csak hogy lássuk a repülőket, bár tudtuk jól, hogy nem szabadna: két kislány, magukban – veszélyes volt; át kellett jussunk két vasútvonalon is, de mi kalandra vágytunk! Judit nagyon kikapott az édesanyjától, amikor hazament; szigorú anyja volt, a fakanál nyelével verte!

1940-ben, amikor hatalomra kerültek a legionáriusok, engem kivágtak az iskolából [lásd: zsidótörvények Romániában]. A tanító bejött az osztályba, az egész osztály előtt hangosan a nevemen szólított, nekem pedig össze kellett pakolnom, és el kellett jönnöm. Juditot is kidobták. Így végül a zsidó ipari középiskolába kellett mennem, ami egy magánházban működött, négy elemi és nyolc felső osztálya volt. Egy idő után onnan el kellett költöznünk, egy másik magánházba. Judit is ebbe az iskolába jött át. Az osztálytársaim között volt Guth István is [Guth István a brassói zsidó hitközség alelnöke, a Centropa vele is készített interjút. – A szerk.]

Az antiszemitizmus a legionáriusok hatalomra jutásával egy időben kezdődött el, de emlékszem olyan beszélgetésekre is otthon, amik Hitler hatalomra jutásáról szóltak, vagy az osztrák Anschlussról. A rádióban hallgattuk a híreket, a BBC-n; még mindig a fülembe cseng Hitler harsány hangja. A szüleim nagyon örültek, hogy eljöttek Bécsből, mert különben addigra már Németországban lettek volna. Minket is érintettek a zsidóellenes törvények: engem kitettek az iskolából, apám pedig csak egy másik üzlettárssal folytathatta a vállalkozását. Brassóban nem voltak deportálások, de le kellett adnunk a rádiónkat, és minden zsidó családnak át kellett adnia egy új lepedőt, ingeket, mindenféle ruhaneműt és pénzt is, azt hiszem, a rezsimnek. Mindezt a rendőrparancsnokságon kellett átadnunk.

Emlékszem, a BBC-n hallottunk a deportálásokról, azt hiszem, 1943-ban vagy 1944-ben. Félelemben éltünk, emlékszem. Egyszer egy legionárius konvoj haladt el a házunk előtt, nagy zajt csapva, motorbiciklikkel és autókkal; ahogy anyám kinézett az ablakon, és meglátta az egyenruhájukat – a legionáriusok fekete bőrkabátot és zöld nadrágot viseltek –, azonnal leoltotta a villanyt, és elbújtunk. A legionáriusok általában tudták, hogy hol laknak a zsidók Brassóban, és anyám nem akart semmit kockáztatni, mert erővel bejöhettek volna az ember házába. Közvetlen incidens nem történt a családunkkal; de elszenvedtük mindazokat a megszorításokat, amiket az összes brassói zsidónak el kellett szenvednie: a legtöbb üzletbe nem volt szabad bemennünk reggel 10 óra előtt, a zsidó üzleteket arra kötelezték, hogy kiírják: „Zsidó üzlet”, hogy az emberek ne menjenek oda. A nagyanyámnak is ki kellett tennie ezt a feliratot az üzletére, és persze azután már nem ment olyan jól; az emberek nem akartak zsidó üzletből vásárolni, mert féltek a következményektől. Végül – az időpontra és a részletekre már nem emlékszem – elvették nagyanyámtól az üzletet a házzal együtt, mert zsidó volt. A szász boltokon ez a felirat állt: „Der Eintritt von Juden und Hunden ist unerwunscht” [’Zsidók és kutyák belépése nem kívánatos’]. És a zsidóknak nem volt szabad például csoportosan sétálni az utcán. És négy személy már csoportnak számított. Mindezeket a korlátozásokat el kellett szenvednünk, de nem mondhatom, hogy éheztünk volna, mert az apámnak megvolt a fogászati lerakata a magyar üzlettárssal együtt, aki az utazással járó dolgokat végezte. Hogy nemcsak munkatáborok, hanem haláltáborok is voltak, azt csak a háború után tudtuk meg, amikor a zsidók közül néhányan hazajöttek. Általában nagyon vonakodva meséltek arról, hogy mi történt velük, de végül is így tudtuk meg.

A szüleimmel utazgattunk, emlékszem, hogy voltunk Szovátán, Kolozsváron; volt egy régi autónk, egy BMW, azzal mentünk. Akkor az apámnak már megvolt a fogászati lerakata. Emlékszem egy majálisra – egy falusi ünnep volt –, ahová a szüleimmel mentünk, autóval, és mivel nagyon régi volt, elromlott, és több óránkba telt az a félórás kirándulás. Ezeket az ünnepségeket ott tartották, ahol ma a szomszédos Racadău van. Akkoriban nem volt más, csak szabad terület. Gyerekkoromban volt egy kisvonat is, vagy inkább villamos, ami Brassó, Racadău és a Szecselét alkotó hét falu között közlekedett. És a szüleimmel gyakran kijártunk, vendéglőben ettünk, általában az Aróban [Népszerű szálloda és vendéglő volt Brassó központjában – A szerk.], akkor volt pénzünk, nem volt olyan nagy szó, mint ma, különösen az államosítás előtt.

1943-ban elváltak a szüleim. Emlékszem, amikor a válás még nem volt végleges, Deutsch rabbi eljött hozzánk, hogy megpróbálja elsimítani a dolgokat, ahogyan ez szokott lenni, amikor egy zsidó pár szét akar válni [lásd: válás]; de semmire nem jutott. A válási ok az volt, hogy anyám beleszeretett apám magyar üzlettársába, Juhász Józsefbe. Anyám még fiatal volt – én tizenkét-tizenhárom éves lehettem –, és válni akart. A válás után anyám hozzáment, és nekem anyámmal kellett laknom. Néhány évre rá, mivel náluk is gondok voltak, ők is elváltak; a férje elhagyta anyámat, és kiment Németországba. Azután anyám nővérként dolgozott, hogy el tudja tartani magát.

1945-ben apám is újra megházasodott, egy fiatal brassói zsidó nőt vett el, Rosenberg Margitot, aki várandós is lett. Tizenhat évvel volt fiatalabb apámnál. De apám megbetegedett, nagyon magas volt a vérnyomása; üzleti ügyben [Nagy]Szebenben volt, amikor hirtelen felugrott a vérnyomása, agyvérzést kapott, és meghalt, mielőtt kórházba került volna. Így halt meg [Nagy]Szebenben, 1946-ban, és ott temették el, az ottani zsidó temetőben. [Nagy]Szebenben nem volt rabbi, de volt minján; nem emlékszem, ki mondta a kádist, talán apám egyik unokatestvére, aki ott volt a temetésen, vagy valaki a hitközségből. És aznap, amikor meghalt, a felesége megszülte Benjámin nevű fiát. A felesége nagyon megtört, nagyon-nagyon szerette apámat. Szegény családból származott: az apja órás volt, de nem volt üzlete, otthon dolgozott; volt még egy lánytestvére és az anyja, akiket el kellett tartania. Így Margit munkásként kellett hogy dolgozzon egy szövőgyárban itt, Brassóban.

Apám keményebb volt velem, de a halála után anyám még nála is szigorúbbá vált – gondolom, így próbálta őt valamennyire helyettesíteni. És nemcsak kiskoromban volt ilyen, hanem még középiskolás koromban is. Például nem mehettem este 9-től moziba, még akkor sem, ha a barátaimmal vagy az osztálytársaimmal akartam menni: korán haza kellett érnem. Csak akkor engedett 9-től moziba, amikor már eljegyzett a férjem, és még akkor is az ablakban várt rám. Emlékszem, egyszer – menyasszony létemre – meg is csapott, már nem tudom, miért. Mindenesetre nagyon szigorú volt.

Miután a szüleim elváltak, a két család nem volt éppen baráti viszonyban, nem jártunk össze, csak Benjámin jött hozzánk. De anyám nagyon szerette a kisfiút, nagyon csendes gyerek volt, és sokban hasonlított apámra. Benjámin tulajdonképpen nálunk nevelkedett négyéves koráig, egyre gyakrabban hoztam át hozzánk: mindig nálunk volt, mi etettük, mi vettünk neki ruhát. Megengedhettük magunknak, hiszen még mindig megvolt a fogászati lerakat, ami Juhászra maradt, ugyanis ő volt apám üzlettársa. Margit keményen dolgozott, és nehezen tudta mindnyájukat – a szüleit, a testvérét és egy kisbabát – eltartani. Aztán 1949-ben alijázott a családjával, az elsők között volt, aki elment; akkoriban a kivándorlók még csak hajóval tudtak menni. Anyám szerette volna, ha Benjámint itt hagyja, hogy majd mi taníttatjuk és vigyázunk rá, majdnem sikerült is meggyőznie. De végül Margit, aki még mindig szerette apámat, még a halála után is, nem akart megválni a fiától. Így mind elmentek.

Holonban telepedtek le, ami akkoriban inkább csak falu volt. Bét Olimban töltöttek két évet, az újonnan érkezetteket itt telepítették le. Egy barakkban laktak, onnan aztán sikerült egy házba költözniük, Holon szélén. A hátsó udvarukon csak homok volt, semmi egyéb. Margit írogatott nekem, sanyarú volt az életük, egyszer arra kért, küldjünk egy pár cipőt Benjáminnak, mert neki nincs pénze, hogy vegyen. Még éheztek is; volt, hogy krumplit kellett lopjanak a mezőről, hogy legyen valami ennivalójuk. Egyik napról a másikra éltek. Sok-sok év után újból férjhez ment, egy csehszlovákiai zsidóhoz, és született egy kislányuk. A neve nem jut eszembe, csak egyszer jártam náluk, amikor először voltam Izraelben, 1973-ban.

Az elemit a zsidó középiskolában fejeztem be (aminek tehát volt elemije is és középiskolája is), aztán ott tanultam még egy évet, 1943/44-ben, elsős gimnazistaként. Amikor vége lett a második világháborúnak, a „Principessa Elena” [Ilona hercegnő] középiskolában tanultam tovább. Akkoriban anyámnak és az új férjének megvolt még a lerakatuk, azt hiszem, és el akartak költözni Bukarestbe. Juhásznak volt egy bukaresti barátja és üzlettársa, akinek szintén volt ilyen fogászatianyag-lerakata, és azt szerette volna, ha Bukarestbe költözünk. Hát anyám beíratott a Soazi Mangaru középiskolába, Bukarestben. Nagyon hasonlított a Notre Dame-hoz [Feltehetően a Notre Dame de Sion rendről van szó, amelynek Magyarországon és máshol is voltak leányiskolái. – A szerk.], még internátusa is volt. Anyám és a második férje nem költözött végül Bukarestbe, ott laktak addig, ameddig én ott tanultam, de én az internátusban laktam, nem velük, mivel nem voltak letelepedve. (Nem tudom, mi történt, de végül nem költöztették át az üzletüket Bukarestbe.) Itt tanultam meg franciául, nem volt szabad románul beszélni, és elvárták, hogy az ember már ismerje valamennyire a francia nyelvet, mielőtt odamegy. Az én esetemben ez megvolt, mert amikor Brassóban voltam a középiskolában, francia magánórákra jártam, tehát már beszéltem valamennyire. Angol- és énekórára is jártam. Egy évig tanultam énekelni egy énekesnőtől, Baciu asszonytól. Szolmizálni tanultam, különböző operettáriákat, és elég kellemes hangom volt. Zongorázni is tanultam egy zsidó zongoratanárnőtől, Weiss Ilonától. Volt egy pianínónk otthon, tehát volt, ahol gyakoroljak, de középiskolás koromban abbahagytam. A középiskolában nem volt zsidó tagozat. Az Ilona Hercegnő középiskolába jártam [kb. 1944 és 1947 között], aztán két évet jártam a Soazi Mangaruba, Bukarestben, utána pedig visszajöttem Brassóba, az Ilona Hercegnő középiskolába, és itt érettségiztem 1947-ben. [Valószínűleg valamivel később érettségizett, 1950 körül. Greif Ruth nem emlékszik tisztán az évszámokra. – A szerk.]

A háború után, Brassóban ismét jártam hittanra Deutsch rabbihoz. A hittan a hitközség székházában volt, hetente két óra. Ezek az iskolai kötelező vallásórák voltak, de mivel mi zsidók voltunk, minket a rabbi tanított. A rabbi rendezett valamit az egyik lánycsoportnak, én is köztük voltam, konfirmálásnak hívták, ahogy a reformátusoknál is van. Ez pontosan a bár micvó [a lányoknak a bat micvó] megfelelője, de nem tudom, miért, konfirmálásként emlegette mindenki. Egy csoport különböző korú lány voltunk, a szertartás a zsinagógában zajlott a rabbival; arra az alkalomra mindegyikünknek tudnia kellett egy imát héberül.

A brassói kultúrházban Purim-bálokat is rendezett a DZSSZ [Demokrata Zsidó Szövetség] [lásd: zsidó érdek-képviseleti szervezetek a második világháború után Romániában] vagy a brassói cionista szervezetek, például a Gordonia vagy a Hanoár [lásd: Hanoár Hacioni Romániában]. A bálteremből kivitték az összes széket, és ott tartották a bált. Én először tizenöt évesen vettem részt a Purim-bálon, 1947-ben; ezek mindig nagyon elegánsak voltak, és általában a felnőtteknek szóltak. Anyám varratott nekem egy ruhát szürkés, tarka taft anyagból, amit akkoriban nagyon nehéz volt beszerezni. Hátul nagy dekoltázsa volt, emlékszem, akkor viseltem életemben először ilyet.

Közvetlenül a háború után egy cionista szervezetben is jelen voltam, de nem tudok rá visszaemlékezni, hogy a Gordoniáé vagy a Hanoáré volt-e – azt hiszem, mindkettőé. Mindenesetre minden nap, iskola után ott voltunk, pingpongoztunk vagy hagyományos zsidó táncokat táncoltunk, mint például a Julala; ez sokban hasonlít a román körtáncra, a hórára. Nagy körben táncoltuk, két lépést kellett jobbra, egyet balra tenni, utána fel kellett emelni a lábunkat; a kör közepén állt egy fiú, aki a táncosok közül kiválasztott egy lányt, és együtt táncoltak középen, aztán a lány maradt ott egyedül, és választott párnak egy fiút és így tovább. Részt vettem néhány órán is, amit a sliách tartott: a zsidó történelemről, vallásról, Palesztinába való alijázásról volt szó, mert akkor még nem létezett Izrael. Gyerek voltam még, amikor Izrael megszületett, 1947-ben, de örültem neki [lásd: Izrael állam megalakulása]. Mi, zsidók, akiknek soha nem volt semmink, végül magunkénak mondhattunk egy országot. Hallottuk a híreket róla a BBC-n – annak idején ezt a rádióadót hallgattuk. Egy idő után a cionista szervezeteket betiltották, úgy az 1940-es évek végén.

A dolgok nem fordultak jobbra a kommunizmus ideje alatt sem: Sztálin és Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej alatt a szüleim attól féltek, nehogy elkapják őket, hogy külföldi rádióadót hallgatnak, mert ez is tilos volt. Rose-Marie, a [nagy]szebeni gyerekkori barátnőm apja sokat szenvedett, amikor a kommunisták hatalomra kerültek, mert aranyat és arany érméket találtak a boltjában – ékszerész volt –, és börtönbe csukták. Ez Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej idejében történt; már nem tudom pontosan, honnan tudtam meg ezt, de tartottuk a kapcsolatot Rose-Marie-val, akkoriban nagyon szoros kapcsolatban álltunk egymással, és a zsidó körökben amúgy is gyorsan terjedtek a hírek.

Amikor tizenöt-tizenhat éves lettem, anyám megengedte, hogy a barátokkal vagy fiúkkal járkáljak, csakhogy nem engedett este 9-nél tovább. Kissé koraérett voltam ebből a szempontból, de nem abban az értelemben, ahogy ezt manapság értik. Amikor tizenhárom éves voltam, udvarolt nekem egy tizennégy éves fiú. Ő volt ez első igazi, nagy szerelmem, persze plátói, és éveken át tartott, addig, ameddig ő Kolozsvárra nem ment egyetemre. Fleischernek hívták, a legszebb fiú volt a városban, és minden lány bele volt bolondulva. Szakítottunk, amikor elment – akkor tizennyolc vagy tizenkilenc éves volt – de jó barátok maradtunk, írogatott nekem, a szülei pedig násznagyok voltak az esküvőmön.

A férjemet, Greif Károly Ionelt Brassóban ismertem meg, a társasági körökben, mielőtt egyetemre mentem volna. Ő csernovici zsidó volt, idősebb nálam, 1923-ban született. Két egyetemet végzett: nyelveket tanult – hat vagy hét nyelvet beszélt –, és egy belgiumi egyetem levelező kémia tagozatát is elvégezte. Elég híres volt a nőügyeiről, de velem kedves volt, gyakran vitt színházba, úriemberként viselkedett, és azzal viccelődött, hogyha nagy leszek, elvesz feleségül.

Kolozsváron jártam az orvosi egyetemre, hat évig, 1952-től 1959-ig. Csak a szünidőkben jöttem haza, szóval nem töltöttem sok időt anyámmal. Az államosítás után már nem volt olyan jó az anyagi helyzetem, a családomnak kellett eltartania, fizetnie az ellátásomat Kolozsváron és a könyveimet. Az egyetemi évek alatt annyira zsúfolt volt az órarendem, hogy még élni is alig maradt időm: reggel előadások, délután gyakorlatok, de arra azért szakítottam időt, hogy hetente kétszer, háromszor elmenjek az operába. Volt egy kérőm, egy kolozsvári zsidó operaénekes, egy bariton; tíz évvel idősebb volt nálam, de hozzánőttem; az apámra emlékeztetett, Vida Viktornak hívták. A házasságom után is jó barátok maradtunk, eljött Brassóba, hogy meglátogasson. Végül kiment Németországba, ott volt egy nővére. Házán is volt a kolozsvári zsidó hitközségnél, és nem élt bohém életet, ahogy a többi művész. Nagyon vigyázott a hangjára. A háború idején sokat szenvedett, deportálták, és több égési sebbel a kezén tért haza.

