Travel

Ernest Galpert
Uzhgorod
Ukraine
Date of interview: April 2003 Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

Ernest Galpert is a tall slender man, quick in his movements. Although he will turn 80 in June one cannot call him an old man. He has a straight bearing and the figure of a young man. He has thick hair, bright and cheerful eyes and a nice smile. The name of Ernest is written in his official documents, but he is called Ari, affectionate for Archnut. His children and the rest of his family call him Ari-bacsi ['uncle' in Hungarian]. He speaks fluent Russian with a slight Hungarian accent. The Galpert couple is very hospitable and open. They have lived in this two- bedroom apartment for over 40 years. It's in a building built back in the 1920s during the rule of Czechoslovakia, in the old center of Uzhgorod. They have heavy old furniture in their apartment, and keep their apartment very clean. Ari's wife Tilda is a real keeper of the home hearth. Ari and his wife make a loving and caring couple. They are always together and Ari even joked that since his wife has joined a club in Hesed he will have to accompany her there. There's still a lot of love between them.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My paternal grandfather and grandmother Galpert lived in the village of Nizhniye Vorota [60 km from Uzhgorod], Volovets district in Subcarpathia 1. I knew my grandparents very well. My grandfather, Pinchas Galpert, was born in Nizhniye Vorota in the 1860s. My grandmother Laya was born in the 1870s. I don't know the place of her birth or her maiden name. I've never met any of their relatives. My grandfather finished a yeshivah. I don't know where it was located. Their children were born in Nizhniye Vorota. My grandfather and grandmother had eight children. My father, Eshye Galpert, born in 1896, his younger brother, Idl, and his sister whose name I don't remember, stayed with their parents. My father's sister moved to her husband when she got married. I don't remember her. The rest of my grandparents' children also left their parents' home when they grew up. One of my father's older brothers, whose name I don't remember, moved to Bogota, Columbia. His other brother Moishe Galpert lived in Michalovce, in Slovakia. My father's older sister emigrated to Switzerland. My father's brothers Yankel and Berl moved to Palestine in the 1920s after training in hakhsharah camps 2 before World War I. Those were training camps for young people where they prepared Jewish children for life in Palestine.

In the early 1900s my father's family moved to Mukachevo. My father actually grew up in Mukachevo. After moving to Mukachevo my grandfather went to work at the Jewish burial society [the Chevra Kaddisha]. My father's younger brother Idl was his assistant. Idl lived with his parents before he got married. My grandfather was a Hasid 3. I remember him when he was an old man. He had a gray beard and payes. On weekdays he wore a black suit and a big black hat, and on Saturday he wore a long black caftan and a yarmulka with 13 squirrel tails that Hasidim used to wear on Saturday and Jewish holidays. [Editor's note: The hat that Hasidim usually wore on holidays is called a streimel.] My grandmother was a housewife. She wore black gowns and a black kerchief. She was very nice and caring and loved her numerous grandchildren. My grandmother died at the age of 60, in 1937. Now, at the age of 80, I understand that she wasn't that old, but at the time when I knew her, she seemed very old to me. Perhaps, my grandmother got prematurely old missing her children that lived far away from their parents' home.

My father's family was very religious. It couldn't have been otherwise in a Hasidic family. My grandfather went to the synagogue every day and so did his sons after having their bar mitzvah. They observed Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home and spoke Yiddish. My father and then his younger brother Idl finished cheder and went to study in a yeshivah in the town of Nitra in Slovakia. This part of Slovakia belonged to Austria-Hungary then. My father told me a little about the yeshivah where he studied. There were mainly young men from poorer families who came to study in the yeshivah from other towns. Students from wealthier families had meals in restaurants, but those who couldn't afford it had meals in Jewish families. My father told me funny stories about such dinners. One day he came to one family and another day somebody else invited him. Some families treated my father arrogantly, some friendly, and others with respect. By the way, when I was a child, we also invited students from the yeshivah in Mukachevo to dinner. Every Tuesday Chaim, a poor Jewish student, dined with us, and mother always tried to cook something special and make Chaim feel at home.

During World War I my father was recruited to the Austro-Hungarian army [the so-called KuK army] 4. At that time religion played an important role in the army and in life in general. The military could go to the religious establishments of their confessions when time permitted it, of course. Jews went to the synagogue on Saturday and Christians could got to their church on Sunday. Occasionally local Jewish families invited Jewish soldiers to Sabbath or other Jewish holidays. In their military units they had an opportunity to have kosher food cooked for them. My father was captured by the Russians and taken to Tver region in Russia. He told me about his captivity. He spoke of the Russians kindly. The landlords took prisoners of war to work for them. They kept the prisoners in good conditions and provided good food for them. My father was working for a landlord when in 1917 the Russian Revolution 5 took place. Then there was the Civil War 6. When the war was over in 1918 the Bolsheviks released all prisoner of war captured by the tsarist army and my father returned home to Mukachevo. Shortly after he returned he married my mother.

My mother's father, Aron Kalush, died before I was born. The Jews of Subcarpathia came from Galicia, Western Ukraine, for the most part. Many people's surnames derived from the names of the towns or villages they came from. There were many Jews who had the last name of Debelzer or Bolechover, which were the names of towns in Galicia. I think that the last name of Galpert derived from the town of Galper. There's nobody else with the last name of Galpert in Ukraine, I've only heard of the last name of Galperin. I can only guess that when their ancestors moved to Austria-Hungary, their family name was changed in German or Hungarian manner. Grandfather Aron's family must have moved from the town of Kalush, but that's only my guess. I don't know the exact place of birth of my grandfather. He was born in the 1860s. He was a glasscutter.

My grandmother, Laya Kalush, was born in Subcarpathia in the 1870s, but I don't know her exact place of birth. I don't know her maiden name either. She was a housewife. My mother and her sisters and brothers were born in Mukachevo. My mother was the oldest in the family. She was born in 1894 and named Perl. The rest of the children were born after an interval of one to two years. My mother's sister Ghinda was the second child. The third was Yankel and the youngest in the family was Nuchim. My mother's family wasn't as religious as Hasidic families, but they went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays, the men prayed every day at home and they, of course, observed the kashrut. All children were raised Jewish. The family spoke Yiddish at home and Hungarian to their non-Jewish neighbors.

There was an epidemic of the so-called Spanish flu in Subcarpathia during World War I. Many people died of this flu in Mukachevo. To prevent the spread of this virus people's corpses were buried in pits filled with liquid chloride in the Jewish cemetery. They also buried people that were still alive if they believed them to be hopelessly ill. My mother's younger brother, Nuchim, died that way. My grandfather died from the flu and Nuchim was still alive when they took him to the cemetery in 1914.

After Grandfather Aron died and after the mourning was over, my grandmother remarried. Her second husband was a Jewish widower from Michalovce in Slovakia where my father's brother Moishe lived. All I know about my grandmother's second husband is that he was a shochet. I don't remember his name. My grandmother visited us several times for a few days. I remember that she was an old woman wearing a black dress and a black kerchief. My grandmother and her husband perished in 1941 during World War II. Jews from Slovakia were taken to Auschwitz. In 1939 the fascists [Germany] attacked Poland and built concentration camps there. There were only rumors that Jews were taken to Auschwitz from Slovakia. My parents knew that my grandmother and her husband were taken to a concentration camp, but they didn't share this knowledge with us. However, we, kids, understood that something bad had happened. My mother kept crying repeating, 'How is Mother? How is Mother?' In 1944, when the Jews from Subcarpathia were taken to Auschwitz, we didn't have any idea what was happening there. We thought it was an ordinary labor camp, although in labor camps inmates also died from diseases or starvation. Nobody knew that it was a death camp. My mother kept writing letters addressed to grandmother, but we never heard from her and my mother was deeply concerned. Finally she received a letter from my grandmother's neighbors. They wrote that my grandmother and her husband perished in Auschwitz.

I have dim memories about my mother's brother Yankel. He perished during World War II, but it happened before the Germans began to take Jews to concentration camps. My mother's sister Ghinda got married and moved to her husband's town, to Vynohradiv [80 km from Uzhgorod]. I remember her well since I often spent my vacations with her family. Ghinda's husband was a tailor and she was a housewife after she got married. They had six children. One daughter died in infancy. Ghinda's children were about my age. The name of Ghinda's older daughter was Surah. One of her daughters, my niece Olga, died in Israel recently and her second daughter Perl lives in Canada. Ghinda's sons Aron and Yankel were in a concentration camp. After liberation from the camp they moved to Israel. They lived in a kibbutz. Aron died in the late 1980s and as for Yankel, I've lost contact with him. Ghinda's other daughter, whose name I don't remember, lived in Budapest, Hungary. She died in the 1970s. Ghinda had diabetes. She died in 1940. Yankel, Ghinda and her family were religious. My mother was the only survivor of all her brothers and sisters when the Germans began to deport people to concentration camps.

I think my parents had a prearranged marriage since it was common practice with Jewish families to address matchmakers - shadkhanim, regarding this issue. My parents had a traditional Jewish wedding in 1919 when Subcarpathia belonged to Czechoslovakia. My mother told me how many geese were slaughtered and who their guests were, but I can't remember any details. I was a boy then and took no interest in such things. They had a chuppah at home in the yard and the rabbi from the synagogue that my father attended. The rabbi conducted a traditional wedding ceremony and then the newly-weds had to drop a plate and step on it with their feet to break it. Now they break a glass, but in the past it was a plate. When the plate broke the guests shouted 'Mazel Tov!' and sang wedding songs. Then they danced. The newly-weds danced the first dance and then there were mitzvah dances where guests took turns to dance with the bride. Every guest paid for the right to dance with the bride. The rich always demonstrated how much they were putting on a plate and the poor quickly dropped money so that nobody could tell how much they put down. That's what my mother told me.

After the wedding my parents' relatives helped them to buy a house. The Jews in Mukachevo lived in the center of the town. There was a Jewish neighborhood in Yidishgas ['Jewish Street' in Yiddish] and there were also Jewish houses in other neighborhoods. My future wife, Tilda Akerman, also lived in Yidishgas and we lived in the neighboring street where Jewish houses neighbored non-Jewish houses. There was no place for growing vegetables near the house. Land was expensive in the central part of the town. Farmers lived and grew their products on the outskirts of the town. My paternal grandparents lived near us on Danko Street.

My father had a small store in the biggest room in our house with an entrance from the front door. There were three rooms and a kitchen in the house. We entered the living quarters through the store. My father sold all common goods in his store. He worked in the store alone, there were no other employees. He opened the store early in the morning. In the early afternoon he closed it to go to the synagogue and when he returned he opened his store again to work until evening. Occasionally, even when the store was closed some customers asked my father to sell them what they needed and my father didn't refuse to serve them. He had Jewish and non- Jewish customers living in our street. We, children, also helped him in the store. My father earned enough for the family to make ends meet. We were neither rich nor poor. We didn't starve and could afford to support the poor on Thursday so that they could have a decent Sabbath. To help the poor was considered to be a holy duty, a mitzvah. On Thursday contributions for the needy were collected at the synagogue and my father always gave some money to the collectors.

There were three children in the family. My sister Olga was born in 1920. Her Jewish name was Friema. I was born on 20th June 1923. I had the name of Arnucht written in my Czechoslovak birth certificate. I was named after my maternal grandfather Aron. During the Hungarian rule [1939-1945] I was called Erno and during the Soviet rule [1945-1991] I became Ernest, but my close ones always called me Ari. My younger sister, Toby, was born in 1925. She is called Yona in Israel. Yiddish Toyb for Toby means 'dove' and dove is Yona in Hebrew.

Mukachevo was a Jewish town. It was even called 'little Jerusalem' and it was a center of Hasidism. Jews constituted over half of the population of Mukachevo. There were over 15,000 Jews in the town. There were five to six children in Jewish families. The Austro-Hungarian authorities were tolerant towards Jews. Jews enjoyed equal rights with others and when in 1918 Subcarpathia joined Czechoslovakia life became even better. The president of Czechoslovakia, Masaryk 7, and then Benes 8 allowed the Jews to hold official posts. Religion was appreciated at all times. On Saturday the Jews went to the synagogue. All stores and shops were closed. Their owners and craftsmen were Jews. Non-Jews got adjusted to this way of life. They knew very well they couldn't buy anything on Sabbath and did their shopping on Thursday and Friday.

Many Jews owned craft shops and factories. Trade was mainly a Jewish business. Jews also dealt in timber sales. They managed woodcutting shops from where they sent timber to wholesale storage facilities where customers could buy all they needed beginning from planks and beams for construction and ending with wood for heating. There were wealthy Jewish families, but the majority of them were poor, of course. There were Jewish craftsmen: tailors, shoemakers, carpenters and cabinetmakers. The barbers and hairdressers were also Jews. Most of the doctors and lawyers in Mukachevo were also Jewish. Non-Jews were mostly involved in farming and held official posts.

There was a specific profession that only women did. Every married Jewish woman wore a wig. The moment she stepped out of the chuppah she had her head shaved and put on a wig. [Editor' note: Ernest doesn't remember correctly, the custom is that the bride's head is shaved before going to the chuppah.] Therefore many women made wigs in Mukachevo. They sold their wigs in Subcarpathia and had orders from Czechoslovakia and Hungary. This profession required special skills and mothers began to train their daughters at an early age.

Many Jews lived on what the Jewish community paid them. What I mean is that they were working for the community. There were about 20 synagogues and prayer houses in Mukachevo. There was a rabbi and shammash in each synagogue. There were many cheders where melamedim and behelfers, their assistants, worked. Children went to cheder at the age of three and needed additional help. There were specialists in circumcision called mohels. Some were selling religious books and accessories for prayers or holidays.

There were two shochetim in Mukachevo. They worked in a building near the synagogue. The Jews mainly ate poultry: chicken and geese. They took their poultry to a shochet to have it slaughtered. The building where he worked was called shlobrik [Editor's note: Ernest explained that the word 'shlobrik' was a dialect word used in Mukachevo area. This word may have came from the merging of the Yiddish words, 'shekht' meaning 'slaughter', and 'rekht' meaning 'right'.] There was one big room where many Jews went on the eve of a holiday. They were standing in lines to the two shochetim. There were many hooks nailed in the counter from the side where the shochet was standing. The owners brought their chickens with their legs tied together. The shochet hung chickens with their heads down on the nails. He had to strictly observe all the rules. He had his knife in his mouth. To slaughter a chicken he instantly cut the poultry's throat. The chicken was still kicking and the blood was splashing around. The shochet took the chicken off the hook and gave it back to the owner. The blood was still flowing from the chicken. It was a terrible sight. Jewish families usually sent children to the shochet. We liked going to the shlobrik before holidays since there were many other children there and we could enjoy talking. Children sometimes brought somebody else's chicken home and mothers had the idea to tie the chicken's legs with colored shreds so that a kid could easily recognize which chicken was his.

In cheder children mainly studied religion. There was also a Jewish grammar school funded by the Zionists. The teachers at this school belonged to various Zionist organizations. Kugel was the last name of the director of this school. He was a handsome tall man. The children studied Ivrit spoken in present-day Israel. There were teachers from Palestine in the grammar school. The Hasidim weren't happy with this grammar school since it didn't focus on religious subjects. This building still exists. It houses the Trade College today.

There was a yeshivah, a Jewish higher educational institution, in Mukachevo. The chief rabbi at the yeshivah was the popular Hasidic rabbi Chaim Spira [Shapira] 9. Our Hesed in Uzhgorod is named after him: Hesed Spira. Spira was a very authoritative Hasid known all over the world. I remember him very well since my father and I went to get shirayem - leftovers. A rabbi traditionally invites Hasidim to dinner on Saturday. The rabbi hands them leftovers of the dishes he had tried. Saraim was supposed to bring blessings to a person. Hasidim grabbed every piece from the rabbi's hands. Sometimes they even fought to get them. I remember when at the age of about five I crawled on all fours to the rabbi's table to get shirayem. My father didn't visit the rabbi every Saturday, but I tried to attend every Saturday. On Saturday morning my father went to the synagogue. When he came home we sat down for dinner and I rushed to the rabbi's house to get to the eshraim on time. Once I got confused and instead of sitting at the table with the rabbi I sat at the table for the poor that couldn't afford a festive dinner on Sabbath. They had cholent, beans stewed with meat. I had a meal, but then one of the Hasidim asked my father rather maliciously whether he was poor to the extent of sending his son to have dinner for the poor provided by the rabbi. My father asked me if this was true and then explained the difference between shirayem and dinner for the poor to me.

There was some competition between two rabbis in Mukachevo. Besides rabbi Spira there was the Belzer rebbe, also a popular Hasidic rabbi. He built a synagogue in Mukachevo and the community members divided into the admirers and opponents between the two rabbis. The synagogues of Spira and Belze were close to each other. I cannot tell what it was like with adults, but we, boys, whose parents attended different synagogues, even threw stones at one another. There were conflicts between the rabbis' office and the Zionists, too. One of the reasons was the Jewish grammar school. The grammar school paid little attention to religious subjects. The rabbis were concerned about such abandonment. There were also differences in convictions. Hasidim didn't think it necessary to move to Palestine. They believed that the Messiah would come to lead all Jews to their ancestors' land of Palestine and that they had to wait for Him where they were, while the Zionists were helping people to move to Palestine. Rabbi Spira often made angry speeches against the Zionists and even cursed them.

There is a well-known Jewish curse: 'to erase one's name so that nobody remembers it'. This curse is said at Purim when they mention Haman's name. Every time the name of Haman is mentioned, everyone boos, hisses, stamps their feet and twirls their graggers. Children start their rattles, adults hit the table with their fists and stamp their feet to blot out Haman's name from history. There's the expression 'blot out' the name or the memory of particular individuals. Rabbi Spira often used this expression when speaking about the Zionists. Sometimes it led to scandalous situations. Occasionally students of grammar school threw eggs at rabbi Spira during his speeches. Now I understand that it was wrong, but it wasn't considered to be so at that time: the rabbi spoke against the Zionists and they acted against the rabbi.

There were numerous Zionist parties in Mukachevo. There was the Mizrachi, an Orthodox Zionist party. At the age of 13 I attended a club in the Mizrachi for a short time. There was a dance club where boys danced with girls. My parents were aware that I went there. I was too shy and my parents wanted me to socialize with other teenagers. My mother even made me a fancy shirt for dancing. I was too shy to dance with girls and gave up dancing. There were other Zionist parties. There was a Zionist party called Betar. I would call them fascists. Those Zionists believed that they could reach their goals with weapons and force. There was the Hashomer Hatzair 10. They were chauvinist Jews, but they were communists. It still exists in Israel, and also has the same name. They are Zionists and speak for the State of Israel, but they believe that this state must be communist, or at least socialist. All Zionist parties were more or less religious and were in opposition to one another. There was an active and interesting life in Mukachevo.

Rabbi Chaim Spira died in 1937. Hasidim from Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Romania and Poland came to his funeral. My father took me to his funeral although my mother protested. She was afraid that I might be treaded down by the crowd. I can remember very clearly the funeral of Spira. The whole town was in mourning. There were black cloths on the houses and people wore dark clothes. It looked as though it got dark all of a sudden. Non-Jewish residents also came to the funeral. There were police patrols in the streets and policemen were wearing special safety hats in case of trouble. People took turns to carry the casket from the house where Rabbi Spira lived, across the town and out of town to the Jewish cemetery. Every five to ten meters the casket was handed over to another group of men. There were so many of those that were willing to carry it that the casket could have been easily handed over all the distance between Mukachevo and Uzhgorod. Men were carrying it on their shoulders to pay honor to Rabbi Spira. People were crying. However young I was I remember this overwhelming grief. So many people came to the cemetery that there wasn't an inch of space left there.

My father, Eshye Galpert, was a Hasid and dressed according to the fashion. He wore a long black caftan and a black kippah, and a black hat and a streimel on holidays. He had a big beard and payes. My mother wore a wig and dark gowns. We only spoke Yiddish at home. We, children, spoke fluent Czech and studied in a Czech school, but our parents didn't speak any Czech since they were born in Austria-Hungary. The older generation and my parents, too, spoke Hungarian to their non-Jewish acquaintances.

Our father closed his store in the late afternoon and our neighbors knocked on our window if they needed something in the evening. Sometimes somebody felt ill and his relatives wanted to get a lemon for him at night. My father gave them what they needed through the window. He had to get up at night rather often since we had many neighbors. Most of them were poor Jews and my father didn't earn much from them. They used to buy 250 grams of sugar, or even 60 grams when they wanted to serve tea to unexpected guests. Sugar was expensive and very few customers could afford to buy a whole kilo of sugar. My father had his goods packed in packages for various customers. The shops were to be closed on state holidays and the authorities watched that this rule was strictly followed. Therefore, if my father had a customer on holidays he sent us, children, outside to look out for policemen nearby to avoid a penalty. On Sabbath and Jewish holidays the shop was closed and I cannot imagine what might have made my father sell goods on such days. Our non-Jewish neighbors knew very well there was no way to buy anything on holidays and did their shopping in advance. Twice a week my father rode his bicycle to buy goods for his store from wholesalers. He took back the smaller packages and had the bigger ones delivered to the store.

Growing up

My father had a nice voice and an ear for music. He sang in a choir when he studied in the yeshivah. Father liked singing and music. Uncle Idl had a gramophone. There was a handle to wind it up to listen to a record. Uncle Idl brought his gramophone when visiting us and then my father listened to music. However, he wanted to hear more. Hasidim weren't allowed to go to the cinema or theater. There were music films with Caruso, Mario Lanza and Chaliapin shown in the cinema theater in our town. [Editor's note: Mario Lanza (1921-1959): born Alfredo Arnold Cocozza, he adopted the stage name Mario Lanza in 1942, he sang opera in the movies; Enrico Caruso (1873- 1921): famous Italian opera singer; Fyodor Ivanovich Chaliapin (1873-1938): one of the greatest Russian singers.] My father went to the cinema and stood by the backdoor where nobody could see him listening to the music. What would other Hasidim have said if they had known about my father's likes! When a known chazzan came to town he performed in the main synagogue, my father and I were sure to go to listen to him. Although we lived at quite a distance from the main synagogue on Friday evening or Saturday we went there to listen to a chazzan. My father sang and was a chazzan of the synagogue that we attended each Sabbath and on Jewish holidays.

At the age of three I went to cheder. All boys went to cheder at the age of three. Classes started at 6.30am and my mother woke me up at 5.30 every day. It was especially hard in winter when it was still dark and cold when I had to go to cheder. The cheder where I studied was a small white-painted room in the house in the yard of the synagogue where the melamed lived. I don't know exactly how much parents paid for their children, but I don't think it was much. In winter each pupil had to bring a wooden log for the stove. The rabbi was very poor and we had to help his wife about the house: we cut and fetched wood. We studied until lunchtime then we had a one-hour break. We ran home to have a quick lunch and ran back to cheder. The rabbi allowed us to play. Most of us came from poor families that couldn't afford to buy their children toys. We played football with a ball that we made from stockings.

We studied the Hebrew alphabet in the 1st grade. In the 2nd grade, at the age of four, we knew the alef-beys and could read prayers. In the 3rd grade when we were five to six years old we studied the Torah. The language was the same as in prayers, only nekudes were added. A different rabbi was our teacher in each grade and they had special training for teaching in their grade. There was a bamboo stick used ever since we were in the 3rd grade. Every Thursday the rabbi examined our knowledge. If a pupil didn't demonstrate a good knowledge the rabbi said, 'Take down your pants'. The pupil had to go down on his knee and the rabbi hit him as many times as he believed the pupil deserved. Every Thursday morning I got up in the morning complaining to my mother about a headache asking her to let me stay at home. My father understood very well why I had a headache since he had studied at cheder in his day, too. My mother asked my father to let me stay at home since she believed I was a weak child. One time doctors suspected I had anemia and my mother felt sorry for me, but my father always insisted that I went to cheder. Well, frankly, when I returned home from cheder I never had a headache to go and play outside!

At the age of six I had to go to elementary school. Jewish children went to Czech elementary schools for boys and girls. We had to study at the elementary school and cheder at the same time. School started at 9 in the morning. I had breakfast and went to cheder at 6.30, as usual. We recited prayers and at 8.30 I went to elementary school. After classes I went home to have lunch and then went back to cheder where we had classes until evening. I returned home late in the evening and did my homework for school. However, the schoolteachers knew that we had a busy curriculum at cheder and didn't give us much to do at home.

When I was to start elementary school my father cut my payes. He didn't want me to be different from other children fearing that they might tease me. Senior boys at cheder had long payes and so did my father and grandfather and I wanted to be like them. I began to cry when he was cutting my payes, but my father said that while I was a child he was to decide on the length of my payes and when I grew up I could decide for myself. When I turned 14 or 15 I secretly cut my payes being shy to wear them. My father reminded me how I had cried when he had cut my payes. I wore a tzitzit. At school I hid it under my shirt, but I never took it off.

We were told different things at cheder and at school and I often got confused about it. Once I came home after a class in natural history with tears in my eyes. I said, 'Our rabbi told us that God made this world in six days, but our teachers at school tell us different. Who do I trust? Our rabbi or our teacher?' Though my father was a Hasid he was a kind and smart man and understood that this was a collapse of my understanding of this world and a catastrophe for me. He said the following, 'You listen to both. What the rabbi says you study for cheder and at school you say what your teacher requests. When you grow up you will find out what's right for yourself.' I had all excellent marks at school and had no problems at cheder. On Saturday I visited my grandfather and he checked what I had learnt at cheder during the week. If he was happy with what he heard he always gave me candy. My grandmother gave me candy unconditionally, though. I visited my grandparents after school sometimes.

Girls attended Beit Yakov schools where they learned to read and write in Hebrew. They had classes that lasted a couple of hours once a week. My sisters didn't attend it because they learned at home with our parents. My mother could read in Hebrew and my father could read and write. Actually, girls were not taught to write. They were supposed to be able to read prayers. They didn't know the language and didn't understand what they were reading. At cheder we were taught to read in Hebrew and translate into Yiddish while the girls didn't know it. However, some Hasidic families taught their daughters to read and translate, but there were only a few. There were prayer books in Hungarian translation.

We studied in elementary school for four years and then had to complete four years in the so-called middle school 11. After finishing this school we could go to a grammar school. My sisters and I finished a middle school.

We observed Sabbath and all Jewish holidays at home. On Friday morning my mother started cooking for Sabbath. She made food for two days since she couldn't do any work on Saturday. She bought challah for Sabbath at the Jewish bakery, and vegetables and dairies at the market. Before Sabbath my father and I went to the synagogue. When we returned my mother lit candles and prayed over them. Dinner was ready. After the common prayer my father said a broche, a blessing over the food, and we sat down to dinner. Then we sang zmires. On Saturday morning my parents went to the synagogue. My father took me with him. After the prayer we returned home and father sat down to read religious books. He often read aloud to my sisters and me. For my sisters to understand he translated from Hebrew into Yiddish. He told us about the history of the Jewish people and retold us stories from the Torah. Then we went to visit my grandparents.

During the month of Adar we prepared for Pesach. My father had many religious books: the complete Talmud, the Tannakh and many others. Once a year before Pesach we had to air the books. We took a ladder to the yard and put special plywood boards on it. Then we put all books on these boards and shuffled all pages. This was the start of the preparations for Pesach. There was a list of activities to be completed every day. My mother cleaned the kitchen and my sisters and I had to do the rooms. We had to remove all breadcrumbs and gave all bread leftovers to our non-Jewish neighbors. On the eve of Pesach we checked that everything had been done right. If we didn't believe that everything was as clean as it should be we did the ritual of bdikat chametz, a symbolic clean up. [Editor's note: This ritual was obligatorily performed before every Pesach.] On the evening before Pesach my mother put a few pieces of bread somewhere behind a wardrobe, under the table or on a shelf. My father checked the house with a candle in his hand to determine whether there was any chametz left. He also had a goose feather and a shovel in his hands. He swept the chametz that he found onto the shovel and continued his search of the house. My mother was supposed to remember the number of pieces she dropped. The chametz that my father found was wrapped into a piece of cloth and a wooden spoon was also put there for some reason. This package was placed where it could be seen to ensure there was no chametz left in the house. On the eve of Pesach all neighbors got together to burn their chametz. Everyone had chametz wrapped in a piece of cloth, a feather and a wooden spoon that they dropped into the fire. Then they prayed. It wasn't allowed to eat bread after that. It was allowed to eat potatoes, but no bread.

Then the kitchen utensils and crockery were replaced with fancy pieces. We only used kosher utensils and crockery at home. There were dishes for meat and dairy products and they were not to be mixed. We also had special utensils and crockery for Pesach. We packed our everyday crockery into a basket and took it to the attic or basement and took the special crockery down. It was stored in the attic and was thoroughly packed. First we took down our utensils. We, children, couldn't wait until our parents unwrapped the glasses. Traditionally every Jew was supposed to drink four glasses of wine during the first seder. There were bigger glasses for our parents and smaller ones for us, children. Everybody had his own glass. We grabbed and kissed this crockery so happy we were to have special crockery in the house! We had fancy glasses for Pesach. The biggest glass was for Elijah, the Prophet 12.

The table was covered with a white tablecloth on the seder. We were in a cheerful mood. There were napkins with quotations from the Torah embroidered on them. They were used to cover the matzah. There was a Jewish bakery in Mukachevo where matzah was made. Before baking matzah the bakery was to be cleaned of chametz, then a rabbi inspected it and gave his permission for baking. Each family ordered as much as it needed and when ready the matzah was delivered to homes in big wicker baskets. The bakery was open for a whole month. The Jewish community provided matzah to poor families, but there was very little of it and those people were always hungry at Pesach since they weren't allowed to eat bread that was their major food. A day before Pesach the most religious Hasidim went to the bakery to make their own matzah since they didn't trust the bakers. Shmire matzot was very expensive. [Editor's note: Matzah shemirah is matzah made from wheat, which has been under observation from the time of reaping or grinding] Everybody bought matzah at Pesach, but based on what they could afford people bought different sorts of matzah. My father wasn't fanatically religious and we bought ordinary matzah. Nowadays there are special appliances to make matzah, but in the past it was made by hand. First they made the dough, rolled it out and put it in the oven within 20 minutes. [Editor's note: In most communities today the whole process from kneading the dough to baking must not exceed 18 minutes.] If it took longer the dough was considered to be sour and was no good for matzah. There were special rollers for making holes into the dough. The dough was made from the wheat that Jews had grown. There were Jewish farmers that grew wheat for making matzah. The grain was milled at special mills owned by Jews. There was no non-Jewish hand to touch the matzah. We weren't a wealthy family and we, children, were always hungry at Pesach. We felt like chewing matzah from morning till night, but there wasn't enough of it.

My mother also made stocks of poultry fat during winter time. We bought geese bred by Jews, took them to the shochet and then flayed it with fat on the skin. Before the process the kitchen was to be cleaned thoroughly to remove any chametz. There wasn't a single breadcrumb to be left on the table, since the cooking of fat wasn't to be made when there was any chametz nearby. There was a special bowl for melting goose fat. Then the fat was stored in a container in the attic. Even the poorest families did their best to have goose fat in store for Pesach.

Ten days before Pesach my mother prepared beetroots for borsch [vegetables soup] in a big bowl. She peeled beetroots, put them in water and at Pesach the beetroots turned into beetroot kvass [a refreshing bread drink made with yeast]. In Subcarpathia they called this dish borsch. Before Pesach my mother sent me to the shochet with the chickens. She made chicken broth and noodles. I still cook noodles at Pesach. I make them myself. I add eggs, water and salt to starch and stir it. Then I fry little flat pancakes in goose fat, roll them and cut them thinly. It makes delicious noodles. My mother also made potato puddings to serve with meat. Pudding could be made from fresh or cooked potatoes. Of course, she also made matzah and egg pudding. My mother also cooked cholent: stewed meat, potatoes and beans. She cooked potatoes for the borsch, cut them into small cubes, added eggs and beetroot kvass. It could be served hot or cold to one's liking. My mother made cakes for each day of the holiday. We, kids, also liked pieces of matzah served with milk. I remember pieces of matzah in my light blue enameled bowl.

We were to drink wine at Pesach. However, my father couldn't drink wine due to his stomach acidity. My mother used to buy figs imported from Israel and made special liqueur for Pesach. She made it in a big jar a month before Pesach right after Purim and all this time nobody was allowed to touch it in order to keep it kosher.

On seder my mother lit the candles. Special prayers, different from the ones to be recited when lighting candles on Sabbath, were said. The men of the family went to pray in the synagogue at that time. When we returned home the table was already covered with a white tablecloth and there was food on it. There were candles lit and it gave a special feeling of holiday. Seder was a family holiday. The word 'seder' means 'order'. There's a strict procedure to be followed at the seder. Participants have to recline: the seats were equipped with cushions, so that the participants could lean on them while eating to imitate freemen and nobility. Only my father reclined on cushions. The master of the house wears white clothes called the kitel. It's only to be worn on the seder and to the synagogue on Yom Kippur [Editor's note: Men are also buried in it].

My father sat at the head of the table and we began the seder. The seder procedures are described in the Haggadah. At the beginning of the seder the younger son asks the four traditional questions [the mah nishtanah]: 'Why is this night different from all other nights? For on all other nights, we eat both bread and matzah, and on this night we eat only matzah? For all other holidays we drink one glass of wine and tonight we drink four glasses? For on all other nights we eat all other herbs; and on this night we eat only bitter herbs? For on all other nights, we eat sitting up or leaning, on this night we all eat leaning?' Since I was the only son I asked these questions that I learned in cheder. We translated this conversation into Yiddish for my sisters to understand it. After answering these questions our father continued, 'We were pharaoh's slaves in Egypt...' singing during the recitation. There were intervals when we were to drink wine. Then father listed all the plagues that God brought upon Egypt, the ten symbolic plagues called makkot in Hebrew. Each time my father named another plague we were to pour a drop of wine onto a saucer.

There was a very interesting part when my father broke the matzah into two pieces, wrapped a bigger piece in a napkin and put it under a cushion. This is called the afikoman that is to be eaten after dinner is over. [Editor' note: Actually it has to be eaten as the last pace, without it one cannot finish the dinner.] After my father put away the afikoman we continued the seder. One of the children was to steal the afikoman and father could only have it back for a ransom fee. Of course, my father only pretended that he didn't see the stealing of the afikoman and it was a ritual.

Once my older sister Olga stole the afikoman and I saw where she put it and stole it from her! I spoiled the holiday for the whole family since we both burst out crying. We were to receive ransom from my father, but who was to receive it? Olga was saying that she had stolen afikoman and I was showing the matzah expecting to get the ransom. My father gave ransom to both of us. I don't remember what Olga received, but I got a thick pocket prayer book. I valued it highly having received it for giving back the afikoman.

The biggest glass of wine in the center of the table was for Elijah. We opened the front door so that he could come into the house. Well, we were concerned about leaving the door open since there were non-Jewish neighbors living nearby, but it was quiet in Mukachevo: non-Jews respected Jewish customs and traditions and were used to them. We, kids, couldn't wait until Elijah came into the house and sipped his wine. We expected to see the wine stir in the glass. Sometimes one of us said, 'I can see it!' Then we sang songs. The following day we had a similar seder sitting at the table and having the ritual repeated as if it hadn't happened the day before. In Israel they observe Pesach for seven days and in the galut they added one day to make sure it was done correctly. [Editor's note: Ernest means that in Israel Pesach lasts only seven days with one seder night, whereas in the Diaspora, the holiday last eight days long and there are two seder nights one after the other.] Then came four chol hamoed days. They are weekdays, but they are still Pesach. It's allowed to work or smoke at chol hamoed. The last two days of Pesach also had strict rules. On the eighth day some families had little matzah balls, matzah kreygelakh, cooked of matzah, eggs and black pepper. This was delicious! In Hasidic families it was considered to be a violation of the rules since matzah for matzah kreygelakh was to be dipped into water and at Pesach matzah wasn't to be mixed with water. Even if a drop of water fell on the matzah it wasn't good enough to be eaten at Pesach since wet matzah got sour and became non-kosher. Nowadays we also make these matzah balls when the family gets together at Pesach.

All holidays were nice in their own way. On Rosh Hashanah, when the shofar was blown we went to the synagogue with the family. On this day my sisters went to the synagogue with mother. In some Hasidic families daughters attended the synagogue regularly, but we weren't that fanatically religious. My sisters were with our mother on the upper floor and I stayed with my father. When we returned home from the synagogue my mother put apples and honey on the table that symbolized a sweet New Year. We dipped the apples into honey and ate them.

On Yom Kippur my father and I prayed in the synagogue for the whole day. My mother also went to the synagogue. We had a big enough dinner the night before since we were supposed to fast the whole day. Before I had my bar mitzvah mother always cooked cookies or honey cake to eat before Yom Kippur. My father took it to the synagogue to treat me while he fasted according to the rules. After I had my bar mitzvah I had to fast as well. Yom Kippur was a hard day since it was to be spent in the synagogue. Each family brought one or two candles. They were big enough to burn for 24 hours. They were lit on the eve of Yom Kippur and were left burning until three stars appeared in the sky the following night. All these candles generated fumes at the synagogue and I can't imagine how people could pray in this stuffy air, but their religious spirits probably helped them. There was a festive dinner at the end of Yom Kippur. Jews usually went to the synagogue located nearest to their homes. We went to the small synagogue in Duchnovich Street. That's the ancient name of the street that has been preserved up until today. Looking at the building one knew at once that it was a synagogue. All architectural traditions were observed. It was well maintained. Each visitor had a special chair with a board for reading the Torah. These chairs were called shtenders [pulpit]. There was a very beautiful aron kodesh, in which the Torah scrolls were stored. According to the laws there was a separate section for women on the second floor. There was a mikveh in Yidishgas in Mukachevo.

There are four days between Yom Kippur and Sukkot to make and decorate the sukkah. After dinner the family went out into the yard to start making the sukkah. Children enjoyed this time much. Poorer Jews made a sukkah from what they had at hand. We had a pre-manufactured sukkah of small boards with hooks. We set it up in one evening. Wealthier families that built their own houses had a balcony with an opening roof consisting of two parts. They had a reel roofing for the sukkah and put reed on top. There were gypsies selling reeds in the town. Some people also had reed mats that they used to make the roofing of their sukkah. Sukkot is in the fall when it often rains. When it rained the sukkah leaked and it made eating inside impossible. More religious people managed to catch a moment to have a meal in their sukkah. It happened occasionally that when the rain was over there were still drops of water falling into the bowl of soup. Wealthier families just unfolded their permanent roof to hide from the rain.

Children enjoyed making decorations for the sukkah. We decorated it like a Christmas tree. We made decorations of color paper and competed in whose decorations were nicer. I was good at making decorations and taught other children to make decorations. Children's mothers and grandmothers came to look at decorations that they had never seen before. We had meals in the sukkah throughout all days of the holiday. We took a table out there, ate and prayed there as required.

Purim was a merry holiday. A day before this holiday the adults gave children rattles and whistles. Our rattles were made of wood and plywood. When the Scroll of Esther was read at the synagogue during Purim the name of Haman was often pronounced and all children in the synagogue did their best to make as much noise as they could. On Purim treats - shelakhmones - were taken to neighbors and acquaintances. Children took trays of sweets from one house to another. My sisters and I also ran around with trays. We also received treats and gifts of small coins. Most important were the Purimshpilen. Children or adults prepared a song, a poem, a dance or a short performance at Purim. When preparing we kept it a secret what we were to perform. Then we formed small groups of two to three boys or a boy and a girl to perform in wealthier families. We were given a few coins or treats for it. My sisters and I also took part in such performances. In one day we collected quite an amount of money. Adults also gave performances at Purim. One man whose name was Chaim disguised himself in women's clothes for a joke. He went out with a boy holding an umbrella for him in any weather, even when the sun was shining. The boy also carried a hat for donations. Chaim carried a violin. People shouted 'Here's Chaim coming!' rushing to the street to welcome him. There was a lot of joking during the meal on Purim.

Each holiday had its symbols. The symbol of Purim was the rattle. On Simchat Torah all children had little flags stuck in an apple. On Chanukkah children played with a spinning top [also called dreidel]. There were four letters, one on each side of the spinning top and each letter was the first letter of a word in Hebrew. The letters stood for the words: 'nes', 'gadol', 'haya, 'po', which means 'a great miracle was here''. Each letter had its price. We played for money since on Chanukkah it's the custom to give money as a gift. This was the only day of the year when Jews were allowed to gamble playing dominoes or cards, but we traditionally played with a spinning top. There's a story behind this custom. When the Romans invaded Judea they didn't allow the Jews to study the Torah and Jews had to do it in secret. Children got together to study the Torah, but when they saw a Roman they pretended to be playing with a spinning top. Since then children have played with spinning tops on Chanukkah. [Editor's note: The origins of this custom are slightly different. During the time of the Maccabees, Jews were imprisoned for studying the Torah. In prison these Jews would gather together to play dreidel. Under the guise of idling away their time, they would engage in Torah discussions.] We made spinning tops from wood. We cut the frame and letters and poured lead inside. We were taught how to make them in cheder. My mother lit one candle more in the chanukkiyah each day.

In 1935 Benes became president of Czechoslovakia. After he was elected he visited Mukachevo. There was a meeting in the yard of the military barracks. All the residents of Mukachevo came to the meeting. Our school was also there and the schoolchildren had flags to greet the president. Benes had the same policy regarding the protection of human rights of Jews that his predecessor Masaryk had.

I turned 13 in 1936. Reb Alter, our teacher of Gemara at cheder, which I attended every afternoon after grammar school, prepared me to bar mitzvah in advance. I had to hold a lecture based on a section from the Torah. I can't remember which section it was. This was called the droshe. I had my bar mitzvah on a Saturday. This was the first time I stood by the Torah in the synagogue and wore my tallit. I recited the prayer that one had to recite when called to the Torah. There was a dinner party in the evening to which our relatives, my father's friends and my friends were invited. I was to read the droshe to them. The guests sat at the table. I remember there was beer and yellow peas cooked with paprika. There were big bowls with peas on the table. The guests ate the peas with their hands and drank beer. I read the droshe and then an older Hasid began asking me questions that I could not answer. I burst into tears and left the room. From behind the door I heard other Hasidim telling him off for spoiling my party. It was very hard for me to return to the room. I cried a little more and then my parents and guests talked me into coming back into the room.

Grandfather Pinchas died in 1936. He was about 65 years old. He was buried according to Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery in Mukachevo. My grandmother sat shivah for him. After he died my father's younger brother, Idl, took over the Chevra Kaddisha. I don't remember my grandfather's funeral, but I remember when my grandmother died in 1937. Of course, the family was very sad when she died, but I thought it was natural for older people to die. My grandmother was on the floor in a room. Her body was covered with a black cloth. There was a candle burning by her head. There were women sitting around her with their shoes off. They were crying. My father's older brother, Berl, came to the funeral from Palestine. Berl was good at conducting ceremonies. My father told me that even when Berl was still very young he was invited to be master of ceremony at weddings, and, he could make people laugh! That time Berl came into the yard crying, 'Mama, Mama!' Then all those present started sobbing. I felt fear and probably this was the first time I realized that death was final. Grandmother Laya was buried near my grandfather in the Jewish cemetery in Mukachevo. My father recited the Kaddish over her grave and sat shivah.

A year after my grandmother died my father's brother Idl decided to get married. He consulted a shadkhan that found a girl from Khust [60 km from Uzhgorod] in Subcarpathia for him. Her father, Mr. Katz, was a wealthy Jew. Everybody called him 'Polish' for some reason. He probably did come from Poland. He had several daughters. Since Idl's father had died, my father, his older brother, had to take the responsibility of making all marriage arrangements. The negotiations took place at our home and we, kids, showed much interest in what was going on. We were ordered to stay in the kitchen, but we eavesdropped from behind the door. There were the girl's father, my father and the shadkhan. My father and Katz began to discuss the girl's dowry. My father told the girl's father about the important position his brother had at the Chevra Kaddisha and that he was a decent and God-fearing man. He sounded to be the best and most desirable fiancé ever. Mr. Katz said that his daughter was a real beauty. The shadkhan said that the girl didn't need any dowry since she was like gold herself. It was my understanding that neither my father nor Idl had seen the girl. They negotiated for a long time before they reached an agreement. They agreed that Mr. Katz would put the negotiated amount of money into a bank and give the confirmation documents to Mr. Rot, the respected owner of the stationery factory in Mukachevo. If there was a wedding Mr. Rot was to hand these documents to Idl, if not return them to Mr. Katz. Idl's wedding took place about three months after the negotiations. It was a traditional Jewish wedding. There was a chuppah at home. Our mother and all Jewish neighbors did the cooking. It was a joyful wedding.

I turned 15 in 1938 and had to go to work. I became an apprentice to a mechanic, the Jewish owner of an equipment repair and maintenance shop. I learned to fix bicycles, sewing machines, gramophones and prams. My training was to last for two years. I actually started work a year later, but my master didn't pay me a salary. I did repairs and he received all money. He only gave me small allowances.

In 1938 the Germans occupied Czechoslovakia and gave the former Hungarian territory including Subcarpathia back to Hungarians. [Editor's note: The Germans only occupied the Czech lands, Slovakia became an independent state but that part of it, which was mostly populated by Hungarians, was in fact ceded to Hungary in accordance with the first Vienna Decision of 1938.] There were different moods about this. The Hungarians were happy and the older Jews remembered that there had been no oppression of Jews during the Austro-Hungarian regime and were hoping for the better, while the younger Jewish population believed the Hungarians to be occupants and spoke Czech, which was their demonstration of protest against the occupants. In the course of time it became clear that this was a fascist Hungary and the authorities began to introduce anti-Jewish laws [anti-Jewish laws in Hungary] 13. The Jews were forbidden to own factories, stores or shops. They had to transfer their property to non-Jewish owners or they were to be expropriated by the state. Only very few rich Jews managed to buy out their property while the rest lost their licenses and any chance to provide for their families. My father lost his trade license. My master also lost the license for his shop. In 1940 his shop was closed. My father and I had to look for a job. We went to work at Mr. Rot's stationery factory, which was still operating at the time. I became a mechanic and my father was hired as a worker.

My older sister, Olga, was a success with her studies at school. She finished school with all excellent marks and wanted to go to a grammar school, but my father was against it. There were Jewish classes at the middle school and the school was closed on Saturday while in the grammar school children studied on Saturday. However, when my father lost his license Olga had to go to work. She needed good clothes that my father couldn't afford to buy for her. My father talked to Mr. Rot about hiring Olga to work in his office. My father explained to Mr. Rot that Olga wanted to go to grammar school, but that he didn't have the opportunity to support her. He also said that even from a religious point of view he thought it was wrong for a Jewish girl to go to school along with atheists. My father asked Mr. Rot to give her a chance to learn to work in his office so that later Mr. Rot could decide whether he needed her as an employee. Mr. Rot was religious and agreed with my father that it wasn't proper for a Jewish girl from a good family to study in grammar school. He took Olga to work in his office. His factory had business relationships with paper suppliers in Germany and Bohemia. Olga knew Czech and was responsible for Mr. Rot's correspondence. Mr. Rot also hired teachers of stenography and German that came to our home to teach her. Olga became a secretary. Mr. Rot dictated his letters in Yiddish or Hungarian and Olga translated them into German and Czech. She made good use of her knowledge later on in life.

We grew up less religious than our parents. I met with other workers that were communists and this had its impact on me. Of course, we didn't become atheists, but we were certainly not as close to religion as our parents. My mother was very upset about it while my father was more condescending and forgave me many things. When I was in my teens I didn't want to stay at the synagogue until the end of the prayers. When I was leaving the synagogue to go out with my friends my father only asked me to come home when he did to cause my mother no additional worries. Once my mother got angry with me for some reason and said, 'Well, you will get back to religion when you grow older'. We treated our parents with respect, but that time I lost my temper and replied, 'Only if I lose my mind'. I cannot forgive myself for it. I can imagine how my mother must have felt hearing this from me. I feel so sorry that I didn't ask her forgiveness.

At Mr. Rot's factory I met my future wife, Tilda Akerman. She was called Toby then. Tilda and I were the same age. She came from Mukachevo. She told me that we studied together at elementary school, but I ignored her. Tilda worked at the factory. There were other girls there, too. When something went wrong with the equipment they called me to fix the problem. That's how I met Tilda. We had Jewish friends. Tilda's friend Frieda and my friend Voita worked at the factory. Frieda and Voita were going to get married when World War II was over. Tilda and I also fell in love with one another. We met after work and went for a walk. Tilda visited me at home and I went to see her at her home, too. My parents liked her. If it hadn't been for the war we would have got married, but because of the war we didn't know what was going to happen to us.

Tilda was born to a religious Jewish family. Her father, Aizik Akerman, made and sold wine and her mother, Ghinda Akerman, nee Weiss, was a housewife. There were eight children in their family. Tilda was the seventh child. Her older sister, Margarita, finished the Commercial Academy in Mukachevo. She married her cousin Weiss. They both sympathized with the communists. Margarita's husband moved to the USSR in 1938 and she was planning to follow him, when Subcarpathia became a part of Hungary and Margarita got no chance to leave. She had a son named Alexandr. When Subcarpathia became Hungarian territory Margarita had to support her family. She worked as an attorney and translator and took on any work she could find. We don't have any information about what happened to her husband. Tilda's brother, David, was a winemaker just like his father. Philip and Serena, Tilda's other brother and sister, also finished the Commercial Academy.

Serena sympathized with the communists and took part in the publication of a communist newspaper. She married a communist called Borkanyuk, a deputy from the Communist Party of the Czech parliament. For her parents her marrying a non-Jewish man was a disgrace. Tilda's mother rejected her daughter. Serena's marriage stirred up a wave of indignation among the Jews in Mukachevo. This caused Tilda's father's death in the synagogue in 1937, when he was murdered by some lunatic that hit him with a log on his temple. It was because one of his daughters was married to a non-Jew. Tilda had to go to work and Serena and her husband moved to the USSR.

When the fascists came to power in Hungary Tilda's brother Philip moved to Poland and from there to England. During World War II Philip was in the Czech Corps on the Western front. After World War II he lived in Uzhgorod, where he died in 1987. His brother Aron worked at a glass shop. Hugo was also a worker. Tilda's younger brother, Shmil, studied at school. Except Margarita and Serena all other children in the family were religious.

During the war

In early 1941 my father was recruited to Hungarian forced labor in Velikiy Bereznyy district. The so-called Arpad line was under construction there. [The Arpad line was a military defense in the Eastern Carpathians, the construction of which was started in 1940.] This was a labor camp of a kind. Jews were not recruited to the Hungarian army, but they had to serve in work battalions constructing defense lines, barracks and doing other construction work at the front. They had no weapons and often perished during firing. My father worked in the forced labor until 1942 when he was released due to his age.

Jews were having a hard life, particularly when the war with the Soviet Union began in 1941. There were many restrictions. Jews received bread per coupons. The wealthier Jews could buy food at a market while the situation was hard for the poor Jews. In 1943 all Jews were ordered to wear round yellow pieces of cloth on their clothes that were replaced with stars, but at least the Hungarians didn't kill Jews and there were no pogroms.

In 1943 my sister married Nuchim Weingarten, a Jewish man from Mukachevo. Our parents arranged a Jewish wedding for Olga. They had a chuppah at the synagogue and the wedding ceremony was conducted by the rabbi. Olga's husband was recruited into a work battalion and from there he went to the front. We had no information about him at the time.

In April 1944 I was taken to forced labor to Hungary. Tilda and I didn't know what was ahead of us. We agreed that we would keep in touch through my father's sister, who lived in Switzerland. We learned her address by heart: Lugano, Bella Visari, 10. I worked in Budapest and then in other places. We dug trenches and constructed defense lines. We stayed in a big barrack with no heating and got little food that barely kept us alive. My friend Voita and cousin Aron, my mother's sister's son, were in the camp with me. We worked from 6am till it got dark. There was a lunch break in the afternoon. When we got to our barrack in the evening we fell asleep immediately. There were guards in the camp, but it wasn't as bad as a concentration camp in general. We could talk in Hungarian with the local residents that told us about what was happening.

In summer 1944 Jews from Hungarian towns and villages began to be taken to concentration camps. We were aware of it. We also knew that all our relatives living in Mukachevo were taken to a concentration camp, but we had no idea about gas chambers or the extermination of Jews in camps. There were cases when inmates of our camp died from hunger or a disease, but this wasn't a death camp. My cousin Aron heard from locomotive operators that drove trains to Auschwitz that this was a death camp, but we just couldn't believe that people could be taken to gas chambers. We just didn't believe it. Only after the war did we get to know what was happening in Auschwitz and that our relatives perished there and how they perished. Both my father and my mother were taken to the gas chambers right away.

When the Soviet troops came to Hungary in January 1945 we were transferred to the Germans. We were under Hungarian rule, but after the transfer to the Germans we were taken to a German concentration camp in Zachersdorf near the Austrian border. However, it was a work camp, too. We worked in groups of 100 inmates constructing defense lines and anti-tank trenches for the Germans. This was in March when the snow was melting and we worked in knee- deep slush. The soil was damp and we had to throw it onto the surface with spades. It was hard work, but fortunately, it only lasted about two months. There were only six survivors in our group of 100 people.

The Soviet troops came to Austria in late March 1945. I had typhoid and was delirious. There were two-tier plank beds in our barrack. I was on the lower tier. On my last working day we were digging a trench and the Germans were training young boys to shoot nearby. I remember an officer yelling, 'The Russians will be here soon. Just pull yourselves together!' We could hear the cannonade already. I lost track of what was going on around me or how long I was delirious. I remember when my cousin Aron sat on my plank bed and said that the camp was to be evacuated and that we had to escape since they were going to burn down the camp. I was in no condition to walk. I told him to leave me and move on when we heard someone shouting, 'The Russians are here!' These words sort of eliminated any signs of disease from me. The six of us crossed the front line. There were bullets whistling around. We were afraid of being killed by a German or Soviet bullet. Finally we bumped into Soviet communications operators that were laying a telephone cable. They were trying to show us to lie down using gestures, but we kept walking. One of us was wounded on his hand. We covered 16 kilometers. Now, recalling this time, I cannot imagine how we managed to get to Szombathely in Hungary [about 20 km from the Austrian border]. This town was liberated from the fascists.

We were taken to a Soviet camp for prisoners of war from Szombathely in late March 1945. Soviet troops sent all those that were behind the front line to camps for prisoners of war. We came from concentration camps and had no documents and we became prisoners along with the fascists that had tried to exterminate us. We didn't have any documents and they took us for Germans or Hungarian fascists. We wore dirty and torn clothes. All prisoners stayed in a field. There were fascists among us. It was raining and very cold. We didn't know Russian. There were guards with machine guns watching us. We tried to explain ourselves saying we were 'zide, which means 'Jew' in Czech, but it only got worse. The guard thought we were abusing Jews and started talking at us. The only words we understood were, 'I will shoot at you!'

The next morning we stood in lines and marched to the railway station. We arrived in Uzhgorod. Again we were ordered to stand in line and marched somewhere with a guard about every 20 meters from one another. We came to a very narrow street in the center of Uzhgorod. We decided to try to escape when we reached a gate leading to a yard. Be what may, we thought. When we were near the gate we began to run. The guards didn't follow us. We got to an abandoned house where we found some food. We stayed in this house two days. We were eager to go home. We didn't have any information about home. Aron, Voita and I managed to get to Mukachevo. We walked most of the way. Occasionally we got a ride on a horse-driven cart. Farmers gave us food on the way. When we came home there was nobody there.

We didn't know anything about the situation. We took some rest and then decided to go to the Soviet army. We wanted the fascists to pay their price for what they had done. We hoped to liberate our relatives. We went to a registry office to volunteer to the army. When officers there looked at us they said we needed to go to a hospital rather than to the army. I was as thin as a rake and my companions looked no better. The officer that talked to us refused to accept Voita, but Aron and I kept begging him to recruit us. We were sent to a training battalion in Poland. At that time the war was over. So I happened to serve in the army, but not at the front. Subcarpathia belonged to the Soviet Union and I was subject to mandatory military service. I served in Poland for about a year and then I was sent to Khmelnitskiy, Vinnitsa region, Ukraine. I demobilized in 1947.

Tilda and I were destined to meet. She returned to Mukachevo when I was at service. In 1944 Tilda and her family were sent to Auschwitz where younger Jews were sent to work and older Jews and children were exterminated. The Germans needed workforce. Tilda's family perished in Auschwitz. Her older sister Margarita and her son were also there. Margarita had the choice of not going with her son, but she decided to stay with him and they went to the gas chamber together. Tilda's parents and her younger brother, Shmil, also perished in the gas chamber. David and Hugo perished in forced labor and her brother Aron crossed the border of the USSR and perished in the Gulag 14. Tilda, her sister Serena, who was in the USSR during World War II, and her brother Philip were the only survivors in the family. Serena returned to Subcarpathia in 1945. Philip returned to Uzhgorod from England in 1946.

Tilda and her friend Frieda were sent to a work camp in the town of Reichenbach from Auschwitz. My sisters Olga and Toby were there, too. This camp was located near a military plant of radio equipment. The inmates of the camp assembled radio equipment. Tilda and my sisters were in this camp until they were liberated. My sisters told Tilda that my relatives had perished in Auschwitz. After they were liberated from the camp Tilda and her friend Frieda went to Mukachevo.

Post-war

My sisters didn't return home. Olga didn't have any information about her husband, who was recruited into the army three days after their wedding. Sometimes life offers incredible surprises: Olga met her husband on her way back to Mukachevo via Czechoslovakia. He was captured along with other guys from the work battalion near Oskol, a Ukrainian town. He was taken to a camp for prisoners of war and from there he was sent to the Gulag. At that time Subcarpathia still belonged to Czechoslovakia. When the Czechoslovak army was formed all Czech citizens kept in the Gulag were sent to the army. They were released from the Gulag to serve in the Czech army. Nuchim was recruited to the Czechoslovak army and went as far as Karlovy Vary [about 300 km from our house]. Then he demobilized. He had many awards of honor and received an apartment in gratitude for his service. He kept coming to the railway station every day to meet trains that brought people home from concentration camps hoping to meet someone that could tell him about Olga and our family. He met Olga at the railway station.

My sisters stayed in Czechoslovakia and some time later, in the 1950s, they moved to Israel. My younger sister Yona got married in Israel. Her husband's name was Stein. Olga worked as an accountant until she resigned. Her son Shuah was born in 1947. He deals in informatics and is professor of Tel Aviv University. Yona was a housewife after she got married. She has two daughters: Margalit, born in 1950, and Erit, born in 1953. Yona's daughters are married and have children. I don't remember their family names.

?ilda returned to Mukachevo. I corresponded with Voita. He told Tilda the address of my field mail. When I received a letter from Tilda I can't tell you how happy I was. I replied to her letter and we began to correspond. Tilda sent me her photograph in her next letter. She signed it on the backside, 'To my darling Ari'. I had this photograph with me and now I have it in our family album.

Tilda stayed in Uzhgorod with her sister Serena. She went to work. I demobilized in 1947 and came to Uzhgorod. Tilda worked at the town trade department. When we met I was wearing a faded soldier shirt and soldier boots. Tilda and Serena gave me their coupons to buy clothes since all goods were sold per coupons. I went to work as a mechanic in a small shop. We all lived in Serena's apartment. She shared her furniture and kitchen utensils with us. I didn't have a passport. I only had my military identity card. Tilda and I lived together without discussing the issue of marriage. Her sister was the only relative we had, so what kind of wedding could we be thinking of?

On 30th April 1948 Tilda and I decided to go for a walk. It was a lovely day. By that time I had obtained a passport. We went outside and then one of us said, 'Let's go to the registry office'. Things were simple at that time. There were no best friends or advance applications required. We went to the registry office, showed them our documents and the director of the registry office put down our names and issued us a marriage certificate. It was like any other ordinary day. I bought a bottle of champagne and chocolates and invited the director of the registry office to drink to our happiness. He gave us a few glasses and we opened the bottle of champagne. Then we were photographed in the photo shop in the same building as the registry office. We went outside and Tilda said she had to go to work since her colleagues were going to prepare for the celebrations on 1st May. My colleagues were also going to have a celebration and invited me to come. So we parted and each went to his work. This was our wedding day. Shortly afterwards my friend Voita and Tilda's friend Frieda also got married. They lived in Uzhgorod until the 1970s and we became lifetime friends.

I didn't face any anti-Semitism or prejudices towards me at work. On the contrary, my management began to promote me since I could speak Russian. I learned it in the army. Only few people could understand Russian in Subcarpathia at that time. Later children studied in Russian schools and learned Russian, but at that time I was one of the few that could speak Russian. My friend and I opened a small equipment repair shop. There were many Jewish employees in this shop. Its chairman was Mr. Tamper, a Jew. I earned good money since I was already a skilled mechanic. Once Tamper offered me to go to Kiev where I was to attend a course of training of quality assurance managers. I was the only employee who knew Russian. I talked with Tilda and we decided that it was good for me to go there. I stayed there for a month and finished this course with excellent results.

When I returned home it turned out that the chairman liquidated the shop where I was working. He had the intention of appointing me to the position of manager of the metal-ware shop. The manager's salary was much lower than what I had received previously, but I had no choice since the shop where I had worked was closed. This shop was converted into the Bolshevik Plant where I was the manager of a shop. I did my work well and began to implement modifications. I liked new developments and I also received bonuses for them that compensated my loss of salary. The management appreciated my performance and began to talk to me about going to study in a college. To enter a college I had to finish secondary school. Neither Tilda nor I had a secondary education. She and I decided to go to an extramural secondary school.

Our son Pyotr was born in 1951. His Jewish name was Pinchas after my paternal grandfather. Our second son, Yuri, was born in 1955 and has the Jewish name of Eshye after my father.

We hired a babysitter for Pyotr to be able to attend school. My wife and I studied in a Sunday school. We had classes the whole day on Sunday and had homework to do on weekdays. We finished this school and obtained secondary education certificates. Now we could continue our studies. I finished the extramural department of the Machine Building Faculty of Odessa Machine Building College and defended my diploma thesis with honors. The plant kept expanding. When I started work there were about 30 employees in my shop, but when I finished college there were already 80 employees. I became technical manager of the plant. I was content with this position. I wasn't a career-oriented man and was content with what I had.

When I was appointed as technical manager the management convinced me to join the Communist Party telling me that it would help me to make a career. Only members of the Party could have key positions in the former USSR. I obtained recommendations and was to be approved by the bureau of the town party committee. Everybody knew that I had the reputation of a skilled engineer and there were no objections to my membership in the Party.

My wife also joined the Communist Party. We had no idea about communism. We really didn't know what was happening in the USSR before the Great Patriotic War 15. Besides, this country did nothing evil to us. We were grateful for a good life and an opportunity to study and work. To join the Party we had to fill in application forms where we wrote that we had been in a concentration camp. Those that had lived in the USSR since 1917 concealed the fact of their imprisonment in concentration camps. There was a suspicious attitude toward those that were there. They might have even been asked 'If you were in a concentration camp, how come you didn't perish?' Tilda and I were also concerned about indicating this fact, but then we decided: if we are joining the Party we want to tell the truth and we shall write the truth about ourselves. Actually, nothing came out of it.

When I joined the Party the position of the chief engineer was established at the plant. I was appointed to it and worked in this position for 20 years. By the end of my employment there were already 800 employees at the plant. According to Soviet standards it wasn't a big enterprise, but for Uzhgorod the Bolshevik Plant was an enormous enterprise. We often received bonuses and lived well. I was awarded the 'Order of Honor' and a number of other 'metalware'. I was also awarded the badge 'Best performer in the socialist competition'. Besides performing my direct duties I kept developing innovative ideas. I developed a very interesting polishing machine for the furniture industry. It made the polishing process mechanic. Before it was a manual process. I received a patent and money award for this development.

I've never faced any anti-Semitism. My colleagues knew I was a Jew. Tilda and I always wrote in all forms that we were Jews and that our mother tongue was Yiddish and I was never ashamed of saying this. I have a Jewish soul. My colleagues treated me well. There were only a few Jewish employees at the plant. I spoke Yiddish to them. There were gypsies since the plant was located in an area with many gypsy residents. There were Hungarians, Slovaks and Ukrainians at the plant. I got along well with all of them. It's simple: you treat every individual with respect and he will try to justify your expectations of him.

Only once in my life did I face anti-Semitism. It was probably a minor incident. Besides, I got to know about it much later. Our director was transferred to a new plant under construction. I remained chief engineer and became acting director. I didn't intend to become the director since I was content with my position. When the new director came to the plant I helped and supported him introducing the state of things to him and he was grateful to me for that. Many years later my Jewish acquaintance told me that when the subject of appointing a new director was discussed at the bureau of the town party committee somebody said, 'Why looking for new director when we have Galpert?' and the secretary of the regional party committee, my good acquaintance, said, 'But he is a Jew'. That's the only case I know of when my Jewish identity interfered with my career. When I meet my former colleagues in the street they feel happy to see me and we kiss.

Tilda was doing well. She finished a nine-month party course. She was good at languages and picked up Russian promptly. She worked at the trade department of the town executive committee [Ispolkom] 16. She must have been doing well and was promoted to the position of assistant deputy chairman of the regional executive committee where she worked for many years. Tilda never concealed the fact that she was a Jew. Tilda also picked up Ukrainian since all documents were in Ukrainian. She became the manager of the protocol department, which is a rather high position. My name is mentioned in the Book of Subcarpathia as an individual that made a big contribution in the technical development of the town. So, we had no problems with the Soviet power, but we were concerned about what was happening around.

My wife and I didn't live under the Soviet rule for a long time - the area where we resided was annexed to the USSR in 1945 - and we didn't have a clear understanding of what was truly happening around us. We believed everything the Communist Party said. We belonged to the proletariat when we were young working for the owner of a factory. He exploited us. We truly believed that we were building a bright future and a nice international society where all people would be equal. This was a wonderful idea! We read books by Marx, Lenin and Stalin. We also read works by utopian socialists. It sounded beautiful what they wrote in those books. It was interesting and we lived believing it. When Stalin died in 1953 we were in grief. Of course, we saw that the reality was different from its description in books, but we thought it was due to the transition period and that the higher authorities weren't aware of the real status of things, but we had a feeling that something was wrong and that words were different from what they were doing. We lived through the campaign against cosmopolitans 17 in 1948. It didn't have any impact on us and we couldn't understand the situation. It seemed to be a falsification. Same with the Doctors' Plot 18 in January 1953, it was all lousy and was a preparation to strengthen anti-Semitism. We tried not go too deep into it. When Khrushchev 19 spoke about Stalin and about the Soviet system disclosing Stalin's crimes on Twentieth Party Congress 20, we understood what it was all about. We realized that we had to give up the idea of communism and socialism.

Since I was a party member and a manager I had to propagate to engineers at the plant. I was responsible for regular political classes with them. I can say one thing frankly: I never spoke my mind. I only said, 'Here is what Khrushchev says...', or 'This is what Brezhnev said ...'. I always referred to them since after the Twentieth Party Congress Tilda and I understood that the idea of communism was false. However, we remained party members until the last day in 1991, the breakup of the Soviet Union 21. Some time in the late 1980s I stopped conducting the political training of my colleagues and at that period my party membership was a mere formality.

Our sons were healthy and nice children. They are different: Pyotr is quiet, he never hurries and likes staying home, while Yuri is cheerful and sociable. He has many friends. Our sons went to the same kindergarten and school. They both had the same elementary school teacher. They studied in a Russian secondary school. Pyotr finished the school with honors. We didn't want him to continue his education in Ukraine fearing that he would face anti-Semitism. Ukraine was a part of the USSR. Anti-Semitism in Russia wasn't as strong as in Ukraine. He went to Leningrad where he passed successfully his entrance exams to the Optical Mechanical College. He studied there for five and a half years. He had his pre-diploma practical training at the military plant in Izhevsk and they sent wonderful references for his performance back to the college.

When it was time for the issuing of his mandatory job assignment 22 we had the chief engineer of the device manufacturing plant in Uzhgorod send a letter of request to the college in Leningrad, and Pyotr received a job assignment to this plant. He worked at this plant as a designer before perestroika 23. When perestroika began this plant was shut down like many other enterprises. Our son went to work for an Internet provider. He got married at the age of 38. He was a shy man. I believe I was the same when I was young. Now I'm different. He had friends, but he didn't meet with girls. He married his colleague. She was an electronic engineer, but later she studied accounting. She worked as a chief accountant. One of their friends moved to Germany and convinced our son to go there as well. Of course, we didn't want our children to live that far away from us, but we didn't try to talk them out of it. In Germany Pyotr finished a course in electronics. The Siemens company paid for his training and employed him after he finished his studies. His wife is an accountant. They are doing very well. They live in Frankfurt am Main. Unfortunately, they don't have children.

Our younger son went to take entrance exams to the same college in Leningrad where Pyotr studied after finishing school. Regretfully, he fell ill and couldn't take the exams. He was recruited to the army. He served in a military unit that dealt with radar units. Yuri was the assistant to an officer who worked with electronics. After demobilization he returned to Uzhgorod and went to work at a plant as a mechanic. He also entered the Electric Engineering Faculty of Lvov Polytechnic University and finished it. After finishing his studies Yuri became an engineer at the plant where he had worked as a mechanic before. He worked there until the plant was shut down during perestroika. Yuri and his friend opened a café. Yuri didn't quite like it, but he had to earn his living. He worked there for three years. When Hesed was organized in Uzhgorod its director invited Yuri to work. Yuri is regional director of the Hesed and is happy with this job. Yuri got married in 1974. Yuri lives with his family not far from here. We often visit them and they come to see us. Both of our sons have non-Jewish wives. They are happy with their family life and that is what matters to us.

Our only grandson Philip, Yuri's son, was born in 1975. When he finished school the Sochnut 24 offered him to study in Israel. He left in 1994. There were some problems at the beginning, though. Here they promised him that he would have free education, but it turned out to be a different story when he came there. He went to study cooking and after classes he worked as a cook in a restaurant at the Dead Sea. Then he was recruited into the army. After his service term was over Philip entered Wingeit College in Netanya. His specialty was sport medicine. Our grandson is a 5th- year student and is very happy with his life. We support and help him to finish his studies successfully. He likes his profession and we feel happy that he got the opportunity to study and travel. Last summer Philip came on a visit here. The Sochnut organizes summer camps in Subcarpathia and he has got an invitation for this summer. We hope to see our grandson this summer. He intends to settle in Israel.

I cannot say that my wife and I kept our religiosity after World War II. We didn't pray or go to the synagogue and it wasn't possible to follow the kashrut. I gave up religion after my family perished. I cannot believe in a God who allowed the mass extermination of Jews only because they were Jews. If this happened and God didn't prevent it this means that He either doesn't exist or isn't as powerful and just as I was told in my childhood. However, our children were aware that they were Jews. I told them the history of the Jewish people. On every holiday I told them about the history and traditions of this holiday. On Pesach I told them about how the Jews got to Egypt and how Moses saved them. I told them about all customs and traditions to be observed on Pesach and why Jews ate matzah on this holiday. We usually began our story with 'Today is Pesach. Here is how we observed it at home...' Tilda cooked traditional Jewish food. On Pesach Tilda had a barrel of beetroot kvass made. She made hamantashen on Purim and put honey and apples on the table on Rosh Hashanah.

I told my sons about my childhood and cheder, how my father and I went to the synagogue and about my bar mitzvah: everything that I've told you in this interview. I told them how I began to give up religion and how I became a worker. I also told them about how I hurt my mother and that I still feel guilty about it and that I can only ask her forgiveness in my thoughts since I never saw my mother again after the camp. Our sons got all their Jewish knowledge when they were children. I believed it was our duty to acquaint them with Jewish life and they would know how to use what they've received from us. I didn't tell my sons about the concentration camps when they were children. The memories were too hard for Tilda and me.

My wife and I had many friends. Most of them were Jews, but we also had non- Jewish friends. Tilda and I were happy to have gatherings with friends. We always celebrated birthdays in the family and Soviet holidays. I cannot say that we cared that much about the meaning of these holidays, but my wife and I appreciated any opportunity to invite friends and enjoy their company. There used to come so many guests that we had to keep the door between the rooms open and there was a table set across these two rooms. However little space there was we had lots of fun and enjoyed these gatherings. Most of our friends were older than us. We had older friends since only a few Jews of our age returned from the camps. So many of our friends are gone. There's nobody left. Just the two of us. Do you understand what that means? There were so many of us. We were great friends. When we go to the cemetery there's one buried here, another one there... It's scaring. I'm glad that the children of our friends who live in Uzhgorod keep in touch with us.

I spent all my free time with my family. On weekends we went for walks and hiking in the mountains. In summer we went hiking and in winter we went skiing in the mountains. We spent vacations at the seaside in the south. In the 1970s I received a plot of land and we began to build a dacha [cottage] and grow fruit trees and flowers. The dacha was our favorite pastime. My sons were helping me to build the house. My wife enjoyed gardening. Tilda and I often went to concerts and theaters. We also liked inviting friends to our home.

When there were mass departures of Jews to Israel in the 1970s my wife and I didn't consider emigration. We sympathized with our acquaintances and helped them with packing and other arrangements. Many of our friends and acquaintances left, our close friends Frieda and Voita also left. If we decided to move to Israel we would have had to start from zero. My Ivrit would have been sufficient for routinely communication, but not for work. We got used to our apartment and to our well set daily life. We have Jewish friends, but there are also non-Jewish friends. We are used to them and we would miss talking to them. We thought things over, talked with the children, 'Well, kids, shall we move there?' and if they had said, 'Let's go!' we would probably agree to move there, but our sons weren't that eager about moving and we stayed. Of course, we are getting older and our departure becomes less and less possible. I will be 80 soon and to start life anew is not for me.

We were enthusiastic about perestroika. We already saw that the Soviet system was no good. My sisters lived in Israel and I couldn't correspond [keep in touch with relatives abroad] 25 with them since my wife and I had key positions at our jobs and were members of the Party. In those years citizens weren't allowed to correspond with someone from a capitalist country. The wife of Philip, Tilda's brother, corresponded with her brother in Israel. We gave her letters for my sisters that she sent with her letters to her brother and he sent them to my sisters. My sisters sent their letters in the same manner. This procedure was very complicated and we only wrote letters to one another occasionally, but I was still concerned about this coming into the open. I might have lost my job, have been expelled from the Party and if worst came to worst I might have been taken to court, charged with espionage or whatever else and taken to prison. So, I knew about my sisters and they got information about me. This occasional correspondence was our only chance to exchange information.

During Soviet times if people moved to another country there was no hope of seeing them again, visiting them or inviting them to come on a visit. Perestroika gave us this opportunity. My wife and I traveled to Israel for the first time in 1988 when perestroika had just begun. We got together for a party and our first toasts during this party were to Gorbachev 26. It was like coming back to life! Tilda and I met with Voita, my friend who had been in the camps with me, and Frieda, my wife's friend, who had been in the concentration camp with her. Such friendship is more than blood relationship. We met them after such long time. We hugged and kissed. Of course, Israel made a great impression on me. The ancient and modern times intertwine wonderfully there. We've been to Israel several times since then. I like this wonderful country. I admire its people that created a paradise in the stone desert. I'm very happy that my grandson has become a part of this country. The rebirth of Jewish life in our country began during perestroika.

Three years ago Tilda and I visited Auschwitz with a group formed by Hesed in Khmelnitskiy. I was the 'rabbi' in this group and was to recite the Kaddish for the deceased in Auschwitz. I told this group about our life and what had happened to our families. We were the only participants of this group who were tied to the history of Auschwitz. The rest of the group had been in various ghettos in Ukraine. This was a very hard trip for us. During my recitation of the Kaddish Tilda was very concerned about me: my knees and hands were shaking and my voice was trembling. This was a horrific experience. Of course, I was trying to pull myself together. Our tour guide heard that I talked in Hungarian to Tilda. She decided that we were Hungarians and took us to the Hungarian room. There were names written in alphabetic order on the walls from ceiling to floors. I found the names of my father and Uncle Idl on the walls. I don't know how I lived through that moment. Their names were at the bottom and I bent when reading and fell. I couldn't get up. I fear to even recall this, but we must remember and tell the living to have this never happen again.