Más kapcsolatom a zsidó hitközséggel nem volt Kolozsváron, de az évfolyamtársaim közül többen voltunk zsidók, és szinte hetente buliztunk; beszélgettünk, táncoltunk és ettünk, főleg, hogy sokan közülük kolozsváriak voltak, és otthon laktak. Azt hiszem, azokban az években a baráti köröm kizárólag zsidókból állt, sokan voltunk, ott volt Rose-Marie, a barátnőm és sokan mások. Nem volt előre kitervelt dolog, de azt hiszem, minket több minden összekötött. Nem érzékeltem zsidóellenes hangulatot az egyetemen, de féltünk a Securitatétól. Rose-Marie-nak voltak gondjai vele és a kommunizmussal. Nagyon jól tanult, mégis háromszor próbált bejutni a kolozsvári orvosi egyetemre, és nem sikerült neki, csak azért, mert az apját börtönbe csukták. Dossziéja volt, és a származása nem volt „egészséges”. A kommunizmus alatt az összes kulákot, a kulákok gyerekeit és a földbirtokosok gyerekeit mind rossz származásúnak könyvelték el [lásd: kulákok Romániában]. Rose-Marie még egyetemista volt, amikor férjhez ment – mert végül felvették a kolozsvári orvosi egyetemre, miután negyedszer próbálkozott –, és alijázni akartak a férjével. Akkor nem volt szabad az országból ékszert kivinni, csak egy hét grammos jegygyűrűt. A férje megpróbált valakivel ékszert küldeni Izraelbe, de azt a személy elkapták, és a Rose-Marie férje egy évet börtönben ült emiatt. Utána mindketten kimentek.

Az én családom is alijázni akart; apám cionista volt, de túl korán meghalt, mielőtt még lehetősége lett volna rá. De anyámmal leadtuk a papírokat a kivándorláshoz. Én diák voltam még, és állandó félelemben éltem, mert ha kiderült, hogy valaki kivándorlásra készül, azt rögtön kitették az egyetemről, és én nem akartam elveszíteni. Kockázatos volt, nem úgy, mint ma, hogy az ember biztosan tudja, hogy mikor fog menni. A válasz lehetett igen is, nem is, de én végleg elveszíthettem volna az egyetemet. Egy évfolyamtársammal megtörtént ez, mert kiderült, hogy leadta a papírjait a kivándorláshoz. A beleegyezés éveken keresztül váratott magára, már felkészültünk az indulásra, eladogattunk ezt-azt a lakásból, de még mindig semmi.

Mialatt Kolozsváron voltam, csak a szünidőkben láttam Károlyt. Közben ő eljegyzett valaki mást, de aztán nem lett belőle semmi. A végén egymásba szerettünk, és 1959-ben összeházasodtunk, épp az államvizsgám előtt. Abban az évben csak polgárilag esküdtünk meg, mivel a férjem nagyon rátarti volt, és azt mondta, őt csak rabbi esketheti meg, nem pedig egy háhám. De később megvolt a vallásos esküvőnk is [lásd: házasság, esküvői szertartás], amikor a férjem váratlanul megtudta, hogy Moses Rosen rabbi Brassó Pojánán van. Utánament, és rávette, hogy adjon minket össze vallásosan, ő pedig megtette. Brassóban Károly először egy laboratóriumban dolgozott, kísérleteket végzett.

Hogy nem zsidóval házasodjam meg, ez soha nem merült fel bennem, és biztos vagyok benne, hogy a szüleim sem hagyták volna jóvá. De román fiúk soha nem is udvaroltak nekem, egy kivételével talán, de az nem volt komoly. És úgy gondolom, a hagyomány jó valamire; a házasságban annyi gond lehet, hogy egy vallási vitára már a legkevésbé sincs szükség.

Az apósomat Greif Leónak, anyósomat Greif Amáliának hívták. Az apósomnak – egy üzlettárssal együtt – volt egy etilkloroform gyára Csernovicban. Igen szorgalmas ember volt; például tíz évig nem vett ki szabadságot, annyira lefoglalta a gyár, csak a feleségét és a fiát küldte el Vatra Dorneire [Gyógyfürdőtelep a Besztercei hegységben, Szucsáva megye. – A szerk.] vagy Karlsbadba, Csehszlovákiába. Ő és a családja sokat szenvedett a második világháború alatt, de volt egy kis szerencséjük is, mert az oroszoknak kellett a gyár, ezért őt és a családját csak a csernovici gettóba vitték, nem pedig Transznisztriába [A gyárat nyilván államosították, amikor Csernovic 1940-ben a Szovjetunióhoz került. A csernovici gettót azonban nem a szovjet hatóságok állították föl, hanem a román hatóságok, 1941 októberében, és ez után indult meg a deportálás is Transznisztriába. Lásd részletesen: Csernovic/ Czernowitz/ Cernăuţi/ Csernovci. – A szerk.]. Amikor a németek jöttek, ismét bajba került. Ahányszor egy németet lelőttek, a hatóságok túszul ejtettek egy fontos embert Csernovicban. Őt a házából vitték ki úgy, ahogy volt, a feleségének csak arra volt ideje, hogy egy pokrócot utánadobjon az erkélyről, ahogy vitték. Nagyon kétségbe voltak esve. Sok idő eltelt azután, hogy elvitték, és senki sem tudta, merre van. Amikor visszajött, arra kényszerítették, hogy elköltözzön a házából, és mindent otthagyjon, és más családokkal együtt lakjon egy nyomorúságos házban. Emiatt jöttek Romániába, amint tudtak, 1946-ban. Amikor apósomék Csernovicból Romániába költöztek, tudták, hogy államosítás lesz, így minden pénzüket egy dologba fektették: vásároltak egy régi házat, lakókkal együtt.

Apósom – egyebek között – kitalált egy pálinkareceptet, ami nagy meglepetést okozott nekem egy nap (2000-ben): Brassóban sétálok az egyik főutcán, és egy elegáns, ízléses bár, a „Fesztivál 39” előtt meglátom egy táblán az ő aláírását: Greif Leó. A pálinkát annak idején a laboratóriumában állította elő és adta el, amikor még dolgozott. Ezer közül is felismerem, hát bementem, és beszéltem a tulajdonossal. Úgy tűnt, hogy ingyen mér egy-egy adagot a Greif Leó pálinkából mindenkinek, aki bejött a bárjába. Kérte, hogy adjak neki valamit Greif Leótól, ha van. Adtam neki néhány régi iratot. Ez a bár ma is megvan, tele van régi képekkel, és Greif Leó fényképeit is megmutatják, ha kéri az ember.

Az apósom és anyósom szülei nagyon gazdagok voltak; az anyósom családjának Csernovic központjában volt háza, huszonhét szobával és egy üzlethelyiséggel lent. Az anyósom és a fivére örökölték. Az apósom családjának Ploscán volt birtoka, volt 250 hektár erdőjük, lovaik voltak és egy nagy uradalom. Tavaly [2003-ban] hoztak egy olyan törvényt, hogy a román állam kárpótlást ad a veszteségekért, és én leadtam a papírokat; minden irat megvan abból az időből, apósoméknak mindig gondjuk volt a papírokra.

Amikor 1959-ben befejeztem az egyetemet, volt egy szociális jegy, amit hozzáadtak az összes többi jegyhez. Nekem sem volt megfelelő a származásom, mivel a szüleimnek üzlete volt. Emiatt volt rólam dosszié, és nem választhattam munkahelyet ott, ahol szerettem volna, bár igazából választhattam volna, mert nagyon jó jegyeim voltak. De mivel a szociális jegyem 4-es volt, és ezt hozzáadták a 9 egész valamennyihez – nem emlékszem már –, hatévi tanulmányi eredményeimhez és az államvizsgámhoz, nem választhattam azt a helyet, amit szerettem volna. Valamelyik moldvai faluba helyeztek ki, fogalmam sincs róla, hová, mert sosem voltam ott. Akkor már férjnél voltam, és csak azok választhatták meg a várost, akik várandósok voltak, és jó jegyük volt, de nekem nem ilyen volt. A férjem azt mondta, ha nem kapom meg Brassót, akkor nem megyek oda, ahová küldenek. De akkoriban nem lehetett csak úgy elutasítani, amit felkínáltak. A választási lehetőségek között nem szerepelt az, hogy ne dolgozzam. Ha máshol akartam dolgozni, a moldvai főorvosnak (ahová kihelyeztek) – ő is zsidó volt, Merler – kellett először elengednie. A férjem odament és megkérte, de először elutasította; azt mondta, hogy először is, mivel ő is zsidó, túl nyilvánvaló lenne, másodsorban pedig nem játszhatta meg, hogy nincsen rám szüksége, amikor szüksége volt orvosokra. Nem emlékszem, hogy végül hogyan oldotta meg a kérdést a férjem, de elrendeződött. A férjem, aki nagyon jól értesült volt, talált nekem egy ápolónői állást Brassó Pojánán [Brassó Pojána elsőrendű síközpont Romániában, Brassótól 12 km-re. – A szerk.]. A férjemnek akkoriban eléggé magas pozíciója volt, a Kölcsönös Segítség Segélyalap elnöke volt itt, Brassóban. Minden orvosnak szüksége volt kölcsönre, és a férjem adott kölcsönöket, de cserébe megengedhette magának, hogy szívességeket kérjen. A tartományi főorvossal nagyon jó barátságban volt [Abban az időben Brassó nem megye, hanem tartomány volt. Lásd: területi átszervezés Romániában 1952-ben. – A szerk.], és a férjem szólt neki, hogy nyújtson be kérvényt, hogy orvosra van szükség Brassó Pojánán. Így kerültem én oda. Nyitott nekem egy rendelőt, az ONT-n keresztül [„Oficiul National de Turism”, (Nemzeti Turisztikai Hivatal)]. Ekkor kezdtek külföldiek jönni az országba, és az a tény, hogy több nyelvet beszéltem, előnyt jelentett. Szóval a férjem megegyezett az ONT-vel Bukarestben, és én egy éven keresztül Brassó Pojánára ingáztam. Orvosként dolgoztam, de papíron csak ápolónő voltam.

Aztán a férjemnek egy másik barátja, a bodi főorvos kért orvost Bodra [Bod Brassótól mintegy 10 km-re lévő település. – A szerk.], valószínűleg azért, mert nem volt orvosuk. A férjem kórházba vitt, és azt mondta, három hónapos terhes vagyok – pedig akkor még egyáltalán nem voltam az! –, és egyenesen Burghelea miniszterhez ment [az akkori egészségügyi miniszter] Bukarestbe az orvosi igazolással és a kérvénnyel, hogy Bodon szükség van orvosra. Később a férjem elmesélte, hogyan történt a találkozás. Kopogott az ajtón, kinyitotta, tett egy nagy lépést a jobb lábával, és azt mondta a miniszternek: „Miniszter elvtárs, jobb lábbal jöttem be. Remélem, meg tudja oldani a problémámat!” A hangulat azonnal oldott lett, és a férjem a jóváhagyással tért haza. Így lettem gyakornok orvos Bodon, ahol egy évet dolgoztam. Azután még két évet dolgoztam Halchiuban [16 km-re Brassótól], utána vizsgáztam, és végre bekerültem városi orvosnak, Brassóba.

Miután összeházasodtunk, a férjemmel és a szüleivel együtt beköltöztünk egy kétszobás lakásba: az egyik szoba a miénk volt, a másik az övék. A lányom, Beatrice ide született 1961-ben, és kezdtünk nagyon zsúfoltan lenni. Aztán 1974-ben vagy 1975-ben megjelent az OCRPP [Állami szervezet, amely a városi lakások elosztásával foglalkozott. – A szerk.], és lehetett lakást venni, de csak azoknak, akiknek még nem volt. Hát el akartuk adni azt a régi házat [Azt tehát, amelybe a férj szülei a háború után a pénzüket fektették. – A szerk.], de nagyon nehéz volt, mert több szobája volt, mindenik szobában más-más család élt; végül eladtuk, de az új tulajdonos mindegyik lakónak külön-külön lelépést kellett fizessen. Aztán kaptuk ezt a lakást, ahol ma is élek.

A lányomat zsidónak neveltem, persze. Minden pénteken gyertyát gyújtottam, és héberül elmondtam az áldást, ezt fejből tudtam. És minden nagyünnepet megtartottunk, böjtöltünk Jom Kipurkor, Pészahkor nem ettünk kenyeret; a kóserséget viszont nem tartottuk. A széderestét apósom vezette, majd miután 1966-ban meghalt, a férjem. A férjem beszélt jiddisül, és tökéletesen tudott olvasni héberül – és meg is értette. Tudom, hogy tanult hébert, de nem tudom, hogy héderben-e vagy jesivában. Mindenesetre nálunk az összes ünnep nagyon hosszú volt, mert a férjem ragaszkodott ahhoz, hogy mi meg is értsük, ezért először elmondta az imákat héberül, majd le is fordította nekünk. Purim ünnepén elmentünk a zsinagógába, Szukotkor is és Hanukakor is, de nem mentünk minden szombaton. Nekünk nem volt veszélyes, a mi pozíciónk nem számított magasnak, és nem voltunk tagjai a kommunista pártnak. A kommunizmus idején soha nem volt gondom a zsidó mivoltom miatt, és soha nem kellett rejtegessem, sem én, sem a lányom. És aki azt mondja, hogy nem voltunk szabadok vallási szempontból, az hazudik. Persze azok a zsidók, akik vezető állásban voltak, vagy párttagok voltak, vigyáztak arra, hogy ne lássák őket a zsinagógában, nem akarták elveszteni az állásukat. De a többi brassói zsidó mehetett, az ünnepeken, bármikor, ez nem jelentett problémát. És a baráti körünkben zsidók és románok egyaránt voltak, nem számított.

Végül is felhagytam a kivándorlás gondolatával. A férjem semmiképpen nem akart elmenni; akkoriban az volt a szabály, hogy hetven kilónyi ruhát lehetett vinni, és semmi egyebet, neki pedig sok értékes dolga volt, amiket nem akart feladni. Amikor összeházasodtunk, aláírtam egy papírt, hogy felhagyok a kivándorlási szándékommal. A férjem ragaszkodott ehhez, ő sosem akart kivándorolni. De ha akartuk volna, újra megtehettük volna, hogy leadjuk a papírokat. Anyám ellenben végül megkapta a jóváhagyást 1965-ben vagy 1966-ban, és elment Izraelbe, de nem úgy, hogy ott is maradjon. Azért ment Izraelbe, hogy hazahozzon néhány értéktárgyat, amiket 1964-65-ben sikerült kiküldenie olyan zsidókkal, akik korábban elmentek, és akiknek meg kellett volna őrizniük az ékszereket addig, míg anyám utánuk nem megy. Ez persze kockázatot jelentett; ha megtalálják az ékszereket, elvették volna tőlük, és elvesztek volna. De anyám vállalta a kockázatot, mert tudta, hogy elmegy, és ha itthon hagyja ezeket, úgyis odavesznek; szóval elküldött néhány briliáns és más drágaköves ékszert azokkal a zsidókkal, akik Bécsbe mentek, néhányat meg azokkal, akik Izraelbe mentek. Azok az emberek a Transilvánia hajóval utaztak, de anyám már repülővel ment. Körülbelül nyolc hónapot töltött Izraelben, de nem sok mindent hozott vissza, mert azok az emberek úgy tettek, mintha nem adott volna oda nekik semmit. Azt hiszem, csak pár dolgot hozott haza mindabból, amit elküldött. Bécsben azonban – repülővel ment Izraelbe, és repülővel is jött, és hazafele a repülő leszállt Bécsben – visszakapta az ékszereit azoktól, akiknek odaadta. Hazajött az ékszerekkel, és megtartotta őket. Nem adta el: csak akkor tett volna így, ha Izraelben maradtunk volna. Annak idején ez törvénytelen volt persze, de anyám úgy gondolta, megéri a kockázatot, mert ha új életet kezdünk Izraelben, majd szükségünk lesz a pénzre.

Nem voltam párttag, de középiskolás koromban tagja kellett legyek az UTM-nek [„Uniunea Tineretului Muncitoresc” (Ifjúmunkás Szövetség)], és később, az egyetemen tagja voltam egy diákszövetségnek, ebből lett később az UTC [„Uniunea Tinerilor Comunişti” (Ifjú Kommunisták Egyesülete)]. De amikor dolgozni kezdtem, már házas voltam, és a férjem nem engedte, hogy belépjek a pártba. Ő sem volt tag; volt egy jó barátja, egy magyar orvos, aki igen aktív párttag volt, és ez a barátja szerette volna, ha én is belépek. De a férjem nagyon határozottan kijelentette: „Eddig s ne tovább! Nem akar és nem is fog!” A férjemnek vezető beosztása volt, harminc évig vezette az Orvosok Kölcsönös Segítség Segélyalapját, és az Orvosszakszervezet alelnöke volt, és meg tudta oldani, hogy ne legyen párttag. Nyíltan kijelentette, hogy a szülei földbirtokosok és kulákok voltak, és nem akar csak azért belépni, hogy később kirúgják. Tehát nem lettem párttag, de azért részt kellett vennem az augusztus huszonharmadiki [1944-ben Románia ezen a napon ugrott ki a háborúból. – A szerk.] felvonulásokon, a május elsejéken, a november hetediki ünnepségen [A Nagy Októberi Szocialista Forradalom Napja. – A szerk.].

A kormányhoz ellenségesen viszonyultunk, de nem nyíltan, féltünk a következményektől. Amikor barátok voltak nálunk, rátettünk egy párnát a telefonra [Greif asszony ott arra utal, hogy mint oly sokan, ő is arra gyanakodott, hogy a Securitate lehallgatja a telefonokat. – A szerk.]. Mindenki mindenkire gyanakodott, Isten bocsássa meg, de három barát közül egy a Securitate besúgója volt. A gyanakvás még rosszabb volt, mert nem tudtuk, hogy kitől kell tartanunk. De persze, nagyon szűk körben azért mondtunk ceauşescus vicceket; gyakorlatilag ezeken a vicceken, a BBC-n és a Szabad Európán éltünk!