In 1983 I quit my position as chief engineer. It was hard for me to cope with so much work. My management asked me to stay, but I refused to continue as a chief engineer and they offered me to take over the position of a consultant because I had been at the plant since its construction. I knew everything about the plant. I worked there until 1991. In the same year a campaign of firing all pensioners began. The director of the plant suggested that we opened a small company on the basis of this plant and that I became its director. I invited all pensioner employees to this company. I worked at the company two more years, but I didn't like the job and resigned in 1994. My wife resigned at the age of 55. The management asked her to work longer claiming that they couldn't do without her. Tilda kept her position for five more years and then in 1983 she insisted that she wanted to quit. It was time for her to take a rest.

I have work to do now. Throughout all the years of the Soviet rule I was a Jew. I'm a Jew in my heart, I was raised a Jew and my Jewish relatives perished in the concentration camp. After I resigned the Jewish community in Uzhgorod invited me to become chairman of the board and responsible for the compliance with all Jewish laws - the Yiddishkeit. There are other Jews that have knowledge of these laws, but they are younger, and they don't remember as much as I do. Besides, I grew up in a Hasidic family. I used to teach adults and children. I told them what it was like in my home and how it should be in a Jewish home. It's easier now since there are Jewish schools where they teach such things and they read lectures for adults in the synagogues. There is Jewish mass media and books, but back in the 1990s the situation was different. I still give lectures. I get invitations, particularly on holidays to talk about traditions, prayers and some interpretations of Yiddishkeit since I studied it and can remember what it is about. Sometimes I read some additional information to strengthen my memories, but I mainly tell people what I lived through. I taught children and it pleases me to be of use to people. I'm a Jew and I believe that a Jew must be aware of why he is a Jew. It's up to a person to observe what they got to know, but if one believes in his Jewish identity one must have general knowledge of the Jewish history.

After I resigned my wife and I observed Jewish holidays at home. We have everything we need for this. We have a chanukkiyah and students of the Jewish school gave me a cloth for covering the matzah that they embroidered. When American rabbis visited our synagogue I was the only one who could speak Hebrew to them. They liked me so much that they gave me a tray with little holes used at the seder on Pesach and special glasses for the seder. They used to be made of silver when I was a child, but nowadays they make them of some stainless metal that looks very nice. I use them at the seder. When time comes I will give them to somebody.

Tilda and I and my son's family observe Jewish holidays at Hesed. I went on stage during the last Purim. Hesed arranged for a celebration at the town theater and asked me to perform. I thought to myself, 'Am I going to tell them the story of Haman and Esther when this story is commonly known!? I will offer them a surprise!' I unbuttoned my shirt, put on rubber boots with one trouser leg in a boot and another one over another boot, put on a cap and ran onto the stage. I joked and sang songs. I had asked the master of ceremony to drag me from the stage when I began to pretend I was drunk. So he knew that I was pretending, but the others believed I was really drunk. He was trying to grab me and I continued pretending saying that if a Jew was to get drunk on Purim then why did he want to remove me from the stage?' I was praised for my artistic talent since they told me everybody truly believed I was drunk. However, this was the only time I joked that way. An old person is like a child. I let them convince me to make people laugh. I also lit the chanukkiyah at the celebration of Chanukkah in the town theater.

My wife and I shall turn 80 this year, but we are trying not to give up. We go for a walk every day whatever the weather. We don't care about rain, snow or frost, but when it's windy it's worse. We walk six kilometers every day. We have a favorite route: we walk to a park out of the town. Tilda and I go to the swimming pool three times a week. We've gone there for 15 years. We are trying to stay in good shape. I don't know for how long we'll manage. My favorite pastime now is my computer. When I got it I was thinking of communicating with my grandson in Israel since phone calls are expensive. So I bought a computer for the sake of e-mail, but later I got very fond of it. I attend computer classes at Hesed. I get so nervous when I do something wrong, but when I learn something new I'm so happy. I've found the Jewish alphabet in the computer and now I can type in Ivrit. I enjoy it so much. Computer is my only hobby that my wife doesn't share with me. We are together in everything else. Regardless of what has been I 'm grateful to life that we have met and managed to live our life together.

Glossary

Michal Friedman
Warsaw
Poland
Interviewer: Anka Grupinska
Date of interview: January - April 2004

My parents
My grandparents
Growing up
Religious life in Kovel
Jewish history in Kovel
My school years
University
During the war
The liberation of Warsaw
My wife Teresa
Working as a translator and teaching Jewish languages
Glossary

My parents

I come from the town of Kovel, while my father was a native of Brest. He went to a Russian vocational school and became a master metalworker; he built, among other things, one of the largest and most beautiful railway stations in the Eastern borderlands [Polish name for the prewar Eastern provinces lost by Poland in 1945 for the sake of the Soviet Union]. In Kovel he met my mother, who was a very pretty woman. The fruits of their marriage were two girls and myself, the only boy.

Mom was five years younger than Father; both of them were born in the 1880s. My mother's given names were Sosze Henia, in her identity documents she was called Gienia, maiden name Bokser. My father's name was Aron Samuel Friedman. Mother was a milliner. She made dresses, especially sophisticated and elegant dresses; her work was Warsaw [top] quality and fashionable. Wealthier ladies used to come to her, among them the wife of a flourmill owner, the wife of an oil mill owner, and so on. Occasionally, she employed up to three assistants, while two were kept on a regular basis. Her workshop was in our apartment - we had three Singer machines. Mother had a more regular income than Father. She was an incredibly good woman. After Father's death in the mid-1930s, she worked to support the entire household. Mother had four sisters, but I don't remember their names, and one brother, Jidl, in America. Now and then they would send us a few dollars.

Father was an educated man for that time, since he had graduated from the local vocational school. He had worked on the construction of the railway station, and after the station was opened he started a metalwork shop in partnership with another Jew. They employed two apprentices. But they were getting fewer orders, and at the end of the 1920s Father went to work for Red Star Line, an English company. There was also another firm called White Star Line. Both companies were in the business of arranging transportation for emigrants to America. After World War I ended, there was immense emigration from the East [Polish name for the prewar Eastern provinces lost by Poland in 1945 for the sake of the Soviet Union] to the United States. Mostly Jews took advantage of it, but not only.

Father came back from World War I with a medal for valor. He had fought against the Germans, on the Russian side. In his political views he was at first a supporter of the so-called Territorialist party; this was a Jewish party that adopted in part the ideology of the Bund 1, but believed that the only option for the Jews was a territory of their own, not necessarily Palestine. Afterwards, I think that party ceased to exist and my father became a supporter of the Bund. My parents subscribed to Folkszeitung 2 and Moment 3, because my mother had Zionist views. I started to read Moment when I was seven.

There were three children in our family: Regina, Rywka, and I. I was born in 1913. Regina was two years older than I, and Rywka was ten years younger. [Rywka was born in 1923, and the elder sister in 1911.] Rywka was a fantastically gifted girl and I had a friendlier relationship with her than with my elder sister, with whom I had frequent quarrels. Regina and Rywka were killed in August 1942 in the Kovel ghetto. Mom too. Father was lucky, as he died several years before the war.

My grandparents

I know not a thing about my grandpa, my mother's father. I only found his long pipe in a drawer. And I bear his name: Mojsze Pinchos Bokser. But I am Michal; after all, I couldn't be called Mojsze Pinchos in the Soviet army, could I? On the other hand, I knew my grandma, my mom's mom, well. Grandma Chana Bokser emigrated along with my mother's brother, Jidl, to the United States, in 1923, I think. Grandma was also a native of Kovel. She lived a long life and died when she was quite old. We kept in touch with them. And it even went as far that when we had moved to Warsaw after the war, there once was a phone call from the United States. Someone asked for me. We had a maid who knew that contacts with abroad weren't allowed [under communism any contacts with the western world were suspicious and checked by the secret police agents]; she said that there was nobody of that name there. And we lost touch. So "Jidl was without his fidl" [Reference to a Yiddish song.] and later his last name was no longer Bokser but Baxter.

Grandma Chana kept a traditional home. The kashrut and all the holidays were observed there. I want to add something here that I have just remembered - I haven't thought about it for years. I liked my melamed very much, though he was generally a bore. But on Friday mornings he told us midrashes. That took place in a shtibl [Yiddish, for a small prayer house] for some sort of craftsmen: Jews would sit there and study the Talmud and midrashes. I would just sit down to listen at first, but later I would explain holy texts to them myself. I remember that the name of one of those men was Szpak. He had a license to transport cargo by rail; he was allowed to load different packages onto railroad cars. The Jews who sat there would say 'What a boy, what a story-teller!' But Szpak would say: 'why be surprised? After all, the tzaddik from Chernobyl himself danced at the wedding of his grandma Chana.' And after the midrashes, the melamed would take us to the river to teach us to swim since parents are commanded to educate their children and to teach them to swim.

My grandpa on my father's side was from Brest. I didn't have any contact with my family in Brest. Grandma on my father's side was already dead; I don't even remember her name. I had a cousin who left for Palestine before the war. In Kovel he was a Betar 4 supporter and later played an important role in the revolt against the English [he was a member of the revisionist underground in Palestine of the 1920s.] He belonged to the group led by Begin 5 and Sztern 6, spent time in jail. He was from my father's side of the family. He had an unusual last name - Jundow. Janusz and his brother Matys were the sons of my father's sister, whose name I don't know either.

I had another cousin too, the daughter of my father's sister Irena Rajnberg, nee Friedman. She married a lawyer who was well known before the war; Rajnberg was his name. He was assaulted by ONR 7 members on several occasions. She survived as an Aryan. She got caught in a roundup, put in jail and then someone denounced her as a Jewess. She was even checked by an anthropologist, if she conformed to Aryan standards, and it turned out that she was 100 percent Aryan. After the war she went to Israel. Irena died in Israel.

Growing up

We lived in the center of Kovel in a rented apartment, in three rooms on Warszawska Street. Eppelbaum was the owner of a lot of apartment houses. And we rented from him a three-bedroom apartment in a wooden, one-story house. There was another family living in that house, and for a while, the municipal library was also located there.

We had a separate entrance to the raised first floor. Our apartment had a glassed-in verandah, which in summertime was very often used as a room where we had our meals and received guests. One room was used for my mother's workshop. There were beds in all the rooms. The bedroom was furnished in a traditional style: a double bed, a wardrobe, a glassed-in cupboard, and a bookshelf for my ever-growing book collection. All of us read a lot, my sisters included. My reading very often prevented others from sleeping, so my mom would stop me, because she was very fatigued.

There was this large hall, where a water barrel was kept, for only some, very few homes had running water at the time. And the toilet was in the courtyard. For the conditions of the time we were not that poor. Mother earned good money, and even when my father didn't work, we always had a maid in the house.

In the kitchen there was a stove plate, with a stove, in which on Thursdays bread was baked for Saturdays, challah and pancakes made from wheat flour, sprinkled with poppy-seed and bits of onion, and called 'cebulaki'. 'Kuchen' was sometimes prepared for holidays, a sort of large yeast cake studded with raisins. On Saturdays we had tsimes made from carrots, which was made in this large saucepan. We had cholent very frequently; we would take the pot to the bakery on Friday and pick it up on Saturday. It was taken to the bakery because nobody cooked on Fridays; the bakery wasn't open either, but the stove at the bakery retained its warmth. In cholent there was beef, kishke, potatoes roasted brown, and often also large [butter] beans. I remember a joke: What's cholent? - You put it in on Friday and take it out on Saturday.

Later, sometime in the 1930s, we moved to a place that belonged to another rich man, to the Bokser family. We were distantly related. We rented three rooms, also in the center, on Pilsudski Street, which was an extension of Warszawska Street. It was a sort of promenade with benches. The Boksers had a large construction materials business. One of their sons was a friend of mine and he and I went away together to university in France in 1930. He graduated in commerce and didn't go back to Kovel but went directly to Palestine.

Religious life in Kovel

Holidays were very important in our little town. Everyone celebrated them. For Passover, the house was cleaned from top to bottom, every nook and cranny; all the dishes were koshered in hot water in the courtyard. People delivered flour to the bakery where matzot were made. Those were little round loaves, not the rectangles of today. The Jewish community allocated flour and matzah to poor families. There were charitable institutions that distributed matzah, raised money for dowries for dowry-less girls so that they wouldn't get left until their braids turned gray, as the Yiddish saying went. Raisin wine was prepared for holidays. Back then we considered that wine heavenly.

The table was covered with a white tablecloth. On the table there were three matzot covered with a napkin. A piece of matzah would be broken off and hidden so that the children could look for it. That is called afikoman. During the reading of the Haggadah four goblets had to be raised. Plus one special goblet, carved for the prophet Elijah. The door was opened at a specified time for Elijah to come in. When I was a small kid, I believed that Elijah would come, of course. We celebrate the Passover to remember that we were once slaves in a foreign land. That's why we open the door to let in Elijah or anyone else who is hungry and thirsty. The youngest children then ask four traditional questions; once upon a time it used to be said about a fool: he is a philosopher of the four questions.

So the Passover holiday was celebrated very solemnly; it was related to the beginning of spring. Parents were under obligation to give their children new clothes or something else new. When boys and girls came together in the courtyard they would all seem so new. Greeting each other, the ones wearing new clothes would say 'titchadesh', which means: May you renew yourself. One of the traditional customs was the walnut game. That game resembled the tipcat: some walnuts were first tossed on the ground, and then you had to hit them with another walnut. And whoever managed to hit the larger heap took them all. Just like during Chanukkah you play with the dreidel, the spinner, the top.

Later, after father's death, those holidays didn't have the same character. I would come home for a few days; I had my own friends and we would go on walks or meet at a club that the Jewish intelligentsia used to go to. That club was an interesting place. We had various sections: for mandolin players, a sports section, a chess section; there was a ping-pong table, too. Danziger, the flourmill owner, financed the club. We talked mostly in Yiddish, while Polish had largely eradicated the Russian language.

I remember that for Sukkot the sukkot were made from broken doors, wooden railings, there was a sukkah next to each house. Shavuot was a very colorful holiday in our town. Not far from the town there was a lake where sweet flag grew. The path leading to the house would be sprinkled with white sand and the entire house decorated with sweet flag. Most houses looked as if they were growing in the jungle. That custom began to fade in the thirties. Young people, more and more secular, began to depart from the tradition. There were a lot of students in our town. The two gymnasia [general secondary schools] produced 45 graduates each year.

Chanukkah was a social holiday. My girlfriends and boyfriends - sometimes twenty, sometimes thirty people - would come to our house. Mom and my younger and elder sisters would make potato pancakes. And of course candles were lit and placed on the windowsills.

I remember that at Purim - at the time I was a first grader in the Tarbut 8 gymnasium we collected money for Keren Kayemet Leisrael 9. We would dress up as Achasuerus, Esther, etc., and in groups of five went from house to house. That could have been 1925. We acted out the entire story. There was Ahasuerus, Haman who comes with accusations against the Jews, then Mordecai who goes to the King and explains everything, and in the end Ahasuerus kills him with a saber. We put the money given to us into a collection-box for Palestine.

In our town tradition was kept up even by the few assimilated. On Yom Kippur there wasn't one case of anyone failing to come to the synagogue. On the other hand, in all the homes I knew, it was mostly the women that kept kosher. Because the communists, for instance, flaunted the fact that they didn't observe tradition. Kovel was a Jewish town whose outskirts, where the Ukrainians and Poles lived, formed a separate town. The river Turia flowed through the town. Kovel was divided into three quarters. On one side of the river there was the Old Town, called Zand [in Yiddish], or Sand, as it had been built on sandy ground. In the new part, on the other bank of the Turia, there was Kovel where the Poles lived, most of whom were employees of a railroad company, Depo; they repaired railroad cars and engines. That was a separate town. There were fewer Ukrainians than Poles there. Their farms began just behind the main street. Those three worlds lived side by side.

Kovel was the largest railway hub in the East and the direct rail connection Warsaw - Kovel was faster than today. The trip took less than five hours, and trains ran so precisely on time that you could set your watch by them. They were clean and there were three classes of cars, the first class being the most expensive. They even used to say: Why do Jews travel third class? Because there is no fourth class. Fares were not so expensive. The third class had wooden benches, while in the first and second they were upholstered. There were compartments in the cars, and there was a restaurant car on fast trains, but I used to travel by slow train when I lived in Warsaw. I would always come home from Warsaw for Passover, Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur.

Jewish history in Kovel

That small county town was something more than a shtetl. It was a bastion of the Jewish Hebrew-speaking intelligentsia. The older people still spoke Russian, but the new generation had already adopted the Polish language. The Jewish population in my town wasn't rich. There were a few rich men. One of them was called Armarnik. He had a flourmill. There was Danziger, and then there was Cuperfein, the owner of an oil mill. Sztern was a very stingy man. When a delegation from the community would come to him to ask for a contribution toward the dowry of a gifted but poor girl, he, that is Sztern, used to say: 'I like the idea; the girl ought to be helped.' Then he would turn to his wife: 'Genia, give me my coat, I'm going out with them to collect donations.'

There were two large synagogues in our town. In addition to the so-called shtiblech, or prayer houses, which belonged to specific trades. Porters, painters, and shoemakers - they all had their prayer houses on the streets where they lived. In Zand there was a large, beautiful synagogue, a bit in a fortified style. The best Jewish cantors used to perform there on holidays: Kusowicki, Rozenblatt etc. There was also a choir, which several of my classmates were members of. And there was one more synagogue in the town, a private synagogue, built by a local rich man, Eppelbaum. He lived in what is called a sinful union with a Ukrainian woman; I remember that the town always held it against him. The story was that he had built the synagogue in order to wipe out that sin in the next life. We used to go there to pray on the important holidays: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, during the three pilgrim holidays and on the Days of Awe [Yamim Noraim]. That synagogue has remained in my memory as a tragic place. I will talk about that later.

One Kovel family was descendants of the Maggid of Turzysk 10 and the Turzysk Hasidim 11. Turzysk, near Kovel, is on the Turia River, five kilometers from my town. Thus, a descendant of that family had a Hasidic court on a small island in the Turia River in Kovel. Hasidim came to see him on the important holidays. I remember that we, the boys who, as they say, had already strayed a bit from religion, used to paddle up there in our canoes and play silly pranks on the Hasidim celebrating around the tables. For example, we would set a cat or a dog loose on them, and they screamed terribly because they were afraid of an unclean animal. I remember such silly pranks.

There was a Jewish hospital in Kovel, supported by the Jewish community. The director of that hospital was a Ukrainian who knew Yiddish and even read the Moment newspaper, but during the occupation [see German occupation of Poland] 12 he proved to be a nationalist and collaborated with the Germans.

In a town with twenty-something thousand residents, there were two coeducational gymnasia, a newspaper, Kovler Sztymer, and two Jewish clubs: the Sholem Aleichem 13 club and the Peretz club 14. The Zionist organizations had their own clubs and libraries, too. And on the Jewish street a struggle pitting Yiddish against Hebrew raged. The town was relatively secular. Among its important institutions was a Tarbut Hebrew gymnasium and a local Poalei Zion 15 organization, which, just like the Bund, stood for cultural autonomy for the Jews.

Both the Bund and the Poalei Zion carried out well-organized cultural work in their clubs. For example, they held mock trials of books. What were they like? To begin with, the audience gathered in the hall listened to a short story or a novella. Next, a panel of judges was selected, and the prosecutor prepared his speech; there was also a defense counsel. And the debate among the young people would frequently continue until dawn. I took part in such mock trials, including one about Bontshe Shvayg [character and title of a short story by Isaac Leib Peretz]. Did he do the right thing? Should he be rewarded with the ultimate prize for his life? Very many such debates took place, and we grew up on them. Both clubs ran libraries. Their book collections weren't particularly big; but we could find practically all the books being published in Yiddish, not only those written by Jewish authors, but also those translated into Yiddish. Books in Hebrew were available in the libraries of Zionist organizations.

Not far from our house on Warszawska Street was a Landowners Association House, to which landowners from all over Volhynia came. And we, Poles and Jews alike, went to tea dances that were held there. We went there to pick up girls. We would order half a cutlet each, a non-kosher cutlet, though made not from pork but from veal, and dance the Argentine tango, for example.

After 1918, a Jewish theater existed in our town, something that would have been impossible under the Tsars. It was an amateur theater; its actors were workers, teachers and students. The entire repertoire of Jewish classics was performed in that theater. It existed until 1st September 1939. Theaters from the capital visited us frequently too. Even [Alexander] Granach, the great actor, came to Kovel. And of course the Jozef Kaminski Theater. I didn't see The Dybbuk 16, but I did see Sholem Aleichem's 'The Grand Prize' and 'Two Hundred Thousand Silver Coins'; it was the same play produced under different titles. And 'The God of Vengeance', a play by Sholem Asch.

Kovel was visited not only by eminent actors but also by fiery reportage writers, who quite often described a world they hadn't seen themselves. My father always took me to those lectures. I remember how enchanted I was by those invented tales. It was then that I began to look for books in the library.

Two outstanding poets were natives of Kovel. One of them had been admitted into the pantheon of Jewish literature already before the war: Kalman Lis. Lis appeared in all CiSzO 17 school handbooks. And Eliasz Rajzman, who lived in Szczecin after the war and has been translated by some Polish poetess. Rajzman died more than a decade ago. He was an outstanding poet. Both were also actors in our Jewish theater. I got to know Rajzman thanks to his memoirs, featured in Folksztyme 18. One day - it was in the middle of the sixties - I noticed that they were publishing a novel about Kovel in installments. 'On the Roads of My Yesterday,' was the title, or 'Oyf di vegn fun mayn nechtn'. And then I remembered that there had been this actor Rajzman, who we once pelted with rotten tomatoes because his acting was poor. He was an excellent poet, though. Before the war Kalman Lis had been a counselor in the Jewish Children's Home in Otwock. And then he died - just like that - was killed by the Germans. There were also three brothers, poets from Turzysk: Lejb, Matys, and a third one whose name I don't recall. After the war Lejb was still in Poland, he left only in 1957. He did excellent translations of Pushkin 19 and Tuwim 20. Once he presented me with a book in which I found his inscription for my younger sister, Rywka, with whom he had been very much in love. Matys Olicki now lives in the U.S. and publishes in Forwerts 21.

Kovler Sztime was a newspaper for everyone; it was a general Jewish newspaper. It had one editor, one owner, and one proofreader - and it was the same man. His name was Jakub Burak. I met his brother in Holon many years after the war. Burak Jakub was killed. From time to time I published a sports column in Kovler Sztime, in Yiddish of course, and sometimes also reviews of theater shows.

When in 1918 we were suddenly transferred from the Russian Empire to the Polish rule, the Polish language was basically foreign to the entire Jewish intelligentsia. The year 1918 was filled with events [see Civil War] 22. Bulak Balachowicz's brigade or division from the Russian White Army was operating in Northern Volhynia. At the time they were cooperating with our Polish army against the Bolsheviks, but along their way they murdered local residents for practice. I remember that my mother's brother was in the so- called Citizens' Militia that was getting ready to defend us in case of an assault by Bulak Balachowicz. A majority of that militia were Jews; it also included some Ukrainians and Poles. My mother's brother even got a rifle from the provisional municipal authorities. They had sawn-offs, rifles with half of their barrels sawn off that were often used by poachers. Because the war had such an alternating pattern - once these forces were in town, then the other side would come back - arms were abundant as hell; soldiers would often abandon their arms and run away.

At first, our attitude towards Poland was primarily one of high hope since the tsarist regime hadn't registered particularly well in the history of the Jews, especially in these areas. I know that a lot of store was placed on Pilsudski 23, who besides was a legend. His luster faded somewhat after he teamed up with Petliura 24 and the Petliurites started to organize pogroms also in Volhynia.

There were no pogroms in Kovel. Even though in 1918 when Haller's troops 25 rushed into the town and pushed the Bolsheviks out, some public cutting off of Jewish beards by saber took place; those were spontaneous actions. I remember one scene, which later recurred in my dreams for decades. The year was 1920 and I was seven. We lived near the railroad station, and one night soldiers started to bang on our door. Father took an ax. The door was bolted with a bar; I was standing next to my father and holding on to his legs while he was ready to defend us to the end. Then one of the soldiers shouted something and they left - there were whorehouses in a side street - and everything went quiet again.

During the twenties, Jews and Poles coexisted well. In Kovel there was one monsignor Feliks Sznarbachowski, who built a beautiful church. He was a friend of the Jews and extinguished bad feelings from the height of his pulpit. When he died, nearly all the Jews accompanied him on his way to the cemetery. I attended that funeral, too. A nephew of the prelate had been a staunch hit-squad member before the war; after the war he worked for Radio Free Europe 26 and repented of his anti-Semitic sins. When Hitler came to power, there began to appear in Poland ONR supporters among university students, who spread the poison of hatred. The slogan 'Buy from your own, not from Jews' was heard frequently.

At the beginning of the 1930s, a rally was held inside one of the cinemas - it was either 'Odeon' or 'Ekspres', since there were two movie houses in Kovel - at which Jabotinsky 27 spoke. I was there. Jabotinsky was an excellent speaker. I remember that he was a man endowed with great oratorical talent. I aspired to become an orator and envied him. Jabotinsky encouraged his audience to go to Palestine; the rally took place probably after 1933, after Hitler's rise to power, and Jabotinsky talked about the danger that might befall the Jews. The Polish government was very accommodating to the Jabotinskites - which was not the case with the hahalutz 28 movement - and even allowed them to conduct paramilitary training of their people. That right-wing organization was forgotten after the war because it was unfairly identified with the Fascist movement. Before 1918 in Kovel there had been a Russian gymnasium, which was attended by few Jews. When Poland burst into existence in 1918 [see Polish Independence] 29, a Polish public gymnasium named after Slowacki was established on the site of that Russian gymnasium, where Jews were not admitted as a rule. If my memory doesn't fail me, I have counted seven Jewish students of both sexes who attended that gymnasium. In Kovel there were three gymnasiums and a school of commerce. All of the gymnasiums were coeducational. A private Polish-Jewish gymnasium, run by Klara Erlich, was established, with Polish as the language of instruction. Klara Erlich was a graduate of Kiev University and a very good mathematician. After the war I spoke with her again by telephone when I came to Moscow. Both of these gymnasiums were accredited to confer high-school diplomas.

My school years

There was also a third gymnasium, a Jewish one with Hebrew as the language of instruction; it was a Tarbut gymnasium, which didn't award the Polish high-school diploma. The Tarbut gymnasium had been established by Asher Frankfurt. There was no Yiddish at all, and instruction was in Hebrew. The school had two introductory grades: first and second, sort of pre-gymnasium grades, substituting for elementary school classes - that was the case in the early period, in my own time, but later children had to go to elementary school.

Initially, I attended the cheder. I mean I studied in the cheder from the age of four to seven. There I learned the Bible almost by heart. I also remember that I translated the Bible into Polish. I went to the cheder for less than a year, and then the melamed started coming to our home. He had decided that I was head and shoulders above the others in terms of knowledge, but he was probably also after more money.

I prepared for the gymnasium at home because what I had been able to gain from that melamed of mine wasn't enough. I passed the entrance exam for the introductory second grade and began to learn all the subjects in Hebrew. At first, Latin was translated into Polish but later we translated that already dead Latin into Hebrew. Instruction there was at a very high level. It was a large school; later on it had eight grades, with 40 pupils on average in each class. After 1918 the headmaster tried to polonize our Hebrew gymnasium in some sense.

There were several eminent teachers in the faculty. For a time, Dr. Feldszu, a good Hebrew feature writer, taught Latin. He wasn't particularly nice as a person. Feldszu was a member of Betar and wanted to create a Betar organization in our school. I remember that I was a Betar member for about a week, and then I switched to Hashomer Hatzair 30, which had branched out from the scouting organization. I remember that they wore Baden Powell hats and carried sticks. And I badly wanted to join them. I might have been five or six then. They were Jewish scouts, Cofim. But I remained in Hashomer Hatzair for a short while only, since by then I had completely different interests, completely down-to-earth - quite literally: I became a soccer player in the Maccabi 31 club.

While I attended the Hebrew gymnasium, my sister Regina went to the Jewish- Polish gymnasium and became fluent in Russian. She graduated with a high- school diploma but didn't go on to university because in those years we couldn't afford the costs that would have entailed. When she had finished elementary school, just before the war, my other sister, Rywka, went to the Jewish-Polish gymnasium.

I was a very good soccer player; I was often carried off the field on the shoulders of my teammates and fans. I played on the Hasmonei 32 team. That team was initially called Maccabi, but later it split. It was the principal Jewish sports team. There was also the Sztern team, and Gwiazda, affiliated with the Bund. There were several Polish teams: Sokol, which was later converted into PKS, the Police Sports Club; and WKS, or the Military Sports Club. In my soccer team, the Hasmonei, the goalkeeper was a Pole, Kola Chmielarski, who spoke Yiddish as well as I or the rest of us did.

Once I met a Polish girl, a goy, and as they say, I dated her for a while. Not for a very long time but long enough to fall into sin. She lived in the other Kovel; to get there you had to go through a tunnel. One day, I was walking her home at a late hour, and when we were near the tunnel, we saw points of light - someone was smoking cigarettes. She says to me that I shouldn't go on, because they'll give me a beating. Well, I remember that I felt I couldn't show that I was afraid, stupid as I was; so I told her: 'No, I will walk you to your very house.' We're walking on boldly, they challenge me at first, but after a moment they say: 'oh, it's you! The soccer player!' They slapped me on the back; we talked a bit, I was offered a cigarette, and took it, even though I didn't smoke.

A yeshivah graduate headed one such group in Kovel's underworld; Zajdel was his name. He was a very romantic figure; he had great success with women. I remember him as a smart, well-educated man. Whenever there was a major robbery, the victims would turn to him rather than to the police, and after he was paid a considerable fee, the lost property would materialize. He must have been 40 when the war broke out. Naturally, he was killed during it. And there was another one, Sieroszewski. And for a time I was a hero among those petty criminals when we played in the district soccer league and kept beating Polish clubs, such as the WKS (Military Sports Club) or Sokol. On one occasion I scored three goals against the hated military club, Halerczyk; that is called a hat trick in soccer jargon. Those guys from the underworld always attended our matches. So after that hat trick they came to me right away: brought some beer, of course; tossed me in the air and yelled: Molodets! Attaboy!

Turzysk, a small town 25 kilometers from Kovel, was a Yiddish 'festung' - a bastion of the Yiddish language. A lot of people went to Vilnius to a gymnasium, and later to a seminarium, where instruction was in Yiddish. At home, in the family, we spoke by and large in Yiddish. I remember that Regina's boyfriends and girlfriends met in our apartment and they spoke Russian. I was familiar with the sound of Russian but couldn't speak it. Later Regina had contacts with Poles, and we learned Polish very quickly. I might have been one of the first who completely discarded the Russian language and absorbed Polish. How did I do it? At that time, there were these pulp detective stories, printed on newspaper, which were very cheap; you could get one for a few dozen groszy. I recall whole series of them: Henryk Lerman's 'The Invincible Detective', 'Sittingbull' - that one was about the redskins [sic]; I would read them for days on end. I was an impassioned reader and my Polish reached a sky-high level then. I translated those pamphlets for my friends. If Yiddish was my first language, Hebrew was the second but it has always competed with Polish.

Hebrew was the everyday language for my friends and me. In Hebrew, I could write quite well, in a fine literary style. It was mostly girls who insisted that we spoke Hebrew. When at a certain age we started to go out with them, court them, they would set one condition. We will speak only in Hebrew. I remember one such pretty girl, Szewa Werba. I had to court her in Hebrew. After all, we have the greatest erotic poem in the world - the 'Song of Songs'. And I knew the 'Song of Songs' almost by heart.

My teacher of Hebrew, whom I admire to this day, frequently used to give us very difficult class tests. Rotman was his name, Jakub Nataneli Rotman. At that time we didn't have any real handbooks yet, only these things put together on an ad hoc basis. Rotman used an ink duplicator to copy texts for us. I remember when the discovery at Tel el Amarna 33 had been made, he duplicated source materials and distributed them to each student, and then we discussed them during his seminar. I was very poor in math, but very good at the humanities. When I was in the eight grade of the gymnasium, we published a periodical. It had this silly title "Our Cadres Heading Toward High School Diploma." I was its editor, and we paid for the publication of each month's issue out of our own pockets. I recall that the printing shop was run by a man by the name of Brandys.

There was a Polish literature club in our Tarbut gymnasium. When its first chairman got his high school diploma, he passed his office to me. I remember my first paper "Byron and Byronism in Polish Literature." I also translated several sonnets by Shaul Tchernichovsky 34, who wrote Crimean sonnets just like Mickiewicz 35. Tchernichovsky later immigrated to Israel, just like Bialik 36. When I was probably in the eighth grade, an excellent Hebrew poet, a native Russian, Eliszeva, came to our school. She hadn't been born a Jewess, but had married a Jew and converted to Judaism.

The Tarbut gymnasium focused on preparing young people to move to Palestine. I remember a moving scene. One day, the director assembled all the classes. The year was probably 1925. He announced to us that at the very moment that we were speaking there, the opening of the Hebrew University was taking place in Jerusalem. That was a very stirring experience for us. 'For out of Zion shall come the Torah and God's Word,' said the director. All of us present there resolved at that moment that, after acquiring a profession, we would go to Palestine. Some went to university in France and when the war broke out, they made their way to Palestine. As teachers of Hebrew, they were worth their weight in gold. Unfortunately, I waited too long. I can't say that I regret it. But at times I am visited by a tormenting thought that things might have been different.

I graduated from the gymnasium at the age of 17; it was 1930. I remember the subject of my written thesis: 'For there is something of Piast in the peasant, the peasant is mighty, say we!' Afterwards I became a private tutor in Kovel. I taught Polish, History, and Hebrew. At that time, Hebrew was a gold mine since in order to get into Palestine, some sum of money stipulated by the English had to be paid and the prospective emigre needed to demonstrate his command of Hebrew. Hebrew examinations took place in Brest, where students from throughout Poland came. I had a friend; Josele Szpak was his name. I already told you about his father. But Szpak didn't know Hebrew. So I went to Brest pretending to be Szpak and naturally wrote a composition there, on the basis of which he got his certificate, his departure paper. In the 1980s I called on him in Israel. Perhaps he is still alive? Szpak was the owner of a bakery then. I had dinner at his place. Introducing me to his wife, he said: 'This is the man who saved my life.'

Each year, the two Jewish gymnasiums in Kovel produced several dozen graduates who couldn't get accepted to the university departments of their choice. In Kovel there was only a surveyors' school and a road-construction school. Many Jews couldn't get into a university in Poland; to gain admittance to a medical school or a technical university was the most difficult as there was the numerus clauses [see Anti-Jewish Legislation in Poland] 37. If you wanted to study medicine, you had to go to Lwow, to Warsaw, Prague or Vilnius. Dozens of medicine graduates returned after their graduation to Kovel, where they were unable to have their diploma recognized since the attitude of the chambers of physicians was such that Jews found it very difficult to get through the recognition process. So what is the Jewish intelligentsia supposed to do?

University

My parents pondered over what field of study I should choose. I wanted to study French literature, but my father said: 'that's not a trade; you can't make a living out of that. You will go to a technical university!' But I was very poor in maths. Well, I didn't want to oppose my father too much. I thought of going to Palestine subsequently, to the university in Jerusalem. I had studied for three months with one Mrs. Chodorow, whose son was later to become a famous sea-dog in Israel. And I went to Grenoble; in Grenoble I didn't need a high-school diploma. That was in November 1930.

It was my first encounter with the West. We arrived at the Northern Station in Paris, and then I had to go over to the Lyon Station and from that station to Grenoble. Traveling with us was a friend from Poland; her name as written in her documents was Chaja Leja Minc. I remember that when we completed a questionnaire to obtain our 'cartes d'identite', they called her 'Hazha Lezha Menk'. We arrived in Grenoble just as a carnival, somewhat in the style of Brazilian carnival, was in full swing. And I, a boy from deep in the provinces, was suddenly caught up in a circle of dancing women who weren't fully clad. That was quite a shock... But I got used to it and even came to like it.

In Grenoble I roomed with a friend; right across the corridor was the room rented by Stefan Grinbaum, son of Icchak Grinbaum 38, a deputy to the Polish Parliament. Probably early in 1931, Icchak Grinbaum arrived in France on some Zionist congress business, and called on his son. On that occasion, the entire Jewish academic community from Poland assembled in one of the halls of the university to hear Grinbaum speak; Grinbaum was an excellent speaker. And I remember that he spoke like a true Zionist, telling the students about their future in Palestine, while communist students made 'tsvishenrufn' [Yiddish, lots of noise], interrupting him. One of them was Grinbaum's own son. Grinbaum said that we shouldn't wait for the coming of Messiah, that the Zionist ideal was the Messiah, and that we would return to the land from which we had been driven out 2,000 years ago. His son raised his voice on behalf of the proletariat. And his father answered him: 'The Jewish nation is the most deprived and oppressed proletariat.' That met with a storm of applause. By the way, during the occupation Grinbaum's son behaved very badly; he was in the Jewish police force in the Warsaw ghetto 39 and showed great cruelty. He survived and went to Israel, where he was shot dead by a Zionist hit-squad.

For the summer vacation, all of us would return home; there we published a sort of occasional periodical, which was quite thick, contained 40 pages, and was in Polish. I remember that one of the editors was Rusia Daszewska. Why I remember specifically her? Because her father had been involved in an attempt to assassinate Lenin, and was later executed. Unfortunately, not a single copy of our periodical has survived; perhaps there are some in the National Library?

I spent about a year in Grenoble. Chemistry and physics classes, lab sessions. I believe I took just one exam there. The whole thing wasn't so much beyond my abilities as against my inclinations. To raise money for the return trip, I worked for a while packing chocolate and on the construction of a road. It was 1931 when I returned to Kovel.

In Kovel I made my living again as a private tutor. I taught mostly Polish literature and Latin, sometimes also German. I was preparing Jewish gymnasium graduates for the high-school diploma exam at a school in Luck. I was swamped with classes. I also enrolled in a Jewish-Polish gymnasium, once again in the eighth grade, in order to obtain a Polish high-school diploma.

My first visit to Warsaw was in the 1920s. Father took me there when he started work for Red Star Line [Red Star Line, an English company. There was also another firm called White Star Line. Both companies were in the business of arranging transportation for emigrants to America.]; their head office was in Warsaw. I was in time to see the Orthodox church on Pilsudski Square. For my university studies, I came to Warsaw in 1933. I enrolled in the Polish Department. During my first year I lived on 2 Nowolipie Street, and afterwards on Dluga Street. On Nowolipie Street there was a bankrupt store and some Jew got an idea how to make money out of it. He stood in front of the closed door of the store and shouted out to passers-by to have a look inside -a wonder of nature, a freak of nature, a bearded woman, everyone can check it out for only 20 groszy. And inside, in that dark, empty store, there was indeed a hairy woman standing. I remember that I couldn't study on Dluga Street because the landlady had rented me an alcove without a window or light. She used to turn the lights off at 10 already. So what did I do then? I went over to the other side of the street, to 13 Tlomackie 40! And there I came across individuals who became part of history. I met Izrael Sztern 41, an excellent poet, who generally didn't get the recognition he deserved, and many other wonderful people.

Izrael Sztern was a devout man, and for that reason very skinny: he would fast, pray and fast again; he recited the psalms very frequently. He died of hunger during the occupation, for he wasn't made for this life. He had this God-given gift of poetry, in which he had few equals. Many years after the war, I translated Izrael Sztern's extended poem 'Ostroleka', at the request of some young people from Ostroleka, passionate fans of his poetry. Thus, Izrael Sztern got a place in the Polish language; he has been rescued for some future reader.

At 13 Tlomackie I wasn't as bold as to strike up a conversation with everybody. When by chance I sat down next to Sztern and he encouraged me to talk, then - yes. At Tlomackie I used to see also Itzik Manger 42. I soaked up everything that happened there and relished the presence of great Jewish poets and writers. Something interesting was always going on there. There I saw Sholem Asch 43, who came rarely but come he did. I saw a great many writers, like Perle 44. They mostly sat by the bar. Every week, there was a meeting with some author or actor, and interesting discussions would go on forever. My knowledge of Yiddish comes actually from there since earlier I had been a militant Hebraist.

Manger once caused a huge scandal. Namely, some literature night was underway when he arrived intoxicated as usual. He had no place to sleep, as he spent the money he earned on liquor. He ordered people sitting at the head table to leave because he wanted to sleep on it. Well, they naturally took him out of there with him yelling very rudely. 'Ir zolt vi a foyer brenen' - may you burn like a fire, 'Ir zolt nisht kanen trinken' - may you be unable to drink, 'Ir zolt nisht kanen trenen' - may you be unable to copulate. So yelled Manger at 13 Tlomackie. I must have seen Izaak Singer 45 several times, but talk with him - that I didn't.

Perhaps in 1935 I moved to the Jewish Student Dormitory in Praga [district in Warsaw]. The residents included many communists, a few Betarists, and quite a few freeloaders. At first I installed myself in a four-person room, but when I began to make money from private teaching I moved to a two- person room. As it happened, my neighbors were two eminent Jewish painters, the Seidenbeutel 46 brothers. It was from them that I learned how to play bridge. They lived in that dormitory because they were poor and it didn't cost them much. They painted in tandem: one did one part of the picture, and the other the second part. On the whole they painted in the open air. In summer they would go to Kazimierz [Kazimierz Dolny - Jewish resort upon Vistula close to Lublin].

The following anecdote was told about the Seidenbeutel brothers: There was a barber's shop in the vicinity. Once Efraim comes in and right away warns the barber: Please give me a good shave; otherwise my beard will grow back in an hour. The barber says: Rest assured, sir, when I give you a shave there won't be any sign of a beard for a month. He shaved Seidenbeutl, who thanked the barber and left. An hour later his brother comes in and says: Well, you can see what my stubble looks like. I warned you that I have to be shaved closely! The barber naturally had a fit. Such a story was told about them. Twins, identical twins. By the way, Begin lived in that house, too.

It was the only Jewish student dormitory in Warsaw, for men. It was built at the end of the 1920s. In terms of architectural design - a splendid building. There were four-, three-, and two-person rooms. There was a canteen downstairs, where lunch coupons were available from the self-help organization. On each floor, there were kitchenettes where coffee, tea or even food could be prepared. There was also a cheap little store where basic necessities could be purchased. The director and manager of the 'Auxilium Academicum Judaicum' [Latin, Support for Jewish Academia] - the building is still standing there today - was first, the infamous member of the 13 47 that collaborated with the Gestapo in the [Warsaw] ghetto.

The ZASS, or Jewish Academic Sports Association, had its headquarters in that dormitory. I used to play soccer and volleyball, and went to the swimming pool there. Now and then, there were 'five o'clock', or tea dances, in the dormitory. And the entire female population of Praga came there looking for romance.

At that time I was also attending the Institute of Judaic Studies 48. I went to Balaban's 49 class on the history of the Jews, to the Aramaic language class taught by Schorr 50. Students at the Institute of Judaic Studies mainly came from Jewish-Polish and Hebrew gymnasiums. Most subjects were taught in Hebrew. The course of studies took four years and led to a master's degree. Institute graduates could become teachers of the religion and history of the Jews in secondary schools. But they had to graduate from Warsaw University as well, for the institute didn't provide a state- recognized certificate.

All that time I supported myself by teaching, by giving private classes. I taught Polish, Latin, and sometimes also German. The more softheaded I taught almost all subjects, bar maths. I gave private classes to girls from the Jehudyja gymnasium on Dluga Street, to the son of Artur Gold 51, the well-known composer; he gave me all the volumes of Schiller 52 in German in gratitude for his son's good grades. The manufacturer of Polonia shaving razors, whose name was, by the way, Friedman, paid me 5 zloty an hour. At 7 Lwowska Street I charged 2.50 zloty.

I gave up my Polish literature course because it was boring. I began to attend the Higher School of Journalism. It was located in the Rey gymnasium on Rozbrat Street, where the SLD 53 headquarters is now. I learnt reportage writing from Wankowicz 54 himself. I started to study journalism in 1934, and finished it in 1938, as I took some breaks in the course. The program consisted of three summer semesters, but it didn't give a master's degree. I got my master's just after the war, at the Journalism Department of Warsaw University.

Each year after the beginning of the academic year, some anti-Semitic row took place. I remember that in the Higher School of Journalism somebody once wrote on a huge board: Professor of Polish Studies Bolewski - Baumfeld, Professor of Political Economy Zelazowski - Eisenbaum, Professor Wasowski - Waserzug. That's when the shoving of Jews to the left side [of the lecture hall] started. The Jews wouldn't take seats on the left side; instead they listened to the lectures standing in protest. Brawls broke out frequently. It happened year after year, and with each year it got worse. In the student dormitory in Praga meetings with lecturers were held: Professor Michalowski 55 from the Democratic Club came after anti-Semitic brawls broke out on the university campus, Dubois 56 of the PPS 57 came to show his solidarity with Jewish students.

On 1st September 1939 I was still in the student dormitory. Afterwards I moved to Nalewki Street, I think. I left Warsaw before the year's end. Then I went back to Kovel. My older sister Regina was working for the Jewish community as typist. My younger sister was attending a Russian-language ten- year school. Mom was working as usual. I went back to giving private lessons. For a short time, I was a teacher of Polish and History; next I became a coach and one of the bosses in the Lokomotif sports club. I earned quite good money for that time.

With a regular population of more than twenty thousand, in the initial period of the Soviet rule Kovel must have had over sixty thousand inhabitants, if not more. A majority of them were 'byezhentsy' or fugitives [from the German-occupied part of Poland]: from Warsaw, from Krakow, from Lodz. When Russians started to deport the 'byezhentsy' to Siberia, that triggered off a scramble to go back to Central Poland, since the Germans had not yet embarked on mass killings; that was in 1940. A commission was established, and people stood in lines overnight in order to register to return under German occupation.

I didn't serve in the Polish Army because they had stopped admitting Jews to officer training schools in perhaps 1934 in order not to train Jews as officers. Poles with high-school diplomas did a year of military service in officer training schools, but not the Jews.

During the war

I was in the Red Army from 1941. I was called up for three months' training right after the outbreak of the war [the so-called Great Patriotic War] 58. On the Monday I was to be given the rank of sergeant and go home, but the war started on the Sunday, 22nd June. And I was doing my military service 12 kilometers from Kovel. It was five in the morning when German planes appeared in the sky and began to mow everything down.

They destroyed the planes of the air-force division in which we were serving, fired on our wooden barracks, and killed dozens of men in the process. A horrible mess ensued; we went into retreat. We had several automobiles; while we drove on, we were constantly under fire from German planes. We were heading eastwards through forests, being attacked by Ukrainians. About 100 of us managed to reach Kiev.

Stalin issued an order that all 'kresowiacy' [Poles living in Soviet- occupied Eastern Poland, today the Western part of the Ukraine and Belarus, as well as some parts of Lithuania] were to be transferred to labor battalions. They were to be stripped of their arms since they were unreliable. The Commissar of my battalion, a construction battalion, was an old Bolshevik, Izaac Yakovlevitch Limanov. He claimed to be a Ukrainian, but whenever he uttered a word, I knew that it had come from the depths of the Talmud. He was an intelligent, well-educated man.

What did we build, then? Well, anti-tank ditches, 'maskirovki', or embankments designed to camouflage airplanes. We didn't have any arms. We were given 800 grams of bread per day, when other battalions, labor battalions, got 400 grams of bread. From Kiev we began to retreat in order to carry out projects in the hinterland. The road got muddy before Kharkov; our automobiles couldn't get through. We got bogged down in one place called Bogodukhov. The Germans had already come as far as Kharkov and we could have fallen into their hands any day. A miracle happened overnight: the temperature fell below freezing and the ground froze; we were able to drive on.

Civilian fugitives started coming through Bogodukhov. Among the refugees I met an acquaintance from my native town. Zelcer is his name. To this day he lives in Jerusalem. In fact, it is thanks to me that he is alive. Along with the rest, he was escaping eastwards; when he saw me, he leapt towards me and said: 'Do something, I can't walk any more.' So I approached Limanov, the commander, and told him: 'This is a friend of mine; he is a dentist.' It just so happened that the battalion commander was suffering from toothache just then, and his mug was swollen. And Zelcer was a dental technician. Limanov gave the order to immediately provide Zelcer with a uniform, and he stayed with us in the capacity of doctor.

With the Germans already hot on our heels, we started off northwards, toward Voronezh, where the Don begins. Moving downstream along the Don, we would march to Cossack 59 'stanitzas'; that's what Cossack villages are called. The Cossacks still had their uniforms and their arms from the tsarist times at home. Their houses were nicer and better built; had brick fundaments. Through snow, across the frozen river, we arrived in one 'stanitza', Nizhnichirskaya. There I assigned my people to quarters; I found a house for myself with a clean cowshed where I saw two cows. I figured that I would get some food there.

And indeed, they received me with great hospitality. There were hardly any men around, just one crippled man, a veteran of the Japanese war; the rest of the men were at the front, and only women remained in the village. I was covered in lice. When they had made my bed and given me very nice, clean sheets, I undressed and hung my shirt outdoors so that the cold would kill the lice. Not once did I get sick there. In the evening the neighbors gathered, and then I hear the question: 'Kto to takoy?' [Who is he?]; so I told them where I was from and that I was a Jew. They say: That can't be! They hadn't seen a Jew in their life but their attitude was, of course, negative. For Russian standards, they lived quite comfortably and were very well provided for winter. They had excellent milk, very fat, and fried 'bliny' - potato pancakes topped with cream. I obviously had a field kitchen, on which we cooked millet groats. In the evenings the neighbors would gather to listen to the news from Poland. 'How many suits, costumes did you have?' they asked. 'Did you throw away your shoes twice a year, or perhaps three times a year?'

The rest of the battalion was staying in various homes. In the mornings there would be a roll call and then we would leave for work. In that freezing cold we would begin to hack the ground with crowbars in order to build a railroad embankment. The temperature got as low as -30 degrees Celsius. When the morning groats were issued, the groats were frozen before you could reach for your wooden spoon. The spoon was important: whoever didn't have one could die of hunger. We carved them from wood and kept them inside our shoes. Frequently, we would leave for work at night because during the day the planes took off and the snow had to be scraped off the tarmac with plows. After that, we were building a railroad track between Stalingrad and Saratov when the Germans were about to approach. That was in 1942.

Later on, we were stationed in Kamishin, not far from Peza in Martwota Bezsenna county I stayed in the house of a teacher; she had a three-year- old boy who constantly sucked at her breast from hunger. But: in that house there were books I could read. While living in Kamishin, I used to go by sleigh to get provisions and on the way we would be often chased by packs of wolves. Then you would set fire to some hay and throw it at the wolves; that would frighten them away.

It must have been in 1943 that our battalion was moved southwards, to the coast of the Caspian Sea. The river Ural flows into the Caspian Sea and it has an arm - the Emba; there were some petroleum deposits there. Since the German forces were approaching the Caucasus and had got close to Baku where the main oil fields were located, the Russians were forced to begin extracting oil from the Emba. In the past it hadn't been cost-effective, for the petroleum deposits were located at a great depth and were limited. But then the Russians had embarked on the construction of an oil refinery. Transports began to arrive with American equipment; in American crates with cargo lists. So they called me to the commanding post and ordered me to translate the lists. I said: 'I don't know English.' 'Hm hm, you don't know English? Now, what is the Polish alphabet like?' I said: 'Latin.' 'And the English alphabet?' 'Latin,' I say. 'Well, then you know English! If you don't know a word, we will help you.' And that is how I became the battalion's English language expert.

In 1943 we encountered a transport of Poles who were going to join the First Division of the Polish Army [1st Kosciuszko Infantry Division] 60. There were also other people from my town in my battalion; one of them was Mojsze Szajewicz Szojb, a very good tailor. And one day he says to me: 'you know what? I'm fed up with all this. I'm going to volunteer for the Polish Army.' He and another man, Baumgart, went to the 'wojenkomat' [wartime recruiting board], saying that they wanted to join the armed forces of the Union of Polish Patriots, which was being organized. Well, they sent them right away to the commanders for punishment. But Szojb got lucky, and he wrote me a letter after some time. 'Imagine - they have ordered a suit for Stalin from me.' And he made clothes for Stalin, that Mojsze Szajewicz Szojb from Kovel.

Later on, when we were stationed in Goriev [a Kazakh town situated at the point where the Ural river enters the Caspian Sea], I became a sort of business sergeant. Several dozen battalions worked there. My battalion included about one hundred people, a majority of whom were Ukrainians, with some Poles and Jews. Later on, they conscripted people whose families were subjected to repression, and 'nacmen' [people of different than Russian nationality], as they called them, or ethnic minorities: Kazakhs, Uzbeks or Chechens, and other such 'unreliables'. I remember one engineer named Usov, a very intelligent man who hadn't been accepted into the regular army because a relative of his had been jailed for political propaganda.

I told them in Goriev that I wanted to be sent to the Polish army. It was early in 1944; I got the referral order and set off for the liberated part of Ukraine, to the town of Sumy. The trains didn't run regularly. In accordance with military needs, engines were stopped and requisitioned to be attached to another train. Railroad stations were crammed with people. Just having a ticket wasn't enough; each ticket had to be approved, which meant it that required a special stamp. Then the person in charge of the train, a woman in most cases, would let you into a car. At this point a terrible tumult and yelling always began, as there wasn't enough room for everybody - at that time all Russia was on the move. My travel companion was a Ukrainian; Zacharchuk was his name, who clung to me with terrible persistence. We had to stay at railroad stations for days on end and slept there at night. Zacharchuk and I took turns sleeping because of the dreadful stealing that went on there. I had shoes and some food in my small sack. I kept waking up anxiously and asking him: 'Listen, are you holding that sack?' 'I am.' And in fact, he had been holding it. Except that someone had cut open the bottom and taken the shoes and the cans.

At Sumy station, a Polish officer met us; I hadn't seen a Polish military uniform for many years then. It was February 1944. People were arriving from various directions, also from Poland; among them officers from the headquarters of the army that was being organized. Selection was being made for different military formations. Someone who was a carpenter or a joiner would be sent to the sappers. Those who had a smattering of education would go on a sort of short officer training course, which lasted a few months. People with, let's say, a business background would be assigned to the quartermaster's staff. It was a kind of market for soldiers. General Swierczewski, the chief commander, came; his deputy at that time was Major Grosz. Grosz, later on a well-known essayist, had translated Lejzorek Rojtszwanc before the war. I was offered the position of instructor with the First Regiment. I gave lectures on the political situation, history, Polish literature, etc. At the time people were being brought from all over to join the Polish army, including Jews who had volunteered for Anders' army 61 and had been rejected. My own commanding officer was a Soviet Pole, or a Pole born in the Soviet Union and Russified. Since I had university-level education, I was sent as instructor to the political officers' school in Sumy.

When I was returning from Russia on a troop train that passed through Kovel, I asked my commanding officer for leave of absence and went down to the town to look for the remains of our home. It was 1944. I hadn't had any contact with home during that entire time. I had sent letters to my family from several localities, but I don't know if they arrived. And now I was on my way to Lublin. I walked through a ruined town; the house in which I used to live no longer existed.

I found one acquaintance, a Jewish woman who had gone out of her mind. She was walking round talking nonsense. She had had a little child who had started crying terribly when they were hiding in some bunker; several dozen other people were hiding there as well, and they suffocated the child. Nine people survived from the entire town; out of 18,000 Jews. I came across a girlfriend of my sister's, a Pole; she gave me several photographs. She told me in detail how it had been done. I learnt about the torments the Jews had gone through, how they had been put behind barbed wire. During all that time, Marysia, that Polish girl, had been meeting with my sister in secret.

My elder sister, Regina, married a 'byezhenets', a laryngologist from Warsaw, his name was Fryde. She was pregnant, about to give birth. My younger sister was in hiding outside the ghetto; she was at a very good place, somewhere with a Polish family in Kovel. But when she heard that the Germans had surrounded the ghetto and taken away everyone to be shot, she left her hiding place and went to join her mother and sister. Mom and both my sisters were killed.

Some seven kilometers outside the town there is a huge grave, a very long ditch - I didn't want to go there. The place is called Koszary. As they had been surrounded prior to the execution, my history teacher, Josef Abruch, made a speech. He said that the Jewish nation lived, lives, and shall live. They were forced to undress from the waist up, and then shot dead. I only went to the synagogue, as people said that there were inscriptions on the walls there made by those condemned to death.

It was the Eppelbaum synagogue. And there were inscriptions on the walls. Someone had written this: It is a beautiful summer day - it was August, I think - and I am to die tomorrow, yet I want so much to live. And the name: Wydra. Wydra was a girl I used to know and we had been very close friends. She was one of the few [Jewish] graduates of the Slowacki gymnasium. Her father was a physician and I had been a frequent visitor at their place. There must have been several dozen such inscriptions. How did they come to be there? The Germans took all the Jews out of the town, to Koszary, made them dig a grave, and then shot them all, one after another. That took several days. Some managed to escape from the Germans, who couldn't catch them. And then all of them, those caught who hadn't been killed in Koszary were assembled in one place so that they could be executed en masse. Before their death, they wrote on that wall in the synagogue. One woman, Gips was her name, a stunning, beautiful girl, had two children, and her husband was in Russia; she wrote him a letter on that wall: May you avenge the innocent death of your wife and your children.

The liberation of Warsaw

I reached Lublin after 22nd July 1944 and remained there until the liberation of Warsaw. I taught at the Political and Educational Officers' School. The day after Warsaw was liberated, I went there to see if I could find anyone. I saw ruins and a great emptiness; there was no way to figure out which street you were on. The Jewish district had been wiped out; other streets, too. I came back very quickly. Afterwards, the officers' school was transferred to Lodz. It was there that all the important institutions were based. At the time, much publicity was being given to a proposal to make Lodz the capital of Poland, instead of Warsaw. I remained in Lodz until 1946. In 1946 they sent me to the Infantry Officers School in Inowroclaw as deputy commander. I became a major. From there they sent me to Krakow, to the Infantry Officers' School. From 1947 on I was in Wroclaw. I organized an evening high school for cadets, since they didn't have high school diplomas. There was a slogan then: Not a high school diploma, but honest intentions will make an officer out of you. I hired there a whole galaxy of teachers, and everyone got his diploma in three years.

In Lublin a Jewish club was established for all the survivors who registered there. It was named after Peretz and located on Lubartowska Street. The Sukkot holiday came around. I was on duty and I thought to myself: 'Let's go and see. Perhaps I'll run into someone.' Dinner was served; I was sitting there in my uniform - I don't recall now whether I was a lieutenant or second lieutenant then - and right across the table from me a man was sitting, and it seemed to me that I knew his face. All of a sudden, he speaks to me: 'Friedman?' And I say: 'Feldszu!' It was my last teacher from Kovel! We embraced each other over the table; he delivered a toast, then I did. He had obviously realized that it wouldn't be smart for him to remain in Poland since they would get at him for being a Zionist and a right-winger. And he left for Israel.

In Lublin and in Lodz I kept in touch with Jews. In Lublin I used to drop by the Peretz house. When in 1946 in Lodz I came across an acquaintance of my cousin, he said: 'Do you know that Regina is alive?' That was Regina Zonenszajn, her mother was my father's elder sister, who was Rybicka by marriage; her husband was a lawyer in Warsaw. She survived even though she had spent time at the Pawiak [the central prison of Warsaw under the German occupation]. It was her head that was measured by a German anthropologist, who concluded that she was an Aryan. Regina had been hiding her husband, a well-known lawyer whose name was Rainberger. Once she stepped outside to fetch water from the well, and at that very moment a bomb hit the house and killed her husband.

Jozef Kermisz, a doctor of history, joined our school while we were still in Zytomierz. And later, in 1947 in Lodz, a Jewish historical committee was established to document the history of the Holocaust. Its members included a Bund activist, Szuldenfrei, Adolf Berman, Rachela Auerbach, and Kermisz. I kept in contact with them. I trusted them and they trusted me; besides, for me the committee was a source of all kinds of information. In Wroclaw I attended all the theater productions of the Jewish Theater in civilian clothes. Now and then I would read Jewish newspapers. At the time, several newspapers, including some in Polish language, were published.

I remember that once in Wroclaw, it was in May, perhaps on the 15th, in 1948, I met an officer, a Jew, who started to congratulate me. I said to him: 'What are you congratulating me on?' 'We've got Palestine. Israel has been established.' I was flabbergasted. I hadn't thought of leaving. Well, there was a measure of opportunism, some vanity behind it. I held an important post, the rank of lieutenant colonel, and was unswervingly loyal. I believed that some time in the future there would come a day when I would go.

My wife Teresa

I met a female medical student. That was in Wroclaw in 1949. I was walking her home when she started an interrogation: 'Do you have family here? Are you married?' I said: 'No, I am not married, but I am going to get married soon.' 'To whom, if I may ask?' 'To you.' Teresa is from Przemysl; her maiden name was Lichota. She comes from quite a wealthy Jewish family. She had spent the war years in Hungary. Her father was a physician, and had been mobilized for the war. And his entire regiment crossed the border and got interned. The Hungarians were unbelievably well disposed toward Poles. My wife's family had remained there the entire time as a Polish family. Teresa returned to Poland in 1945. So we got married, and finally settled in Warsaw. Andrzej was born in Lodz in 1951. At present Andrzej, our only child, is a professor of neurology in Warsaw.

I was soon transferred to Warsaw as head of the defense ministry's publishing house, which was related to a trend to polonize the military - there were too many Jewish soldiers in the army at that time, they thought. It was January 1952. Adolf Bromberg, head of that publishing house, had been promoted to deputy minister and someone had to take over his job. For me, it was a demotion in some ways.

I became director of the Board of publishing houses. That was my job for ten or eleven years, until 60. Next, I was suddenly sent on a so-called academic course at the Academy of General Staff, where during one year I went through basically the entire curriculum of the Academy of General Staff. I completed the course, but they didn't have a job for me. I would pick up my salary at the personnel department and go home. Later I got an assignment as deputy director of the Military Institute for Aviation Medicine. I spent four years there. The year 1967 came [the year of the anti-Semitic purges] and all the Jews, myself included, were discharged from the military with great brouhaha. Not that there had been many of us, perhaps 200. I was expelled from the Party and sent home. At first, I nursed a sense of personal grievance, next I felt that an injustice was being done to the entire nation that had survived, but in the end I realized that I had made a wrong-headed choice. And then I found myself, as they say, on the street and in a void; it was only in that void that I found proper meaning for myself. As translator and teacher of Jewish languages!

Working as a translator and teaching Jewish languages

How did it really begin, what made me decide to take up translation? It came out of the fury that would overcome me when reading 'Literatura na Swiecie' [a quarterly], an excellent periodical that published literature of even the tiniest of nations, but failed to notice the great Jewish literature, which was quite literally at hand. Thus, driven actually by rage, especially that this was happening after the expulsion of the last remaining Jews [reference to 1968 and the final wave of emigration of Polish Jews], after I found myself on the street [Michal Friedman had been forced to take early retirement], I proposed to the editor-in-chief of 'Literatura na Swiecie', that I would prepare an issue devoted to Jewish literature. I presented to him fragments of the most famous books by eminent Jewish writers: Sholem Aleichem, Peretz, Mendel Moicher Sforim 62, Itzik Manger and Kacyzyna 63. And he accepted.

Previously, I had translated Jewish short stories for Folksztyme and some plays for the Jewish Theater. I interpreted from Yiddish into Polish for audiences who listened to the lines on headphones. I enjoyed the thought that through 'Literatura na Swiecie' I would reach the intelligent reader who had no idea what kind of literature the Jews had created in such a short span of time. For indeed, literary Yiddish had just emerged and begun to attain the height of its potential when it was killed. That issue of 'Literatura na Swiecie' [an entire issue in 1984 was devoted to Yiddish literature] was a great success, and right away I was commissioned by the PIW [State Publishing Institute] to translate 'The Book of Paradise': a very witty story, which became a bestseller.

Later Wojdowski 64 who had been familiar with my translations published in 'Literatura na Swiecie' contacted me and asked for more translations. I translated for him several short stories by Sutzkever 65 from his volume 'Green Aquarium'. They were published in 'Massada', a periodical edited by Wojdowski.

At the beginning of the 1980s, I had a visit from representatives of Wydawnictwo Dolnoslaskie [Lower Silesia Publishing House] who wanted to know if I could prepare them a plan for the publication of a serial edition of Jewish classics. That suited me very well. I made up such a plan, comprising more than 20 titles, and these translations of mine began to appear in large editions. There isn't a single Jewish classic writer who hasn't been translated by me. The series has been published since 1983, and so far 15 volumes have come out, 13 of which were translated by me. Nowhere else in the world is an entire series of Jewish literature published the way it is done by Wydawnictwo Dolnoslaskie in Poland!

I visited Sutzkever in Tel Aviv in the middle of the 1990s. He spoke excellent Polish. Sutzkever's house in Tel Aviv is really an art gallery. Chagall 66 and he were friends, and Chagall gave him a number of beautiful items. So we talked about my translations of his short stories. I have preserved a letter Sutzkever wrote to me, about how delighted he was with the transposition of the meaning that is hidden behind the words of Yiddish into Polish. Those short stories sold out very quickly and received very good reviews.

Though he has written pretty good short stories, Sutzkever is above all a poet. In my opinion: one of the greatest poets in the world. A man who made Yiddish into something of an instrument for verbalizing the most tender and most subtle shades of meaning that can come from the heart and mind. He is the inventor of the most brilliant neologisms. It is very hard to translate him, to find adequate terms in Polish. I believe that he is the most outstanding Jewish poet in the world, who had bad luck. He has been put forward for the Nobel Prize several times; recently, it was Isaac Bashevis Singer - whom Sutzkever couldn't stand - who snatched the Nobel from him.

In my opinion, Singer is a very good writer and worthy recipient of the [Nobel] prize. Many critics believe that he was no match for his brother, Joshua Singer 67. There is one reason why I claim that he grew to equal standards and, at certain moments, even surpassed his brother. Because Joshua is eminently shut in the Jewish world while Bashevis Singer has introduced themes, elements that can be easily transposed into world literature. Bellow [Saul Bellow, b. 1915, Canadian-born American novelist] translated him into English and those translations caught on splendidly. My own translations of Singer's short stories have been published in various periodicals. When Singer was given the Nobel in 1978, I translated his short story 'Mendel the Gravedigger' for 'Przekroj' [an illustrated weekly]. Muza [a Polish publisher of Singer] was always in a hurry with Singer and published him in translations from English, and very often they are lousy.

Singer has led his reader to exotic Jewish literature, shown him fragments of the Hasidic world, saturated with mysticism and with some new eroticism not previously seen in literature. Singer is an eminent writer who found his moment of time. Peretz, the greatest Jewish writer, didn't find his way into world literature, at all, you see, whereas Sholem Asch did. It is largely a matter of luck, chance.

Asch had the luck of marrying a very pretty, very progressive, and very energetic woman, who introduced him into the world of the intelligentsia, the world of Polish writers. Her father was an excellent expert on Polish language and a teacher of Hebrew. His contemporary, Icie Meir Weisenberg, a writer endowed with huge talent, made his debut with a short story bearing the same title as Asch's own story - 'A Shtetl'; he proved to have a great talent but married a virago, an infernal woman who didn't let him work, bullied him, and as a result he never left the confines of the Jewish world. Asch was the only writer who made his living by writing. I have translated three of his works: 'The Man from Nazareth,' 'The Witch of Castile' which are eight short stories, a beautiful book, and 'Kiddush Ha- Shem.'

Asch was bewitched by the subject of those traces of Christianity that developed from Jewish roots. They didn't want to print him in 'Forwerts'; they stopped the printing of 'Man from Nazareth,' didn't they? Censorship of sorts. The editor, I don't recall his name, could have been Rozenberg, organized a boycott of him as a traitor and a renegade. In Palestine, where Asch lived at that time, they held a demonstration against him. It must have been 1940. The Committee for the Defense of Asch was formed, headed by Mordechai Canim, an immigrant from Poland and an excellent journalist, and they published Asch in Hebrew. Asch's widow had his entire output. She lived in London. I asked her to make it available for me. But she didn't want to hand it over as she bore a huge grudge against the Jews. No more than seven people came to Asch's funeral in London; the Jews boycotted him. And he was a brilliant writer.

I also consider Peretz an eminent writer, who, as I say, wasn't lucky. His is a different type of literature; it comes from a different world. Peretz's background wasn't that of Jewish Orthodoxy, shut in within the Talmud, since he'd had a secular education. He corresponded with his fiancée in Polish. Wrote his first poems in Polish. There is a beautiful Yiddish short story of his called 'What is the Soul?,' which he translated into Polish himself. Later, I translated it into Polish, too, and published it in the collection 'Hasidic and Folk Stories.' On that issue I even had a dispute with Szmeruk [a yiddishist and a historian], who wanted to do the series together with me. Szemruk proposed that we publish the original translation. But it was so poor in Polish that I wouldn't agree. I have translated a number of short stories by Peretz.

Once I translated 'Everyday Jews' by Perle. It was one part of the trilogy he had been working on in the [Warsaw] ghetto. The second and third volumes he always kept in a suitcase that he lugged along wherever he went. One day there was a roundup in the street and he got caught in it, and the suitcase got left behind somewhere. Rachela Auerbach 68, who had been looking after him, ran to get the suitcase but it was already gone. Perle was killed in the ghetto.

Nowadays I plan my workweeks in advance, but I work every day and this keeps me in shape. I used to be incredibly productive. I used to translate, as I might say, off the top of my head, but now I have to think very hard. Awaiting publication in the Wydawnictwo Dolnoslaskie are my Bashevis - ten short stories translated from the original - and my crowning achievement, 'Talmudic Haggadah.' They have already published my 'Midrashes', and now it should be the turn of the Haggadah, which is some 600 or 700 pages.

I have just finished translating Kacyzne. The title is 'The Strong and the Famous'. It is about the period covering the beginning of World War I, the birth of Poland, and the Soviet revolution, a time of increasing stratification in the Jewish community, the crisis of various ideologies, and the birth of new ideologies, and includes a great deal of historical facts. It is a very interesting work but sometimes the writing is so terribly third-rate that it sets your teeth on edge. There are also numerous repetitions, such simple editing errors. So in order to circumvent some things I have cut out fragments of text at times. Unfortunately, I lost two large chapters, for my translation had been typed up for me by a secretary from the Jewish commune, a Polish woman, who had been doing this for me for 20 years. She could read my handwriting better than I can, and she suddenly died on the job. She had stashed these texts away somewhere in such a way that they couldn't be found. But somehow I have managed to finish this translation after almost two years of work.

I translated from Hebrew eight short stories by Agnon 69; they have also been published by the Wydawnictwo Dolnoslaskie. I find it harder to translate from Hebrew than from Yiddish. The translation of Agnon went pretty well, since he was a native of Buczacz, and his Hebrew, like mine, is the Hebrew of the Diaspora. In contrast, Amos Oz's 70 prose, for example, includes a number of words or expressions that are unfamiliar to me. My experience with translations has led me to the conclusion that the Polish language is idiomatically closer to Yiddish than to Hebrew, despite the fact that Yiddish contains a huge number of Hebrew words, about 20 percent. In my opinion, Yiddish literature has left a richer legacy of first-rate works than the literature produced in Hebrew. It is a more world- class, universal, and less hermetic literature. As a matter of fact, I am an unfulfilled writer; intentionally unfulfilled, as I have decided that whatever I could write myself would be unworthy of the writing I translate.

I taught Hebrew at the University for several years, in parallel with taking the Yiddish language class. I have taught Hebrew and Yiddish at TSKZ 71 for many years - about 700 students of both languages have passed through my classes. I still teach Yiddish in the Jewish Theater, twice a week.

Most of my students are Poles, not Jews. But I must be hardened, because I don't care about it in the least while I'm teaching them. These young Jews of today are from a different world. And these Poles are also a bit not from this world. They meet somewhere. There is a group that learnt Yiddish with me for years, all of them Poles. We studied Yiddish literature and discussed it in Yiddish. Now they have decided to meet in a private apartment to talk in Yiddish. And they are doing it. A sort of club of Polish Yiddishists, Poles-Yiddishists in fact.

Which was my first language: Yiddish or Hebrew? This is a dilemma that Jews have had since the birth of their national consciousness. Jews have always used several languages. It was either Hebrew and Aramaic, or Hebrew and Greek for the elite; during the Babylonian rule Aramaic had the upper hand relative to Hebrew. Afterwards, in the Persian times, the elite wrote in Persian and in Aramaic. Next came Arabic; after all, Maimonides wrote in Arabic; later he translated Arabic into Hebrew. After that, there was Spanish and the Jewish language Ladino, then German and Alt Yiddish. While speaking in all those other languages, in their writing the Jews have always used the Hebrew script. When the Crusades began, Jews were locked up in ghettos and their German started to deteriorate, turning into a jargon, since it had been cut off from its German root. Contemporary Yiddish evolved out of Alt Yiddish at the beginning of the 20th century. In the Talmud it is written that Greek is the best language to sing in, Latin to command an army in, Hebrew to tell a story in, and Aramaic to talk in. And I am going to add to this by saying that the best in all these languages can be found in Yiddish.

In my own life, there was a period when Hebrew gained the upper hand over Yiddish. It was an ideology, Zionism. I have never mastered Hebrew completely, however. I absorbed Yiddish in a natural way. For me, Yiddish is more emotional. You curse in it, you bless in it, and your first feelings are expressed in it. Myself, I count in Yiddish, not in Polish, to this very day. I have developed a close relationship with Polish. There was a time when I knew 'Bieniowski', Kochanowski, Asnyk [famous pieces of Polish literature] by heart. And today? I speak occasionally in Yiddish with those who come to visit this country. Here in Warsaw there is in fact nobody I could speak Yiddish with. Only with Kac [Daniel Kac, one of the last living Yiddishists, a writer], who calls me very often to ask the question: 'What is it in Polish?' and with whom I then speak not in Polish but in Yiddish.

There are many whom I have taught Yiddish. Some of them translate, others teach Yiddish at universities. There was one boy who studied with me for several years. He came by an overnight train from Poznan and I taught him for free because I realized that he was a very gifted boy. He translated Rabon's 'Street'. He did it rather well. So there will be someone to continue this work. For me, it is important that this series of translations is continued. Before 1968, I used to go regularly to the Jewish Theater, naturally in civilian clothes. In Wroclaw, where I taught at the Infantry School, I also went to all the plays. The theater in Warsaw used to be located in a barrack on Krolewska Street, in the place where the Victoria hotel stands today. It had been the building of the Polish Army Theater, later handed over to the Jewish Theater. After the war there were two Jewish theaters in Poland: Ida Kaminska's 72 theater in Lodz - that theater used to be housed in the building of the current Teatr Nowy - and the one in Wroclaw. Then in the 1950s the two theaters were merged into a single, state-owned theater with its home in Warsaw; it was a traveling theater. I remember a production of 'Meir Ezofovich', in which Ida Kaminska had a beautiful silent role and Juliusz Berger made his mark as the young Ezofovich.

My personal relationship with the Jewish Theater in postwar Poland really began in 1969. I had already been pensioned-off; it happened after the 'de- jewification' of the Polish army. One day someone from the post-Kaminska Jewish Theater came to see me. Ida Kaminska had emigrated in 1968, and the theater was taken over by Juliusz Berger, I think, who was its first director, before Szurmiej. Szurmiej [Szymon, the current director of the Jewish Theater] is a native of Luck and was aware that I knew Yiddish and Hebrew. And my visitor wanted to know if I would agree to teach Yiddish to a new generation of actors. After Ida Kaminska's departure there were only seven actors left. Well, you couldn't stage a play with seven actors. I readily agreed because I suddenly discovered here a purpose, a task I could accomplish. There was a recruitment drive among young Jews who hadn't left in 1968 or 1969, and I began to teach them Yiddish. After the first two years, more groups, young people from mixed marriages, came, and then still more groups - those included hardly any Jews. And all this time I have served the theater as consultant, and translated the lines into the headphones [simultaneous interpretation into Polish].