A kommunista rezsim alatt a legnagyobb fájdalmam az volt, hogy nem utazhattam. Persze a férjemmel végiglátogattuk a szocialista országokat, de még többet szerettünk volna. És még egy szocialista országba is problémás volt elutazni – nem a pénz miatt, két fizetés folyt be, és egy bőven elég volt egy kéthetes kiruccanásra –, de egy vagon papírt kellett kitölteni, egész dossziékat, igazán, csakhogy elmehessen az ember egy egyszerű kirándulásra. Önéletrajzot kellett írjunk, le kellett írjuk, milyen rokonaink vannak odakint, mikor mentek ki, le kellett írjuk, hogy ki marad itthon az országban a családunkból és így tovább. Meg akartak győződni arról, hogy nem maradunk kint. A fűtéshiány miatt is szenvedtünk, a melegvíz-szolgáltatás korlátozott volt, és az egész család ott tolongott a konyhában, hogy a gáztűzhelynél melegedhessen. De ami igaz, igaz, éhségtől vagy élelemhiány miatt nem szenvedtem. Mint orvos, különböző intézményeknél időszakos ellenőrzéseket kellett tegyek, és azok az emberek havonta kellett hozzák az egészségügyi könyvüket. Már ismertem őket, így csak elküldték a könyvüket, hogy aláírjam. Ezért nem kellett nekem soha sorban állni a zöldséges üzletben, ismertem a személyzetet. Ugyanezért tudtam húst venni a vendéglőben, máshol pedig nemigen lehetett húst kapni. Néhány páciensem egy-egy doboz Kentet adott, ezeket én húsra cseréltem a hentesnél. Így működött a feketepiac.

A levelezés gondot jelentett a kommunizmusban. Amikor Kolozsváron egyetemista voltam, nem tudtam levelet küldeni az öcsémnek Izraelbe. Meg sem próbáltam, hisz amikor a postán látták a borítékon, hogy Izraelbe vagy az Egyesült Államokba vagy valamelyik másik országba szólt, kibontották, és hívták a Securitatét. Sztálin alatt ilyen rossz volt, miután Sztálin meghalt [1953-ban] és Hruscsov került hatalomra [Nyikita Szergejevics Hruscsovnak, aki 1953–1964 között volt az SZKP KB első titkára, fontos szerepe volt a személyi kultusz következményeinek fölszámolásában. – A szerk.], akkor javult a helyzet, ami azt jelentette, hogy írhattál, de nem lehettél biztos benne, hogy eljut-e a címzetthez! Velem is megtörtént.

Volt némi nem kívánt kapcsolatunk a Securitatéval a kommunizmus idején. Mikor Beatrice leérettségizett 1973-ban, elment egy kirándulásra Izraelbe, és egy fiú, akivel ott megismerkedett, egy húsvétkor meglátogatott minket. Persze tudtuk, hogy nem szabad nálunk laknia [lásd: külföldiek beutazása Romániába], ezért szállodában lakott. Eljött hozzánk széderestén, amit a férjem vezetett, együtt ünnepeltünk, de egyszer csak elkezdett zuhogni az eső, a fiú fáradt volt, és végül nálunk aludt, és csak másnap reggel ment vissza a szállodába. Abban az időben minden recepciós és minden szobalány – mint aki leginkább képes volt rajta tartani a szemét a külföldieken – a Securitate besúgója volt, és minden szállodának volt egy securitatés tisztje. A recepciós nyilván szólt a tisztnek, hogy az egyik vendég nem aludt a szállodában aznap éjjel, és szegény fiút – már nem emlékszem a nevére – kihallgatta a tiszt, ő pedig elmondta az igazat, hogy nagyon esett az eső, és ott kellett aludjon a barátainál. Azután a fiú felhívta a férjemet, és elmondta, mi történt. A férjem rögtön telefonált a kórházi Securitate-tisztnek, aki ismerőse volt, és megmagyarázta az egész helyzetet. Eléggé megijedtem, attól féltem, hogy majd jönnek, és házkutatást tartanak nálunk, hát összepakoltam az összes szappanomat, amiket a betegeimtől kaptam ajándékba, beletettem egy bőröndbe, és elrejtettem a szomszédoknál [lásd: hétköznapi luxusok a szocializmus idején]. Ki tudja, mit gondoltak volna, ha még külföldi terméket is találnak a házunkban. De szerencsére ennyivel véget is ért a dolog.

Amikor elkezdődtek az izraeli háborúk, aggódtam; elsősorban Benjámin öcsémért – aki három évig katona volt, és harcolt a hatnapos háborúban –, de apám unokatestvéreiért is [lásd: hatnapos háború; 1973-as arab–izraeli háború]. 1973-ban látogattam el Izraelbe és Benjáminékhoz. Sajnos egyedül mentem, a férjem nélkül; Brassóból csak két ember mehetett külföldre abban az évben, én voltam az egyik. Sok engedélyt kellett beszereznem, és a férjemnek is sok protekcióra volt szüksége ahhoz, hogy elmehessek. Akkorra Benjámin már felnőtt férfi volt, fogtechnikus; nős is volt már, és a felesége akkor várta az első gyereküket. Utána még háromszor jártam náluk, és ők is voltak itt. Megnézhettem Jeruzsálemet, már felszabadították, és Betlehemet is. Mindent megnéztem, amit csak tudtam. A férjemnek volt egy unokatestvére ott, aki a haifai finomító igazgatója volt. Volt autója és jó tehetsége ahhoz, hogy körbehordozza az embert, és mindent megmutogasson. Láttam Izrael északi részét, eljutottam egészen Libanon határáig, és a gyerekkori barátnőmet, Rose-Marie-t is meglátogattam, aki Jeruzsálemben volt orvos. Ma is jó barátnők vagyunk.

Anyám 1988-ban halt meg Brassóban, az itteni zsidó temetőbe temették. 1988-ban már nem volt rabbink, de elhívtunk egy házánt Bukarestből. Azt hiszem, valaki a hitközségből mondta a kádist. Amikor anyósom halt meg, elhoztuk Neumann rabbit Temesvárról. Persze meg kellett fizessük, nem mehetett a rabbi sem minden temetésre az egész országban, de a férjem ragaszkodott hozzá, hogy az édesanyját rabbi temesse.

A lányom Jászvásárra ment nyelveket tanulni. Be kellett lépjen az UTC-be, mert kitűnő tanuló volt, és nem tudta elkerülni a belépést. A férjem mindig viccelődött vele, úgy nevezte, hogy „a család egyetlen UTC-tagja!”. 1987-ben feleségül ment egy román férfihoz, Median Danhoz, aki építész. A lányuk, Daniela 1988-ban született. A férjemnek nagy fájdalmat okozott Beatrice házassága; zsidóhoz szerette volna férjhez adni, ez volt a családunkban a hagyomány. És amikor Beatrice várandós lett, nem lehetett tovább halogatni a születendő gyermek vallása feletti vitát. Dan szülei is nagyon vallásos emberek, keresztény ortodoxok, és hosszas fontolgatások után abban egyeztünk meg, hogyha fiú lesz, keresztény lesz, ha pedig lány, akkor zsidó. El sem tudom mondani, mennyit rágódott ezen a férjem; az alatt a kilenc hónap alatt végig imádkozott, és tíz kilót fogyott. Később elmondta, sehogy sem tudta megérteni, hogyan születhetett volna zsidó anyának más gyereke, mint zsidó! A hagyomány nagyon fontos volt neki.

A lányom megtartja a nagyobb ünnepeket, de pénteken csak akkor gyújt gyertyát, amikor eszébe jut, és nem ünnepli a Jom Kipurt. Daniela azonban már vallásosabb, és inkább részt vesz a hitközség életében. Már háromszor volt Szarvason, és szívesen tanul a szokásokról és a vallásról [Szarvas – kéthetes zsidó tábor, amit évente megrendeznek Szarvason, Magyarországon. Alapítója a Lauder Alapítvány, és szívesen látnak zsidó tizenéveseket szerte a világból: Európából, az Egyesült Államokból, Etiópiából, Izraelből stb. Főként a zsidó hagyományőrzésre összpontosít. – A szerk.]. A lányom karácsonyfát is díszít karácsonykor, szóval többé-kevésbé mindkét vallást tartják.

Amikor kitört a [romániai] forradalom 1989-ben, a férjemmel voltam otthon, a Hanukára készülődtünk, hogy induljunk a zsinagógába. A rádióban hallottuk, hogy mi történt Temesváron – hogy diákok és mások is tüntettek a Kommunista Párt ellen –, de a munkahelyen még nem beszélgettünk erről, nem lehetett tudni, hogy mi lesz a dolgok lefolyása, és hogy ki fülel. Egy temesvári egyetemista, aki a mi házunkban lakott, hazajött, és elmesélte, hogy mi történik, mesélt az öldöklésekről [Több diákot letartóztattak, másokat megvertek, volt, akit a forradalmárok és a hatóságok első összecsapásaikor meg is lőttek. – A szerk.], arról, hogy hogyan tartóztatták le a diákokat. Maga is alig tudott hazajönni vonattal. Szóval mi a forrásból ismertük valamelyest, hogy mi zajlik, hogy a forradalom végre kitört, és hogy nemcsak egy csapat huligánról van szó, ahogy a hatóságok állították. A munkámból hazafele jövet, a buszon tudtam meg két idős hölgy beszélgetéséből, hogy már átterjedt az ország többi részére is; a hölgyek a bukaresti balkonjelenetet taglalták és azt, hogy hogyan szakították meg a tévéközvetítést [1989. december 21-én a bukaresti Központi Bizottság épületének erkélyén Ceauşescu sikertelenül próbálta lecsillapítani a tüntetésre összegyűlt százezres tömeget. Lövések hallatszottak a távolból, kitört a pánik, és megszakad a televizióban sugárzott élő közvetités, és helyette egy korábbi hasonló gyűlés bejátszását láthatták országszerte. Ekkortól számitják a forradalom kitörését Bukarestben. – A szerk.]. Mi még mindig el akartunk indulni a Hanukára, de az ablakon kinézve, láttuk, hogy a buszokat leállították, és munkástömegek özönlött a város központjába, a pártszékházak fele. Fegyverek torkolattüzét is láttuk, ahogy a közelünkben lőttek, de most őszintén azt hiszem, hogy nem tudták, kire lőnek. Megriadt emberek lőttek rá más ártatlanokra. Sok civil kezébe adtak fegyvert abban az időben, és nem is tudták, kivel harcolnak, olyan sok baleset történt.

Úgy gondolom, jobbra fordult az élet 1989 után, most bárhova be tud menni az ember, mert nem kell mindenért sorban állni. De nekünk a kommunizmus alatt sem ment rosszul a sorunk: jó fizetést kaptunk, éjszakai ügyeleteket vállaltam harminc éven át, és azt jól fizették, és sokat tudtunk félretenni, mert az utazáson kívül semmi nem volt, amire költeni lehetett volna. A forradalom végén 700 000 lej megtakarított pénzünk volt, ami óriási összeg volt akkor. A férjem rögtön azon gondolkodott, hogyan fektessük be. A saját csernovici tapasztalatából tudta, hogy a pénz elértéktelenedik, és idővel csak egy kötés hagymára lesz elég. Hát elkezdtünk vásárolni: aranyat vettünk – jöttek az oroszok arany ékszerekkel –, kézi készítésű szőnyegeket, amit manapság nagyon nehezen lehet kapni, ha még egyáltalán lehet, a lányunknak vettünk egy négyszobás lakást, bundákat, és még mindig volt pénzünk.

1994-ben meghalt a férjem, itt van eltemetve a zsidó temetőben. Volt minján a temetésén, és a hitközségből mondta valaki a kádist. A szüleim és a férjem halála után sivát tartottam [lásd: gyász, süve], mindegyikük után hét napot. A hitközségnek van egy hosszú, fekete, kétüléses zsámolya azok számára, akiknek sivát kellett tartaniuk. És első nap, amikor kimentem, megkerültem az épületet. Megtartom a jahrzeitot a szüleim és a férjem után, és elmegyek a minjánra imádkozni.

A férjem után a 118-as törvény alapján kapom a járadékot, mert őt deportálták. [1990-ben a román parlament törvényt fogadott el a politikai okok miatt üldözött személyek kárpótlására. A törvény többféle kárpótlást ítél meg minden olyan személynek, akit 1940. szeptember 6. – 1945. március 6. között Románia területén a hatóságok származása miatt üldöztek. Ezek közé tartozik többek között az évjáradék, a tömegközlekedési eszközökön való ingyenes utazás, az adómentesség, bizonyos illetékek alóli mentesség stb. – A szerk.]. Ez azt jelenti, hogy ingyenes busz- és vonatjegy jár nekem, bizonyos adómentesség és ilyenek. Most a hitközségnél dolgozom, a hitközség orvosa vagyok tizenkét vagy tizenhárom éve, 1992-ben, a nyugdíjazásom előtt egy évvel kezdtem itt dolgozni. Hetente kétszer rendelek itt, sok betegünk van, akinek szüksége van a segítségünkre, de nem tudnak járni, ezért kijárok lakásokra is. Szombatonként nem szoktam zsinagógába menni, csak ha jahrzeit van a férjem vagy a szüleim után.

A lányom családjával gyakran találkozom, meglátogat ő is és Daniela is. Nagyünnepeken általában a templomban találkozunk, ahol az ünnepi vacsorák és szertartások folynak.

Ruth Greif
Brasov
Romania
Interviewer: Andreea Laptes
Date of interview: February 2004

Mrs. Greif is a 72-year-old woman with short gray hair. She always wears a pair of earrings that belonged to her grandmother, a family heirloom. She lives in a four-bedroom apartment in an apartment block; she only shares it with a small dog, to which she speaks in German. Her house strikes you the very moment you enter it: every piece of furniture and every ornament is a piece of art and has its own history and value. Her walls are covered with authentic paintings, some of them belonging to the Romanian patrimony. In her living room there is a 200-year-old chest of drawers, with hand-painted Sevres porcelain, intarsia, bronze sculptures, antique silver jewelry boxes, and an escritoire that belonged to a famous doctor from Brasov called Fabrizius, who lived in the 19th century. When she had it restored, she even found a secret drawer with some prescriptions written by the doctor himself. She values art and antiques more than anything, and her whole person has that aristocratic air of good upbringing, solid culture and good taste that are so very rare to find today.

My family background
Growing up
Our religious life
My school years
During the war
Post-war
My husband
My daughter
Glossary

My family background

I never knew my paternal grandfather, but I know his name was Goldstein. He was married to my grandmother, Rozalia Goldstein, who was born in Sibiu in 1874. I don't know her maiden name. They were poor, and for as long as I knew her, my grandmother lived in Sibiu and was supported by my father, Bela Goldstein. She had been a housewife all her life and had no pension. I used to visit her as a child; she lived in a shabby old house with only one room, a kitchen and a bathroom. She also had a little garden where she grew onions, salad and some vegetables. She bred some hens, I believe, but that was all. She didn't wear a wig, most Jewish women in Transylvania didn't wear any. She took care of the house chores on her own because she couldn't afford a servant. Her kitchen wasn't kosher, and she only observed the high holidays: on Pesach she didn't eat anything with flour or bread, and she went to the temple. She also fasted on Yom Kippur. My grandmother was busy with the work around the house, and with her garden, but I don't really remember her much: I left Sibiu when I was eight years old, and I rarely went to visit her after that.

I didn't have the chance to spend a holiday with my grandmother, but I used to spend Pesach with a family related to my father: Heinirich Weiss was my father's cousin - my grandfather Goldstein and his father had been brothers. His family was very religious, and I enjoyed spending the holidays with them: they had separate tableware for dairy and meat products, and they also had special tableware for Pesach. And you would never find pork in their kitchen. In their family, there was always the Friday evening ceremony: candles were lit, they had barkhes, the traditional sponge cake, and cholent with goose meat. First they went to wash their hands and then they said the prayer. On Pesach there was no bread, but there were cookies or other dishes made from matzah flour: there were some dumplings made from matzah flour, boiled potatoes and eggs. I know the recipe as well. These dumplings can be either sweet or salted, it depends on how you want to have them. They are called kremzli in Hungarian. There were also dumplings for the soup, made from matzah flour and eggs; generally all the Pesach dishes require a lot of eggs. Heinirich was from Sibiu, but he left for Israel long ago, in 1949.

Sibiu didn't have a large population back then, but I think many of the inhabitants were Jews, and there they weren't deported. I had many relatives in Sibiu, especially on my father's side; he had cousins and uncles there who were rather religious. I don't remember how they were all related to us; it was a long time ago.

My father had one sister, Margareta Mutzel, nee Goldstein, who was born in Cernauti and was a housewife. She was married to a Jew named Mutzel and they had two daughters. He was from Poland, but I think he studied in Bucharest, where he became an engineer. Aunt Margareta lived with him in Bucharest first. After the war [World War II], I don't know when exactly, they moved to Poland, to Wroclaw, and he became the rector of the university there. I remember that they used to say to my father that even after the war, anti-Semitism in Poland was very strong, and that's why they always hid the fact that they were Jews; not even their daughters knew that. I don't know if they were religious or not. Margareta died in Poland in the 1980s.

My father also had a brother, Andrei Goldstein, born in Cernauti, who was single and who died in the 1990s. He worked as a clerk. Andrei lived and died in Sibiu.

One of my father's cousins was called Iosif Goldstein, the other Emerich Goldstein. The latter owned a grocery shop, which he ran along with his parents. I don't remember the name of my father's uncle, but I know his aunt was named Paula. Both cousins moved to Brasov as well, and Iosif studied at an optician school and then had a small shop downtown.

My father, Bela Goldstein, was born in Sibiu in 1906; his mother tongue was Hungarian. He graduated from high school. At first he had a tobacco shop in a rented house, and he took care of it alone, and later, after they got married, with my mother's help.

My maternal grandmother, Estera Goldsmann, was born in the 1880s in Turches, in one of the seven villages that now form Sacele. [In Hungarian the name of the town is Hetfalu, meaning made up of seven villages: Baciu/Bacsfalu, Cernatu/Csernatfalu, Satu-Lung/Hosszufalu, Turches/Turkos, Tarlungeni/Tatrang, Purcareni/Purkerecz, Zizin/Zajzon.] Her husband, Bernard Goldsmann, had died when she was still young, and she never remarried.

My grandmother lived in Brasov when I knew her. She lived in a rented house, she never owned one. My grandmother shared a courtyard with several other tenants. There were no Jews there, but she was very esteemed all the same. She worked very hard. She had a store and it was open from morning until late in the evening. She lived in the same house where she had her shop; from the shop you could go into the living room of the house, and she occupied the other two rooms of the house, each with separate entries. She also had a kitchen and a bathroom. She sold several delicacies in her shop, sausages and other meat products, chocolate, liquors. And she was in charge of everything: the stocks, bookkeeping, selling. She was a very energetic and agile woman and she had no help. She didn't have time to breed animals or grow vegetables; she was too busy with the shop. For as long as I knew her, my grandmother never had a vacation. She couldn't leave the store; she didn't want to lose her clients.

When we moved from Sibiu to Brasov in 1940, we lived with her for a while, until we found our own place. I liked to stay around my grandmother in her shop; it was usually pretty crowded because it was very well located, and her business was going well. She was a bit severe with me. I remember I used to be afraid of her, but she was one amazing woman. I had my own two favorite delicacies in the shop: the Sibiu salami, which had a special flavor and taste, and the milk chocolate. I think my grandmother brought her merchandise, especially the chocolate, all the way from Hungary. Of course the shop wasn't kosher; she sold pork products as well.

My grandmother observed Yom Kippur, when she fasted; also, she didn't eat bread for ten days on Pesach, only matzah. [Editor's note: traditionally Jews are not allowed to eat bread on Pesach but only matzah for eight days.] She went to the synagogue on the high holidays. However, she didn't observe the kashrut; it was a bit hard with the shop. Nonetheless, she always lit a candle on Friday evenings and said the blessings, and her shop was closed on Saturdays. She got along well with her neighbors, I remember she cooked hamantashen on Purim and sent them to her Christian neighbors: sometimes she sent me, and I loved to go. I used to spend a lot of time with her, after we moved to Brasov. During the legionary 1 regime, the shop and house were taken away from her, and then my grandmother rented a place, a house on Lupeni Street, with six rooms, each with a separate entrance. She kept a room for herself and rented out all the others, and that's what she lived from. She died in the 1970s, and she was buried in the Jewish cemetery here, in Brasov.

My mother had one sister, Elisabeta Klausner, nee Goldsmann, born in Sacele in 1907. She was married to a Jew here, in Brasov, Edmund Benzel, who was the manager of a timber factory. He died in a train accident. Many years later she remarried a Jew named Klausner and moved to Bucharest with him. They didn't have any children. I don't remember what he did for a living, but he too had been married once before and had two children from his first marriage. When the legionaries came to power, he sent his two children to a friend in Oradea, hoping that they would be safer there; but the two kids were deported to Auschwitz and died there, and his wife got sick because of the grief and died. Aunt Elisabeta died in Bucharest in 1995, and she was buried in the Jewish cemetery there.

My mother, Paraschiva Goldsmann, was born in Turches in 1909. She spoke Hungarian. She graduated from high school. My parents' marriage wasn't an arranged one; I know how it happened because my mother told me. My father's mother, Rozalia, invited my mother and her sister, Elisabeta, to come to Sibiu. Grandmother Rozalia and grandmother Estera knew each other, in fact they were first cousins - their parents were siblings, but I don't know their names - and I think they kept in touch as much as they could, considering they lived in different cities. So, my grandmother Rozalia asked the girls to come to Sibiu for a short vacation, and I think they stayed in her house. My mother and her sister stayed there for two weeks, so my mother got to know my father and his sister; she made good friends with his sister, Margareta, but that was all. But there were young Jewish boys in Sibiu, and my mother was invited sometimes to go out for walks and the like. By that time, my father already had the tobacco shop, and as he told me, one day he saw my mother passing in front of his window shop on the arm of another man, and suddenly he felt jealousy and started to like her, to look at her as more than a cousin.

Growing up

The story with us living in Vienna was the following: my father had a good friend before he got married, and this friend of his left for Vienna and opened a bicycle workshop there. And because the business was going well, he asked my father to join him there. My father was already engaged to my mother at that time, but he did go. He returned after a year and married my mother. They married in the synagogue in 1929, with a rabbi, and they had a ketubbah. Then they left for Vienna together. I was born in Vienna in 1932 and I stayed there until I was three years old. My father was an associate with that friend of his in the bicycle business - I don't remember his name - and they stayed there for a few years. But they eventually went bankrupt, and thank God, my parents returned to Romania because the war started a few years after they had left Vienna and Austria was occupied by Germany. I don't remember anything from those years in Vienna, I was too little. I went on a trip to Vienna six years ago, in 1998. I wanted to see the city where I was born, and the places my mother used to tell me about: I visited the Jewish community there, Schoenbrunn castle and the cathedral [St. Stephen's Cathedral].[Editor's note: Schoenbrunn Palace was built in 1695 by architect Fischer von Erlach, who attempted to design a royal residence that surpassed Versailles' glamour. Financial and political problems interfered, but nonetheless it is one of Austria's most important cultural monuments. Used by Empress Maria Theresia as a summer residence for the Imperial family, Schoenbrunn has been one of Vienna's major tourist attractions from the 1860s.]

My mother tongue, the language my parents taught me, was German, but my parents spoke Hungarian with each other, and I learned Hungarian like this, by listening to my parents talking to each other, and in the end I could speak it very well.

My parents came directly to Sibiu, where they had a tobacco shop. The shop wasn't in the same house where we lived, it was in the center of Sibiu, in a rented house: it had one room and a little storage room in the back. My parents served the customers; they had no employees. They sold cigarettes, stamps, cigars, pipes, and tobacco in small carton boxes. My father didn't smoke, but my mother, especially after we moved to Brasov, used to smoke a cigarette every now and then.

The shop was only two blocks away from the house in which we lived; it was on Bruckental Street, in the very center of town. It was also rented, and we occupied the second floor of the house. We had two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, running water and electricity. I remember we had a Persian carpet in the living room, but the rest of the house had ready-made furniture, nothing special. We also had a courtyard, but my mother didn't work in the garden, we shared it with the other neighbors.

Our neighbors were Romanians, and some Saxons I believe. We got along well with the neighbors there, but we weren't friends. There was no time for that because my parents worked a lot; that was the only reason. I don't remember my parents going on a vacation while we were in Sibiu. They couldn't afford to leave the shop because there was nobody to take care of it except them. They had no employees. That was the way people thought back then: of work first and then of fun. And I never went on a vacation or to a camp alone; back then there were no camps for children. When they had some free time, my parents used to go to the theater, but I don't know if they went to balls as well. The holidays we would spend with our relatives - they were our friends.

We had a Saxon servant, who cleaned the house, mainly the kitchen. Kati was her name. She was a stout woman, who was always dressed in long, large, pleated skirts and pleated blouses and wore black shoes with thick heels. That was how Saxon women dressed back then. She looked after me as well because my parents were rather busy with the tobacco shop. I remember I went to a German kindergarten as well, but I don't remember what it was like. Kati used to take me on long walks, or to the market. Everything at the market was sold on stands; it was very clean and orderly. Usually Saxon peasants came there, and they were and still are very tidy, honest and clean. Both my mother and Kati cooked, but we didn't observe the kashrut. I think we even ate pork.

We had a library in the house; my mother read a lot of fiction. My father, on the other hand, was very fond of lexicons and difficult philosophy books. Every night, before he went to bed, there was a pile of books on his bedside table, and I always teased him about it. I asked him, 'Do you want to read all of them tonight?' He always answered, 'No, but I will read something from each of them'. They both read in German, and we had religious books as well, the Siddur in Hebrew with Romanian or German translations, and the Haggadah for Pesach. My parents also read newspapers, like Universul; that's the one I remember. [Editor's note: 'Universul', 'The Universe': a Bucharest daily, a popular Romanian newspaper, founded by Luigi Cazzavilan which was first published in 1884.] My father wasn't involved in any political party, but I know he had social-democratic convictions, not communist ones. My mother, on the other hand, wasn't into politics at all. They never had to push me as far as reading was concerned, I myself was very passionate about reading. I used to read under the covers with a flashlight. Those were usually my mother's books, which I wasn't supposed to read at that age because they were a bit 'too explicit' for a girl my age!

Our religious life

Neither of my parents was very religious in an extreme way: my father didn't wear payes and my mother didn't wear a wig, but they both observed the high holidays. On Friday evenings, my mother used to light the candles and say the blessing and for dinner we also had barkhes. My father went to the synagogue every Saturday, for the minyan, and both my parents tried to observe Sabbath. I think it happened that my father went to the synagogue on Friday evenings sometimes as well, he went whenever the minyan took place. On Saturdays his shop was closed, and my mother tried not to work. My mother and I only went to the synagogue on the high holidays; women didn't have to go back then, only on the high holidays. I didn't have to spend Saturdays or Sundays at home, there wasn't a special program for me. My parents used to talk to me about religion and tradition. It was usually my mother, who did so; she loved to read about these things. She used to talk to me about our history, about the exodus from Egypt, about Moses, Adam and Eve, about Abraham, about the first Jews. My father was also fairly religious, and it happened that he would talk to me on Saturdays about history, about the Torah, traditions, and so on.

On Chanukkah, I received Chanukkah gelt, and I spent the day at the Jewish community, with my colleagues. We used to play with the trendel [dreidel]. We went to the synagogue on Sukkot as well, but my father never built a sukkah. My favorite holiday was Pesach. All the family gathered around the table, and my father read from the Haggadah. Usually it was I who hid the afikoman, or some younger friend - we always had friends over as well - because it is the youngest of the participants who hides the afikoman. My father led the seder, and of course he had to look for the afikoman, so that I could get my present. However, when we reunited with all of my father's family, whoever was the eldest used to lead the seder, and that was, I think, my father's uncle. My parents always fasted on Yom Kippur and so did I, even when I was just a child: first until 10 o'clock, then until 12, and then the whole day. I think I was 12 when I started to fast all day long.

The Jewish community in Sibiu was small, I cannot say how many Jews there were, but I know that the community offices, the Jewish school and the temple were all in the same courtyard, near the railway station. Most of the Jews in Sibiu were merchants, or had shops - all my relatives there ran shops - and there were also doctors or jewelers, like my friend's parents, but not too many. There was only one synagogue, but there were functionaries, like shochetim and hakhamim. There was also a cheder, but that was only for boys. The community also had a Jewish elementary school, and it was for boys and girls alike. Jews lived all over the town, but I believe that the majority lived close to the synagogue: my father's relatives, his cousins, his brother and sister and their families lived there.

When we were in Sibiu, our financial situation was rather good, medium; there was no poverty. I remember I fell ill with scarlet fever in the 1st grade and had to stay at home. I couldn't be admitted to hospital because it was a contagious disease. Back then there was no penicillin, that was only invented after the war, so my parents treated me with tangerines and oranges. I remember the kitchen was full of fruit baskets; vitamin C helped. [Editor's note: Alexander Fleming actually discovered penicillin before WWII and presented his findings in 1929, but raised little interest. It took World War II to revitalize interest in penicillin.]

When I was little, my mother always put me to bed at 8 o'clock in the evening, and woke me up at 8 in the morning. So I used to think that the day stops at 8 in the evening, the clock as well, and it starts again the next day at 8 in the morning! I also remember I had a Jewish friend, Rose- Marie Springer, who lived across the street from us; we grew up together. She was two years older than me, I believe. Her mother was a doctor and her father was a jeweler. We used to play together, in our courtyard or in hers; we enjoyed going for walks in the central park, which had lovely alleys. She remained in Sibiu, and studied at the Jewish school.

My school years

I wasn't confronted with anti-Semitism in Sibiu, maybe because I went to the Jewish elementary school there. I studied the same subjects I would have studied in a normal state school. I remember space was a problem, and there were always two classes, the 1st and the 2nd, crammed into the same classroom. Our teacher from elementary school was a Jew named Cain. He was very religious: he never entered the classroom bare-headed; he always wore a kippah. We had religious classes with him as well: he taught us the alphabet, how to read prayers in Hebrew, things from the Old Testament, but I don't remember how often we had those religious classes. And as a rule, I was more fond of literature than of mathematics. When I was in elementary school, somebody always came to pick me up after classes; my mother or Kati. But one day they were late, so I decided to go home alone. I got lost and arrived at home an hour or so later. When I got home, my mother beat the hell out of me, she had been looking for me everywhere.

I don't remember participating with the school at parades on 1st May, or King's Day 2; they did that kind of thing in Cernauti. My husband, Carol Greif, told me he had been a watchmen, a strajer 3, and that he had seen King Carol 4. I don't think there were watchmen in the Jewish schools.

I don't know why we moved to Brasov, but we came here when I started the 2nd grade of elementary school, in 1940. My father set up a dental material depot here, along with a Hungarian associate, Juhasz. On paper, this associate was the owner of the depot, and he was the one doing all the traveling because Jews weren't allowed to travel by train [because of the anti-Jewish laws in Romania] 5.

I started studying at a regular state school in town, on Agriselor Street. One of my hobbies back then was gymnastics. My teacher was Borbala Farkas, a Jew; she had studied rhythmic gymnastics in Budapest, and she was very talented. She held the classes in her house, and several girls went there. I was in elementary school back then. I also remember that I kept a diary, which had a key, for several years, even after I married when I had time to write in it.

Back then, when I was in the state school, I had a good Jewish friend, Judita Graunfelds was her name. She lived on the same street as me, but farther from school than me and always came to pick me up. We were in the same class in school, we were of the same age. On our way we had to pass by a German high school for boys, and whenever we passed by, they came down and started to beat us, or called us 'stinking Jew'. The German boys beat us both several times. They knew we were Jewish; they probably saw where we were going. We were elementary school girls, and they were in high school, but that never stopped them. I saw one of those boys later, when he was an adult, and he pretended he didn't recognize me. The teachers didn't intervene. My parents knew about the beatings, but they couldn't do anything. In those times you were happy you got away only with that. Of course I only made friends with this Jewish girl. She came from a rich family; one of her sisters was married to Feiler Dezideriu, who was the president of the community. I remember that that sister had a workshop for pleating skirts, which was going very well. Eventually they all left for Israel.

I remember that Judita and me used to take little 'hikes' - the adventurous kind. One time we went to the airport, where the railway station is today, just to see the planes, although we knew very well we weren't supposed to go there - two girls on their own - because it was dangerous. We had to cross two railways, but still, we wanted adventure! She got quite a beating from her mother when she got home. Her mother was rather severe and used to beat her with the pot stick!

During the war

Then the legionaries came to power in 1940, and I was thrown out of school. The teacher came into the classroom, read my name out loud in front of the class and I had to pack and leave. Judita was also kicked out of school. So eventually I had to go to the Jewish industrial high school, which had four elementary grades and eight grades of high school, and which was located in a private house. After a while we had to move from there as well, to another private house. Judita went to the Jewish industrial high school as well. Stefan Guth was among my colleagues there. [Editor's note: Mr. Stefan Guth is vice-president of the Jewish community in Brasov.]

Anti-Semitism started when the legionaries came to power, but I also remember talks in our house about Hitler's rise to power, about the Anschluss 6 of Austria. We listened to the news on the radio, on BBC; I can still remember Hitler's shrill voice. My parents were very happy that they had left Vienna because by that time they would have been in Germany. [Mrs. Greif refers to the fact that they would have been deported if they had stayed behind in Vienna.] And we were affected by the anti-Jewish laws: I was thrown out of school, and my father had to have an associate to continue his business. There were no deportations in Brasov, but we had to give up our radios, and each Jew had to give a new bed sheet, shirts, other clothes and even money, I think, to the regime. We brought all that to the police headquarters.

I remember we learnt about the deportations from the BBC, in 1943 or 1944, I think. We lived in fear. I remember one time a convoy of legionaries passed by our house, with a lot of noise, in cars and motorcycles, and my mother looked out the window, saw their uniforms - all legionaries were dressed in black leather jackets and green shirts - and she immediately turned all lights off and we hid. Legionaries usually knew where the Jews in Brasov lived, and she didn't want to risk anything. They would just force their way into one's house. There was no direct incident concerning our family, but we suffered from the restrictions all Jews in Brasov suffered from: we weren't allowed to go shopping in most of the stores until 10 o'clock. Jewish stores were forced to have a sign outside saying 'Jewish store', so that people wouldn't come in.

My grandmother had to put up that sign outside her shop, and of course the business didn't go so well because most people didn't want to buy from Jewish shops because they were afraid of the consequences. And in the end, I don't remember when or the details, they took the shop along with the house from my grandmother because she was Jewish. The Saxon shops had a sign outside saying, 'Der Eintritt von Juden und Hunden ist unerwuenscht' ['The access of Jews and dogs is not wanted'].

Also, Jews weren't allowed to walk in the street, for example, in groups, and four people were already considered a group. We suffered from all these restrictions, but I cannot say that we suffered from hunger because my father still had the dental material depot, along with his Hungarian partner, who did the traveling. We only found out that there were extermination camps and not just labor camps, as we had thought, after the war, when some Jews started to come home. Usually, they were very reluctant to talk about what had happened to them, but that's how we found out in the end.