I also acted in two plays. Szurmiej came up with this idea in order to save money. In Israel I had to appear in a play, which I had translated, from Russian into Yiddish. It was Babel's 73 'Dusk'. I remember that after the performance in Israel some Jews came backstage to express their indignation that we had staged that play; the action takes place on Moldawianka, inside the Jewish underworld, where Antek is a thief and Manka is a whore - and how can a Jewish theater show such things? I translated 'The Dybbuk' into Polish and I played the shammash in the production. That was in the 1980s, already after our guest tour in Israel.

I met Ida Kaminska for the first time when she came to Poland on some important anniversary of the death of her mother, Estera Rachela Kaminska [one of the greatest actresses of the Jewish Theatre acting in Europe before WW II], who is buried in the Jewish cemetery in Warsaw. In the West, Ida hadn't had a spectacular career; she felt deeply embittered. She was staying at the Bristol hotel and expressed a wish to meet with the actors of the Jewish theater. We all went to dinner. I remember an unending line of Polish actors and actresses who came to the theater to bow down before Ida Kaminska and express their regret over her emigration. In America she wrote a book of memoirs, had several appearances on television, and that was it. She went to Israel to create Yiddish theater there, but the atmosphere was unfavorable, and she returned embittered to America.

The difference in quality between the theater under Ida Kaminska and the theater in the subsequent period is enormous. During her times, each production was a major artistic event; all that came to an end with her departure. Not a word is said about contemporary theater because there is nothing to talk about. The gap is enormous. The reason is that there are neither good directors nor good actors. However, all is perhaps not irretrievably lost, as a new and quite active generation is growing, so who knows?

The creation of the state of Israel represented the fulfillment of a dream that had grown more intensive with the course of history. The state of Israel is one of the main guarantors of the continuing existence of the Jewish nation. In the past, religion provided the link that united all the dispersed Jews. I think that all the centers of the Diaspora should be guarantors of the existence of the state of Israel. The Diaspora has enormous significance for Israel. I am not sure that Israel realizes this.

I went to Israel for the first time in 1980. I hadn't had any contact with my cousin's family. One day I went to Yad Vashem 74 on the business of the Ringelblum Archive 75 - they wanted us to give them the archive, but we opposed that idea, since without the archive our entire Institute [the Jewish Historical Institute] 76 serves no purpose. However, given that the most valuable documents in the Ringelblum Archive were typed or handwritten with carbon copies, as many as five in some cases, and the first copy is almost as legible as the original, I could discuss with them the handing over of the copies. And a deal was reached. On that occasion I met a man there who invited me to dinner. So we are sitting in his home and it turns out that he is a Chelm native, and I used to tutor girls from Chelm, for in Chelm there was a Jewish gymnasium without accreditation, so its students did the eighth grade in town, in Kovel. I taught one young girl whose last name was Duniec. She was from the richest family in Chelm.

My host begins to brag about his close relations with Begin, keeps dropping names of generals, and so on. So I say to him: 'Listen, did you know Jundow?' 'But of course I did. And how come you know him?' 'He is,' I say, 'my closest cousin.' He responds: 'OK, but Jundow is dead.' 'I know that,' I say, 'but his wife is still alive and I don't have her address; she isn't listed in any telephone book, I haven't been able to find her.' 'Wait a minute,' he says, 'she works for the General Staff.' He calls the secretariat on the spot and a moment later he gives me her phone number and address. When I called, Janusz's widow answered the phone. Naturally, he drove me there immediately. When we arrived at her place, everybody was already there, the entire family. I was very moved.

When we came with the Jewish Theater in the 80s, it was a huge event for Israel, for the gates of captivity had suddenly been flung open. We couldn't go directly to Israel since there were no diplomatic relations, so we traveled first to Belgrade - where our actors took part in an American series called 'The Winds of War' - and from there we went to Israel. At the airport we were met by a swarm of journalists. They didn't speak Yiddish. And the director of the theater says at a certain point: 'You are having such a hard time, but we have Friedman here; he speaks Hebrew.' So they descended on me like the proverbial bees. And the dialogue began. I hadn't used the language for sixty years but during that conversation I felt as if I had just left my classroom. My schoolmates, who had left in the 1930s, saw our arrival on television and began to call the hotel. That reception at the airport cost me a sleepless night because everybody called. My most recent visit to Israel was for a meeting of the World Council for Yiddish, some eight years ago.

In Poland we have a small Jewish community split into a number of organizations and associations. We have two Jewish periodicals. In principle, we have all the attributes of a great community, except that we don't have the people. When I am asked: 'What do Polish Jews need?' I say: 'Jews.' There are always two points of view: one pessimistic and one optimistic. Some see hope in the young people who are attracted to Jewish causes, even though they have frequently Catholic backgrounds. A sort of new type of Jewish community may develop here, but it would be very different from the historic Polish Jewry.

In 1991, Miles Lerman, the first director of the Holocaust Museum, came to Warsaw. They didn't have too much material for the museum, though they had been collecting it around the world. And he says: 'I will help you with the archives, but lend us one of Ringelblum's two milk cans.' We did it, lending, as they say, for eternity, being aware that they would never return it. Nevertheless, we insisted that it be a loan. [The milk can was lent for an exhibition to the Holocaust Museum in 1991. The deposit agreement is renewed every five years.]

That was probably in 1991, during one of the Pope's [John Paul II] visits to Warsaw. The Pope expressed his wish to meet with the Jewish community. At the time, a so-called Coordination Committee uniting several Jewish organizations was in existence. I was then the acting chairman of the Jewish Historical Institute Association and was chairing, under a rotation system, the Committee, which also included the JSCS and the Jewish religious community. I was tremendously impressed by his kindness of heart and direct manner. We felt that we were dealing with an individual of outstanding importance in the history of the papacy. He greeted us as if we had known each other. He even invited me to take a seat next to him. The main substance of my speech, besides words of recognition for the Pope, who had taken a positive stance toward the Jews, included a request to undertake an effort for the diplomatic recognition of Israel.

The Pope is a just man, like a tzaddik. And in the view of the sages of the Talmud and the cabalists, a just man stands higher than angels in the hierarchy of saintliness and importance. Angels only sing songs of praise and carry out directives, while a tzaddik, Hasid, or a just man, at times gets even a chance to change God's judgment, for his pleas, made in direct dialogue, may be granted. An angel gets the order to come down to earth to protect that man, whereas the tzaddik does it by his own will and his own inclination, and for this reason he stands higher than the angel in the hierarchy of importance.

Since the Pope's visit, this Judeo-Christian dialogue has become more visible in Poland, and there is an extraordinary need for it. The accumulation of stereotypes has been far greater in Poland than elsewhere. For example, the issue of the involvement of Poles in saving Jews has surfaced recently. And in fact, there used to be a stereotype that during the wartime the Poles were blackmailers and anti-Semites, and no mention was made of just Poles. Even the just among the Poles did not flaunt what they had done.

Is Poland an anti-Semitic country? No. Poland is a country where there also are anti-Semites. There is a lot of this ludic brand of anti-Semitism, which is a bit ridiculous. But Poland is also a country in which there is an enormous number of centers that oppose anti-Semitism. I must say that, with the exception of the policy carried out in the military, I haven't experienced anti-Semitism. I have had the fortune of finding myself always in very progressive company.

Glossary

Aristide Streja
Bucureşti
România
Reporter: Anca Ciuciu
Data interviului: Aprilie 2004

Aristide Streja este un pensionar activ, care la 82 de ani încă lucrează pentru comunitatea evreiască ca ghid  şi custode al muzeului Memorialul Martirilor Evrei ”Moses Rosen”. De profesie architect, fost şef de atelier la Institutul de Proiectare pentru Construcţii Tipizate, a proiectat şi construit numeroase clădiri publice şi industriale. A scris împreună cu Lucian Schwartz lucrarea “Sinagogi din România”(1996), o carte mărturie a stării în care se găsesc astăzi multe din sinagogile comunităţilor evreieşti din ţară. Lucrează în Sinagoga Mare, o clădire declarată monument istoric de Academia Română, construită în 1846 şi în care, în anul 1980 a fost inclusă expoziţia Memorialul Martirilor Evrei „Moses Rosen”, o amintire a Holocaustului evreilor din România şi a vechiului cartier evreiesc care exista odată aici. În urmă cu şaptezeci de ani Aristide Streja se juca cu alţi copii evrei în curtea interioară în timp ce părinţii ascultau slujba religiosă, a făcut aici bar mitzvah, iar astăzi din  biroul existent în anexele sinagogii, se preocupă de lucrările destinate menţinerii şi restaurării acesteia.

Familia mea
Copilăria mea
Viața religioasă
Al Doilea Război Mondial
Viața de după Război
Glosar

Familia mea

Bunicii paterni au murit înainte de a mă naşte eu şi înainte de a veni tatăl meu în Bucureşti. Au trăit şi au murit amândoi în Nămoloasa [comună în sudul Moldovei, în judeţul Galaţi] înainte cu mult de primul război mondial, lăsând o familie de câteva persoane. Pe bunicul îl chema Haim Maier Wechsler. Pe bunica o chema Feighe. Tatăl meu, care era cel mai mare, a trebuit să întreţină încă două surori. Nu ştiu în ce condiţii au murit, nu m-am interesat când eram copil şi când am  ajuns destul de mare erau nişte lucruri care nu s-au vehiculat.

Blimette Benjamin [născută Wechsler], sora tatălui meu s-a căsătorit cu Aron Benjamin. Blimette a avut trei copii: Mauriciu, Carol şi o fată, Bori. A emigrat în Israel, devreme, prin 1955. Blimette cu Carol au locuit în chibuţul Nir Itzhac, pe strada Doar HaNeghev.. Blimette a murit prin anii 1970, nu mai ştiu cum s-a întâmplat cu restul familiei. Noi am avut legătură cu Blimette, ne-a spus [în scrisori]cum trăia în chibuţ.

Despre Betti Lupu [născută Wechsler], sora tatălui, foarte multe lucruri nu ştiu să spun. Avea o educaţie de gospodină, nu avea o meserie anume, decât că era croitoreasă, învăţase să facă croitorie şi se ocupa de confecţii, reparaţii de lingerie, şi croitorie de damă. Soţul ei, Lupu, era bolnăvicios şi lucra împreună cu ea, avea un atelier de croitorie, casnic, nu o afacere. Principala susţinătoare a familiei era ea, care muncea foarte mult ca gospodină şi ca lingereasa. Au trăit în Bucureşti, nu ştiu să spun pe ce stradă. Erau nişte persoane religioase. Betti a avut trei copii, Adolf Lupu, doctor internist care în timp ce îndeplinea stagiul militar ca  medic ofiţer a fost ucis, împuşcat, de un ofiţer legionar 1 [în timpul celui de-al doilea război mondial] şi două fete, Fanchette Recu [născută Lupu], căsătorită cu Mişu Recu cu care a avut 2 fiice, şi Evelina [născută Lupu], căsătorită fără copii, care a emigrat în Israel. Betti a fost afectată [de moartea fiului]. A murit soţul întâi şi ea după aceea. N-a fost foarte multă vreme, pentru că după al doilea război mondial familia aceasta dispăruse.

Haim Maier Wechsler, tatăl meu, s-a născut în 1883 la Nămoloasa, şi-a schimbat numele înainte de 1910, în Iulius Wechsler. Tatăl meu s-a însurat la Ploieşti în anul 1912. Fratele şi sora mea, s-au născut înainte de război [Notă: 1916 este anul intrării României în primul război mondial]. Tatăl meu a venit în Bucureşti în jurul anului 1900. Părinţii lui fiind decedaţi, el s-a ocupat cu mici afaceri comerciale şi a putut  să  contribuie la întreţinerea  surorilor sale.

Pe bunicii din partea mamei, familia Letzler, îi cunosc mai bine. Pe bunica o chema Eva Letzler şi pe bunicul îl chema Maier Letzler. S-au născut pe la mijlocul secolului XIX. Bunica mea a murit relativ tânără. Bunicul meu s-a recăsătorit – nu oficial, dar la evrei dacă stai mai mult timp cu o femeie eşti ca şi căsătorit –, a trăit cu o altă femeie pe care o chema tot Eva. Apoi s-a căsătorit şi oficial la starea civilă. El fiind rabin şi şoihăt, cunoscut în lumea evreiască din Ploieşti, nu avea voie să se căsătorească chiar imediat cu altcineva. Am cunoscut-o foarte puţin pe bunica mea [prima soţie a bunicului]. Era subţire, era o femeie foarte draguţă şi crescută moral, foarte liniştită. Era femeie casnică, crescută foarte strict în religia iudaică. Sora mea, care era mai mare ca mine, şi fratele meu, învăţau la şcoala şi nu aveau teme de discuţii cu ea decât de îngrijirea copiilor [atunci când venea în vizită]. A fost bolnavă, a murit, nu ştiu exact când, aproximativ la sfârşitul anilor 1920. Nu ştiu nici de rudele bunicii.

Bunicul era foarte religios, avea un şil pe care îl păstorea la Ploieşti. Bunicul meu aveau o educaţie evreiască sută în sută şi bunica bineînţeles că avea tot o astfel de educaţie. Nu cred că ei aveau şcoala organizată de stat sau într-un fel oarecare, ei au învăţat la ieşiva, se învăţa şi ivrit, dar se învăţa şi româneşte. În casă foloseau limba română şi idiş. Nu cred că cunoşteau alte limbi. Bunicul, era îmbrăcat ca un rabin, cum să spun, în negru, cu caftan lung, cu baston, mergea cu baston. Eu l-am cunoscut, a venit pe la noi de sărbători şi sigur că mama mea a avut şi o educaţie religioasă. Copiii mamei, cum sunt eu şi fratele şi sora mea, nu erau foarte religioşi, când venea bunicul meu la noi îi făcea observaţii mamei că de ce îi lasă pe copiii ei să nu fie respectuoşi. Sora mea era mai liberală în cugetare, aproape comunistă, nu foarte religioasă, nu prea mergea la sinagogă şi când venea bunicul meu la noi îi spunea mamei mele: “Cum o laşi să nu meargă la sinagogă sâmbăta? Cum iţi creşti tu fiica cu asemenea gânduri?“. Bunicul Maier Lezler a murit înainte de al doilea război mondial, aproximativ în anii 1930. Rudele lui, dacă le-a avut, nu ştiu unde erau răspândite.

Am fost o dată la Ploieşti cu mama mea ca să văd casa bunicilor, era o casă parter, destul de derăpănată, dar probabil ca pe acea vreme nu era, şi avea alături o sală mai mare unde era şil. Şilul este numai un loc transformat dintr-o locuinţă sau o încăpere mică în care se aduna un minian de bărbaţi. Sinagogă se  numeşte un lăcaş care este construit special în care se poate face o adunare minian de bărbaţi şi o adunare de femei.

Bunicii materni au avut patru copii. Cel mai mic a murit, fiind bolnav. Numele nu-mi aduc aminte decât la cei trei care au trăit. Se numeau: Simon Letzler, băiatul cel mare, Pene Letzler, băiatul mai mic-copilul intermediar şi Estera Letzler, mama.

Simon Lezler, fratele mamei, s-a născut cam în 1885, la Ploieşti. A făcut studii juridice în Bucureşti, el fiind din Ploieşti, a fost angajat la o societate petroliferă americană şi a plecat în America chiar în anul precedent izbucnirii [primului] războiului mondial în România, adică în 1915. La început a fost vânzător de ziare şi pe urmă s-a angajat funcţionar tot la o societate petroliferă, având experienţă. S-a căsătorit cu o evreică de acolo şi au trăit relativ bine. Are patru copii, o fată, Ana Lezler, care a fost măritată, dar a divorţat şi care nu are copii, şi trei băieţi, Edy, Alfred şi Hary Letzler. Eu i-am cunoscut pe copiii lui. Unul din copiii lui, Ana Letzler a venit în România de câteva ori. Fraţii ei au copii şi nepoţi şi fiecare a avut o meserie intelectuală acolo, unul din ei a fost avocat. Aşa se continuă familia în America, în zona New York.

Pene Letzler, fratele mamei, s-a născut prin 1890, la Ploieşti. A mers la facultate în Bucureşti şi s-a făcut avocat. A fost un avocat de renume în Ploieşti şi făcut şi politică românească, fiind ajutor de prefect de Prahova. A fost locotenent în primul război mondial. Ca să fii avocat evreu în perioada 1930, când au început curentele antisemite în România, era foarte greu. A locuit în Ploieşti, a fost căsătorit cu o doamnă pe care o chema Mili Letzler, nici foarte bogată nici foarte cultivată dar au fost în dragoste. Era evreică. Era foarte greu ca un fiu de rabin să se căsătorescă  cu o femeie care nu este evreică, mai ales într-un oraş din provincie din România. Au avut o singură fată, Dora Letzler, care a studiat şi ea avocatura. Familia Lezler avea o situaţie financiară foarte bună, erau destul de bogaţi, locuiau în casă proprietate personală, ceea ce, era foarte mult atunci, iar casa era pe o stradă principală din Ploieşti. Era o casă de tip boieresc [Notă: Boierii sunt nobilimea românească, proprietari de moşii de regulă, cu case construite în general în stil autohton], cu parter si etaj, cu gard metalic, cu încă un pavilion special pentru femei de serviciu şi loc pentru maşină, cu maşină şi cu un loc pentru creşterea porumbeilor. În timpul războiului al doilea mondial, a fost dat afară din barou, nu a mai putut să practice şi bineînţeles politică nu a mai făcut, avea dosar prost, mizerabil, fiindcă era burghez sută în sută şi situaţia lui devenise foarte proastă din punct de vedere social. Era destul de bogat şi putea să trăiască. Fata lui s-a măritat cu un director de minister şi a venit în Bucureşti, a fost magistrată. A ieşit din magistratură în timpul periodei comuniste, pentru că a avut origine proastă [burgheză], şi pe urmă a fost casnică. L-a adus şi pe tatăl ei în Bucureşti, au vândut proprietatea lor de acolo [din Ploieşti] şi au luat mulţi bani, cu care au putut să trăiască şi să cumpere o altă proprietate în Bucureşti, în bulevardul Lacul Tei. El a murit de o boală de cancer de piele prin anii 1970 şi pe urmă a murit şi fata lui, prin anii 1980, tot având o boală, care atuncea nu s-a putut trata, degenerativă, de colagen. Simon şi Pene erau nişte evrei destul de moderni, nu erau religioşi, ţineau sărbătorile mai mult acasă şi cred că foarte rar mergeau la sinagogă. Nu erau religioşi în sens mistic, ţineau sărbătorile, ştiau că sunt evrei.

Estera Wechsler [născută Letzler], mama mea, s-a născut în 1888, la Ploieşti. A învăţat la pension şi cunoştea germana şi franceza şi idiş, bineînţeles, de acasă. Nu  mi-a povestit din copilărie decât faptul că ea a învăţat, că profesoarele au apreciat-o foarte mult, în special pentru talentul ei la pictură şi desen. Din păcate, sau poate din fericire, nu se poate şti, mama mea s-a căsătorit cu un negustor din Bucureşti şi a venit după bărbatul ei. A întrerupt studiile, ar fi vrut să meargă la Belle Arte [în Bucureşti], profesorii i-au spus să meargă mai departe la facultate. Bunicii mei aveau o educaţie religioasă, habotnică, şi ideile foarte religioase sunt ca fetele să se mărite, dacă e posibil cu un rabin, care ar fi sumum [maxim] ce ar putea să râvnească o fată. Asta a fost destinul mamei mele.

Mama a făcut multe picturi, am şi eu acasă acuma picturi făcute de mama mea. Mama mea a făcut foarte multe lucruri, atunci când noi eram copii, legate acest talent decorativ, ţesea covoare persane, după modele. Fratele meu, care era mai mare îi făcea, îi transpunea nişte modele decorative, pe care le găsea prin reviste, pe un canevas mare cu pătraţele şi mama mea se uita pe modelul care era mic şi pe canevasul pe care era desenat modelul şi ţesea covoare. Ţesea feţe de pernă decorative, una din ele am dat-o la un nepot de al meu şi una din pernele astea o mai am şi acuma la mine. Mama mea avea o cultură destul de importantă, ştia limbi străine, citea literatură şi în limbi străine şi în limba română. Şi tatăl meu a avut intenţia ca să ne dea  la şcoală, dar mama mea a ţinut cu dinţii chiar în sărăcia în care eram, ca noi să învăţam şcoala, şi liceu şi facultate.

Părinţii s-au cunoscut printr-un intermediar, adică probabil că cineva din Ploieşti, văzând că bunicul meu are o fată de măritat, s-a gândit cum să o mărite mai bine. Şi prin intermediar l-a cunoscut pe tatăl meu şi s-au purtat discuţii dacă este cazul să se căsătorească sau nu, dacă îi convine situaţia. Tatăl meu fiind, având o situaţie de negustor, pentru că majoritatea evreilor erau meseriaşi, croitori, cizmari şi aşa mai departe, situaţia de negustor era o situaţie bună pentru un evreu. Şi atuncea mama mea, care era mai educată, pentru era absolventă de pension şi pentru că cunoştea limbi străine şi pentru că s-a ocupat cu pictura şi aşa mai departe, adică mai instruită, a acceptat ca să îl ia de bărbat pe un om  care are o situaţie socială. Fiind o femeie foarte frumoasă a avut copii frumoşi, afară de mine. A acceptat această partidă cu tatăl meu în condiţiile în care amândoi au fost, au considerat că fac o căsătorie fericită, bună şi chiar aşa a şi fost.

Copilăria mea

Stăteam la curte, mai era încă o casă alături cu altcineva. Tatăl meu era comerciant fără salariaţi, el muncea şi, slavă Domnului, era în stare să întreţină aceasta gospodărie. Pe vremea aceea gospodăria era foarte laborioasă. Mama mea, afară că avea grijă de copii, spăla, nu erau maşini de spălat. O zi obişnuită pentru mama era foarte dificilă. Spălatul atuncea era în lighean, pe fiecare copil trebuia să-l spele în lighean, că nu erau băi să poţi să-i speli. Destul că exista alimentare cu apă şi canalizare de la reţele publice.. Asta era un progres  foarte mare. Era apă curgătoare [curentă] în bucătărie şi se spăla în bucătărie. Iarna era foarte dificil. În bucătărie se făcea cald cu lemne în sobă metalică. Aveam lemne în curte. Pe urmă mama trebuia să pregătească o activitate gospodărească foarte laborioasă. Pentru iarnă se pregăteau butoaie mari de murături, cu patlăgele verzi, cu gogoşari, cu varză, toate trebuind a fi aprovizionate şi preparate.. Mai ajuta şi tatăl meu. Era ca o gospodărie de la ţară acuma, dar asta era la oraş. Munca de femeie era foarte grea. Sigur că şi pentru bărbaţi era foarte greu, pentru că ei aveau sarcina să câştige bani şi să mai facă încă unele treburi acasă. Problema banilor într-o epocă capitalistă de început era foarte dificilă. Nu se muncea opt ore, se muncea 12-14 ore pe zi, adică era o viaţă foarte grea, mai ales pentru comercianţii mărunţi.

Tatăl meu vara era foarte ocupat fiindcă mergea la bâlciuri, unde am participat şi eu. Se făceau nişte târguri, nişte bâlciuri în diferite oraşe din Muntenia. Se organizau aceste târguri cu ocazii speciale, dar la intervale proprii acelor orăşele. Erau târguri comerciale, nu era ca azi să fie cinematograf sau orchestre. [Notă: Există şi astăzi astfel de târguri tradiţionale legate de anumite sărbători, unde diferiţi negustori şi meşteşugari îşi vând produsele.] Se vindeau mâncăruri, mititei. Fiecare oraş organiza într-o perioadă, putea să fie şi concomitent în două oraşe. Se făceau nişte barăci construite din lemn, acoperite cu pânza multe dintre ele, cu pământ pe jos şi unde se şi trăia, adică era o cortină şi în spatele ei era un pat, laviţe de culcat. Şi bineînţeles că closetele erau undeva departe, uscate şi publice, apa era de la fântână, adică viaţa era la marginea oraşelelor, pe un câmp organizat, aceste barăci una lânga alta şi cu teşghele din lemn şi se vindeau mărfuri. Tatăl meu vindea mărfuri de lingerie. De multe ori mergeam cu tatăl meu la bâlciuri, ca să-l ajut la vânzare, când aveam vacanţă, vara.

Părinţii mei au avut trei copii: Ştefania, Sebastian şi Aristide Wechsler. Ştefania Rubinger [născută Wechsler], sora mea s-a născut în 1914, la Bucureşti. E foarte greu de povestit epopeea surorii mele. În timpul celui de al doilea război mondial era căsătorită. S-a căsătorit cu un pictor, Rubinger, un bărbat de o frumuseţe extraordinară, înalt, spătos, un om de o cultură vastă şi talentat. Sora mea a învăţat la pension, dar bărbatul ei avea cultură artistică. Are lucrări în Israel, în Germania, în România. El a fost pictor scenograf în Bucureşti, la toate marile teatre din Bucureşti, la Opera de stat, la Teatrul Tineretului, la Teatrul Naţional şi a lucrat foarte mult timp şi la Teatrul Evreiesc de stat 2. S-au cunoscut întâmplător. El nu era bogat, nici ea nu era, erau doi relativ săraci, dar care s-au căsătorit din dragoste. Au locuit în Bucureşti şi prin 1970, au emigrat în Germania. Atunci Germania accepta să emigreze cei de limbă germană, de origine germană. El era născut la Cernăuţi, era de limbă germană, iar sora mea ştia germana. Ea a avut pensie în Germania, bărbatul ei a avut pensie mare, pentru că a lucrat foarte mult şi i s-a recunoscut activitatea. Au emigrat în oraşul Düsseldorf, au locuit acolo şi în continuare locuieşte sora mea, pentru că cumnatul meu a murit acum doi ani de zile [în 2002]. A murit călcat de un automobil pe trecerea de pietoni la vârsta de 92 de ani. Sora mea are şi ea acuma circa 90 de ani. Au doi copii extraordinari: Irina Rubinger şi Adrian Rubinger. Irina este mai mare şi s-a născut în timpul celui de al doilea război mondial. Adrian s-a născut mai târziu, el are vreo 52-53 de ani acuma, în Bucureşti. Au crescut amândoi în Bucureşti. Acum locuiesc la Paris. Când au emigrat spre Germania, au trecut prin Franţa şi au rămas acolo.

Irina Rubinger, era studentă la Biologie, a terminat biologia la Paris, a intrat în cercetare, a intrat în învăţamântul superior, a ajuns până mai demult conferenţiar la  o Universitate de Medicină din Paris. S-a căsătorit cu un actor român, Iulian Negulescu şi au avut o fată, Ilinca. Pe urmă a divorţat. Ilinca a urmat la Sorbona Literatura franceză, şi a încercat să studieze şi să activeze în arta dramatică teatrală. Acum lucrează în cinematografie. S-a căsătorit la Paris cu Julien Cohen. De curând a născut  o fetiţă care are acum câteva luni.

Adrian Rubinger, când a ajuns la Paris era student la arhitectură, adică dădea examen la arhitectură, la École des Beaux Arts. Acolo străinii aveau “numerus clausus”, adică dacă erai străin era un număr redus de locuri, era concurs, unul dintre cele mai grele concursuri de intrare la o înaltă şcoală, şi el a reuşit să intre la acest concurs la Paris în anul 1968. El a terminat Facultatea de Arhitectură la Paris şi pe urmă a plecat în Israel, a dat şi acolo nişte examene şi are o diplomă de arhitect şi din Israel. Nu ştiu exact perioadele când a fost el student şi când a absolvit ambele facultăţi. În Israel a cunoscut-o pe nevasta lui, Ester, o israeliancă, fiică de evrei români. Au venit la Paris, unde ea a terminat facultatea de psihologie, dar a predat mai mult ivrit la comunitatea evreilor de acolo şi la francezi care voiau să înveţe ivrit. Au două fete, Miriam şi Sara [Rubinger]. Miriam are douăzeci şi doi de ani, este două facultăţi,  studii iudaice şi psihologie. Sara, care este la liceu, împlineşte 16 ani. Ei sunt foarte religioşi. Ţin vinerea seară, sâmbată nu lucrează nimic, nu răspund la telefon, vineri şi sâmbătă, sunt acasă, fac rugăciuni, se duc la templu. Cu mine au păstrat nişte legături, suntem în dragoste. Cu toţi copiii ei şi cu ea şi cu nepoata, am fost la ei şi acum doi ani. De câte ori voiajăm la copiii noştri treceam prin Paris şi prin Düsseldorf, ca să ne vedem rudele noastre bune, frate şi soră, nepot şi nepoate. Cu toţi aceştia suntem în legătură afectivă şi ne iubim foarte mult. Şi Adrian este un  nepot care se comportă ca şi când ar fi fiul nostru.

Sebastian Sebastian, fratele meu, s-a născut în 1915, la Bucureşti. [A schimbat numele din Wechsler după al doilea război mondial.] A studiat întâi la Facultatea de Drept şi Filozofie, apoi a fost student la Facultatea de Arhitectură, pe care a absolvit-o în 1945. A absolvit studiile de Drept şi Filozofie şi a trecut la la Facultatea de Arhitectură, pentru că în 1940 de fapt evreii au fost excluşi din barou şi s-a văzut că nu poate fi o carieră bună.. Pe urmă a fost dat afară din Facultatea de Arhitectură [din cauza Statutului Evreiesc], dar după război şi-a continuat studiile tot la Arhitectură şi a devenit arhitect înaintea mea. Logodnica lui, Lola Gotfried, venea dintr-o familie înstărită, bunicul lor avea un magazin de încălţăminte pe Calea Victoriei. Înainte, magazinele de lux de pe Calea Victoriei, vindeau pantofi pe care era imprimat numele magazinului. Şi era un magazin cunoscut în Bucureşti, era un magazin de lux şi bunicul era foarte bogat. Bunicul a construit un bloc pe C.A.Rosetti, nr.36. Există astăzi acest bloc şi atunci când s-a făcut era foarte modern, avea încălzire, cu sobe de teracotă. Avea trei copii şi când el a  murit le-a lăsat în proprietate aceste apartamente. Cumnata mea are şi acum proprietate aceste apartamente, i s-a recunoscut, dar degeaba este proprietară, fiindcă locuieşte cineva acolo şi nu se poate face nimic. Fratele meu şi cumnata mea au emigrat în Franţa prin 1960 şi s-au stabilit la Paris. Fratele meu a lucrat ca arhitect angajat la Paris, n-a avut atelier propriu. Mai târziu datorită soţiei lui care era foarte întreprinzătoare au avut un magazin de gablonţuri şi ceasuri pe o stradă centrală în Paris. Mulţi ani a trăit din acest comerţ, mai mult decât din arhitectură.

Eu, Aristide Streja [Notă: numele schimbat din Wechsler după al doilea război mondial], m-am născut în Bucureşti în 19 decembrie 1922, într-o casă de pe Cheiul Dâmboviţei, Splaiul Unirii [Notă: era o zonă destul de aproape de centru, cu o populaţie evreiască destul de numeroasă].Părinţii m-au îngrijit şi educat. Am avut frate şi soră mai mari decât mine, cu şapte şi şase ani, decât mine. În primul meu an de viaţă, ei erau în clasele primare. Ei se jucau, şi ei erau copii când eu eram foarte mic, mama mea avea grija de toţi trei. Eu mă jucam atunci cu cercul, era una din distracţiile favorite, nu eram încă la şcoală. Când am avut 4-5 ani am avut scarlatină şi atunci mama trebuia să aibă grijă de mine în mod special, să mă izoleze, să nu se îmbolnăvească ceilalţi copii, era problemă foarte grea. Nu am fost la grădiniţă, că pe vremea  aceea, nu mergeau oamenii la grădiniţă. Am fost la şcoală pe Splaiul Independenţei, vis-à-vis era o fabrică de tăbăcărie, Fabrica Mociorniţa. Era şcoală de stat şi am făcut patru ani acolo. Nu mai am prieteni, sau nu am avut prieteni de la această şcoală, nu ştiu, eram prea mic. Am învăţat relativ bine. La şcoala primară nu-mi plăcea  nimic special, poate matematica. În rest mă jucam pe străzile alaturate, pe strada Aurora, şi aveam nişte prieteni care erau vecini. Fraţii mei aveau o oarecare grijă de mine, dar nu mă jucam cu ei, mai mult aveau grijă de mine ca să învăţ. Îi obligau părinţii să aibă grijă de mine şi nu prea le plăcea pentru că pierdeau timpul cu mine, dar mă iubeau, n-am avut conflicte cu ei.

Pe urmă am mers la liceu, la liceul Matei Basarab, pentru că fratele meu mersese la liceul acesta. [Notă: Liceul Matei Basarab este unul dintre cele mai vechi şi prestigioase licee din Bucureşti, situat în vecinătatea Sinagogii mari şi a cartierului evreiesc. Mulţi evrei din familiile de seamă au urmat acest liceu.] Şi la liceul Matei Basarab, am învăţat dintr-a întaia până într-a şasea, când m-a dat afară de la liceu în 1939-1940, din cauză că eram evreu. Am avut profesori foarte buni în liceu. Era directorul liceului, Stoenescu, care era profesor de matematică, am avut un profesor la istorie, Ion Tatoiu, care era autor de manuale şcolare. Un profesor excelent, venea în clasă, se aşeza pe bancă, şi povestea o istorie, ca un roman, ca o poveste. Când eram, mai mari, am avut un profesor la limba română Perpessicius, care era critic literar. [Notă: (1891-1971): critic, istoric literar şi poet; conduce revista “Universul literar” între 1925 şi 1927 şi deţine între 1934 şi 1938 cronica literară la “Radio Bucureşti”. Din 1929 până în 1951, fără întrerupere, este profesor de limba română la liceul Matei Basarab din Bucureşti.] La latină l-am avut profesor, pe Chiriac, avea şi el manuale de latină. Eu eram un elev destul de bun la latină şi luam note mari, mi-aduc aminte o dată m-a prins că n-am învăţat şi am luat nota 1, dar în general luam note mari. Nu am luat lecţii particulare. Am învăţat în liceu franceză şi italiană. La italiană am avut o profesoară tânără, Constanţa, şi învăţam de plăcere.

Liceul Matei Basarab, era recunoscut ca un liceu foarte bun. Liceul era de stat, dar la liceele de stat se plătea taxa. La şcolile primare nu se plătea taxa, era obligatoriu [să frecventezi] şi fără taxa, aşa era atunci, dar la liceu se plătea taxa. La liceele paticulare se plătea taxa şi mai mare. Era, de exemplu, un liceu particular [evreiesc], Libros se numea, unde se plătea taxa şi mai mare. Liceele evreieşti erau Cultura 3. Cred că şi la liceele evreieşti se plătea taxă, până când nu s-a mai plătit taxa, în timpul celui de-al doilea razboi mondial, când au fost daţi afară.

Când eram eu în liceu şi se înfiinţase străjeria, Marele Străjer era Carol II. Străjeria a fost înfiinţată de Carol al II lea . Noi eram adunaţi în curte în careu, era un fel de paramilitărie. Din anii 1930 au început manifestările antisemite în România şi s-a simţit chestiunea asta şi în liceu, că noi eram acolo consideraţi mai paria. În cadrul organizării străjeriei, toţi elevii erau străjeri şi evreii încadraţi ca străjeri, dar cum să spun, din punct de vedere moral puţin ostracizaţi şi în cadrul şcolii şi chiar de către unii elevi mai mari sau mai mici sau chiar colegi de-ai mei. Profesorii nu au avut atitudini antisemite. Deşi profesorii de latină (Chiriac) şi istorie (Ion Totoiu) aveau concepţii naţionaliste, exprimate în manualele ai căror manuale erau, elevii evrei silitori, printre care mă număram şi eu, aveau note mari la aceste discipline.

Noi nu aveam bani să plătim, o duceam de pe azi pe mâine şi mama trebuia să mă amâne, mă dădea afară de la cursuri dacă nu plăteam. Şi mama se ducea tot mereu la secretariat.“Vă rog foarte mult, uite, băiatul meu învaţă destul de bine, vă rog să mă amânaţi că nu pot să plătesc“. Ca să obţină o amânare, era destul de greu, condiţia noastră era destul de joasă. Purtam hainele de şcoală 2-3 ani până mi se făceau mici. Nu am lipsit, nu am fost dat afară din cauza taxelor, am plătit întotdeauna taxele, mai târziu decât trebuia, pentru că m-a amânat. Nu am rămas dator, dar am fost dat afară numai din cauza că au fost daţi afară toţi evreii din licee. Am terminat ultimii ani de liceu, la şcoala evreiască [Cultura B], unde am avut nişte profesori nemaipomenit de buni. L-am avut pe [Mihail] Sebastian [Notă : (1907-1945) romancier, critic literar, dramaturg, eseist. Are studii de doctorat în ştiinţe economice şi drept public la Paris. Este redactor la Revista Fundaţiilor Regale între 1936 şi până 1940 când este dat afară din cauză că era evreu. Din 1941 este profesor la liceul evreiesc Cultura B.], la limba şi literatura română, l-am avut pe Sanielevici.

Viața religioasă

În copilărie, acasă, mama mea, ca fiică de rabin sigur că ţinea toate sărbătorile. Mergea de multe ori la sinagogă şi tatăl meu era de asemenea foarte religios. În fiecare sărbătoare se ţineau tradiţiile evreieşti. De Paşte se mânca pască, se postea de Yom Kippur. Venea în vizită tatăl mamei mele din Ploieşti, care ţinea casher. Pe cât posibil ţineam casher pentru că mama mea se ducea [la haham] şi tăia păsările pe strada Mămulari. Ea cumpăra păsări vii şi se ducea cu păsările la tăiat. Nu-mi dau seama cât de strict se ţinea, dar se ţinea. Numai acuma nu mai există, se taie la abator şi rabinul se duce şi vede cum se taie.

Tatăl meu a fost un om religios, se ducea la sinagogă şi vineri, sâmbata şi în alte zile. Mergea la templu, la Sinagoga Mare, avea un loc, plătea pentru treaba asta. Pe mine mă ducea la templu, mergeam la sinagogă cu tatăl meu. Dar eu mergeam numai la sărbători. Stăteam foarte mult acolo, pentru că mai jucam şi cu alţi copii în curte, o curte destul de mare. Veneau la templu, întotdeauna a fost şi a rămas, zic eu, şi asta le spun şi altor copii care vin aicea, un centru comunitar. De exemplu, de Paşte sau de Yom Kippur, rugăciunile durează 3-4 ore dimineaţă şi se continuă şi după amiază încă trei ore şi durează foarte mult. Atunci dura mai mult şi se făceau pauze şi lumea ieşea în curte, şi în curte se discutau fel de fel de lucruri, printre care şi se aranjau căsătorii. Îi făcea cunoştinţă cu fata lui cutare, cu băiatul lui cutare, se discutau tot felul de lucruri. Se discutau şi în sinagogă, nu de Yom Kippur sau de Paşte, dar în alte zile, se discutau şi lucruri care nu erau neapărat religioase. Ca şi astăzi, se discutau tot felul de probleme interesând comunitatea evreiască din vremea respectivă, probleme sociale, filantropice, sioniste, donaţii pentru Keren Kayemet 4. Comunităţile evreieşti erau organizate în jurul sinagogilor, care aveau proprii comitete, preşedinţi, rabini,etc.

Hamişa Asar era sărbătoarea preferată, pentru că se mâncau fructe exotice, care erau în Palestina. Se mâncau curmale dulci, mană şi o serie întreagă de fructe afară de portocale şi lucruri din astea, nişte caise presate, pistel se numea pe vremea aceea. Erau scumpe şi se găseau, pentru că atunci, pe vremea aceea, societatea era capitalistă. Tradiţia ne dădea câte puţin şi ţineam această tradiţie.

La Sinagoga Mare am spus Bar Mitzvah. Eu nu am învăţat ebraică decât atunci când m-am pregătit pentru Bar Mitzvah şi de atunci până acum eu n-am mai învăţat ebraica. Dar ştiu ceva litere ebraice şi trei–patru cuvinte, dar nu ştiu astăzi să urmăresc, mai ales că se citeşte foarte repede. Mă duc astăzi la sinagogă vineri seară şi nu pot să urmăresc foarte bine, decât unele pasaje, ma interesează comentariile la pericopa saptămânii.

Ca prieteni pot să spun aşa, din ce ţin minte, pe Schwartzman, care era băiatul dirijorului corului de la Templul din Bucuresti. Era un muzician cunoscut în Bucureşti şi băiatul lui învăţa cu mine la liceu. Grimberg Bercu, el a fost suprabotezat Boris, cu care am mers pe urmă la facultate. L-aveam prieten din liceu, am făcut şi muncă obligatorie cu el. Am avut şi prieteni români, unul Vasilescu, dar când ne-am despărţit, adică când am plecat din şcoală, el a rămas în continuare să înveţe încă doi ani. După aia, noi nu ne-am mai întâlnit. Pe urmă am avut încă un prieten care era cu un an mai mic decât mine, tot la Matei Basarab învăţa, Aurel Zlota. Cred că din clasa  întâia de liceu, chiar mai devreme, din şcoala primară eram prieten cu el şi am fost prieten cu el până acum doi-trei ani, când el a murit. A fost cel mai bun prieten al meu de 60-70 de ani. Am mers împreună şi cu soţia mea când îi făceam curte, i-am făcut cunoştinţă  cu soţia lui. N-am fost un intermediar propriu-zis, dar l-am sfătuit să se căsătorească. Am fost ca fraţii, în timpul liceului, ne-au mutat în strada Udricani şi el stătea vis-à-vis de noi. Am avut prieteni pe doi fraţi de pe strada Udricani, unde am stat. Era un restaurant, o cârciumă, prin 1939-1940, şi ei locuiau la etaj, restaurantul era la parter, aşa cum se făcea atunci, adică parterul era comerţ şi sus locuiau ei. Jucam table cu ei câteodată. Dar cu Aurel Zlota, mergeam să dansăm cu fetele, era cu totul altceva.

Mergeam la cinema, ne plăcea foarte mult. Duminica mergeam la cinema. Erau două filme. În liceu am avut o aventură. Elevii de liceu atuncea nu aveau voie să meargă la spectacol, nici la cinema, n-aveam voie să mergem la spectacole care nu erau agreate de şcoală. Trebuia să mergem în uniformă, aveam numere, putea să ne reclame. La cinema era întuneric, nu se vedea. Un prieten avea o cunoştinţă, actor la Teatrul Tănăse şi ne-a băgat înăuntru prin intrarea actorilor. Noi n-aveam voie să mergem pentru că era un teatru de revistă cu femei, nu goale, dar nici îmbrăcate. De la intrarea actorilor, se mergea pe scenă, se dădea cortina la o parte şi erau trepte şi ne-a băgat acolo, pe urmă ne-a aşezat în primul rând. Când am intrat pe scenă era o actriţă dezbrăcată, adică numai în chiloţi, am rămas cu gura căscată şi nu numai căscată, ne-a cuprins şi frica că dacă ne descoperă cineva, ne dă afară din şcoală. M-am uitat înapoi şi am văzut în spatele meu  că toată sala şi balconul ne vedea, m-am ridicat repede şi m-am dus în ultimul rând sub balcon, cel puţin să nu mă vadă. Şi aşa am văzut spectacolul cu frica în sân.

Singurul lucru care puteam să merg atuncea era că mergeam cu bicicleta. Am învăţat să înot, mergeam la ştranduri, când eram mai mare. La Hipodromul din Bucureşti deobicei mergeam cu cumnata mea. Venea lume bună în general la cursele de cai, oameni care erau foarte bine situaţi, pentru că erau proprietari de cai, dar veneau şi oameni care făceau pariuri din pături sociale mai medii. Era un preţ de intrare acolo şi jocul la cursele de cai era destul de complicat, pentru că trebuia să studiezi posibilităţile de succes ale unui cal oarecare, erau programe pe care trebuia să le cumperi, erau o serie intreagă de condiţii în care oamenii trebuiau să studieze puţin ce se întâmplă la cursele de cai. Nu era ca un loz de loterie pe care îl cumperi, înseamnă că nu putea să vină orice neştiutor.

Al Doilea Război Mondial

Părinţii au avut de suferit foarte mult în perioada Holocaustului [din cauza legii anti-evreieşti].Tatăl meu avea un magazinaş, o afacere pe strada Şelari. S-a făcut românizarea, el a fost dat afară, s-a numit un administrator. N-a mai avut voie să facă comerţ şi n-a mai avut nici un mijloc de trai. Pot să spun că îi datorez mult, a fost nemaipomenit de inventiv, că nu avea nici o meserie. El a fost comerciant toată viaţa şi i s-a luat posibilitatea de a face comerţ. Cum am putut să trăim într-acea vreme nu pot să spun. Toată lumea era şomeră. În timpul rebeliunii , în 1941, am avut un prieten care a fost arestat. Unde locuiam, era o curte şi de jur împrejur erau apartamente. Noi am avut relaţii foarte bune cu vecinii. Când a fost rebeliunea legionară vecinii nu s-au dus să reclame că suntem evrei. Nu ştiu câţi din vecini au rămas, am avut alţi vecini. Noi am fost daţi afară [de militari] din casa de pe strada Legislator şi am plătit chirie într-un pod din strada Labirint. Am avut o casă într-un pod, aveam două camere, o bucătărie mai jos. Erau persecutaţi evreii, medicii evrei au fost daţi afară din instituţii, de peste tot. N-aveau voie să consulte decât evrei şi aşa mai departe.

[Notă: Tatăl era prea în vârstă ca să mai fie recrutat, iar fratele nu a făcut în acelaşi loc muncă obligatorie] Am fost cu munca obligatorie în trei-patru locuri: la Poligonul Cotroceni, la Institutul Central de Statistică, la dezăpezirea liniilor din Gara de Nord şi pe Calea Griviţei. La Poligonul Cotroceni se făcea un poligon de tragere pentru armată, se săpau nişte şanţuri şi se aduna tot pământul pe un deal. Adică noi săpam şanţurile, transportam cu roaba până la deal sus şi umpleam acest deal, bătătoream acest deal, pentru ca să oprească gloanţele. Se trăgea în sanţuri lungi de vreo doua sute de metri şi gloanţele trebuiau să se oprească în acest deal. Toată ziua, de dimineaţa până seara săpam acolo, căram cu roaba. Îmi aduc aminte şi că ploua, eram în noroi şi asta făceam luni de zile. Cred că un an de zile am stat la şanţurile astea. Şi toată ziua eram între şanţuri în pământ şi în  noroaie. Când veneam acasă, seara, era o plăcere să mergi în oraş, nu în noroi, să nu mai stai între şanţuri, să vezi nişte case.

În detaşamentele astea de muncă obligatorie aveam un locotenent de treabă, stătea sus şi supraveghea toate şirurile astea care mergeau sus. Supraveghea toate şanţurile astea în care se săpa ca lumea să lucreze, să nu stea degeaba, el era ca un supraveghetor general al întregului şantier. Fiecare şanţ avea un plutonier, care făcea apelul dimineaţa, trebuia să fii la o anumită oră, şapte dimineaţa, până la şapte seara, se lucrau doisprezece ore, seara se făcea apelul de terminare şi plecai acasă. Locotenentul stătea sus şi se uita peste tot, cum merg roabele, cum se săpa. Supraveghea toate şanţurile astea în care se săpau ca lumea să lucreze, să nu stea degeaba.  Eram obligaţi să facem o anume normă şi la un moment dat colonelul, care era pe tot detaşamentul ne-a adunat, ne-a pus să stăm jos şi ne-a spus că cei care nu-şi fac norma respectivă vor fi împuşcaţi. Aşa că să avem grijă să facem această normă. Eram la roabă şi la săpat.

Am fost şi cu prieteni, cu Grimberg Boris, care a murit şi cu care am fost la facultate. El era în tineretul comunist, atunci eu nu eram şi îmi aduc aminte că el îmi dădea ştiri, asculta la radio, deşi n-aveam voie să ascultăm la radio, Moscova sau Londra. Aflam de la el care era situaţia frontului, asta ne interesa foarte mult, pentru că dacă învingea Germania, noi eram nenorociţi, vai de capul nostru. Când a fost victoria ruşilor pe frontul de est, la Stalingrad, eram fericiţi.

La Institutul Central de Statistică, la secţia de desen-dactilografie, am făcut acolo munca obligatorie, neplătită. M-a întreţinut tatăl meu, nu ştiu din ce şi de acolo am fost repartizat  în iarna lui 1943-1944 la Gara de Nord, ca să lucrez la dezăpezirea liniilor din Gara de Nord. Toată iarna am lucrat acolo, înfofolit nemaipomenit.Trebuia să stau toata ziua să curăţ zăpada în aer liber, în geruri cumplite, în zăpada, în umezeală. După aceea în 1944, când a fost bombardat Bucureştiul, în special, pe liniile din Gara de Nord, pe Calea Griviţei în sus, noi am fost trimişi ca să dăm la o parte cărămizile. Au fost bombardate nişte case şi am fost trimişi acolo sa dezgropăm averile celor care au fost dărâmaţi. Fiecare voia să-şi salveze o mobilă, o plapumă, era o nenorocire. Noi dezgropam, încărcam cărămizile şi molozul în camioane, ca să eliberam străzile. Erau atacurile cu avioane, bombardamente şi când suna alarma, fugeam din Griviţei, în centrul capitalei, ca să ne băgam într-un subsol şi să ne apăram şi pe urmă mergeam înapoi după ce trecea alarma. Asta am făcut până când au intrat trupele sovietice.

Înainte de 23 august [1944], în 22 august, n-am ştiut ce se întâmplă şi ne-am prezentat. Era adunarea pentru ăştia care mergeau pe Griviţei, cu un locotenent. Locotenentul aduna o grupă întreagă. Noi am venit să ne repartizeze dar locotenentul asta n-a venit. Am plecat acasă, în 23 s-a anunţat la radio. După 23 august că au intrat trupele sovietice în Bucureşti. Am fost foarte bucuros, că am scăpat de nenorocirea asta. Pentru noi, trupele sovietice ne-au eliberat, eram entuziasmaţi şi entuziasmaţi de comunism. Din cauza asta am şi făcut cerere de intrare în partid. Dar în partid, n-am intrat în 1944, am intrat în 1947, sau 1948. În acelaşi timp eu am terminat liceul, la şcoala evreiască. Am luat bacalaureatul, am intrat la facultate, tot la facultate evreiască, Colegiul pentru studenţi evrei, la Arhitectură. [Notă: Colegiul pentru studenţi evrei a funcţionat între 1941 şi 1943, cu aprobări oficiale. Aici au putut continua studiile atât studenţii cât şi profesorii evrei daţi afară din facultăţi.] Profesorul nostru de proiect de arhitectură era  Hary Stern, arhitectul Stern, căruia îi datorez foarte mult, că m-a învăţat foarte multe lucruri.

Viața de după Război

După război ne-am întors înapoi în strada Legislator. Nu a locuit altcineva în casă, era comandamentul militar. N-am găsit modificări, dar a trebuit să zugrăvim, să ne acomodam. Am început toată familia să ne revigoram. Tatăl meu, datorită talentului lui a început să facă ceva afaceri acolo, tot în Şelari. În 1945, fratele meu mai mare a ieşit arhitect, eu eram student la Facultatea de arhitectură şi el împreună cu tatăl meu, a reuşit să facă o casă în centrul capitalei, pe strada Gabroveni, în Bucureşti. Era un teren pe care el îl avea în proprietate din 1937, dar în timpul legionarilor această proprietate nu era recunoscută, nu putea să facă nimic cu ea. A revendicat aceasta proprietate în 1945 şi a înscris terenul în cartea funciară. Era un teren foarte mic, s-a gândit să facă o casă. După război oamenii au început să facă afaceri acolo în străzile Lipscani şi Gabroveni erau tot felul de afaceri la negru, ei aveau nevoie de un birou mic, pentru că mărfurile nu erau acolo. Ce voiau să vândă sau să cumpere, ei făceau o tranzacţie şi aduceau marfa. Şi el a făcut birouri de 2/3, nişte birouri de 5-6 metri pătraţi, nişte cuşti. A pus o firmă:“Vindem birouri în această clădire“ . Nu s-a construit nimic, era numai firma şi şantierul care era deschis şi s-a adus o căruţă de pietriş acolo. În 1945 i s-a dat autorizaţie de construcţie, cu această autorizaţie de construcţie şi cu planul care i-a făcut fratele meu, i s-a cumpărat trei birouri, atâta i s-a cumpărat. Cu banii a cumpărat fier şi cărămida şi a început să construiască. Fratele meu supraveghea, am fost chemat şi eu acolo să supraveghez. Când a văzut lumea că începe să se construiască, au venit şi alţii şi i-au dat bani. A dat drumul mai departe la construcţie şi uite aşa, aşa s-a construit această casă. A venit un decret de naţionalizare a acestei case [în 1948] şi el a rămas pierdut, n-a mai avut nimic, nici un fel de venit. Eu şi fratele meu  am început să-l întreţinem pe tatăl meu, pe părinţii mei.

Aveam un prieten, soţia mea era verişoară cu el, şi acel prieten, a zis: " Noi nu aveam foarte multe fete în cercul nostru. Hai să facem cunoştinţă cu nişte fete! ".Verişoara lui avea şi ea nişte prietene şi toate stăteau în [zona] Dudeşti pe o alee. Şi ne-am dus să facem cunoştinţă şi eu am vrut să ne mai întâlnim cu verişoara lui şi cu el şi cu încă nişte fete. Aşa am făcut eu cunoştinţă cu soţia mea, în 1944, în timpul războiului. După război, am mers cu ea şi cu alte fete şi cu alţi băieţi, prieteni de ai mei, în excursii pe munte, în [Munţii] Bucegi. Eu între timp, am întreţinut relaţiile cu ea, am devenit arhitect şi în 1947 am fost angajat. S-a întâmplat, că tatăl ei a vrut să plece în Israel, a avut paşaport, şi din cauza unei rude, care a fost falsificator de timbre, el a fost arestat două-trei zile. Paşaportul tatălui l-a rupt, pentru că i-a fost frică. Şi din cauza asta, părinţii, n-au mai apucat să plece şi n-au vrut s-o lase să plece singură. A întârziat şi între timp ne-am îndrăgostit, iar în 1949 ne-am căsătorit. Când m-am căsătorit cu soţia mea, ne-am mutat pe strada Nicolae Golescu 20.

Chely Streja, [născută Weisbuch], soţia mea, s-a născut în anul 1927, la Brăila într-o familie evreiască, dar era mică de tot când a venit în Bucureşti, nu ştiu dacă avea doi-trei ani. Mama ei a fost născută la Tizmeniţa [Tysmenitsa], în Polonia, actualmente în Ucraina. Tatăl a fost născut, cred, la Roman. Amândoi erau religioşi, se duceau la templu, ţineau sărbătorile. În casă vorbeau româneşte, dar mama ştia şi poloneză şi cunoşteau idiş, soţia mea a învăţat ceva idiş, din faptul că se vorbea în casă.  A învăţat întâi la o şcoală românească, a fost dată afară de la şcoala românească şi a făcut liceul la o şcoală evreiască, cea mai mare parte, a făcut pe urmă, şcoala comercială. Era calificată în contabilitate. Am vrut ca să urmeze Academia Comercială, dar ea n-a mai apucat şi a intrat în producţie. Adică după război, ea a fost angajată, avea liceul terminat, şi ea a intrat în CSP (Comisia de Stat a Planificării).

A avut o serie de sarcini foarte interesante, la un moment dat nu ştiu cine şi-a dat demisia, sau a ieşit la pensie de la grădiniţă. Şi ea a fost directoare de grădiniţă şi a fost foarte iubită de copii. Pe urmă, ea a lucrat acolo la contabilitate, vreo 15 ani, dar a dat-o afară că avea rude în străinătate şi pentru că nu era membră de partid. Se pusese problema în Marea Adunare Naţională să nu fie un procent de unguri, de nu ştiu ce, mai mare decât de români, în raport cu populaţia. Şi ea, nefiind membru de partid şi nefiind româncă şi având şi rude în străinătate, şi în America şi în Israel au dat-o afară. [Nota: Cei care aveau rude în străinătate puteau avea probleme la serviciu în orice moment]. Ea s-a angajat, a avut mai multe oferte. S-a angajat la Centrala de Industrie Textilă,era o centrală cu mai multe fabrici, la contabilitate. Pe urmă s-a desfiinţat Centrala şi fabricile depindeau direct de minister şi a fost repartizată la o fabrică de pe Dudeşti. Noi stăteam în centru şi fabrica asta era destul de departe, mergea foarte mult cu tramvaiul pe vremea aia. Acolo a lucrat în continuare la contabilitate, asta este cariera soţiei mele.

Fiul meu s-a născut în Bucureşti. Noi nu i-am dat o educaţie specială religiosă. La noi în familie nu erau nişte manifestări religioase deosebite, de altfel în perioada zisă comunistă, când se făcea o propagandă nemaipomenită împotriva credinţelor religioase, el a învăţat la şcoală de stat unde, bine înţeles educaţia era anti-religioasă. Profesorii erau foarte buni şi a fost o generaţie de elevi nemaipomenit de bună. Unii dintre ei au emigrat şi au făcut cariere profesionale excepţionale. Fiul meu a avut o educaţie foarte bună familială, şcolară, universitară, sportivă. A făcut înot de performanţă cu un antrenor german, care l-a şi educat într-un spirit sportiv. A fost în echipa României de juniori la concursuri internaţionale din Cehoslovacia.

După ce a terminat facultatea, s-a căsătorit în 1977. S-a căsătorit religios la o sinagogă mică, Credinţa, din Bucureşti. A făcut stagiul militar la Ploieşti. După cinci ani de zile după ce au făcut cerere, autorităţile comuniste s-au îndurat de ei şi le au aprobat emigrarea. Au emigrat legal şi în străinătate au muncit nemaipomenit de mult, pentru că erau proaspăt emigranţi, nu au avut avere, nu au fost sprijiniţi cu bani în străinătate. Reuşesc să traiască acceptabil de 22 ani în străinătate şi au două fiice cărora le dau o educaţie generală şi evreiască foarte bună.

Vreau să spun că interesul pentru religie nu l-a avut în toată perioada de cincizeci de ani, cât a fost perioada comunistă, prin structura mea, din cauză că am fost educat în această perioadă deşi am avut aşa influenţe religioase mistice din partea părinţilor. Eu nu i-am dat băiatului meu o educaţie religioasă, mistică, deşi soţia mea este mai credincioasă. Eu nu sunt credincios, eu sunt numai religios. Noi am ţinut sărbătorile evreieşti în casă şi Paşte şi Yom Kippur şi post, toate sărbătorile importante evreieşti le-am ţinut. Soţia mea ştia mai multe, a ştiut întotdeauna mai multe. Aceşti cincizeci de ani  de comunism noi am ţinut sărbătorile, sărbătorile mari dar nu mai ţineam casher, nu mai mergeam la templu.

Despre religie am ţinut şi conferinţe la comunitate [Notă: la sala comunităţii evreieşti din Bucureşti, din strada Popa Soare, se organizează periodic conferinţe, comunicări], am scris. Astăzi  sunt foarte multe controverse. Noţiunea de evreu este foarte mult controversată. Unii consideră ca să fii evreu înseamnă să fii de religie mozaică, de religie iudaică, alţii consideră că evreu trebuie să fii din mama evreică cum este legea israeliană şi alţii, cum sunt unii rabini din Statele Unite, consideră că a fi evreu înseamnă de fapt altceva, înseamnă să aderi la tradiţia iudaică, la istoria comună iudaică şi la situaţia de a fi evreu. Că oamenii nu se nasc evrei ci devin evrei. Devin evrei prin asumarea situaţiei de evreu, adică a tradiţiei. Există o tradiţie iudaică, o apartenenţă istorică, o cultură iudaică. A-ţi însuşi, a adera la aceste valori iudaice înseamnă a fi evreu, a fi recunoscut ca evreu. Asta este mult mai important. De exemplu [Nicolae] Cajal 5 a spus despre Hanuka, că această sărbătoare reprezintă şi eroismul acestor evrei, care au rezistat asaltului trupelor siriene de atunci, deci e o sărbătoare naţională, o sărbătoare a eliberării. Desigur că este o sărbătoare în care s-a arătat minunea lui Dumnezeu, că a ars o candelă timp de o săptămâna. E o sărbătoare religioasă dar şi naţională şi eroică, are o serie întreagă de semnificaţii care sunt în afara sărbătorii mistice pur religioase. Aşa se întâmplă cu toate sărbătorile iudaice, care nu au numai o semnificaţie mistică, ci şi laică.

Se discuta [cu prietenii] puţin despre politica actuală a comunismului şi ce se întâmplă în străinătate în ţările zise capitaliste unde noi aveam rude.

În 1947 am ieşit arhitect, m-am angajat la început la UFDR, Uniunea Femeilor Democrate din România şi am făcut întâi un cămin de copii. Nu-mi mai aduc aminte pe ce stradă. Era într-o casă veche. Pe urmă m-am angajat la IPC, Institutul de Proiect pentru Construcţii, primul institut de proiectare din ţară de stat. În 1948,1949, m-am angajat acolo. Fratele meu era şi el angajat acolo. Din IPC s-a făcut IPCM, s-a făcut IPCT, s-a făcut ISCAS, ISPROM şi ne-a mutat dintr-o parte dar eu eram tot acolo. Timp de patruzeci de ani am lucrat la acelaşi institut de proiectări care s-a numit tot mereu altfel.

Am făcut proiectul meu pe la început de tot, la fabrica de ciment de la Turda, asta a fost o lucrărică. Pe urmă am făcut fabrici de ciment la Medgidia, în Bucureşti. Pe urmă, când s-a numit IPCT, am făcut împreună cu nişte foşti profesori la Arhitectură planurile, schiţe şi sistematizare pentru Mediaş. Pe urmă am făcut în provincie sute magazine pentru CENTROCOOP. Am făcut nişte proiecte tip şi s-au executat sute de magazine săteşti. Am făcut primul restaurant cu autoservire la Săvineşti şi aparatajele le-a executat Ministerul Chimiei [Combinatul de Fire şi Fibre Sintetice Săvineşti aparţinea de Ministerul Chimiei]. Am făcut o serie de proiecte pentru cămine muncitoreşti, internate şcolare. Am făcut în Bucureşti clădirea de pe strada Ion Câmpineanu, blocul 10 din Piaţa Palatului. Clădirea asta avea locuinţe la etaj şi la parter este o poştă şi un CEC. Am amintiri foarte frumoase. CEC-ul era cu o subpantă şi acest bloc are o trecere pe dedesubt. Era o stradă care dădea în Ion Câmpineanu şi nu puteam să o blochez şi am făcut o trecere pe sub casă. Am avut şi nişte ingineri foarte buni, unul dintre ei era evreu, care a făcut acolo minuni de vitejie ca inginer, pentru că casa asta a fost pusă peste o stradă şi din stradă venea o coloană foarte mare de canalizare şi un stâlp cădea pe aceasta. El a făcut un triunghi, adică stâlpul avea o despărţitură triunghiulară şi jos i-a făcut un tirant. Şi canalizarea trecea prin acest triunghi. Asta era cea mai importantă care s-a realizat. Am făcut şi proiecte experimental pentru magazine, cu acoperite cu nişte grinzi metalice şi cu o izolare termică deasupra şi cu nişte azbociment ondulat. La vremea respectivă, intre 1960-1965, era o inovaţie. Am fost angrenat într-un studiu împreună cu INCERC, Institut de cercetări, unde am proiectat o casă cu încălzire solară la Câmpina, pentru că acolo zilele solare neînorate erau mai multe în România şi iarna şi vara. Am făcut parter cu încălzire solară a casei printr-o seră care se face separat. În acoperiş erau puse nişte panouri solare şi apa caldă făcută în aceste panouri solare era trimisă prin pompe în calorifer ca să încălzească casa şi erau trimise şi pentru consum la robinet.

Prin 1975 le-am făcut o serie de alte proiecte care mi-au făcut plăcere foarte mare dar care nu au fost din păcate executate pentru că costau destul de scump. Acestea erau făcute ca proiecte tip şi pentru anumite oraşe trebuia să aibă o expresie locală. Se făcea un proiect pentru un anumit oraş, secretarul de partid al oraşului sau al judeţului avea un cuvânt greu de spus şi prefera să dea să facă acest proiect organizaţiei de proiectare din acel oraş sau din acel judeţ. Cam asta a fost, mi-a făcut plăcere pentru că  nu erau clădiri mari, clădiri importante dar mi-au plăcut. Am intrat ca simplu proiectant în acest institut şi până la sfârşit am ajuns şef de proiect la proiecte importante. Nu pot să spun ce aventuri am avut ca şef de proiect, că eu întotdeauna am avut fel de fel de aventuri.

Am făcut o deplasare [în anii 1950] cu o doamnă la Piteşti şi când m-am întors de la Piteşti în Bucureşti, am găsit un copil în tren. Într-una din staţii se urca o ţărancă, îmbrăcată foarte frumos cu un copil în braţe şi cu un bagajel. Şi se urcă unde erau trei locuri. M-am dat mai într-o parte, ca să-i fac loc şi a pus copilul pe locul care era liber şi a ieşit acolo. Am aşteptat să vie cu bagajele şi văd că pleacă trenul şi ea nu vine şi eu zic Probabil e pe platformă cu bagajele şi vine îndată. Colega mea zicea : “Să ştii că ne-a lăsat copilul aici şi a plecat.- Cum o să-l lase tu? Gândeşti că o mamă o să-şi lase copilul şi o să plece. Te pomeneşti că asta îşi rupe părul din cap că  a scăpat trenul. Să tragem semnalul de alarmă, să oprim trenu“l. În sfârşit după multe investigaţii am alarmat pe toată lumea era alarmată şi a venit conductorul. Zice: “Nu pot să opresc trenul pentru chestia asta. La prima staţie o să mă dau jos din tren, telefonam pe linia gării şi dacă găsim pe mamă acolo atuncea o să coborâm copilul. Trenul o să plece mai departe, îl lăsăm la gară şi să vină mama să ia copilul“. La prima gară se opreşte trenul, se duce conductorul la gară şi noi aşteptam, aşteptam, aşteptam. Nu se mişca nimeni. Vine conductorul înapoi. Zice: “Domnule, nu e, nu s-a găsit mama şi noi trebuie să plecăm. Dumneavoastră sunteţi anunţaţi în Gara de Nord că trebuie să veniţi cu copilul, dumneavoastră trebuie să aveţi grijă de copil, o să-l predaţi la jandarmeria din Gara de Nord“. Colega mea zice: “Eu plec şi lasă-mă în pace !“. Între timp merge trenul, noi mai legănam puţin copilul. Era cuminte săracul de el şi era un băieţel foarte drăguţ. A aflat lumea din tren că exista un copil şi au venit, au început să curgă ofertele. Dă-mi-l mie, eu am nevoie de un copil, cutare, cutare. Uite, eu sunt cutare. “Cum să ţi-l dau? Pe mine mă aşteaptă în Gara de Nord jandarmeria, eu trebuie să-l predau acolo, nu pot să ţi-l dau, ce e copilul meu? Păi, mergem noi. Veniţi în Gara de nord şi spune-ţi ce vreţi, înţelegi? “ Colega mea era foarte alertată. Când ajung în Gara de Nord, mă aşteptau la vagonul meu, la coborâre trei jandarmi înarmaţi. Şi pe mine şi pe colega mea ne băga la mijloc întâi, unul la spate, doi în faţă, aşa coloana toată, ne duce la jandarmeria din Gara de Nord. La biroul jandarmeriei se prezintă o doică de la «Mama şi copilul» [Organizaţie de protecţie a mamei şi copilului] şi se face un proces verbal: Declarăm, ca în staţia cutare s-a urcat cutare, cutare. Să confirmăm amândoi că este aşa. Eu mă duc şi dau un telefon la nevastă mea şi o întreb: „Putem să luăm încă un copil? Dacă eu mă duc acum să optez, aştia îmi dau copilul, eşti de acord?„ N-a fost de acord, dacă era de acord aveam azi un băiat mai mic.

Am avut multe aventuri la birou. Eu eram membru de partid şi mi s-a dat să fiu cu Gazeta de perete, unde era criticată secretara de partid, al cărei frate era în Comitetul Central. Eu eram şeful Gazetei de perete [Notă: Un avizier unde erau expuse diferite materiale propagandistice, fruntaşii în munca socialistă, critica exemplelor negative, etc.] şi mă trăgea la răspundere: “Cetăţene pentru ce te-a trimis Partidul acolo?“ Altădată îl criticam pe director. Directorul nostru mergea mai mult prin străinătate, nu prea venea în atelier să dirijeze proiectanţii, şi a apărut un articol cu o caricatură a lui în care scria N’y vue n’y connue [N-am văzut, nici nu cunosc]. Şi eu eram responsabil pentru treaba asta. Nu ştiu câte aventuri am avut, mă mir că nu m-a dat afară din partid. Tot felul de boacăne făceam.

În 1968 am fost la Paris şi în 1968 au intrat trupele sovietice în Cehoslovacia [Notă: Domul Streja se refera la Primăvara de la Praga], şi fratele meu a spus: “O să fie război“. Ceauşescu , imediat a ţinut o cuvântare în care a arătat că e împotriva intrării trupelor sovietice în România. Şi fratele meu a zis să rămân la Paris, să nu mă mai întorc şi el îmi aranjează să am o situaţie legală la Paris, refugiat din România comunistă. Puteam să fac asta. “Să las pe nevastă-mea cu copilul în România? Domnule, eu nu pot să-mi părăsesc familia, trebuie să mă întorc“. M-am întors, aveam viză pentru o anumită perioadă. În tren am mers cu vagonul de dormit şi nu era nimeni în tot vagonul de dormit, eram singur…şi tot trenul era cam gol, nu se întorcea nimeni în România de frica războiului. Am venit înapoi, nu mi-a părut rau. Ni se controlau bagajele de sus până jos, eram controlaţi extraordinar la plecare [din România] şi am avut foarte multe neplăceri. Desfăceau toate bagajele de sus până jos, să nu iau tablouri, opere de artă, bijuterii, bani. N-aveam voie să plec cu bani, îmi dădea voie să plec cu zece dolari, cu şase lei dolarul, ce puteam eu să trăiesc cu zece dolari?

Când a fost cutremurul din 1977, Europa Liberă  a transmis o emisiune în care spune că doamna Letzler din Statele Unite vrea să ştie de rudele ei din România, ce se întâmplă. Eu lucram la o întreprindere de stat comunistă, eram membru de partid şi americanii erau imperialişti, duşmanii poporului. Mă întâlnesc cu colegii mei şi spuneau: Europa Liberă, te caută Europa Liberă. Atunci această căutare de către Europa Liberă era un pericol, pe mine, membru de partid, lucrând într-o întreprindere de stat, şef de atelier. Organizaţia de partid m-a întrebat "Ce-i asta dom’le, te caută pe dumneata Europa Liberă? "Nu m-a tras la răspundere, dar a doua zi am primit un telefon de la Europa Liberă " Aici Redacţia Europa Liberă, cunoaşte-ţi anunţul care s-a făcut, aţi auzit? ", cu nevastă-mea a vorbit. Nevastă-mea: "Nu, nu cunosc. -Vi-l punem noi, acuma, că l-am înregistrat". Nevastă-mea zice: " Nu, nu-i nevoie". Şi după aceea, Europa Liberă probabil i-a transmis ei asta, şi ea se adresează din nou la Europa Liberă şi spune "vă rugăm foarte mult să nu-i mai transmite-ţi că poate să-i dăuneze". Europa Liberă transmite din nou "Doamna Letzler ne-a rugat ca să nu mai transmitem ca poate să-i dăuneze", iar vin aştia. Ascultam Europa Liberă în secret şi discutam ce se întâmplă în Europa Liberă, dar discutam şi despre cărţi şi despre toate problemele intelectuale care erau atuncea. Eram abonaţi la reviste de cultură care apăreau în România  şi cumpăram cărţi.

În comunism, viaţa intelectuală românească nu era proastă, erau scriitori valoroşi, erau piese de teatru, erau actori valoroşi şi noi aveam acces la toate manifestările culturale. Afară de activitatea profesională, în care la început mi se băgase pe gât arhitectura sovietică, eram abonat la nişte reviste, Arhitectura CCCP, în limba rusă în care eu nu înţelegeam nimic. Aveam în bibliotecă cărţi de arhitectură, pe vremea aia aveam istoria arhiecturii scrisă de sovietici şi tradusă în română, dar pe care acuma am vândut-o fiindcă nu mai face două parale. În casa noastră era literatură românească, literatura străină: franceză, engleză – soţia mea a învăţat şi germană, engleză şi franceză din liceu. Eu am învăţat engleza foarte târziu când eram de şaizeci de ani. Aveam literatură în special franceză, pentru că în timpul comunismului se făceau multe traduceri din literatură străină, editura era rusească dar traducerea era română. Eram în legatură cu fratele meu şi cu sora mea care ne trimiteau cărţi.

Unde am stat noi, pe strada Legislator, astăzi nu mai există. E zona în care s-a făcut Bulevardul [Victoria] Socialismului. [Notă: Actualmente Bulevardul Unirii. La ordinul lui Ceauşescu s-a distrus o porţiune de 4,5 kilometri din centrul istoric al capitalei, ca perspectiva de la Casa Poporului, a doua clădire ca mărime din lume după Pentagon,  să fie monumentală. Ironic pe acest bulevard se află astăzi majoritatea băncilor şi marilor concerne capitaliste.] Acolo era punctul de intersecţie al Căii Dudeşti cu Calea Văcăreşti, nu mai există nimic, s-a ras complet şi s-a făcut altceva. Demolarea [sistematică] 6 s-a făcut după ce a murit tatăl meu – tata a murit în anii 1970 –, foarte târziu în 1985-1986. Mama mea a locuit acolo până la cutremurul din 1977 şi pe urmă  a locuit la mine. Unde am stat noi [Str. Nicolae Golescu 20] a fost dărâmat parţial de cutremur, Ceauşescu a făcut aşa cu mâna, nu s-a ştiut ce înseamnă asta şi s-a demolat numai trei etaje de deasupra şi noi care eram la etajul întai am rămas acolo, fără acoperiş, fără etajele superioare. A plouat acolo, noi a trebuit să stăm într-un cămin studenţesc. Din căminul studenţesc ni s-a dat o casă în Drumul Taberei, că de acolo vedeam câmpul şi oile cum pasc. Şi pe urmă s-a pus acoperiş la casa unde am stat, în Nicolae Golescu şi am avut dreptul să ne mutăm înapoi dacă vrem. Şi ne-am mutat înapoi şi de acolo, am reuşit să ne mutăm în casa în care stăm astăzi, central, făcând un schimb de locuinţă în vremea comunismului.

La naşterea statului Israel [1948] bineînţeles am fost nemaipomenit de entuziasmat, şi o socotesc şi acum şi atunci că a fost o minune. O adevărată minune şi sunt în admiraţie pentru poporul evreu. Pentru că atunci când s-a făcut împărţirea Palestinei între evrei şi palestinieni, evreii deşi era o situaţie, împărţire foarte dezavantajoasă, statul evreu era despărţit foarte prost. Era făcut în aşa fel încât viitoare conflicte erau de prevăzut, dar evreii au acceptat orice fel de împărţire fiindcă era o renaştere a statului evreu, un punct politic. M-am gândit să emigrez în Israel, dar eu aveam părinţii aici, bătrâni, pe care mă simţeam obligat să-i întreţin, nu puteam să plec cu părinţii într-un stat nou format. Nu puteam să ne lăsăm şi părinţii sora ei era la Editura Politică, o dădea afară cât ai zice peşte. La războaiele din 1967 şi 1973 din Israel, eram cu sufletul la gură, dar rezultatul a fost destul de bun. Noi avem rude în Israel. Soţia mea are rude apropiate, toate verişoarele sunt în Israel. Am ţinut legătura, pe vremea aia nu prea puteam să telefonăm dar primeam şi trimiteam scrisori în continuu şi ne interesam de toate evenimentele, ascultam la Europa Liberă. Am fost împreună cu soţia prin 1980 în Ierusalim, în Tel Aviv, în Haifa, unde avem prieteni şi rude. Am fost de fapt să ne vedem rudele, dar am vizitat mare parte din Israel.

Mama a murit în 1982. Părinţii mei sunt înmormântaţi la cimitirul [evreiesc] Giurgiului. La înmormântare a participat un cantor obişnuit, nu un rabin. Eu spun Kadiş pentru comemorare, îmi amintesc de părinţii mei care au avut grijă de mine, mergem la cimitir.

În jurul anilor 1980 am fost în Moscova, în Leningrad [Sankt Petersburg]. În Moscova am fost de mai multe ori, am fost şi cu Uniunea Arhitecţilor, organizat de arhitecţi şi am fost şi cu Trenul prieteniei. „Trenul prieteniei” era organizat de  asociaţia de prietenie România-Uniunea Sovietică, o excursie. Am stat şi la Moscova şi la Chişinău, am trecut prin Transnistria, Transnistria atuncea era înarmată, era în război cu Moldova, era un război pur şi simplu. Am avut emoţii că trenul ăsta să nu aibă ceva de suferit. Am trecut prin Ungaria şi prin Cehoslovacia. Pe urmă am fost de mai multe ori la Paris, la Düsseldorf, în Germania, am fost pe urmă în Italia. Soţia mea a vizitat mai mult, a vizitat mai mult din Italia, eu am vizitat mai puţin, la Venezia, la Milano şi la Florenţa. Am fost pe Coasta de Azur, de la Paris am plecat în excursie, am vizitat cu un prieten de al meu Belgia, pentru că el era belgian. Pe urmă am fost în America, în Statele Unite, nu prea des, nu am fost în multe oraşe, la Washington, pe coasta de est. În Statele Unite am fost de mai multe ori, soţia mea a stat nouă luni de zile ca să îngrijească de prima fată şi pe urmă am stat trei luni de a doua fetiţă, am fost împreună trei luni de zile, dar ea a stat nouă luni şi mie nu mi-a dat voie, „Să se întoarcă întâi soţia şi pe urmă pleci”. Am fost şi în Canada de câteva ori. Adică am circulat destul de mult împreună cu soţia.

Eu nu mi-am închipuit că în România o să dispară Ceauşescu, când se făceau nişte manifestări nemaipomenite [manifestaţii cu ocazia zilei de 1 mai, de 23 august, cu ocazia vizitelor oficiale ale unor demnitari din străinătate etc.]. Ajunseseră aceste manifestări să fie formale şi oamenii participau obligaţi şi nu numai obligaţi, trebuia să semnezi. Eu eram şef de atelier atuncea şi trebuia să trimit pe oameni, trebuia să fac listă cine a fost, cine este prezent acolo. Şi pe urmă când se făceau manifestaţii nu aveai voie să fii cu o geantă sau cu o sacoşă, îi era frică lui Ceauşescu că se aruncă cu o bombă sau ceva. Din punct de vedere economic, era o criză nemaipomenită în industrie, nu se putea face planul pentru că nu existau resurse şi oamenii nu primeau salariile că nu s-a făcut planul. Era o situaţie nenorocită din toate punctele de vedere, dar nu mi-am închipuit cum o să se petreacă chestia asta. Şi a fost o surpriză nemaipomenită. Eram în Bucureşti şi când Ceauşescu a ţinut discursul în Piaţa Palatului [astăzi Piaţa Revoluţiei], m-am dus şi eu să ascult şi m-am dus chiar aproape, să aud ce spune. La un moment dat când a fost îmbulzeala asta mare am plecat şi eu m-am dus pe străzi şi pe străzi. Au fost împuşcături şi lumea a plecat, a fugit. Pe urmă eu am ieşit tot timpul şi se trăgea, chiar în blocul nostru s-a tras [domnul Streja locuieşte foarte aproape de zona Pieţii Palatului]. Am văzut tot ce s-a întâmplat, afară era armată, se păzea chiar la uşa noastră şi ceream voie să trec. “Dă-i, domne, drumul că trebuie să cumpere o pâine!”. [La revoluţia din 1989] au venit să-mi ofere arme ca să păzesc, dar nu mi-a dat voie nevastă-mea, cică „ăsta e nebun, umblă pe stradă şi se trage”. Eu umblam, ieşeam afară tot timpul. Nu-mi era frică, nevastă-mea era foarte fricoasă [din cauza mea], că mie nu-mi era frică. Când au fost minerii 7, au venit la noi pe terasă, adică eu am trăit toate lucrurile astea în centrul manifestaţiilor.

Am văzut magazinul Unic a început să dea alimente la oameni cu nişte preţuri mici, ca să fie alimentaţi cu pâine cu ce avea în magazin. Magazinul era pe bulevardul Bălcescu, unde e şi acuma, dar era un magazin mare. Pe urmă a apărut Informaţia, primul ziar al revoluţiei. L-am cumpărat şi l-am păstrat. Pe urmă a apărut România liberă, Liberalul, s-a manifestat partidul liberal, cu care eu nu prea am fost de acord, fiindcă publica o poezie a lui Nichifor Crainic. Nichifor Crainic a fost un poet care era extremist de dreapta ce să mai vorbim, a fost colaborator la nişte reviste legionare. Un partid cu tradiţie liberală nu poţi să publici în primul tău număr o poezie de Nichifor Crainic. [Notă: Nichifor Crainic (1889-1972), eseist şi poet. A absolvit studii de specialitate în filozofie şi teologie la Viena. Este principalul doctrinar al ortodoxismului gândirist, antisemit şi xenofob.]

M-am bucurat de libertatea nemaipomenită care dintr-o dată s-a dat voie să plece toată lumea din ţară, rudele din străinătate ne-au căutat şi am început să vorbim la telefon. După 1989 eu eram pensionar şi în această situaţie s-a schimbat foarte mult din punct de vedere al libertăţii. Acuma când am avut orizont intelectual şi moral deschis mi s-a părut o mare binefacere, deci asta am apreciat eu foarte mult la acestă revoluţie, nu avantajele materiale. Pot să plec în străinătate, pot să ascult radio, să văd televiziune. Că această libertate are şi părţi negative, asta este implicit, atunci când eşti dirijat nu mai ai nici un fel de responsabilitate, dar când eşti liber începi să capeţi şi nişte responsabilităţi.

Din cauza pensionării, am avut timp liber şi am devenit mai evreu decât am fost vreodată acuma la bătrâneţe, mai evreu decât unii care se duc la sinagogă ziua şi noaptea. Acuma am legături foarte strânse cu comunitatea pentru că mă interesează foarte mult situaţia comunităţii din toate punctele de vedere. Pe mine mă afectează direct toate evenimentele pozitive pe care le promovează comunitatea, asistenţă socială, continuarea activităţii religioase în temple, sinagogi, cultura evreiască care este reflectată şi în muzeu. Comunitatea asta întreţine şi restaurant caşer şi asistenţă medicală şi asistenţă pentru internări în spital şi o serie de lucruri şi operaţiile astea la ochi care le face şi pentru oameni care nu sunt evrei şi pentru că faptul că ţine legături cu statul în departamentul minorităţilor, în parlament, adică are o serie întreagă de activităţi, legături cu străinătatea, cu organizaţiile mondiale. Face nişte lucruri incredibil pentru o comunitate care grupează maxim 8.000 de evrei, 8.000 sunt foarte generos pentru că statistica arată 5-6.000. Deci, sunt înmărmurit de toate faptele pozitive,  cum este muzeul: Memorialul Martirilor [Evrei “Moses Rosen”].

Sunt afectat şi de toate lucrurile negative. Un lucru negativ care mă afectează, acum de curând este că ne-a părăsit [a plecat] rabinul Glanz. Că ne-a părăsit nu-i nimic dar am rămas chiar fără rabin. Şi pentru mine, eu frecventez cu interes vinerea seară la Templul Coral, nu înţeleg  ivrit, citesc traducerea rugăciunilor, pentru mine erau comentariile de la pericopa săptămânii. Îl apreciam extraordinar pe rabinul Hacohen, care are un dar al povestirii foarte pregnant literar, un dar al povestirii ca şi cum el a fost acolo, pentru că povesteşte ce au simţit evreii, cum au vorbit evreii cu Aaron şi să-l întrebe ce facem acuma dacă n-a venit Moise în patruzeci de zile, cum au fost îngrijoraţi. Acuma fiind părăsiţi de aceşti oameni şi pe mine mă afectează. Am fost la două trei sărbătoriri ale sâmbetei de vineri seară şi au fost nişte comentarii care nu m-au satisfăcut deloc. O dată a fost un ţadic, care se ocupă cu Tora, care studiază iudaismul. Nu ştiu în ce stadiu a ajuns, dacă învaţă de un an, de doi, de şapte, dar era îmbrăcat în caftan şi cu o pălărie neagră şi a spus câteva cuvinte despre pericopa săptămânii, care nu m-au satisfăcut deloc.

Sunt implicat şi aicea [la Sinagoga Mare, ca ghid al muzeului Memorialul Martirilor Evrei ”Moses Rosen”] şi înţeleg pe fiecare evreu care chiar dacă a scăpat [din Holocaust], este marcat toată viaţa de aceste lucruri. Eu am suferit nimica toată în comparaţie cu ei, am fost la muncă obligatorie, nu am fost deportat, dar sufăr pentru fiecare evreu care a fost deportat, care a murit în această perioadă. Consider că Holocaustul nu este o ardere  de viu, sau o ardere completă, este o perioadă istorică care se întinde de la 1930 la 1945, nu 1940-1944, asta este părerea mea. În Holocaust e adevărat că au murit 6 milioane de evrei dar au murit şi alţi oameni care nu erau evrei şi pentru care evreii trebuie să ţină minte şi să se roage pentru milioane de ţigani şi nu se ştie nici azi câte milioane de polonezi sau alte „naţiuni inferioare”.

Glosar:

Meyer Goldstein
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskya

Growing up
Our religious life
My school years
Continuing my studies
During the war
Post-war

Growing up

I was born on December 5, 1916, in the town of Korsoun-Shevchenkovsky, formerly in the Kiev province and currently in the Cherkassy region. Back in 1916 this town was called simply Korsoun.
The name of my mother’s father was Ariy Voskov; my grandmother’s name was Feiga. My grandparents came from Taganchi, a small Jewish town not far from Korsoun. At the end of the 19th century, after a pogrom, those who could flee, fled. My grandparents fled, too. Their first daughter had just been born, but on their way she caught cold and died. After that, in 1895, my mother, Sonya Voskova, was born in Korsoun.
In 1898, her sister Ita was born, then Vekha in 1902, Esther in 1907, Golda in 1909, and brother Munya in 1912.
Munya was a very gifted musician. All the girls received only junior education. Under Soviet rule, my mother, Vekha, and Golda worked in an artel of handicraftsmen as confectioners.  Later, Vekha married a printing plant worker and went to live with him in Cherkassy. Before the war Golda left for Kiev and worked in a newspaper. Ita lived in Korsoun. 
I grew up practically without a father, because soon after my birth, my father got ill, and then died when I was three months old. He got gangrene; his leg was amputated.
My father, Isaac Goldstein, was a confectioner. He worked under somebody else. He did not have his own business. He had no education. My mother told me that he was a religious man who went to synagogue, kept holidays and traditions, and prayed.
My father had brothers. His oldest brother Leib was a tailor. His second brother Menakhem was also a confectioner. My father was the third brother, while the fourth brother, whose name I don’t know, moved to America in approximately 1916. He died there in 1941, leaving a fortune in inheritance. In America he was a lawyer.
I never knew my father’s father. He was already dead when I was born. My father’s mother Rukhlya was alive and lived with her middle son Menakhem in Korsoun. They had no house of their own, but rented a tiny flat. The flat had only two little rooms. The first was occupied by my grandmother, while Menakhem and his wife Lea slept in the second one, which was bigger. I don’t remember that flat very well because I was there only several times when I was very young.
My grandfather Ariy Voskov became a father to me. My mother and I lived in his family, and I, just like other children, called him “father.” He made hats. He had a lot of orders, but we were poor, very poor, because not many people paid for his work. We never had a house of our own, we always rented. We often moved from house to house trying to find something cheaper. Usually we rented poorly furnished, cheerless flats with iron beds. All our family usually lived in two rooms. My grandfather would work in one of these rooms. I remember big wooden models, on which he pulled hats and great irons in our house. Grandmother did all the work around the house, cooked, cleaned, and raised children. She worked from early morning to late at night. She had to feed everyone, bring water from the yard, heat the oven, clean the rooms. Salaries were low and we did our best to survive. I remember when I was in the third grade stores began to sell very cheap toy pistols. Three days I spent crying before my mother. I will always remember it. I cried and begged her to buy one for me. But she… it’s not that she did not love me, but we were so poor… that thing cost 20 or 50 kopecks, but she could not tear this money away from the family. Those were Soviet times already, and my mother was working at the “Red Confectioner” artel. Her sister Esther also worked there.
When I was three or four years old there was a pogrom in Steblev, not far from Korsoun. Gangs would burst into Jewish houses, kill men and rape women. I did not understand what a pogrom was then, but later I understood it, when I saw how one woman was raped. Later she lived not far from us. She never got married and she had mental problems afterwards. During the pogrom my mother took me and fled from the town, together with one of her sisters.
My grandfather, Ariy Voskov, was a very religious man. Every day, morning and evening, he went to the synagogue. He put on his taleth and tefillin. No matter whether it was a work day or a day off, every morning and evening he spent in the synagogue.

Our religious life

We celebrated all religious holidays at home. I remember Passover. We brought all crockery down from the attic, and we always had very nice kosher crockery. All the family would sit around the table, and we cooked everything that had to be cooked according to the Hagaddah: eggs, one potato each, fish, chicken, horseradish, and matzos. Grandfather would lead the seder. This holiday I remember, but I don’t remember any other holidays.
As far as I remember, around 90 percent of families in Korsoun were Jewish. Two streets crossed downtown: Shevchenko and Lenin Streets. On one side there was the Ros River; over the river was a machine building plant, and dye-works. Then there were the smithies. The blacksmiths were all Jewish.
Most Jews in the town were craftsmen and traders. Craftsmen included tailors, hatters, shoemakers, roofers, and balaguls, those who had horses and carts, and took people to and from the train station, which was about five kilometers away from Korsoun. During Soviet times, all handicraftsmen united into an association called Shveinik, meaning “sewing industry worker.” All of Shveinik’s members were Jewish. This artel included my mother’s sisters Vekha and Golda as well as many other people whom I knew. Moshka Ocheretik was a craftsman. He led the self-defense unit of the Jews who defended the population from gangs during the Civil War.  Jews were all on friendly terms. They helped each other and defended themselves. And the Jews of Korsoun had good relations with Ukrainians. Many Ukrainians even spoke Yiddish as well as their native language.
The central streets of Korsoun had stone paving. In the very center of the town there was a market place and a big square with four synagogues. The largest synagogue was beautiful, made of stone, with nice big entrance over the steps. I remember it very well because my grandfather would go there and take me with him. On the first floor, where all the men stayed, there was a big hall with wooden benches. At that time I did not understand what those people and my grandfather were reading, and I was not interested in it. My mother and her sisters would go up to the second floor, but they went to synagogue only on holidays. There were three more synagogues in the town, but we never went there, so I don’t remember what they looked like.
Another picturesque area was Pomestiye, located on two islands on the Ros. There was a beautiful castle there, and waterfalls. There was also a very nice church. I still remember the sound of its bells and can sing it to you. For instance, when the service began, the small bell started – bong-bong-bong. Then, Bong! went the big bell. The church was very close to our house and I remember exactly what the bells sounded like. I can tell you for sure that I liked this church more than the synagogue then.
But in 1932 this church was ruined by order of the communists, because the country began to persecute religions.
And synagogues were closed down. Only one was left. Our synagogue, the most beautiful one, became a youth club, where youth and Komsomol members got together for their meetings. A Jew named Boguslavsky was its director. The second synagogue became a sewing workshop, and the third one simply stood empty. The smallest synagogue remained functioning. I don’t remember any manifestations of anti-Semitism in those years; it was the general state policy to close down all religious buildings. I remember it very well because I was 16 years old at that time. 

My school years

I was attending a seven-year Jewish school. All the subjects in it were taught in Yiddish. Most of all I liked mathematics and physics – I liked both subjects and their teachers. We also learned the Ukrainian language and literature, and the German language. Teachers of the Ukrainian language and literature were Ukrainians, while the rest of teachers were Jewish. It was a secular school for Jewish children, for whom Yiddish was the native language. We had no special Jewish subjects at all; Yiddish was simply the language of instruction.
I remember the major Soviet holidays: May 1, October Revolution, Paris Commune Day. On those days we went out to demonstrations together with adults, carried red flags, and enjoyed it very much. My grandfather Ariy never welcomed the revolution. He never celebrated any holidays except the Jewish ones. My mother and her sisters, like most Jews of their generation, were quickly assimilated and joyfully received the new order, believing in the Communist ideas. During the war my mother joined the Communist Party.
When I was in the fourth grade I joined the young pioneers. But my grandfather wanted me to attend the rabbi’s classes! So, I attended the rabbi’s classes at his house. Well, you know, we would sit at the rabbi’s, he would read to us and we would repeat after him. Later the rabbi complained to my grandfather about me, because I once met him in the street and saluted him! I saluted a rabbi like a communist pioneer! The rabbi got very upset and told my grandfather, who became indignant with me. But still, I remembered some of what the rabbi taught us. So, I knew Yiddish but never learned Hebrew very well.
At school I got very interested in electricity. All the lamps, chandeliers, and sconces that you see here in this room were made by me. I had always wanted to become an electrical engineer

Continuing my studies

I never thought I would become a teacher, but my fate went such a way that I found myself in the teacher’s institute. It happened so that after graduation from the seventh grade we all went to Nikolayev to continue our studies. There were eight of us, all Jews, five boys and three girls. In Nikolayev there was a Factory Plant College at the Andre Martie Plant, which today is a shipbuilding plant. We lived in a dormitory. There were five people in our room. There was one toilet and one kitchen for the whole dormitory, where lived a total of approximately 60 people. We lived well, trying to help one another and our families. It was a military plant and we received good portions of food there. On top of our meals in the canteen, we also received bread cards to buy one and a half or two kilos of bread a day. So five of us put these cards together and sent our bread to one family a week, in turns. This way I helped my mother to survive, because by then it was 1933, the year a famine was artificially created by the government.
Life was very hard, especially in villages. Young Ukrainians would go to the cities every morning to look for jobs to somehow feed their families and survive. Everyone’s life was hard.
Among my friends in Nikolayev was a girl, Anya Yakobson. We came from Korsoun together. I always cared for her, all my life. We were friends, then we dated…. One of her relatives from Nikolayev said that the Odessa Pedagogical Institute lacked students and we could try and enter it. So the whole group of us left Nikolayev for Odessa. We had nothing when we left. We did not even take our documents from the College.
In Odessa we were told that we could not be accepted without documents, so we were sent to the Worker’s Department (an institution of learning created by the Soviet authorities for youth without full school education). There we had exams. Only one other boy, Izya Kotlyar, and I passed those exams and were accepted to the third year, while the rest had to go home. In 1934 he and I studied at the Workers’ Department and then transferred to the Odessa Pedagogical Institute. I chose physics and mathematics because I liked them and also because at our school we had studied in Yiddish, so we did not know other languages well enough. We lived in a dormitory and were paid scholarship, but it was not enough. It was thirty rubles plus some kopecks. That is why, even though I was a Komsomol member then, I did no public work. I was never an active Komsomol member, I simply had no time for that. I worked at a bread store: at night I would bake bread, and during the day I would study at the Institute.
In our dormitory there were young people of various nationalities from different places – Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars, et cetera. I was on good terms with all of them. We never divided people by nationalities. Life was hard for everyone.
At that time arrests and what became known as the Stalinist arrests and show trials began. My mother’s brother Munya served in the army leading an orchestra, for he was a very gifted musician. But he lacked self-control. Once he did not like the food they were given and said so.  He was arrested. That’s all. He disappeared. We could not inquire about his fate. No one would answer such questions.
In the beginning of 1939 I graduated from the Institute. I was sent to the town of Pikov, a Jewish town in the Vinnitsa region. Then in the fall of that year, the Germans captured Poland, and our troops entered the Baltic countries and western Ukraine. The country was on the verge of war, but few realized it.

During the war

I was summoned to the military registration and enlistment office. They sent me home, to Korsoun, and ordered to wait for a call-up. So at the end of November we were taken to the Leningrad military district. The Finnish War began.
We found ourselves in barracks in Gatchin. It was extremely cold, about 50 degrees Centigrade below zero. All we had were summer uniforms. We had three-story plank beds. There were so many people that at night we could turn only on order. In the morning all of us were taken outside for physical exercises. Many of us were from the South and were not used to cold. So the second day many got sick, including me.
Relations in the army were friendly. Nobody offended me as a Jew. On our way there in the train some people laughed and made Jewish jokes, teasing me, but in my military unit nobody did that. I was respected.
I was put in a signalers’ platoon. One day we were walking, choosing observation posts. A lance corporal was walking in front of me. We had to follow a narrow path because everything around us was mined. He was must have been distracted by something because he stepped to one side. Immediately there was a terrible explosion. I ran to him and saw that he lost his leg completely. That was the end of his fighting. He was rushed into hospital and I heard nothing else about him. There were many victims in the Finnish War.
After the end of the Finnish War our division was sent to Tbilisi. The year was 1940.
I worked at the headquarters because I dealt with communications. It was May 1941. Since I had higher education, they offered to let me prepare and become an officer. They planned to make me a junior lieutenant and transfer me to the reserve. So on Saturday, June 21, 1941, I passed my exams for lieutenancy. And on Sunday, June 22, when we were at the training range, the Second World War began. We were put on platforms and taken to Makhachkala. There we were stationed for all of 1941 and almost all of 1942. I was lucky there, I got in touch with my mother. She was in Yangiyul in evacuation, and she got married there. She had known her second husband, Shlyoma Sklyar, even before the war, because they had worked together as confectioners. On their way to evacuation his wife died on the train, and my mother became his close friend.
Many people could not survive evacuation to the east. My mother’s sister Ita was in evacuation together with her in Yangiyul, and there she died from cold and starvation. Her sister Vekha got married before the war and lived outside Cherkassy. She had a daughter. During evacuation they ended up somewhere else far away, and the girl was run over by a car in front of her mother. Vekha’s husband could not live through that and committed suicide, so Vekha was left alone.
Esther was in Magnitogorsk, working at the canteen of a military plant.
For women, evacuation was extremely hard to bear. They worked for themselves, for their brothers, for their husbands, and devoted everything to the soldiers. They did not eat enough or sleep enough. Coming from the south of Ukraine, they froze in Siberia, but they did everything in their power to advance our victory.
Golda, my mother’s youngest sister, had the best education. Before the war she was an active Komsomol member. She worked in a Komsomol newspaper in Kiev. In evacuation she ended up in Sverdlovsk, caught cold and died there.
Almost all of my relatives were evacuated to the east. Only my father’s brother Menakhem and his wife did not want to be evacuated for some reason. Later, when the Germans were very close, he, his wife Lea and my grandmother Rukhlya went to Krasnodar. My grandmother died on the train and was buried right there by the railway. Menakhem and Lea lived for about six months in Krasnodar before the Germans entered, gathered all the local Jews and those who had fled there, thinking they had gone far enough, and shot them.
I don’t know about the rest. Izya Kotlyar also fought and survived. I don’t know where he is now. And I lost my Anya Yakobson during the war, I lost all trace of her, ah.…
My mother’s parents had died before the war.
My mother came to me in Makhachkala. I found a flat for her. When she came, Regiment Commander Damayev, who came from a famous Russian family of actors and who treated me very well, helped get food for her. Later, when the Germans began to bomb Makhachkala, I sent my mother away. I took her to the port and sent her away because we already knew by that time that the fascists killed Jews. However, the Germans never occupied Makhachkala.
We began to fight from Gudermes, the second largest city in Chechnya. The Germans had already occupied the Northern Caucasus, Krasnodar and Rostov, and reached Terek. And we began to take part in military actions in Gudermes. When we arrived there, the city was empty, there were no locals at all. Some locals, those who showed hostility towards the Russians, had been moved out by the authorities. But most of them went into the mountains.
From Gudermes I began to move westward with my regiment. We liberated Taman, then the south of Ukraine, Berislav (our division was called “Berislav”), Kakhovka, and many other cities and towns. We already knew about ghettos in the cities, about Jews being shot, about death camps. And right before the Soviet troops came into Nikolayev, which was close to my heart because I studied there, the Germans gathered all the young people so that they would not go to the Soviet Army. They told them they would be sent to Germany, and they shot them all at the train station. When we entered the city, they were lying there, all dead.
In general, there were no divisions between Jews and non-Jews or other nationalities during the war. In my regiment, the Battery Commander was Berdichevsky. The chief of the medical unit was Gleiman, and his assistant was a Jewish woman from Leningrad. She now lives in Israel. But in the headquarters I was the only Jew.
All were equal at war. All were in trenches, all were equally cold, lacked food, slept where they could and when they could, only in breaks between fights. We all wrote letters home and we were all killed equally, no matter what nationalities we belonged to.
Then we liberated all the capitals – Belgrade, Budapest, Vienna, and Prague. We ended the war in Prague and celebrated victory there. From there we were put on trains and sent to the Far East to fight against the Japanese.
The war ended, but they did not let me leave the army. My regiment commissar summoned me and said, “You will not be transferred to the reserves until you join the Communist Party.” So they forced me to do it. I was not ready to. In April 1946 I joined the Party, and in June I was demobilized.
I came to Kiev. I was called up in Korsoun, but I wanted to go to Kiev. Since I worked in the headquarters, they forged a document for me, to make it look as if I had been called up from Kiev. My mother was in Korsoun at the time.
Every year I went to Korsoun. All the Jews there were shot during the war. The last class of the Korsoun school, children who graduated in 1941, including my great-nephew – none of them returned from war. All of them were Jewish. Some of them were killed at the front, some were shot in Korsoun, and others were reported missing.
Many Jews were shot in Korsoun. Today, their remains have been reburied in the Jewish cemetery of Korsoun. A common grave and a tomb were created with an inscription that the Jews of Korsoun were shot there. But the Germans! What they did in Korsoun! They dismantled the house Menakhem had just built to get building materials. They put their headquarters in our Jewish school, and they paved the road to it with gravestones from the Jewish cemetery. They put these stones so that the inscriptions in Hebrew could be read. There I found stones from the graves of my father and grandmother. The Germans enjoyed stepping on Jewish names.

Post-war

After the war I came to Kiev and worked as a mathematics teacher in various schools.
In 1951 I married Klara Matveyevna Zhitnitskaya, born in 1926. My wife comes from Korsoun. Our parents knew each other. Her mother, Makhlya Zhitnitskaya, was a tailor and worked in the tailors’ artel. Her family worked in Korsoun, and like all other Jewish families was assimilated, but they kept some holidays and traditions. Klara graduated from a pedagogical institute and worked as a teacher in one of the Korsoun schools.
We met during one of my visits to Korsoun. I think it was in spring. When we married it was a hard time. We did not have a Jewish wedding. Anti-Semitism was rising in our country. It had absolutely no influence on me at work. But in the streets, in lines, on public transportation, people would stare or tease. And there were articles in newspapers and pamphlets featuring typically Jewish names like “Abram Abramovich.” When you read, you immediately knew who you were reading about: if it was a Russian, his name was Ivanov, if a Ukrainian, Shevchenko; if Jewish, Abrashka, Surka or something like that. I guess the anti-Semites liked that.
By the way, my mother, who was a Party member, was summoned to the district Party committee and asked, “Why are you called Sonya? Your real name should be Sarah or Surah. You should bear your real name.” She could hardly get rid of them. Sneers continued for a long time. Not only the Jews as a nation, but also Jewish names were despised.
It was hard to find a job for the same anti-Semitic reasons. But the director of the school where I worked was very nice to me. He hired my wife as well, provided nobody would know that she was my wife. In those years, Soviet bodies of power forbade relatives to work in the same organization, especially if they were Jews. For several years we managed to conceal that we were spouses. For that reason my wife did not change her last name.
In the street people would ask me, “Where did you fight? In Tashkent?” Nobody wanted to believe then that Jews fought at the front and were killed just like the others who defended their motherland. When Stalin died, anti-Semites got quieter. But in general, anti-Semitism was always present in our country.
That is why we had no Jewish wedding. We continued to keep some Jewish traditions, but very quietly, in secret. On Passover we always had matzo at home. We bought it from the only synagogue that remained in Kiev, where people baked and sold matzo under threat of persecution. We also celebrated Hanukkah. I was born on Hanukkah, so it was a double holiday for us.
In 1952 our daughter Faina was born. We gave her a Jewish name. She was a cheerful and kind girl. She had friends of different nationalities, but she always kept her Jewish identity in mind. Immediately after graduating from school she married a Jewish boy named Ilya Kobernik. That is why she did not continue her education. She stayed at home, bringing up children and working around the house.
My wife and I continued to work at school until retirement. We have taught more than one generation of children. In 1996 my Klara died. I feel very lonely.
Despite the fact that life was hard we never thought of emigrating. My granddaughter Sveta now lives in Germany. My daughter with her husband and younger granddaughter are planning to move to her, so they are selling everything. They are leaving soon. I told them I’m not going with them. I am old and I want my remains to be buried here, in my motherland.
Times have changed now. Anti-Semitism is certainly hard to uproot. But Jewish life in Kiev and in Ukraine is very energetic now. Synagogues are working, as are Jewish cultural societies, including the Kinor Jewish community center, where I like to go.
I receive invitations from them and go to their meetings. But I don’t go to the synagogue, I’m not religious.
I receive aid from the Jewish community, from the Khesed charity center. I get food parcels, hot meals and Jewish newspapers. I like talking to old people. Basically, I’m not going to leave this land. This is all. Thank you.

Renate Jeschaunig 
Wien 
Österreich 
Datum des Interviews:. Februar 2003 
Interviewerin Tanja: Eckstein 

Renate Jeschaunig ist am Telefon auf meine Bitte, mir ihre Lebensgeschichte zu erzählen, sofort bereit dazu. Einige Tage später sitze ich in ihrer Wohnung im 1. Bezirk.

Sie bereitet Kaffee, dann beginnt sie zu erzählen: über ihre Familie, ihre sorgenfreie, behütete Kindheit bis um Einmarsch der Deutschen im März 1938, als das alles zerstört wurde.

Mehr als ein Jahr nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen lebt sie mit ihrer Familie in Wien und erlebt täglich die lebensbedrohliche Situation und die Demütigungen, denen die jüdische Bevölkerung ausgeliefert ist.

Sie ist 13 Jahre alt, ihr Bruder acht Jahre, als die Familie auseinandergerissen wird, um den Holocaust zu überleben. Sie überleben, aber die Wunden verheilen nie.

• Meine Familiengeschichte
• Meine Kindheit
• Meine Schulzeit
• Während des Krieges
• Nach dem Krieg
• Glossar

• Meine Familiengeschichte

Die Eltern meines Großvaters väterlicherseits hießen Jakob Juda Rosner und Rosa Rosner, geborene Weißenberg. Die Eltern meiner Großmutter hießen Ferdinand und Henriette Korn. Sie besaßen in Bielitz [Bielsko, heute: Polen] ein Lebensmittelgeschäft.

Meine Großmutter Cecilie und mein Großvater Salomon Rosner heirateten am 14. März 1886 in Bielitz. Cecilies Muttersprache war Deutsch, sie kam aus einem liberal religiösen Haushalt. Ich habe sie nicht gekannt, denn sie ist 1920 in Bielitz gestorben, noch bevor meine Eltern geheiratet haben. Sie soll eine sehr vornehme Dame gewesen sein.

Mein Großvater Salomon wurde 1851 in einem Schtetl geboren. Er war Lehrling in einer jüdischen Zucker - und Schokoladefabrik und wurde kaufmännischer Angestellter und Reisender.

Er sparte die Diäten, damit seine zwei Kinder das Gymnasium besuchen konnten. Er schlief in einem ungeheizten Zimmer mit einer Tuchent [Anm.: Bettdecke] unter ihm und einer Tuchent über ihm.

Er rauchte Virginia Zigarren und fuhr immer in die einzige Apotheke in ganz Wien, die Pullmann Tee hatte gegen seinen Husten. Hätte er nicht die Virginia Zigarren geraucht, hätte er keinen Pullmann Tee gebraucht.

Die Suppe musste kochend auf den Tisch kommen, und kein Mensch außer ihm hat die essen können. Er aber war schon beim Nachtisch, wenn wir mit dieser heißen Suppe begannen.

Der Großvater war hoch intelligent und wie er selber sagte, hatte er sich an den Leitartikeln der 'Neuen Freien Wiener Presse' gebildet. Heute könnte sich kein Mensch an irgendeinem Leitartikel bilden.

Ich habe von meinem Großvater Rosner nie ein Zuckerl oder Geld bekommen, aber er hat der Mama immer gesagt: 'Lilli, die Renate liest so gern. Da hast du Geld, jedes Buch, das das Renaterl will, kann sie haben.'

Ich besitze folgenden Artikel aus einer Bielitzer Zeitung zu seinem 70. Geburtstag: 'Der in unseren Schwesterstädten und weit über die Grenzen derselben bekannte und geschätzte Herr Rosner feiert in diesen Tagen im Kreise seiner Kinder und Enkel seinen 70. Geburtstag.

Herr Rosner, unter seinen Geschäftsfreunden und sonstigen Bekannten unter dem Namen 'der süße Rosner' hoch geachtet und geliebt, war ohne seine zweite Heimat Bielitz zu verlassen, nahezu 40 Jahre Reisender und Disponent der Kanditenfabrik Gellner & Austerlitz in Brünn.

Er zeichnete sich stets durch strenge Rechtlichkeit und Fleiß aus. Seit einem Jahre genießt er hier seinen wohlverdienten Ruhestand.

Herr Rosner, dem es vergönnt ist, den zurückgelegten Siebziger in besonders körperlicher und geistiger Frische zu erleben, ist Schwiegervater des hiesigen Rechtsanwalt und Gemeinderates Dr. Glücksmann, sowie Vater des auch bei uns bekannten in Wien wohnenden angesehenen Arztes Dr. Rudolf Rosner.

Möge es dem Geburtstagskind gegönnt sein noch lange in Gesundheit und Rüstigkeit zu leben.'

Meine Tante Hilda, die 1889 geboren wurde, durfte als Frau nicht in der österreichisch-ungarischen Monarchie eine Universität besuchen. Da haben meine Großeltern sie nach London geschickt, wo sie erfolgreich graduiert hat.

Tante Hilda wurde die erste weibliche Universitätsprofessorin der Universität in Warschau für Anglistik. Sie war mit Sigmund Glücksmann verheiratet, der Rechtsanwalt und Sozialdemokrat war, und der im Holocaust ermordet wurde.

Sie hatten zwei Kinder: meine Cousine Ruth, genannt Uta und meinen Cousin Konrad. Tante Hilda wurde mit ihren beiden Kindern zuerst vom Hitler verfolgt, dann wurde sie von den Russen in den Ural geschickt, und nach dem Krieg ist sie nach Schweden gegangen. Sie ist in Schweden gestorben. Konrad lebt in Deutschland und arbeitet für eine deutsche Fernsehgesellschaft.

Ich war bei seiner Bar Mitzwa 1, aber da war ich erst drei Jahre alt. Meine Cousine Ruth ist Zahnärztin, hat zwei Töchter und lebt in Schweden. Ihr Mann ist gestorben.

Mein Vater Primar Dr. Rudolf [Rubin] Rosner wurde am 4. Januar 1887 in Sucha [Sucha Beskidzka] bei Bielitz geboren. Er besuchte in Bielitz die Volksschule und das Gymnasium. 1906 begann er mit dem Medizinstudium an der Wiener Universität und wurde zum Doktor der Medizin promoviert.

Er arbeitete sehr viel wissenschaftlich und war Mitglied des Jüdischen - Akademischen Vereins 'Emunah'. Während des 1. Weltkrieges [1914 - 1918] in der k. u. k. Armee wurde er mit dem Verdienstkreuz in Gold und in Silber und der Tapferkeitsmedaille ausgezeichnet.

Mein Großvater lebte ein halbes Jahr bei uns in Wien und ein halbes Jahr bei Tante Hilda in Bielitz. Zu Pessach 2 kam er aber immer nach Wien, weil er sagte: So einen Seder wie Lilli, also meine Mutter, macht sonst niemand. Der Seder 3 war das schönste Fest, das es bei uns gab.

Mein Bruder wurde immer sehr verwöhnt, aber in unserer Familie ging es sehr fair zu. Robert war der jüngste in der Familie, und so musste er am Sederabend das: 'Ma nischtana haleila haze mikol haleilot' [hebr.: 'Was unterscheidet diese Nacht von allen anderen Nächten'] sagen, denn das ist die Aufgabe der Jüngsten.

Aber es war so, dass er eine Strophe sagte und eine Strophe sagte ich. Jeder bekam die Mazzot [(Mhz.) Mazze: ungesäuertes Brot] versteckt, und jeder bekam ein Geschenk.

Die Deutschen haben dann meinen Großvater eingesperrt, aber nicht in ein KZ. Er ist in Bielitz gestorben und beerdigt. Vergangenes Jahr bin ich mit einer Reisegruppe bis an die polnische Grenze gefahren, hab mir ein Taxi nach Bielitz genommen und das Grab meiner Großeltern Cecilie und Salomon Rosner aufgesucht. Ich war auch bei dem Haus, das mein Großvater gebaut hatte. In dem Haus sind jetzt Geschäfte.

Ich besitze einen wunderbaren Kidduschbecher 4, den ich zu meiner Geburt vom allerbesten Freund meines Vaters, dem Onkel Mannheim, bekommen habe. Onkel Mannheim war ein Gold - und Silberschmied, der seine Werkstatt im 6. Bezirk, in der Webgasse, hatte.

Der silberne Kiddusch Becher mit kleinen Hasen darauf hat eine Widmung eingraviert: Für Renate von Onkel Mannheim. Als Onkel Mannheim geheiratet hat, war ich in der zweiten Volksschulklasse und durfte auf der Hochzeit die Blumen streuen. Es gab einen großen Empfang im Hotel Metropol.

Das Metropol wurde später das Gestapohauptquartier. Ich hatte Korkenzieherlocken und trug ein schönes rosa Kleid mit Rüschen. Ich durfte bis in die Nacht aufbleiben und tanzte Hora [Volkstanz].

Onkel Mannheim sagte, dass ich ein Geschenk bekommen muss und wollte wissen, was ich mir wünsche. Ich wünschte mir einen Mogen Dovid [Davidstern], und er schenkte mir einen goldenen Mogen Dovid. Ich besitze silberne Lampen, die ich aus den Schabbat - Leuchtern 5 meiner Eltern hab anfertigen lassen.

Der Onkel Mannheim nahm die Schabbat - Leuchter meiner Eltern zuerst in die Emigration nach Jugoslawien mit, dann nach Amerika. 1949 kam er mit den Schabbat - Leuchtern wieder zurück.

Inzwischen hatten meine Eltern andere, und ich hatte meine eigenen Schabbat - Leuchter. Und so ließ ich mir aus den Schabbat - Leuchtern meiner Eltern Lampen machen. Diese Lampen werden einmal meine Tochter und später ihre Tochter erben.

Meine Mutter Sieglinde, genannt Lilly, wurde nicht als Jüdin geboren. Sie trat aber zehn oder zwölf Jahre, bevor meine Eltern heirateten, zum Judentum über. Ich kannte meinen Großvater mütterlicherseits nicht.

Er hieß Friedrich Stiassny und starb bereits 1901. Meine Großmutter Johanna, genannt Jeanette, geborene Janitzky, zog fünf Kinder allein auf. Meine Mutter war zwölf Jahre alt, als der Großvater starb, und sie war die älteste der Geschwister. Sie wurde am 14. Juni 1889 geboren und hatte drei Schwestern und einen Bruder:

Frieda Stiassny, geboren 1890, war mit dem jüdischen Bankier Erwin Mautner verheiratet. Sie starb vor dem 2. Weltkrieg. Der Onkel Erwin Mautner wurde verhaftet und ermordet. Sie hatten keine Kinder.

Hedwig Stiassny heiratete Franz Jakobi, der evangelisch war. Sie hatten eine Tochter Helga, die durch die finanzielle Hilfe meines Vaters maturieren und bis 1938 Pharmazie studieren konnte.

Maria Stiassny heiratete Ferdinand Esslauer. Sie hatten keine Kinder. Maria war meinen Eltern innigst verbunden, und als sie während des Holocaust schwer krank wurde, erklärte sie, sie würde sich von niemand anderem behandeln lassen als von meinem Vater.

Otto Stiassny wurde von meiner Großmutter, weil sie ja kein Geld hatte, in ein Militärgymnasium geschickt. Danach ging er in Wiener Neustadt auf die Militärakademie und wurde einer der ersten österreichischen Fliegeroffiziere. Er heiratete in Ungarn eine Adelige, hat einen Sohn Marius, der heute in Cleevland [USA] lebt.

Meine Großmutter Jeanette Stiassny war ein Goldschatz. Sie war eine kleine Frau, hatte einen Riesenkropf und war eine echte Großmutter. Sie hat Strümpfe gestickt, scheußliche braune Strümpfe, in die ich ein Loch gemacht hab, damit ich sie nicht anziehen musste.

Sie ging mit meinem Bruder, der die Feuerwehr liebte, jeden Tag zur Feuerwehr Am Hof. Mein Bruder wollte damals Feuerwehrhauptmann werden. Mich hat sie sehr, sehr gern gehabt, weil ich immer nur mit meinen Puppen Lehrerin gespielt habe und immer gewusst habe, dass ich Lehrerin werden will, was ich auch wurde.

Sie schrieb mir in mein Stammbuch, als ich in der zweiten Volksschulklasse war: Es gibt viele Leute, aber wenig Menschen. Renaterle, versuch immer ein Mensch zu sein.

Sie und meine Mutter sagten auch oft, dass arbeiten keine Schande ist, aber sich aushalten lassen. Ob du heiratest ist deine Angelegenheit. Du musst einen Beruf erlernen, damit du nie von einem Mann abhängig bist.

Meine Eltern haben jahrelang in 'Sünde' gelebt, weil jemand der habilitieren wollte, nicht heiraten durfte. Mein Vater hat erklärt, er liebt meine Mutter und wenn diese Trotteln an der Universität das nicht akzeptieren, werden sie trotzdem zusammen leben.

Für ihn ist sie seine Frau. Sie haben unverheiratet zusammen gelebt, bis mein Vater mit seiner Facharzt - Ausbildung zum Dermatologen fertig war und der Oberrabbiner Mannheimer sie 1924 getraut hat.

• Meine Kindheit

Ich wurde in Wien am 2. Juni 1926 als Renate Cecilie, jüdisch Chana, Rosner geboren. Mein Bruder Robert Hans Rosner wurde am 22. September 1930 geboren.

Meine Mutter hatte die Matura und war eine ausgebildete Steuerfachfrau. Sie hatte lange für eine große jüdische Firma in der Buchhaltung gearbeitet und war für die Steuerangelegenheiten zuständig.

Mein Vater arbeitete mit dem berühmten Universitätsprofessor Doktor Wagner-Jauregg an der Behandlung der Syphilis mit Malaria. Wir besitzen noch die wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten, und mein Vater sollte habilitieren und Dozent werden.

Aber sein Professor starb, und der Professor Finger, der nach ihm das Amt übernahm, erklärte, er lasse einen Juden nicht habilitieren. Und das war lang, bevor der Hitler kam. Das war Anfang der 1920er-Jahre.

Die ersten Jahre nach meiner Geburt wohnten meine Eltern im 6. Bezirk in der Gumpendorfer Straße in dem Eckhaus vis-a-vis der Amerlingstraße. Dort war auch die Ordination meines Vaters.

Meine Mutter arbeitete nach der Hochzeit für meinen Vater als Ordinationshilfe und kümmerte sich um die Verrechnungen mit der Krankenkasse. Die Wohnung war aber sehr klein und nach ein paar Jahren übersiedelten wir in eine andere Wohnung im 5. Bezirk, und der Papa behielt die Wohnung in der Gumpendorfer Straße als Praxis.

1929 gelang es meinen Eltern ein Stockwerk des Bankhauses Liebig in der Wipplingerstraße 4 zu kaufen. In dem Stock ließ mein Vater eine Ordination und ein Wohnung für uns bauen.

Die Ordination bestand aus einem Damen Wartezimmer japanisch eingerichtet, einem Herren Wartezimmer eingerichtet a la Tonet, aber bestimmt waren die Tonetmöbel nicht echt, einem normalen Ordinationszimmer und einem Elektroordinationszimmer mit Höhensonne und Diatermie Apparat [Anm.: Unterwassermassage Apparat] und vielem anderen mehr, darunter auch einem sehr wertvollen Mikroskop.

Das Mikroskop ist das einzige, was die Mama retten konnte, als wir aus der Wohnung hinaus geschmissen wurden. Sie nahm einen weißen Polsterüberzug und steckte das Mikroskop hinein.

Dann wickelte sie es in ein Leintuch, zerriss einen Tuchent Überzug und wickelte es noch einmal ein.

Als einer dieser Nazischergen zu ihr sagte: 'Was ham sen da?' Hat sie gesagt: 'Zerrissenes Bettzeug, das ich flicken muss.' So wurde das wertvolle Mikroskop gerettet.

Kultur wurde groß geschrieben. Als ich fünf Jahre alt war, ging ich in mein erstes Mozartkonzert im kleinen Saal im Konzerthaus. An einem Weihnachtsfeiertag ging ich einmal ins Burgtheater mit meinen Eltern.

Wir saßen in einer Loge und sahen Vicky Baums Theaterstück 'Das dumme Engelein'. Die Alma Seidler spielte das dumme Engelein. Ich kann mich erinnern, dass das dumme Engelein eine Wurst hatte, die immer länger und länger und länger wurde.

Ich war ein Kind, das keine Schokolade wollte, und ich hab zur Mama gesagt: 'Bitte, warum können wir nicht so eine Wurst haben, die immer länger wird?' Ich habe mir immer zu meinem Geburtstag gewünscht, einmal auf der Straße eine Wurst essen zu dürfen.

Die Mama hat dann gesagt, das gehe nicht, weil alle meinen Papa kennen. Wenn wir in Piesting oder Weißenbach oder Perchtoldsdorf sind, darf ich auf der Straße eine Wurst essen.

Meine Eltern führten ein sehr gastliches Haus. Mein Bruder und ich durften jeweils an unserem Geburtstag die ganze Klasse einladen. In meiner Klasse waren 30 Kinder, davon 28 jüdische.

Ich habe alle jüdischen Kinder eingeladen. Und dann ein oder zwei Stunden nach Beginn der Kinderjause, hat meine Mama alle Mütter zu Tee oder Kaffee empfangen.

Mein Vater hat auch mit jungen Ärzten aus Afrika und Asien gearbeitet, die zu uns nach Hause gekommen sind, und so wurden wir in dem Sinne erzogen, Menschen anderer Hautfarben als selbstverständlich zu tolerieren.

Mein Bruder war im Kindergarten und in der Volksschule bei den Schotten. Da war er das einzige jüdische Kind in der Klasse.

Einmal wurde zu Weihnachten ein Krippenspiel aufgeführt, und mein Bruder kam nach Haus und sagte: 'Ich soll die heilige Maria sein.' Wir haben alle Tränen gelacht!

Er hat dann ein blaues Nachthemd meiner Mutter getragen und mein Vater hat gesagt: 'Ausgerechnet mein Sohn muss die heilige Maria spielen.' Da hat meine Mutter gesagt: 'Na die heilige Maria war auch a Jidin!'

Mein Vater liebte die Musik und ging manchmal am Sonntag mit uns in den Stephansdom. Er sagte, dort hätte er die schönste Musik umsonst und das Schema Jisrael 6 können wir auch im Stephansdom beten.

• Meine Schulzeit

Ich wurde in das Institut Stern, eine private Volksschule, in der Werdertorgasse, in die zum Großteil Kinder aus wohlhabenden jüdischen Häusern gingen, eingeschult. Ich war das schlechtest angezogene Kind, aber ich hatte die meisten Bücher, und ich war die Beste im Deutschunterricht.

Im Institut Stern war die Frau Friedmann Direktorin und ihre Schwester Gymnasialprofessorin für Deutsch. Sie lehrte zweimal die Woche in der dritten und vierten Klasse der Volksschule deutsche Grammatik, Ich liebe die Grammatik! Sie konnte das so gut erklären, dass ich die Grammatik liebte.

Frau Direktor Friedmann und ihrer Schwester Professor Friedmann sind beide nach Theresienstadt deportiert worden. Die Frau Professor Friedmann ist dort umgekommen, die Frau Direktor Friedmann hat überlebt.

Aufs Gymnasium ist der Bob, mein Bruder, ja nicht mehr gekommen, weil er viel jünger war als ich. Es waren zwei berühmte Gymnasien, in die jüdische Mäderln gegangen sind. Das war das Oberlyzeum Luithlen auf der Tuchlauben 14 und die Schwarzwaldschule.

Ich bin in das Oberlyzeum Luithlen gegangen, weil es in der Tuchlauben war und weil die Direktorin, die Doktor Fabian, aus Bielitz stammte. Ich bin sehr gern in die Schule gegangen. Mein Bruder und ich hatten zusätzlich zur Schule noch jüdischen Religionsunterricht. Interessanterweise von einer Frau, nicht von einem Mann.

Meine beste Freundin war die Hedy Schlesinger. Hedys Vater war der Rechtsanwalt Doktor Schlesinger, sie wohnten im 5. Bezirk und seine Kanzlei hatte er in der Wipplingerstraße, wo meine Eltern ihre Wohnung und Ordination besaßen.

Wir verbrachten alle Urlaube miteinander. Hedy Schlesinger war die jüngste von drei Kindern, sie war so alt wie ich. Ihre Schwester Eva war zwei Jahre älter, ihr Bruder Wolfgang, genannt Wolfi, sechs Jahre älter.

Bei Wolfis Bar Mitzwa habe ich zum ersten Mal in meinem Leben ein kleines Stamperl Eierlikör getrunken, selbstgemacht von der Frau Schlesinger.

Wir verbrachten auch unsere Sommer zusammen. Damals war es noch nicht üblich, dass Anwälte oder Ärzte Autos hatten. Und so waren unsere Familien immer irgendwo, wo unsere Väter mit der Bahn oder sonst einem öffentlichen Verkehrsmittel abends nach Hause konnten.

Familie Schlesinger mietete immer ein ganzes Haus, weil sie drei Kinder hatten, wir mieteten immer eine Wohnung.

1935, bevor wir in den Urlaub fuhren, hatte ich eine Kinderkrankheit. Unser Kinderarzt war der berühmte Professor Kuntratitz, und als er mich untersuchte, machte er meine Mutter aufmerksam, sie müsse mich aufklären.

Nachdem er gegangen war, hat sie das versucht, aber ich habe ihr erklärt, dass das nicht notwendig sei, da der Wolfi Schlesinger mich schon aufgeklärt habe, worauf meine Mutter einen Schock bekam.

Dann habe ich ihr das erklärt: Die Schlesingers hatten ihr Haus neben dem Bauernhof, der den Gemeindestier besaß. Und der Wolfi hatte seine Schwestern und mich zum Gemeindestier und der Kuh geführt und gesagt: 'Das machen Erwachsene, wenn sie ein Kind kriegen.' Daraufhin war meine Mutter beruhigt.

Wir haben wunderbare Urlaube in Piesting verbracht. Unter meiner Organisation haben wir 'Das weiße Rössl' von Benatzky aufgeführt. Wir verlangten von unseren Eltern und Freunden 50 Groschen Eintritt.

Das muss sehr viel gewesen sein, denn wenn meine Eltern, mein Bruder und ich sonntags in Piesting essen gegangen sind, haben wir um 5 Schilling alle vier sehr gut gegessen.

Wir haben die 50 Groschen aber nicht für uns verwendet, wir haben es den armen Kindern gegeben. Wir waren gut erzogen, weder die Schlesingers noch meine Eltern haben vor dem Hitler am Hungertuch genagt.

Die Eltern Schlesinger wurden in Riga vergast. Hedy, Eva und Wolfi gingen zuerst nach England, von dort ins damalige Palästina. Wolfi rückte in die britische Armee ein, wurde verschifft, das Schiff wurde torpediert und alle starben.

Hedy heiratete in Palästina, dem heutigen Israel, einen deutschen Flüchtling. Sie hatten einen Sohn und eine Tochter und der Sohn starb in einem der Kriege. Gott sei Dank hat sie noch eine Tochter und hat von ihrer Tochter zwei Enkelkinder.

Sie war, noch bevor mein Mann starb, mit ihrem Mann in Wien, und wir haben uns sehr gut verstanden. Nach dem Tod meines Mannes litt ich an einer Depression. Ich bin nach Israel gefahren und habe die Hedy, ihren Mann und Eva Bursing, mit der ich aufs Gymnasium gegangen bin, besucht. Das hat mich geheilt.

Unser Hausmädchen Anna hatte ein eigenes Zimmer in unserer Wohnung und wurde nicht als Hausgehilfin behandelt, sondern wie das dritte Kind im Haus. Sie war eine Ungarin und ich vermute, dass sie eine ungarische Jüdin war.

Sie saß beim Essen mit uns am Tisch, und die Mama hat ihr immer Geld gegeben und gesagt: 'Geh mit der Renaterle und mit dem Robert in den Prater, ins Museum oder nach Schönbrunn.'

Wir waren bewusst jüdisch, aber wir haben nicht koscher gegessen, wir haben aber auch kein Schweinernes gegessen. Die jüdischen Feiertage haben wir gefeiert. Tradition war bei uns vorhanden, aber keine Orthodoxie, denn mein Vater hatte sich entscheiden müssen, ein guter Jude oder ein erstklassiger Arzt zu sein. Und er hatte sich für den erstklassigen Arzt entschieden.

• Während des Krieges

Nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen 1938 gab es große Veränderungen in der Schule. Mein Klassenvorstand, Frau Prof. Dr. Teller kam nicht mehr in die Schule, andere jüdische Professoren kamen auch nicht mehr, und Professoren, die keine Juden waren, trugen ein Hakenkreuz am Revers.

Ein Erlebnis hat mich sehr tief erschüttert. Die Familie eines berühmten Professors für Chirurgie wohnte uns gegenüber. Sie hatten mehrere Kinder und eine Tochter war in meinem Alter.

Wir standen uns manchmal an den Fenstern unserer Wohnungen gegenüber und hatten eine Zeichensprache erfunden, durch die wir uns verständigten. Manchmal trafen wir uns auch im Park und spielten miteinander.

Nach Hitlers Einmarsch begegneten meine Mutter und ich diesem Mädchen mit ihrer Mutter. Ich ging höflich hin, machte meinen Knicks und sagte: 'Küss die Hand, Frau Professor!' Die Frau Professor nahm ihre Tochter fest an der Hand und sagte zu ihr: 'Komm weiter, dieses Judenkind grüßt du mir nicht wieder.'

Mein Vater hatte einen guten Bekannten, das war ein Monsignore im Erzbischöflichen Palais. Und als Hitler kam, machte er sich erbötig, meinen Bruder und mich zu taufen und den Taufschein zu fälschen. Mein Vater lehnte das ab mit den Worten: 'Sie sind als Juden geboren, und sie werden als Juden sterben.'

Wir mussten in eine sogenannte 'jüdische Kommune', wo wir zu viert in einem Zimmer waren und Papa in einem Kabinett für Nichtarier ordinierte.

Während mein Bruder und ich schon längst in England waren, wurde meine Tante Maria, die jüngste Schwester meiner Mutter, krank und erklärte, sie würde sich von niemand anderem als von Papa behandeln lassen, worauf der Papa und die Mama sie zu sich nahmen.

Sie wurde so krank, dass mein Papa erklärte, es müssten alle Verwandten kommen, denn sie könnte sterben. Wenn die Verwandten kommen, werde er außer Haus gehen, damit sie keinen Kontakt zu einem Juden haben müssen.

Meine Cousine Helga kam mit ihrem jung angetrauten Mann, einem gewissen Dr. med. Herbert Arnfelser, der seinerzeit der Chef der nationalsozialistischen Studenten war. Als alle anderen schon weg waren, kam mein Vater zurück.

Aber Helga und Herbert Arnfelser waren noch dort. Herbert setzte ostentativ den Hut auf und erklärte, einen Juden grüße er nicht.

Unserem Hausmädchen Anna verdanken mein Bruder und ich, dass wir nach England gekommen sind. Anna ist 1937 zu einer englischen Familie übersiedelt. Anfang 1939 bekamen meine Eltern Briefe von verschiedenen Schulen und Familien aus England, und wir wussten nicht wieso? Und dann hat sich herausgestellt, die Anna war bei einer sehr wohlhabenden jüdischen Familie in einem Nobelteil von London, und ein Vertreter des 'Jewish Cronicle' der vorbeikam, erkannte sie, und sie erkannte in ihm einen Patienten meines Vaters.

Er hat sofort gefragt, was mit dem Doktor Rosner ist, ob sie irgendetwas gehört habe. Sie sagte, mein Vater könne nicht aus Österreich emigrieren, weil er sein ganzes Geld in die Ordination gesteckt hätte und kein Geld für die Reichsfluchtsteuer 7 hat, aber er will seine Kinder retten. Da hat der ehemalige Patient meines Vaters gesagt, er sei selber nur Flüchtling, aber er werde mit seinem Chef sprechen. Dieser Chef hat dann eine Gratis Annonce im 'Jewish Chronicle' aufgegeben, und so sind mein Bruder und ich nach England gekommen.

Mein Bruder war acht Jahre alt und ich dreizehn. Wir fuhren mit einem Kindertransport der israelitischen Kultusgemeinde nach England. Der Abschied von meinen Eltern am Westbahnhof war schrecklich. Sogar mein Vater weinte.

Meine Mama hat mich beauftragt, auf meinen kleinen Bruder aufzupassen. Sie hatte mir einen goldenen Ring mit einem Rubin für Notzeiten in ein Taschentuch gewickelt. Da ich nicht lügen konnte und große Angst hatte, dass man den Ring bei mir finden könne, warf ich ihn vor der Abfahrt auf die Gleise.

Ich durfte mir meine Pflegeeltern aussuchen, und sie haben dann Pflegeeltern für meinen Bruder gefunden. Wir waren in Hull, in der Nähe der Nordküste am River Humber, damals hieß es East - Yorkshire, untergekommen. Meine Pflegeeltern waren streng koscher, die Pflegemutter war eine einfache, anständige Frau.

Ihr Mann hat von zwölf Geschäften elf verspielt und hat mit jedem weiblichen Wesen, das dazu bereit war ein Verhältnis gehabt. Nicht einmal beim Pferderennen, sondern beim Hunderennen. Für mich war das fürchterlich, weil ich aus einer so gut funktionierenden Familie kam. Mein Bruder dagegen hatte phantastische Pflegeeltern.

Knapp vor meinem 18. Geburtstag ging ich freiwillig zur Womens Land Army. Ich habe bis August 1945 nichts über meine Eltern gewusst. Dann bekam ich einen Brief mit der Schrift meiner Pflegemutter.

Ich machte ihn auf, da lag kein Schreiben von ihr drin, sondern ein Feldpostbrief. Damals gab es keine offizielle Post zwischen Deutschland, Österreich und England. Der Brief war von einem Offizier, dessen Name ich nicht kannte.

Ich machte den Brief auf, da war die Schrift meines Vaters. Ich weinte eine halbe Stunde, bevor ich den Brief lesen konnte. Und dann erfuhr ich folgendes: Der Papa ging über den Graben und sah einen britischen Offizier, von dem er annehmen konnte, dass er Jude wäre.

Er sprach ihn auf jiddisch an und bat ihn darum, seinen Kindern in England mitzuteilen, dass er lebe. Der Papa nahm ihn auch mit nach Hause, und die Mama bewirtete ihn. Im August 1945 habe ich dadurch erfahren, dass meine Eltern leben.

Meine Eltern waren von einem ehemaligen Patienten meines Vaters, der ein Kommunist war, in Klosterneuburg in einem Weinkeller versteckt worden. Im Februar 1947 kam ich nach Wien.

Mein Bruder Bob blieb in England, machte seine englische Matura und studierte Architektur. Er lebt in Hassel bei Hull, arbeitet als Architekt, Stadtplaner und Landschaftsdesigner und besitzt eine eigene Firma.

• Nach dem Krieg

Mein Vater wurde nach dem Krieg Vorstand der Dermatologischen Abteilung im Sophienspital und 1951 Primarius der Dermatologischen Abteilung des Spitals der israelitischen Kultusgemeinde.

In dieser Zeit war er außerdem Vertrauensarzt und Facharzt der Wiener Gebietskrankenkasse und leitete ein Ambulatorium dieses Instituts am Börseplatz.

Mein Vater gehörte zu den besten Dermatologen Wiens, war ein sehr bescheidener Mensch und ein stets hilfsbereiter Arzt, den seine Patienten sehr verehrten. Er war ein sehr aufrechter, ein eher zurückgezogener Mensch. Er starb am 6. April 1955 in Wien.

Ich ging in die Lehrerbildungsanstalt in die Hegelgasse, machte meine Matura nach, weil ich nur die englische Matura hatte, und legte erfolgreich nach zwei Jahren meine Prüfungen ab. Zusätzlich zur Matura schaffte ich eine Kindergärtnerinnen Ausbildung.

Mein erster Mann Dr. Walter Koling ist der Vater meiner Kinder Michael und Petra. Mein Sohn wurde am 4. Februar 1952 geboren, meine Tochter am 17. August 1957. Meine Tochter ist bereits verwitwet.

Meine Großmutter Jeanette Stiassny ist einen Tag vor der Geburt meines Sohnes gestorben. Sie war 92 Jahre alt, und ich habe immer gesagt, ihre Seele ging hinauf und die meines Michaels kam herunter. Mit meinem ersten Ehemann hatte ich keine gute Ehe.

Meinen zweiten Ehemann Ernst Jeschaunig habe ich am 18. Dezember 1957 geheiratet. Er hat auf dem akademischen Gymnasium maturiert, Jura und Staatswissenschaften studiert und arbeitete als Beamter des Landesarbeitsamtes. Sein Vater war jüdisch.

Er fragte mich nicht, ob ich ihn heiraten wolle, er fragte mich, ob er der Vater meiner Kinder sein dürfe. Bis zu seinem Tod am 13. Dezember 1998 führten wir eine wunderbare Ehe. Meine Mutter sagte einmal, sie würde sich für meinen Vater überfahren lassen, und ich fühlte dasselbe für meinen Mann.

Im Mai 1960, meine Tochter war noch nicht einmal drei Jahre alt war, lud uns meine Cousine Helga Arnfelser, mit der ich immer sehr befreundet war, aber deren Mann meinen Vater als Juden während des Holocaust nicht gegrüßt hatte, an einem Sonntag zum Mittagessen in ihr Reihenhaus in Hirschstetten zum Mittag ein.

Dort befand sich noch eine Sandkiste ihrer Tochter, die um zehn Jahre älter ist als meine Tochter. Ich weiß nicht, was ein Kind in einer Sandkiste ohne Wasser tun kann, aber auf einmal kam ein Herr, der auch dort eingeladen war, der brüllte mein 2 ¾ jähriges Kind an.

Woraufhin mein Mann und ich, wir hatten kein Auto und sehr wenig Geld, aufstanden, das Kind nahmen, ein Taxi bestellten und sagten: Und wenn wir die ganze Woche Wasser trinken und trockenes Brot essen, wir bleiben keine Minute länger.

Der Mann, der mein Kind angebrüllt hatte, erfuhr ich später, war der Dr. Gross 8! Das war das letzte Mal, dass ich mit der Familie verkehrt habe, bis der Herbert Arnfelser gestorben ist.

Von September 1950 bis Juni 1965 arbeitete ich in der Jugend - und Kinderbibliothek im U.S. Information Service Vienna. Von Juli 1965 bis 1984 hatte ich die Leitung der Bibliothek der American International School in Wien.

Ich arbeitete in dieser Zeit auch als Lehrerin und Kostümbildnerin für alle Theater - und Musicalaufführungen der Oberstufe dieser Schule. Seit 1. Juli 1984 bin ich Pensionistin.

Im Jahre 1973 starb meine Mutter in Wien.

Ich wurde 2002 an der Niere operiert. Als ich wieder etwas am Gang auf und abgehen konnte, ging ich an einem Zimmer vorbei, in dem ein Mann saß, der zu einem anderen Mann sagte: 'Ich war sieben Jahre alt, als der Hitler kam und der fehlt uns heute.

Es muss wieder ein Hitler kommen! Damals gab es kein Verbrechen, kein Mord, keinen Totschlag, keinen Diebstahl.' Die Oberschwester erschien und sagte: 'Frau Jeschaunig, ist ihnen schlecht, sie sind weißer als ein Leintuch. Kommen Sie in mein Zimmer.'

Ich erzählte ihr, was ich gehört hatte und sie sagte: 'Nehmen Sie das nicht ernst.' Worauf ich ihr mitteilte: 'Als Jüdin, die am 20. Juni 1939 dreizehn Jahre und achtzehn Tage alt war und mit einem 8 3/4 Jahre alten Bruder ohne Eltern flüchten musste, deren Familie Anfang Oktober 1939 aus der wunderbaren Ordination und Wohnung von SA Leuten, Studenten der Wiener Universität, herausgeworfen wurde, die zu viert in ein Zimmer und ein Kabinett für die Ordination des Vaters in eine 'jüdische Gemeinschaftswohnung' gezwungen wurde, nimmt man so etwas ernst.

Ich konnte den restlichen Tag nicht einmal ein Wasser trinken, musste Beruhigungsspritzen bekommen und habe mich seit Hitlers Erscheinen nicht so aufgeregt, wie an dem Tag.

Ich gebe heute noch Nachhilfestunden und alle meine Schüler, denen ich in Deutsch oder Englisch Nachhilfe gebe, sagen: 'Frau Professor, wieso können sie Grammatik so gut erklären? Bei ihnen mögen wir Grammatik.'

Das verdanke ich der in Theresienstadt umgekommenen Frau Professor Friedmann, die uns mit Liebe Grammatik beigebracht hat. Derzeit hab ich eine tunesische Maturantin, und das worauf ich am meisten stolz bin, mehr als auf die Matura meiner Tochter, ist, dass ich eine Türkin, die erste in ihrer Familie, die mehr als vier Klassen Volksschule gemacht hat, bis zur Matura durchgebracht habe.

Ihr Vater wollte sie nach der vierten Klasse in der Türkei verheiraten. Ich hab die Mutter angerufen, er dürfe das nicht tun, weil das Mädchen so intelligent sei. Die Mutter antwortete, dass ich das dem Vater sagen muss.

Das habe ich getan. Er beschimpfte mich zwar, aber das Mädchen maturierte mit gutem Erfolg. Bei der Maturafeier waren die Mutter und ich, weder der Vater noch der Bruder waren gekommen. Sie hat die pädagogische Akademie absolviert und unterrichtet heute.

Mein Freundeskreis besteht hauptsächlich aus Sozialdemokraten. Es sind auch Juden darunter.

Ich bin Österreicherin, und ich bin eine überzeugte Jüdin. Ich trage einen großen Mogen Dovid, den darf jeder sehen.

Was mir immer im Gedächtnis ist, ist der Satz, den mein Vater gesagt hat: 'Sie sind als Juden geboren und sie werden als Juden sterben.' Ich kenne das Testament, ich esse nicht koscher, aber ich bete jeden Morgen und Abend das Sch`ma und darum, dass die Seele meines verstorbenen Mannes Ernst Jeschaunig an der Rechten des Allmächtigen ruht.

Mein Sohn Michael ist Mitglied der Kultusgemeinde. Meine Tochter Petra flog 1996 mit ihren Kindern Miriam und Manuel in die USA. Dort mietete sie sich ein Auto und fuhr einen Monat durchs Land. Sie ist eine bewusste Jüdin.

Meine Enkelkinder gehören nicht der jüdischen Gemeinde an. Beide tragen einen Mogen Dovid und sind stolz darauf. Ich wollte Manuel eine längere Kette für seinen Mogen Dovid kaufen, damit ihn nicht jeder sofort sieht, und er gab mir zur Antwort: 'Entweder die Leute mögen mich wie ich bin, oder sie lassen es bleiben.

Da ich nicht so ausschaue, wie der 'Stürmer' 9 sich die Juden vorgestellt hat, höre ich immer wieder antisemitische Bemerkungen. Und ich muss ehrlich sagen, bevor ich die höre, servier ich lieber mein Judentum auf einem silbernen Tablett. Ja, ich bin religiös, nicht orthodox, aber religiös und ich gehe jeden Freitagabend in die Synagoge.

• Glossar

1 Bar Mitzwa: [od. Bar Mizwa; aramäisch: Sohn des Gebots], ist die Bezeichnung einerseits für den religionsmündigen jüdischen Jugendlichen, andererseits für den Tag, an dem er diese Religionsmündigkeit erwirbt, und die oft damit verbundene Feier. Bei diesem Ritus wird der Junge in die Gemeinde aufgenommen.

2 Pessach : Jüdisches Fest, erinnert an den Auszug des jüdischen Volkes aus Ägypten, welcher die 200 Jahre währende Knechtschaft beendete. Jegliche gesäuerte Speise [Chamez] ist verboten, und so wird ungesäuertes Brot (Mazza) verzehrt.

3 Seder [hebr.: Ordnung]: wird als Kurzbezeichnung für den Sederabend verwendet. Der Sederabend ist der Auftakt des Pessach-Festes. An ihm wird im Kreis der Familie (oder der Gemeinde) des Auszugs aus Ägypten gedacht.

4 Kiddusch: von hebr. 'kadosch', heilig. Der Begriff findet in verschiedenen Zusammenhängen Verwendung. Als Kiddusch wird u.a. der Segensspruch über einen Becher Wein bezeichnet, der am Schabbat und anderen Festtagen gesagt wird.

5 Schabbat [hebr.: Ruhepause]: der siebente Wochentag, der von Gott geheiligt ist, erinnert an das Ruhen Gottes am siebenten Tag der Schöpfungswoche.

Am Schabbat ist jegliche Arbeit verboten. Er soll dem Gottesfürchtigen dazu dienen, Zeit mit Gott zu verbringen. Der Schabbat beginnt am Freitagabend und endet am Samstagabend.

6 Schema Jisrael: Das Schema Jisrael ist eines der wichtigsten Gebete des jüdischen Glaubens. Es ist Teil des Morgen- und Abendgebetes sowie der Liturgie an Schabbat und Festtagen.

7 Reichsfluchtsteuer: eine 1931 von der Weimarer Republik erlassene Steuer mit dem Zweck, die Kapitalflucht einzudämmen. Ab 1933 wurde die Reichsfluchtsteuer zur 'Menschenfluchtsteuer', die sich in erster Linie gegen Juden richtete und ein Teil der Ausplünderungs- und Vernichtungspolitik der Nationalsozialisten war.

8 Gross, Dr. Heinrich [1915 - 2005] war einer der Ärzte, die im Jahr 1944 als Stationsarzt an der berüchtigten Wiener Euthanasieklinik 'Am Spiegelgrund' an der Tötung von behinderten Kindern mitgewirkt hat.

Trotz seiner Beteiligung an der Ermordung der Kinder machte er nach dem Krieg eine beachtliche Karriere als Psychiater, Gerichtsgutachter und Neuropathologe. Er wurde jedoch nie rechtskräftig verurteilt.

9 Der Stürmer: Antisemitische Wochenzeitung; Der Antisemitismus sollte im deutschen Volk vor allem durch Warnungen vor einer 'jüdisch- bolschewistischen Weltverschwörung' und durch Skandalreportagen über jüdische Kriminalität geschürt werden. Diese wurden von großformatigen Überschriften und zumeist antijudaistischen Karikaturen umrahmt.

Ruth Fischer
Wien
Österreich
Datum des Interviews: Mai 2002
Name des Interviewers: Zsuzsi Szaszi

• Meine Familiengeschichte
• Meine Kindheit
• Während des Krieges
• Nach dem Krieg

• Meine Familiengeschichte

Mein Name ist Ruth Fischer, ich wurde 1929 in Deutschland, Dresden geboren. Meine Grosseltern mütterlicherseits hatten ein Warenhaus in Dresden. Ich glaube das hat mein Großvater (Mosche Langer) aufgebaut, aber nicht einmal das könnte ich beschwören.

Wenn man jung ist fragt man nicht und dann ist zu spät. Das Kaufhaus steht nicht mehr, wir wissen die Adresse, aber dort steht etwas anderes.

Es gab viele Juden in Dresden vor dem Krieg. Jetzt haben sie eine neue Synagoge gebaut, eine sehr schöne. Vorher hatten sie eine Synagoge, die ist vom selben Architekten, der auch das Burgtheater gebaut hat. Die Synagoge seinerzeit war auch vor der Semper-Oper, aber die ist natürlich zerstört worden.

Jetzt ist an der selben Stelle noch einmal ein neuer Bau aufgestellt worden, aber das ist modern. Voriges Jahr war die Eröffnung. Wir haben nur den Platz gesehen, da war eine Säule, wo drauf stand, da war
die Synagoge. Aber den Friedhof haben wir besucht und er ist erhalten geblieben.

Die Mutter meiner Mutter ist sehr sehr früh gestorben, ich weiß nicht einmal, wie sie geheißen hat. Mein Grossvater Mosche Langer ist sehr jung verwitwet gewesen, er war noch nicht einmal 50, und wie das so in jüdischen Gemeinde Sitte war, hat man einem Herrn, der da alleine geblieben ist, eine Jungfrau angetragen und der hat er dann noch einmal geheiratet. Seine zweite Frau hieß Julia.

Der Großvater war im I. Weltkrieg im Militär, der Mosche Langer, aber der Vater auch, ich habe mal ein Bild gesehen, mein Vater auch. Der Großvater (Mosche Langer) hatte ausser meiner Mutter drei Töchter. Alle drei Geschwister waren verheiratet, alle haben im selben Haus gewohnt mit ihren Familien.

Das war so Sitte. Die eine Schwester (Langer, verh Zimmering) wurde eines Tages schwer krank und da haben die zwei Schwestern ihre Kinder groß gezogen. Sie haben die drei Kinder aufgeteilt und haben sie groß gezogen, weil sie nicht im Stande war, die Kinder selber groß zu
ziehen.
Die Kinder haben Zimmering geheißen Es waren 3 Brüder, die waren alle künstlerisch begabt, Schriftsteller, und einer davon war der Jossi, der war bei meiner Mutter und ist quasi wie ein Bruder geworden, sie haben auch zusammen gewohnt. Die anderen zwei Brüder waren bei der anderen Schwester.

Dieser Josi Zimmering wurde später Vertreter vom roten Kreuz für die DDR. Er arbeitete in Genf und einmal fuhr er mit der Familie im Auto zu Weihnachten nach Dresden, da passierte ein schrecklicher Unfall. Seine Frau
starb und er lag lange im Spital und hat dann später seine Sekretärin, die Margit, geheiratet und die hat dann seine Kinder groß gezogen.