I went on vacation with my parents, I remember going to Sovata, to Cluj [Napoca]; I remember we had an old car back then, a BMW, and we used to travel in it. By that time my father already had that dental material depot. I remember going to a maial - it was a rustic party - with my parents in our car. Since it was very old it broke down and it took us several hours to make this half an hour trip. These parties were held where the present neighborhood Racadau is; back then it was nothing but vacant land. Back then, when I was a child, there was also a little train, more of a tram actually, which connected Brasov to Racadau and the seven villages of what today is Sacele. We - my parents and I - also used to go out, eat out, usually at Aro [famous hotel and restaurant in the center of Brasov]. We had money back then, it wasn't a big deal like it is today, especially after the nationalization 7 came.

My parents divorced in 1943. I remember the divorce wasn't final yet, and Rabbi Deutsch, came to our house, to try and patch things up, like it is the custom when a Jewish pair wants to split up. He didn't achieve anything, however. The reason for the divorce was that my mother fell in love with my father's associate at the dental material depot, Iosif Juhasz. She was still young, I was 12 or 13 then, and she wanted a divorce. After the divorce, my mother married him and I had to stay with her. After many years, they had problems as well, so they also divorced, and he left my mother and left for Germany. After that, my mother worked as a nurse to support herself.

My father also remarried in 1945. He married a young Jewish woman from Brasov, Margareta Rosenberg, who got pregnant. She was 16 years younger than him. But my father fell ill, he had very high blood pressure. He went to Sibiu for merchandise for his depot, and his blood pressure went up very quickly. He had a stroke and died before he could get to the hospital. He died in Sibiu in 1946 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery there. Sibiu didn't have a rabbi, but there was a minyan. I don't remember who recited the Kaddish; maybe one of my father's cousins who were there, or somebody from the community. And on the very same day he died, his wife gave birth to his son, Benjamin. His wife was devastated; she loved him very, very much. She came from a very poor family: her father was a watchmaker, but he didn't have a shop, he worked at home. She had another sister and a mother to support. So Margareta had to work as a laborer at a weaving factory here, in Brasov.

Post-war

My father used to be stricter with me than my mother, but after he died, my mother became even more severe than he had been - I think she was trying to replace him in a way. And she was like that not only when I was little, but also when I was in high school. For example, I wasn't allowed to go to the cinema after 9 o'clock in the evening, even if I was going with friends or colleagues. I had to be home early. I was allowed to go to the cinema after 9pm only when I got engaged to my husband, but still, when we came home she was standing behind the window, waiting for me. I remember she slapped me once, but I don't remember what for. In any case, she was very strict.

After my parents divorced, the two families weren't exactly on amicable terms. There were no visits, only Benjamin came to our house. My mother was very fond of the small child. He was very quiet and he looked a lot like my father. Benjamin practically grew up in our house until he was four years old; I used to bring him over more and more often. He was always in our house. We fed him and bought clothes for him. We could afford it because we still had the dental materials depot, which was left to Juhasz because he and my father had been associates. Margareta had to work very hard and couldn't support them all: her parents, her sister and a small baby. But in 1949 she made aliyah with all her family; she was among the first to go. Emigrants still had to leave by ship back then. My mother insisted that she left Benjamin behind, that we would pay for his education and look after him, and she almost convinced her. But in the end, Margareta, who still loved my late father, didn't want to give up her son, so they all left.

They settled in Holon, which back then was more of a village. They stayed in Beit Olim - a special place for the new-comers - for two years, in barracks, and after that they could move into a house, at the very end of Holon. Their backyard was sand and nothing else. Margareta used to write to me. Life was very hard for them. Once she asked us to send Benjamin a pair of shoes because she had no money to buy him one. They even endured hunger; they had to steal potatoes from fields in order to have something to eat; they lived from one day to the next. After many, many years, she remarried. She married a Jew from Czechoslovakia and had another daughter with him. I don't remember his name. I met him just once went I went to Israel for the first time, in 1973.

I finished elementary school at the Jewish high school - it had both elementary school and high school classes - and then I studied there in high school for a year, from 1943 to 1944. After World War II ended, I studied at Elena Princess high school. By that time, my mother and her second husband had a dental materials depot as well, I think, and they wanted to move to Bucharest. Juhasz had a friend and associate in Bucharest, who also owned a dental material depot, and he wanted us to move to Bucharest. So my mother enrolled me at Soazi Mangaru high school in Bucharest. It was very similar to Notre Dame; it even had a boarding school. My mother and her second husband didn't move their business to Bucharest after all. They lived there for as long as I studied there, but I lived at the boarding school, not with them because they weren't all set.

At that school I learnt French. You weren't allowed to speak Romanian, and actually you were supposed to know some French before you got there. But that was the case with me because when I was in high school in Brasov, I took private lessons in French, so I could already speak it. I took private lessons in English and in singing. I took singing-lessons for a year with a singer, a certain Mrs. Baciu; I learnt to sing sol-fas, different arias from operettas, and I had a rather pleasant voice. I also took some piano lessons with a Jewish piano teacher, Ilona Weiss. Back then we had a cottage piano at home, so I could practice, but after I went to high school, I gave it all up. The high school had no Jewish profile. I studied at Elena Princess high school [approximately from 1944 until 1947], then I studied two years at Soazi Mangaru in Bucharest, and then I returned to Brasov, to Elena Princess high school, and that's where I graduated in 1947. [Editor's note: It is very likely that she graduated some time later, Ruth doesn't remember dates very well.]

After the war, I also studied religion with Rabbi Deutsch in the community's headquarters in Brasov for two hours a week. Those were compulsory religious classes from school, but since we were Jews, we studied with the rabbi. The rabbi did something for a group of girls, I was among them as well, which was called confirmation, like it is for the Hungarians. It's the exact equivalent of bat mitzvah, but I don't know why everybody referred to it as confirmation back then. We were a group of girls, of different ages, and the ceremony took place in the synagogue with the rabbi. Each of us had to know by heart a prayer in Hebrew on that occasion.

There were Purim balls organized in the house of culture in Brasov by the CDE ['Comitetul Democrat al Evreilor', 'The Jewish Democratic Committee'] or by the Zionist organizations in Brasov, like Gordonia 8 and Hanoar [Hanoar Hatzioni] 9. All chairs were taken out of the ballroom, and the balls were held there. I participated in a Purim ball for the first time when I was 15, in 1947. They were rather elegant and usually for grown-ups. My mother had a dress made for me at the dressmaker's, made from gray checkered taffeta, which was very hard to find in those times. It had a large cleavage on the back. I remember that was the first time I wore it.

I was also in a Zionist organization right after the war, but I can't remember if it was Gordonia or Hanoar; I think probably both. In any case, every day, after school, we were there, playing ping-pong, or dancing traditional Jewish dances, like Iulala. It's a dance very similar to the Romanian ring dance, the hora 10. It was danced in a large circle; you had to take two steps to the right, one to the left, and lift your foot. In the middle of the circle there was a boy who chose a girl from the dancers and danced with her in the middle, then the girl would be there alone and choose a boy, and so on. It was nice. We made friends, fell in love... we were young girls. I also participated in some classes held by a sheliach, about Jewish history, about religion, about making aliyah to Palestine because Israel didn't exist back then. I was just a child when Israel was born, in 1948, but I was happy. We, the Jews, who never had anything, finally had our own country. We heard the news about it on the BBC, it was the radio station we listened to back then. Zionist organizations were forbidden after a while, at the end of the 1940s.

Things weren't so good under communism either: during Stalin and Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej 11, my parents were afraid to be caught listening to foreign radio stations; that was also forbidden. Rose-Marie's father - Rose- Marie was my good childhood friend from Sibiu -suffered a lot when the communists came to power because they found gold and gold coins in his shop - he was a jeweler - and sent him to prison. That happened under Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej. I don't remember exactly how I found out about it, but I kept in touch with Rose-Marie, we were very close back then and moreover, news traveled quickly in the Jewish circles.

I was allowed to go out with friends or with boys, when I was already 15 or 16, only that my mother didn't allow me to stay out later than 9 o'clock; I was a bit precocious from this point of view, not in the way the word is understood today though. When I was 13, a boy courted me. He was 14, my first big true love - platonic, of course - and it lasted for many years, until he left for university to Cluj [Napoca]. His name was Fleischer, he was the most handsome boy in town and all the girls were crazy about him. We broke up when he left, he was 18 or 19, but we remained good friends. He used to write to me, and his parents were my godparents when I got married.

My husband

I met my husband, Carol Ionel Greif, in the social circles in Brasov before I left for university. He was a Jew from Cernauti and older than me; he was born in 1923. He studied at two universities. He studied languages - he knew six or seven languages - and he studied chemistry by correspondence at a university in Belgium. He had quite a reputation with women, but to me he was friendly and he often took me out to the theater, behaved like a gentleman and joked that when I grew up he would marry me.

I studied at the faculty of medicine in Cluj for six years, from 1952 until 1959. I came home only during holidays, so I didn't spend much time with my mother. My financial situation wasn't so good anymore after the nationalization; my family had to support me, pay for my accommodation in Cluj and for my books. My schedule was so tight, I barely had time to live. I had classes in the morning, more practical assignments in the afternoon, but I still found time to go to the opera two or three times a week. I had a suitor, a Jewish opera singer from Cluj, a baritone. He was ten years older than me, but I got attached to him; he reminded me of my father. Victor Vida was his name, and we remained good friends even after I married. He came to visit me in Brasov, but he eventually left for Germany, where he had a sister. He was also a chazzan with the Jewish community in Cluj, and didn't have a bohemian life-style like other artists; he took very good care of his voice. He had suffered a lot during the war: he had been deported and had severe burns on his hands.

I didn't have other contacts with the Jewish community in Cluj, but many of my colleagues were Jewish. We would have a party almost weekly, we could chat, dance and eat, especially because many of them were from Cluj and had houses there. I think my circle of friends was exclusively Jewish during those years; we were a lot of Jews. I had my friend Rose-Marie and others. It wasn't something premeditated, but I think we had more things in common. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism at the faculty, but we were afraid of the Securitate 12.

My friend Rose-Marie had some problems with the Securitate, and with communism: she had been a very good student, she tried to get into the Faculty of Medicine in Cluj for three times in a row and failed, only because her father had been sent to prison. She had a file and her origins weren't 'healthy' ['origine sanatoasa' in Romanian]. During communism, all kulaks 13, their children or landowners' children were considered to be of 'unhealthy' origins. Rose-Marie married when she was still a student - she was eventually accepted at the faculty of medicine in Cluj after trying for the fourth time - and she and her husband filed for aliyah. But you weren't allowed to take jewelry out of the country, only a seven-gram wedding ring. Her husband tried to send some jewels with somebody to Israel, but that person was caught, and Rose-Marie's husband was in prison for a year. After that, they both left.

My family wanted to make aliyah; my father had been a Zionist, but he died too young, before it was possible to do so. But my mother and I filed for emigration. I was a student, and I lived in fear all that time because if people found out that you filed for emigration, you were immediately expelled from university. And it was a high risk because it wasn't like now, that you know for certain that you will leave at some point; it could have been a yes or a no, but I could definitely have lost my chance to study at university. It happened to a colleague of mine because people found out that she had filed for emigration. The approval didn't come for years and years. We were getting ready to go, we sold things from the house, but still no answer.

For as long as I was in Cluj, I saw Carol only during holidays, and in the meantime he was engaged to someone else, but that didn't work out. In the end we fell in love and married in 1959, just before I took my state examination. We only had a civil marriage that year because my husband was very proud, and he said he would have a wedding only with a rabbi, not with a hakham. But we had the religious wedding later on, when my husband found out unexpectedly that Rabbi Moses Rosen 14 was in Poiana Brasov. He went after him and persuaded him to wed us, and he did. In Brasov Carol worked at first in a test laboratory.

Marrying someone who wasn't Jewish never occurred to me, and I'm sure my parents wouldn't have approved. But I never had Romanian boys court me, except one, maybe, but that was nothing serious. And I think tradition is good for something, in a marriage there can be so many problems, that a dispute over religion is the last thing one needs.

My parents-in-law were named Leo and Amalia Greif. My father-in-law had owned, along with an associate, an ethyl chloroform plant in Cernauti. My father-in-law was a very hard-working man; for example, he didn't take a vacation for ten years. He was that busy with the plant; he only sent his wife and his son to Vatra Dornei [spa region located in Bistritei Mountains, in Suceava county] or Karlsbad 15 in Czechoslovakia. He and his family suffered a lot during World War II, but they had a bit of luck as well because the Russians needed the plant, so he and his family were only taken to the ghetto in Cernauti, not to Transnistria 16.

When the Germans came, he was still in trouble. Every time a German was shot, the authorities would take hostage some of the important people in Cernauti; he was taken from his house as he was, his wife only had time to throw him a blanket from the balcony as he was being taken away. They were very worried; a lot of time passed since he went missing and nobody knew where he was. When he came back, he was forced to move out of his house and leave everything there, and share a miserable house with several other families. That's why they came to Romania when they could, in 1946. When my parents-in-law moved from Cernauti to Romania, they knew nationalization would follow, so they wanted to invest all their money in something: they bought an old house, which also had lodgers.

Among other things, my father-in-law invented a recipe for bitter, bitter which gave me quite a big surprise one day in 2000. I was walking down one of the main streets of Brasov, and in front of a fancy and classy bar, Festival 39, I saw a plate outside with his signature, Leo Greif. He used to manufacture it in his laboratory and sell it while he still worked. I could recognize it among a thousand others, so I went inside and talked to the owner. Apparently, he was serving for free to every customer who entered his bar a Leo Greif bitter. And he asked me to give him something personal of Leo Greif if I had anything. I did and gave him a few old IDs. You can still find this bar, which is full of old pictures, and you can see Leo Greif's photos there if you ask for someone to show them to you.

The parents of my parents-in-law were very rich people. My mother-in-law's family had a house in the very center of Cernauti, with 27 rooms, and a space for a shop downstairs. My mother-in-law and her brother inherited it. My father-in-law's family had an estate in Plosca, which is a commune [10 km from Cernauti], and they had there 250 hectares of woods there, plus horses and a big manor. A law was passed last year [in 2003], saying that the Romanian state will make up for the losses, and I filed for it. I had all documents from those times; my parents-in-law were very careful with paperwork.

When I graduated from university in 1959, there was a social mark that was added to all the other grades I obtained after my final exams. I had an 'unhealthy' origin as well because my parents had owned a store; because of that, I had a file and couldn't choose a workplace where I wanted, even if normally I could have because my grades were very high. But because my social grade was 4, and it was added to the 9 point something I had in all my six years of study and state examination, I couldn't choose where I wanted to work.

I was repartitioned to some village in Moldova, I have no idea where because I never went there. By that time I was already married, and only those who were pregnant or had high grades could choose the town, but that wasn't my case. My husband told me that if I didn't get Brasov, then I shouldn't go where they sent me. But back then you couldn't just pass on what you were offered, not working wasn't an option. In order to work somewhere else, the chief doctor in Moldova, where I was initially repartitioned - he was a Jew called Merler- had to let me go first. My husband went there and asked him, but at first he refused. He said that, first of all, he was a Jew as well and that would be too obvious, and second, he couldn't pretend that he didn't need me when he needed more doctors. I don't remember how my husband eventually solved the problem, but it was solved.

My husband, who was very versatile, got me a job as a nurse in Poiana Brasov. [Editor's note: Poiana Brasov is Romania's premier ski resort located 12 km from Brasov.] This was possible because my husband had a rather high position at that time: he was the president of the medical orderly Mutual Aid Fund here in Brasov. And, each doctor needed a loan and my husband gave loans, but could afford to ask for favors in return. He was very good friends with the chief doctor of the region [see Territorial reorganization in 1952] 17, and my husband asked him to get a petition for the need of a doctor in Poiana Brasov. That's how I got there. So he opened me a consulting room through ONT ['Oficiul National de Turism', 'The National Tourism Office']. It was the time when foreigners started to come and visit the country, and the fact that I could speak several languages was a plus. So my husband fixed it with the ONT in Bucharest, and I commuted to Poiana Brasov for a year. I worked as a doctor, of course, but on paper I was just a nurse.

Then another friend of my husband's, the chief doctor in Bod, made a request for a doctor in Bod because, presumably, they didn't have one. So my husband put me in the hospital and said I was three months pregnant - and I wasn't at all back then! - and went straight to Minister Burghelea [Minister of Health at that time] in Bucharest, with the medical certificate and the request that a doctor was needed in Bod. My husband later told me how the meeting went: he knocked on the door, opened it, took a large step inside with his right foot, and said to the minister, 'Comrade Minister, I entered with my right foot. I hope you will be able to solve my problem!' The atmosphere was immediately relaxed, and my husband brought home the approval. So I became a probation doctor in Bod, where I worked for a year; after that I worked for two more years in Halchiu [16 km from Brasov], and after that I took an exam and I was finally a doctor in town, in Brasov.

After I got married, I moved in with my husband and his parents, into two rooms: one was ours, and one was theirs. My daughter Beatrice was born in that room in 1961. It was getting pretty crowded. Then, in 1974 or 1975, OCRPP [state organization that was in charge of managing the locative resources of a town] appeared, and you could buy houses, but only if you didn't have one already. So we wanted to sell that old house, but it was very hard because it had several rooms and in each room there was a different family. We eventually did, but the new owner had to settle compensations with each lodger separately. After that, we got the apartment where I still live today.

My daughter

I raised my daughter to be a Jew, of course. I used to light candles every Friday evening, and say the blessing in Hebrew. I knew that by heart. We observed all high holidays, we fasted on Yom Kippur, we didn't eat bread on Pesach; however, we didn't follow the kashrut. My father-in-law led the seder, and after he died, in 1966, my husband did. My husband spoke Yiddish, and he read perfectly in Hebrew - which he also understood. I know he studied Hebrew, but I don't know if it was in a cheder or a yeshivah. Anyway, all the ceremonies in our house were very long because my husband insisted that we understood them as well, so he said the prayers in Hebrew first and then translated them for us. We went to the synagogue on Purim, on Sukkot, on Chanukkah, but not every Saturday. It wasn't dangerous for us, our positions weren't considered very high, and we weren't in the Communist Party. During communism I never had problems because of being Jewish, and I never had to hide it, and neither had my daughter. And whoever says we didn't have religious freedom is lying. Of course, those Jews who had managerial positions and were party members were careful not to be seen at the synagogue, they didn't want to lose their position. But the rest of the Jews in Brasov could go anytime; there was no problem. And, during our marriage, our friends were Jews and Romanians alike; it didn't matter.

In the end, I gave up the idea of emigrating. My husband didn't want to leave under any circumstances. Back then the rule was that you were only allowed to leave with 70 kilograms of clothing, nothing else, and my husband had a lot of valuable things here in the country which he didn't want to give up. When I got married, I signed a paper saying that I had given up the idea of emigration. My husband insisted on that; he never wanted to emigrate. But we could have filed for it again, if we had wanted to.

My mother, on the other hand, eventually got the approval, in 1965 or 1966, and she left for Israel, but not to stay there. She went to Israel to take back some valuables she had managed to send there in 1964/5, with some Jews who left earlier and were supposed to keep the jewelry until she came for it. It was a risk, of course: if the jewels had been found, they would have been confiscated and lost. But my mother took the chance because she knew she would leave and would have lost the jewelry anyway if she had left it behind, so she sent some jewelry with brilliants and other precious stones to some Jews who left for Vienna and some others who left for Israel.

Those people had left with the ship Transilvania, but when my mother left, she went by plane. She stayed in Israel for about eight months, but she couldn't bring back much because those people pretended hat she hadn't given them anything. I think she only took back a few things from all she had sent. In Vienna - she left by plane and the plane stopped in Vienna on the way back to Romania - she got her jewelries back from the people she had given them to. She came home with the jewelries and kept them; she didn't sell them. She intended to do so only if we had stayed in Israel. It was something illegal back then, of course, but my mother thought the risk was worth taking. If we had started a new life in Israel we would have needed the money.

I wasn't a member of the Communist Party, but in high school I had to be a member of the UTM [Uniunea Tineretului Muncitoresc, The Young Workers' Union], and then in university I was a member of a student organization, which later became UTC [Uniunea Tinerilor Comunisti, Young Communists Union']. But when I started working, I was already married, and my husband wouldn't let me join the party. He wasn't a member either, but he had a good friend, a Hungarian doctor, who was very active in the party, and this friend wanted me to join. But my husband was very categorical about it and said, 'Up to here! She doesn't want to and she won't!' My husband had a managerial position, he ran the medical orderly Mutual Aid Fund for 30 years, and he was the vice-president of the medical syndicate, and he still managed not to join the Party. He declared very openly that his family had been landowners and kulaks, and that he didn't want to join just to be thrown out later. So I wasn't a party member, but I had to participate in marches on 23rd August 18, 1st May and 7th November [also known as October Revolution Day] 19 all the same.

Our attitude towards the government was hostile, but not openly so: we were afraid of the repercussions. When friends came over, we would put a pillow over the phone, just in case. [Mrs. Greif refers to the fact that many people, including her, suspected that the phones were tapped by the Securitate.] Anyone suspected anyone. One out of three friends was a snitch for the Securitate. The suspicions were even worse because we didn't know from whom to stay away. But of course in very close circles, we told jokes about Ceausescu 20, we practically lived on those jokes and the BBC and Radio Free Europe 21!

My greatest pain during the communist regime was that I couldn't travel more; of course I saw with my husband all the countries in the socialist camp, but we still wanted more. And even a trip to a socialist country was a problem, not in terms of money - we had two wages and one was more than enough for a two-week trip - but we had to fill in tons of papers, whole files, really, just to be able to go on a simple trip. We had to write CVs of ourselves, we had to write what relatives we had abroad, their addresses, when they had left etc. We had to write who of our family had stayed behind and so on. They wanted to make sure we wouldn't run away.

We also suffered from the lack of heat: hot water was limited, and all the family crowded in the kitchen to get warm at the cooker. But I didn't suffer from hunger or food restrictions, that is true. As a doctor, I had to make periodical checks for different institutions, and those people had to come every month with their health books. I knew them already, and they would just send their books for me to sign. In return for that I never had to stand in queues at grocery shops because I knew the staff there. At restaurants I could buy meat as well for the same reason, and you could hardly find meat anywhere else. Some patients gave me Kent packs, and I used to trade them for meat at the butcher's shop. That's the way the black market worked.

Correspondence was a problem during communism: I couldn't write to my brother in Israel when I was a student in Cluj. I didn't even try. When the staff at the post office saw a stamp for Israel, or the USA, or any other country, they would open it and call the Securitate. It was that bad during Stalinism. After Stalin died [in 1953] and Khrushchev 22 came to power, it got better, that is you could write, but not be sure if the letters would reach their destination! It happened to me as well.

We did have some sort of unwanted contacts with the Securitate during communism. After Beatrice graduated from high school in 1973, she went on a trip to Israel, and a friend she made there, a boy, came to visit us as well, on Pesach. Of course we knew he wasn't allowed to stay in our house, so he stayed at a hotel. He came over for seder - my husband led it - and we celebrated. Then a very strong rain-storm broke out, the boy was tired and eventually slept over at our place and only went back to the hotel the next morning. Back then, all receptionists, chambermaids and so on were snitches for the Securitate, who wanted to keep an eye especially on foreigners, and each hotel had a Securitate officer. And of course the receptionist told the officer that one guest didn't sleep at the hotel that night, and the poor boy - I don't remember his name - was questioned by the officer and he told the truth, saying that a strong rain-storm broke out and that he had to sleep over at some friends. After that, the boy called my husband and told him what had happened. My husband immediately called the hospital Securitate officer, whom he knew, and explained the whole situation. I got pretty scared. I thought they would come to search our house, so I packed all the soaps I had received as gifts from patients, put them in a suitcase and stashed it at some neighbors. But fortunately, that was the end of it - nothing happened.

When the wars in Israel started, I was worried; first of all for my brother Benjamin, who was in the army for three years and who fought in the Six-Day- War 23, and for my father's cousins. I visited Israel and Benjamin in 1973. Unfortunately, I went alone, without my husband. Only two people from Brasov were allowed to leave the country that year, and I was one of them. I needed a lot of approvals and my husband had to intervene in many places so that I could go. By that time, Benjamin was an adult, worked as a dental technician and was a married man. His wife was expecting their first child. I went to Israel three times after that as well, and they also came here. And I could visit Jerusalem, which had been liberated, and Bethlehem. I visited more or less every place I could. My husband had a cousin there, who was the director of the Haifa refinery, and he had a car and quite a talent for showing people around. I saw the north of Israel, I went as far as the border to Lebanon, and I also visited my childhood friend, Rose- Marie, who was by that time a doctor in Jerusalem. We are still good friends.

My mother died in 1988 in Brasov, and she was buried in the Jewish cemetery here; in 1988 we didn't have a rabbi here anymore, but we asked for a chazzan from Bucharest to come. I think it was someone from the community who recited the Kaddish. When my mother-in-law died we brought Rabbi Neumann all the way from Timisoara. We had to pay for it, of course, the rabbi couldn't travel all over the country for every funeral for free, but my husband insisted to bury his mother in the presence of a rabbi.

My daughter went to Iasi to study languages. She was forced to join the UTC because she was a brilliant student and there was no way she could have avoided it. My husband always joked about that, he used to call her 'The only UTC member in the family!' She married a Romanian, Dan Median, in 1987. He is an architect, and they have a daughter, Daniela, who was born in 1988. My husband suffered a lot when Beatrice married. He would have liked her to marry a Jew, that was the tradition in our family. But when Beatrice got pregnant, the dispute over the religion of the future child was inevitable. Dan's parents are also very religious people, Christian Orthodox, and after long deliberations we established that if it was a boy, he would be a Christian, and if it was a girl, she would be a Jew. I cannot tell you how much my husband concerned himself with this issue; during those nine months he prayed all the time that it would be a girl. He lost ten kilos! Although, as he later told me, he still couldn't see how a child from a Jewish mother could be anything but Jewish! Tradition was very important for him.

My daughter observes the high holidays, but she only lights the candles on Friday evenings when she remembers, and she doesn't fast on Yom Kippur. My granddaughter Daniela, on the other hand, is more religious and involved in the community. She has been to Szarvas three times already and she likes to learn about customs and religion. [Editor's note: Szarvas is a two-week Jewish camp that takes place every year in Szarvas, Hungary; it was founded by the Lauder Foundation, and it welcomes Jewish teenagers from Europe, USA, Ethiopia and Israel. It focuses mainly on preserving the Jewish traditions.] My daughter also trims a Christmas tree on Christmas; so more or less they observe both religions.

When the Romanian Revolution of 1989 24 started, I was at home with my husband, getting ready for Chanukkah to go to the temple. We heard what happened in Timisoara on the radio - that the students and other people were rebelling against the Communist Party - but we still didn't discuss it at work. You couldn't be sure how things were going to end and who was listening. Also, a student from Timisoara, who lived in our apartment block, came home and told us what was going on, about the slaughters. [Editor's note: several students were arrested, others beaten or even shot during the first confrontations between the revolutionaries and the authorities]. She could hardly make it home by train. So we sort of knew from the source what was going on, that the revolution had finally broken out, and that it wasn't just a pack of hooligans like the authorities said.

I found out that it had spread to the rest of the country on the bus, as I was coming home from work. I was listening to a conversation of two elderly ladies, who were commenting the balcony scene in Bucharest, and how the TV broadcast had been interrupted. We still wanted to go to the synagogue for Chanukkah, but then we looked out of the window, and all bus services had stopped running, and rows and rows of workers were heading downtown, to the party headquarters. We also saw red flames from the guns as shots were being fired in the neighborhood, but I honestly believe now that they didn't know whom they were shooting at, frightened people were shooting at other innocent people. Many civilians were given weapons back then, and they didn't know who they were fighting with. So many accidents happened.

I believe life got better after 1989. You have access to everything now, you don't have to stand in queues for everything. But we weren't doing too badly during communism either: we had good wages, I did night shifts for 30 years and those were well paid, and we could save a lot because there wasn't anything you could spend it on, except trips. After the revolution we had 700.000 lei saved, which was a huge amount of money back then. Immediately, my husband started to worry about how to invest it. He knew from his own experience in Cernauti that the money would devaluate, and that in the end we would only be able to buy a bag of onions with that money. So we started buying: we bought gold - the Russians were coming with gold jewelries - we bought hand-made carpets, which are extremely hard, if not impossible to find now, we bought a four-bedroom apartment for my daughter, furs and so on, And, we still had money left.

My husband died in 1994. He is buried in the Jewish cemetery here; there was a minyan at his funeral and someone from the community recited the Kaddish. And after my parents and my husband died, I sat shivah for seven days for each of them. The community has a long black prayer-stool, with two seats, for those who need to sit shivah. The first day I went out, I circled the building. I keep Yahrzeit for my parents and my husband and I go to the minyan for the prayer.

I receive a pension for my husband, under law 118 because he had been deported, which gives me free bus and train tickets, some tax exemptions and so on. I work at the community, I have been the community's doctor for 12 or 13 years now. I started working here one year before I retired, in 1992. I have consulting hours twice a week there, but we have many patients who need our assistance and cannot walk, so I have to do house-calls as well. I usually don't go to the synagogue on Saturdays, unless it is the Yahrzeit of my husband or my parents.

I keep in touch with my daughter's family. She visits me, and so does Daniela. On the high holidays we usually meet at the temple, where the festive dinners and ceremonies take place.

Glossary

Semyon Falk
Uzghorod
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: June 2003

Semyon Falk is a short, thin man with gray hair. He lives with his son Victor in a two-bedroom apartment in a two-storied house in a new district of Uzhhorod. There are just four apartments in this house, which was built in 1961. Almost all furniture and household appliances were also purchased around that time. The apartment is shiningly clean and very cozy. It's hard to believe that there is no woman taking care of the house. Semyon does all the housework himself, including the cooking and repairs. His wife died recently and Semyon still suffers from this terrible loss of someone so dear. There are pictures of his wife everywhere: on the walls, on the table and in the bookcase. Semyon willingly agreed to give us this interview. He turned out to be a very interesting conversationalist.

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

My family background

My father's parents lived in the small Ukrainian town of Olevsk in Zhytomyr province [300 km from Kiev]. My grandfather, Abel Falk, was born in the 1860s. I don't know his place of birth. He died of tuberculosis in 1925. I don't know what my grandfather did for a living, but I know that his family was very poor. My grandmother died in the late 1910s. I don't have any information about her. I don't even know her name. I believe she was a housewife, which was customary in Jewish families. They were both buried in the Jewish cemetery in Zhytomyr.

My father, David Falk, told me very little about his childhood, the town where his family lived, or about how his family lived. I know that Olevsk was a small town and that Jews constituted about half of its population. There was a Jewish community and a synagogue in Olevsk. Regretfully, I've only been there once. My father took me to visit his relatives when I was 12 years old. Olevsk was a very green town. There were one-storied houses for the most part; only in the center there were a few two-storied buildings: the town hall and the houses of rich, local people.

There were five children in my father's family. I don't know their dates of birth. The oldest was Pinkhas. The next child was Khasia. My father, born in July 1902, was the third child in the family, and then came his two sisters Adel and Rosa.

My father didn't tell me anything about his studies. I think he went to cheder because he knew Hebrew well. He could read Hebrew and read and write in Yiddish. When he was a pensioner he corresponded in Yiddish with a rabbi from Canada. They discussed articles from the Torah and events of their everyday life. I don't know if any of the children studied in a secondary school. My father may have studied since he worked as an assistant accountant in a shop at the age of 18. Before the Revolution of 1917 1 they only spoke Yiddish in the family. After the Revolution the Russian language was forced into all aspects of life and my father and his sisters and brother switched to Russian. I believe they were all religious before the Revolution, but at the time when I knew them they didn't observe any Jewish traditions and weren't religious.

My father's older brother was a painter. He lived in Olevsk. He was married to a Jewish girl from Olevsk. They had three children: a daughter called Lisa and two sons, Semyon and Michael. Pinkhas' wife died in the late 1930s. During the Great Patriotic War 2 Pinkhas and his family evacuated to Middle Asia. Pinkhas perished during evacuation: the barge on which they were crossing the Caspian Sea, was bombed by German planes. Pinkhas was killed. His children stayed in Middle Asia after World War II. Lisa worked as photographer before World War II. I have no information about her life after the war. Semyon was a professional military after World War II. He lived in Alma-Ata, Middle Asia, with his family. We corresponded with him. Michael, the youngest, had tuberculosis and died shortly after World War II.

Khasia, my father's older sister, was a very pretty woman. She married a down-and-out man raised in an orphanage. Her husband, Chaim Bialik, became an orphan in his infancy and was sent to an orphanage. During the Revolution of 1917 he volunteered for the army and was assigned to the cavalry regiment. He was a cavalryman throughout the Revolution and the Civil War 3. Bialik joined the Communist Party in the army. When his unit passed through Olevsk he saw Khasia and fell in love with her. When the Civil War was over he demobilized and came to Olevsk. They got married. Of course, they didn't have a Jewish wedding because Bialik was a party member. He didn't have any profession. He went to work as a laborer in the glass factory. He was a hot-tempered, rough man. He was a convinced communist. In 1937 he had an argument with the management and was arrested [during the so-called Great Terror] 4. He was sentenced to three years of exile in Chkalov [today Orenburg, Russia]. He was released in May 1941 and returned to Olevsk. A month later World War II began and Bialik was summoned to the army. I don't know where he served. After World War II, he returned and they moved to Korosten [170 km from Kiev]. Bialik bought a water pump and began to sell water for 1 kopeck per bucket. Khasia was a housewife. They didn't have children. Bialik died in the early 1950s and Khasia passed away in 1964. They were buried in the town cemetery in Korosten.

My father's younger sister, Adel, was also very pretty. She was married to a Jewish man with an ugly face. His last name was Poliak. They lived in Olevsk. After World War II they moved to Korosten. They had four children: three daughters called Tsylia, Musia and Maria and a son called Abram. I don't know what Adel's husband did for a living. She was a housewife. Adel died in Korosten in the 1960s. Her daughters and son got married, except for Tsylia, who had always been sickly. In the 1970s they emigrated to Israel with their families. Regretfully, we had no contact with them. I don't even know in what town they live and have no information about their families.

Rosa, my father's youngest sister, married a Polish Jew. They had two sons. They lived in Korosten. Her husband died young. Rosa was a seamstress in a shop. Her younger son fell ill with tuberculosis in evacuation and died shortly after World War II. Rosa died in Korosten in 1972. Rosa's older son Pyotr studied in Lviv. We lost contact with him. All I know is that he recently died. So, there's no living soul left from this family.

As for my mother's parents, I only knew my grandmother, Elka Keselman. She was born in 1860 but I don't know where. My grandmother was a housewife. My grandfather Avrum-Shmul Keselman was born in Narodichi [160 km from Kiev] in 1859. He was a shoemaker. I don't have any information about his family. I don't know what my grandfather looked like either. His family was poor. My grandmother was a tall, thin, old woman. She wore dark clothes and a black kerchief.

My mother's family lived in the village of Dedkovichi in Zhytomyr province [170 km from Kiev]. My mother's family was the only Jewish family in Dedkovichi. This village was outside the Pale of Settlement 5 and Jews weren't allowed residence in this village before the Revolution of 1917. I don't know how my grandfather and grandmother came to live there. Of course, there was no cheder or synagogue in Dedkovichi.

Before and after the Revolution of 1917 and during the Civil War, there were Jewish pogroms 6 in Zhytomyr region. There were gangs 7 and Denikin 8 units involved. My mother told me that the gangs even came to Dedkovichi, although there was just one Jewish family there. The bandits came to their house, beat the family and robbed them, taking away everything they had. There was only one thing that rescued them: the villagers liked my grandfather very much. He was the only shoemaker. Villagers gave shelter to his family and protected them from the bandits.