Die Tochter ist Dolmetscherin geworden und der Sohn ist Arzt. Er ist jetzt in Berlin und seine Kinder sind beide Schauspieler, also die Enkelkinder vom Josi. Esti Zimmering heißt die Tochter, wie sie sich nennt, weiß ich nicht. Heute 
hat man keine Künstlernamen mehr. Die Leute heißen Zwitschkowitz und was weiß ich, wie sie sonst noch heißen. Der Sohn heißt David, der ist auch Schauspieler. 

Der Jossi ist vor 6 oder 7 Jahren gestorben, das ist nicht so lange her, wir haben noch Kontakt zu seiner zweiten Frau, zu dieser Sekretärin. Wir rufen uns an, wir schreiben uns, sie war schon hier und wir waren schon dort. Am Friedhof in Dresden hat mir die Margit noch Gräber gezeigt von der Familie.

Die Margit ist diese angeheiratete Sekretärin, die Nichtjüdin ist, die kennt sich besser aus als ich. 

Eine Schwester meiner Mutter hieß Clara, sie ist jung gestorben mit 19 Jahren. Sie war Klaviervirtuosin, hatte aber Halsdiphtherie, das war damals eine tödliche Krankheit. Man hat sie aufschneiden müssen, damit sie Luft kriegt, aber das hat nichts geholfen. 

Lea, die andere Schwester meiner Mutter, hat dort ein Ehrengrab, da liegt sie im nichtjüdischen Teil und ihr Mann auch. Weil sie zu kommunistischen Zeiten gestorben ist, da war eben nicht wichtig, daß sie Jüdin war. Lea war eine Malerin, obwohl der Schwiegervater sehr dagegen war, weil bei den Juden ja Malerei, Bildhauerei sehr verpönt sind.

Auch in den Synagogen sieht man, in den Reform vielleicht, aber in den richtigen Synagogen gibt es keine Bilder und keine Figuren und keine Engel und nichts. Also es war ihm nicht recht, dass sie gerade das als Beruf ausgewählt hat und sie war sehr schlimm, sie ging trotzdem auf die Kunstakademie in Dresden und wurde eine sehr berühmte Malerin. Lea Grundig, sie ist heute noch bekannt, aber hauptsächlich im Osten. 

Sie hat dann einen Nichtjuden (Hans Grundig) geheiratet, einen Maler, der ist dann zwar übergetreten, aber für die Nazis galt das nicht und sie mussten sich scheiden lassen. Es gab damals diese Zwangsscheidungen. Sie ging nach Palästina, sie war auf dem berühmten Schiff, auf der Patria.

Wir waren damals schon in Haifa, und da gab es die Sochnut, die hatten diese Listen. Es kamen Flüchtlingsschiffe, und jeden Tag, bevor er zur Arbeit ging, hat mein Vater die Listen studiert, ob vielleicht ein bekannter Name drauf ist. Es haben sich viele Leute auf diese Art und Weise gefunden.

So haben wir auch die Tante gefunden. Dann hat sie eine Zeit lang bei uns in Haifa gewohnt, dann ist sie nach Tel Aviv gezogen. Haifa war eine kleinebescheidene Stadt, für Kunst gab es keinen Markt. Sie hat dann jahrelang inTel Aviv gelebt, hat aber die ganze Zeit ihren Mann gesucht, der in

Deutschland geblieben ist. Dadurch, daß der Grundig übergetreten war, warer für die Deutschen irgendwie ein Jude und trotzdem nicht, und später, wodie Lage schon schlecht wurde, als man schon nehmen musste, was noch auf zwei Beinen herumstand, weil man niemanden mehr zum kämpfen hatte, haben die Deutschen die sehr jungen Männer und Mischlinge genommen und dann hat man ihn auch noch an die Front geschleppt.

Es ist in seiner Nähe eine Bombe gefallen, da ist er fast erstickt, er war sehr sehr schwer krank, aber meine Tante hat ihn mit Hilfe des Roten Kreuzes doch finden können. Worauf hin sie hat alles stehen und liegen lassen und ist zurück gefahren nach Dresden.

Da blieben sie noch zusammen, aber sie sind seit vielen Jahren jetzt tot. Sie wurde nicht ganz 70. Sie hatten alle keine Kinder. (Lea Grundig, geb. 23.3.1906 in Dresden, gestorben 10.10.1977 auf einer Mittelmeerreise, verh. 1928 in Dresden mit dem Maler Hans Grundig, 19.2.1901 Dresden - 11.9.1958 Dresden, beide Maler, Mitglieder der KPD, Gründungsmitglieder der "Dresdner Assoziation Revolutionärer Künstler Deutschlands", beide Professur an der Dresdner Hochschule der Bildenden Künste)

Meine Mutter war die einzige, die ein Kind hatte und auch nur eins. Das war damals so, weil man wusste nicht, was der Morgen bringt, und da ein Baby
sich anzuschaffen, zu der Zeit, wo der Alterabstand zu mir gepasst hätte, 
wäre dann nicht gut gewesen. 

Als wir 1932 geflüchtet waren, sind mein Großvater und seine Frau in Dresden geblieben. Als die Nazis kamen, hat man ihn verprügelt und seinen ganzen Besitz weggenommen und in so ein Internierungslager gesteckt. Dann ist er wieder draußen gewesen, da wollte er schon weg.

Wir waren schon längst in Palästina, da ist mein Vater noch einmal nach Europa gefahren, um ihn heraus zu holen. So kam er dann auch noch nach Israel, mit seiner zweiten Frau. Sie haben eine Zeit lang in Haifa gelebt und sind dann sie 
nach Tel Aviv gezogen.

Sie haben ein Geschäft aufgemacht, Bettwäsche nähen und reparieren, davon haben sie sich dann ernährt. Sie waren natürlich nicht mehr so jung. Mein Vater starb sehr jung und mein Großvater starb sogar nach ihm. 1957, 1958. Also, als die Doris auf die Welt gekommen ist, war er nicht mehr da, vor 1958.

Seine Frau hat ein bisschen länger gelebt, die war wesentlich jünger, aber ist auch schon viele Jahre tot. Sie hatte auch keine Kinder, weil, als sie geheiratet hatten, war sie schon längstnicht mehr in dem Alter, wo sie noch hätten Kinder kriegen können.

Die Familie meines Vaters Pinchas Mahler kam ursprünglich aus Polen. Ich weiß, mein Vater ist in Dresden aufgewachsen und hat kein Wort polnisch gesprochen. Er muss schon als sehr junges Kind nach Dresden gebracht worden sein, oder vielleicht wurde er in einem Grenzgebiet geboren, das früher zu Polen und dann nach Deutschland gehörte. Ich kenne mich nicht so genau aus. 

Der Großvater väterlicherseits war schon lange tot, als ich geboren wurde, ich weiß nicht einmal, wie er geheißen hat. Die Großmutter ist, glaube ich, in Holland gestorben, ich weiß, es gibt ein Foto von ihr. Aber ich kann mich nicht an sie erinnern. Mein Vater, der hat eine Schwester Milka und die zwei Brüder Jakob und David. 

Der eine Bruder ist im Krieg verschollen, der David, von dem hat man nie mehr was gehört, samt seiner ganze Familie. Und der andere Bruder und die Schwester, die haben auch in Dresden gelebt, die hat mein Vater mitgeschleppt. Als er nach Palästina ging, hat er sie überredet mitzugehen, und die sind dann mit ihren Familien mehr oder weniger zu gleichen Zeit wie meine Eltern weg aus Dresden, nach Palästina.

Haben auch in Holland warten müssen, bis sie ihr Zertifikat bekommen haben. Sein jüngerer Bruder, der Jakob, ist als erster nach Palästina gekommen. Die Schwester war auch vor uns dort. Jakob hat am Bau gearbeitet und Milka die Schwester, sie hat nichts gearbeitet. Sie lebte in Haifa und war professionell krank, sie war immer

krank, immer der Mittelpunkt, immer musste sie verwöhnt werden und immermusste sie bedient werden. Sie hat keinen Finger in kaltes Wasser gesteckt,auch in warmes Wasser nicht. Der Sohn, der Michi, hat irgendetwas mit Buchhaltung gemacht aber ich bin mir nicht sicher.

Der hat dann geheiratetund die haben alle in der selben Wohnung gewohnt. Seine Frau war ganz schönarm dran, musste dauernd die Schwiegermutter bedienen, noch dazu wo sieberufstätig war. Die Söhne von der Milka haben keine Möglichkeit gehabt einen Beruf zu erlernen.

Der einer wollte Arzt und der andere Rechtsanwalt werden, sie mussten das tun, was sich ergeben hatte und nachdem den einen, den Emil, immer Chemie interessiert hatte, hat er sein Studium begonnen, ist aber nie fertig geworden. Der war 13 Jahre älter als ich und hat dann eine Firma eröffnet in Haifa für Duft, Essenzen, für Seifen, Parfüms, Deodorant, parfümiertes Klopapier, also Duft. Irgendwer hat mal gesagt, er ist ein Stinker.

Er hat nur mit Duft zu tun gehabt und das haben seine zwei Kinder weiter geführt. Diese zwei Kinder sind jetzt auch schon Großeltern, Zevi und Milka. Milka nach der Mutter von Emil, die professionell krank war, die hieß auch Milka, so hat man auch seine Tochter nach der Mutter benannt.

Die Kinder leben noch heute in Haifa, haben schon Enkelkinder und sind noch immer dort. 

• Meine Kindheit

Ich weiss nicht genau, wie meine Eltern sich kennen gelernt haben. Jahre später hat mir jemand gesagt, durch eine Ehevermittlung. Aber ich weiß nicht, ob das stimmt. Ich glaube eigentlich nicht, ich glaube, es war einmal auf einer Party, aber ich weiß es nicht. 

Sie haben so 1924 oder 25 geheiratet. Als ich geboren wurde, waren sie schon ein paar Jahre verheiratet. Sie waren nicht besonders religiös, aber sie haben in der Synagoge geheiratet in Dresden. Manchmal hat man den Seder gehalten, zu Jom Kipur gefastet, manchmal, wenn man Freitag Abend zu Hause Kerzen gezündet hat, dann ist mein Vater in die Synagoge gegangen, aber auch nur zu Rosch Haschana und Jom Kipur.

Sonst war eigentlich nicht viel. 
Und zu Simchat Thora hat er mich mitgenommen, weil das für Kinder lustig war. Da war ich noch so klein, da durfte ich bei ihm in der Herrenabteilung sein. Wir hatten Fahnen und oben war ein Apfel und in den Apfel hat man eine Kerze hineingesteckt, das war sehr aufregend. Aber ob das sehr religiös war, weiß ich nicht, für die Kinder eher lustig. Aber besonders religiös waren wir nicht.

1930 hat mein Vater hat das Gefühl gehabt, man sollte weg, aber er hat keine Ahnung gehabt, was kommen wird. In Dresden hat es ihm nicht mehr gefallen, und da hat er gesagt, wenn wir schon weggehen, dann gehen wir nach Palästina.

Viele Freunde meiner Eltern sind nach Kanada gegangen. Da musste man auf die Zertifikate warten und wir haben 1,5 Jahre warten müssen. Als wir weg mussten von Dresden, war ich 2,5. An meinem 4. Geburtstag war ich schon in Israel. Die Zeit zwischen 2,5 und knapp 4 war ich in Holland. 

Ich kann mich aus Dresden leider an nichts erinnern. Ich kann mich auch nicht an Holland erinnern. Ich nehme an, wir sind nach Holland gegangen, weil es das nächste war. Meine Eltern wollten raus aus Deutschland und haben dort Arbeit gefunden, also mein Vater, meine Mutter hat nicht gearbeitet.

Ich glaube, er arbeitete in einem Restaurant in Holland, wir wollten aber weiter fahren nach Palästina. Wir waren in Amsterdam, wir hatten ein kleines Haus mit Garten. Man musste sich bei der englischen Behörde anmelden und warten, bis man dran kommt.

Man hat nur ein gewisse Anzahl pro Monat ins Land gelassen. Ich glaube, die Araber haben damals nicht zugelassen, man musste das sehr behutsam machen und musste eben warten bis man dran kommt. 

Wenn man damals Deutschland verlassen wollte, konnte man sich noch entscheiden, man konnte noch seine Sachen packen und Möbel mitnehmen. Meine Mutter hat sehr schöne Möbel gehabt aus Kirschholz, das hat sie mir immer wieder erzählt.

Mein Onkel Jakob war ein paar Monate vor uns in Palästina und hat uns geschrieben, "Man lebt hier sehr primitiv, Du brauchst die Sachen nicht mitnehmen, das passt hier nicht hinein". Und sie hat nichts von ihren schönen Sachen mitgenommen.

Das hat sie Onkel Jakob nie verziehen. In Israel musste sie alles neu kaufen und noch dazu war in Israel alles noch recht primitiv, es war auch noch viel Ungeziefer, es waren noch nicht alle Strassen gepflastert. Über Nacht hat man die Hyänen heulen gehört, das klang wie heulende Kinder, hier und da hat man auch noch kleine Schlangen gesehen, ob sie giftig waren oder nicht, weiß ich nicht. 

Jeder musste das arbeiten, was er gerade gefunden hat. Sogar ein Arzt musste alle Prüfungen auf Englisch noch einmal machen. Mein Vater hat dann mit einem anderen Herren, den er dort kennen gelernt hat, eine Tischlerei aufgemacht. Davon haben wir dann gelebt.

Später hat er dann bei der englischen Marine gearbeitet, er war der buyer, also der Einkäufer. Also alles mögliche. Eines Tages hat er einen Eiskasten für die Frau vom Kapitän kaufen müssen, am nächsten Tag irgendetwas anderes, aber es waren immer hoch interessante Geschichten, die er erzählt hat, als er nach Hause kam. 

Er war ein großer Erzähler. 

• Während des Krieges

Knapp vor Kriegsbeginn ist mein Vater noch einmal nach Deutschland gefahren, um meinen Grossvater nach Palästina zu holen. Es war Anfang 1939, und meine Mutter hat schreckliche Angst gehabt, dass er nicht mehr rauskommt, wenn er nach Europa fährt, aber er ist trotzdem gefahren und ist G'tt sei Dank wieder heil rausgekommen.

Er ist von Haifa nach Ägypten und von dort ist er geflogen über Kairo, kann ich mich erinnern. Alle waren sehr nervös, es war ja ganz knapp vor Kriegsbeginn. Ich habe alles so nebenbei mitgekriegt, als Kind nimmt man das alles nicht so.

Auch der Krieg war für uns recht lustig, wir waren in den Luftschutzkellnern, da waren alle Kinder und man konnte in der Nacht auch noch spielen, nicht nur am Tag. Die Kinder nehmen das nicht so und die Gefahr war uns irgendwie nicht 
bewusst.

Haifa war auch ziemlich sicher, weil damals die Flugzeuge nicht sehr weit fliegen konnten, weil sie nur ein begrenztes Quantum an Sprit mitnehmen konnten, sie waren nicht interessiert, Wohnhäuser zu bombardieren, also gingen sie eher auf die Raffinerien.

Haifa selbst ist nicht bombardiert worden, Tel Aviv ist schon bombardiert worden. Die großen Ölraffinerien waren das Ziel, das war für die Kriegsführung wichtig, das hat damals noch zu England gehört. Und da haben sie meist gebombt,
außerhalb der Stadt, wo die Raffinerien standen.

Die Stadt hat eigentlichnur zufällig einmal am Stadtrand eine Bombe abgekriegt. Tel Aviv liegt jaflach in den Dünen, Sand gab es dort genug und man hat Ziegelhäuser gebaut,dort war es auch viel gefährlicher, in Haifa hat man mit Zement gebaut und wenn sogar eine Bombe gefallen wäre, hätte es höchstens einen Stock erwischt, aber das restliche wäre stehen geblieben.

In Haifa haben dafür die Raffinerien gebrannt, das waren Flammen, die haben die ganze Stadt hell gehalten. Das war scheußlich. Wir waren aber glücklich in Israel, das kann ich sagen. Wir alle waren im selben Boot, alle waren bescheiden, keiner hatte mehr als der nächste, jeder musste sich anpassen und es war eigentlich eine sehr schöne Atmosphäre. 

Mit den Nachbarn war man befreundet, man hat sich seinen Kreis gefunden. Die Freunde meiner Eltern waren alle Deutschsprechende. Teils Österreicher, teils Deutsche, aber alles Deutschsprechend. Es hat sich in Haifa so eingeteilt. Da waren die Polen, die haben sich in einem Stadtteil niedergesetzt, die Ungarn oder die Russen wo anders.

Die Russen eher weniger, damals eher Ungarn. Und Deutsche auch. In unserem Haus haben eigentlich alle deutsch gesprochen. Also, mir ist gar nicht aufgefallen, für mich als Kind war das alles so selbstverständlich. Meine Mutter hat aber auch Ivrit gelernt.

Wie die Deutsche das so genau machen, sie ist zu einem Lehrer gegangen und hat das richtig schön mit der Punktierung und allem gelernt. Ganz offiziell. Mein Vater kannte die Buchstaben vom Beten, also für ihn war es nicht so schwer, nicht daß er so schrecklich viel gebetet hat, aber die Buchstaben waren ihm bekannt, und durch das tägliche Leben bei der Arbeit ist einem nichts anderes übrig geblieben. 

In Palästina hat man uns Jekkes genannt. Das ist eine Abkürzung für Jehudik Schehavana, das ist auf hebräisch ein Jude, der schwer von Begriff ist, weil sie sich über die Deutschen lustig gemacht haben. Es war ja damals alles primitiv, es war alles nicht so schön geordnet und einfach wie daheim.

Es gab keine Waschmaschine, man hat zu Hause die Wäsche ausgekocht, es gab auch keine elektrischen Eiskästen. Es existierte einfach noch nicht. Alles war einfach viel primitiver, kleiner und enger als in Europa. Aber die Deutschen haben versucht, wie in Deutschland zu leben. Sie waren genau, sie waren Pedanten, sie sind trotz großer Hitze mit Strümpfen gegangen, die Damen und die Herren mit Krawatte und man hat sie ausgelacht.

Man hat immer gesagt, sie passen sich nicht an, die sind schwer von Begriff. Da gab es ein Dorf, das war ungefähr eine Stunde mit dem Auto entfernt von Haifa, Naharia. Man hat immer gesagt, wenn man an Naharia vorbei fuhr, hörte man immer ein Geräusch und keiner wusste was es war. Und dann hat es geheißen, die Deutschen arbeiten am Bau und da geben sie sich gegenseitig die Ziegel weiter.

Man hat doch keine Maschinen gehabt, man hat alles händisch gemacht und da geben sie die Ziegel einer dem anderen und sagen "bitte schön, danke schön, bitte schön, danke schön". Das ist, was man gehört hat, wenn man an Naharia vorbeigefahren ist. Man hat sich über die Deutschen lustig gemacht. Sie waren tüchtig. Und fleißig, wie eben die Deutschen sind. 

Ich war in Israel zuerst im Kindergarten, dann war ich in der Schule. Da gab es Schulen von der Stadt und dann gab es noch von den Engländern, die Englisch High School und die Franzosen hatten dort auch ein Lycee Francais, genau wie hier in Wien. Meine Eltern haben mich eben in die strenge deutsche Schule gesteckt, die hat sehr viel gekostet.

Die hat mehr kostet, als was ein Polizist im Monat verdient hat, aber man hat auch sehr viel gelernt. Der Direktor war der berühmte Dr. Biran, ein Deutscher. Da musste man immer gerade sitzen und man hat sehr viel lernen müssen, es wurde sehr viel verlangt und es war eigentlich die teuerste Privatschule, die es überhaupt gab. 

Die Unterrichtssprache in der Schule war hebräisch, englisch hat man erst in der ersten Oberstufe angefangen. In Israel gab es damals 4 Volksschulklassen und dann 8 Oberstufenklassen. Heute ist es 6 und 6. Damals hat man mit dem Englischen begonnen in der ersten Oberstufe, also im 5. Schuljahr.

Dann haben wir Englisch gehabt und im 7. Schuljahr hat man dann noch Französisch und Arabisch gehabt. Arabisch war Pflicht, Englisch war Pflicht, Französisch konnte man wählen, da gab es Biologie oder Französisch. Da hat es sich dann aufgeteilt, da gab es verschiedenen Strömungen.

Zum Beispiel Mathematik, das war eine Richtung, für die hatte ich gar kein Interesse, Biologie hat mich auch nicht gerade gefreut, und da blieb mir das Französische übrig, was sich später als Glück erwies, weil meine Tochter nach Frankreich geheiratet hat. Zu Hause haben wir deutsch gesprochen, die Buchstaben kannte ich vom englischen.

Und als ich hier her (nach Wien) gekommen bin, habe ich mit den Kindern langsam gelernt. Schreiben kann ich noch immer nicht fehlerfrei, weil ich es nie richtig gelernt habe. Ich habe nicht gleich nach der Schule geheiratet, weil ich zum Militär musste.

Das war auch für Mädchen nicht freiwillig, so wie es heute ist. Damals war es zwei Jahre für Buben und zwei Jahre für Mädchen, aber ich musste nicht die ganzen zwei Jahre bleiben. Da war noch Krieg am Anfang, Befreiungskrieg, und als er zu Ende war, hat man drei Kategorien entlassen.

Die ersten waren die Verrückten, also die Geistesgestörten, dann Leute mit Ulcus, weil für die war es schwierig, eine Küche zu finden, für die musste man extra kochen, und die dritte Kategorie waren Schüler, und unter denen wurde ich dann entlassen. Ich hatte vor dem Militär noch angefangen die Kindergartenschule, die hatte ich nach meiner Entlassung von der Armee zu Ende gemacht. Ich hatte also nicht die ganzen zwei Jahre abgedient, aber ich musste noch Reservedienst leisten, bis unsere Tochter kam. Weil jeder Reservedienst leisten muss, ein Monat im Jahr, je nach Rang. Ich hatte  zwei Streifen, also ich musste ein Monat im Jahr. 

• Nach dem Krieg

Ich habe meinen Mann Hanns Fischer in Palästina kennengelernt, nach dem Krieg. Wir haben uns sozusagen durch die Kultur kennengelernt. Es gab ein sehr berühmtes Theaterstück, und die Schüler mussten sich das anschauen. Da war ich mit meiner Schule, er mit seiner Schule und da war ein anderer aus seiner Klasse, der einen gekannt hat aus meiner Klasse, weil sie beide in einem Dorf außerhalb von Haifa gewohnt haben.

Der hat uns dann vorgestellt. Indirekt sozusagen. Seine Eltern stammen aus Wien und sind auch vor dem Krieg nach Palästinagekommen. Über Umwege natürlich. Er war in der Seemannsschule, aber bis ermit der Schule fertig war, war das Mandat zu Ende, es gab auch keineSchiffe, also, was macht man mit der Seemannsschule.

Außerdem habe ichgesagt, wenn er zur See geht, heirate ich ihn nicht. Wenn er alle paarMonate zurück kommt, das ist nicht für mich. Er konnte sofort zustimmen,weil es ja keine Schiffe gegeben hat...Wir waren sehr jung, als wir und kennengelernt haben. Ich war 15 und er war17, ich ging weiter zur Schule und wohnte bei meinen Eltern und er gingweiter zur Schule und wohnte bei seinen Eltern.

Das ist nicht so wie heute,dass man zusammen zieht oder solche Sachen. Unerhört... Ich habe dann einKindergartenseminar absolviert, habe dann in einem Kindergarten gearbeitetund 1950 haben wir dann geheiratet.Mein Vater ist sehr jung gestorben, er war 54 Jahre alt.

Er ist gestorben,als meine Tochter 6 Monate alt war. Das war 1954. Er hat einen Herzinfark gehabt. Damals hat er noch eine Firma gehabt, Dachisolierungen. Dadurch,dass die Hitze so groß ist und in Israel die Dächer flach sind und man hatte nicht so mit Ziegel gebaut, was die Hitze eventuell aufnehmen würde, war das Isolierungsmaterial sehr wichtig, da hat sich mein Vater mit einem Chemiker zusammengetan. 

Drechsler hieß er, ich kann mich noch erinnern. Da war doch diese Stadt vor Naharia, Akko, die noch aus den Kreuzritterzeiten steht, da hat man angefangen ein Industriezentrum zu bilden, da haben sie eine kleine Firma hingestellt, die dieses Isoliermaterial erzeugt hatte. 

Nachdem er gestorben ist, haben meine Schwiegereltern, die mittlerweile wieder in Wien waren und ihr Firma zurückbekommen haben, darauf bestanden, daß ihr Sohn nach Wien kommt, und nachdem meine Mutter alleine geblieben ist und ich ihr einziges Kind war, da ist sie mit mir gekommen und hat in Wien gelebt, bis sie gestorben ist. Sie hat sich aber nicht wirklich wohl gefühlt in Wien. Wir waren ja von 1932 bis 1959 in Israel.

Das ist eine lange Zeit. Ich bin auch ungern gekommen von Haus aus, weil ich in Israel zu Hause war und wir hatten unseren Kreis, unsere Freunde. Mit den Schwiegereltern habe ich mich nicht sehr gut vertragen und hier war ich ihnen mehr oder weniger ausgeliefert.

Und meine Mutter natürlich auch. Meine Mutter war sehr schweigsam und nicht extrovertiert, sie hat sehr schwer Bekannte gefunden. Die längste Zeit war sie mehr oder weniger auf mich angewiesen und das hat ihr nicht besonders gut gefallen.

Wir haben damals schon hier im 19. Bezirk gewohnt, und wenn sie in die Stadt, ins Theater oder irgend wohin gefahren ist, musste sie immer mit derStraßenbahn und dann das ganze Stück zu Fuß rauf. Sie hat die erste Zeit
hier gewohnt, da war sie nicht sehr glücklich, weil sie nur mit uns mitgehen konnte, und wenn sie allein ging, musste sie schauen, vor der Dunkelheit da zu sein, das hat sie sehr eingeschränkt, und da ist sie dannin die Stadt gezogen.

Da konnte sie die Nachmittagsvorstellungen im Theater besuchen und noch vor Dunkelheit nach Hause kommen.

Sie hat die Straßenbahnstation nicht weit von zu Hause gehabt, da ging es schon etwas besser. Aber ob sie super glücklich war, das weiß ich nicht. Sie ist immer nach Israel gefahren und da ist sie manchmal gleich ein paar Monate geblieben. Zuerst hat sie sich noch eine Wohnung gehalten, dann hat sie die Wohnung aufgegeben, aber sie ist immer länger geblieben in Israel. Sie ist dann in Wien gestorben ca. 1970. 

Ich habe zwar als Kindergärtnerin gearbeitet, als ich ein junges Mädchen war, aber nachdem ich meinen Mann (Hanns Fischer) geheiratet habe, arbeitete ich nicht mehr. Das schickt sich ja nicht. Erstens hätte man mich nicht genommen, weil mein Deutsch nicht gut genug gewesen wäre und zweitens hätte es sich nicht geschickt, dass die Schwiegertochter von einem Industriellen arbeiten geht, das hätte geheißen, er verdient nicht genug. 

Das war damals nicht so wie heute, dass jede Frau arbeiten geht, egal ob der Mann verdient oder nicht. Damals ist eine Frau arbeiten gegangen, weil sie das Geld gebraucht hatten. Im Betrieb hätte ich auch nichts tun können, weil ich vom Geschäfte überhaupt nichts verstehe.

Sie beschäftigten sich mit Metallwarenerzeugung und wie mein Schwiegervater mir das so taktvoll gesagt hat: wenn ich in die Firma eintrete, geht sie bald pleite, also nachdem ich auch keine Ambitionen auf diesem Gebiet hatte, blieb ich gerne zu Hause. 

Wir haben zwei Töchter, Dalia und Doris. Die eine ist 1953, die andere 1958 geboren noch in Israel. Heute leben sie in Strassbourg und Haifa. Als sienoch klein waren, sind wir im Sommer immer nach Israel gefahren, sind 4, 5, 6, 7 Wochen geblieben.

Mein Mann hat hier seine Arbeit abgearbeitet und hat sich dann nur zwei oder drei Wochen gegönnt, uns nachzukommen. Wir waren dort den ganzen Sommer, die Kinder waren in so einem Kinderlager und dadurch haben sie sich auch mit der Sprache vertraut gemacht. Ihre Muttersprache ist zwar deutsch, abe wir reden mit ihnen einen Misch Masch, ich habe die Kinder in Wien auch hebräisch unterrichten lassen. 

Als ich klein war, wollte meine Mutter mir deutsch beibringen in Israel, schreiben und lesen, aber bei der Mutter hat man keine Lust, man macht auch keine Aufgaben, also es hat nicht viel gebracht. Deswegen habe ich hier eine Lehrerin engagiert, weil ich gewusst habe, wenn ich meine Kinder hebräisch unterrichte, werden sie mir genauso folgen, wie ich meiner Mutter gefolgt habe... 

Als Doris, die jüngere Tochter, nach Israel ging, wollte sie auf die Uni, da sind sehr viele ausländische Studenten und die müssen ein Jahr hebräisch lernen, bevor sie die Aufnahmeprüfungen machen konnten, aber sie musste das nicht, sie konnte gleich studieren. Das zeigt, dass die Lehrerin sehr gut war.

Sie hat ein Jahr gespart. Wenn man 21 ist erscheint einem das nicht so wichtig, aber trotzdem, es war ganz angenehm. Sie hat in Israel einen medizinisch-technischen Beruf erlernt. Sie ist Orthopistin geworden. Zuerst hat sie bei diesem Emil gewohnt, bei diesem Cousin, und dann ist sie in ein Studentenheim gezogen.

Sie hat uns immer ellenlange Briefe geschrieben, bis zu 24 Seiten und da waren wir nicht so glücklich. Weil, wenn ein Kind so viel Zeit hat zu schreiben, dann zeigt das, daß sie nicht viel anderes hat außer lernen. Und da hat sie immer geschrieben, sie war da, sie war dort, und dann wurden die Briefe eigenartig, sie hat auf einmal nur noch Frauen und Kinder erwähnt.

Ich habe gemeint, das ist komisch, das gibt es doch gar nicht, plötzlich kennt sie überhaupt keine Männer mehr... Sie hat nie mehr Burschen erwähnt, es war ganz merkwürdig... Wir haben sie öfters angerufen, und als wir sie besucht hatten, haben wir gesagt, "Du, wenn Du nicht glücklich bist, Du musst nicht bleiben, geh wo anders hin, Du kannst nach Straßbourg zur Schwester gehen, Du kannst nach London fahren und kannst, wo Du willst, studieren oder machen, was Du willst, zwing Dich nicht". 

Dadurch, daß ich immer etwas pro Israel zu Hause war, zu meiner Schwiegermama unter anderem, hatten wir Angst, daß sie sich unter Druck fühlt und traut sich nicht zu sagen, "Es gefällt mir hier nicht". Sie war ziemlich einsam, der Emil und seine Frau waren zwar reizend zu ihr, aber nicht die passende Gesellschaft, und die Kinder von ihm waren auch schon älter als sie, die waren schon verheiratet zu dem Zeitpunkt.

Also hatte sie wenig Gesellschaft. Sie hat mit zwei arabischen Mädchen im Studentenheim so eine Dreierwohnungen geteilt, es war sehr nett, aber sonst war wenig Gesellschaft. Und mit den Kindern von unseren Freunden von früher haben wir sie in Kontakt gebracht, sie hat sie doch auch gekannt durch diese sommerlichen Besuche dort.

Aber die hatten auch schon ihren Kreis und die Israelis nehmen nicht gerne Fremde an, bis man sich einlebt, muss man zweiJahre durchstehen. Das erzählt jeder. Dann haben wir ihr gesagt, "Wenn es Dir nicht gefällt, brauchst Du Dich nicht schämen, ist nicht jeder manns Sache!".

"Nein, nein, ich muss es durchstehen, man kann die Flinte nicht ins Korn werfen", sagte sie . "Hör zu, wenn es Dir nicht gefällt, wir sind einverstanden, Du kannst entscheiden, wie Du willst." Und eines Tage wurden diese Briefe dann kürzer und es wurden nie mehr Männer erwähnt. Im Studentenheim war das Telefon in der Halle, weil es für die drei Mädchen dienen sollte und es hat immer schrecklich lange gedauert, bis man sie gerufen hat und es war damals noch sehr teuer.

Eines Tages hat sie gesagt, "Ihr könnt mich auch unter der Nummer erreichen". Sie hat uns eine andere Telefonnummer gegeben und ich wusste nach der Vorwahl, nach den ersten drei Zahlen, wo es in Haifa ist. Zufällig habe ich Freunde in der Gegend gehabt, die hatten die gleiche Vorwahl.

Da dachte ich mir nur, "Aha, recht interessant", habe aber nichts gesagt. Dann kam sie mal auf Urlaub hierher nach Wien und wollte für einen Bekannten einen Pullover kaufen, wir sind Pullover kaufen gegangen, sie hat weiter nichts gesagt und den hat sie dann geheiratet.

Er heißt Ejal, drei Söhne haben sie. Der große wird in September 16, der zweite ist jetzt zu Ostern 14 gewesen und der andere wird im Juli 10, aber der ist krank. Funktioniert nicht, von Geburt an, keiner weiß warum. Die Schwangerschaft war in Ordnung, die Geburt war in Ordnung und das Kind ist nicht in Ordnung und keiner weiß warum.

Er kann nicht sitzen, er kann nicht stehen, er kann nicht sprechen, er kann gar nichts. Wenn er eine trockene Hose hat und einen vollen Magen, ist er sehr gut gelaunt. Und wenn er das eben nicht hat, weint er, weil er das ja nicht sagen kann. 

Er kann nur weinen oder lachen und wer ihn kennt, weiß es. Die Bruder sind sehr nett zu ihm, sie lieben ihn heiß, verwöhnen ihn nach allen Regeln der Kunst und er geht in so ein Tagesheim. Wird in der Früh abgeholt und wird um 6 am Abend zurück gebracht, weil unsere Tochter berufstätig ist.

Zuerst wollte sie ihren Beruf aufgeben und mit dem Kind bleiben, das hat sie auch viele Monate gemacht, bis ihr ein Kollege gesagt hat: "Du bist verrückt, wenn Du nur mit dem kranken Kind eingesperrt bist, ist das weder für das Kind gut, noch für Dich."

Zuerst wollte sie nicht hören, dann hat sie sich überreden lassen, und er ist sehr gut dort aufgehoben. Um 6 in der Früh holt man ihn ab, das selbe Taxi bringt ihm am Abend zurück, und sie geht inzwischen arbeiten. Amit heißt der große Enkel, das bedeutet auf hebräisch "der Freundliche", und das passt zu ihm.

Der zweite heißt Eran, das heißt "aufgeweckt", das passt zu ihm auch und der dritte, Ronen, "der Fröhliche". Er ist eigentlich ein fröhliches Kind. Gut, er weiß ja nicht, dass er ein armer Hund ist. Er ist eigentlich immer gut gelaunt, hübsches Kind, schaut nicht irgendwie mongoloid, debil aus. 

Die anderen zwei spielen je zwei Instrumente. Sie sind beim Haifa- Jugendorchester. Beide spielen Klavier und der eine spielt das andere Zeug, diesen riesen langen Besen, Oboe, und der zweite spielt Saxophon. Und sie lernen sehr sehr brav, sind wunderbare Schüler beide. Ansonsten sehr nette Kinder, schlimm, brav, wie es eben geht. 

Die andere Tochter, die Große, die Dalia, die hat in Genf Dolmetsch studiert. Es hieß aber, für die Dolmetschschule muss man 2 Sprachen beherrschen. Da hat sie gesagt, deutsch und englisch, ging nach London und hat dort eineSchule besucht, Cambridge Proficency Certificate hat sie bekommen, dann kam sie zurück, da hieß es, sie geht jetzt nach Frankreich für französisch. Und wenn man Frankreich sagt, denkt man gleich an Paris... 

Mein Mann hat Verwandte in Paris noch zu damaliger Zeit gehabt, aber da dachten wir, wenn sie bei der Familie wohnt, wird sie nur deutsch sprechen und sie wird kein französisch lernen. Da ging sie nach Lausanne. Unsere Tochter hat bei einer Familie gewohnt, dort war ihr sehr langweilig, weil sie keine Gesellschaft hatte, da ging sie zu den jüdischen Studentenorganisation und hat dort ihren Mann kennengelernt.  

Er heißt Charles Kubin. Seine Familie stammte aus Jerusalem, noch von Zeiten der Türken. Als die Türken dort regiert hatten, haben sie zur Armee auch jüdische Männer genommen und da sind viele Juden weg, weil sie nicht zur türkischen Armee gehen wollten und sind nach Marokko gegangen.

Er ist in Marokko geboren, seine Muttersprache ist arabisch und französisch, deswegen war er in Lausanne zum Studium, er hat Jus und Wirtschaft studiert. Sie haben jetzt einen 20jährigen Sohn, er heißt Alex. Der Junge wollte auch 
Wirtschaft studieren, aber es haben sich hunderte gemeldet und er hat keinen Platz gekriegt.  

Da hat man ihm gesagt, er soll mit Jus anfangen, wenn es bis zu einem gewissen Punkt macht, kann er automatisch ins andere Studium übertreten. Inzwischen gefällt ihm Jus, und da hat er beschlossen, dabei zu bleiben. 

Meine Enkelkinder können alle deutsch, der Alex zum Beispiel hat maturiert in deutsch. Er ging in eine Schule, das war so eine Art internationale Schule, die Unterrichtssprache war französisch, aber man konnte als Zusatzsprache eine wählen: Spanisch, italienisch, deutsch oder englisch. 

Unsere Tochter hat deutsch für ihn gewählt, weil englisch hätte er später sowieso gehabt. Er hat maturiert in deutsch. Aber er wird nicht sprechen, auch wenn sie ihn totschlagen. Wenn wir uns unterhalten, muss er sich mit meinem französisch abplagen. 

Die anderen Enkelkinder in Israel haben privat Deutschunterricht bekommen. Wir reden mit ihnen hebräisch, das ist kein Problem, aber sie sind jeden Sommer uns besuchen gekommen und haben sich nicht wohl gefühlt, weil sie 
niemanden verstanden haben und da haben sie gesagt, sie wollen deutsch lernen.

Die Tochter hat dort vom Goethe-Institut eine Lehrerin genommen und hat sie privat unterrichten lassen.

Kurt Brodmann
City: Vienna
Country: Austria
Name of Interviewer: Tanja Eckstein
Date of Interviews: October, 2002

I met Kurt Brodmann – a tall, elegant, good-looking and charming gentleman – for the first time at ESRA 1. ESRA regularly organized coffee afternoons and many of the elderly people who attended wanted to talk about their lives. 

Mr. Brodmann, who lived in Vienna’s third district, had recently lost his wife. While telling his story, he became very emotional and had tears in his eyes.

He would visit me several times, and afterwards, I used to drive him back home in my old VW rabbit. Those rides were always fun.

I never thought that he would die only a few months later, at the beginning of 2003.

• My Family’s History
• My parents
• My childhood
• My schooldays
• Escape
• The kibbutz
• Paula
• Back to Vienna
• My new family
• My life today
• Glossary

• My Family’s History

All I know about my paternal grandfather, Saul Brodmann, is what my father told me. He was born in 1825 in Galicia and lived in Vienna’s first district, at 6 Judengasse. My father was born in this house. My grandfather was a shipping agent. He owned a horse-drawn cart, with which he brought the parcels to the post office. He was a typical Viennese man, and he had a mustache. You wouldn’t be able to distinguish him from a carriage driver on Stephansplatz [1st district]. He died in 1903 in Vienna.

My grandmother, Betty Brodmann, was a delicate woman. I got to know her. She was born close to Wiener Neustadt and lived in a Jewish retirement home in Vienna, at Seegasse, when I got to know her. She died there in 1936; she was over 80 years old.

My father’s name is Leopold Brodmann. He was born on November 23, 1892 in Vienna. He had two brothers, Heinrich and Max, and one sister, Ernestine.

Max was wounded in WWI. He lived from a pension, which he received from the state. He sat in a wheelchair, and he brought me to the kindergarten every day. He must have been really popular, because when he died in 1927, at the age of only 44, there were at least a hundred people at the funeral.

Heinrich was born in 1888 in Vienna. He was very elegant and he used to collect money for poor people. He survived the war in an internment camp in Switzerland and afterwards he went back to Vienna, where he died in 1963.

Ernestine was born in 1885. In 1933 she married Karl Blum, at the Tempelgasse Synagogue in Vienna’s 2nd district. They didn’t have children and both died in Auschwitz [Note: On May 20, 1942, Ernestine Blum was deported to Maly Trostinec 2 and killed; Karl Blum was deported to Nisko 3 in 1939. Source: DÖW Database].

On my father’s side, our family was quite poor. When my father got to know my mother, our financial situation improved. Thank God for Nana, who used to slip us some money, so that we could get by.

My maternal grandparents’ names were Benjamin and Etl Goldstaub. They were quite wealthy, very orthodox people, who came to Vienna from Lviv in Galicia. My Grandpa was shot in his leg when he served for the Austro-Hungarian army, so his leg was stiff. Actually, he was a strange person: he was smart, but he didn’t talk much. I know that he had a brother who was a general in the army and who was missing a hand.

My grandfather had an antiques store at 10 Landesgerichtsstraße. He used to go to the countryside in order to search basements and attics for antiques. People sometimes wouldn’t even know what they had there. But my grandfather knew, and he bought very, very beautiful things. My grandma worked at the store.

She didn’t really speak German; she spoke Yiddish. Grandpa had many regular customers. Most of them were baronesses and countesses, who knew a lot about art and antiques. They bought expensive paintings and furniture at my grandparents’ store.

 They had four children: my aunt Rosa was born in 1901 in Lviv. She lived in Vienna and married a Hungarian named Desider Harsanyi. She went to Hungary with him. We visited them in 1932, when I was 9 years old. We stayed a bit outside of Budapest. I remember that we had a great time. Rosa had a son; his name was Artur. He sang at the temple – this kid was sensational. They stayed in Hungary. I received a postcard from them when I was already in a Kibbutz 4 in Palestine. It was a cry for help. But I couldn’t help them. That was the last sign of life from them. All of them were killed.

Aunt Anna – we called her Anni – was born in 1904 in Lviv. She was pretty, but she was complicated. She went to school with my mum, even though she was two years younger than my mum. They put her in the last row, because she was a good child. When they asked her something, she wouldn’t answer. My mum looked after her. So Anni never said anything, but she still got a school certificate.

When grandma went to talk to the teachers to see how her daughter was doing, they would say: “What do you want to hear? Anni doesn’t say anything all day.” Then grandma would say: “Let her sit there, and let’s leave it at that.”

Aunt Anni married Josef Lauber. It was a very unhappy marriage. They got divorced in 1924. She got married again; her second husband’s name was Erwin Neumann, but he was a gambler. She really had bad luck with men. She had a daughter, whose name was Liane. She became a great dancer.

She, too, had bad luck with men. She got divorced from her first husband, then she married again, but her second husband died from a kidney disease. I remember him; he was a wonderful man. Anni went to Shanghai with my father. Later she went to the USA to be with her daughter, and she died there.

Artur was born in 1908 in Vienna and died in 1926 from a lung disease. When he was a baby, he fell from the diaper-changing table. My grandparents had a baby nurse, and she didn’t dare telling them what happened. When he fell, he broke his spine.

The broken spine pinched the lung, but they didn’t know that until later. He had a hunchback, too. He was a very smart boy, a whiz at numbers. I remember that we visited him at the hospital before he died, and my mum said to me with a soft voice: “Kurti, you know where the old woman with the flowers has her stand, right? Go down and get some flowers for Turli [short for Artur], he will die soon.” I went down to buy the flowers, and when I came back and wanted to give him the flowers, he said: “Kurti, don’t come close, I am so sick.” So I threw the flowers on the floor.

• My Parents

My mum, Franziska Rachela Brodmann (née Goldstaub), was born on August 28, 1902, in Lviv. A few years later, the family moved to Vienna.

My father was an actor - a great, famous actor. He really was something special. He beamed when he went on stage. He was an actor with all his heart and soul. My parents met in Bad Hall. My father was on the stage, and my mum was sitting in the first row. For my dad, it was love at first sight.

And my mum immediately fell for him, too; he was a wonderful man. But there were obstacles: my dad was not orthodox, and my mom’s parents were.

My grandfather called my dad a buffoon, a fool on a stage. “You are not right for our family, you are not a religious man. If you want to marry our daughter, you have to quit your job.We can’t have someone like that in an orthodox family.” And because my dad loved my mum so much, he said: “I will give up everything; I’ll do it for my one, big love.”

But my parents had a difficult marriage. I realized that. They used to fight a lot – my father had affairs – and my mother often cried. It wasn’t easy. My mum had a hard life, and she was such a pretty and bright woman, too.

• My Childhood

I was born on March 23, 1923, in Vienna. My brother Harry is five years younger than I. He was born on August 28, 1928, in Vienna.  

If Hitler hadn’t come, I would have studied to become a famous singer. I never had singing lessons. But music is a part of me. I live for music. It’s inherent; I got it from my dad. I sang even more beautifully than my dad, but he was a great actor. I never wanted to be an actor, but I guess I wouldn’t have been that bad on stage either. It never got around to this.

My grandparents lived in Vienna’s 8th district, at 16 Wickenburggasse. I went to visit them often, and it was great. There was a dining table was always clad in white; it was all very festive. We would celebrate Passover 5 there, too. My dad had no clue about Orthodoxy. But he was a good Jew: if someone said something bad about Jews, he would go berserk.

• My Schooldays

My first school was located at Czerninplatz in the 2nd district. We lived in the 2nd district back then, at Stuwestraße. Then we moved to Kaisermühlen, which is the 22nd district. I attended elementary and junior high school there, until Hitler came. I was in 8th grade then.

I was the only Jewish kid in our class, and they did make me feel it: people didn’t like us Jews. But I wouldn’t take it seriously back then. It was nothing out of the ordinary, it was just the way it was. And I wasn’t ashamed either. Some kids insulted me – I insulted them. We would get into fights, too. But that’s how it goes among boys. There were only boys at our school back then. Girls at the same school? Unimaginable! I had friends at school, though.

Our class teacher was a Nazi – his name was Huber. But he liked me, even though I was a Jewish kid, because I sang beautifully. I still sing today, and I sang back then, and everybody would listen. Our teacher told us once: “We will have a singing lesson now. Everyone has to sing a song.”

The other kids sang, and then it was my turn. I still remember what song I sang. Our teacher would look and me, and he said: “Kurt, that’s impossible, you’re an artist!” And I said: “Well, it’s a beautiful song.” “Wait, we’ll go upstairs to see my wife. You have to sing something for her.” So he took me by the hand, we went upstairs and I sang for her. “That’s impossible,” she said.

After that, I often had to sing at school. Even the other kids liked it. Our Nazi teacher – he was our music teacher as well – liked to talk about music, and I was able to answer him. I liked him, even though he was an anti-Semite. The other kids were not as educated as I was.

I talked very nicely, too, because we spoke proper German at home. Once I sang Jewish songs at school. I brought the musical score and told our teacher: “This is a beautiful song, we could learn to sing this.” But the teacher said: “No, we can’t learn that, but you sang beautifully.”

Huber was our math teacher, too. He would ask me questions, of which he knew that I wouldn’t be able to answer them, because I was very bad at math. And he discriminated against me when it came to grading. But he did like me because of the music. When we went on an excursion, he used to walk next to me and he talked only with me. It was some sort of love-hate relationship. He somehow felt: this Jewish boy is different from the rest of the little rascals.

I also had religious classes, in a girls’ school in Kaisermühlen. All the Jewish kids from the surrounding schools got together there on Monday afternoons. The lessons were a joke. Our teacher was very young, Mr. Victor Rosenfeld. He was a very nice guy, but we didn’t take the classes seriously.

To be sure, we did learn the „Shema Yisrael“ ["Hear, [O] Israel"; the most important prayer, recited each morning and evening] by heart, and we recited it every Monday, but that was basically it. Mr. Rosenfeld couldn’t really teach us anything, because we were making so much noise. It was mayhem… but well, that’s the way it was.

My parents had Jewish and non-Jewish friends. It was a mélange; many Jewish men married Christians. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary. Even though my parents had a difficult relationship, I had a carefree childhood. We were not rich, because my father earned his money as a shoes salesman.

He worked for a Jewish manufacturer. He was very diligent; he brought in a lot of orders. But they often delivered two left or two right shoes to him. Then he didn’t get the commission payment. So we had a difficult time financially. Thank God, we had Grandma!

As a child, I was a member of Bilu, a Zionist movement. I knew a lot about Palestine and Eretz Israel, and I knew many Hebrew songs.

In summer, my parents went on vacation to a simple farm with us children. Grandma paid for it, of course. Once we went to Gars am Kamp, where I learned to swim. There was a dam; it was very slippery. I slipped and fell in. And I thought: „Ah, I actually know how to swim!“ I ran to my father and said: „You know what? I can swim!“ „What? What do you mean?” I took him by the hand and said: “I’ll show you how well I can swim!” And I jumped in again. My father was terrified, but I said: “No, don’t worry, I can swim.” Then we ran back and my dad told my mum: “Imagine, Kurt can swim, what do you think of that?”

My dad was really kind. He had a difficult life, because he had to give up acting. It broke his heart. At times, he organized something in Kaisermühlen, for the workers and their children [note: Kaisermühlen was – and still is – a district with a high working class population].

He was a Social Democrat, and several times, he staged the operetta “The Jolly Peasant” for the party. They needed a boy, and my dad said: “Kurti, that’s your role, you have to learn it by heart.” So I was on stage with my dad, and I sang: “Heierle, Heinerle, I don’t have no money…” I was nine years old. It was great fun. My mother was in the audience. But my grandparents did not show up. They wouldn’t go to the movie theater or watch a play; they lived for their religion.

We had a maid, too. Our first maid’s name was Mizzi. When Mizzi left, we hired Leopoldine. The girls were really thankful: they could live with us and eat with us; they were doing well. Grandma financed all that; she always helped. Leopoldine loved us very much, and we loved her like our own mother. She was so sweet, and so good to us children.

We didn’t celebrate my Bar Mitzvah 6. I remember that my grandfather was very unhappy. A Bar Mitzvah is the most important thing for a Jewish boy. But it simply wasn’t possible back then. It was 1934; it was such a dangerous time for my father, a Social Democrat 7. But I saw my grandfather cry because of it.

In 1938, my mum already anticipated what was to come. After I had to leave school, I started an apprenticeship at a leather company. I was only there for a short while, then I was expelled for racial reasons. I did get a certificate though: “We are very pleased with his work, but due to the momentary confusions…” – or something like that – “we had to let Kurt Brodmann go.”

• Escape

 Right after Nazi-Germany invaded Austria, my mum sent my brother and me to an institution for Jewish children, to save our lives. My brother went to England on a Kindertransport 8. He was nine years old. And I got on a transport to Palestine. My brother was very lucky: he was taken to a Jewish lord in England. He was doing very well over there. He studied a lot and he became a great personality; a nuclear scientist. He married an English woman and they have three sons. He became famous because of one of his inventions. They wrote newspaper articles about him; I remember a photo of him, with his nuclear gloves.

He only reads books with formulas and signs in them. He founded a company. He also developed special beds for hospitals, to which one could attach x-ray machines or television sets, so that the patients could operate everything lying in bed. I visited his company; it was very interesting. He lives in a suburb of Birmingham in a great mansion. Once I told him: “Harry, I am old. Can I come live with you?” And he said: “Of course! You just take a room in our house!” I was joking, but that was really good to hear.

I went to Palestine on the last legal ship. I arrived in a different world. Everything was different! A young man, Walter, picked us up and brought us to a Kibbutz. Then he showed us around in Haifa. I saw a policeman on a horse, and I asked: “Wait, is this a Jew, too?” Then I saw several workers, and I asked: “Are all of them Jews?” “Well, of course! Does it surprise you?” Walter asked. I had never seen something like that.  

My uncle Emanuel – my mother’s brother – emigrated to Holland with my grandma. His wife was Dutch, and she had a textile store in Amsterdam. They lived and worked together. But when the Nazis came to Holland, they were deported and killed [note: Ettel Stark (Goldstaub), born in 1872, deported from Holland to Sobibor, killed on March 16, 1943; Emanuel Stark (Goldstaub), born in 1906 in Lviv, deported from Holland, killed on January 21, 1945; source: DÖW database and Center for Research on Dutch Jewry]. I still have a lot of letters from Emanuel. It’s tragic.

My grandfather had an artificial anus. He was a very sick man. He got thrown out of his apartment and was not allowed in any hotel. He couldn’t even sit on a park bench. As a Jew, he couldn’t do anything anymore. He smelt, because he couldn’t wash up.

My mum already had a ticket to go to Shanghai, but she said: “I can’t do it. I can’t leave my father alone.” My mum gave her ticket to her sister, my aunt Anni. My dad and aunt Anni fled to Shanghai together. My mum did incredible things for my grandfather, until he died in January 1939.

She arranged his funeral at the central cemetery, gate four; together, in one grave, with my uncle Artur, his son. She had postponed her emigration to Shanghai, and now she couldn’t get out. She looked like a Christian, but each day, she went to the Jewish Community Center and said: “My husband is in Shanghai. I must join him.”

One day, the official said: “Mrs. Brodmann, I am pleased to tell you that there is a ticket to Shanghai deposited in your name in Triest. You may go.” So my mother managed to get out, too.

Thousands of Jews fled to Shanghai: Austrians, Germans, Russians, and Poles – everyone who was able to run. Just to survive. The Kaiser supported the Jews: “They are my guests,” he said.

In Shanghai, my dad staged Viennese operettas for Chinese and Japanese people. He learned the operettas by heart in Japanese, and he staged them together with actors from Germany. He was very successful.

 The Jews established their own little town in Shanghai. There were boutiques, butchers, restaurants and Viennese Cafés. They had everything, like in Berlin or Vienna. My mum opened a small Viennese café, the “Wiener Stüberl”. She baked apple-strudel and other pastries. But my dad got sick because of the climate there.

• The Kibbutz

In the Kibbutz, we had to write an essay about our first impressions of Israel. I wrote a beautiful essay; it was even displayed publicly.

After some time, I went to the Yfat Kibbutz, close to Nahalal. We studied Hebrew for half a day, and then we went to work in the fields or with the turkeys. I had never worked on farms before, so it wasn’t easy for me. The house we lived in was called the "house for the young people". In Hebrew, we called it "beit ha noar", beit meaning house and noar meaning youth. Yet, I felt miserable there, because I did not like the work in the fields.

The Madrich, our supervisor, asked everybody the same question: "Well, what do you want to be when you grow up? What would you like to learn?”

And I would say: "I’d like to learn a trade." That's what my grandpa had always told me: "Come what may, Kurt, you have to learn a trade." And so I would answer: "Well, I'd like to be a carpenter, because I like crafting." And I was good at it.

"Well, great. Then let's go to the joinery and ask whether they have something to do for you." And he took me to the joinery. "Unfortunately, you are too late," is what I was told. They all spoke Yiddish there. "We took in Jakov and he will stay with us.”

Today I speak Yiddish perfectly well. I can read and write. In the Kibbutz, people either spoke Yiddish or Hebrew. It was only us, the children, who did not speak Hebrew fluently. Yet, we spoke German, and that's rather similar to Yiddish.

Finally, the carpenter told me: "But, you know, David Goldwasser, the shoemaker is looking for somebody in his "shisterei" (Yiddish for shoemaker's workshop). Would you like to become a shister (Yiddish for shoemaker)?"

Me? A shoemaker? I knew at least something about shoes, because my father sold them. So the man took me to the shoemaker. I still remember the way he looked at me, saying: "So, you would like to be a shister? Do you like manual work?" And I answered: “David, let me tell you one thing: I do not want to work in the fields. That's not what I'm made for. So, yes, I'd like to be a shoemaker."

And he said: “Good. Come here tomorrow at 8 o' clock in the morning. You’ll get a "fartach" (Yiddish: apron). Tomorrow will be your first work day, and you will be a shoemaker."

I was up all night because I could not sleep. And the next day, I was there at 8 o' clock in the morning. I got a chair and my first task was to take a pincer and tear the heels for the baby-shoes. I said: "I wanna make a shoe." And the answer I got? "Already? Be patient! You will do it."

And I did. I worked there for two years. Then I knew everything. I made some awesome shoes, even tops for shoes. I had been taught everything. And I made use of it in the future. I would go on to own a wonderful workshop in Tel Aviv, with a total of eleven people working there.

I got myself involved in orthopedics, too. I earned a lot of money. I needed it, because I wanted to leave the Kibbutz. I was such a good shoemaker that they sent me to another Kibbutz to teach the people how to make shoes. Back then, I earned 5 English pounds a month. Board and lodging were free of charge so I could save a lot of money for my future. I wanted to build something for myself in the city.

From 1942 to 1948 I was with the Haganah 9. My whole troop fell in the battle against the Egyptians; only one survived, and he was shot in the jaw. The night before the battle I had a renal colic – it saved my life. Never in my life did I have problems with my kidneys, and then this one night. That’s pretty steep!

• Paula

Before all this, I got to know Paula. Paula was incredibly beautiful, and I liked her immediately. She worked for the English air force, in the office. I met her by coincidence, but then lost sight of her. Then, during a vacation, I met her in what was previously an Arabic Movie Theater, but was made into a dance hall. Jewish boys and girls went there to dance.

I saw her there, dancing with a tall air force officer. He was holding her in his arms. We couldn’t talk to each other, because she spoke neither German nor Hebrew. She had only recently emigrated from Bucharest, Romania.

Paula was born in 1928. When she was thirteen years old, she was deported into a concentration camp. In 1946, she emigrated to Palestine with her parents. Somehow, I managed to ask her, where she lived, and she gave me an address. The next day, I went to see her.

There was a lion’s head to knock on the door. Her mother opened the door. I went in, and there she sat, at the table. She immediately recognized me. Her mother translated. Paula was so beautiful, like a dream! I was crazy for this woman. But my vacation was over; I couldn’t go back the next day, because I had to return to the military.

We had to march into the field, about 40 kilometers from Jaffa. I was anxious, because I was jealous. I thought if I didn’t do anything, someone would snatch my big love from under my nose. Our camp was more than 15 kilometers away from the street, so if I wanted to bunk off, I would have to run for 15 kilometers to even get to a street. But I decided that I would do it. I jumped over the barbwire fence and ran. I didn’t care, I had to see my Paula.

After some time, the military police picked me up at Paula’s place. The thing: these 15 kilometers were mined. So the officer asked: „Well, OK. You’re in love. But the whole field is mined, how did you make it through alive?“ I made it out alive again. I could have lost hands and feet, but apparently, I had a guardian angel with me. But it was worth it. I wouldn’t want to have missed the seven years I was with Paula.

 We got married and started to build our future. We made special white shoes for nurses, with which we made a lot of money. I hired two specialists. Paula and I specialized in orthopedic sandals for children. They sold like hot cakes. Our first store in Tel Aviv was very small. Then we moved closer to the Yarkon River. We brought all the machines into this wonderful, huge venue. I felt great.

Unfortunately, my wife Paula couldn’t conceive. That was a big problem, for her even more so than for me. She got hysterical; it became impossible to live with her. We got divorced three times; and three times, we got back together. I couldn’t live without her, either. But then, one day, I grabbed my passport in secret and fled from my wife.

At four o’clock in the morning I went to Haifa – on a vegetable cart. I went to the chauffeur and said: “Excuse me, please take me to Haifa, I’m leaving.” And he said: “But you have a wife!” She would have killed me, had she known that I was leaving. I loved her so much, but I had to leave. The only way to save my life was to go back to Vienna. I left my wealth, my store, everything behind.

• Back to Vienna

I hadn’t heard anything from my parents for ten years. I knew that they were in Shanghai, but I didn’t receive any letters. It wasn’t possible; we were at war. They returned to Vienna in 1947; and I went back in 1954.

They had some money. My father, who was still relatively young, went back to working as a sales representative for the textile industry. That’s how I got into the textile industry, too. I wanted to work as a shoemaker, but my father said: “Kurt, here in Vienna, you can’t do that.

There is no Jew in Vienna who works as a shoemaker.” “Well, OK, but what should I do then? I have to do something,” I answered. My father suggested I should become a sales representative, too. “OK, dad. I will go to work with you for two days. I will carry your suitcase, listen to what you say, and if it speaks to me, I will try it.”

So I ran around with him. It was July, it was hot and I wore a suit and a tie, because appearance is the most important thing for this job. Dad sold and sold. People needed everything back then, because there really wasn’t anything on the market. In the evening, we went back home with our suitcases, and he asked me: “So, Kurt, what do you say?” And I said that I would try it.

The next day, I ran around from morning until evening, with the heavy suitcases, filled with sweaters and cardigans, without selling one thing. And then there was another coincidence: it was half past five in the evening when I passed a store at Laxenburgerstraße.

With the last of my strength, I entered a shop with my two suitcases. I didn’t think that I would sell anything. In the shop, there was a beautiful woman and a man. She looked at the goods, and she placed an order for 8000 Austrian Schilling – that was a lot of money back then! I was so happy, and I became THE sales representative!

I acquired a wide clientele and earned a lot of money, which wouldn’t be possible today; in fact, I stopped doing it as soon as I realized that there was no more money in it. I am retired now and receive a nice pension. I still earn some money on the side. And I sing again!   

• My New Family

I got remarried. My wife Erika was a Hungarian Jew. It was not a good marriage. She was the exact opposite of Paula. We were married for 31 years. I married her, because I was alone. But I had two great children with her, Gabriele and Alfred.

Alfred was born in 1956; he’s been living in New York for 12 years. He studied at the art academy. He is an artist; a painter, illustrator, caricaturist. He got married, and he has a sweet little boy. His name is Leo, like my dad. And he is a redhead, like my grandpa. My daughter has a wonderful job at a newspaper in Vienna. She also has a son, David, and he’s only 11 years old.

I went back to Israel three times. Once with the whole family: my parents, my brother and his wife, and other relatives. I looked for Paula every time, but I didn’t find her. But even if I had seen her: I wouldn’t have walked up to her.

I immediately feel at home when I come to Israel. My chawerim [Hebrew: friends] established a Kibbutz at Lake Hula. There were two lakes: Kineret and Hula. They had to drain Lake Hula, because of the danger of malaria. They are still sad that they had to do it, because there were so many fish in the lake. But people got sick; they got Malaria.

My friends grew old, just like me. Hard to believe, they are 80, but they are still working hard. The women were really nice looking back then, but the hard work and the climate changed them. It eats people up. There is a wonderful poem in the Torah, and there’s a line that expresses exactly what I mean: This country eats up its people.

• My Life Today

I know the Austrians; I was born here. Vienna is my home. There are many debates, but I’m quick-witted and I always win people over when we sit together and talk. Also, I don’t look like a Jew, which may have been a big advantage at work. I went to small villages, slept on farms and sat down with farmers.

I heard a lot of different things. I never explicitly said that I was a Jew. But I always defended the Israeli people. That’s why they often asked: “Are you Jewish yourself?” The young Israeli people – that’s an entirely different world; really something to be proud of. Unbelievable boys and girls, who live and fight for their country. That’s what I say to everyone.

I recorded a CD and sold it. I sang in a small theater in Vienna’s 19th district. There were around 100 people in the audience. I sang classical music, Schubert for instance. Sometimes I sing at the Jewish retirement home, too, and a good friend of mine accompanies me. And because I eat my lunch there, I meet a lot of Jewish people.

They don’t go to see a movie or to the theater, they only live for their businesses and for their religion. Now they have a screening room there, but they don’t even frequent that. They don’t read the newspaper either; it’s just not interesting for them. But on the other hand, that’s the people who keep Judaism alive. If all people were like me, Judaism wouldn’t exist anymore.

• Glossary

Kurt Brodmann 
Wien 
Österreich 
Name des Interviewers: Tanja Eckstein 
Datum des Interviews: Oktober 2002 

Ich lerne Kurt Brodmann, einen großen, eleganten, gut aussehenden und charmanten Herrn bei ESRA 1 kennen.

ESRA veranstaltet regelmäßig Kaffeenachmittage, und ich finde dort viele Interviewpartner, die bereit sind, mir ihr Leben zu erzählen. Herr Brodmann, der im 3. Bezirk wohnt, hat vor kurzer Zeit seine Lebensgefährtin verloren.

Er ist, während er seine Lebensgeschichte erzählt, emotional sehr berührt und kämpft oft mit den Tränen.

Mehrere Male kommt er in meine Wohnung und nach den Interviews fahre ich ihn immer mit meinem alten Golf nach Hause. Die Autofahrten mit ihm sind lustig.

Ich wäre nie auf den Gedanken gekommen, dass er wenige Monate später, Anfang 2003, stirbt.

• Meine Familiengeschichte
• Meine Eltern
• Meine Kindheit
• Meine Schulzeit
• Die Flucht
• Im Kibbutz
• Paula
• Zurück nach Wien
• Meine neue Familie
• Mein Leben heutzutage
• Glossar

• Meine Familiengeschichte

Über meinen Großvater väterlicherseits, Saul Brodmann, habe ich nur von meinem Vater gehört. Er ist 1825 in Galizien geboren und lebte in Wien, im 1. Bezirk, in der Judengasse 6. In diesem Haus ist auch mein Vater geboren. Mein Großvater war Spediteur.

Er besaß einen Wagen, der von Pferden gezogen wurde und mit dem er Pakete auf die Post brachte. Er war ein ganz einfacher Wiener und trug einen Schnurrbart. Man konnte ihn bestimmt nicht von einem Fiakerkutscher vom Stephansplatz [1. Bezirk] unterscheiden. Er starb 1903 in Wien.

Meine Großmutter, Betty Brodmann, war eine kleine zarte Frau. Ich habe sie noch gekannt. Sie wurde in der Nähe von Wiener Neustadt geboren und lebte, als ich sie kannte, im jüdischen Altersheim in Wien, in der Seegasse. Sie ist dort 1936 mit über 80 Jahren gestorben.

Mein Vater hieß Leopold Brodmann. Er wurde am 23. November 1892 in Wien geboren. Er hatte zwei Brüder; Heinrich und Max und eine Schwester Ernestine.

Max wurde kriegsversehrt im 1. Weltkrieg. Er war verschüttet worden und bekam vom Staat eine Rente, von der er gelebt hat. Er saß in einem Wagen [Anm.: Rollstuhl] und brachte mich jeden Tag in den Kindergarten. Er muss sehr beliebt gewesen sein, denn als er 1927, im Alter von nur 44 Jahren starb, kamen bestimmt einhundert Menschen zu seiner Beerdigung.

Heinrich wurde 1888 in Wien geboren, war sehr elegant und hat immer Geld für arme Leute gesammelt. Er überlebte den Krieg in der Schweiz in einem Internierungslager und ist nach dem Krieg nach Wien zurückgekommen, wo er 1963 starb.

Ernestine wurde 1885 geboren. Sie heiratete 1933, im 2. Bezirk, im Großen Tempel in der Tempelgasse Karl Blum. Sie hatten kein Kind und starben beide in Auschwitz [Anm: Ernestine Blum wurde am 20. Mai 1942 nach Maly Trostinec 2 deportiert und ermordet, Karl Blum wurde 1939 nach Nisko 3 deportiert Quelle: DÖW Datenbank].

Die Familie väterlicherseits war sehr arm. Als mein Vater meine Mutter kennen lernte, wurde seine finanzielle Situation aber besser. Gott sei Dank hatten wir die Omama, die uns immer Geld zugeschoben hat, damit wir über die Runden kamen.

Meine Großeltern mütterlicherseits hießen Benjamin und Etl Goldstaub. Sie waren relativ vermögende Leute, sehr orthodox, die aus Galizien, aus Lemberg, nach Wien gekommen waren. Mein Opapa hatte ein steifes Bein von einem Schuss, der ihn während seines Dienstes bei der k .u. k. Armee getroffen hatte. Er war eigentlich ein eigenartiger Mensch: er war klug, aber er hat sprach wenig. Ich weiß, er hatte einen Bruder, der in der polnischen Armee ein hoher General war und dem eine Hand fehlte.

Mein Großvater hatte ein Antiquitätengeschäft in der Landesgerichtsstraße 10. Er musste immer aufs Land fahren und in Kellern und auf Dachböden nach Antiquitäten suchen. Die Leute wussten oft nicht, was sie besitzen. Aber der Großpapa hat das gewusst, und er hat sehr, sehr schöne Sachen gekauft.

Die Großmama war im Geschäft und hat verkauft. Sie konnte kein richtiges Deutsch, sie hat jiddisch gesprochen. In das Geschäft kamen viele Stammkunden. Das waren meistens Baronessen und Gräfinnen, die was von Kunst und Antiquitäten verstanden. Sie haben bei den Großeltern teure Bilder und Gegenstände gekauft.

Meine Großeltern hatten vier Kinder: meine Tante Rosa wurde 1901 in Lemberg geboren. Sie lebte in Wien und heiratete einen Ungarn mit dem Namen Desider Harsanyi. Sie ist mit ihm nach Ungarn übersiedelt. Wir haben sie 1932 besucht, da war ich neun Jahre alt.

Gewohnt haben sie etwas außerhalb von Budapest. Ich erinnere mich, das war eine lustige Zeit dort. Rosa hatte einen Buben, den Artur. Er war Sänger im Tempel - eine Sensation war dieses Kind! Sie sind in Ungarn geblieben. Ich habe noch eine Karte mit einem Hilferuf von ihnen bekommen, als ich bereits in Palästina im Kibbutz 4 war. Aber ich konnte ihnen nicht helfen. Das war das allerletzte Lebenszeichen von ihnen, alle sind ermordet worden.

Tante Anna, Anni wurde sie genannt, wurde 1904 in Lemberg geboren. Sie war hübsch, aber kompliziert. Sie ist mit meiner Mutti in eine Klasse gegangen, obwohl sie zwei Jahre jünger als meine Mutti war. Man hat sie in die letzte Reihe gesetzt, weil sie ein braves Kind war. Wenn man sie etwas gefragt hat, dann hat sie nicht geantwortet.

Die Mutti hat sich ein bisschen um sie gekümmert. Die Anni hat in der Schule nie etwas gesagt, hat aber trotzdem immer ein Zeugnis bekommen. Wenn die Omama in die Schule gegangen, ist um sich zu erkundigen, wie ihre Tochter lernt, hat die Lehrerin gesagt: 'Was wollen Sie denn von mir, die Anni redet doch denn ganzen Tag nichts.' Da hat die Omama zur Lehrerin gesagt: 'Lassen Sie sie dort sitzen, soll eine Ruh sein.'

Tante Anni hat dann einen Josef Lauber geheiratet. Das war eine sehr unglückliche Ehe. Sie wurden 1924 geschieden. Sie hat dann noch einmal geheiratet. Ihr zweiter Ehemann hieß Erwin Neumann, der war ein Spieler. Sie hatte Pech mit den Männern. Anni hatte eine Tochter, die Liane. Sie ist eine wunderbare Tänzerin geworden.

Aber sie hatte auch Pech mit den Männern. Sie ließ sich scheiden von ihrem ersten Mann, heiratete einen zweiten Mann, der an einer Nierensache starb. An den kann mich noch sehr gut erinnern. Das war ein wunderbarer Mann. Zuerst ist Tante Anni mit meinem Vater nach Shanghai emigriert, und später ist sie zu ihrer Tochter nach Amerika gegangen und dort gestorben.

Artur ist 1908 in Wien geboren und 1926 an einer Lungenkrankheit gestorben. Als Baby ist er vom Wickeltisch herunter gefallen. Die Großeltern hatte eine Kinderschwester, und sie hat sich nicht getraut, ihnen das zu sagen. Als er herunterfiel, brach er sich das Rückgrat.

Das Rückrat drückte ihm dann auf die Lunge, das wurde aber erst später festgestellt. Er hat auch einen Buckel gehabt. Artur war ein sehr gescheiter Bursche, ein Rechengenie. Ich kann mich erinnern: bevor er gestorben ist, waren wir im Allgemeinen Krankenhaus bei ihm zu Besuch, und die Mutti hat leise zu mir gesagt: 'Kurti, du weißt doch, wo die alte Frau mit den Blumen steht.

Geh und kauf dem Turli ein paar Blumen, weil er nicht mehr lange leben wird.' Ich bin hinunter gegangen, habe die Blumen gekauft, und wie ich wieder herauf gekommen bin und ihm die Blumen geben wollte, sagte er zu mir: 'Kurti, bitte komm mir nicht zu nahe, ich bin so krank.' Und da habe ich die Blumen auf den Boden geschmissen.

Meine Mutter, Franziska Rachela Brodmann, geborene Goldstaub, wurde am 28. August 1902 in Lemberg geboren. Einige Jahre später sind meine Großeltern nach Wien übersiedelt.

• Meine Eltern

Mein Vater war Schauspieler, ein großer, sehr bekannter Schauspieler. Er war wirklich etwas ganz Außergewöhnliches. Auf der Bühne hat er gestrahlt! Er war mit Leib und Seele Schauspieler. Meine Eltern haben sich in Bad Hall kennen gelernt.

Mein Vater hat auf der Bühne gespielt, und die Mutti ist in der ersten Reihe gesessen. Er hat nur einen Blick auf sie geworfen und hat sich sofort in sie verliebt. Meine Mutti hat sich auch sofort in ihn verliebt, er war ja ein wunderbarer Mann.

Aber es gab Hindernisse, weil er kein frommer Mann war, denn die Eltern meiner Mutti waren doch sehr fromm. Mein Großvater hat meinen Vater einen Possenreißer genannt, also einen Narren auf der Bühne. 'Du passt nicht zu uns, du bist kein frommer Mann.

Wenn du meine Tochter haben möchtest, musst du diesen Beruf aufgeben. So etwas gibt es bei uns Orthodoxen nicht.' Und da mein Vater meine Mutter doch sehr geliebt hat, hat er gesagt: 'Ich werde das alles aufgeben, ich mache das für meine große Liebe.'

Es gab dann aber auch wirklich große Turbulenzen in der Ehe meiner Eltern, die habe ich alle mitbekommen. Viele Streitereien - mein Vater hat andere Frauen gehabt - meine Mutter hat oft geweint. Das war keine leichte Sache damals. Meine Mutter hatte ein schweres Leben, und sie war doch eine so schöne und gescheite Frau.

Meine Kindheit

Ich wurde am 23. März 1923 in Wien geboren, mein Bruder Harry ist fünf Jahre jünger als ich. Er wurde am 28. August 1928 in Wien geboren.

Wenn der Hitler nicht gekommen wäre, dann hätte ich studiert und wäre ein großer Sänger geworden, obwohl ich nie Gesangsunterricht hatte. Die Musik ist ein Teil von mir, ich lebe für die Musik. Das ist angeboren, das habe ich vom Vater. Ich habe schöner gesungen als mein Vater, aber er war der bessere Schauspieler. Ich habe nie versucht, Schauspieler zu werden, aber bestimmt wäre ich auch gut auf der Bühne gewesen. Dazu ist es nicht gekommen.

Meine Großeltern haben im 8. Bezirk, in der Wickenburggasse 16, gewohnt. Da bin ich auch auf die Welt gekommen. Als wir unsere eigene Wohnung hatten, waren wir oft bei den Großeltern zu Besuch, das war immer sehr schön. Jedes Mal gab es einen weiß gedeckten Tisch, das war sehr festlich. Pessach 5 haben wir auch bei ihnen gefeiert. Mein Vater hatte keine Ahnung von Frömmigkeit. Aber er war ein guter Jude: wehe, wenn jemand etwas Schlechtes über Juden gesagt hat, dann ist er wild geworden.