There were six children in the family. I knew them all, but I don't remember their dates of birth. The first child in the family was Iosif or Yosl. The next one was Yankel. Then came Michael, whose Jewish name was Moshe. The next child born was Solomon, who was affectionately called Monia in the family. Hana was the fifth child, and my mother Sura, born in 1898, was the youngest.

My mother's brothers didn't study in cheder since there was no cheder in Dedkovichi or in the vicinity. The family was religious. They didn't go to the synagogue but they observed Jewish traditions at home. My grandfather prayed at home every day. They only spoke Yiddish at home and Ukrainian with their neighbors. They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. On Yom Kippur my grandmother and all children over six fasted. My mother told me that they didn't make a sukkah at Sukkot. My grandmother baked matzah on Pesach. My grandmother baked bread for a week ahead during the year and challah for Sabbath. They didn't follow the kashrut since it was impossible, being the only Jewish family in the village. However, they didn't eat pork or mix meat and dairy products.

My grandfather died in Dedkovichi in 1918. He was buried in the village cemetery since there was no Jewish cemetery in the village. After he died his children gradually moved to the nearby town of Korosten. Solomon moved to Ovruch [175 km from Kiev]. My grandmother moved to Korosten shortly after I was born. She was growing old and needed somebody to help her around. In Korosten she either lived with us or with her older daughter Hana.

Iosif and his family lived in Korosten. I don't know what profession Iosif had. He married a Jewish girl in Korosten. Iosif wasn't religious, but his family celebrated Jewish holidays at home. They didn't go to the synagogue, though. Iosif had three children. They were very good children. His oldest son, whose name I don't remember, was a professional military. He was a colonel before World War II. Their daughter Bella was a mathematics teacher at a Russian secondary school. The younger son was an engineer at the iron foundry in Korosten. Iosif died in Korosten in 1940. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery. After World War II we lost contact with Iosif's family.

My mother's second brother, Yankel, lived with us. I knew him well. My grandfather taught Yankel his profession. Yankel worked as a shoemaker before the early 1930s. He was married and had two children. His son Mutsia was about ten years older than I. There was a daughter, whose name I don't remember. She was two or three years younger than Mutsia. Yankel divorced his wife shortly after his daughter was born. He lived with us. He was religious. He went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays and also celebrated them at home. Yankel's son Mutsia was in the army during World War II. He perished at the front on the first days of the war. Yankel died in Korosten in 1953.

Michael was probably the smartest of my mother's brothers. He finished a Ukrainian elementary school in Dedkovichi. There was no chance for him to continue his studies in the village and so he continued to learn by teaching himself. After my grandfather died Michael moved to Korosten. He passed the final exams for a higher secondary school and entered an accountant college. After finishing it he worked as an accountant at the mechanic plant. Michael was an atheist. He was married. His daughter Sophia was his only child. She was born around 1923. Michael died of some chronic disease in 1939. His wife passed away, too. Sophia lives in Lipetsk, Russia. I correspond with her.

Solomon joined the Communist Party after the Revolution. He finished a party course. He married a Jewish woman, who also studied in this party school and became a party official. They lived in Ovruch. Solomon was a party official throughout his life: he was a party leader at a plant and then became an instructor at the district party committee. At that time a party membership card was like a pass to hold any official post. Solomon had two sons and a daughter. His sons perished during World War II and his daughter moved to Israel in the 1970s. Solomon died in Ovruch in the 1960s. He was an atheist.

My mother's older sister Hana was married to a shochet. He lived in Korosten. His last name was Moroz. Of course, he was religious and so was Hana. After the wedding Hana moved to Korosten where her husband lived. They had a son, whose name I don't remember. He was a smart, young man and studied at Kiev University before World War II. His photograph was published in the newspaper called Communist honoring him for being the best student of the university. He spoke fluent German. When the war began he was summoned to the army and sent to a partisan unit. There was no more information from him. He perished. Hana and her husband grew old in Korosten. Her husband died in the 1960s. My parents lived in Lviv then. They took Hana to Lviv. She died there in 1974. She was buried in the town cemetery in Lviv. There was no Jewish funeral.

My parents met through matchmakers. They got married in 1925. I don't know if my parents had a Jewish wedding. After their wedding they moved to Korosten, which was an industrial town. It was easier to find a job there and this must have been an important factor for my parents to move. Besides, almost all my mother's relatives lived there already.

My parents bought an apartment in a one-storied house with three entrances in one of the central streets of Korosten. Every entrance led to an apartment, which consisted of one room and a kitchen. The house was owned by an older Jewish couple that lived in one apartment. The 2nd apartment was rented by the family of a dental mechanic - they were also Jews - and our family lived in the 3rd apartment. My father went to work as an accountant at a brick factory. My mother became a housewife after she got married.

Before World War II about 40,000 people lived in Korosten. It was an ancient town founded back in the 6th century. Many Jews lived in Korosten, just like in many other towns in Zhytomyr region. Jews lived in the center of the town, for the most part. There were only Jews in our street. There were a few plants in the town, as well as a china factory and a garment factory. There were big granite quarries on the outskirts of Korosten. On the other side of town was farmland with orchards and big vegetable fields. There were smaller gardens, in which the owners grew vegetables for their families, in the center of town. Farmers sold their products at the main market. There were so many sellers that they sold their products straight from their wagons lined up in front of the market. There were no scales back then. Vegetables and fruit were sold in buckets and milk in jars. Cottage cheese and butter were wrapped in cabbage leaves and sprinkled with water to keep them cool. There was a Jewish butcher store in the center of the market square. He sold kosher meat.

There were several synagogues in Korosten; I don't know how many for sure. There was a cheder, and a Jewish higher secondary school opened after 1917. It operated until 1941. During World War II it was closed.

Growing up

My older brother Abram was born in Korosten in 1926. He was named after his two grandfathers: his name began with an A - the first letter of his grandfather Abel's name and the first letter of his grandfather Avrum's name. I was born in Dedkovichi on 16th February 1929. My father was at work from early morning till late at night and my mother needed somebody to look after my brother Abram. Therefore, she went to Grandmother Elka to give birth to me. My grandmother helped her to take care of me and look after Abram. Both my brother and I were circumcised in accordance with Jewish traditions. My common name 9 is Semyon and my Jewish name is Shymon. When I was three months old my mother took us back to Korosten. My grandmother moved in with us shortly afterwards. My father built a room adjoining our part of the house for my grandmother. Uncle Yankel settled down there, too, after he divorced his wife.

My younger sister Tsylia was born in 1933. We all lived in one room with our parents. We had a stove to heat the apartment. The stove was stoked with wood that was much cheaper than coal. There are woods around Korosten. Wood makes for good construction material for houses and is used for heating. There were two stoves in our apartment: one in the kitchen and one in the room. There was a Russian stove 10 with a stove-bench in the kitchen. On cold winter days we, kids, loved to warm up on the bench. My grandmother liked sitting there, too, and my mother also cooked on the stove.

There were just a few pieces of furniture in our room. There was a wardrobe, a sideboard and a big table with chairs around it. There was a big nickel-plated bed next to the wall where our parents slept, and a plank bed where my brother and I slept. My sister slept in a pram. We didn't have money to afford any luxuries. My father had religious books. He kept them in a box in the attic. He only read when he had some spare time and that happened rarely. We didn't have any fiction books. We spoke Yiddish at home.

My mother took care of all the housekeeping, and my father and we, kids, tried to help her with anything we could do. My brother and I chopped wood and fetched water. We bought water for 1 kopeck per bucket from a vendor near our house. When my father went to work at the water supply trust he had water pipes installed to supply water to the house. That was quite an event! Nobody had water supplied to their homes then and our neighbors came to look at water running from a tap in our house. My mother was very hardworking and quick. We had a few fruit trees in the backyard and she also planted several berry bushes and vegetables. My father built a shed where we kept chickens, geese and a cow. My brother and I took the cow to the meadow and brought it back home in the evening. My mother even taught me how to milk the cow.

My brother went to kindergarten when he was five. It was customary to take children to kindergartens before they started school, for them to learn discipline and get along in a group of children. I was the next to go to the kindergarten and then it was Tsylia's turn. We studied Russian in the kindergarten.

My parents were religious. In the late 1920s the Soviet power began its struggle against religion 11. Many churches and synagogues were closed. Although the Church was separated from the state by constitution fierce anti-religious propaganda was carried out. Governmental employees weren't even allowed to attend religious institutions. They could lose their job or be expelled from the Party. My father didn't go to the synagogue, although it operated for some time. However, we celebrated Jewish holidays at home. We didn't follow all the rules on Sabbath, of course. My mother made food for two days on Friday. She baked challah, made gefilte fish and boiled a chicken. My older brother, and later I, brought a chicken to the shochet. When my father came home from work in the evening we celebrated Sabbath. My grandmother and Yankel joined us for the celebration. My mother said a prayer over the candles and lit them. Then the family sat down for dinner. My father blessed the food. Then he and Yankel had a shot of vodka and we all ate the food. However, my father and Yankel had to go to work the next day. Saturday was a working day until the 1970s.

My favorite holiday was Pesach. I enjoyed the preparations for the holiday. I looked forward to the day when we took special fancy crockery and utensils from the attic. I always helped with all chores in the house. Every year a family was chosen to make matzah in their house. Every now and then it happened to be our family. Other neighbors brought flour and joined the party of bakers. Women made the dough and Yankel usually took care of the oven. I was allowed to make little holes with a special little wheel. It took several days to make matzah for all families to last for the eight days of the holiday. There wasn't a breadcrumb to be left in the house during Pesach. Matzah was packed in white cloth bags placed near the stove to stay dry.

My brother and I took geese and chickens to the shochet before the holiday. My mother made strudels and cookies from matzah flour and added what was left after sieving to the chicken broth. There was always gefilte fish, chicken and geese stew on Pesach. We always looked forward to this holiday because of all these delicacies. My father conducted the seder on the first day of Pesach. I have dim memories about this seder. I remember that my father was sitting at the head of the table, which was covered with a white tablecloth. There were glasses of wine on the table and there was always one extra glass. My mother said it was for Elijah, the Prophet 12, who came to every Jewish home on Pesach to bless its tenants. My brother asked my father the traditional four questions [the mah nishtanah]. He didn't know Hebrew, but he learned those questions by heart. Then there was a prayer and we sang traditional songs.

I also remember Chanukkah. My mother lit another candle in the candle stand with eight candles every day. We, children, looked forward to this holiday because every visitor gave us some money. My father and mother's brothers and sisters visited us on Jewish holidays and on Sabbath. They all lived nearby. At Chanukkah they gave us 10-20 kopeck. It was a lot of money. An ice cream cost 5 kopeck and a lollypop 1 kopeck. We could only buy sweets when we got some money of our own. We were poor and those were rare occasions. I don't remember other celebrations. I believe, there were celebrations, but I only remember these two. We also celebrated birthdays at home, but we didn't celebrate any Soviet holidays at that time.

I remember the famine in Ukraine in 1932-33 13. Since our father worked in a governmental office he received food packages and the famine didn't have that big an impact on us. We also grew vegetables and kept livestock and our family didn't starve. I remember this: I was five years old and went to kindergarten. There were talks about children being kidnapped and eaten. I don't know if that really happened, but there was cannibalism during the time of the famine. My mother or father took me to kindergarten and brought me home in the evening; although I used to go there on my own before because this kindergarten was located in our street. I remember the feeling of fear.

I went to a Russian secondary school in 1936. My older brother also studied in this school. There were many Jewish children in our school and in my class, and there were also Jewish teachers. We didn't face any anti- Semitism. Jewish children weren't treated in a different way. I had Jewish and non-Jewish friends. I never focused on their nationality.

I liked mathematics from my first days at school. I liked that everything was so logical and clear. I was always the best pupil in mathematics. I also liked geography, botany and physical education. I became a pioneer in the 4th grade. It was quite a ceremony. We wore red ties around our necks. Then senior pupils greeted us and gave us books about pioneers. We were raised patriots at school. We had political classes and lectures about the international situation at school. We learned patriotic songs in our music classes. I still remember them. My favorite was 'If tomorrow is a war, if tomorrow we start on the march, if dark forces attack us, our Soviet people will stand as one for our great motherland ...'. We did believe that nobody would dare to attack our country since the USSR was invincible and the Soviet army was the strongest in the world. When the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 14 was signed in 1939 the common understanding was that Hitler was afraid of us.

My brother and I spent our summer vacations in a pioneer camp in the village of Ushomir [18 km from Korosten]. We were in the pinewood and there was a wonderful smell in the air. There was a pioneer unit and a pioneer tutor, who stayed in a hut. We had classes and attended clubs. After our afternoon nap we played or went to the woods.

During the time of the arrests in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] my uncle Chaim, the husband of my father's sister Khasia, was arrested. We sympathized with her, but we didn't discuss this subject at home. There was something else that made 1937 a memorable year for me: there was a prison in Korosten. The prisoners were brought there from Narodichi, Olevsk and Ovruch. My parents' friends were among them. Their relatives begged my parents to help them arrange a meeting or give them a parcel. I used to show them the way to the prison. There were many such people, but it never occurred to us that Stalin was to blame for what was happening. We thought there might have been a mistake, but that in general there was nothing wrong in the country.

During the war

I finished the 5th grade in June 1941. My brother and I were to go to the pioneer camp on 1st July. 22nd June 1941 was a Sunday and our father was planning to go fishing with us. There was a radio in our room. Usually, music and entertainment programs were broadcast on Sundays. However, that Sunday, at 12 o'clock, Molotov 15 spoke on the radio and we heard about the war. Then there was an announcement that we had to excavate shelters. My father dug a pit in our vegetable garden to serve as shelter for our family. All residents of Korosten made such pits.

On 23rd June my father received his call-up to the front from a registry office. He was told that he was to depart on 24th June. Then they let him go home to spend his last night with his family. At 6am on 24th June the radio announced an air raid. My parents woke us up to take us to the shelter in the pit, but we couldn't leave the house. There were three planes in the sky that dropped small cylinders. That was the last thing I saw. A bomb hit our house. I was sitting by the window and my sister was in her bed. We were all injured. Only my grandmother and Uncle Yankel were all right in their room. My mother had her jaw shattered and her cranial nerve injured. Even after her jaw healed she couldn't open her mouth for a long time and had to be fed with a pump. My father had his arms and head injured with splinters. My brother had his head injured with many splinters, my sister had a splinter in her knee, and I had my head and back injured. We were lucky that the Germans didn't drop firebombs. Later we found out that all our neighbors, except for the dental mechanic's three-year-old daughter, had been killed.

We were taken to hospital where we stayed for three weeks. We heard rumors about what was going on in town. Organizations were leaving, archives were removed and residents were in the process of evacuation. There were occasional minor air raids. Then my father's friend, who was the chief of the air and chemical defense, visited us in hospital. He told us that the Germans were advancing and that we had to evacuate immediately. He gave us his truck and we went to the railway station in Zhytomyr. We were still wearing cast bandages. My grandmother and Uncle Yankel refused to go with us. My grandmother said that she would more likely expect trouble from our government than from the Germans. Many old people didn't understand that fascists and Germans were two different things. They only began to understand this when it was already too late.

Before the war my father had borrowed a piglet to feed it for sale. The piglet was killed during an air raid and our neighbor fried the meat and put it in jars for us to take it with us. Nobody thought about the kashrut then. We just thought about how to survive. We didn't have any clothes or money with us. We were put into a freight train. We didn't know where we were going, but it wasn't that important to us. The train was bombed on our way to Kiev. During air raids the train stopped and passengers scattered around to hide. We stayed inside, due to our condition. From Kiev we moved on to Uman [250 km to the south of Kiev] and wanted to stay there, but the town authorities ordered us to move on, telling us that the Germans would be arriving in Uman in a short while. We went to Chkalov [today Orenburg] region. The train arrived at Platovka station [100 km from Orenburg, 2,500 km from Kiev]. From there people were taken to neighboring villages. We were taken to the village of Pokrovka, 20 kilometers from Platovka. The local residents met us with flowers at the railway station. They all invited us to stay in their houses. We were accommodated in the house of an old man. He had a big house, in which his family lived, and a wooden hut in the backyard. There was a big room and a kitchen. There were five of us and we came to stay in this house.

My father lived with us for two or three months. When his arm had healed he went to the army. However, his right arm never functioned properly again, and he was taken to a reserve maintenance military unit.

My grandmother and Uncle Yankel left Korosten a month after us, when they heard about the brutality of the fascists from refugees escaping from the West. They were in a much more difficult situation during evacuation than we. They went to Northern Caucasus where they stayed for some time. When the Germans began to approach the Caucasus they crossed the Caspian Sea on a ferry. They got our address at an evacuation agency and joined us in Orenburg. We corresponded with my father throughout this time.

The local residents in Pokrovka were very sympathetic with us. They tried to help with whatever they could. However, there was a constant flow of people coming into evacuation. The population of Pokrovka became 40 times bigger than it originally was. Life was getting very hard. There wasn't enough food, so it became very expensive. Some people had money or valuables with them, which they could sell to buy food at the market. The local population was poor. Gradually their warmth towards those in evacuation faded and they developed open hatred towards us. They blamed those that had come to the village for the change of the situation. Besides, anti-Semitism was demonstrated by other nationalities that were in evacuation and local residents learned promptly that Jews were to blame for everything negative. I heard the word 'zhyd' [kike] for the first time there. It wasn't said to me; it was said to someone else in the street.

My brother went to the 8th grade, I to the 6th, and my sister to the 1st grade of the only Russian secondary school in Pokrovka. There were numerous Jews in my class. Teachers and other pupils treated us nicely. I studied well and was particularly good at mathematics. My classmate's father, a local, offered me to work part-time at a food factory. I attended classes from 9am to 1pm and then I worked in the sausage shop of the factory. I operated a meat grinder, which was bigger than I. It was hard work. I received a piece of sausage for it. I returned home about midnight. I didn't have time to do my homework. I listened to what the teachers were saying in class, trying to remember as much as possible. I didn't have any problems with physics, mathematics or chemistry. Russian literature and language were more difficult subjects, and I did my homework at school during breaks.

We received bread coupons. Uncle Yankel went to work at the local bakery. The rest of our family received bread coupons for 300 grams of bread per day. Later this rate was gradually reduced. There were various additives in the bread making it sticky and heavy. 300 grams were no more than three slices of bread. We were constantly hungry. My father sent us his officer's certificate for 500 rubles per month. A loaf of bread cost 100 rubles. I cannot imagine how we survived. We had no clothes since we had left all our belongings at home. My mother worked at home, sewing tarpaulin gloves for soldiers at the front. She rented a sewing machine from the owner of the house in which we were staying. My mother was sickly and very weak and sometimes she couldn't work. I learned how to sew. Perhaps, my work wasn't always perfect, but they accepted it. Sewing a thumb was the most difficult process for me.

Later I discovered other methods of getting food. When I had some spare time I went to the butcher's section at the market where a butcher chopped frozen meat. There were little pieces scattered all around that I picked up and put into my small bag. It took me a few hours to fill the bag. My mother made soup from this meat. My brother and I also went to the fields to pick vegetable leftovers. In winter 1941 we heard that millet was left in a field, 10 kilometers from Pokrovka. My brother and I skied there to look for millet under the snow. On good days we collected 5-10 kilos of millet spikelets that we took to the mill for threshing. We boiled the grains later.

My grandmother died in Pokrovka in the winter of 1942. She was very weak and spent all her time on a bench by the stove. One morning, when I left for school, my grandmother waved her hand, saying goodbye to me as usual. When I came back from school my grandmother was dead. We buried her in the local cemetery. It wasn't a Jewish funeral. None of us observed any Jewish traditions in evacuation, not even my grandmother.

In 1943 we moved to Akbulak [about 400 km south of Orenburg, on the border with Kazakhstan]. Someone had told my mother that life was easier there. Uncle Yankel refused to go with us. Akbulak was a small town with pise- walled houses, located on the edge of a desert. There were sand roads and sand soil in town. There were deep, sweet water lakes near the town. The farm of a formation military unit was based in Akbulak. Regiments were formed for the front there and they needed food. The military farmed a plot of virgin land and grew cabbage, tomatoes and cucumbers. I went to work in an irrigation unit. We made small canals supplying water to the field via a pump. It was hard work. Damp soil stuck to the spade. I worked there throughout the summer. There were malaria mosquitoes. I fell ill with malaria. I had attacks of malaria almost every day. Medication didn't help. Once I fell into a deep, cold lake. I could hardly swim and it was quite an effort to get out of the water. It was a surprise that I never had malaria afterwards.

My brother finished higher secondary school during evacuation. I finished the 9th grade in June 1945. On 9th May 1945 [Victory Day] 16 we heard on the radio that Germany had capitulated and that the war was over. We went into the streets. People hugged and kissed each other. Some laughed and some cried. In the evening the military let off fireworks. An orchestra played in the main square. People danced and sang. It was time to think about life in peace. We weren't quite sure about what to do next. Our house in Korosten was ruined, but we missed home. So we left for Korosten in July 1945. Yankel was already there. He had settled down in an abandoned house. We moved in with him. My father demobilized from the army in the fall of 1945 and came home.

Post-war

My brother went to Kiev where he entered Kiev Food Industry College. I went to the 10th grade at school. My sister Tsylia also went to school. I was the best in class at mathematics. About 70% of my classmates were Jews. During the war almost all Jews from Korosten were in evacuation or at the front. About ten Jewish families stayed in Korosten and they were shot by the fascists.

We lived with my uncle for about a year. Then my father heard that the Polish population of Lviv was leaving for Poland and that vacant apartments were available. My parents and my younger sister left for Lviv and I stayed in Korosten to finish the 10th grade. My father became the chief accountant at the mechanic plant in Lviv. Polish families left their apartments and furniture. The apartments were rather cheap, but we had no money. My father received a two-bedroom apartment in the housing district for workers in Lviv. There was also a kitchen in this apartment. My brother finished his first year at college and got a transfer to the Faculty of Chemistry at Lviv Polytechnic University. My parents observed Jewish traditions and celebrated Jewish holidays in Lviv. My father couldn't go to the synagogue, though. He wasn't a party member, but he was chief accountant and couldn't openly demonstrate his religiosity. My mother baked matzah at home for Pesach, and my father conducted the first seder according to all laws. On Yom Kippur we fasted. My father celebrated Soviet holidays at work. We didn't celebrate them at home.

After finishing the 10th grade, five of my classmates and I decided to enter Leningrad Navy Academy. We were tempted by the beautiful uniforms that the cadets were wearing. We mailed our application forms via a military registry office and received invitation letters for entrance exams and free tickets to Leningrad. When we arrived we were given uniforms and got accommodation in the hostel. Before the exams we had to have a medical examination including X-ray. The doctors looked at my X-ray and told me to go in for a TB test the following day. They said I had a dark patch in my lungs. The test proved to be negative, but I was to spend a month in hospital. My friends passed their exams successfully, while I wasn't allowed to take mine.

When I heard that the doctors suspected that I had tuberculosis, I left the hospital and walked away from there. I knew it was a lethal disease. I didn't know whether I had years or months to live... They couldn't diagnose my condition in the hospital and sent me to be examined at the Military Medical Academy. There was an old professor who said that there was no dark patch in my lungs. He said it was only a shadow of a splinter in my back that got there at the beginning of the war. I was happy to hear that I had no tuberculosis, but I was upset that admission to the Navy Academy was over. They told me to come again next year.

I went back to Lviv. My brother talked me into entering Lviv Polytechnic University where he was studying. I passed all entrance exams within five days and was admitted to the Faculty of Geodesy. After finishing the first year of my studies I continued my studies at the Faculty of Food Industry.

I enjoyed studying at university and received a stipend for advanced students throughout my studies. I joined the Komsomol 17 when I was a 1st- year student. There were a few Jewish students in my group and there were Jewish lecturers at the university. Anti-Semitism was quite openly expressed after World War II, but I didn't face any personally. In 1948 the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 18 began. Actually, all 'cosmopolitans' happened to be of Jewish origin. Newspapers published lists of cosmopolitans and if there was a Russian pseudonym of an actor or writer there was always an original Jewish name written in brackets. I don't know whether any Jewish professors were fired from the university. All I can say is that nothing of this kind happened at our faculty.

I finished college in 1951 and got a mandatory job assignment 19 to work as a production engineer at a distillery in the small village of Hlyboka, about 20 kilometers from Chernovtsy. The plant was under construction then. The chief engineer of this plant had been arrested shortly before I arrived. The plant was ready for commission, but it couldn't be completed without a chief engineer. Therefore, I was appointed chief engineer. I received a room in the hostel of the distillery. I was reluctant to take the position and tried to explain to the management that I didn't have any relevant experience. They convinced me to take the job by promising that I would get all necessary support, but actually I got none. It took me a whole year to learn the specifics of the production process: I learned it from production engineers, workers and read manuals. The actual production process is very different from what one learns in college. This distillery became one of the best enterprises in the country. We incorporated a number of modifications and changed the production process. Engineers from all over the Soviet Union came to study at our enterprise. I was the chief engineer there for seven years.

I was in Hlyboka during the Doctors' Plot 20. I remember an article in a newspaper entitled 'Murderers in white robes'. Perhaps, there was some distrust with doctors, but I never had any problems in that regard. When Stalin died I felt great sorrow and so did many people in the USSR. We couldn't imagine life without Stalin. It was only after I heard the speech of Nikita Khrushchev 21 at the Twentieth Party Congress 22 that I understood how many crimes had been committed during this time. Somehow I believed what Khrushchev said at once.

My older brother Abram finished college in 1949. He became a chemical production engineer for non-organic substances. When in college he was seeing his group mate Lilia Medvedeva. Lilia was Russian and our parents didn't want them to get married. Abram and Lilia got job assignments in Salavat in Bashkiria. They got married there. My parents didn't know about this marriage until 1955, when their older daughter Irina was born. They had to resign because of this. My brother's second daughter, Olga, was born in 1957. My brother was chemical water purification manager at a refinery. He was exposed to hazardous substances which had an impact on his health condition. He moved to the town of Burshtyn in Ivano-Frankovsk region [480 km south-west of Kiev] with his family in 1973. One of the biggest power plants in the European part of the USSR was located in this town. My brother and his wife worked there until they retired. Their older daughter Irina is a production engineer. She works at the same plant. Olga is a teacher. She also lives in Burshtyn. Both sisters are married and have children. Olga's husband is deputy director of the power plant. My brother's wife died recently, in 2003. He lives in Burshtyn.

My father retired in 1962 at the age of 60. My parents could now openly celebrate Jewish holidays at home. They continued to live in Lviv for a few more years. When they got older their health condition required somebody to take care of them and they moved to Burshtyn. They exchanged their apartment in Lviv for an apartment close to Abram's. After they moved to Burshtyn my father began to go to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. My mother died in 1978 and my father died in 1982. They were buried in the Jewish section of the town cemetery in Burshtyn. There was no Jewish funeral though.

My younger sister Tsylia wanted to study at Lviv Business College but failed at the exams. She passed her exams to Kuibyshev Business College and was admitted. After finishing college my sister returned to Lviv where she met her future husband, Evgeni Rabinovich, a Jewish man, a professional military. He was a captain and served in a military unit in Lviv. They didn't have a Jewish wedding. Their son Yuri was born in 1959. Evgeni moved from one location to another and my sister and their son followed him. My sister couldn't find a job since she was always on the move. In 1984 Evgeni demobilized and they settled down in Kharkov. Evgeni worked as a guard in a design institute. He understood that there were hardly any perspectives for him or his son to have a better life here [in Ukraine] and they moved to Nurnberg, Germany, in 1994. My sister and her husband were pensioners. They received accommodation and a pension. Yuri is an engineer in a company. My sister died in Germany in 2002. I don't know if her family observed Jewish traditions in Germany. And, unfortunately, I don't know if Tsylia had a Jewish funeral either.

Married life

I got married in 1954. I met my wife on a train on the Chernovtsy-Lviv route when I was traveling to visit my parents in Lviv during vacation. There was this Jewish girl and I liked her at once. She was sitting beside me and we started a conversation. We exchanged contacts. Some time later I went to see her when I came to Chernovtsy on business. We went for a walk and to the cinema. I met her family. Then I began to travel to Chernovtsy on weekends. We were dating for nine months before we decided to get married.

My wife's name was Riva Brukental. She was born in 1932 in Lipkany. [It was in Romania then but in 1940 it became part of the USSR and presently it is in Moldova.] Riva's father, Leiba Brukental, was a cabinet-maker at a woodworking plant. Her mother, Sophia Brukental, was a housewife. Riva's parents were very religious. Riva was the youngest in the family. Her older brother, Victor, was born in 1925, and her sister, Etia, was born in 1928. Her family was in the ghetto in the town of Bar near Vinnitsa [72 km south- west of Vinnitsa, 273 km from Kiev] from 1941 to 1944. They had a very hard life in the ghetto, but they all survived. After the war Riva's family moved to Chernovtsy where they settled down in an abandoned house. They were very poor. After finishing school Riva tried to enter medical college twice, but failed. She finished the Chernovtsy Financial College and worked as an accountant.

Riva and I went to Lviv before our wedding. My parents were happy that I was marrying a Jewish girl. They liked Riva at once. We had our wedding in Chernovtsy. We had a civil ceremony and then a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah, traditional Jewish songs and dances at Riva's home. My parents came to the wedding from Lviv, and my brother and his wife came from Bashkiria. My mother's sister Hana and her husband also came. After the wedding we stayed in Chernovtsy for several days. Then we left for Hlyboka. We received another room and my wife went to work as an accountant at the distillery. Our only son, Victor, was born in 1956. My parents and Riva's parents came to the circumcision ritual. After the brit milah Riva's mother talked Riva into visiting them in Chernovtsy. I still feel sorry that I agreed to her going on this trip. On the way back to Hlyboka, Riva and our son got into a car accident. Riva only had minor injuries, but our son had a concussion, which resulted in epilepsy.

I got transferred to Uzhhorod in 1958. I was chief engineer of a distillery. Our family got two rooms near the plant. In 1961 the plant built a house with four apartments. We received one of these apartments, which consisted of two big rooms, a hallway and a kitchen. That's where I still live now. I quit my job at the plant in 1968 and began to work as a production engineer at the regional consumer association. I became chief engineer there in 1973. In 1988 I became chief engineer in the bakery factory where I was paid a higher salary. This was an important factor for the pension that I would receive later. I retired in 1989, but I wasn't used to sitting at home. My acquaintances offered me a job as a garage manager at the plant. I worked there for two years and then I changed jobs and became the maintenance manager at the communications equipment yard. I finally retired in 2002. I've never faced any anti-Semitism. I held managerial posts and I never heard any wicked or unkind word. Perhaps, I was just lucky in my life.

I wasn't a member of the Communist Party. When I worked in Hlyboka, the secretary of the party organization offered me to join the Party. He said that it was a must for a chief engineer. I submitted my application. At the meeting, where they were discussing my admission, the KGB manager, who was also a member of the bureau of the district party committee, said, 'I suggest that we abstain from admission'. That was it. Nobody ever offered any explanation to me. I never resubmitted my application. I just didn't need it. I had a successful career although I wasn't a party member. I was always invited to attend party review meetings. I've never regretted not being a party member.

My wife couldn't find a job. An acquaintance of mine, who was an instructor in the town party committee, helped her to get a job with a car maintenance company. She didn't keep this job for long. She fell ill with asthma and her doctor told her that gasoline vapor was too bad for her health. I talked with the industrial manager of the town party committee whom I had met at a review meeting. He helped Riva to get a job at the financial department of the party committee, and from there she went to work at the tax agency. She liked her job and improved her skills by attending various training courses. Riva was very honest when it came to performing her duties. Sometimes my acquaintances asked me to talk to her so that they would have their taxes reduced or penalties canceled, but I was afraid to even mention anything like that to her. She never did anything illegal.

Riva was raised religiously. She spoke Yiddish in her family. I didn't quite remember Yiddish and we spoke Russian at home and only switched to Yiddish when we didn't want our son to understand the subject of our discussion. We couldn't celebrate Jewish holidays at home due to my position. However, we celebrated Pesach. Riva's parents sent us matzah from Chernovtsy. Riva cooked traditional Jewish food. This was the only Jewish holiday that we always celebrated.

Most of our friends were Jews. We celebrated Soviet holidays and birthdays at home. My wife cooked and we bought good wine. When we were younger we used to sing, dance and tell funny stories at our parties. We spent our vacations together. We spent two weeks visiting Riva's and my parents, and we went to the Crimea or Transcarpathia for the remaining two weeks. My wife and I worked a lot. I always came home late. I was exhausted and almost immediately went to bed. I always rested on weekends. I got up later, read newspapers and magazines and we went to the cinema or theater in the evening.

My son had problems with his studies. This was mainly due to his injury. I understood that it wasn't because he was lazy and didn't force him to study. After finishing school Victor tried to enter a technical school, but failed at the exams. We decided to stop trying and he went to work as a laborer at a printing house. He got married in 1984. Victor's wife, Ludmila Teplitskaya, was a Jew. Her parents moved to Uzhhorod after World War II. Victor and Ludmila didn't have a Jewish wedding. My granddaughter, Natalia, was born in 1986. Unfortunately, my son's marriage failed. They divorced in 1990. Ludmila, her daughter and her parents moved to Israel in 1992. Ludmila died in Israel in 1998. Her parents and our granddaughter returned to Ukraine. They live in Melitopol in the Crimea. My son supports his daughter. Sometimes she spends her vacations with us. Natalia finished school last summer. Unfortunately, we cannot support her to continue her studies. I don't know what Natalia plans to do in the future. Victor is a storekeeper in Hesed now. I help him when he has to make food packages.

Many of our friends moved to Israel in the 1970s. We didn't consider this option since my wife and I both suffered from asthma and doctors didn't recommend such a dramatic change of climate. However, we sympathized with those that decided to move and were always happy to hear that they managed well in their new country.

My wife died in 2002. Her colleagues and friends came to the funeral. People liked her. We arranged a Jewish funeral and buried Riva in the Jewish cemetery in Uzhhorod. Two rabbis from Israel, who visited Hesed at the time, conducted the ritual. They came to the cemetery. Almost all people came to the funeral with flowers. Jews don't bring flowers to a funeral, but those people didn't know about it. It's been almost a year that I've been going to the synagogue to recite the Kaddish for my wife. I don't know Hebrew and get a copy of the prayer printed in Russian letters. I didn't go to the synagogue before my wife died. I didn't believe in such things and didn't like it. It's too late to change one's convictions. I cannot say that I have faith, but I do read the Kaddish. I have to do it for a year.

When perestroika 23 began in the late 1980s I felt no enthusiasm. I still believe that we had a better life before perestroika. I'm old and won't live to see the promised bright future - if it ever comes. Plants and factories were shut down, people lost their jobs and didn't have means to support their families. Therefore, I felt negative about perestroika from the very beginning. Of course, Gorbachev 24 gave a start for democracy. Why did they have to spoil it afterwards and destroy the country?

There has been one positive change since Ukraine became independent: the Jewish way of life has revived. In 1999 Hesed was founded in Uzhhorod and now Russians feel envious of Jews. Hesed takes care of old people. They deliver hot meals to our homes. We also receive food packages. We receive monthly allowances to buy medication. We get medical care and, in case we need medical aid, we can go to hospital and have free medical examinations there. However, I don't think this will last forever. America and Israel cannot provide assistance to us forever.

The attitude towards Jews has also changed. Jews are free to go to the synagogue now, which they couldn't do before perestroika. We celebrate Jewish holidays in the former synagogue that houses the Philharmonic now. There was a great celebration at Chanukkah. Ten cars with electric Chanukkah candles on the roofs drove across the town in the evening. It was very beautiful. This wasn't possible in the past. There are beautiful celebrations of Jewish holidays now and nobody forbids them. They attract young people, too, which is good.

Glossary