Meine erste Schule war im 2. Bezirk, am Czerninplatz, denn wir haben zu dieser Zeit in der Stuwerstraße gewohnt. Dann sind wir von der Stuwerstraße nach Kaisermühlen gezogen. Das ist der 22. Bezirk. Dort ging ich in die Volks- und Hauptschule bis Hitler gekommen ist. Da war ich in der vierten Hauptschulklasse.

Meine Schulzeit

Ich war das einzige jüdische Kind in der Klasse, da habe ich schon sehr gespürt: die Leute mögen uns Juden nicht. Aber man hat das damals nicht so ernst genommen. Das war selbstverständlich, das musste so sein. Ich habe mich auch gar nicht geschämt.

Die Kinder haben mich beschimpft, ich habe die beschimpft. Wir haben uns auch geschlagen, so wie das eben unter Buben üblich ist. Wir waren ja damals nur Buben in der Schule. Es wäre unvorstellbar gewesen, wenn da auch Mädels gewesen wären. Freunde hatte ich aber auch in der Schule.

Unser Klassenvorstand war ein Nazi - Huber hat er geheißen. Aber der hatte mich, trotzdem ich ein jüdisches Kind war, sehr gern, weil ich wunderbar singen konnte. Ich bin auch heute noch Sänger. Ich habe aber schon in der Schule gesungen, und alle haben zugehört.

Der Lehrer hat einmal zu den Kindern gesagt: 'Jetzt haben wir eine Gesangsstunde. Jedes Kind muss ein Lied singen.' Da haben die Kinder gesungen, und dann bin ich drangekommen. An das Lied, das ich gesungen habe, kann ich mich noch erinnern: 'Ich habe mein Haus verloren, mein teures, teures Haus.

Es war so treu im Leben, es kann kein treueres geben.' Der Lehrer schaute mich an und sagte: 'Kurt, das ist doch nicht möglich, du bist ja ein Künstler!' Daraufhin sagte ich: 'Na ja, das ist halt ein schönes Lied.' 'Warte, wir gehen jetzt zu meiner Frau, die ist oben im zweiten Stock. Du musst auch ihr etwas vorsingen.' Also hat er mich bei der Hand genommen, und wir sind zu seiner Frau hinaufgegangen, und ich habe gesungen. 'Das ist nicht möglich', hat sie gesagt.

Danach musste ich ständig in der Schule singen. Den Kindern hat das aber auch sehr gefallen. Der Nazi-Lehrer, mein Musikprofessor, hat sich mit mir immer gern über Musik unterhalten, und ich konnte ihm auch antworten. Ich habe ihn gern gehabt, obwohl er ein Antisemit war.

Die anderen Kinder waren nicht so gebildet wie ich. Ich habe auch schön gesprochen, weil wir zu Hause ja nur ein gepflegtes Deutsch gesprochen haben. Einmal habe ich in der Klasse jüdische Lieder vorgesungen. Ich hatte die Noten mitgebracht und zum Lehrer gesagt: 'Das ist so ein schönes Lied, das können wir doch lernen.' Da hat der Lehrer gesagt: 'Das können wir nicht lernen, aber du hast das schön gesungen.'

Der Huber war aber auch Rechenlehrer. Er hat mir immer Fragen gestellt, von denen er wusste, dass ich sie nicht beantworten kann, denn ich war ein schlechter Rechner. Und außerdem hat er mich mit den Noten benachteiligt. Aber er hatte mich halt wegen der Musik sehr gern. Wenn wir auf einen Ausflug fuhren, ist er immer neben mir gegangen und hat sich nur mit mir unterhalten. Es war so eine Art Hassliebe. Er hat gefühlt: dieser jüdische Bub ist anders als die restliche Rasselbande.

Mein Religionsunterricht war in Kaisermühlen in einer Mädchenschule. Da wurden alle jüdischen Kinder der umliegenden Schulen jeden Montag zusammen gesammelt. Dieser Unterricht war eine Farce. Wir hatten einen jungen Religionslehrer, Herrn Victor Rosenfeld.

Er war ein sehr lieber Mann, aber wir Kinder haben den Unterricht nicht ernst genommen. Wir haben zwar das 'Schmah Israel' ['Höre Israel', das wichtigste Gebet, das morgens und abends gesprochen wird] auswendig gelernt, das haben wir immer gesagt, aber sonst konnten wir nicht viel. Der Herr Rosenfeld hat uns nichts lehren können, weil wir so einen Lärm gemacht haben. Es war ein schreckliches Durcheinander, aber das war eben so.

Meine Eltern hatten jüdische und nicht jüdische Freunde. Es war eine Mischkulanz, denn viele jüdische Männer haben Christinnen geheiratet; man hat sich gar nichts dabei gedacht. Trotz der Schwierigkeiten, die meine Eltern miteinander hatten, war meine Kindheit schön. Wir waren nicht reich, denn mein Vater hat das Geld als Vertreter in Schuhen verdient. Er war bei jüdischen Fabrikanten angestellt. Er war sehr fleißig, hat schöne Aufträge gebracht, aber die Auslieferungen, wie er mir erzählte, haben ihm oft zwei linke Schuhe oder zwei rechte Schuhe geliefert. Da hat er dann keine Provision gekriegt, weil die Geschäfte die Ware nicht annehmen konnten. Also, wir haben es auch finanziell schwer gehabt. Gott sei Dank hatten wir die Omama!

Als Kind war ich im Bilu, einer zionistische Bewegung. Ich habe viel gewusst über Palästina und Eretz Israel, und ich konnte viele Lieder in hebräischer Sprache singen.

Meine Eltern sind im Sommer manchmal auf einen ganz einfachen Bauernhof mit uns Kindern auf Urlaub gefahren. Das hat die Omama natürlich bezahlt. Einmal waren wir auch in Gars am Kamp, dort habe ich schwimmen gelernt. Da war ein Staudamm, der war so glitschig von dem ewigen Wasser, das dort immer fließt.

Ich bin ausgerutscht und reingefallen. Und ich dachte mir: 'Ah, ich kann schwimmen!' Ich rannte zu meinem Vater und sagte: 'Weißt du was? Ich kann schon schwimmen!' 'Was heißt, du kannst schwimmen?' Da habe ich ihn bei der Hand genommen und habe gesagt: 'Ich zeig dir, wie ich schwimmen kann.' Und ich bin vor ihm wieder dort hineingesprungen.

Mein Vater war ganz erschrocken, aber ich habe gesagt: 'Nein, nein, ich kann schwimmen.' Dann sind wir zu meiner Mutter gelaufen, und mein Vater hat gesagt: 'Stell dir vor, der Kurt kann schwimmen, was sagst du dazu?'

Mein Vater war sehr lieb. Er hatte ein schweres Leben, weil er die Schauspielerei aufgeben musste. Das hat ihn Herz und Seele gekostet, das hat er sehr schwer verkraftet. Manchmal hat er etwas organisiert in Kaisermühlen für die Arbeiter dort mit ihren Kindern.

Er war Sozialdemokrat und hat einige Male für die Partei auf der Bühne die Operette 'Der fidele Bauer' gespielt. Da hat man einen Buben gebraucht, und er hat gesagt: 'Kurti, das ist deine Rolle, das musst du auswendig lernen.' Ich habe dann mit ihm zusammen gespielt: 'Heinerle, Heinerle, ich hab' kein Geld...' habe ich gesungen.

Da war ich neun Jahre alt. Das hat mir großen Spaß gemacht. Auch meine Mutter war im Publikum. Aber die Großeltern kamen nicht. Fromme Leute gehen weder ins Kino noch ins Theater; die leben nur für die Religion.

Hausmädchen haben wir auch gehabt. Wir hatten eine Mizzi, dann eine Leopoldine. Die Mädchen waren damals so dankbar: sie haben bei uns wohnen können, bei uns essen können, es ging ihnen gut. Das hat alles die Omama finanziert, die hat immer geholfen. Die Leopoldine hat uns sehr geliebt, und wir haben sie so geliebt wie die eigene Mutter. Sie war so süß und lieb und gut zu uns Kindern.

Meine Bar Mitzwa 6 habe ich nicht gefeiert. Ich kann mich erinnern, mein Großvater war sehr unglücklich, dass man mir das nicht ermöglicht hat. Eine Bar Mitzwa ist für einen jüdischen Buben das Wichtigste. Aber es war ganz einfach nicht möglich. Es war 1934 eine derartig gefährliche Zeit damals für meinen Vater als Sozialdemokraten, da hatten sie nicht den Kopf dafür 7. Aber ich habe gesehen, wie mein Großvater deswegen geweint hat.

Im 1938er-Jahr hat die Mutti schon geahnt, was da kommt. Als ich die Schule verlassen musste war ich noch kurze Zeit Lehrling in einer Lederfirma. Dort hat man mich aber dann auch aus rassischen Gründen hinausgeschmissen. Ich habe noch ein Zeugnis bekommen: Wir waren mit ihm sehr zufrieden, aber wegen der momentanen Verwirrungen..., oder irgendwie so haben sie geschrieben,...mussten wir Kurt Brodmann entlassen.

• Die Flucht

Kurz nach dem Einmarsch der Deutschen in Österreich hat meine Mutti meinen Bruder und mich in eine Institution für jüdische Kinder gebracht, um unser Leben zu retten. Mein Bruder kam mit einem Kindertransport 8 nach England, er war neun Jahre alt, und ich kam auf einen Transport nach Palästina. Mein Bruder hatte Glück und ist zu einem jüdischen Lord nach England gekommen.

Es ist ihm dort eigentlich sehr gut gegangen. Er hat viel gelernt und ist eine große Persönlichkeit, ein Atomwissenschafter, geworden. Er hat eine Engländerin geheiratet und hat drei Buben. Durch eine Erfindung ist er bekannt geworden. Die Zeitungen haben über ihn geschrieben, da sieht man wie er arbeitet mit diesen Atomhandschuhen. 

Er liest Bücher nur mit Formeln und mit Zeichen. Er hat eine Fabrik gegründet. Er hat auch Betten für Krankenhäuser entwickelt, an die man Röntgengeräte oder Fernsehapparate anschließen kann, und der Kranke kann alles vom Bett aus bedienen. Ich war in dieser Fabrik, das war sehr interessant. Er wohnt in einem Vorort von Birmingham, dort hat er eine herrliche Villa.

Einmal habe ich zu ihm gesagt: 'Harry, ich bin schon so alt, kann ich nicht zu dir kommen und bei dir wohnen?' Da hat er gesagt: 'Selbstverständlich sofort, du kriegst ein Zimmer in unserem Haus.' Ich hatte doch nur einen Witz gemacht. Aber es war schön, das zu hören.

Ich bin mit dem letzten legalen Schiff nach Palästina gefahren. Wir sind angekommen in einer anderen Welt. Alles war anders! Wir wurden von einem jungen Mann, Walter hieß er, abgeholt und zuerst in einen Kibbutz gebracht. Danach führte er uns in Haifa herum.

Ich sah einen Polizisten auf einem Pferd und habe gesagt? 'Sag einmal, das ist auch ein Jud?' Dann haben wir Arbeiter gesehen, und ich habe gesagt: 'Das sind alles jüdische Menschen?' 'Ja, natürlich! Warum wunderst du dich so?' fragte er mich. Ich hatte so etwas noch nie gesehen.

Mein Onkel Emanuel, der Bruder meiner Mutter, ist mit der Omama nach Holland geflüchtet. Seine Frau, eine Holländerin, hatte in Amsterdam ein Textilgeschäft. Die drei haben zusammen gelebt und haben zusammen gearbeitet in dem Geschäft.

Aber als die Nazis nach Holland kamen, wurden sie verschleppt und getötet [Anm. Ettel Stark recte Goldstaub Seif, geb. 10.5.1872 in Lemberg, aus Holland deportiert nach Sobibor, dort ermordet am 16.03.1943, Emanuel Stark, geb. 28.04.1906 in Lemberg, aus Holland deportiert, umgekommen am 21.01.1945 in Mitteleuropa; Quelle: DÖW-Datenbank und Center for Research on Dutch Jewry]. Ich besitze noch einen ganzen Stoß von Briefen vom Emanuel, es ist tragisch!

Mein Großvater hatte einen künstlichen Darmausgang, er war ein schwerkranker Mann. Er wurde 1938 aus seiner Wohnung geworfen, durfte in kein Hotel, durfte auf keiner Bank sitzen, er konnte gar nichts mehr machen als Jude. Er hat gestunken, weil er sich nicht waschen konnte, und meine Mutter hatte die Ausreise nach Shanghai.

Sie hat gesagt: 'Ich muss verzichten, ich lasse meinen Vater nicht allein hier in diesem Zustand.' Meine Mutter gab ihrer Schwester, der Tante Anni ihre Fahrkarte. Mein Vater und Tante Anni sind zusammen nach Shanghai geflüchtet. Meine Mutter hat dann Unmenschliches geleistet, bis der Großpapa im Januar 1939 gestorben ist.

Dann hat sie ihn noch begraben, hier am Zentralfriedhof am 4. Tor. Er liegt mit meinem Onkel Artur, seinem Sohn, zusammen in einem Grab. Sie hatte auf die Flucht nach Shanghai verzichtet und nun kam sie nicht mehr weg. Sie ist jeden Tag, sie hat ausgeschaut wie eine Christin, auf die Kultusgemeinde gegangen und hat gesagt: 'Mein Mann ist in Shanghai, ich muss zu ihm.'

Eines Tages sagte der Beamte der Kultusgemeinde: 'Frau Brodmann, ich kann Ihnen mitteilen, dass in Triest eine Karte nach Shanghai für sie zurückgelegt wurde, Sie können fahren.' So konnte sich meine Mutter auch noch retten.

Es sind Tausende Juden nach Shanghai geflohen: Österreicher, Deutsche, Russen und Polen, jeder, der noch davon rennen konnte - um zu überleben. Der Kaiser hat die Juden geschützt: 'Das sind meine Gäste' hat er gesagt.

Mein Vater hat in Shanghai Theater für Chinesen und Japaner gespielt. Er hat Wiener Operetten in Japanisch auswendig gelernt und zusammen mit Schauspielern aus Deutschland gespielt. Sie haben große Erfolge damit gefeiert.

Die Juden haben in Shanghai eine richtige kleine Stadt aufgebaut. Es gab Modegeschäfte, Fleischfabriken, Restaurants und Wiener Cafes. Alles gab es dort wie in Wien oder in Berlin. Meine Mutter hat ein Kaffeehaus eröffnet, das hieß 'Wiener Stüberl'. Es gab in dem Kaffeehaus von ihr gebackenen Apfelstrudel, Topfenstrudel und noch andere Mehlspeisen. Mein Vater ist aber durch das Klima dort krank geworden.

• Im Kibbutz

Im Kibbutz mussten wir einen Aufsatz schreiben über den ersten Eindruck, den wir gewonnen hatten, als wir nach Israel kamen. Ich hatte einen sehr schönen Aufsatz geschrieben, der wurde sogar ausgestellt.

Nach einiger Zeit kam ich in den Kibbutz Yfat bei Nahalal. Den halben Tag lernten wir hebräisch und den anderen halben Tag arbeiteten wir am Feld oder bei den Truthähnen. Ich hatte noch nie in der Landwirtschaft gearbeitet, also war das nicht so einfach. Das Haus in dem wir wohnten, war das Jugendhaus. Beit Ha Noar heißt das auf Hebräisch. Beit heißt Haus und Noar heißt Jugend. Aber mir hat das nicht gepasst, ich wollte nicht auf dem Feld arbeiten.

Der Madrich, der Leiter, hat jeden gefragt: 'Na, was willst du denn werden, was willst du denn lernen?' Da habe ich geantwortet: 'Ich will gern ein Handwerk lernen.' Das hatte mir nämlich mein Opapa immer wieder gesagt: 'Kurti, egal was kommt, ein Handwerk musst du lernen.' Und da habe ich gesagt: 'Ich möchte so gerne ein Tischler werden, weil ich ein Bastler bin.'

In der Schule hatte ich sehr viele Sachen gebastelt und ich war sehr geschickt. 'Na gut, dann gehen wir jetzt in die Tischlerei und werden fragen, ob man dich dort brauchen kann.' Er ging mit mir in die Tischlerei: 'Leider, du bist gekimmen zu spät', die haben dort ja alle jiddisch geredet, 'es ist schon gekimmen der Jakov, und der ist geblieben bei mir.' Heute spreche ich jiddisch perfekt. Ich kann lesen und schreiben.

Die Leute in diesem Kibbutz sprachen entweder jiddisch oder hebräisch. Wir Kinder konnten nicht hebräisch, aber wir konnten deutsch sprechen, das ist dem jiddischem sehr ähnlich. Und dann sagte der Tischler zu mir: 'Aber du weißt, beim David Goldwasser in der Schisterei [jidd. Schuhmacher] ist ein Platz.

Willst du werden ein Schister [jidd. Schuster]?' Und ich habe mir gedacht: Ich soll Schuster werden? Aber ich hatte sogar ein Verhältnis zu Schuhen, weil mein Vater doch Vertreter für Schuhe war. Er führte mich zum Schuster, der schaute mich an und sagte, ich sehe ihn jetzt noch vor mir: 'Du willst werden a Schister? Mit die Händ [jidd. Mit den Händen]?' Und ich sagte ihm: 'David, ich werde dir sagen: ich will nicht aufs Feld, ich bin für so was nicht geeignet.

Ich möchte gerne ein Schuster werden.' Sagte er: 'Gut, morgen um acht Uhr am Zeiger [Zeiger (jidd): Uhr] kimm zu mir, du kriegst ein Fartach [jidd. Schürze], du hast deinen ersten Arbeitstag, und du wirst werden ein Schister.'

Ich habe die ganze Nacht nicht geschlafen, und ich war wirklich um acht Uhr dort. Er hat mir einen Schemel gegeben und meine erste Arbeit war, für Babyschuhe mit der Zange die Absätze zu reißen. Ich habe gesagt: 'Ich will einen Schuh machen.' Und die Antwort, die ich bekommen habe, war: 'So schnell? Hab Geduld, du wirst schon kriegen die Arbeit.'

Na, und wirklich, ich habe dort zwei Jahre gearbeitet, und ich war dann perfekt. Ich habe dort herrliche Schuhe gemacht, auch Oberteile. Ich habe das alles gelernt. Und ich habe das auch verwendet für die Zukunft. Ich hatte eine wunderschöne Werkstatt in Tel Aviv und in der Werkstatt sogar elf Leute beschäftigt.

Dann lernte ich noch Orthopädie dazu. Ich habe viel verdient. Als ich vom Kibbutz weg wollte, habe ich doch das Geld gebraucht. Ich war so gut, dass man mich in andere Kibbutzim schickte, um den Leuten das Schuhe machen beizubringen. Ich habe damals schon fünf englische Pfund im Monat verdient. Essen war frei, Wohnung war frei, und ich habe dort sehr viel gespart für die Stadt. Ich wollte mir damit in der Stadt etwas aufbauen.

Von 1942 bis 1948 war ich bei der Haganah 9. Meine ganze Truppe ist beim Kampf gegen die Ägypter gefallen, einer ist übrig geblieben, der hatte einen Streifschuss im Kiefer. Ich hatte in der Nacht davor eine Nierenkolik, und die hat mir mein Leben gerettet. Ich hatte in meinem Leben nie etwas mit der Niere zu tun, und dann gerade in dieser Nacht, das ist schon allerhand.

• Paula 

Vor meiner Kolik beim Militär hatte ich die Paula kennen gelernt. Paula war wunderschön, und sie hat mir sofort gefallen. Sie hat bei der englischen Luftwaffe im Büro gearbeitet. Ich habe sie zufällig gesehen, aber dann wieder aus den Augen verloren. Während eines Urlaubs traf ich sie in einem alten ehemaligen arabischen Kino wieder.

Inzwischen war das Kino ein großes Tanzlokal, die jüdischen Burschen und Mädels sind dort zum Tanzen hingegangen. Und da sah ich sie auf der Tanzfläche mit einem großen Luftwaffenoffizier, der sie in den Armen hielt. Sie sah mich und ich habe ihr auch sofort gefallen, das konnte ich sehen. Wir haben uns aber nicht unterhalten können, weil sie weder deutsch noch hebräisch gesprochen hat. Sie war eine Neueinwanderin aus Rumänien, aus Bukarest.

Paula war Jahrgang 1928. Im Alter von dreizehn Jahren wurde sie in ein KZ deportiert, und 1946 wanderte sie mit ihren Eltern nach Palästina aus. Irgendwie gelang es mir, sie zu fragen, wo sie wohnt, und sie gab mir ihre Adresse. Am nächsten Tag war ich gleich bei ihr zu Hause.

An der Tür war ein Löwenkopf zum klopfen. Ihre Mutter öffnete die Tür. Ich ging hinein, und da saß sie beim Tisch. Sie hat mich sofort wieder erkannt. Die Mutter hat dann übersetzt. Paula war so schön wie ein Traum! Ich war total narrisch nach der Frau. Aber mein Urlaub war schon abgelaufen.

Am nächsten Tag konnte ich sie nicht mehr besuchen, weil ich zum Militär zurück musste. Dann musste ich ins Feld, cirka 40 Kilometer von Jaffa. Ich war unruhig, weil ich eifersüchtig war. Ich dachte, wenn ich nicht komme, schnappt mir jemand meine große Liebe weg.

Unser Camp war von der Hauptchaussee 15 Kilometer entfernt. Wenn ich hätte türmen wollen, hätte ich 15 Kilometer bis zur Straße gehen müssen. Ich habe beschlossen, ich werde es wagen. Ich sprang also über den Stacheldraht und bin gelaufen. Mir war alles egal, ich musste zu meiner Paula.

Die Militärpolizei hat mich dann von Paula nach einiger Zeit abgeholt. Das Interessante war, dass die 15 Kilometer vermint waren. 'Gut bitteschön, die Liebe, aber das ist alles vermint, wie bist du da durchgekommen? Wie bist du da lebend durchgekommen' fragte mich der Offizier.

Ich war wieder einmal mit dem Leben davongekommen. Ich hätte die Hände oder Füße verlieren können, ich hatte einen Schutzengel. Aber es hat sich gelohnt. Ich möchte die sieben Jahre, die ich mit dieser Frau zusammen war, nicht missen wollen.

Wir haben dann geheiratet und uns gemeinsam unsere Zukunft aufgebaut. Wir haben für Krankenschwestern in Spitälern hohe weiße Schuhe nach Maß angefertigt, das brachte viel Geld. Ich hatte zwei Fachleute angestellt, die das konnten. Paula und ich waren auf orthopädische Kindersandalen spezialisiert. Die gingen weg wie die warmen Semmeln.

Unser erstes Geschäft in Tel Aviv war klein. Dann sind wir in die Nähe des Yarkon [Anm.: Yarkon Fluß] übersiedelt. Alle Maschinen haben wir in das wunderschöne große Lokal gebracht. Ich habe mich sehr gut gefühlt.

Leider konnte meine Frau Paula keine Kinder bekommen. Das war ein großes Problem, mehr für sie als für mich. Sie wurde dadurch so hysterisch, dass ein Leben mit ihr einfach unmöglich wurde. Wir waren drei Mal geschieden und wir sind drei Mal wieder zusammen gekommen. Wir konnten ohne einander nicht leben.

Da habe ich mir still und leise meinen Pass beschafft, das konnte ich an einem Tag erledigen und bin vor meiner Frau geflohen. Um vier Uhr in der Früh ist ein Auto nach Haifa gefahren, ein Gemüsewagen, und ich bin zum Chauffeur gegangen und habe ihm gesagt: 'Entschuldige, nimm mich nach Haifa mit, ich fahre weg.' Sagt der: 'Aber du hast doch eine Frau.'

Sie hätte mich ja umgebracht, wenn sie gewusst hätte, dass ich weg fahre. Ich habe sie sehr geliebt, aber ich musste weg. Die einzige Möglichkeit mein Leben zu retten, war nach Wien zurückzugehen. Mein ganzes Vermögen, meine Werkstatt, mit den Leisten, mit den Maschinen, mit allem habe ich dort gelassen.

• Zurück nach Wien

Zehn Jahre hatte ich nichts von meinen Eltern gehört. Ich habe gewusst, sie sind in Shanghai, aber ich hatte keinen Brief bekommen. Das war nicht möglich, es war ja Krieg. Meine Eltern waren 1947 aus Shanghai nach Wien zurückgekommen, und ich fuhr 1954 zu meinen Eltern nach Wien.

Sie hatten ein bisschen Geld, mein Vater, der noch relativ jung war, arbeitete wieder als Vertreter in der Textilbranche. Dadurch kam ich auch zur Textilbranche. Ich wollte eigentlich als Schuster arbeiten, aber mein Vater sagte: 'Kurti, hier in Wien kannst du das nicht machen, ein Jude kann in Wien kein Schuster sein.' 'Gut, aber was soll ich machen? Irgendetwas muss ich doch machen', antwortete ich.

Mein Vater schlug mir vor, auch ein Vertreter zu werden, wie er. "Na gut Papa, ich arbeite zwei Tage mit dir zusammen. Ich trage dir die Koffer, ich höre mir deine Gespräche an, und wenn es mir irgendwie zusagt, werde ich es einmal versuchen.' Gesagt, getan. Ich bin mit ihm herumgerannt.

Es war Juli, es war heiß, und ich trug einen Anzug und ein Hemd mit Krawatte, denn die Garderobe ist das Allerwichtigste in dem Beruf. Mein Vater hat verkauft noch und noch. Es war damals ja nichts am Markt, damals hat man alles gebraucht. Am Abend sind wir nach Hause gekommen mit den Koffern, und er fragte mich: 'Na Kurti, wie hat dir das gefallen?' Ich sagte ihm, dass ich es versuchen werde.

Am nächsten Tag nahm ich die schweren Koffer mit Pullovern und Westen und rannte den ganzen Tag herum, ohne ein Stück zu verkaufen. Es war wieder ein Zufall! Es war bereits halb sechs Uhr abends, da kam ich in ein Geschäft in der Laxenburgerstraße.

Mit letzter Kraft kam ich mit den zwei Koffern durch die Tür. Ich habe nicht gedacht, dass ich da noch etwas verkaufe. Im Geschäft waren eine schöne Frau und ein Mann. Sie sah sich meine Ware an und gab mir einen Auftrag über cirka 8000 Schilling, das war damals viel Geld! Ich war glücklich und wurde DER Vertreter!

Ich habe mir einen großartigen Kundenstock aufgebaut. Ich habe viel verdient, was heute nicht mehr möglich wäre. Gerade jetzt, da dieses Geschäft nicht mehr geht, habe ich aufgehört. Ich habe eine schöne Pension, ich kann leben von meiner Pension, und ich kann noch immer etwas nebenher verdienen. Außerdem singe ich.

• Meine neue Familie

Ich habe noch einmal geheiratet. Meine Frau Erika ist eine ungarische Jüdin, aber es war keine gute Ehe. Sie war genau das Gegenteil von Paula. Wir waren 31 Jahre verheiratet. Ich habe sie geheiratet, weil ich allein war. Aber ich habe mit ihr zwei wunderbare Kinder, Gabriele und Alfred.

Alfred ist 1956 geboren und lebt seit 12 Jahren in New York. Er hat an der Kunstakademie studiert. Er ist ein Künstler, ein Maler, ein Zeichner, ein Karikaturist. Er hat dort geheiratet, hat einen süßen Buben, der heißt Leo, wie mein Vater. Ein Rothaariger ist er, so wie mein Opapa, der war auch rothaarig. Meine Tochter hat eine wunderbare Arbeit bei einer Zeitung in Wien. Sie hat einen Sohn, den David, der ist erst elf Jahre alt.

Dreimal war ich in der Zwischenzeit wieder in Israel auf Besuch. Einmal mit der ganzen Familie: mit meinen Eltern, meinem Bruder und seiner Frau und Verwandten. Ich habe jedes Mal Paula gesucht, aber ich habe sie nicht gefunden. Aber sogar wenn ich sie gesehen hätte, ich wäre nicht auf sie zugegangen.

Ich fühle mich in Israel gleich zu Hause. Meine Chawerim [hebr.: Freunde] haben einen Kibbutz gegründet, der liegt am Hula See. Es gab zwei Seen, den Kineret und den Hula. Den Hula musste man wegen der Malaria trocken legen. Darüber weinen sie bis heute, weil es viele Fische im See gab.

Aber die Leute wurden schwer krank, wegen der Malaria. Meine Freunde sind auch alt geworden. Nicht zu glauben, die sind alle 80, aber die arbeiten noch fest. Die Frauen, die so hübsch waren, haben sich durch die schwere Arbeit und durch das Klima sehr verändert. Das frisst die Menschen auf. Es gibt ein wunderbares Gedicht in der Torah, da wird genau das gesagt: Dieses Land frisst seine Menschen auf.

• Mein Leben heutzutage

Ich kenne die Österreicher, ich bin hier geboren. Wien ist meine Heimat. Es gibt viele Debatten, ich habe ein ganz gutes Mundwerk, und ich überzeuge die Leute, wenn wir zusammen sitzen. Ich schau ich nicht aus wie ein Jude, vielleicht ist das auch ein großer Vorteil in der Arbeit gewesen. Ich bin in die kleinsten Dörfer in der Provinz gefahren, habe in Bauernhöfen geschlafen und dort mit den Bauern gegessen.

Da hört man Verschiedenes. Ich habe nie direkt gesagt, dass ich Jude bin. Aber ich habe die Israelis immer in Schutz genommen. Darum wurde ich oft gefragt: 'Bist du vielleicht selber ein Jude?' Die jungen Israelis - das ist eine andere Welt. Auf diese Kinder kann man stolz sein. Das sind unglaubliche Mädeln und Buben, die für das Land leben und kämpfen. So habe ich auch geredet.

Ich habe auch CDs gemacht und verkauft. In Wien, im 19. Bezirk, in einem kleinen Theater habe ich gesungen, da können ungefähr einhundert Leute sitzen. Ich singe klassische Musik: Schubert-Lieder zum Beispiel. Auch im jüdischen Altersheim singe ich, da habe ich einen guten Freund, der mich begleitet.

Dadurch, dass ich im jüdischen Altersheim zu Mittag esse, bin ich viel mit jüdischen Leuten zusammen. Die gehen in kein Kino, die gehen in kein Theater, die leben nur für das Geschäft und für ihre Religion. Jetzt hat man dort ein Kino installiert, da kommen sie auch nicht hin.

Die lesen auch keine Zeitung, das interessiert sie nicht. Aber das wiederum sind die Leute, die das Judentum am Leben erhalten. Wenn alle wären so wie ich, dann gäbe es schon lange kein Judentum mehr.

• Glossar:

Wilhelm Steiner
Sittendorf
Österreich
Datum des Interviews: Juli 2002 
Name des Interviewers: Tanja Eckstein

Wilhelm Steiner lässt sich in meiner Wohnung in Wien interviewen, weil er mit seiner Frau seit vielen Jahren in Sittendorf, in Niederösterreich, lebt. Er ist ein guter Unterhalter mit viel Humor und einer großen Portion Sarkasmus ausgestattet.

Wilhelm Steiner starb im Jahre 2008.

Meine Familiengeschichte
Meine Kindheit
Während des Krieges
Nach dem Krieg
Glossar

Meine Familiengeschichte

Über meine Urgroßeltern väterlicherseits weiß ich nichts. Sie lebten in Ungarn und starben in Ungarn. Meine Großeltern väterlicherseits hießen Wilhelm und Rosa Steiner. Meine Großmutter war eine geborene Gutfreund. Ich habe sie nie kennen gelernt, denn sie starb, als ich ungefähr drei Jahre alt war. Auch sie lebten in Ungarn und sind dort gestorben. Mein Vater hatte zwei Brüder. Ein Bruder hieß Isidor, war von Beruf Schlosser, lebte in Szeged [Ungarn] und hatte eine Schlosserei an der Theiss [Fluss]. Das war für mich unheimlich interessant. Er ist völlig sinnlos, lange vor dem Krieg, gestorben, weil es kein Krankenhaus in der Nähe gab.

Der andere Bruder war sehr arm und lebte in Temesvar [heute Rumänien]. Zu diesem Bruder hatten wir überhaupt keinen Kontakt.

Mein Vater, Jakob Steiner, wurde am 30. März 1888 in Szeged geboren. Er war Soldat im 1. Weltkrieg, und als die Monarchie zu Ende war, konnte man optieren. Da hat er für Österreich optiert.

Meine Mutter hieß Marie Grünwald und wurde am 30. Dezember 1885 in Holics [heute Slowakei], als Tochter von Sigmund Grünwald und Betti, geborene Neuer, geboren. Als ich noch klein war, habe ich oft in der Slowakei meinen Onkel Jakob, Kubi wurde er genannt, und seine Frau Hermine besucht. Ich glaube, Onkel Kubi war mit meiner Mutter verwandt. Der Onkel war so etwas Ähnliches wie ein Hausierer, ich weiß nicht, wie das früher hieß. Er hat Hasenfelle für Kürschner verledert, Lindenblüten, die die Leute aus dem Dorf ihm brachten, getrocknet und an pharmazeutische Betriebe verkauft. Im Herbst, während der Zuckerrübenernte, hat er die Rüben abgewogen. Er war selten zu Hause, ein armer Jude, der sich recht und schlecht durchgebracht hat.

In dem Dorf lebten sehr viele Juden. Freitagabends wurde gebetet. Die beiden Söhne des Onkels und der Tante, der eine war Arzt und der zweite Zahnarzt, haben sich immer darüber lustig gemacht.

Meine Mutter hatte eine Schwester, die Anna hieß. Sie war mit Vinzenc Fiala, einem tschechischen Christen verheiratet, und sie hatten einen Sohn, das war der Egon. Wir haben alle in Wien im selben Haus gewohnt. Die Tante war zuerst Verkäuferin in einer Likörstube, die einem jüdischen Schwesternpaar gehörte. Die Likörstube war auch in dem Haus, in dem wir wohnten. Die Tante war sehr lange dort beschäftigt, wurde dann Geschäftsführerin, und hat irgendwann die Likörstube dem Schwesternpaar abgekauft.

Meine Kindheit

Meine Eltern haben in Wien geheiratet. Mein Vater war Goldarbeiter, er war sehr geschickt, er hat Armketten händisch hergestellt. Zuerst hatte er eine Werkstätte in unserer Wohnung, dann hat er ein Geschäft im 2. Bezirk gemietet, in der Sebastian-Kneipp Gasse.

In meiner entfernten Verwandtschaft väterlicherseits war die schönste Frau der Welt. Sie hieß Liesl Goldarbeiter. Ihre Mutter war Christin, und ihr Vater war Jude. Sie war aus Ungarn, hat in Wien gelebt, und wurde wirklich in den 1930er-Jahren zur schönsten Frau der Welt gewählt. Sie ist von Österreich nach New York zur Weltkonkurrenz geschickt worden, und da hat man sie ausgewählt. Sie kam aus kleinbürgerlichen jüdischen Verhältnissen, aber in dem Moment, als sie berühmt war, hat sie jeder begehrt. Sie hat dann den Krawattenerzeuger Spielmann geheiratet. Spielmann war Jude und hatte eine Fabrik in Wien. Er war bekannt durch die sogenannten 'Sphinx' Krawatten, das waren besonders gute Krawatten. Während des Krieges ist Liesl nach Ungarn zur Verwandtschaft zurückgefahren. In dieser Verwandtschaft gab es auch jüdische Offiziere, die, solange sie durften, ihre Uniform und den Säbel trugen. Liesl hat den Holocaust überlebt, wie es mit ihrem Mann weiter gegangen ist, weiß ich nicht. Wenn man Geld und Hirn hatte, konnte man eventuell rechtzeitig weg.

Mein Bruder Eugen ist am 25. Februar 1913 in Wien geboren. Er war sieben Jahre älter als ich. Ich wurde am 2. April 1920 in Wien geboren. Meine Familie war nicht arm, aber ich hatte keine gute Familie. Die jüdischen Familien hatten das Prinzip, ihre Kinder etwas lernen zu lassen. Das war bei uns nicht der Fall. Meine Eltern sind beide vom Land gekommen und hatten das Niveau des Landes. Mein Vater hat viel gearbeitet, gut verdient, aber ich denke, er hätte viel mehr verdienen können, denn er war ein guter Handwerker. Ich hatte kaum Kontakt zu meinem Bruder. Er musste nach Beendigung der Schule zehn Stunden am Tag beim Vater arbeiten - das war fürchterlich für ihn. Er ist auch in schlechte Gesellschaft geraten, er hatte ja nichts außer der Arbeit beim Vater. Abends ist er Karten spielen gegangen ins Kaffeehaus nebenan, da sind die Huren gesessen - das war sein Leben. Wenn er nach Hause kam, war er etwas betrunken und hatte kein Geld mehr. Man hatte ihm natürlich das Geld beim Spiel abgenommen, denn sie hatten ihn betrogen.

Meine Mutter hatte eine Herzklappenentzündung, damals hat man so etwas nicht wie heute behandeln können. Sie ist jedes Jahr oder jedes zweite Jahr auf Erholung oder nach Bad Gleichenberg auf Kur gefahren. Das hat der Vater immer für sie organisiert.

Ich ging vier Jahre in die Volksschule im 2. Bezirk und anschließend vier Jahre in die Hauptschule. Viel gelernt habe ich da nicht. In meiner Kindheit habe ich Antisemitismus erlebt, aber er war nicht schrecklich. Ich kann mich nicht genau erinnern, aber ich vermute, in meiner Schulklasse waren zwanzig bis fünfundzwanzig Kinder, davon waren acht bis zehn jüdische Kinder. Die Kinder waren mehr oder weniger aufgeschlossen, bis auf zwei, die aus orthodoxen Familien kamen.

Ich erinnere mich gut an meine Eltern, aber die Erinnerung ist eher negativ. Es gab keinen Gesprächsstoff zwischen uns, außer, dass sie mit mir geschimpft haben und ich auch Schläge bekam. Ich kann mir nicht vorstellen, dass sie gläubig waren, denn ich bin nicht jüdisch erzogen worden. Wir haben keinen jüdischen Feiertag gefeiert, meine Eltern haben mich sogar zu Jom Kippur 1 in die Schule geschickt. Ich wusste, dass ich Jude bin, aber ich hatte kaum jüdische Freunde. Nur beim Onkel und der Tante in der Tschechoslowakei habe ich in den Ferien Pessach 2 gefeiert. Dort habe ich jüdisches Leben ein bisschen erlebt. Weihnachten gingen mein Bruder und ich zu unserer Hausbesorgerin, die neben uns wohnte. Mein Bruder war mit ihrem Sohn befreundet. Da gab es einen Weihnachtsbaum, aber Geschenke hatten wir keine. Nachdem ich die Schule beendet hatte, haben mich meine Eltern für zwei Wochen zum Bruder meines Vaters, dem Onkel Isidor, den ich kaum kannte, nach Ungarn geschickt. Danach hat die Mutter gesagt: 'Was sitzt du hier herum, such dir eine Arbeit!' Sie hat mich nicht gefragt, was ich werden will oder mit mir beraten, was ich werden könnte. Das war furchtbar! Ich bin mir eine Arbeit suchen gegangen. Dann hat mein Vater erfahren, dass ein jüdischer Juwelier im 1.Bezirk, in der Adlergasse 12, das ist eine Straße in der Nähe vom Schwedenplatz, einen Lehrling sucht. Die Adlergasse existiert jetzt nicht mehr, sie wurde während des Krieges zerbombt. Bei dem Juwelier, er hieß Adolf Dienmann, bin ich drei Jahre gewesen. Viel habe ich nicht gelernt, aber ich wollte ja auch nicht Juwelier werden.

Als Kind war ich bei der Jugendbewegung der Sozialdemokraten, den 'Roten Falken' und bei den Naturfreunden. Es war nett dort, wir haben Ausflüge gemacht. Die Führer der 'Roten Falken' waren Achtzehn- bis Neunzehnjährige, die versucht haben, junge Leute für die Kommunistische Partei zu werben. Ich war in der Organisation, die sich Weltjugendliga nannte. Die Organisation gehörte zu den Freimaurern 3. Zusammen waren wir zwanzig - Juden und Christen. Wir haben uns mit sehr anspruchsvollen intellektuellen Problemen beschäftigt, haben diskutiert, Bücher besprochen und uns mit Psychoanalyse beschäftigt. Ein Teil der Mitglieder waren Jungkommunisten. Dann war ich bei den revolutionären Sozialisten und von dort kam ich zu den Jungkommunisten. Ab 1934 4 war ich im illegalen Kommunistischen Jugendverband. Das war eine militärische Zeit damals. Die haben mich mit einem Rucksack, in dem Waffen waren, durch Wien geschickt, damit wir in einer Wohnung mit den Waffen trainieren können - Wehrsport wurde das genannt. Der Hitler war in Deutschland, in Spanien der Bürgerkrieg 5, und ich wollte für die Revolution der Arbeiter trainieren. Ich wäre wahrscheinlich auch mit der Waffe in der Hand für meine Ideale kämpfen gegangen. Ich habe überhaupt nicht begriffen, was dadurch alles auf mich hätte zukommen können. Abends war ich fast nie zu Hause. Ich habe mir ein Brot mitgenommen, und wir haben dann unsere Abende zusammen verbracht. Wir saßen an der Donau - das war 1937 illegal - weil zu der Zeit in Österreich die Kommunistische Partei, die Sozialdemokratische Partei und die Nazis verboten waren.

Während des Krieges

Meine Lehre wäre normalerweise vier Jahre gewesen, ich hab sie nicht zu Ende machen können. Ich habe ja erst 1935 begonnen, und im Jahre 1938 sind die Deutschen einmarschiert. Da sind wir, eine Handvoll Jungkommunisten zusammen mit einer Handvoll der christlichen Jugend, die Nazis sind schon auf allen Straßen mit den Fahnen marschiert, nach Floridsdorf, weil es hieß, dass es in Floridsdorf Widerstand gäbe. In Floridsdorf war kein Mensch, und als wir die Deutschen sahen, gingen wir so unauffällig wie möglich an ihnen vorbei. Dann haben wir uns gefragt: Was machen wir jetzt? Mitternacht bin ich in die Straßenbahn eingestiegen, ich hatte eine Gewerkschaftsfahrkarte, die habe ich dem Schaffner gezeigt. Ich habe zu ihm gesagt, das ich heute wahrscheinlich das letzte Mal mit dieser Karte fahren kann, weil ab Morgen... Sagt er: 'Lassen Sie mich in Ruhe, lassen Sie mich bitte in Ruhe, ich will von alldem nichts wissen.' Alle haben Angst gehabt.

Als ich in der Werkstatt bei meinem Lehrmeister war, ist die Gestapo gekommen. Die haben mich aber nicht gekannt, die wussten nichts von meiner politischen Überzeugung. Sie haben angefangen nach Schmuck zu suchen und haben zu meinem Chef gesagt: 'Kommen Sie, wir fahren zu Ihnen nach Hause.' Und der hat mir zugeflüstert: 'Geh Willy, bitte ruf meine Mutter an, am Kasten oben ist das Gold, sie soll es verstecken.' Die haben das bemerkt und haben zu mir gesagt: 'Du hast ein Rad, fahr hinter unserem Taxi her, wir werden langsam fahren.' So konnte ich die Mutter meines Chefs nicht anrufen. Sie haben meinem Chef alles weggenommen, dann ist er eingesperrt worden. Er hat überlebt, ich habe ihn noch einmal in New York getroffen. Am nächsten Tag ist ein kommissarischer Verwalter für das Geschäft gekommen. Dieser kommissarische Verwalter war ein Wiener und ein Dieb. Überall waren Diebe, offizielle und inoffizielle Diebe. Der hat alles, was er an Geld gefunden hat gestohlen, hat einfach alles eingesteckt. Und da hat sich dann irgendeine Diskussion abgespielt, und ich hab laut protestiert, ich konnte ja nicht abschätzen, was wirklich passiert. Ich habe zu ihm gesagt: 'Sie sind ein Schwein! Sie stehlen hier alles, wieso wissen Sie denn, was in zwei Jahren sein wird? Wieso wissen sie das? Wer weiß, wie sich das verändern wird.' Dieser kommissarische Verwalter, der Dieb, hat daraufhin den Laden von innen zugesperrt und die Polizei geholt. Er hat behauptet, ich hätte den Führer beleidigt. Wiener Polizisten kamen und haben mich verhaftet und aufs Kommissariat geführt. Der Kommissar hat zu mir gesagt: 'Sag einmal Buberl, bist du wahnsinnig, wie kannst denn du so etwas sagen?' Ich habe alles abgestritten und gesagt: 'Bitte sind Sie so lieb, rufen Sie meine Eltern an, ich habe vor dem Laden mein Fahrrad stehen.' Das hat er tatsächlich gemacht. Von dort bin ich zur Gestapo geführt worden und bin ich zu einem gekommen, der mich verhört hat. Der war ganz ein junger Kerl, ein typischer Wiener. Er hat zu mir gesagt: 'Sag mal, was machst du denn?' Ich hab gesagt: 'Ich habe doch gar nichts gesagt, ich habe überhaupt nichts gesagt. Der hat dort gestohlen, und es hat ihm wahrscheinlich nicht gepasst, dass ich das gesehen habe. Da hat er mich verhaften lassen.' 'Was willst du machen, wenn du freikommst?' fragte er mich. Ich hab ihm gesagt, dass ich dann wegrennen werde. Nach dem Gespräch bin ich ins Gefängnis auf der Elisabethpromenade in Wien gekommen - dort war ich zwei Monate. In zwei großen Zimmern waren 80 Juden gefangen. Wir hatten zwei Klos - es waren fürchterliche Zustände.

Jeden Abend wurden Leute aufgerufen, die sind nach Dachau, ins KZ gebracht worden. Nach welchem Prinzip, hat niemand gewusst. Niemand hat etwas zu tun gehabt, aber ich durfte arbeiten, weil dort kommunistische Genossen eingesperrt waren, keine Juden, die das Essen ausgetragen haben und die ich kannte. So konnte ich Strohsäcke stopfen. Es war auch noch möglich, am Morgen zum Wachtmeister zu gehen, das waren noch alles Österreicher, und zu sagen: 'Schutzhäftling Willhelm Steiner bittet zum Frühstück in die Kantine gehen zu dürfen.' Das war damals noch erlaubt. Ich hatte einen Zettel, auf den ich meine Essenswünsche geschrieben habe: drei Margarinen, zwei Liter Milch, fünf Semmeln. Bekommen habe ich eine Margarine, einen halben Liter Milch und Semmeln. Das habe ich hinaufgetragen und den Leuten in den Zimmern gegeben. Ich habe das gar nicht gebraucht. Ich war ein junger Bursche, Suppe hat mir genügt. Eines Morgens um fünf Uhr, wurde ich aufgerufen: 'Steiner Willhelm, Sachen nehmen' - ich habe ja gar nichts gehabt - 'mitkommen!' Da habe ich gedacht, jetzt ist alles aus. Er hat mich hinunter geführt, hat die Tür aufgemacht und gesagt: 'Verschwinde!' Ich konnte gehen.

Ich bin nach Hause zur Tante und meiner Mutter, bin ein paar Tage daheim geblieben und habe dann versucht, illegal in die Schweiz zu flüchten. Mein Vater war verhaftet worden und nach Dachau [Anm.: KZ Dachau, Deutschland] verschleppt. Das Geschäft war arisiert und ausgeraubt, meine Mutter war zu ihrer Schwester und deren christlichen Mann gezogen. Sie starb 1940 an ihrem Herzleiden, ihren Mann, meinen Vater, hat sie nie mehr gesehen.

Ich bin nach Feldkirch gefahren. Dort hat man Schlepper gefunden, weil viele flüchten wollten. Ein junger Bursche wurde mir gezeigt, der hat mich und andere Leute bis zur Grenze geführt. In der Schweiz haben wir einen Lastwagen aufgehalten und sind nach Zürich gefahren. In Zürich bin ich zur Kultusgemeinde gegangen. Die Leute dort in der Kultusgemeinde waren sehr nett zu mir, haben mir zwanzig Franken Unterstützung gegeben, und ich habe mit einem anderen Burschen ein Quartier gesucht. Kurze Zeit später wollte man die 'Fremden' in der Schweiz nicht mehr.

Ich habe aus der Schweiz meinem Vater ein falsches Visum für Frankreich besorgt. Es hat so Möglichkeiten dort durch die Kultusgemeinde gegeben, ich habe das Visum kaufen können, das war nicht so teuer. Es war wunderschön, da hat einer gekrixelt und Marken draufgeklebt, und ich habe das nach Wien geschickt. Mein Onkel, der Christ, ist damit zur Gestapo gegangen und hat gesagt: 'Hören Sie, der Jakob Steiner hat ein Visum, er verschwindet sofort.' Dadurch wurde mein Vater aus dem KZ Dachau entlassen. Er ist dann auch illegal in die Schweiz gekommen, und ich habe ihn eine Woche bei einem Schweizer untergebracht. Mein Vater hat fürchterlich ausgeschaut nach dem KZ. Ich war erschüttert, als ich ihn gesehen habe, er war kaum wiederzuerkennen. Er hat sehr viel mitgemacht damals.

Zu dieser Zeit konnte man schon nicht mehr zur Schweizer Polizei gehen und sagen, ich möchte Asyl haben, denn das war gefährlich. Da haben sie schon Leute wieder zurückgeschickt. Ich hatte alles für meinen Vater organisiert. Er wurde zur französischen Grenze gebracht und nach Frankreich geschickt, und ich war froh, dass er draußen war. In Frankreich hat sich mein Vater dann einer Widerstandsgruppe in St. Etienne angeschlossen. Er hat 1942/1943 unter anderem bei der Anti-Nazipropaganda mitgearbeitet. Ich besitze ein Dokument in französischer und deutscher Sprache über den Widerstand meines Vaters in Frankreich.

Wir mussten in ein Lager, das war ein ehemaliges Haus der Naturfreunde oben am Berg. Wir haben da geschlafen irgendwo unterm Dach. Unten sind die Mäuse herum gerannt, aber das war nicht schlimm. Dort haben wir Fußball und Theater gespielt, sonst nichts. Ich habe mir eine Blutvergiftung geholt und musste ins Spital. In zwei, drei Tagen war ich fast gesund, wollte aber noch im Spital bleiben. Deshalb habe ich das Fieberthermometer warm gerieben. Alle haben das gewusst, aber ich durfte noch drei Wochen bleiben. Ich hatte sogar Ausgang und bin in die Oper gegangen, die Karte hatte ich vom Direktor der Oper. Ich war beim Operndirektor, habe gesagt: ich bin Österreicher, Jude, bin geflüchtet und sehr interessiert an der Oper, und ob er nicht eine Karte für mich hat. Er hat mir tatsächlich eine Karte gegeben. Ich bin dann oft am Abend in die Oper gegangen, und am Morgen habe ich das Thermometer wieder warm gerieben.

Nach dem Krankenhausaufenthalt habe ich mich gemeldet für die Arbeit auf dem Lande, um zu helfen während des Krieges. Wir wohnten in einer großen Baracke, das Essen war nicht sehr gut, es war doch eher so eine Art Arbeitslager. Die Bauern haben uns in den Wald geführt, da haben wir Holz geschlagen.

Dann haben die Schweizer Kommunisten Kontakt zu mir aufgenommen, aber Aktionen gab es keine. Eines Tages, mitten in der Nacht um drei oder um vier Uhr, ist die Schweizer Kriminalpolizei gekommen und hat mich aus dem Bett geholt. Sie haben mich in ein Auto gesetzt, haben mich in die Polizei geführt und gesagt, ich sei ein illegaler Kommunist. Ich habe das abgestritten, denn ich hatte ja wirklich nichts gemacht. Sie haben mich zwei Tage eingesperrt, wieder frei gelassen, kurze Zeit später wieder verhaftet und verhört. Sie haben mir meine persönlichen Sachen weggenommen, ich hatte eine Tasche mit Briefen von der Mutter, vom Vater und von der Tante. Das liegt alles noch in der Schweiz, irgendwo in einem Keller, das habe ich nie wieder gekriegt. Die haben meine Briefe durchgelesen und da war ein Brief von meinem Freund Kurtl Holzhacker, der hatte mir aus Palästina geschrieben: Lieber Willi, leite die Zelle anständig - oder so ähnlich. Die Zelle hätte ja auch eine homosexuelle Zelle sein können. Der Schweizer hat gesagt: 'Sie sind ein aktiver Kommunist!' Ich habe ihm gesagt, dass ich nicht aktiv bin. 'Sie sind aktiv, sagen Sie mir, wie stehen Sie zur Sowjetunion?' Was sollte ich ihm sagen? Ich habe ihm gesagt, dass es da keinen Antisemitismus gibt. Ha ha ha! Ich habe das damals ja so geglaubt.

Das nächste Mal wurde ich direkt vom Bett weg verhaftet. Sie haben mich nicht mehr in die Bezirksorganisation gebracht, sondern in einem Zug transportiert, der eine Zelle hatte. Im Zuchthaus in Regensdorf, einem Ort neben Zürich, musste ich mich ausziehen, habe eine Uniform und die Blechnummer 490 bekommen. Sie haben mich dann in eine winzige Einzelzelle gesteckt und haben mir gesagt, wenn ich irgendwann wieder rauskomme, muss die Blechnummer, die sie an der Zellentür gehängt haben, zurückgegeben werden. Ich war nervlich ziemlich fertig. Dann habe ich mir überlegt, was ich in dieser Situation machen kann. Ich begann herum zu turnen, einige Zeit danach habe ich Arbeit bekommen, Tüten kleben und Sackerl picken.

Einige Monate davor war eine Konferenz mehrerer Staaten darüber, was mit den Juden zu geschehen habe. Niemand wollte die Juden aufnehmen. Ganz knapp vorher war ein Mann von einer amerikanisch - jüdischen Organisation in der Schweiz, der hat junge Menschen gesucht, die in die Dominikanische Republik fahren wollen. Trujillo y Molina, der Präsident der Dominikanischen Republik, hatte die Absicht, weiße junge Menschen in sein Land zu holen, die Kinder machen sollten. Das war sein Ziel, das hat er auch gesagt. Er hat auch Juden genommen, Hauptsache weiß. Es gibt darüber ein wunderbares Buch von Pessoa, einem guten peruanischen Schriftsteller. Ich hatte mich damals gemeldet, ich habe gedacht, warum soll ich nicht in die Dominikanische Republik?

Einige Zeit später rief mich der stellvertretende Direktor des Zuchthauses, übrigens ein entzückender Mann - der Direktor war ein Schweinehund - und sagte, er hätte einen Brief für mich, und ich müsse mir ein Foto machen lassen. Zuerst dachte ich, meine kommunistischen Freunde hätten das organisiert. Der stellvertretende Direktor hat dann ein Foto von mir gemacht, und er hat mir sogar noch seine Krawatte geborgt. Das Bild haben wir dann den Behörden geschickt, und tatsächlich habe ich eine Einreisegenehmigung in die Dominikanische Republik bekommen.

Aber zuerst einmal musste ich aus dem Zuchthaus raus. Die Amerikaner durften nicht wissen, die Reise in die Dominikanische Republik ging über Amerika, dass ich als Kommunist im Zuchthaus saß. Zum Glück ist das gelungen. Weil ich im Gefängnis war, habe ich auf einen Zettel Papier meinen Namen schreiben müssen, der Zettel wurde der amerikanischen Botschaft geschickt, und sie haben den Zettel mit meiner Unterschrift in meinen Pass unter das Foto geklebt. In der Früh habe ich meine Sachen bekommen, aber die Schuhe haben gefehlt. Sie haben mir dann irgendwelche Hausschuhe gegeben, und die Gefängniswärter haben gesagt: 'Verschwinde, du bist frei. Du musst aber innerhalb von 24 Stunden das Land verlassen haben.' Sie haben mich rausgelassen, obwohl meine Strafe hieß: Auf Kriegsdauer interniert. Das war ja außerdem eine Lüge, ich war ja nicht interniert, das war keine Internierung, das war ein Zuchthaus.

So bin ich nach Zürich, und von Zürich mit der Bahn nach Genf, weil dort ein Autobus auf uns, das waren alle die, die für die Reise ausgewählt waren, warten sollte. In Genf bin ich spät nachts angekommen ohne einen Groschen Geld und habe in einem Obdachlosenasyl einen Platz zum Schlafen bekommen. In der Früh bin ich raus - so um fünf oder halb sechs musste man da raus. Da sind zwei Leute vor der Tür gestanden, die haben zu mir gesagt: 'Votre nom s'il vous plait, votre nom', das heißt, sie wollten wissen, wie ich heiße. Ich habe gesagt: Wilhelm Steiner, da haben sie gesagt 'avec nous' und mich verhaftet. Niemand hat mit mir geredet, die haben nur immer gesagt: 'Avec nous, avec nous!' Sie haben mich auf die Polizei gebracht und haben mich in einer Zelle eingeschlossen. Um fünf Uhr am Nachmittag hätte ich an einem bestimmten Platz sein sollen, aber niemand hat mit mir gesprochen. Ich habe überhaupt nicht gewusst, was mit mir geschieht. Sie haben mich dann um vier rausgeschmissen.

Der Autobus hat uns, wir waren ungefähr zwanzig Leute, auf abenteuerliche Weise durch das nicht besetzte Frankreich nach Spanien gebracht. In Madrid haben wir nur in Hurenhäusern geschlafen, es hat ja niemand für uns einen Platz gehabt. Und dann haben wir ein Schiff gekriegt, ein griechisches Schiff, das uns nach New York führen sollte. Der griechische Kapitän hat aber gesagt, er fährt nicht, weil inzwischen der Krieg zwischen Deutschland und Griechenland ausgebrochen war. 'Die schießen mir das Schiff unterm Hintern weg', hat er gesagt. Er fährt nicht, und damit basta!

So sind wir über die Pyrenäen nach Portugal gewandert. Portugal war ein neutrales Land. Dort haben wir dann auf ein Schiff gewartet. Alle haben in einem Zimmer geschlafen. Während dieser Zeit habe ich in einem Bordell gearbeitet. Ich habe gewaschen und geputzt, ich habe alles gemacht. Dann wurde ein Schiff, ein Küstendampfer gefunden. Der ist mit uns allen rübergefahren, das war schon einmalig. Der ist über das Meer geholpert, als würde er über eine Straße fahren.

Als wir in New York ankamen, wurden wir verhaftet, aber das war egal. New York war schon sehr weit von Europa weg, da konnte man schon frei atmen. Ich war sechs oder acht Wochen auf Ellis Island. In einem riesengroßer Saal, da sind vorne einige Amerikaner gesessen, haben wir uns aufgehalten. Wir haben wunderbar gelebt. Jeden Tag hatten wir Seife und ein sauberes Handtuch, und jeden Tag ein frisches Leintuch. Links und rechts standen voll gehängte Garderoben. Auf der linken Seite waren die Juden, die gebetet haben, auf der rechten Seite waren die Liebespaare. Im Hof haben wir Fußball spielen können. Dann plötzlich hat es geheißen, es geht los. Die Amerikaner fuhren uns nach Santo Domingo, über Kuba und Haiti, in die Dominikanische Republik. Ich saß auf dem Luxusdampfer mit einem Tropenhelm auf dem Kopf.

Santo Domingo ist die Hauptstadt der Dominikanischen Republik. Eine Straße ging durch das Land und wir wurden nach Puerto Plata gefahren. Jetzt ist Puerto Plata ein großer Ort mit vielen Hotels, aber damals war das eine kleine Kolonie im Urwald. Wir haben in Hütten gewohnt, die waren wie Pferdeställe. Fenster hat es ja keine gegeben bei der Hitze dort, da waren die Türen zweigeteilt, so wie in einem Pferdestall. Man hat oben den Schädel raus stecken können. Ich habe in der Landwirtschaft und im Schweinestall gearbeitet. Aber ich war jung, und mich haben weder die Moskitos noch die Hitze gestört. Wir haben gegen die Dominikaner aktiv Sport betrieben - Basketball, Fußball, Tischtennis. Die Dominikanische Republik hätte 10 - 20tausend Menschen aufnehmen können, aber wir waren 250 Leute. Wir haben dort während des Krieges gelebt, wie Gott in Frankreich.

Nach dem Krieg bin ich zurückgefahren. Ich hatte ein Visum für Amerika und bin zuerst mit dem Flugzeug, mit der 'Brasilian Airways', nach Miami geflogen. Von dort bin ich mit der Bahn nach New York gefahren. In New York hatte ich eine Freundin, die kannte ich von der Dominikanischen Republik. Nach einigen Tagen sollte mein Schiff nach Le Havre [Frankreich] abfahren. An diesem Tag, an dem das Schiff hätte ablegen sollen, begann in der Früh ein typischer New Yorker Schneesturm. Innerhalb einer Stunde lagen 30 Zentimeter Schnee, es gab keinen Verkehr mehr. Ich wartete an der Straße, endlich hörte ich ein Auto mit Ketten - das konnte noch fahren. Ich stellte mich auf die Straße und ließ das Auto nicht weiterfahren. Ich erzählte dem Mann hinter dem Steuer von meinem Schiff und plötzlich sah ich im Auto seinen Namen: Moshe Grünbaum. Trotzdem er Jude war und ich ihm alles erklärt hatte, musste ich ihm meine letzten 50 Dollar geben, damit er mich zum Hafen führt - aber er hat es wenigstens getan. Als ich ankam stellte sich heraus, dass das Schiff nicht ablegen kann. Meine Freundin war auch zum Hafen gekommen, und wir sind mit der U-Bahn wieder nach Hause gefahren.

Als das Schiff dann endlich fuhr, waren vier oder fünf Passagiere an Bord, darunter drei oder vier amerikanische Zigarettenschmuggler. In Le Havre bin ich auf die Österreichische Gesandtschaft, habe mir Geld ausgeborgt, bin nach Lyon von Lyon nach Saint Etienne, und dort war mein Vater. Er hatte den Krieg überlebt. Mein Vater starb am 18. Mai 1957 in Wien.

Über das Schicksal meines Bruders erfuhr ich erst in Wien. Er ist mit unserem Cousin Egon Fiala, dem Sohn der Schwester meiner Mutter, in die Tschechoslowakei geflüchtet. Sie sind über Ungarn, Italien nach Frankreich gekommen. Mein Bruder wurde in Frankreich im Internierungslager Gurs interniert und 1943 nach Drancy gebracht. Von Drancy wurde er nach Sobibor 6 oder Majdanek 7 deportiert und ermordet. Die Franzosen waren nicht so feine Leute, wie sie sich darstellen, sie waren großzügig. Wenn die Deutschen gesagt haben, wir brauchen heute fünfhundert Juden, haben sie ihnen fünfhundert Juden gegeben. Mein Bruder war sehr jähzornig, ich hoffe, dass er sich aufgebäumt hat und sie ihn erschossen haben. Mein Cousin Egon ist zu den Kämpfern der Marquis, der Untergrundbewegung, gegangen. Zumindest haben die eine Waffe in der Hand gehabt und schießen können. Das ist ja der schreckliche Vorwurf, aber man darf niemandem einen Vorwurf machen. Viele junge Israelis sagen: 'Wie die Lämmer habt ihr euch zur Schlachtbank treiben lassen. Wenn jeder zehnte Jude sich körperlich gewehrt hätte...', aber so war es nicht. Mein Cousin hat in Frankreich gekämpft und hat überlebt. Er war sogar Offizier und ist nach dem Krieg nach Wien zurückgegangen. Sein Vater, mein Onkel, war schon gestorben, aber seine Mutter, war da. Später ist mein Cousin Egon an Krebs gestorben. Das war schrecklich.

Wenn man nur den 'Baruch Atah Adonai' [Anm.: Gelobt Seist Du, Ewiger unser G'tt - Beginn der Segenssprüche] im Schädel hat, ist das schlimm. Zum Beispiel die orthodoxen Juden in Israel, wenn die heutzutage noch so herum rennen mit den schwarzen Hüten oder den Fellkappen auf den Köpfen - ist das doch ein Wahnsinn. Und dass sie am Schabbat 8 Steine auf fahrende Autos werfen, ist auch Wahnsinn. Die Regierung kann nichts dagegen machen, das ist ja die Katastrophe, denn diese Leute waren es ja, die das Judentum über Jahrtausende der Verfolgung erhalten haben. Das ist ja so eine komplizierte Geschichte. Die Orthodoxen dürfen natürlich existieren, sie dürfen auch so orthodox sein, wie sie wollen. Sie dürfen halt nicht die Macht haben.

Nach dem Krieg

Als ich Ende 1947 nach Wien zurückkam, hatte ich nichts. Zuerst hatte ich versucht, in meinem Beruf, als Goldschmied, zu arbeiten. Mein Vater war ja Goldschmied und ein bisschen hatte ich gelernt, aber es ist nicht gelungen. Einmal habe ich Gold schmelzen müssen, da ist das alles daneben geronnen. Ich bin dann zur Kommunistischen Partei gegangen und habe für die Russen gearbeitet. Ich war Mitglied der KPÖ und die Russen wollten, dass ein Kulturreferat entsteht. Ich wurde ein Kulturreferent für die USIA 8 Betriebe. Immer ein russischer Offizier und ein Österreicher waren für einen Betrieb zuständig. Ich war durch einen Freund in der Partei Kulturreferent in der Lebensmittel Branche.

Zum Glück war ich nie im KZ. Als ich sechzehn oder siebzehn Jahre alt war, war ich naiv und habe nichts gewusst. Auch später habe ich nichts Schlechtes über die Sowjetunion und über Stalin glauben wollen. Als Chruschtschow 9 seine Rede auf dem XX. Parteitag 10 der KPdSU in Russland gehalten hat, habe ich begonnen, politisch umzudenken. Aber ich hatte einen guten Posten im Kulturreferat, und das hat mir genügt. Das Kulturreferat ist dann, Gott sei Dank, liquidiert worden, wir hatten ja sowieso nicht viel gearbeitet. Danach habe ich eine Arbeit in einem USIA Betrieb, im Ölgeschäft, in der Lobau bekommen. Das war eine sehr gute Arbeit.

Meine Frau Irene, geborene Hänsel, ist 1921 in Tschischkowitz, im heutigen Tschechien geboren. Ich habe sie durch die kommunistische Partei kennen gelernt. Sie ist Tanzpädagogin und kam aus der englischen Emigration. Wir haben zwei Töchter, Anneliese und Monika. Sie sind zwar liebevoller aufgewachsen als ich es bin, aber nicht als Juden, obwohl es immer klar war, dass wir Juden sind. Anneliese wurde Ballett-Tänzerin in der Staatsoper in Wien. Sie arbeitet jetzt als Bewegungstherapeutin. Sie hat auch für das Kulturzentrum in Wien Theaterkritiken geschrieben, und jetzt ist man an sie herangetreten, ob sie für drei Monate nach China gehen würde, um an einer Universität Ballett zu unterrichten. Anneliese hat zwei Söhne, Matthias und Sebastian. Der Jüngere ist 17 Jahre alt, geht noch zur Schule und ist ein Philosemit. Der Ältere studiert schon, und er fühlt sich dem Jüdischen sehr nahe. Vor kurzem hat meine Tochter zu mir gesagt: 'Geh Papi, bitte kauf mir eine Mesuse 11.' Sie will sich die Mesuse an die Tür nageln.

Monika, meine jüngere Tochter, ist nach der Matura für zehn Jahre nach Israel gegangen. Dort war sie im Kibbutz und hat den Ulpan, die Sprachschule, besucht. Ich war dreimal in einem Kibbutz in Israel, und es hat mir sehr gut gefallen. Es hat mich wirklich begeistert, unheimlich fortschrittlich, auch die Kindererziehung. Es war ein Versuch und ich glaube, so wird es nicht mehr werden. Im Moment ist es schrecklich in Israel. Jetzt lebt meine Tochter als Psychotherapeutin in England, hat ihren Master gemacht und will promovieren. In ihrer Praxis in England macht sie Yoga mit Schwangeren. Sie ist mit einem Engländer türkischer Abstammung verheiratet. Die Kinder Robin und Sulia gehen jeden Sonntag in die Schule der liberalen jüdischen Gemeinde. Als sie in Wien zu Besuch war, hat Monika mich zweimal zu Or Chadash 12 mitgenommen.

Ich war ein Aktivist gegen Waldheim. Bei der großen Demonstration gegen die ÖVP/FPÖ Regierung im Jahre 2000 war ich natürlich dabei, aber mein Enkelsohn marschierte monatelang jeden Donnerstag in Wien gegen diese Regierung. Diese Schweinerei mit den Nazis, dass die braunen Ratten wieder aus ihren Löchern kriechen, war im 1934er-Jahr so, jetzt haben wir dasselbe.

Glossar

Leonid Karlinsky
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War

Family background

My name is Leonid Meyerovich Karlinsky. I was born into the family of
an officer of the NKVD (People's Commissariat of Internal Affairs) in
Kharkov on 5 August 1930.

My father, Meyer Karlinsky, and my mother, Bertha Karlinskaya, were
typical representatives of a generation of Soviet youth who were so fond of
the revolutionary and communist ideas that they rejected their past. They
didn't recall or tell their children about their roots or about the history
of their families. They were obsessed with the idea of communism and
rejected everything that had existed before - the Jewish way of life,
religion, traditions and their mother tongue. I only realized this when I
was a grown man. That's why I know so little about my grandparents and
their life. I had to put together the history of my family later on,
because my parents never told me anything about it when I was a child.

My paternal grandfather, Pinhus Berkov Karlinsky, was born into the
family of a tailor in Poltava around 1872. I have no information about his
brothers or sisters. Pinhus followed in his father's footsteps and became a
tailor. He was the only tailor in Poltava to receive a license to make
uniforms for soldiers, officers and policemen in Poltava province. My
grandfather had a lot of work and he hired several assistants. His workshop
was on the first floor of his house, and his family lived on the second
floor. My grandparents had four children. The family was wealthy. My
grandmother, Riva Leya Nohim Aronovna Karlinskaya (I don't know her maiden
name), was a housewife, a traditional role for a wife in Jewish families.
There were housemaids in the house, and my grandmother was responsible for
managing the housework. She didn't do any cooking or cleaning herself, but
took on the job of raising her children.

I don't know what my grandmother and grandfather thought about the
Revolution of 1917. My father never mentioned it to me. My father's sister,
Margola, mentioned once that a police officer saved their family from
pogroms and bandits that were terrorizing the population of Ukraine during
the Civil War, but I know no details. Perhaps the tailor who made uniforms
for the police enjoyed special respect in Poltava.

During the NEP (New Economic Policy) my grandfather worked in his
shop. In 1926 he and my grandmother moved to Kharkov. He worked at a shop
there, but also took work home with him. During the Second World War my
grandfather and grandmother were evacuated to Ashgabad, Turkmenistan with
our family. My grandfather was a very kind and nice person. He often
visited us and liked to talk with me while having a cup of tea. My
grandmother Riva was different. She was tough and selfish. She couldn't
forgive my father for marrying a poor communist girl. My grandmother didn't
visit us. She didn't like my mother or me or my brother.

I don't know how religious my grandparents were. Any talk about
religion was forbidden in our house. But there is a story that I'm going to
tell you which shows that my grandparents observed Jewish traditions.
Around 1936 we visited my mother's relatives. Grandfather Pinhus and
grandmother Riva were living in Kharkov at that time. We were invited to
have dinner with the family. During this dinner I dropped my fork and my
grandfather sent me to the kitchen to fetch another. I fetched a beautiful
silver fork and began to eat. All of a sudden I heard my grandmother
screaming. She slapped my face, because I had taken one of her kosher forks
and now she had to throw it away. We had never had any discussions about
kosher rules or kosher kitchen utilities, and so I didn't understand all
that fuss. My mother was quite hurt. She took my brother and me and we
left. She never again visited my grandparents, and it seems that this
incident was the last straw that spoiled the relationship between my mother
and my grandmother.

My grandfather and my grandmother returned to Kiev with the family of
their younger daughter Margola in 1947. My grandmother died shortly
thereafter and my grandfather lived with Margola's family until he died in
1957.

My grandparents had no children for several years after they got
married. Following an ancient Jewish tradition, they adopted Hina, a girl
from the family of their poor relatives from Ekaterinoslav
(Dnepropetrovsk). Hina was born around 1899. After she was adopted, my
grandmother Riva got pregnant and in 1901 gave birth to Aron, my father's
older brother. My father, Meyer, was born in 1904, and their daughter
Margola was born in 1908. My grandfather used to say that their children
were a gift from the Lord because they had adopted a girl from a poor
family.

After Hina grew up she returned to Dnepropetrovsk, her birthplace.
She married Anatoliy Krugliak, a Russian who was the director of a plant.
In 1937 Anatoliy was arrested and disappeared. We could get no information
about him. During the war Hina and her two children, Victor, born in 1933,
and Tolik, born in 1938, joined us in Ashgabad. They were very poor. I
often brought them food because they were on the edge of starvation. After
the war, Hina and her children remained in Ashgabad. Victor studied at the
railroad school and Tolik also went to school. Victor and Tolik survived
the earthquake of 1948. They were not at home when it occurred,--but their
mother was, and died. They lived in a typical Turkmenian clay house, and
Hina was found there dead on her bed. Margola adopted Victor, the younger
boy, and Hina's relatives adopted Tolik, the older boy. Victor died of
stomach cancer before reaching the age of 30, and Tolik had a stroke
before he was 35. He was paralyzed for a few years and lived with Margola
before he died.

My father's older brother Aron, born in 1901, studied in cheder and
then went to grammar school. He was a very talented musically, and could
play the violin. Aron was 16 when the Revolution took place and he went to
study at the rabfak. Later, he enrolled in the Medical Institute in
Leningrad. During the Second World War, he was director of the evacuation
hospital. During the war with Japan, he was in Tomsk, and after the war
ended, he returned to Leningrad. Aron was married. His wife Bertha and his
son Volodia were with us in Ashgabad during the war. Aron was very sociable
and easy-going before the war. After the war he became a different person.
He was withdrawn, led a secluded way of life, and divorced his wife. He
lived alone in a small room for many years, and worked as a physician. Aron
died in 1959.

His son Volodia was a very talented man. He wrote a science fiction
novel when he was just a boy. As his profession he chose the military. He
studied in several different institutes, but didn't graduate. In his last
years Volodia was unemployed, but earned some money writing satirical
articles. He lives in St. Petersburg.

My father's younger sister Margola married a Russian named Golubev.
He was a high official at the Ministry of Agriculture. They lived in the
building specifically designed for state officials in Kiev. They didn't
have any children of their own and after Hina died, Margola and her husband
adopted Hina's son, Tolik. Margola died in 2000.

My father, Meyer Karlinsky, was born in 1904, and studied in cheder
like any other Jewish boy, then completed three years of primary school.
Sometime in 1921-22 my father enrolled in the shoe manufacture school in
Rostov. He graduated and got a job assignment in Kharkov at the shoe
factory. He was an active Komsomol member, and was very enthusiastic about
the Revolution of 1917. He believed that it would improve the lives of many
people and give them the opportunity to study. He wanted to build a fair
society and participated in meetings at factories and plants, speaking on
behalf of Soviet power and fighting against those who did not cotton to
turning over the government to the proletariat. At one of the meetings, he
met my mother, Bertha Tomchinskaya.

My mother was born in 1905 near Golaya Pristan in the vicinity of
Kherson. This village was called Kalinindorf in the Soviet era. It was
founded in the XVIII century when the tsarist government established
national minority colonies in the Azov Sea area, south of Russia and
Ukraine.

In the village where my mother was born there was a big German colony
with a Jewish neighborhood near it. Its inhabitants were mainly farmers.
There was a German church, a synagogue and an Orthodox church in the
village. Representatives of various nationalities got along well and
treated one another with respect.

My mother was born into a family of nine children. I have no
information about her father, Wulf Tomchinsky. I only know that he went
somewhere to earn some money and never came back. I have no idea where he
went.

My mother never mentioned him, because my grandmother and her
children believed that he had another family somewhere and that was the
reason for his not coming back. My mother's family was very poor. They kept
a few cows and worked from morning till night. They took dairy products to
the market in Kherson. It was a big family and they could hardly manage
with the money they got by selling their dairy products. My grandmother
raised her children all on her own. I don't remember her name. She spent
her last years with her oldest daughter, Fania. When the war began, Fania
and her family evacuated, but my grandmother didn't want to go with them.
She judged the Germans by what she knew about them from the neighboring
colony, and she didn't believe the Germans could do any harm to Jewish
people. When Kherson was occupied the Gestapo took my grandmother's house
and used it as their office, and, of course, my grandmother was one of the
first to be shot.

I didn't know all of my mother's brothers and sisters. Ethel was the
oldest, born around 1890. Ethel was married to Mihail Krapivnikov, a Jew.
He became one of the first managers of the Kharkov tractor plant during the
first years of Soviet power. They had four children: two girls, Asia and
Fira, and two boys, Vladimir and Arkadiy.

During the war Aunt Etia and uncle Mihail, Asia and Fira were
evacuated with their plant to Stalingrad and later, to Nizhniy Tagil.
Vladimir, born in 1925, was a communications operator on the front. He was
severely wounded and lost a leg. After the war he married the fiancée of a
schoolmate who had perished on the front. He lived in Podmoskovie. In 1990
he emigrated to Israel. Arkadiy studied at a tank school before the war. He
received an offer to stay at the school as a lecturer, but he believed that
a Jew should be on the front lines in order to avoid any reproaches or mean
jokes. Arkadiy perished in his first battle not far from Kursk. Aunt Ethel
and Uncle Mihail died in the mid-1960s in Kharkov.

My mother's brother, Mark, was a member of the CPSU Town Committee
Bureau in Kiev. When the war began, he was responsible for the evacuation
of enterprises from Kiev. He was too late to evacuate himself, and left
the town with a group of comrades when the Germans were very close. They
were all captured by the Germans in the Darnitsa woods. The Germans shot
the communists and Jews. Fania, Mark's wife, heard about it from Mark's
comrade, a Russian from this group. He went through concentration camps and
survived. Lyonia, Mark's older son, perished during the war. His younger
son, Volodia, lives in Israel.

I also knew my mother's younger sister Ida. She married a man in the
military and lived in Odessa. During the war she and her children, Tania
and Volodia, were evacuated to Ashgabad. Her husband Lyova was at the front
line throughout the war. After the war he worked at the Officer Training
School in Odessa. Aunt Ida died sometime in 1965. I don't know where her
children Tania and Volodia are now - we haven't kept in touch. I don't know
anything about the rest of my mother's brothers and sisters. Some of them
emigrated to America in the early 1920s, and others perished during the
civil war. I don't even know their names.

My mother was the 6th or 7th child in her family. Two years of Jewish
primary school was all the education my mother received before the
revolution, because she had to help her mother and older sister about the
house. The Revolution opened bright prospects for my mother. She was eager
to study. She left for Kharkov, where her older sister, Etia, was living.
In Kharkov, my mother went to study at the rabfak. However, she didn't
study for long and wasn't much of a success at school. She went to work as
a seamstress at the garment factory. She became a Komsomol member and
later, a party member. In 1929 she became secretary of the Party Committee
of the factory and met with Minister Postyshev. We even had a photo of Mama
posed with him. Mama destroyed this picture after Postyshev was arrested.

I don't know exactly when my parents met. They married in 1928. At
that time it was customary to live together in civil marriage without
getting registered at the registry office. Weddings, or Jewish weddings
were considered to be a vestige of the past. My parents just began to live
together.

Soon afterward, my father was assigned to the NKVD units. He was sent
to Volhovstroy, one of the construction sites of the Belomoro-Baltic
Channel. At that time the Soviet authorities imprisoned hundreds of
thousands of people, and these prisoners were engaged in the construction
of the channel and of Volhovstroy. My father worked as a guard of the camp.
Later, he was sent to be trained as a gunman. There were automatic guns
around the camp zone, and trained gunmen were needed. After this training
course my father was sent to the NKVD Officer Training Course in Leningrad.
There he received a room in the hostel for officers, and Mama was able to
join him there in the summer of 1930. My mother lived in Kharkov when my
father was at Volhovstroy, and they met during my father's vacation. In
Leningrad we lived in a room at the officers' barracks. My father's salary
was not enough to support the family, so my mother also had to work. We
also had a housemaid, and Mama made her go to a school for young working
people.

Growing up

In 1934 my father was transferred to Chuguev not far from Kharkov.
There was an educational center for NKVD officers in Chuguev. My father
became a specialist in protection from poisonous chemical substances. We
had a room in a communal aprartment in Chuguev, where my father became the
Chief of the Chemical Department. I have dim memories of a long corridor
and a kerosene lamp near each room. I also remember that we children
watched military training sessions: there were clouds of some type of gas,
and people in gas masks. It seemed so interesting to us.

In 1935 my mother went to Kharkov. Medical services were much better
in Kharkov than in Chuguev, and my mother went there hoping to get better
medical treatment. My younger brother Victor was born there. My father and
I visited my mother at the maternity hospital and talked with her on the
telephone - she had a telephone in her room. This was one of my brightest
memories. I held the phone receiver for the first time in my life. I also
remember that we went home from the maternity hospital in an open carriage.

In Kharkov, Mama and I stayed with my mother's older sister. Papa went
to Chuguev. Although my parents came from traditional Jewish families,
they didn't observe any Jewish traditions. Neither my brother nor I were
circumcised. I believe my father became a party member under the influence
of my mother. We only spoke Russian at home and even when my parents used
some Yiddish words, it was meant as a joke, and with some sarcasm. I
believe that it was because of my parents' attitude toward religion that my
paternal grandmother literally hated my mother. Besides having come from a
poor family in the village, my mother turned my father into an atheist and
a communist. My father was ashamed of his Jewish origins. He always
introduced himself as Mark Pavlovich or Mihail Pavlovich, but never as
Meyer Pinhusovich, his Jewish name.

In 1936 my father was transferred to Novosibirsk. It was the beginning
of the repressive period, and the Soviets created a number of prison camps
in Siberia and the Far East. They also founded Camp Headquarters (GULAG) in
Novosibirsk, as well as other headquarters. My father was appointed Chief
of the Chemical Department at the Logistics Department, supporting police,
frontier troops and camps. In Novosibirsk we received a two-room apartment
and started living as a family. My father came home from work at 2 or 3 in
the morning. At that time it was customary to work nights, following the
example of Stalin.

In 1936 Anatoliy Krugliak, the husband of my mother's sister Hina, was
arrested. In 1938 we received a letter from Zina Levitina, my father's
cousin. She wrote that her husband Zinoviy Levitin, the Director of a big
plant in Moscow, had been arrested. The only message from him was a pack of
Kazbek cigarettes that he threw out of the window of the barred railcar
taking him to the camp. He wrote Zina's address on the pack and a message
"Zinochka, I'm innocent". A stranger, wearing the railroad uniform put this
pack near the door to Zina's apartment, rang the doorbell, and ran away.
There were no other messages from Zinoviy - he perished in Stalin's camps.
Zina was a devoted communist and worked as director of the ch ildren's
home. It was strange, but the authorities didn't touch her. She went on
with her work and was evacuated with the children's home.

I studied at an ordinary school. The students in our school were
mainly the children of military personnel. There were children of various
nationalities in our school, including Jews. But nationality didn't matter
back then. We were just Soviet children. I had a carefree life. I went to
school, attended the young technicians' club and participated in
gymnastics. My brother Victor went to kindergarten because Mama decided to
go to work. Although she had no education, the Soviet authorities sent her
to study at the school for judges and she finished the course. However, she
could find a job, because my father started having problems.

When my father learned that Krugliak and Levitin, the husbands of his
sisters, were arrested, he, being a devoted communist, officially reported
in his office that two of his close relatives had been arrested, although
he was absolutely sure that they were innocent. There was a party meeting
where the authorities blamed him for blunting his vigilance and
excommunicated him from the party. In a few days my father was fired. I
came home from school one day and was surprised to see my father at home so
early. When we were having tea my mother said, "You know, son, your father
has been fired and we may have to leave". My father kept silently stirring
his tea in the glass. We were sitting motionless. We were struck and didn't
know what to expect. We were aware that he might be arrested, sentenced to
15 years in labor camps or even to death, and that his family might suffer
from repression. Fortunately for us, my father was only fired from work,
but we were very concerned about what was going to happen to all of us.

My father went to work as an accountant at the car maintenance shop.
In 1939 his party membership was reinstated, and his position was restored
at work. Soon my father requested to be transferred to another town. He
didn't want to stay in Novosibirsk any longer. He got a job assignment in
Ashgabad, Turkmenia (now Turkmenistan). At first we obtained accommodations
at a good hotel, and shortly before the war we received an apartment in a
new apartment building.

In 1941 my mother and I went to visit our relatives in Kharkov. On 22
June 1941 we were in Moscow, staying with Uncle Abrasha, our distant
relative. On Sunday, 22 June Uncle Abrasha took my brother and me to the
Exhibition of the Achievements of Public Economy. We heard about what had
happened when we were there (editor's note: Germany had invaded the Soviet
Union) and went directly home. At 12 o'clock Molotov made a speech and we
learned that the war had begun. We decided to go home. Mama managed to get
tickets through the frontier units' headquarters and we went to Ashgabad.
We met many acquaintances on the train who had to go back home urgently due
to the war. When we were approaching Tashkent there was a rumor in our
railcar that a train on the nearby track, carrying employees of the office
where my father was working, was to be sent to the front. We heard that my
father was there. Mama ran to look for him. She jumped onto the train after
it had started moving. She was crying because she couldn't find her
husband. We were so happy to see that my father was in Ashgabad when we
returned.

During the War

I have few memories of the war. We were living in our apartment and my
father provided well for his family. Of course, this was a difficult time,
but it didn't touch us. Almost all of my father's and mother's relatives
came to Ashgabad: Ida, Margola, grandfather and grandmother, Fania and her
children, and Hina with Victor and Tolik. They were having a difficult time
and Mama often sent me to take food to them, especially to Aunt Hina. But
she never sent anything to my grandmother. Even the war didn't suppress
their hostility towards one another.

In 1943 the authorities established NKVD headquarters in the Rostov
region, although Rostov was still under occupation. This office was located
in Piatigorsk and was responsible for provisioning the frontier units that
were following the military units on the front.

My father was appointed Chief of the Chemical Department in this
office, and we moved to Piatigorsk in 1943. We rented an apartment from a
Russian woman. During the war a German general was her tenant and he left
lots of food. She shared it with us. She said that the general was a very
nice man. My brother and I went to school. I became a Pioneer. I believed
that once the war was over, we would have a happy and fair future. I was
fond of technical things and wanted to become a military engineer. My
brother Victor wanted to join the military.

In summer of 1943 I submitted my documents to the Suvorov Military
School in Stavropol. My friend Sasha Fetisov also submitted his documents
to this same school. When my father and I came to find out the results we
saw the letter "R" (refused) on my package. I burst into tears and the
receptionist erased the letter "R" and wrote an "A" (admitted) instead. I
studied well at the school and took part in sporting events. However, I was
called a Jew for the first time. While we were having an argument my close
friend said to me, "You are a Jew - you will always find an excuse and a
way out of any situation".

After the War

I graduated from the school in 1948 with a gold medal. When they were
issuing my certificate they called me by my Jewish name, Leonid Meyerovich,
although I had listed my last name as Markovich on the Komsomol card. Then
I crossed out my Russian name, Markovich, put in Meyerovich instead.

In 1948 I entered Infantry School in Leningrad. During my second year
there, I participated in a fight between cadets. As a result, the sergeant
had his nose broken. We had been drinking a bottle of wine and gotten into
a small argument. There was a Komsomol unit meeting. The secretary looked
at my Komsomol membership card, saw the correction I had made, and accused
me of trying to conceal my nationality. Because of this fight I was sent to
serve in Kamchatka, although I was supposed to be going to Germany.

My performance was good, although they reminded me of that fight in
Leningrad. I remember that on 5 or 6 March 1953 we were lined up at Drill
Square. We were told that there was going to be an important announcement.
Then we were released without being told anything. At 6 o'clock in the
morning we were lined up again, and this time they announced that Stalin
had died. In the evening we were in our room at the hostel and, pouring
alcohol into our glasses, I said, "Well, guys, shall we commemorate the
deceased one?" My friend York Repin didn't like me talking disparagingly
about Stalin, the leader of the people. But Stalin's death was no tragedy
for me.

In the summer of 1953 during my service in Kamchatka I submitted
documents to Leningrad Academy of the Rear and Transport Services. I was to
take exams in Khabarovsk. When I was taking my entrance exams I felt to the
full what it was like to be a Jew in the Soviet Union. My friend Yulik
Mondrus, a Jew, and I had gold medals and could be officially released from
taking entrance exams. But we were forced to take all the exams. Yulik
"failed" at the exam in physics. I passed all my exams, but the examiners
reminded me of all my faults: the correction I'd made on my Komsomol
membership card, the fight in Leningrad, and also that my grandmother was
under occupation. They didn't care that this blind elderly woman had been
shot by the Germans. They were only interested in whether she had done any
harm to Soviet power, or cooperated with the Germans. It so happened that
during this period there was an announcement on the radio about the
rehabilitation of the Jewish doctors from the Kremlin who had been falsely
accused of the conspiracy aimed at the murder of Stalin and other Soviet
leaders. After this announcement, the attitude towards me changed and I was
admitted to the Academy.

In 1957 while studying at the Academy in Leningrad, I became a Party
member. Party membership was necessary for any young man aspiring to a
career in the army. My brother Victor, who was studying at the Military
School of Frontier Units in Leningrad, introduced me to Elina Ferdman, a
student at the medical school. We fell in love and married in 1954. We have
been together ever since. Elina was from Leningrad. Her father was Jewish
and her mother, Russian. Her father was a teacher at the school for factory
workers. Her mother was a homemaker. During the war Elina's father fought
at the front, and Elina and her mother were evacuated to the Urals. Elina
was raised as a Jew and wanted to marry a Jew. Life was not easy for a
young cadet and a medical student. My stipend was 200 rubles and Elina
received only 30 rubles. We couldn't afford to buy a coat, but we often
went to the theaters because tickets were very cheap.

In 1955 our daughter Lenochka was born. My uncle Aron, a consultant at
the maternity hospital, helped my wife during the childbirth. By that time,
our family was living in Leningrad. - my father had been fired from his job
in 1953 after Stalin died, since the authorities didn't have a need for so
many punitive guard units. My mother and father came to Leningrad where
they received an apartment. They helped us to raise our daughter. My mother
died in 1967 and my father in 1976. My brother Victor died of a myocardial
infarction in 1975. He didn't do very well in life. He retired from the
army due to his heart trouble, and for a long time he couldn't find a job.
Back then it was difficult for a Jew to get a job. Victor took to drinking,
which led to his heart attack at the age of 40. Victir's two daughters,
Marina and Natasha, both lived in Leningrad.

After I graduated from the Academy, I got a job assignment in the
vicinity of Osha, where I began my military service as a first lieutenant.
Then I moved to Kaunas, Chita and after that, to many other towns. I
finally settled down in Cheliabinsk, where I was a lecturer at the military
school. I retired from the army in 1981 with the rank of Colonel. After my
retirement, I moved to Kiev with my family. My father's sister Margola
helped me with the move by giving me a permit to register for residence at
her apartment. We have lived in Kiev ever since.

My daughter Lena graduated from an accounting school in Cheliabinsk.
She lives in Alexandrovka near Lugansk. She was married to a Ukrainian by
the name of Voloshenko, who began saying and doing things which hurt her
feelings because of her nationality. She divorced him when my grandson was
10 years old. Lena is now married to a Jewish man.

I think I had a good life. I have never thought about my roots or
Jewish history before. Frankly speaking, I didn't care about Israel or
about the Six Day War. I still think that Israel has to return the occupied
lands to the Palestinians. We have never discussed emigration to Israel in
our family.

Recently I've become more interested in the life of the Jewish
community. I read Jewish newspapers and visit the Hesed center. Only when I
grew old did I learn about Pesach, Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, etc. I might blame
my parents, but I understand that they lived their lives as best as their
understanding allowed them. They were raising us as Soviet
internationalists with no national roots. Such were the times, and they
followed the rules of those times.

Now I'm trying to fill in the gaps. I have enrolled in a course in
Yiddish, and I celebrate Jewish holidays at home. My daughter wasn't raised
as a Jew and we chose her nationality to be written as Russian (my wife's
nationality). This was in tribute to the times.

My wife and I have submitted our documents for emigration to Germany.
It is difficult to live in Ukraine. I would hope for the best. Thank you.

Ivan Moshkovich
Uzhgorod
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: April 2003

Ivan Moshkovich and his wife Faina live in a private house in the center of Uzhgorod. His sister built this house after she returned from concentration camp in 1945. Ivan and his wife moved into this house after she left for Israel. Their house is well kept and cozy. There are two rooms, a spacious hallway and a kitchen. The furniture was bought in the 1980s. There is a flower garden in front of the house and a few trees. Ivan is a thin man of average height. He has swift movements. He is a reserved and kind man. Ivan's wife is confined to bed due to her illness. Ivan has to take care of all the house-chores. Nevertheless, he finds time for public activities. Ivan Moshkovich is chairman of the Jewish community of Uzhgorod. During the interview his son Dmitri and grandson Henrich came to see him. They stayed for the duration of the interview and listened to Ivan's story with great interest. One can tell that all members of the family love and care about each other. When Ivan was talking about his time in concentration camps he got very upset and couldn't talk. At his request we gave a brief description of this period without going into details. I saw how painful those recollections were for him.

I know little about my father's family. I didn't know my father's parents. My grandfather and grandmother died long before I was born. I don't even know their names. They were born and lived in the village of Volkovoye in Uzhgorod district in Subcarpathia 1. This area belonged to Hungary before 1945. I've never been in Volkovoye and there's nothing I can tell about it. After 1945, when Subcarpathia became a part of the Soviet Union, a few smaller neighboring villages merged to form a kolkhoz 2 and the bigger settlement was given a different name. Volkovoye also formed a part of a bigger settlement.

My grandfather was a farmer and my grandmother was a housewife. Their family was religious. They observed all Jewish traditions. They had many children. My father, Henrich Moshkovich, his Jewish name was Chaim, was born in Volkovoye in 1890. He was the middle son in the family. My father and his brothers studied in cheder. When they grew up my father and his brothers moved to Uzhgorod looking for a job. My father was a cattle dealer in Uzhgorod: he purchased and sold cattle. I don't know what his brothers did for a living. I don't remember their names either. I know that they were married and had children, but I don't know any details. I can't remember anything about my father's sisters. During the Great Patriotic War 3 we lost contact with my father's relatives and we've had no information about them since.

During World War I my father served in the Austrian army that fought on the side of Germany. [Editor's note: There was no separate Austrian and Hungarian army in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy but a common army called the KuK army.] 4 My father never told me any details of his military service. He was wounded at the front, demobilized after the war in 1919 and returned home.

My maternal grandfather and grandmother lived in the village of Dolgoye Pole, Uzhgorod district. My grandfather was born in Dolgoye Pole in the 1850s. His name was Eikef Yunger. I don't know my grandmother's name or her place of birth. I think she was the same age as my grandfather. We, her grandchildren, called her 'babika', Grandma in Hungarian [This was a form of address used in Subcarpathia].

Before 1919 Subcarpathia belonged to the Dual Monarchy [the Austro- Hungarian Monarchy] and then it became a part of Czechoslovakia. The Czechoslovak government was loyal to the Jews and stimulated their business activities. The Jews could do any business they wished: there were no restrictions in this regard. The Jews did their business and held official posts and the Czechoslovak authorities encouraged them in every way. The Czechs were intelligent and cultured people. Dolgoye Pole was a small village. There were ten to twelve Jewish families there that constituted about one third of the population. The Jews didn't have their separate neighborhood and mixed with Ukrainian, Hungarian and Czech families. The population spoke mainly Ukrainian and Hungarian. People got along well and there was no anti-Semitism before 1938. The only difference was that the Jews didn't work on Saturday and non-Jews didn't work on Sunday. The Jews celebrated their holidays and on other days worked in the fields like the rest of the population. Children also helped their parents.

There was an eight-year Hungarian school in the village. After finishing school children either learned a profession or went to town to continue their education. There was no synagogue or cheder in the village. There was a big synagogue in the neighboring village of Geivitza, about 1,5 kilometers from Dolgoye Pole. Jews from three villages - Geivitza, Velikaya Geivitza and Dolgoye Pole - went to the synagogue on Saturday and Jewish holidays and prayed at home on weekdays. There was a cheder at the synagogue. Parents and children went to the synagogue together. Newly born boys were circumcised on the eight day. When boys turned 13 they had their bar mitzvah at the synagogue. All Jewish families were very religious. They were all very close and, like in all villages, each person was aware of the situation in his neighbor's house. Every single Jew observed Jewish traditions. God forbid if somebody in the village found out that his neighbor violated Sabbath, smoked a cigarette, stroke a match or turned off the light. This was forbidden between Friday evening through Saturday evening. Our non-Jewish neighbors showed understanding of our Jewish traditions. On Saturday our Ukrainian neighbor came to our house to stoke the stove and light candles. Jews were respected and supported in the village.

My mother's family was wealthy by local standards. My grandfather owned a store selling alcoholic drinks and tobacco. This was the only store of this kind in the village. My grandfather also had a few threshing machines, which were used for threshing grain for the whole village after the harvest. My grandparents had a big long house. There was a store and living quarters in the house. There were four or five big rooms. All weddings and big celebrations in the village were arranged in my grandfather's house. The house had a tiled roof while most of the houses in the village had thatched roofs. There was an orchard and a kitchen garden near the house. They kept livestock: horses to work in the field and serve for transportation purposes, a cow and poultry - chickens, ducks and geese. The family had everything they needed. They farmed their fields themselves. All members of the family were used to work in the field. They grew grain and corn. Besides, my grandfather owned a plot in the forest. They stoked their stoves with wood and it was important to have wood of their own. My grandfather worked at the store and renewed the stocks. My grandmother and the children did all the other work.

My mother's parents were very religious. My grandfather always observed Jewish customs and traditions. They had mezuzot on all the doors in the house. Every morning my grandfather put on his tallit and tefillin and prayed. He wore casual clothes like all other villagers. My grandfather had a black suit that he put on to go to the synagogue. He had a long beard and always wore a kippah. Nobody ever saw him without it, even at home. My grandfather even slept with his kippah on. My grandmother was a short thin woman. She didn't wear a wig. There were no wigs in the village. She always wore a kerchief and dark gathered skirts and long-sleeved high collar blouses. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays at home. They spoke Yiddish and were fluent in Hungarian.

There were several children in the family. I remember three of them besides my mother. The oldest son, Ignas, was born around 1890. The next one was a daughter, born around 1894. I don't remember her name. My mother Bertha was born in 1897. The youngest daughter was born in 1900. I've forgotten her name. Ignas went to cheder in Geivitza and the girls studied at home with a teacher from cheder. He taught them how to read and write in Yiddish, prayers and everything a Jewish girl needed to know. At the age of 12 girls had their bat mitzvah, and my mother's brother had his bar mitzvah at the age of 13. My mother's older sister became an apprentice to a dressmaker. I don't remember what Ignas did for a living. My mother and her sister helped their mother about the house and worked in the field. They all lived in Dolgoye Pole. My grandmother died in Dolgoye Pole in 1940. She was buried in the Jewish section of the village cemetery in Dolgoye Pole. It was a Jewish funeral. The ritual was conducted by the rabbi of the synagogue in Geivitza. Ignas recited the Kaddish for her. I don't remember sitting shivah for my grandmother.

My parents met with the help of a shadkhan. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in my mother parents' house in Dolgoye Pole. It couldn't have been otherwise at that time. She was the daughter of a deeply religious man, my grandfather Eikef. After the wedding the newly-weds moved to Uzhgorod. I don't know why they decided to start their marital life in Uzhgorod. I remember a small house, but I don't know if it belonged to my father or if my parents rented it. There were four children born there. My older brother Herman, his Jewish name was Mayer, was born in 1922. My sister Olga, her Jewish name was Esther, followed in 1924. In 1926 Clara, her Jewish name was Hana-Gita, was born. I was the youngest. I was born in 1928 and named Ivan. My Jewish name is Moshe-Tzvi. My father was a cattle dealer. He traveled to villages purchasing cattle from farmers to sell it to butchers. He got preliminary orders from them for the kind of meat they wished to buy. He was very busy in winter and fall when he often left home for several days. He spent more time with his family at home in summer. My mother was a housewife after she got married.

Two years after I was born my parents moved to Dolgoye Pole. My mother's parents wanted their children to live near them. I don't know whether my father built a house or bought it, but we lived in our own house in Dolgoye Pole. It was near my grandparents' house. The village stood on a river and our house was on the opposite bank of the river from where my grandparents lived. This house was built from air bricks and it had a thatched roof like the majority of the houses in the village. [Editor's note: air bricks were made from cut straw and clay, dried in the sun.] There were two rooms and a kitchen in the house. The front door led to the kitchen and there were two doors to the rooms from the kitchen. There was a storeroom for food products. We had simple furniture made from planks: tables, chairs, beds and wardrobes. There was a backyard with sheds for our cattle and a shed for storing hay for winter. There was also a wooden shed. There was a high fence around the area. There were apple, pear, plum and walnut trees in the orchard. We made jam for winter. We grew potatoes and other vegetables to last through the winter. We didn't buy anything and even grew grass to make hay for the cattle. We kept cows, horses and poultry.

My father made his living by farming until we moved to Dolgoye Pole. My mother did all the housework, helped my father in the field and worked in the orchard and kitchen garden. Children were used to work. Everybody had his chores. I was responsible for weeding and watering the kitchen garden. I also brought wood for the stove from the shed in the yard. I also did other chores about the house. We did all work by ourselves and didn't hire anyone. There was no electricity in the village. We lit kerosene lamps or candles in the evening. People used kerosene torches to walk in the streets in the evening. I would like to live in a village now. We had a quiet life.

We spoke Hungarian and Yiddish at home. I know these two languages well. After Subcarpathia became a part of Czechoslovakia [the First Czechoslovak Republic] 5 Czech became the official language. Children had no problem picking it up, but for the adults it wasn't that easy. The inhabitants of Subcarpathia speak four to five languages.

Our family was religious. My father put on his tallit and tefillin to pray every morning. We knew that we couldn't bother him during the prayer. Every Saturday he took his sons to the synagogue in Geivitza. We started going to synagogue when we turned five. Men and boys went to the synagogue every Saturday and women, including my mother, went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays. Even in summer, when it was hot, my father wore his black suit and a wide-brimmed black hat to the synagogue. He took my older brother Herman and me after I reached the age of five. We wore our fancy suits and hats. My mother wore a long dark dress and a dark kerchief to the synagogue. She always wore a kerchief, even at home.

There was no cheder in the village. Children went to cheder at the age of three. Since it was a problem to go to the cheder in the village of Geivitza every day the children studied at home before they turned six. Their parents hired a melamed who taught them at home every day. Each family had their own melamed. They taught Hebrew, Yiddish and the Torah. They also taught everything that Jewish children were supposed to know. They taught all the required prayers: over bread, milk and water, the kashrut and traditions. We knew the prayers for weekdays and holidays and we knew how to celebrate holidays and their history. At the age of six children went to the cheder in Geivitza. My father taught us at home, we didn't have a melamed. He taught my sisters, too. We could read and write in Yiddish and Hebrew. My father was a very religious man. He knew all prayers by heart. We observed all Jewish traditions in the family, celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. We went to cheder when we turned six.

On Friday my mother baked bread for a whole week and challah for Saturday. On Friday morning she cooked food for two days. No work was allowed on Saturday. She put the cholent - meat stew with potatoes and beans in ceramic pots - in the oven. On Saturday, before lunch, my mother took the pots out of the stove and the food in there was still hot. She told one of the children to take the chickens to the shochet on Friday. On Friday the whole family got together for dinner: we always had gefilte fish, chicken broth and boiled chicken. We prayed and then my mother, wearing her fancy dress and a silk shawl, lit the candles in a bronze candle stand. We prayed again, welcomed Saturday and sat down for a festive dinner. My father blessed us. We sang together. Friday and Saturday were holy days in our family. On Saturday my father read out the appropriate section of the Torah. We didn't do any work until the first evening star on Saturday. We had a rest and went for walks outside. Sometimes we had guests on Saturday.

We strictly followed the kashrut in our family. My mother had kitchen utensils and crockery of three types for everyday use: for meat and dairy products and for uncooked products. We never used non-kosher utensils or crockery. Of course, we also had special crockery for Pesach, which was kept in a big box in the attic. It was taken down once a year, on Pesach. If everyday utensils were to be used on Pesach or if new ones were bought they were to be koshered. There was a special koshering spot near the houses in our street used by all Jews. There was a huge bowl with boiling water where all crockery was dumped to be koshered. They had water boiling on Friday morning and before holidays, but when a family bought new crockery or utensils or thought they needed to have their old utensils koshered they could do it any time.

There was a major cleaning of the house before Pesach. Everything had to be washed and cleaned. Chametz was swept onto a piece of paper with a goose feather and burned. All stocks of bread and grain were taken to non-Jewish neighbors. They gave us some change pretending that they bought it from us and after Pesach we took it back to the house. My mother sent us to take the chickens and geese to the shochet. She always melted plenty of chicken and goose fat that was used for cooking throughout Pesach. There was no bread in the house for the eight days of Pesach. We only ate matzah. Several Jewish women got together to make matzah for their families.

My mother made traditional Jewish food on Pesach: gefilte fish, chicken broth with dumplings made from matzah and boiled chicken. She also made pudding from matzah, eggs and potatoes. She baked strudels with jam, nuts and raisins, honey cakes from matzah flour and magen David shaped cookies. She made food for the first two days of the holiday. No cooking was allowed on these days. When the evening star appeared on the first night of Pesach my father conducted the seder. There was a big table with everything on it required for the seder. Besides the festive dishes there was a big plate with greeneries, horseradish and a boiled egg on it to symbolize the exodus of Jews from Egypt. There was also a saucer with salted water into which we dipped greeneries before eating. Every person was to drink four glasses of wine during the seder. The children got a glass of water slightly colored with a bit of wine poured into it. My father told us about the seder and my older brother asked him the traditional questions [the mah nishtanah] in Hebrew about this holiday. When I grew older it was my turn to pose these questions. The first prayer began when there were no stars in the sky yet, and the second prayer was said when there were stars. There was a special glass of wine for Elijah the Prophet 6. The front door was kept open for him to come in.

We celebrated Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. I prayed at the synagogue on that day. When we came home my mother put challah, honey and apples on the table. We had to eat this food to have a sweet and nice year ahead of us. Yom Kippur was the most holy day of the year. Even small children fasted all day. In the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur everybody had to ask God forgiveness and ask other people to forgive them. My parents always went to our neighbors to ask to be forgiven. The ritual of kapores was conducted for each member of the family: with a white rooster for men and boys and a chicken for girls. One had to take a hen or rooster one's right hand and roll it over one's head saying, 'May you be my atonement'. I don't know what they did with the hen or rooster afterwards. Each of us had to say the prayer.

We also celebrated Chanukkah at home. We went to the synagogue in the morning and the celebration took place in the evening. The children got Chanukkah money and spinning tops on this holiday. The children were also allowed to make money stakes during the game with the spinning top. We usually bought sweets and sunflower seeds for the money we got. My mother lit one candle more every day. There was one shammash candle that was lit on the first day and the other candles were lit from it. Three prayers were said while lighting the candles. [Editor's note: It is only on the first day of Chanukkah that three prayers are recited, on the other days only two prayers are said.]

At Sukkot a sukkah was made in every Jewish yard. The roof was made from corn stems to see the sky through it. Jews had meals and prayed in their sukkot.

Purim was the merriest holiday. Women made pastries and the children took small treats and gifts to their friends and relatives. The adults gave children some money at Purim to give it to beggars. If a poor man came to a house on Purim evening the family had to accommodate him for the night, give him food and food or some money to go. Poor people usually visited wealthier homes on Purim. Purimshpilers also came to houses to give performances. They were usually adults and children from poorer families. They cut the performances short to be able to make the rounds of more houses. Our performers were a neighboring family and we, kids, waited for them to come from the early morning.

There was a Jewish community in every village. Wealthier people helped the poor giving them food or gifts on Saturday and Jewish holidays. They always provided help for the needy. At that time people had stronger bonds. My family always made charity contributions and my mother always took some food to poor families living in our street. Perhaps, the community organized more activities, but I don't know about it.

We went to study at the lower secondary state school in the village when we turned seven. I started school in 1935. In 1918 the language of teaching at school became Czech. There were 14 Jewish families in Dolgoye Pole at the most and there weren't many Jewish children at school. There were about 40 families in Dolgoye Pole. The village was small and there weren't many children in each class. It was a small school. There was no anti-Semitism and there couldn't be any. Children usually adopt their parents' attitudes and the adults treated the Jews with respect.

In 1938 the Hungarians returned to Subcarpathia. Only this was a fascist Hungary, an ally of Germany. The attitude of the Hungarians toward the Jews was dramatically different from the attitude of Czechs. It was calm at first, but then oppression began. The authorities began to introduce anti- Jewish laws 7 and passports. Jews had to submit documents confirming that their ancestors had been born and lived in this area and that they were not newcomers. People had to go to Budapest and pay a significant amount of money to obtain passports. The next step was that Jews were forbidden to do business. They had to give their stores and shops to non-Jews or they became state property.

My grandfather gave his store to a non-Jewish local resident. He became the owner and my grandfather continued working in the store. He received a salary as an employee and the owner got all the profit. The situation was getting worse and worse for the Jews. Later a law on residential restrictions was introduced. Jews weren't allowed to leave the settlements of their residence. We weren't even allowed to go to the synagogue in Geivitza. Jews were also obliged to wear the yellow star on their chest. The Hungarian authorities appointed heads of village headquarters that were loyal to their regime to oppress the Jewish population. Some local Hungarians became fascists. The son of the local count in Geivitza sympathized with the fascists. His attitude towards Jews was brutal. Once he and his friends rode their horses into the synagogue. However, there were no Jewish pogroms. I need to say that the local villagers sympathized with the Jews and helped them. Governmental officials were anti-Semitic, but anti-Semitism didn't corrupt common people.

We began to learn Hungarian at school. It was no problem since we could speak Hungarian. The Hungarians introduced Christian religion classes at school. Jewish children didn't have to attend these classes. Jewish boys of ten years of age had to do mandatory work in Hungarian military barracks near the village: painting, cleaning and carrying bricks. We worked two to three hours every day. If the commanding officer disliked our job he could make us redo it.

We knew that the war began in 1939. We didn't have a radio, but some families bought newspapers. They shared what they read with other villagers and the news spread in the village. The Germans attacked Poland, and on 22nd June 1941 Germany also attacked the Soviet Union. There was a war all around, but there were no military actions in Subcarpathia. The Hungarians were allies of Germany. The Germans came to Subcarpathia at the end of 1943. There were Germans in our village. They gave orders and commands and oppressed the Jews, but there were no severe actions on their part before April 1944.

In April 1944 all Jews were ordered to take food to last for a week, clothes and come to the central square. Quite a few locals gave shelter to some Jews, though the Germans threatened to shoot for such attempts. All Jews were ordered to go to the school building. The Germans took away their gold and clothes that were in satisfactory condition. Then the Jews were taken to the brick factory in Uzhgorod. They made a ghetto in it. It was a huge factory. There were Jews from Uzhgorod town and region there. People from the villages had a certain area in the ghetto. They had to stay in the open air. There were no living arrangements. We ate what we had taken with us from home. Sometimes our neighbors or acquaintances came to throw some food for us over the fence. We had to go to work. We had to take everything there was in Jewish houses in Uzhgorod to a storage facility. My older brother Mayer served in the Hungarian army at that time as a private. The rest of us were in the ghetto: my parents and sisters, my mother's father and her sisters. We couldn't observe any Jewish traditions in the ghetto. We ate what we had without thinking about the rules of kashrut. The men got together for a minyan to pray in secret. The ghetto was guarded by Germans and Hungarians.

We stayed in the ghetto for a month. In May 1944 we were taken to Auschwitz. We took with us what we could. We were taken to the railway station where we boarded a train for cattle transportation. The railcars were stuffed with people. Many of them died on the way to Auschwitz. I can't remember how long the trip lasted. It seemed endless to me.

We arrived at Auschwitz on an early foggy morning. It was raining and we couldn't see anything. There were voices of German guards, dog barking, noises and women crying. Women, men, small children and old people were grouped separately. The Germans were taking smaller children away from their mothers. Old people and small children were sent to the crematorium. I stayed close to my father. Somebody advised me to stand on a few bricks in the line to look taller since I was short. The Germans looked past me. So I survived. After we were separated we didn't see my mother and sisters again. We washed ourselves, put on striped uniforms and went to the barracks. There were bare two-tier wooden plank beds: there were no mattresses or pillows, to say nothing of bed sheets. We were woken up at dawn. There were too many inmates in the barrack and they jammed at the narrow door, while the Germans hurried us with lashes. It was raining outside. We got watery coffee with no sugar and 200 grams of bread. This made our meal for the day and every day we received this same portion. We stood in the rain the whole day until we were allowed to return to our barrack in the evening. The next day was the same. The area was fenced with electrified barbed wire. The voltage was so high that one couldn't come closer than five meters to the barbed fence. Every morning we saw dead bodies hanging on the wire: some inmates couldn't bear the hunger, beating and torture and jumped onto the wire.

We stayed in Auschwitz for five days. I didn't have my number tattooed on my arm, but I was given an eight-digit number. I don't remember it now. After five days we were sent to work in Erlenbusch. We were lucky to be sent to work. My father and I worked in a stone quarry. We learned to quarry and cut stone that was loaded on trolleys. Everybody had to work hard. There was no pity for anyone. It was hard work from morning till evening. We were guarded by German soldiers with machine guns and dogs. Every morning we were lined up and checked. Every inmate had a number. When they said the number the person had to step ahead. After this check-up we went to work. We lived in tents. Those inmates that went to work got food. It was little food, just enough to stay alive.

I learned in the camp that there are no bad nations there are only bad people. One German officer was sympathetic with me. I was the youngest and he felt sorry for me. He gave me a piece of bread every day. Later we were taken from one camp to another. Whatever the distance was we always walked. We walked at night and stayed in the woods until dark. The Germans shot those that couldn't move on, leaving the dead behind. It rained and we were wet. We didn't get any food on our way. I saved small pieces of bread that the German officer had given me in Erlenbusch. This bread saved me and my father. We traveled from one camp to another. It's difficult for me to recall our route. We stayed a few days in Birkenau and from there we moved to the last camp in Dachau, a death camp. My father and I were separated: old people and young people formed separate groups. We didn't get any food there. Hundreds of inmates were dying: every morning there were so many dead bodies that the others had to walk on them! All our emotions atrophied and we were indifferent to the surrounding. When I think about it now I'm horrified. Recollections of this time are unbearable for me.

We didn't get any news from the front. When we saw that the Germans were changing into dead inmates' clothes we wondered why they were doing this. The day when there was no guard left came. There were no Germans left in the camp. All inmates gathered. We didn't know what happened when we saw planes making rounds over the camp. We thought that they were going to drop bombs on the camp when we noticed red stars on their wings. The planes began to drop something that fell on the land, but didn't explode. We came closer and saw packages with bread, butter and chocolate. The starved people greedily grabbed the food. Somebody told me that we had starved too long and couldn't eat too much. I was angry with him at that moment, but later I understood that he was right. Many people died from eating too much. So much food happened to be deadly for people that had only eaten miserable stuff for so long. On the first days of May 1945 Soviet troops came to the camp. This was long waited for freedom. It was a happy day in my life that I'll never forget. We cried out of joy and kissed our liberators.

After I was liberated I didn't have any information about my family. I didn't see my father and thought that he had perished. After the liberation I decided to go home. I didn't know the way and just followed other people. In a village I sat down on a bench to rest when somebody called my name. I looked up and saw my father! It was a happy reunion. We walked on together. We hoped that other members of our family had also survived. I don't know how long it took us to finally get to Dolgoye Pole. My older brother Mayer and my sister Clara were at home. They told us that my mother and younger sister Olga had perished in Auschwitz. My grandfather Eikef and my mother's sisters also perished in Auschwitz and so did my mother's older brother Ignas. He was the strongest man in the village. He could do any hard work. He would have survived in the camp, but when the Germans took his little son to the crematorium my uncle went there with him. They both perished.

Our house had been destroyed during the war. We lived in my grandfather Eikef's house. When my brother and sister came to the village our neighbors told us that they had our belongings. They took our things during the war and when we returned they brought them back to us. People sympathized with us and tried to help. They were kind and supportive. We knew that many former inmates of German camps were arrested in the USSR, but we didn't suffer any oppression. The Soviet power didn't change people's attitudes in our village. It remained a small and quiet village.

My father became a farmer again. My brother studied to be a joiner and then went to work. I was finishing lower secondary school and helped to do chores at home. My brother was very sickly and weak after he returned from the camp. There wasn't enough food or medication. The doctors couldn't help him and Mayer died in 1948. We buried him near our grandmother's grave in the cemetery in Dolgoye Pole. Unfortunately this cemetery was destroyed when a gas pipeline was installed in the 1960s.

After finishing school I became an apprentice to a mechanic in a car shop in Uzhgorod. It was the only car shop in town. After the war people spoke mostly Hungarian in Uzhgorod. We lived in Dolgoye Pole, but I studied and then worked in Uzhgorod. I got up at 3am, walked two kilometers to the railway station to take a train to Uzhgorod and returned home in the evening. Life was difficult. There wasn't enough food and it was hard to get a job. I wanted to have a profession that would enable me to support my family. I believed that the profession of a car mechanic was exactly what I needed. I tried to do my best to learn all I could from my skilled colleagues. I knew that I had to earn money. After finishing my training course I got a job at the car shop.

In 1949 I was recruited to the Soviet army. [Editor's note: Young men of 18 years of age were subject to mandatory military service. The term of service at the time that Ivan Moshkovich talks about was four years.] I started my service in Belarus and then I was sent to Vladivostok in the Far East where I served until the end of my term. I served in a construction battalion. The inhabitants of Subcarpathia weren't in big favor with the rest of the Soviet Union since Hungary had been an ally of Germany in World War II. Construction battalions were the least prestigious military units and the only military subdivisions where we could serve. We worked at the construction of an airfield. Later I became a driving instructor training soldiers. My service lasted for four years. When I came to the army I didn't face any anti-Semitism, but by the end of my term at the beginning of 1953 there were such signs. The newspapers published articles about doctors that plotted to poison Stalin. All the names they listed were Jewish. [Ivan Moshkovich is referring to the Doctors' Plot.] 8

I remember 5th March 1953 when Stalin died. The soldiers and officers didn't hide their tears. Since I came from an area that had joined the USSR recently I didn't feel any grief. We weren't raised with the name of Stalin like those that were born during the Soviet regime, and didn't feel any love or devotion towards him. We, the residents of Subcarpathia, were constantly watched by KGB 9 agents, of whom there were many in the army. I remember I had a friend from Mukachevo. On 5th March when everybody else was crying he was lying under a car doing some repairs. A KGB agent approached him and asked if he knew who Stalin was. My friend said that he did and was sorry that he had died, but he was an old man. He was arrested at night and never returned. Many soldiers of our battalion were arrested that night and never returned. It was a terrifying time when one could pay the price of one's life for any word one said... I didn't join the Komsomol 10 or the Party and tried to stay away from politics.

In 1950 my sister Clara married a Jew from Uzhgorod, his last name was Weber. My sister's husband was a mechanic at the instrument manufacturing plant. Clara and her husband registered their marriage at a registry office and had a party with a chuppah at home. A rabbi from the synagogue in Uzhgorod conducted the wedding ceremony at home. My sister wrote me about her wedding, but I couldn't go there because of my duties. She moved to her husband in Uzhgorod.

My father married a very nice Jewish widow. They also had a Jewish wedding. My father's second wife had a house in Uzhgorod and my father moved in with her. After he moved to Uzhgorod my father didn't work: he became a pensioner and received an old age pension. I was happy for him. They were a loving and caring family. I often visited them when I returned from the army. My father was 95 when he died. He lived a hard life, but he was happy living through every single day. He remained religious: he prayed at home every day and observed all laws and traditions. My father went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays and later, when the Soviet authorities closed it he went to a prayer house. My father worked until the end of his days and could walk on his own. He died in Uzhgorod in 1985. We buried him in accordance with Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery. I recited the Kaddish for him. I couldn't sit shivah.

After demobilization I lived with my sister Clara. My sister and her husband received a plot of land to build a house. They constructed their own house. Then their son was born. I forgot his name. My sister worked at the garment factory. My sister and her husband observed Jewish traditions at home. It was difficult to follow the kashrut. Those were hard years when it was a problem to buy any food, not to mention kosher products. Of course, they didn't eat pork. On Friday evening my sister lit candles after she came from work and we celebrated Sabbath. My sister's husband and I went to the synagogue on holidays. My sister tried to cook traditional Jewish food for holidays. We always had matzah on Pesach. At first we bought it at the synagogue and when the synagogue was closed matzah was brought from Budapest or made at home. On Yom Kippur we all, except for Clara's little son, fasted.

Clara's family lived the life of a typical Soviet family. They worked six days a week with Sunday being the only day off. My sister took her son to the kindergarten on her way to work in the morning and in the evening the family got together for dinner. On Sunday my sister did the house chores and her husband took their son for a walk in the park or to the cinema. I usually prepared for my entrance exams to college on Sunday. My sister and her family usually spent their summer vacation at home in Uzhgorod.

I got back to my work at the car shop. Later I entered an automobile college and after finishing it I returned to the car shop where I became an engineer. My car shop became the first car pool enterprise in town. There was no public transportation in Uzhgorod at that time. I was authorized to create a public transportation network for the town. We started with buses. People weren't used to going by bus and we had to convince them to start using it. I worked as a driver for some time on various routes and then became a foreman in the garage. I worked at the road traffic safety department before I retired, I taught driving rules and examined candidates in GAI [traffic police]. It was strenuous work, but I liked it. I retired last year after I had been working at the same enterprise for 54 years. I never faced any anti-Semitism, my colleagues always treated me with respect.

Some of my co-villagers also moved to Uzhgorod from Dolgoye Pole. They were my friends and some still are. I also had friends at work. I had both Jewish and non-Jewish friends. I've never had any prejudice against non- Jews, but I always remembered my Jewish identity. I couldn't celebrate Sabbath since Saturday was a working day, but I always celebrated all Jewish holidays with my sister's family. There was a significant Jewish population in Uzhgorod at that time and there were always many people at the synagogue on holidays.

We also celebrated Soviet holidays that were always days off. We had to attend parades from work and after parades we liked to get together and have fun - we sang and danced and told funny stories, although we didn't care about those holidays, except for Victory Day 11 on 9th May.

I only wanted to marry a Jewish girl, I couldn't imagine otherwise, but there were hardly any single girls in Uzhgorod. I was sent to work in the small town of Solotvin in Subcarpathia. There were some nice Jews that became my friends there. They said they knew a nice Jewish girl in Chernovtsy. I went to Chernovtsy and met my future wife Faina Shystman, Fania in Jewish. Faina was born in the village of Ozarintsy, Vinnitsa region, in 1937. My wife's father, Zamvel Shystman, was a shoemaker and her mother, Etia Shystman, was a dressmaker. They had five children. My wife was their third child. She has two older sisters, born in 1931 and 1933, a younger brother, born in 1940, and a younger sister, born in 1944. My wife's parents were religious and she was raised religiously, too.

Faina was four when the war began. The fascists occupied Ozarintsy and sent all Jews to the ghetto in Shargorod 12, Vinnitsa region. In March 1944 the Soviet army liberated the inmates of the ghetto in Shargorod and my wife's family returned home. My wife's uncle, her father's brother, lived in Chernovtsy. He took Faina there. He thought that it would be easier for Faina to find a job in a bigger town as well as accommodate her personal life. After finishing school at 16 Faina went to work at the glove factory. We met in Chernovtsy and got married on 7th December 1958. We had a traditional Jewish wedding in Solotvin. The rabbi conducted the ceremony and there was a chuppah. My wife and I lived in Solotvin for two years and then returned to Uzhgorod. I received an apartment from the enterprise where I worked.

We have two children: our son Dmitri, born in 1958, and our daughter Olga, born in 1962 who was named after my sister who perished in Auschwitz. Dmitri's Jewish name is Mayer after my elder brother. My son was circumcised as required by Jewish traditions. They are nice children. They helped my wife and me to do work about the house. They studied well at school. We tried to spend as much time as possible with the children. On Sunday, our only day off, we took them for a walk in the park, to the cinema or theater. In the evening we read books to them and had discussions. My wife and I enjoyed spending time with the children. They told us about their hobbies and they often had friends visiting them. My children didn't face any anti-Semitism at school. Everybody was friendly there. Whenever I had my vacation in summer I took my family to a village in Subcarpathia for two weeks. We swam in the river and walked in the woods. Our children spent their summer vacations in children's camps. They liked it there. After my wife fell ill we couldn't go on vacation any longer and I had less free time in the evening and at weekends.

My wife and I observed Jewish traditions, but we didn't do it as openly as we used to before the war. We didn't go to the synagogue on Saturday. We both worked and couldn't miss work. We only went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays: Pesach, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Purim. There were more Jews in Uzhgorod at that time than now. There were many people at the synagogue and nearby on Jewish holidays. After the synagogue was closed I went to a prayer house alone. We had to do it in secret since the Soviet authorities did not really tolerate religion.

We made matzah for Pesach. It takes flour and water to make matzah. Also, one needs to know that it should take no longer than 18 minutes from the moment of making the dough to the time of putting it in the oven [otherwise it is not kosher]. We always fasted on Yom Kippur and raised our children according to Jewish traditions. It was difficult at that time since any demonstration of one's Jewish identity was regarded as Zionism. The Soviet authorities struggled against Zionism and even arrested people. My wife and I spoke Russian and Yiddish at home, and she learned Hungarian after some time. We spoke Russian and Hungarian with the children. It was hard to follow the kashrut at that time. To buy food was a problem. There were lines in stores. However, we did our best to at least stick to the rules of the kashrut whenever possible. We ate meat and dairy products separately. We bought chickens at the market and our son took them to the shochet. The shochet was working throughout all these years.

After finishing school our son entered the Technical Faculty of Lvov Polytechnic College, which had an affiliate in Uzhgorod. He completed his studies in Lvov. He is a radio engineer. After finishing college he returned to Uzhgorod. He worked at a design office. He was an industrious employee and received awards and incentives for his work. He has patent certificates for his own inventions. Dmitri is married and has a son, Henrich, born in 1986. My grandson was named after my father. My son married a Ukrainian girl called Maria. My wife and I had no objections to their marriage. They get along well and have no conflicts related to nationality. Our son supports and helps us.

Our daughter became a hairdresser. She married a young man called Berman from a nice family in Uzhgorod. They had a traditional Jewish wedding. We had a chuppah made for them at home. My daughter took her husband's last name of Berman. She has a son called Edward, born in 1985. In the 1990s my daughter, her husband and son moved to Israel and then to the USA and live in Brooklyn, New York. They have a good life there. They have their own house. Olga works in a Jewish organization. They observe all traditions. She is a hairdresser and makes wigs. My daughter and I correspond and she often calls me on the phone. Olga keeps me posted about her situation. Thank God my children are doing fine.

When Jews began to move to Israel my wife and I didn't have any opportunity to move there, too. My wife fell very ill and was confined to bed. So we didn't even consider leaving. My sister and her family emigrated to the USA 15 years ago and also live in Brooklyn, New York. My sister and her husband are pensioners and Clara's son and his wife work. Their grandson goes to school. She left us the house that she and her husband built after the war. My son was already married and I gave him our apartment and we moved into my sister's house. That's where we live now.

We were enthusiastic about perestroika 13 initiated by Gorbachev 14. This was the first time in the history of the USSR when we got an opportunity to get in touch with our relatives and friends from abroad. The Iron Curtain 15, which separated the USSR from the rest of the world, fell. Of course, there were some negative things as well. Life became more difficult from a material point of view, but we felt free. Besides, perestroika gave a start to the revival of Jewish life in the USSR.

A Jewish community was formed in Uzhgorod in the late 1980s. My son and I began to go to the synagogue on a regular basis. My son knows the prayers and prays like I do. Jews have always had their own way of life in Uzhgorod, only during the Soviet regime they had to do it in secret [during the struggle against religion] 16. Later, when so many Jews were moving to Israel, there were hardly any left to go to the synagogue. There were times when there weren't even ten people at the synagogue and we had to go home. [A minyan, that is, ten male adults are needed in order to hold a prayer service.] After Ukraine gained independence Jewish life improved. I happened to be the only Jew that could say a prayer properly. I was always asked to say prayers. I refused since my ill wife was waiting for me at home. She needed me.

Then I was elected chairman of the Jewish community of Uzhgorod. Now I teach people to do things appropriately, how to pray and follow all Jewish rituals and traditions. We are all very close in our community. We had guests: rabbis from America and Israel. They liked the services in our synagogue. We are not concerned that a prayer would have to be cancelled: there are always many people at the synagogue. On Friday evening we give them two buns and challah to celebrate Sabbath at home. On Saturday we arrange for a meal. Women come to the synagogue on holidays, four times a year: on Pesach, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Purim.

Subcarpathian residents had a simplified procedure of traveling to Hungary. I took advantage of this fact and got in touch with a synagogue in Budapest. I asked for prayer books in Hebrew and Hungarian which is spoken by the majority of the inhabitants in Uzhgorod. When they notified me that the package was ready I drove to Budapest to pick up the prayer books in Hebrew, with a Russian and Hungarian translation, and take them to Uzhgorod. Now each person can read the prayers. I tell people about how they should celebrate holidays and about the history of the holidays. I teach them how to celebrate Sabbath and conduct the seder. I read the Torah to them and tell them what my father told me when I was a child. More and more people come to the synagogue. Young people or those that never came before come now.

I'm happy that Jewish life will continue when old people die. We invite children to the synagogue to teach them and give them gifts on holidays. Although my daughter-in-law is not a Jew, my grandson is raised in two cultural environments. I don't know whether he has ever been to church, but Henrich comes to the synagogue every Saturday with his father. My son has a 'Jewish corner' in his house where he keeps his accessories for praying and religious books. My son works in the Sochnut 17, a Jewish organization. Dmitri is the coordinator of the Sochnut in Subcarpathia. He replaced a former coordinator who emigrated in 1997. His change to this position took two days and since then my son has kept it.

In 1999 Hesed was established in our town. It provides big assistance to people. Hesed doesn't only support people in this hard time, but also gives them a chance to keep in touch and attend various clubs, get involved in Jewish culture that was outlawed for so long. People visit Hesed with their families and all generations can find what they are interested in there. The most important thing is that our children and grandchildren are raised as Jews and are proud to be Jews.

Glossary

Életrajz

Galpert Ernő az átlagosnál magasabb, vékony, fiatalos ember. Annak ellenére, hogy ez év júniusában tölti be a nyolcvanadik életévét, kortársainak többségével ellentétben, nem igazán lehet öregembernek nevezni. Tartása és alakja olyan maradt, mint egy fiatalemberé, a mozgása fürge, dús haja van, a tekintete tiszta és vidám, az arcán mosoly ül. Az irataiban és az igazolványában az Erneszt név szerepel, de mindenki Arinak szólítja, Ari a születésekor kapott nevének, az Arnustnak a becézett formája. A gyerekektől kezdve egészen a vele egyidősekig mindenki Ari bácsinak szólítja. Oroszul nagyon tisztán, de enyhe magyar akcentussal beszél. Mint ahogy Ungvár sok más lakosa, Galperték is szívesen isznak napközben finom, erős kávét, amit Galpert Ernő felesége, Tilda asszony készített el. A Galpert házaspár nagyon vendégszerető és nyitott. Ungvár régi központjában laknak egy kétszobás lakásban, ez a ház még a csehszlovák fennhatóság ideje alatt épült, az 1920-as években. A bútorzat régi, masszív. Ragyog minden a tisztaságtól. Galperték negyven éve élnek ebben a lakásban, itt nőttek fel a fiaik. Galpert Tilda a családi fészek gondos őrzője. Az emberek már úgy megszokták, hogy csak együtt látni őket, hogy Ari bácsi azzal viccelődött, kénytelen lesz a Heszed női klubjába is eljárni, ahová a felesége iratkozott be.

Nagyszüleim és szüleim

Galpert nagyapám és nagyanyám, akik apai ágon voltak nagyszüleim, Kárpátalján, a Bereg megyei Alsóvereckén éltek. Nagyapámat és nagyanyámat nagyon jól ismertem. Nagyapámat Galpert Pinkásznak hívták, Alsóvereckén született az 1860-as években. Nagyanyámat Leának hívták, az 1870-es években született, de sem a születési helyét, sem nagyanyám lánykori nevét nem ismerem. A nagyszüleim rokonai közül senkivel sem találkoztam. Ifjúkorában nagyapám egy jesivában tanult, de nem tudom, hol. A nagyszüleim összes gyermeke Alsóvereckén született, a huszadik század elején pedig az egész család Munkácsra költözött [Alsóverecke – kisközség volt Bereg vm.-ben, 1891-ben 1500 rutén és német, 1910-ben 1900, túnyomórészt szintén rutén és német (mindössze 200 magyar) lakossal (járási szolgabírói hivatal, járásbíróság, a Schönborn-uradalom majorsága). A Verhovina hegyvidék központja, a 19–20. század fordulóján a Földművelési Minisztérium Egan Ede által vezetett szociálpolitikai programjának, az ún. hegyvidéki akciónak egyik központja (földjuttatás, hitelszövetkezetek alakítása, ill. fogyasztási szövetkezetek létrehozása – elsősorban a zsidó kereskedők kiszorításának céljával – az ország egyik legszegényebb vidékén), minta tejgazdasággal és tejmunkásképző iskolával. A trianoni békeszerződéssel a község Csehszlovákiához került, ma Ukrajnában van. – A szerk.].

A nagyszüleimnek nyolc gyermeke volt, akik közül három maradt a szülőknél: édesapám, Galpert Ósiás, az öccse, Jidl és a húga, akinek nem emlékszem a nevére. Apám húga, miután férjhez ment, a férjéhez költözött valahová, úgyhogy nem is emlékszem rá. A többiek, amint felnőttek, elhagyták a szülői házat. Édesapám egyik bátyja, a nevét már elfelejtettem, a kolumbiai Bogotában élt. Egy másik bátyja, Galpert Mojse Szlovákiában [akkor: Csehszlovák Köztársaság], Nagymihályon élt. Édesapám egyik nővére kivándorolt Svájcba, két bátyja, Jankel és Berl pedig az 1920-as években Palesztinába vándorolt ki. Mielőtt kimentek, még az első világháború előtt hachsara táborokban tanultak. Ezek ifjúsági táborok voltak, amolyan fölkészítő tanfolyamok, ahol a zsidó gyerekeket a palesztinai életre készítették föl, szakmát tanítottak nekik.

Az 1900-as évek elején édesapám családja Munkácsra költözött. Így hát nem csak én, de valószínűleg az édesapám sem tudott volna mit mesélni Alsóvereckéről. Gyakorlatilag Munkácson nőtt fel. Miután Munkácsra költözött a család, nagyapám egy temetkezési vállalatnál [Hevra Kadisa] helyezkedett el. Jidl, édesapám öccse segített neki. Jidl a házassága előtt a szüleinél lakott. A nagyapám köztiszteletnek örvendő haszid volt. Persze az én emlékezetemben már öregemberként maradt meg. Tekintélyes külsejű ember volt, nagy fehér szakállal, és ahogy az egy haszidhoz illik, pajesszal. Hétköznap fekete öltönyt és kerek fekete sapkát viselt [lásd: kápedli], szombaton pedig hosszú fekete kaftánt és a fején jármülkét, de nem csak amolyan simát, hanem olyat, amin tizenhárom mókusfarok volt [Az interjúalany a strájmlira gondol (melyet főképpen caddikok és jómódú, jámbor haszidok hordtak szombaton és ünnepnapon). A strájmli szélén tizenhárom prémdarab, tizenhárom farok csüng, ami a 13 zsidó törzsre (József két fiát külön számítva), a Maimonides által összeállított 13 hittételre és főként az Örökkévaló 13 tulajdonságára emlékeztette őket. – A szerk]. A haszidok ilyeneket hordtak szombaton és a zsidó ünnepek alkalmával. Nagyanyám háztartásbeli volt. Most, hogy nyolcvan éves vagyok, már belátom, hogy a nagyanyám, aki hatvanéves korában halt meg, még fiatal volt, de akkoriban nekem vénséges vénasszonynak tűnt. Lehet, hogy nagyanyám azért öregedett meg idő előtt, mert nagyon szomorkodott amiatt, hogy a gyermekei messzi tájakon élnek, távol a szüleiktől. Nagyanyám úgy maradt meg az emlékezetemben, hogy fekete ruhát visel, a fején pedig fekete kendő van. Nagyon jóságos és kedves asszony volt, és gyengéden szerette nagyszámú unokáját.

Édesapám családja nagyon vallásos volt. Egy haszid családban nem is lehetett ez másként. Nagyapám is és bár micvójuk után a fiai is minden nap eljártak a zsinagógába. Otthon megünnepelték a sábeszt, megtartották a zsidó ünnepeket. Egymás között jiddisül beszéltek. A család minden tagja tudott magyarul és németül. Édesapám, ahogy később az öccse, Jidl is, a héder elvégzése után jesivába járt Pozsony közelében, Nyitrán. Édesapám mesélt nekem a jesivabeli tanulmányairól, életéről. A diákok között főleg szegény családokból való fiúk voltak. Nem engedhették meg maguknak, hogy étteremben egyenek, mint azok a diákok, akiknek gazdag szüleik voltak. A zsidó családoknál szokás volt ebédre hívni az ilyen szegény diákokat, hogy meg tudjanak takarítani egy kis pénzt. Édesapám az egyik nap az egyik családhoz ment ebédelni, a másik nap a másikhoz és így tovább [Úgy mondták, hogy „napokat ettek”. – A szerk.]. Édesapám nagyon szórakoztatóan tudott mesélni ezekről az ebédekről. Hiszen a családok nem voltak egyformák, és a szegény diákhoz is különféleképpen viszonyultak: az egyik helyen lenézték, a másik helyen tisztelték, és barátságosak voltak vele. Egyébként gyerekkoromban, a mi családunkban is szokásban volt ez a dolog. Munkácson volt egy jesiva, és Cháim, az egyik szegény zsidó diák minden kedden eljött hozzánk ebédelni. Édesanyám igyekezett valami finomat főzni kedden, mindent megtett azért, hogy Cháim otthon érezze magát.

Az első világháborúban apámat behívták a hadseregbe. Az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchia oldalán harcolt Oroszország ellen, és fogságba került Oroszország Tverszkaja megyéjében. Édesapám mesélt a fogságban töltött időkről. Nagyon jó véleménnyel volt az oroszokról. A hadifoglyokat földbirtokosoknál dolgoztak, jó körülmények között éltek náluk, rendesen kaptak enni, jóindulatúan viselkedtek velük. Itt érte apámat az 1917-es forradalom. A forradalom után polgárháború volt. Amikor 1918-ban vége lett a háborúnak, a bolsevikok szabadon engedték az összes hadifoglyot, akiket a cári hadsereg vett fogságba, és édesapám hazatért Munkácsra. Nem sokkal az után, hogy visszatért, összeházasodott édesanyámmal.

Édesanyám apja már nem élt, amikor megszülettem. Kallus Áronnak hívták. Kárpátalja zsidói nagyrészt Galíciából települtek át. A családneveket akkoriban gyakran azokról a helységnevekről kapta az ember, ahonnan érkezett. Kárpátalján sok Debelzer, Bolehover nevű zsidó volt. Ezek mind galíciai helységnevek voltak, aztán vezetéknevek lettek. A Galpert név valószínűleg a Galper helység nevéből származik. Ukrajnában nincs Galper nevű helység, bár létezik a Galperin. Lehet, hogy amikor az őseink ide költöztek, az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiába, a nevüket németesítették vagy magyarosították. A nagyapám pontos születési helyét nem ismerem. Az 1860-as években született. Áron nagyapa iparos volt, üveges. A nagyanyámat Kallus Leának hívták. A nagymama az 1870-es években született Kárpátalján, de nem tudom pontosan, hol. Nem tudom a leánykori nevét sem. Háztartásbeli volt. Édesanyám és a testvérei Munkácson születtek. Édesanyám volt a legidősebb a családban. 1894-ben született, és a Piroska nevet adták neki. A zsidó neve pedig Perl volt. A gyerekek között egy-két év korkülönbség volt. Édesanyám után született a húga, Hendl. A harmadik gyermek Jankel volt, egy fiú, a legfiatalabb pedig megint egy fiúgyermek, Nuchim.

Édesanyám családja is vallásos volt. Nem voltak persze olyan vallásosak, mint a haszid családok, de sábeszkor és ünnepekkor eljártak a zsinagógába, imádkoztak otthon, megünnepelték a sábeszt és a zsidó ünnepeket, kóser háztartást vezettek. Minden gyermek zsidó nevelésben részesült. Otthon jiddisül beszéltek, a nem zsidó szomszédokkal pedig magyarul.

Az első világháború idején Kárpátalján influenzajárvány tombolt, ahogy akkor hívták, a spanyolnátha [Spanyolnátha – a 20. század első nagy járványának, az influenzaszerű tünetekkel járó spanyolnáthajárványnak 1918–1919-ben 20-21 millió áldozata volt. Magyarországon 1918 októberében például 44 ezren haltak meg a betegségben. – A szerk.]. Munkácson minden nap emberek tömege betegedett meg influenzában, nagyon sok ember meghalt. Hogy a betegség ne terjedhessen tovább, az influenzában meghalt emberek holttestét kivitték a zsidó temetőbe, gödrökbe dobták, és klórmésszel öntötték le. A legfélelmetesebb az volt, hogy ugyanezekbe a gödrökbe dobták bele a még élő embereket is, ha látszott rajtuk, hogy nemsokára meghalnak. Így halt meg édesanyám öccse, Nuchim is. Nagyapám az influenzába halt bele, Nuchimot meg még élve vitték el a házból. Mindketten 1914-ben haltak meg [Tudomásunk szerint 1914-ben még nem tombolt olyan influenzajárvány, amelynek során tömegsírba hantolták volna el az áldozatokat. Valószínűleg később, 1918 körül haltak meg. – A szerk.]. Nagyapám nem érte meg édesanyám esküvőjét.

Áron nagyapám halála és az előírt gyász után nagyanyám újra férjhez ment egy idős özvegy zsidóhoz, aki a szlovákiai városban, Nagymihályon élt, ugyanott, ahol édesapám bátyja, Mojse. Nagyanyám második férjéről csak annyit tudok, hogy sajhet [sakter] volt. A nevére nem emlékszem. Nagyanyám minden évben ellátogatott hozzánk néhány napra. Bennem ez a kép maradt meg róla: egy alacsony néni, aki fekete kendőt és fekete ruhát visel. Nagyanyám és a férje 1941-ben haltak meg, a második világháború idején. A szlovákiai zsidókat hamarabb kezdték el az auschwitzi koncentrációs táborba vinni, mint a kárpátaljaiakat [lásd: deportálások Szlovákiából]. 1939-ban a fasiszták megtámadták Lengyelországot, és már előkészítették ott a koncentrációs táborokat. Amikor elfoglalták Csehszlovákiát, a lágerek már készen voltak. És ezekbe a lágerekbe kezdték elhurcolni a szlovákokat. Eljutottak hozzánk is híresztelések, hogy a zsidókat Szlovákiából Auschwitzba vitték. A szüleink tudták, hogy a nagymamát és a férjét is koncentrációs táborba vitték, de előlünk, gyerekek elől ezt elhallgatták. De azt azért felfogtuk, hogy a nagymamával valami rossz dolog történt. Emlékszem, édesanyám folyton sírt, és azt mondogatta: „Mi lehet anyámmal, mi lehet anyámmal?” De tulajdonképpen azt, hogy valójában mi is zajlott Auschwitzban, még 1944-ben sem tudtunk, amikor már Kárpátaljáról vittek oda zsidókat. Senki sem feltételezte, hogy ezek megsemmisítő táborok, azt hittük, hogy munkatáborok.

Édesanyám öccsét, Jankelt nemigen ismertem, csak arra emlékszem, hogy volt édesanyámnak egy ilyen öccse is. A második világháború alatt halt meg, de még azelőtt, mielőtt a zsidókat elkezdték volna koncentrációs táborokba vinni.  Édesanyám húga, Hendl férjhez ment, és Nagyszőlősre költözött a férjéhez. Jól emlékszem rá, mert a szünidő alatt sokszor voltam náluk. A férje nevére nem emlékszem. Hat gyermekük volt. Egy lányuk még gyerekkorában meghalt, és egyáltalán nem emlékszem rá. Hendl gyerekei majdhogynem egyidősek voltak velem, egy kicsit fiatalabbak, egy kicsit idősebbek. Hendl legidősebb lányát Szúrának hívták. Szúra egyik lánya, Olga unokahúgom nemrégiben halt meg Izraelben, egy másik pedig, Perl Kanadában él. Hendl Áron nevű fia, aki névrokonom, és egy másik fia, Jankel megjárták a koncentrációs táborokat. A felszabadulás után a koncentrációs táborból mindketten Izraelbe mentek. Ott kibucban éltek. Áron az 1980-as évek végén halt meg, Jankellel megszakadt a kapcsolatom. Hendlnek volt még egy lánya, akinek nem emlékszem a nevére, Magyarországon, Budapesten élt, és az 1970-es években halt meg. Maga Hendl cukorbeteg volt, és 1940-ben halt meg. Az egész családból csak édesanyám élte meg, hogy koncentrációs táborba hurcolják.

Azt hiszem, hogy a szüleim házasságközvetítőn keresztül házasodtak össze. Akkoriban az volt a szokás, hogy sádhenhez, házasságközvetítőhöz fordultak az emberek. A szüleimnek hagyományos zsidó esküvője volt 1919-ben [lásd: házasság, esküvői szertartás], amikor Kárpátalja már Csehszlovákiához került [lásd: Első Csehszlovák Köztársaság]. Édesanyám mesélt arról, hány libát vágtak le az esküvőre, milyen vendégek voltak, de én szinte semmit sem jegyeztem meg abból, amit mesélt. Én akkor kisfiú voltam, és mindez engem oly kevéssé érdekelt. A hüpe otthon volt felállítva, és eljött a rabbi a zsinagógából, ahová édesapám járt. Elmondta a házasságkötés hagyományos szövegét, aztán a fiataloknak egy tányért kellett a földre dobniuk, és rátaposni, hogy összetörjön. Manapság poharat törnek el, akkoriban tányért törtek. Mikor a tányér összetört, a vendégek azt kiáltották: Mázel tov! [héber: sok szerencsét!], és lakodalmas dalokat kezdtek énekelni. Aztán jött a tánc. Az első táncot egymással járta az ifjú pár, aztán jöttek a táncok, amikor a vendégek egymás után táncoltatták meg a menyasszonyt. Minden vendég fizetett a menyasszonytáncért. A gazdagok mindig fölmutatták, hogy mennyit dobnak a tányérba, hogy így emeljék az árat, a szegények meg csak úgy dobták a pénzt, hogy senki se lássa, mennyit raktak. Ilyeneket mesélt az édesanyám.

Az esküvő után a rokonok segítségével vettek egy házat a szüleim. Munkácson a zsidók egy környéken laktak, a város központjában. Ez nem azt jelenti, hogy ott csak zsidó házak lettek volna, de voltak olyan utcák, ahol csak zsidók laktak, például volt egy utca, amit így is hívtak: Jiddisgász [jiddis: Zsidó utca]. A Jiddisgászon lakott a leendő feleségem, Ackermann Tilda is [A Centropa Galpert Tildával (Galpert Ernőné) is készített interjút. – A szerk.]. Mi pedig a mellette lévő utcában laktunk, ahol vegyesen voltak zsidó és nem zsidó házak. A mi házunkhoz nem tartozott gazdálkodásra alkalmas telek. A város központjában senki nem tartott háziállatot, nem folyt növény- és gyümölcstermesztés. Ilyesmivel a város szélén lakó parasztok foglalkoztak. A központban nagyon drága volt a föld, és csak nagyon kicsi telkek voltak. A nagyszüleim tőlünk nem messze, a Dankó utcában laktak.

Édesapám nyitott a házunkban egy kis szatócsboltot. Három szobánk volt, édesapám a legnagyobb szobában rendezte be a boltot. A bejárat az utcáról nyílt. A lakásba is az üzleten keresztül lehetett bejutni. Egy ilyen szatócsboltban csupa olyasmit tartottak, amire minden nap szükség van. Amint egy kicsit nagyobbak lettünk, mi, gyerekek is segítettünk édesapámnak. A bevétel nem volt nagy, de biztosította a létminimumot. Nem voltunk sem gazdagok, sem szegények: mi magunk sem éheztünk, és csütörtökönként tudtunk segíteni a szegényeken, hogy nekik is legyen sábeszre megterített ünnepi asztaluk.

Gyerekkorom (háború elōtt)

Hárman voltunk testvérek. A nővérem, Olga 1920-ban született. A zsidó neve Frima volt. Én 1923. június huszadikán születtem. A cseh anyakönyvi kivonatba az Arnust utónév került, a zsidó nevemet pedig édesanyám apja, Áron nagyapám tiszteletére kaptam. Aztán később, már a magyarok idejében, Ernőnek hívtak, a Szovjetunióban pedig Erneszt lett a nevem. De én mindig, mindenkinek Ari voltam. A húgom, Ibolya 1925-ben született. A zsidó neve Tojbe. Most Izraelben Jonának hívják. Tojbe annyit tesz, galamb, héberül pedig úgy mondják a galambot, hogy jona.

Munkács és zsidó élet a városban

Munkács zsidó város volt. Így is nevezték: a kis Jeruzsálem, itt volt a haszidizmus központja. Munkács lakosságának több mint felét zsidók tették ki, ez mintegy tizenötezer embert jelentett [Bár a város lakóinak közel a fele zsidó volt, de az 50%-os arányt valójában soha nem érték el. Lásd a „Munkács” szócikket. – A szerk.]. A családok nagyok voltak, családonként általában nem kevesebb mint öt-hat gyerekkel. Az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchia idején, amikor a szüleim születtek és gyerekeskedtek, a hatalom nagyon toleránsan viselkedett a zsidókkal, semmiféle probléma nem volt. A zsidóknak ugyanolyan jogaik voltak, mint más nemzetiség tagjainak. Amikor 1918-ban Kárpátalja Csehszlovákiához került, a helyzet még jobb lett. Masaryk is, Csehszlovákia elnöke és utódja, Beneš is engedélyezte a zsidóknak, hogy állami tisztségeket töltsenek be [lásd: Zsidók állami hivatalban a Monarchiában].

Támogatták a vallást. Szombatonként a város kihalt, a zsidók a zsinagógába mentek. Szombaton minden üzlet és műhely be volt zárva, mert a kereskedők és az iparosok zsidók voltak. A nem zsidó emberek is hozzászoktak ehhez az életvitelhez. Tudták, hogy szombaton szinte semmit sem lehet venni, majdnem minden üzlet zárva van. Ezért aztán ők is csütörtökön, pénteken vásároltak be, mint a zsidók. Sok zsidónak volt műhelye, üzeme. A kereskedelem gyakorlatilag zsidó kézben volt, a kis boltocskáktól kezdve a nagy üzletekig. A faanyagok nagykereskedelmével is a zsidók foglalkoztak. Ez egy teljes termelési lánc volt. Először is voltak favágó szövetkezetek, ők vágták a fát, aztán a faanyagot fűrésztelepekre szállították, ezek is zsidók tulajdonában álltak, onnan pedig a földolgozott fa nagykereskedelmi raktárakba került, ahol mindent meg lehetett vásárolni: a házépítéshez szükséges deszkáktól, gerendáktól kezdve a tűzifáig. Sok gazdag ember volt, de persze a zsidók között sokkal több volt a szegény ember, mint a gazdag. Nagyon sok zsidó iparos volt: szabók, cipészek, asztalosok, lakatosok. A fodrászok is mind zsidók voltak. Munkácson volt egy szokatlan foglalkozás, amit nők űztek. Minden férjes zsidó asszony parókát viselt. Amint egy lány kijött a hüpe alól, a fejét kopaszra borotválták, és parókát adták rá A menyasszony fejét még az előtt leborotválják, mielőtt bemenne a hüpe alá. – A szerk.. Munkácson sok nő foglalkozott parókakészítéssel. Nem csak Kárpátaljáról jöttek hozzájuk parókáért, hanem még Magyarországról is, ezek a női mesterek sohasem maradtak munka nélkül. A parókakészítés nagyon bonyolult művelet, a mesterek lányaikat általában már kiskorukban elkezdték tanítani a parókakészítés fortélyaira. Az orvosok és jogászok nagy része is zsidó volt a városban. A nem zsidók főleg földműveléssel foglalkoztak, vagy hivatalnokok voltak.

Sok zsidónak a hitközség adott munkát. Nem a szegényekre gondolok, akiknek segített a hitközség, hanem azokra az emberekre, akik a hitközségnek dolgoztak. Munkácson körülbelül húsz zsinagóga és imaház volt. Mindegyiknek saját rabbija volt, és minden rabbit egy samesz szolgált ki. Sok héder volt. A melamedeken kívül dolgoztak ott még behelferek, azaz segítők. A gyerekeket hároméves kortól adták héderbe, és a csöppségekre vigyázni kellett. Ez volt a behelfer feladata. Voltak emberek, akik körülmetélték az újszülötteket, őket mohélnak hívták. Voltak, akik vallásos könyveket, imatartozékokat és egyéb, az ünnepekhez szükséges dolgot árusítottak. Munkácson két sajhet volt. Az egyik zsinagóga mellett volt egy ház, ott dolgoztak a sajhetek. A zsidók főleg baromfit ettek: csirkét, libát. Nem maguk vágták le az állatokat, mindig elvitték a sajhethez. Ezt a helyet slobriknak hívták. A slobrik a Munkács környéki dialektusban használatos szó volt. Volt benne egy nagy szoba, ahol sábesz előtt mindig rengeteg ember gyűlt össze. A pult mögött ott állt mindkét sajhet. Azon az oldalon, ahol a sajhetek álltak, a pultba kampók volt beütve. A csirkéket összekötött lábakkal hozták, a sajhet pedig a madzagnál fogva, amivel össze volt kötve a lábuk, fölakasztotta a csirkét a kampóra. A sajhet mindkét keze foglalt volt, mert megvan rá a szabály, hogy pontosan hogyan kell kézben tartani és kampóra akasztani a csirkét, a kést eközben pedig a szájában tartotta. Aztán villámgyors mozdulattal végighúzta a kést a baromfi torkán. A csirke még vergődött, és minden irányba fröcskölt a vére. A sajhet leszedte a csirkét a kampóról, és odaadta a tulajdonosának, ekkor a csirkéből még folyt a vér. Ez szörnyű látvány volt. A sajhethez általában a gyerekeket küldték. Mi szerettünk oda járni, mert sábesz és a zsidó ünnepek előtt sok gyerek gyűlt össze a sajhetnél, és beszélgetéssel töltöttük az időt. Volt olyan is, hogy a gyerek hazavitte a csirkét, és kiderült, hogy az másé volt. Aztán az anyák azt találták ki, hogy különböző színes rongydarabokkal kötik össze a csirkék lábát, hogy a gyerek könnyen megismerje a sajátját.

A hédereken kívül, ahol főleg a vallásoktatásra fektették a súlyt, volt még egy zsidó gimnázium is, amit a cionisták finanszíroztak. A gimnázium igazgatójának a vezetékneve Kugel volt. Magas, nagyon szép férfi volt. A gimnáziumban modern hébert tanítottak, azt a nyelvet, amin Izraelben beszélnek, és nem azt, amin a zsinagógában az imákat mondják. Palesztinából érkezett tanárok tanítottak a gimnáziumban. A gimnáziummal a haszidok mindig elégedetlenkedtek, mert világi zsidó iskola volt, ahol a vallásnak szinte egyáltalán nem szenteltek figyelmet. A gimnázium épülete ma is áll Munkácson, most egy kereskedelmi iskolának ad otthont.

Munkácson volt egy jesiva, egy felsőbb fokú vallási oktatási intézmény. A főrabbi egy nagyon híres haszid rabbi volt, Spira Lázár. Róla kapta a nevét a Heszedünk itt, Ungváron. Spira rabbi nagyon tekintélyes haszid volt, az egész világon ismerték. Nagyon jól emlékszem Spira rebbére, hozzá jártunk az apámmal sirájimra. A sirájim héberül maradékokat jelent. A zsidóknál szokás, hogy a szombati ebédre a rebbe meghívja magához a haszidokat. Ilyenkor saját kezűleg osztja szét az ételmaradékait, amit nem evett meg. Úgy tartották, hogy a sirájim szerencsét hoz. A haszidok minden falatot kiszedtek a rebbe kezéből, olykor szinte verekedésig fajult a dolog. Emlékszem, öt éves voltam, és egyenesen az asztalon keresztül másztam négykézláb a rebbéhez, hogy megkaparintsam a sirájimot. Édesapám nem mindig ment el ezekre az összejövetelekre, de én igyekeztem, hogy egy szombatot se hagyjak ki. Szombat reggel apám a zsinagógába ment. Aztán hazajött, otthon ebédeltünk, én pedig szaladtam a rebbe házába, hogy odaérjek a sirájimra. Egyszer tévedésből – ahelyett, hogy ahhoz az asztalhoz ültem volna, ahol Spira rebbe ült – a szegények asztalához ültem, akiket a rebbe ebéddel vendégelt meg sábeszkor. Én nem tudtam, hogy ennél az asztalnál csak azok ülnek, akiknek sábeszkor nem telik ünnepi ebédre. Sóletet adtak nekik, ez az étel babból és húsból készül. Miután ettem velük, valaki a haszidok közül kajánul megkérdezte édesapámat, hogy csak nem szegényedett-e el annyira, hogy a fiát a rebbéhez küldi, hogy a szegények ebédjéből egyen. Édesapám megkérdezte tőlem, hogy ez történt-e, majd elmagyarázta nekem a különbséget a sirájim és a szegények ebédje között.

Munkácson konkurencia volt a rabbik között. Spira rebbén kívül ott volt még Belzer [belzi] rebbe, aki szintén híres rabbi volt. Belzer építtetett magának egy zsinagógát Munkácson, és az emberek rögtön egyik vagy másik rebbe híveire és ellentáborára szakadtak. A két zsinagóga, Spira és Belzer zsinagógája nem volt messze egymástól. Nem tudom, hogy hogy volt ez a felnőttekkel, de velünk, fiúkkal az is megesett, hogy kövekkel dobáltuk meg egymást, ha a szüleink más zsinagógába jártak. Komoly konfliktus volt a haszid rabbinátus és a cionisták között is, többek között a zsidó gimnázium miatt. A gimnázium modern volt, a vallásra alig fordított figyelmet. A rabbik érzékelték a zsidóságtól való eltávolodást, és méltatlankodtak. Voltak elvi nézeteltérések is. A haszidok úgy vélték, hogy nem szükséges kivándorolni Palesztinába. Majd jön a messiás, aki minden zsidót elvisz Palesztinába, az ősök földjére, és itt kell nyugodtan várni az eljövetelére. A cionisták viszont Palesztinába küldték az embereket. Spira rebbe beszédeiben gyakran dühösen nyilatkozott a cionistákról, még meg is átkozta őket. Van egy nagyon híres zsidó átok: kitörölni a nevét, hogy senki se emlékezzen rá. Ezt az átkot mondják Purimkor Hámán nevével kapcsolatban. Amikor Hámán nevét említették, a gyerekek kereplőket kezdtek pörgetni, a felnőttek ököllel verték az asztalt, és a lábukkal dobogtak, hogy Hámán neve mindörökre ki legyen törölve. Van egy ilyen kifejezés, szó szerint fordítva a zsidó nyelvből: kitörölni a nevét. Spira rebbe gyakran használta ezt a kifejezést, amikor a cionisták ellen szónokolt. Megesett, hogy a dolog botránnyá fajult. Volt olyan, hogy a gimnázium tanulói Spirát tojásokkal dobálták meg a szereplése közben. Most már belátom, hogy ez nagyon csúnya dolog volt a rebbével szemben.

Munkácson nagyon sok cionista párt volt. Létezett például a Mizrachi, egy vallásos párt. Tizenhárom éves koromtól egy rövid ideig a Mizrachi ifjúsági klubjába jártam. A klubban volt egy tánctanfolyam, ahol a fiúk a lányokkal táncoltak. Én annyira félős voltam, hogy nem volt merszem a lányokkal táncolni, és nem is mentem többé. De érdekes volt ott lenni. Voltak más cionista pártok is. Volt a Betár nevezetű cionista párt, amelynek a tagjait én fasisztának nevezném [lásd: Betár Csehszlovákiában]. Olyan cionisták voltak, akik úgy tartották, hogy a céljaik elérése érdekében erővel, fegyverekkel is fel kell lépniük. A Betár tagjai barna inget hordtak. Volt egy a kommunista pártra emlékeztető párt is, a Hasomér Hacair – tagjai zsidó nacionalisták voltak, de kommunisták. Ma is létezik Izraelben, ezek cionisták, azaz a zsidó államért küzdenek, de úgy tartják, hogy a zsidó államnak kommunistának kell lennie, vagy legalábbis szocialistának. Voltak más cionista pártok is. Az egyik vallásosabb volt, a másik kevésbé, és állandó ideológiai csaták dúltak közöttük. Hát ilyen viharos és érdekes volt Munkács zsidó élete.

Spira Lázár rebbe 1936-ban halt meg [Spira Lázár 1937-ben halt meg. – A szerk.]. A temetésére nagyon sok ember jött el. Jöttek haszidok Magyarországról, Csehszlovákiából, Romániából, Lengyelországból – mindenki ott volt, aki csak el tudott jönni. Édesapám is elment a temetésre, és édesanyám ellenkezése ellenére engem is magával vitt. Olyan sok ember volt ott, hogy édesanyám attól tartott, hogy eltaposnak engem.

Édesapám, Galpert Ósiás haszid volt, és úgy öltözködött, ahogy az egy haszidhoz méltó. Hosszú fekete kaftánt és fekete kalapot hordott, sábeszkor és ünnepekkor strájmlit vett fel. Édesapámnak nagy szakálla és pajesza volt. Édesanyám parókát hordott, állig begombolt, sötét ruhákban járt. Otthon csak jiddisül beszéltünk. Mi, gyerekek jól tudtunk csehül, hiszen mindannyian cseh iskolába jártunk, de a szüleink nem ismerték a cseh nyelvet, mert ők az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiában születtek és nőttek fel. Az idősebb nemzedékekhez tartozók a nem zsidókkal magyarul beszéltek.

Édesapám este bezárta az üzletet, de előfordult, hogy a szomszédok, ha napközben elfelejtettek megvenni valamit, zárás után jöttek, és az ablakon kopogtattak. Olyan is volt, hogy például citrom kellett egy betegnek éjszaka. Édesapám fölkelt, kivette az üzletből a szükséges árut, és az ablakon keresztül adta oda a vevőnek. Ilyesmi gyakran megesett, mivel rengeteg szomszédunk volt. Többnyire szegény zsidók voltak. Így hát édesapám nem keresett túl sokat. Gyakran vásároltak tőle huszonöt deka cukrot, voltak olyanok is, akik hat deka cukrot vittek, amikor vendégek jöttek hozzájuk, és a vendégeket teával kellett megkínálni. A cukor drága portékának számított. Igaz, voltak gazdag emberek is, akik rögtön egy kiló cukrot vettek, de ez ritkaságszámba ment. Édesapám már előre kis zacskókba mérte ki az egész árut különböző mennyiségekben, hogy minden vevőnek akadjon megfelelő. Az állami ünnepekkor tilos volt az árusítás. Ezért ha apámhoz vevő jött, mi, gyerekek kimentünk az utcára, néztük, hogy nincs-e a közelben rendőr. Ha valaki ünnepnapon árusított, bírságot kellett fizetnie. Sábeszkor és a zsidó ünnepekkor az üzlet be volt zárva, és elképzelni sem tudom, mi vehette volna rá édesapámat arra, hogy ezeken a napokon valamit eladjon [lásd: szombati munkavégzés tilalma]. Nem csak a környéken lakó zsidók, de a nem zsidók is tudták, hogy sábeszkor reb Ósiás üzletében semmit sem vehetsz, úgyhogy előre bevásároltak. Voltak nem zsidó üzletek is, leginkább a város külső részein voltak, ahol nem laktak zsidók, de oda sokat kellett gyalogolni. Édesapám két-háromnaponta elment biciklivel a nagykereskedőkhöz, és bevásárolt. Az apróbb dolgokat maga hozta el, a nagyobb mennyiségű árut meg egyenesen az üzletbe szállították neki.

Édesapámnak jó hangja volt és fantasztikus zenei hallása. Amikor a jesivában tanult, kórusban énekelt. Nagyon szeretett énekelni, szerette a zenét. Akkoriban nem volt lehetőség otthon zenét hallgatni, nem volt magnó, sem CD. Jidl bácsinak volt egy gramofonja, amit egy fogantyúnál fogva kellett felhúzni, és egy felhúzás egy lemezre volt elég. Néha Jidl bácsi vendégségbe jött hozzánk, és magával hozta a gramofont. Akkor hallgatott édesapám zenét. De ez kevés volt neki. A haszidoknak tilos volt moziba és színházba járniuk. Akkoriban a moziban egyfolytában zenés filmeket adtak, amelyekben a főszerepeket csodálatos énekesek játszották: Caruso, Mario Lanza, Saljapin Mario Lanza (Philadelphia, 1921 – Róma, 1959) – operadalokat énekelt zenés filmekben; Enrico Caruso (1873–1921) – olasz operaénekes (tenorista), 1903–1920 között a Metropolitan tagja; Fjodor Ivanovics Saljapin (1873–1938) – orosz operaénekes (basszus), a moszkvai opera tagja volt (1899–1918), majd New Yorkban ás Párizsban élt. – A szerk.. Amikor apám megtudta, hogy egy ilyen film megy, elment a mozihoz, és az utcán álldogált a sötét vészkijárat mellett, hogy senki se lássa meg. Persze a zárt ajtók mögött nem láthatta, hogy mi történik a filmvásznon, de hát erre nem is volt szüksége. Hallani viszont mindent kitűnően lehetett. Édesapám elrejtőzött, hogy ne lássák. Mit mondott volna a többi haszid, ha meglátják, hogy világi zenét hallgat! Ha Munkácsra valami híres házán [kántor] érkezett, természetesen a főzsinagógában énekelt. Akkor édesapám elvitt magával a főzsinagógába. Akármilyen volt is az idő, föltétlenül elment, hogy meghallgassa a házánt. Bár mi messze laktunk a főzsinagógától, péntek este vagy szombaton elmentünk, természetesen gyalog, hogy meghallgassuk a házánt. A mi zsinagógánkban pedig apám énekelt, házán volt.      

Gyerekkor

Amikor három éves lettem, a szüleim beírattak egy héderbe. A fiúk hároméves korban kezdték a tanulást. A héderben a foglalkozások fél hétkor kezdődtek, úgyhogy édesanyám minden nap fél hatkor keltett. Ez főleg télen volt nagyon rossz: sötét volt, hideg volt, de menni kellett. Annak a hédernek, ahova én jártam, nem volt külön épülete, a tanítás a melamed lakásának egy kicsi, szegényes szobájában folyt, az épület a zsinagóga kertjében volt. Nem tudom, mennyit fizettek neki a szülők egy-egy gyerek után, de nyilván keveset. Télen mindegyikünknek magával kellett vinnie otthonról egy hasáb tűzifát. A rebbe nagyon szegényen élt. Segítenünk kellett a feleségének a háztartási munkákban: fát aprítottunk, vizet hordtunk. Ebédig voltak a foglalkozások, aztán volt egy óra szünet. A rebbe megengedte, hogy játsszunk, kifordított harisnyából készített labdával fociztunk.

A héder első osztályában tanultuk meg az ábécét. A második évben már ismertük az alef-bészt, már tudtunk imákat olvasni. Négyéves kortól imákat olvastunk. A harmadik osztályban, öt-hat éves korunkban kezdtük tanulmányozni a Tórát. Ott ugyanolyan a nyelvezet, mint az imáknál, csak hozzájön  még a nekudot [héber: pontozás. A héber írásban nem jelölik a magánhangzókat. Amikor a héber írástudás erősen hanyatlani kezdett az után, hogy a rómaiak az 1. században kiűzték a zsidókat Izraelből, a rabbik az olvasás megkönnyítése érdekében kifejlesztették az ún. nikkudimokat, azaz pontok rendszerét. A mássalhangzók fölé vagy alá írt pontok jelzik az ejtendő magánhangzókat – az ilyen szöveget pontozott szövegnek hívjuk. – A szerk.]. Minden osztályban más rebbe tanított minket, és mindegyikük pontosan az abban az osztályban való tanításra volt fölkészítve. A héderben pálcarendszer volt. Harmadiktól kezdve, a rebbe minden csütörtökön ellenőrizte a tudásunkat. Volt egy bambuszpálcája. Ha a diák jól tudott mindent, a rebbe megdicsérte, ha pedig gyengébb volt a tudása, azt mondta: „Húzd le a nadrágodat!” Kitette a térdét, rá kellett feküdni, és annyiszor ütött a pálcával, amennyire szerinte rászolgált a diák. Ezért aztán én minden csütörtök reggel fejfájásról panaszkodtam édesanyámnak, és kérlelni kezdtem, engedje meg, hogy ne menjek a héderbe. Apám tökéletesen értette a fejfájásom okát, hiszen ő is járt héderbe. Édesanyám próbálta rábeszélni édesapámat, hogy hadd maradhassak otthon, mert én gyenge gyereknek számítottam. Egy időben vérszegénynek tartottak, ezért az édesanyám mindig kímélt engem. De apám ragaszkodott hozzá, hogy elmenjek a héderbe. Igaz, amikor megjöttem, és kimehettem játszani, akkor már sosem fájt a fejem!

A nehézségeink hatéves korban kezdődtek, amikor be kellett iratkozni az elemi iskolába. Csehszlovákiában léteztek cseh oktatási nyelvű elemi iskolák zsidó gyermekek számára. Az iskolák koedukáltak voltak, a fiúk és a lányok együtt tanultak. Hatéves kortól fogva párhuzamosan jártunk az iskolába és a héderbe. A iskolában kilenc órakor kezdődött a tanítás. Otthon megreggeliztünk, és szokás szerint a héderbe mentünk, fél hétre. Imádkoztunk, fél kilencig tanultunk, aztán mentünk az iskolába. Ebédig az iskolában voltunk, aztán hazamentünk ebédelni, és visszamentünk a héderbe. Estig a héderben voltak foglalkozások. Késő este pedig, miután hazamentünk a héderből, nekiültünk a leckének. Igaz, az iskolai tanárok elég elnézőek voltak velünk, tudták, mennyire be vagyunk fogva a héderben. Nem adtak föl sok leckét otthonra, igyekeztek minél többet elvégeztetni velünk még az órán. De persze nehéz dolgunk volt. Az iskola világi volt. Emlékszem, amikor iskolába kerültem, édesapám levágta a pajeszomat, nyilván nem akarta, hogy ily módon elkülönüljek a többiektől, attól tartott, hogy emiatt majd csúfolni fognak. A héderben voltak hosszú pajeszos nagyobb fiúk, ezenkívül édesapámnak és nagyapámnak is hosszú pajesza volt, én pedig rájuk akartam hasonlítani. Amikor apám vágta a pajeszomat, sírva fakadtam, de édesapám azt mondta, hogy amíg kicsi vagyok, akkora lesz a pajeszom, amekkorát ő jónak lát. Aztán ha majd felnövök, azt csinálok, amit akarok. Amikor tizennégy-tizenöt éves lettem, már én kezdtem szégyellni a pajeszomat, és titokban levágtam. Egyszer apám emlékeztetett rá, hogy sírtam, amikor ő vágta a pajeszomat. Sok minden, amit az iskolában tanítottak, éles ellentétben állt azzal, amit a héderben tudtam meg, és ez engem összezavart. Emlékszem, egyszer az iskolai természetrajzóra után könnyes szemmel mentem oda édesapámhoz, és ezt kérdeztem tőle: „A rebbe azt mondja, hogy Isten hat nap alatt teremtette a világot, az iskolában pedig teljesen mást meséltek nekünk. Az egyik a másikkal nem fér össze. Kinek higgyek, a rebbének vagy a tanárnak?” Apám haszid volt, de okos és jóságos ember, és megértette, mennyire rossz nekem, hogy így felfordultak a világról alkotott megszokott elképzeléseim. Azt mondta: „Hallgasd meg mindkettőt. Amit a rebbe mond neked, azt tanuld meg a héder számára, azt pedig, amit a tanár követel meg tőled, tanuld meg az iskolának. Ha felnősz, majd rájössz, hogy s mint van ez.” Az iskolában kitűnő tanuló voltam, és a héderben is elég jól teljesítettem, így hát különösebb probléma nem volt velem. Szombaton a nagyapám mindig várta, mikor megyek már hozzájuk, és ellenőrizte, mit tanultam a héderben azon a héten. Ha elégedett volt velem, cukorkát kaptam tőle. Nagyanyám minden feltétel nélkül adott nekem cukorkát. Néha iskola után is beugrottam hozzájuk.

A lányok nem jártak héderbe. Nekik külön iskolájuk volt, beit jákovnak hívták, ezek amolyan tanfolyamok voltak. Ott is megtanították őket héberül írni, olvasni. Hetente egyszer voltak foglalkozások, néhány óráig tartottak. Az én lánytestvéreim nem jártak beit jákovba, mert ők otthon tanultak. Édesanyám tudott héberül olvasni, apám pedig olvasni is és írni is. Igazság szerint a lányokat nem tanították meg írni. Csak olvasni kellett tudniuk héberül, hogy el tudják olvasni az imákat. A nyelvet magát nem ismerték, és nem fogták föl az értelmét annak, amit olvasnak. Minket a héderben tanítottak héberül olvasni és a szöveget jiddisre fordítani, de őket nem. Igaz, voltak olyan fanatikus haszidok, akik megtanították a lányaikat olvasni és fordítani, de ez ritkaság volt. Voltak olyan imakönyvek, amelyekben volt magyar fordítás. A lányok elolvasták az imákat, és el tudták olvasni mellette a fordítást.

Az elemi iskolába négy évig jártunk. Aztán még négy osztályt kellett elvégezni az úgynevezett polgári iskolában, utána lehetett felvételizni a gimnáziumba. Én és a testvéreim polgári iskolát végeztünk.

Otthon megünnepeltük a sábeszt és minden zsidó ünnepet. Édesanyám pénteken korán reggel kezdett főzni sábeszra. Két napra főzött, mert másnap semmit sem volt szabad csinálni. Édesanyám egy zsidó pékségben vett bárheszt sábeszra. Sábesz előtt édesapámmal a zsinagógába mentünk. Mire hazaértünk, édesanyám már meggyújtotta a gyertyákat, imádkozott felettük. Az ünnepi asztal már meg volt terítve. A közös ima után édesapám bróhét [lásd: áldások] mondott a bárhesz felett, és leültünk az asztal köré. Másnap reggel édesapám és édesanyám a zsinagógába ment. Édesapám engem is magával vitt. Az istentisztelet után hazatértünk, és édesapám vallásos könyveket olvasott. Gyakran fennhangon olvasta őket, én és a testvéreim köré gyűltünk, és hallgattuk. A lányoknak apám jiddisre fordította a héber szöveget. Mesélt nekünk a zsidó nép történetéről, mesélt a Tórából. Aztán vendégségbe mentünk a nagyszülőkhöz.

Pészahra egész ádár hónapban készülődtünk, ez volt a Pészah előtti utolsó hónap. Az ünnepre való készülődés jegyében élt az egész család, az egész város. Édesapámnak nagyon sok vallásos könyve volt: a teljes Talmud, a Tanah, és még sok más könyv. Évente egyszer, Pészah előtt ezeket a könyveket át kellett szellőztetni. Fölállítottunk egy létrát az udvaron, vékony deszkákat raktunk rá, kihordtunk az összes könyvet, ezekre a deszkákra tettük ki, átlapoztuk. Ezzel vette kezdetét a Pészahra való készülődés. Minden napnak megvolt a maga programja. Édesanyám a konyhát tette rendbe, mi a testvéreimmel a szobát takarítottuk ki. A húsvéti takarítás után egyetlenegy kenyérmorzsa sem maradhatott a házban, mindent el kellett takarítani. Ha sok kenyér maradt, szétosztottuk a nem zsidó szomszédok között. A Pészah előtti utolsó napon fel-alá járkáltunk, és ellenőriztük, hogy minden rendben van-e, nem felejtettünk-e el valamit. Ha úgy láttuk, hogy minden tiszta, elkezdődött egy szertartás, amit bedikat hámécnak [lásd: homecolás] hívnak, ez a jelképes ellenőrzés. Este, egy nappal Pészah kezdete előtt [vagyis az első széder előtti este], édesanyám kenyérdarabokat rakott a szekrény alá, az asztal alá és a polcra. Édesapám egy gyertyával ment körbe megnézni, hogy nem maradt-e a házban még hámec. A kezében libatoll volt és egy kis lapát. Amikor talált egy kis hámecdarabot, a tollal rásöpörte a kis lapátra, és tovább keresett, mindaddig, amíg meg nem találta az utolsó darabot is. Édesanyámnak emlékeznie kellett rá, hány kenyérdarabot helyezett el, hogy egy se maradjon. Ami összegyűlt, azt egy kis rongydarabra rakták, valami okból kifolyólag egy fakanalat is tettek mellé [Hagyományosan egy fakanálra kell felsöpörni a hamecet, majd a fakanalat és a morzsákat együtt bekötni egy rongydarabba. – A szerk.], csomót kötöttek rá, és egy jól látható helyre rakták, hogy látsszon, hogy több hámec nincs a házban. Pészah előtt egy nappal, reggel [Pészah előtti utolsó nap reggelén, vagyis (mivel a zsidó naptárban este kezdődik az új nap) aznap reggel, amikor az első széder van. – A szerk.] összegyűltek a szomszédok, tüzet gyújtottak, és egy ima kíséretében égették el ezt a hámecot. Mindenki elhozta magával a saját rongyát a hámeccal, a tollal és a fakanállal, beledobta a tűzbe, és imádkozott. Ezután már nem volt szabad kenyeret enni, Pészah előtt egész nap nem szabad hámecet enni [Pészah előtti nap, a hámec elégetése után hámecet már nem szabad enni, a Pészah egész ideje alatt érvényes tilalom már ekkor életbe lép; maceszt viszont még nem szabad enni, ezért gyakorlatilag csak zöldségek, gyümölcsök fogyaszthatók. – A szerk.]. Krumplit ettünk, azt lehetett.

Ezután a hétköznapi étkészletet húsvétira cseréltük le. Természetesen a hétköznapi edényeink is kóserok voltak, ügyeltünk rá, nehogy tejes kerüljön a húsos edénybe [lásd: étkezési törvények], vagy valami nem kóser étel elrontsa az edényeket. De ez mégiscsak a hétköznapi étkészlet volt. Pészahra külön étkészletünk volt, ami Pészahra volt kóser. A hétköznapi étkészletet kosárba raktuk, és Pészah egész idejére fölhordtuk a padlásra, vagy levittük a pincébe. Csak az után szedtük elő a húsvéti étkészletet, hogy ezzel megvoltunk. Külön helyen tároltuk a padláson, gondosan becsomagolva. Először a konyhai edényeket hoztuk le a padlásról. Mi, gyerekek türelmetlenül vártuk, hogy mikor szedik elő már a poharakat. Az első széder alatt minden zsidónak négy pohár bort kellett kiinnia. Nálunk erre a célra külön nagy poharak voltak a felnőtteknek és kicsik a gyerekeknek. Mindenki fölismerte a saját poharát. Fölkaptuk, és csókolgatni kezdtük ezt a tárgyat, akkora boldogság volt, hogy a házba húsvéti étkészlet került! Hétköznap egyszerű poharakból ittunk, ezek a húsvéti poharak viszont díszesek, ünnepiek voltak. A legnagyobb serleg Illés prófétáé volt. Az asztalt előkészítettük a széderhez, fehér terítővel takartuk le, kiraktuk az evőeszközöket. Mindenki ünnepi hangulatban volt. Voltak még a Tórából vett bölcs mondásokkal kihímzett szalvéták is, ilyennel takarták le a maceszt.

Munkácson volt egy zsidó pékség, ott sütötték a maceszt. Mielőtt elkezdték volna kisütni a maceszt, megtisztították a terepet a hámectól, aztán a rabbi ellenőrizte a helyet, és engedélyt adott a maceszsütésre. Minden család megrendelte a megfelelő mennyiségű maceszt magának, amit aztán a pékségből nagy fonott kosarakban hordtak szét a házakba. A pékségben egész hónapban dolgoztak. A szegények ingyen kaptak maceszt a hitközség számlájára, de nagyon keveset. Ezért Pészahkor mindig éhesek voltak. Kenyeret nem ehettek, maceszból meg kevés volt. A gazdagabb emberek elég maceszt vettek maguknak, hogy jóllakjanak. A Pészah előtti napon a legvallásosabb haszidok elmentek a pékségbe, ők ugyanis maguk sütötték ki a maceszukat, nem bíztak meg a pékekben. Manapság speciális gépekkel készítik a maceszt, akkor még minden kézzel készült. Össze kellett gyúrni a tésztát, kinyújtani, és húsz percre a sütőbe rakni [Meggyúrása és kisütése között olyan rövid időnek kell eltelnie, hogy a tészta ne kelhessen meg: a nyers tészta nem állhat 18 percnél tovább, mert akkor elkezd erjedni, ha nem sütik meg. Lásd: smire macesz. – A szerk.]. Ha tovább maradt a sütőben, a tészta már nem volt megfelelő a húsvéti maceszhoz, úgy tartották, hogy akkor már megsavanyodott. Voltak speciális görgők, azzal lyuggatták ki a maceszt. A macesz olyan búzából készült, amit zsidók termesztettek. Voltak olyan földművelő zsidók, akik kifejezetten macesz készítéséhez termesztettek búzát. Voltak zsidó tulajdonban levő malmok, a gabonát és a lisztet kizárólag ezekben a malmokban őrölték. Nem zsidó kéz a húsvéti maceszhez nem ért hozzá. Szóval az ünnepre mindenkinek volt macesza. Mi nem voltunk gazdagok, ezért Pészah alatt mi, gyerekek egyfolytában éhesek voltunk. Nem mindig volt kedvünk krumplit enni. A maceszt reggeltől estig elropogtattuk volna, csakhogy kevés volt belőle.

Édesanyám még télen készített húsvéti zsírt. Zsidók által tartott libákat vettünk, elvittük a sajhethez, aztán lenyúztuk róla a bőrt és a zsírt. Előtte gondosan kitakarítottuk a konyhát, megtisztítottuk a hámectől. Az asztalon, ahol a libával dolgozott az ember, egy kenyérmorzsa sem lehetett. A Pészahra való zsírt egy külön edényben főztük, amit egyébként nem használtunk. Pészahig a zsírt egy bödönben tartottuk a padláson, a húsvéti étkészlet mellett. Ez speciális húsvéti zsír volt. Még a legszegényebbek is megpróbáltak húsvéti zsírt keríteni otthonra. Pészah előtt tíz nappal édesanyám céklát rakott egy hordóba. A céklát meghámoztuk, vízzel öntöttük föl, ez Pészahig megerjedt, és céklaital lett belőle. Kárpátalján ezt a savanykás, erjesztett italt borscsnak hívták. Pészah előtt édesanyám a sajhethez küldött a csirkékkel. Csirkelevest főzött, és a levesbe keményítőből készült húsvéti metélttészta került. Én most is készítek ilyen metélttésztát Pészahra, méghozzá saját kezemmel. Össze kell keverni a keményítőt a tojással, hozzáadni egy kis vizet, és megsózni. Aztán ebből a folyékony tésztából libazsíron vékony palacsintákat kell kisütni. Aztán a palacsintát föltekeri az ember, és vékony szeletekre vágja. Az így készített metélt nagyon finom. Édesanyám a hús mellé krumpliból felfújtat készített. Két változata is volt: a nyers és a főtt krumpliból készült felfújt. Persze volt maceszból és tojásból készített felfújt is. Ezenkívül édesanyám még feltétlenül készített sóletet, ami húsból, krumpliból és babból készült sült étel volt. A borscshoz édesanyám krumplit főzött, kis kockákra vágta, tojást adott hozzá, és erjesztett céklalével öntötte fel. A borscsot hidegen is és melegen is lehetett enni, kinek hogy tetszett. Édesanyám az ünnep minden napjára sütött tortát. Mi, gyerekek még nagyon kedveltük a tejbe áztatott maceszdarabokat. Jól emlékszem erre a maceszra a világoskék zománcozott tányérom alján, amit húsvétkor használtam.

A Pészahhoz hozzátartozott a borivás. De édesapámnak nem volt szabad bort innia, mert sok volt a gyomorsava. Édesanyám Izraelből hozott fügét vásárolt, és Pészahra likőrt készített belőle. Ez a borral egyenrangú italnak számított, lehetett helyette inni. A likőrt Pészah előtt egy hónappal, Purim után raktuk el egy befőttesüvegbe. Hogy a likőr kóser legyen, ez alatt az idő alatt nem volt szabad hozzáérni.

Pészah első estéjén már készültünk a széderhez. Édesanyám meggyújtotta a gyertyákat. Erre az alkalomra külön imák voltak, nem azok, amik sábeszkor hangzottak el a gyertyák meggyújtásakor. Mi, férfiak a zsinagógába mentünk az istentiszteletre. Mire hazaértünk, az asztalon már fehér terítő volt, meg volt terítve, az ünnepi ételek ki voltak téve. Amikor az asztal meg van terítve, a gyertyák égnek, kezdetét veszi az igazi ünnep. A húsvéti széder kifejezetten családi ünnep volt. A széder szó lefordítva héberből rendet jelent – a széder levezetésének szigorú rendje van. Széder alatt félig feküdni kell. Szabadok vagyunk, olyanok vagyunk, mint a királyok, karosszékben ülünk, még párnát is rakunk magunk alá, hogy kényelmes legyen. A ház ura széderkor fehér ruhát ölt magára, amit kitlinek hívnak. A kitlit csak a húsvéti széder alkalmával és Jom Kipurkor, a zsinagógába menvén öltik fel. Édesapám a fehér ruhájában odaült az asztalfőre, és megkezdődött a széder. A széder levezetésének menete le van írva a Hagadában. A széder azzal kezdődik, hogy a legfiatalabb fiúgyerek az apjának négy tradicionális kérdést tesz fel [lásd: má nistáná]. Miért van az, hogy ma csak maceszt eszünk, hétköznapokon pedig maceszt és kenyeret is? Miért  van az, hogy minden ünnepen egy pohár bort iszunk, ma pedig négy pohár bort? Miért van az, hogy ma keserűfüveket eszünk, mikor a többi napon ilyesmit nem eszünk? Miért van az, hogy hétköznapokon ülve eszünk, ma pedig fekve? Én voltam az egyetlen fiúgyermek, és én tettem föl a kérdéseket. Ezeket a kérdéseket a héderben tanultam meg. Minden kérdés hagyományosan így kezdődött: Miben különbözik a mai éjszaka az összes többi éjszakától? – ezt el kellett mondani, és utána jött a kérdés. Miután elmondtuk héberül, jiddisre is lefordítottuk, mert a testvéreim nem tudtak héberül. A kérdések után apám elkezdte mondani a Hagadából: „A fáraó rabjai voltunk Egyiptomban…” Mindezt dalokkal, énekléssel. Vannak szünetek, amikor bort kell inni. Aztán édesapám elsorolta a csapásokat, melyeket Isten Egyiptomra zúdított, a szimbolikus egyiptomi tízcsapást, amit héberül makkotnak, csapásoknak neveznek. Amikor édesapám a soron következő csapást megnevezte, a pohárból az alatta lévő tányérra kellett egy csepp bort cseppenteni. De még ezt megelőzően volt egy nagyon érdekes esemény. Édesapám egy maceszt kettétört, a nagyobbik részt egy szalvétába tekerte, és a párna alá tette. Ez az áfikómen, ezt a darabot eszik meg utoljára, amikor a vacsora már a vége felé jár. Amikor édesapám elrakta az áfikóment, a széder folytatódott. A gyerekek közül valakinek el kellett lopnia az áfikóment, és aztán váltságdíj fejében visszaadnia az apjának. Persze édesapám csak úgy tett, mintha nem látná, ahogy ellopják az áfikóment, ez a rituálé része. Egyszer a nővérem, Olga vitte el az áfikóment, de én észrevettem, hogy hová rejtette. Elloptam tőle az áfikóment! Ezzel az egész család ünnepét elrontottam, magamat is beleértve, mert mindketten sírtunk. Édesapámnak az áfikóment váltságdíj fejében kellett odaadnia, ezután pedig tovább folytatódott a széder. De hát most kinek kell adni a váltságdíjat? Olga azt állította, hogy ő lopta el, tehát neki kell kapnia a váltságdíjat. Én meg mutattam, hogy hol a macesz. Édesapám mindkettőnknek adott váltságdíjat. Már nem emlékszem, mit kapott Olga, de én egy vastag imakönyvet kaptam. Én nagyon értékeltem ezt az imakönyvet, mert az áfikómenért kaptam. A legnagyobb serleget az asztal közepére tettük ki Illés prófétának. Kinyitottuk a bejárati ajtót, hogy be tudjon jönni a házba. Természetesen féltünk, nehogy valaki visszaéljen ezzel, hiszen a mi utcánkban nem csak zsidók laktak. De Munkácson soha semmilyen rendbontás nem volt, a nem zsidók hozzászoktak a zsidó szokásokhoz, és tiszteletben tartották őket. Mi, gyerekek, izgatottan vártuk, hogy mikor jön be Illés és iszik le a serlegből, izgultunk, vajon látjuk-e majd, ahogy a bor a serlegben megrezdül. Néha felkiáltott valamelyikünk: Én már látom! Aztán mindannyian együtt énekeltünk, a testvéreim és édesanyám is ismerték ezeket a dalokat. Így zajlott a széder. Ugyanez megismétlődött a második napon. Mindannyian ugyanúgy ültünk az asztalnál, mintha tegnap mi sem történt volna, ugyanaz lezajlott még egyszer. Izraelben a Pészahot hét napon át ünneplik, a gálutban pedig nyolc napon keresztül. Csináltak egy tartalék napot, nehogy eltévesszenek valamit az emberek Galpert Ernő arra utal, hogy míg Izraelben csak egyszer tartják meg a széderestét, a gálutban kétszer, ezért aztán az ünnep hét napja nyolc napig tart. – A szerk.. Aztán négy napig hol hámoed volt [lásd: félünnep]. Ezek hétköznapok, de szintén a Pészah részei, csak húsvéti ételeket ehettünk. Hol hámoed alatt már lehet dolgozni, cigarettázni, mindent lehet csinálni, ami sábeszkor tilos. Pészah utolsó két napján megint szigorítások jöttek. A nyolcadik napon néhány családban már készítettek macesszal készült húsgombócokat, ehhez macesz, tojás, feketebors kell. A haszid családokban ez a tradíciók megszegésének számított, mert a macesz knéjdlechhez [jiddis: gombóc] vízbe kellett áztatni a maceszt. Pészah alatt elvileg a maceszt nem szabadott összekeverni a vízzel. Ha egy csepp víz is esett a maceszra, ez a macesz már nem felelt meg Pészahra, mert a nedves macesz megsavanyodik. Ha pedig megsavanyodik, akkor már nem kóser [Ez egy sajátos „túlbiztosítás” szokására utal: ugyanis a Pészahkor kenyér gyanánt fogyasztható pászka (macesz) búzalisztből készül, de a pászkakészítésnél nagyon ügyelnek arra, hogy a liszt és víz keveréke ne keljen meg. A kovászt értelemszerűen nem tartalmazó maceszból a Pészah nyolc napja alatt is készíthető bármilyen étel, hiszen a pászka az „újrafelhasználáskor” már nem tud megkelni – halahikus megfontolások ilyenformán nem is tiltják a pászka tetszőleges fölhasználását. Mivel azonban Pészahkor nagyon szigorú szabály a kovászos ételek tilalma, óvatosságból egyesek a tilalmat kiterjesztik. – A szerk.]. Mostanában, ha a család összegyűlik Pészahkor, mi is készítünk ilyen húsgombócokat.

Minden ünnepnek megvolt a maga bája. Ros Hásána ünnepén, amikor a sófárt fújják, az egész család a zsinagógába ment. Ezen a napon az édesanyám is és a testvéreim is eljöttek. Más ünnepeken ők nem jártak a zsinagógába. Voltak olyan haszid családok, ahol a lányok is jártak zsinagógába. Mi nem voltunk ennyire fanatikusak, bár édesapám haszid volt, és minden szabályt betartott. A testvéreim és édesanyám fent ültek, én édesapámmal voltam. Amikor hazaértünk a zsinagógából, édesanyám almát és mézet tett ki az asztalra. Ez jelképezte az édes újévet.

Jom Kipurkor édesapámmal egész nap a zsinagógában voltam, imádkoztunk. Édesanyám is eljött a zsinagógába, fent volt, a nőkkel. Én egész nap édesapám mellett voltam. Jom Kipur előestéjén, azelőtt, hogy meggyújtottuk volna a gyertyákat, mindenki bőségesen megvacsorázott, mert másnap egész nap böjtölni kellett. A bár micvóm előtt Jom Kipurkor édesanyám mindig készített nekem valami süteményt vagy puszedlit. Édesapám ezt elhozta magával a zsinagógába, adott nekem enni, de ő maga böjtölt. A bár micvóm után már nekem is böjtölnöm kellett. Jom Kipur nehéz nap volt, mert az egész napot a zsinagógában kellett tölteni. Minden család hozott egy-két gyertyát. A gyertyák olyan hosszúak voltak, hogy huszonnégy órán keresztül égtek. Jom Kipur előestéjén gyújtották meg őket, és onnantól az istentisztelet végéig, amíg az égen meg nem jelent az első három csillag, az összes gyertyának égnie kellett. A zsinagógában a gyertyáktól borzasztó, fojtogató füst terjengett. Most nehéz elképzelnem, hogyan tudtak az emberek egész nap ott imádkozni. De a hívők mindent kibírtak. Jom Kipur végén nagy ünnepi vacsora volt. Mi a hozzánk legközelebbi zsinagógába jártunk. A zsidók általában abba a zsinagógába jártak, amelyik a legközelebb volt hozzájuk. Mi a Duhnovics utcában levő kis zsinagógába jártunk. Ez az utca a mai napig is megvan. Ha az ember ránézett az épületre, rögtön tudta, hogy az egy zsinagóga. Minden építészeti hagyománynak megfelelt. Az épület jól karban volt tartva. Minden vendégnek jutott egy speciális szék, amin deszkalap [imakönyvtartó állvány] volt a Tóraolvasáshoz. Ezeket a székeket stendereknek hívták. Nagyon szép volt az áron kódes [lásd: frigyszekrény], ott tartották a Tóra-tekercseket. A szabályoknak megfelelően külön rész volt fenntartva a nők számára [Az ortodox zsinagógában a nők nem vegyülhetnek a férfiak közé, különválasztott hely (sokszor ráccsal vagy függönnyel is ellátott karzat) van számukra fenntartva. – A szerk.]. Volt egy mikve a Jiddisgászon Munkácson.  

Amikor Jom Kipur estéjén, az ünnepi vacsora után fölálltunk az asztaltól, mindenki kiment a kertbe, és hozzáfogott a szuká [sátor] építéséhez. Jom Kipur és Szukot között négy nap volt, és ez alatt az idő alatt föl kellett építeni és díszíteni a szukát. A gyerekek nagyon élvezték a szuká építését. A szegények mindenféle fadarabokból, lécekből készítették a szukát. Nekünk összecsukható szukánk volt, deszkákból és kampókból állt, össze lehetett állítani, aztán szétszedni, évről évre ezt használtuk. Egy este alatt megvoltunk a szuká fölállításával. A leggazdagabb emberek pedig, akik maguk építtették a házukat, csináltak a házra egy lehajtható tetejű erkélyt. A szuká teteje falécekből készült, erre rakták a nádat, fölötte meg ott volt az igazi tető. Másnap városszerte cigányok jártak nádnyalábokkal. Tőlük vásároltak az emberek nádat, és azzal fedték be a szuká tetejét. A tehetősebb embereknek nádból font szőnyegük volt, amit a tető léceihez erősítettek. A Szukot őszre esik, sokszor esik az eső. Az eső olykor elmosta a szuká díszeit, oldalt folyt a falakon a víz, így már nem nagyon lehetett étkezni a szukában. A vallásos emberek azért mindig lesték a megfelelő időt, hogy mégiscsak ehessenek. Volt olyan, hogy az eső még nem fejeződött be, és esőcseppek csöppentek a levesbe a nádról. A gazdagok meg csak lehajtották a tetőt, és nem volt semmi problémájuk! Ha egy kicsit kiderült az ég, fölhajtották a tetőt, és a szuká megint szépen a helyén állt, mintha mi sem történt volna. Még ebben is különbség volt a szegény és gazdag zsidók között. Azzal, hogy fölállították az emberek a szukát, még nem volt elintézve a dolog. A gyerekek számára a legfontosabb a szukára való díszek elkészítése volt. Úgy földíszítették, mint ahogy a karácsonyfát szokás. Szukot előtt a gyerekek minden szabadidejükben díszeket készítettek. Még verseny is volt, hogy kié lett a legszebb. A díszek színes papírból készültek. Ha valaki ügyes, nagyon szép dolgokat tud papírból csinálni. Én jól tudtam ilyen díszeket készíteni, és sok évvel később a Heszedben már én tanítottam a gyerekeket, hogyan kell ezeket elkészíteni. Jöttek az anyukák, a nagymamák és a gyerekek, figyeltek, mert hát ők még sosem láttak ilyen díszeket. Az ünnep napjain kizárólag a szukában étkeztünk. Kivittük oda az asztalt, ott ettünk, ott imádkoztunk, betartva a szabályokat.

A Purim nagyon vidám ünnep volt. A gyerekek számára az ünnep már egy nappal Purim előtt elkezdődött, amikor kereplőket, sípokat ajándékoztak nekik. Most már a műanyagkorszakban élünk, és a kereplők is műanyagból készülnek Purimra. De akkor még fából, falapokból készültek. Amikor Eszter könyvéből olvastak a zsinagógában Purimkor, gyakran elhangzott Hámán neve. Amikor kiejtették Hámán nevét, a zsinagógában lévő összes gyerek nekiállt kereplőt pörgetni, megpróbált minél nagyobb zajt csapni. Purimkor a rokonok és szomszédok egymást finomságokkal, sláchmónesszel kínálták körbe. A gyerekek házról házra jártak, vitték az édességekkel megrakott tálcákat. Hozzánk is hoztak finomságokat, meg mi is mentünk a testvéreimmel, egész nap tálcákkal rohangáltunk fel-alá. Édességekkel vendégeltek meg bennünket, és aprópénzt adtak. Édesanyám igyekezett ünnepélyes asztalt varázsolni otthonra. És persze Purimkor a legfontosabb dolog a purimspil. Minden gyerek és sok felnőtt is valamilyen Purimmal kapcsolatos előadással készült: lehetett ez dalocska, vers, valamilyen tánc, jelenet. Erre már jóval Purim előtt elkezdtünk készülni, és titokban tartottuk egymás előtt, hogy ki mivel lép fel Purimkor. Aztán két-három fiú vagy egy fiú és egy lány elmentek a gazdagok házaiba, és előadták ezt a purimspilt a házigazdának és a családjának. A színészek az előadásért ajándékokat vagy pénzt kaptak, főleg pénzt adtak nekik. Ha nagyon tetszett az előadás, akkor többet, ha kevésbé tetszett, akkor kevesebbet. Én is mentem persze, és a testvéreim is. Estére gyerekszemmel nézve elég szép összeg gyűlt össze. De voltak felnőttek is, akik előadtak valamit Purimkor. Munkácson volt egy tréfás ember, Cháimnak hívták. Purim napján reggel női ruhába öltözött: széles szoknyába, parókába, rá sem lehetett ismerni. Akármilyen idő volt is, még ha egészen jó is, mindig volt vele egy fiú, aki az egyik kezében ernyőt tartott fölé, a másikban pedig egy kalapot pénzgyűjtéshez. Cháim kezében pedig hegedű volt. Az emberek már messziről kiabáltak: ott jön Cháim! És mindenki kifutott az utcára, hogy találkozzon ezzel a tréfás emberrel. A purimi összejövetelen is voltak mindenféle tréfák, játékok.

Minden ünnepnek megvolt a maga jelképe. A Purim jelképe a kereplő volt. Szimhász Tórá [Szimhát Tóra] ünnepén, ami a Tóra-adást jelenti, minden gyereknél voltak almába szúrt kis zászlócskák. Hanukakor pedig pörgettyűvel [lásd: denderli] játszottak a gyerekek. A pörgettyű négy oldalán négy betű volt, mindegyik egy-egy zsidó szó kezdőbetűje. A szavak ezek voltak: nesz, gádol, hájá, pó, azaz nagy csoda volt itt. Amikor a pörgettyűvel játszanak, minden betűnek van egy értéke. Pénzben játszottunk, mert Hanukára szokás volt pénzt ajándékozni a gyerekeknek. Ez volt az egyetlen nap, amikor a zsidók megengedték a gyerekeiknek, hogy dominózzanak, kártyázzanak, ám a hagyományos játék a pörgettyűzés volt. Van egy történet arról, hogyan is alakult ki ez a szokás. Amikor a rómaiak elfoglalták Júdeát, a zsidóknak nem engedték meg, hogy tanítsák a Tórát, és kénytelenek voltak titokban tanítani. A gyerekek egy kupacban ültek, és tanulták a Tórát. Aztán amikor látták, hogy arra jár egy római, elkezdtek pörgettyűzni, hogy így álcázzák magukat. Később aztán hagyománnyá vált, hogy a gyerekek Hanukakor pörgettyűvel játszanak. A pörgettyűket mi magunk készítettük. Fából öntőformát csináltunk, ebbe az öntőformába betűket faragtunk, és ónt öntöttünk bele. Így fabrikáltuk az ónból készült pörgettyűket. A héderben tanították meg, hogyan készül a pörgettyű. Mindenkinek volt ilyen pörgettyűje. Otthon édesanyám Hanuka minden napján meggyújtott egy gyertyával többet a hanukijában.

1935-ben Masaryk után Beneš lett Csehszlovákia elnöke. Megválasztása után Munkácsra látogatott. A kaszárnya udvarán rendezték meg az ünnepélyes fogadást. Munkács egész lakossága összegyűlt. A mi iskolánk is részt vett az eseményen. A kezünkben kis zászlókat tartottunk, üdvözöltük az új elnököt. Beneš alatt nem romlott a zsidók helyzete, ő ugyanazt a zsidókat védő politikát folytatta, amit elődje, Masaryk.

1936-ban tizenhárom éves lettem. Reb Alter készített fel a bár micvómra, ő volt a gemóre [gemárá; lásd: Talmud] tanárom a héderben. A Talmud egyik fejezetéből kellett előadást tartanom, már nem emlékszem, hogy melyik is volt az. Ezt a beszédet drósénak hívták. A bár micvóm napján, szombaton a zsinagógában először hívtak fel a Tórához, életemben először adták rám a táleszt. Elmondtam az imát, amit akkor kell mondani, ha a Tórához hívnak. Otthon este ünnepi vacsora volt, vendégek jöttek: rokonok, az édesapám barátai meg az én barátaim. El kellett mondanom nekik a drósét. A vendégek asztalhoz ültek. Emlékszem, sört vettünk, és paprikás sárgaborsót főztünk. Az asztalon nagy, sárgaborsóval teli tálak voltak kitéve, kézzel ettünk, és sört ittunk. Én elmondtam a drósét, aztán az egyik idősebb haszid kérdéseket tett föl nekem, amikre én persze nem tudtam felelni. Elsírtam magam, és kimentem a másik szobába. Az ajtó mögül hallottam, hogy a többi haszid leszidta az illetőt, amiért elrontotta az ünnepemet.

Pinkász nagyapám 1936-ban halt meg, a bár micvóm után. Hatvanöt éves volt. Munkács zsidó temetőjében temették el, zsidó szokás szerint [lásd: temető; temetés]. Nagyapám halála után édesapám öccse, Jidl foglalta el nagyapám helyét a temetkezési vállalatnál. Nagyapám temetésére nem emlékszem. Viszont jól emlékszem nagyanyám temetésére, aki 1937-ben halt meg, egy évvel nagyapám után. A családban természetesen mindenki szomorú volt a nagyanyám halála miatt, de nekem akkor természetesnek tűnt, hogy az öregemberek meghalnak. Szomorú voltam, de nem érintett meg annyira a dolog. Nagyanyám a szobában feküdt a padlón. Egy fekete lepellel volt letakarva, a lepel a fejét is eltakarta. A fejénél egy gyertya égett. Nők ültek körülötte, mindannyian mezítláb voltak, és sírtak [lásd: holttest előkészítése temetésre]. Emlékszem, hogy nagyanyám temetésére édesapám bátyja, Berl is eljött Izraelből. Berlnek különleges képessége volt rá, hogy összehozzon, egymásra hangoljon egy társaságot. Édesapám mesélte, hogy ifjúkorában Berlt mindig esküvőkre hívták, és ahol csak megjelent, mindig vidám hangulat kerekedett. De most Berl az udvarra lépvén, így kiáltott: „Anyám, anyám”, és sírni kezdett. Erre körülötte mindenki hangosan felzokogott. Ez félelmet keltett bennem, valószínűleg életemben először fogtam föl, hogy mit jelent a halál. Lea nagyanyámat Munkács zsidó temetőjében temették el nagyapám mellé. Édesapám mondott kádist a nagyanyám sírja felett.

Amikor letelt az egy év nagyanyám halála után, Jidl, édesapám öccse elhatározta, hogy megnősül. Sádhent hívtak, aki Huszton talált Jidlnek menyasszonyt. A menyasszony apja egy Katz nevű jómódú zsidó volt, akit valamilyen okból kifolyólag mindenki csak a lengyelként emlegetett. Lehetséges, hogy Lengyelországból települt át. Több lánya is volt. Mivel nagyapa már nem élt, Jidl házasságáról a bátyjának, édesapámnak kellett megállapodnia. Az alku nálunk zajlott. Minket, gyerekeket természetesen nagyon érdekelt a dolog. Kizavartak a konyhába, de mi azért az ajtónál leskelődtünk és hallgatóztunk. Sem Jidl, sem a menyasszony nem volt jelen. A menyasszony apja és a sádhen jött el. Édesapám és Katz a hozományról kezdtek el alkudozni. Édesapám arról beszélt, hogy a vőlegénynek milyen magas beosztása van a zsidó temetkezési vállalatnál, hogy milyen magas a fizetése, és hogy milyen jóravaló, istenfélő ember, egyszóval nála jobb vőlegényt keresve sem találhatna az ember. Katz meg a lányát dicsérte, arról beszélt, hogy milyen szép. A sádhen meg persze arról próbálta meggyőzni édesapámat, hogy egy ilyen lánynak nem is kell hogy legyen hozománya, mert ő maga aranyat ér. Amennyire én értettem, a menyasszonyt nemhogy az apám, de még Jidl sem látta. Mindez nagyon sokáig tartott, míg végül is megállapodtak a hozomány nagyságáról. Aztán megbeszélték, hogy Katz beteszi a bankba a pénzösszeget, amiben megállapodtak, a papírokat meg átadja a papírgyár-tulajdonos Rothnak, egy Munkács-szerte köztiszteletben álló embernek. Ha az esküvő létrejön, Roth átadja ezeket a papírokat Jidlnek, ha nem, akkor visszaadja őket Katznak. Az esküvőt a megbeszélés után körülbelül három hónappal tartották meg. Hagyományos zsidó esküvő volt [lásd: házasság, esküvői szertartás]. A mi házunkban állították fel a hüpét. Édesanyám és az összes zsidó szomszédasszony ünnepi ételt készített. Minden a hagyományok szerint zajlott, nagyon vidám esemény volt.

1938-ban, amikor tizenöt éves lettem, munkába kellett állnom. Egy zsidó műszerésznél lettem inas, akinek volt egy javítóműhelye. Megtanultam biciklit, varrógépet, gramofont, babakocsit javítani. Két év volt a tanoncidő. Már másfél év múlva elkezdtem önállóan dolgozni, de még nem kaptam fizetést. Én dolgoztam, és a mester kapta meg a pénzt a javításért, amit én csináltam meg, nekem meg csak egy kis zsebpénzt fizetett.

A háború alatt

1939-ben a németek átadták a magyaroknak a volt magyar területeket, köztük Kárpátalját is [lásd: Kárpátalja elfoglalása; Munkács (valamint Ungvár és Huszt környéke) azonban már az első bécsi döntéssel visszakerült átmenetileg Magyarországhoz. – A szerk.]. A magyarok ugyan azt gondolták, hogy fölszabadítottak minket, de az emberek véleménye megoszlott erről. A magyar lakosság örömmel fogadta a helyzetet. Az idősebb zsidók emlékeztek rá, hogy az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiában is elég nagy szabadsággal rendelkeztek a zsidók, és csak a legjobbakat remélték, egészen addig, amíg ki nem ismerték a helyzetet. A zsidó fiatalok a magyarokat megszállónak tartották, és hogy jelét adják ellenállásuknak, nem magyarul, hanem csehül beszéltek. Idővel kiderült, hogy ez az ország már nem a régi Magyarország, hanem egy fasiszta ország. Zsidóellenes törvényeket vezettek be [lásd: zsidótörvények Magyarországon]. A zsidók tulajdonában nem lehettek gyárak, üzletek, műhelyek. Vagy átadták őket egy új tulajdonosnak [lásd: stróman], aki nem lehetett zsidó, vagy elvette a vagyont az állam. Nagyon kevés gazdag zsidó tudta kiváltani magát, és megőrizni a tulajdonát, a többségtől bevonták az engedélyeket, megfosztották őket minden lehetőségtől, hogy eltartsák a családjukat. Nagyon nehéz lett a megélhetés. Apámtól bevonták a kereskedői engedélyét. Elvették az engedélyt annak a műhelynek a tulajdonosától is, ahol én dolgoztam, úgyhogy 1940-ben be is zárt a műhely. Apámnak is és nekem is munkát kellett keresnünk. Akkoriban még üzemelt a Roth-féle papírgyár, és fölvettek minket ide. A gyárban elég sok akkoriban korszerűnek számító technikai berendezés volt, és engem fölvettek műszerésznek, apám pedig munkás lett.

Olga nővérem nagyon értelmes volt, jól is tanult, az iskolát kitűnő eredménnyel végezte el. Nagyon szeretett volna gimnáziumba menni, de apám határozottan ellenezte. Az elemi iskolában voltak zsidó osztályok, ahol szombaton nem voltak órák. De a gimnáziumban szombaton is volt tanítás. Aztán amikor bevonták apám kereskedői engedélyét, Olgának is jövedelem után kellett néznie. Akkor már felnőtt nő volt, szépen kellett öltözködnie, de hogy apám elvesztette a munkáját, nem tellett ilyesmire. Apám elment Rothhoz, és megkérte, hogy vegye fel Olgát az irodába. Megemlítette, hogy Olga tanulni szeretne, de ő anyagilag nem tudja támogatni, ráadásul a zsidótörvények miatt helytelennek is tartaná, ha Olga a gimnáziumban együtt tanulna a hitetlenekkel. Megkérte Rothot, hogy amíg Olga beletanul, foglalkoztassa ingyen, aztán majd eldönti, hogy szüksége van-e rá. Roth is vallásos volt, és egyetértett apámmal abban, hogy nem volna jó, ha egy jó családból származó zsidó lány a gimnáziumban tanulna. Nemsokára megbizonyosodott róla, hogy Olga nagyon értelmes. A gyárnak voltak kapcsolatai németországi és csehországi vállalatokkal. Onnan hozták a papírt, amiből füzetet, borítékot, papírzacskót és ilyesmiket gyártottak az üzemben. Olga tökéletesen tudott csehül, ő intézte Roth üzleti levelezését, és hogy a Németországgal való levelezést is intézni tudja, Roth gyorsírás- és némettanárokat fogadott föl neki, akik hozzánk jöttek tanítani. Olga irodavezető titkár lett. Roth jiddisül és magyarul diktálta neki a leveleket, amit Olga németre és csehre fordított le. Ezek az ismeretek később is jól jöttek neki.

Mire felnőttünk, mi már nem voltunk olyan vallásosak, mint a szüleink. A gyárban munkásokkal, kommunistákkal találkoztam, és ez hatással volt rám. Nem voltunk persze ateisták, otthon továbbra is tartottuk magunkat a zsidó hagyományokhoz, de azért mi már sokkal távolabb voltunk a vallástól, mint az idősebb nemzedék. Édesanyám sokkal jobban aggódott emiatt, mint édesapám. Édesapám elnéző volt velem, sok mindent megbocsátott. Amikor még fiatal fiú voltam, nem mindig akaródzott a zsinagógában maradnom az istentisztelet végéig, hanem előbb elmentem a barátaimhoz. Édesapám ilyenkor csak annyit kért, hogy azért együtt menjünk majd haza, nehogy édesanyám idegeskedjen. Ha édesanyám úgy látta, hogy én valamiben eltávolodtam a hagyományoktól, leszidott, de én mindig tréfával ütöttem el a dolgot. Egyszer valamivel magamra haragítottam, és azt mondta nekem: „Sebaj, majd ha idősebb leszel, visszatérsz a zsidósághoz.” A szüleinkkel mi mindig tisztelettudók voltunk, de akkor mégis fölfortyantam, és kirobbant belőlem: „Majd ha bolond leszek!” Ezt azóta sem tudom magamnak megbocsátani. Képzelem, mit jelentett az édesanyámnak ezt hallani tőlem. Nagyon bánt, hogy nem tudtam bocsánatot kérni tőle.

A Roth-gyárban ismerkedtem meg a leendő feleségemmel, Ackermann Tildával, aki szintén ott dolgozott. Akkoriban Tojbénak becézték. Tilda ugyanabban az évben született, mint én, munkácsi lány volt. Mondta, hogy együtt jártunk elemibe, de én akkor észre sem vettem őt. A gyárban sok lány dolgozott, a gépüket pedig én láttam el. Akkor hívtak, ha valamit meg kellett szerelni vagy be kellett állítani. Így ismerkedtünk meg, és jóba lettünk. Egy egész kis társaság jött össze zsidó fiúkból és lányokból. A gyárban dolgozott Tilda barátnője, Frida és az én barátom, Vojta. Frida és Vojta találkozgattak, és össze akartak házasodni, amint vége a háborúnak. Mi is egymásba szerettünk Tildával. Munka után, esténként találkoztunk és sétálgattunk. Tilda sokszor volt nálunk, és én is gyakran elmentem hozzájuk. Tilda tetszett a szüleimnek. Ha nem jött volna közbe a háború, azt hiszem, hamarosan összeházasodtunk volna. De folyt a háború, és nem lehetett tudni, mit hoz a holnap.

Tilda is vallásos zsidó családban született. Apja, Ackermann Icik borral foglalkozott, készítéssel is és értékesítéssel is, az anyja pedig, akit Weisz Hendlnek hívtak, háztartásbeli volt. Tildáék nyolcan voltak testvérek, Tilda volt az utolsó előtti a sorban. A nővére, Margit a munkácsi kereskedelmi akadémián végzett. Egy Weisz nevű unokatestvéréhez ment feleségül. Mindketten szimpatizáltak a kommunistákkal. Margit férje 1938-ban a Szovjetunióba utazott, Margit is készült utánamenni. De Kárpátalja magyar lett, és Margit már nem tudott elmenni. Volt egy fia, Alekszander. A magyar fennhatóság alatt Margit tartotta el a családot. Ügyvédként, fordítóként dolgozott, bármilyen munkát elvégzett. Hogy mi lett a férjével, azt nem tudni. Aztán ott volt Tilda bátyja, Dávid. Dávid az apjának segített, borász volt. A következő két testvér, Fülöp és Szeréna is elvégezte a kereskedelmi akadémiát. Szeréna is szimpatizált a kommunistákkal, közreműködött egy kommunista lap kiadásában. A kommunista Borkanyukhoz ment férjhez, aki a kommunista párt tagjaként a cseh parlamentben volt képviselő. A szülőknek szégyen és nagy bánat volt, hogy a lányuk egy nem zsidóhoz ment férjhez. Tilda anyja kitagadta a lányát [lásd: vegyes házasság]. Szeréna házassága nagy megbotránkozást keltett a munkácsi zsidók körében. Ez okozta Tilda apjának halálát is: egy helybéli őrült ölte meg, egy hasábfával halántékon ütötte, amiért a lánya szégyent hozott a zsidó közösségre. Ez 1937-ban történt, utána Tildának dolgoznia kellett. Szeréna a férjével a Szovjetunióba ment. Fülöp, Tilda bátyja a magyar fasiszták hatalomra kerülése után átment a lengyel határon, onnan Angliába vitték. A második világháború alatt Fülöp végig a csehszlovák hadtestben harcolt a keleti fronton [lásd: Csehszlovák Zászlóalj]. A háború után Ungváron élt. Áron, Tilda harmadik bátyja egy üvegcsiszoló műhelyben dolgozott, Hugó, a negyedik báty is dolgozott, Smil pedig, Tilda öccse még iskolába járt. Margit és Szeréna kivételével a családban minden gyerek vallásos volt.

1941 elején édesapámat elvitték egy magyar munkaszolgálatos századba. A munkaszolgálat kényszermunkatábort jelentett. A magyar hadseregbe akkor nem vették be a zsidókat, hanem 1939-től kezdve munkaszolgálatra vitték őket. Ezek a munkaszázadok a védővonalakat, a katonai barakkokat építették, a legnehezebb építési munkálatokat végezték, a frontvonalon zajló munkákat is beleértve. Fegyvert nem kaptak, ezek az emberek sokszor abba haltak bele, hogy a tűzvonalon lelőtték őket. Édesapám 1942-ig volt a munkaszázadban, aztán elengedték, mert a fiatalabb férfiakat hívták be.

Nagyon nehéz volt az élet. Különösen nehéz lett a helyzet, amikor 1941-ben elkezdődött a Szovjetunió elleni háború. A zsidóknak még nehezebb volt a megélhetés. Nagyon sok törvénybeli korlátozás volt. Jegyrendszert vezettek be a kenyérre, és a zsidók csökkentett fejadagot kaptak a kenyérből [A zsidók részére kiadható élelmiszer-fejadagokat először a német megszállás után korlátozták rendeleti úton. Az 108.500/1944. K.M. sz. (közellátásügyi miniszteri) rendelet volt szerint az addig használt élelmiszerjegyeket a zsidóknak május 1-től vissza kellett adniuk és részükre külön jegyeket hoztak forgalomba, „húsjegy, (cukorjegy, stb.) zsidók részére” felirattal. A zsidó ellátandókat sárga jelzéssel, külön kellett nyilvántartani. Egyben szabályozták a fejadagokat is, cukorból például 30, húsból 10 dkg volt a heti fejadag. Lásd még: jegyrendszer Magyarországon. Arról nincs ismeretünk, hogy a zsidók csökkentett fejadagot kaptak-e kenyérből, de elképzelhetők helyi szintű diszkriminatív eljárások. – A szerk.]. 1943-tól minden zsidónak sárga kört kellett viselnie a ruháján [Ilyen rendelkezésről a szakirodalom nem tud, ez nyilván valamilyen helyi rendelet volt, de nem ismerjük sem  az érvényességi idejét, sem a körét. 1944. április 5-étől azonban a kárpátaljai zsidóknak is ugyanazt a megkülönböztető jelzést, a sárga csillagot kellett viselniük, mint a többi magyarországi zsidónak (1240/1944. ME. sz. rendelet, 1944. március 29.). – A szerk.], aztán ezt lecserélték sárga, hatágú csillagra [lásd: sárga csillag]. De mégis, éltünk, életben voltunk. A magyarok nem ölték meg a zsidókat, nem voltak pogromok.

1943-ban Olga férjhez ment. A férje, Nuchim Weisgarten Munkácson született. A szüleim hagyományos zsidó esküvőt rendeztek Olgának. A mi házunkban volt felállítva a hüpe, az esküvői szertartást a mi zsinagógánkból való rabbi vezette. A szülők esküvői lakomát rendeztek. Az esküvő után három nappal Olga férjét elvitték munkaszolgálatra, onnan pedig a frontra küldték. Sokáig semmit nem tudtunk felőle.

1944 áprilisában engem és sok, szintén 1923-ban született fiatalembert egy magyar területen lévő munkatáborba vittek. Tilda és én nem tudtuk, hogy mi vár ránk. Mindenesetre megbeszéltük, hogy találkozni és kapcsolatot teremteni a nagynénémen, apám lánytestvérén keresztül tudunk, aki Svájcban lakott. Betanultuk a címet: Lugano, Bella Vizari 10. A munkaszázaddal [lásd: munkaszolgálat] először Budapesten dolgoztunk, aztán máshova vittek minket. Mindenféle nehéz építési munkáink voltak: árkot ástunk, védelmi berendezéseket építettünk. Egy nagy, rosszul fűtött barakkban laktunk. Nagyon szegényes volt az ellátásunk, épp csak annyit kaptunk, hogy tudjunk dolgozni. Egy munkatáborba kerültünk Vojtával, a barátommal és Áronnal, az unokatestvéremmel, aki édesanyám nővérének volt a fia. Igyekeztünk együtt is maradni. Reggel hattól sötétedésig dolgoztunk. Napközben volt egy rövid ebédszünet, aztán megint dolgoztunk. Este visszamentünk a barakkba, és a fáradtságtól egy pillanat alatt elaludtunk. Természetesen a tábor fegyveres őrizet alatt állt, de azért ez mégsem koncentrációs tábor volt. Szóba állhattunk a helyi lakossággal, megtudhattuk tőlük a híreket. 1944 nyarán Magyarország összes városából [helyesebben: Budapest kivételével Magyarország egész területéről] koncentrációs táborba kezdték vinni a zsidókat. Mi tudtunk erről, tudtuk azt is, hogy az egész családunkat elvitték koncentrációs táborba. De arról, hogy ott gázkamrák vannak, és hogy minden zsidót megsemmisítenek, fogalmunk sem volt. Mi azért éltünk valahogy, igaz, a táborban haltak bele emberek betegségbe, éhségbe, de azért ez mégsem megsemmisítő tábor volt. Az unokatestvérem, Áron megtudta a vasutas ismerőseitől, akik vonatokat vezettek Auschwitzba, hogy az egy megsemmisítő tábor. De mi nem hittük el, hogy ilyesmi lehetséges, hogy fogják az élő embereket, és bedobják a gázkamrákba, egyszerűen nem hittük el. Aztán már csak a háború után tudtuk meg, hogy mi volt Auschwitzban, hogy ott haltak meg a családtagjaink, és hogy hogyan haltak meg.

Amikor 1945-ben a szovjet csapatok kezdték felszabadítani Magyarországot, átadtak minket a németeknek. Előtte magyarok irányítottak minket, aztán amikor átadtak a németeknek, Ausztriába kerültünk. Egy német koncentrációs táborban helyeztek el minket az osztrák–magyar határon, az osztrák oldalon. De ez is munkatábor volt, nem pedig megsemmisítő tábor. Százfős csoportokra osztottak minket, és védelmi berendezéseket építettünk. A németek elkezdtek kiépíteni egy védelmi vonalat, mert tudták, hogy közelednek a szovjet csapatok [Pozsonytól Kőszegig húzódott az ún. Niederdonau erődvonal – Balf, Fertőrákos, Hidegség, Ágfalva, Nagycenk, Donnerskirchen (Fehéregyháza), Siegendorf (Cinfalva) –, ahol harmincötezer munkaszolgálatost kényszerítettek sáncásásra 1944 végétől 1945. március végéig. Az öthónapos robot során minden harmadik munkaszolgálatos elpusztult részben a körülmények miatt, részben azért, mert a Vörös Hadsereg közeledtével a nyilasok és az SS-ek legyilkolták őket. – A szerk.]. Tankcsapdákat ástunk. Ez tavasszal volt, márciusban, a nap már kezdte fölmelegíteni a földet, mindannyian a talajba süppedtünk. Hóolvadás volt, térdig álltunk a hideg, havas sárban, úgy dolgoztunk. A föld nedves volt, a földdel teli ásót meg kellett emelni, és a mélyből földobni a földet. Igaz, ez nem sokáig tartott, körülbelül két hónapig. A mi századunkból csak hat ember élte túl, ennyien tértek vissza. A szovjet csapatok 1945. március végén érték el Ausztriát. Akkor én tífuszos voltam, lázálomban feküdtem [A tífusz magas lázzal és fejfájással járó fertőző betegség, főleg a ruhatetvek terjesztik. – A szerk.]. A mi barakkunkban kétszintes priccsek voltak, én lent feküdtem. A legutolsó munkanapomon árkot ástunk, mellettünk pedig a németek fiúkat tanítottak lőni. Az egyik tiszt rájuk kiáltott: „Nemsokára itt lesznek az oroszok, ti meg csak henyéltek!” Ekkor már lehetett messziről hallani az ágyútüzet. Hogy ezután mi volt, és hogy hány napig feküdtem önkívületben, azt nem tudom. Csak arra emlékszem, hogy egyszer csak odaült a priccsemre az unokatestvérem, Áron, és azt mondta, hogy evakuálják a tábort, menni kell. Mindjárt fölgyújtják a tábort. Én olyan állapotban voltam, hogy nem tudtam járni, és mondtam neki, hogy nélkülem menjen el, én nem tudok fölkelni a priccsről. És akkor hirtelen valaki fölkiáltott: „Itt vannak az oroszok!” Ezek a szavak mintha elfújták volna a betegségemet! Mi, hatan fölkeltünk, és egymást segítve keresztülmentünk a frontvonalon. A front már egészen közel volt, dörögtek az ágyúk… Féltünk a németektől, és attól is féltünk, hogy a szovjetek lövéseitől halunk meg. Végre orosz katonákba botlottunk, akik telefonkábeleket fektettek. Körös-körül lőttek, ők mutogattak, hogy feküdjünk le, de mi csak mentünk tovább. Egyikünk megsérült a karján. Tizenhat kilométert tettünk meg gyalog ilyen állapotban. Nem is tudom most elképzelni, hogyan jutottunk el Szombathelyig, ami már föl volt szabadítva. Ott is oroszokra akadtunk, fogolytáborba kerültünk. Nem volt nálunk semmilyen irat. Németeknek vagy magyar fasisztáknak néztek minket, ezekből sok volt ott. Szakadt, koszos ruhában voltunk, még abban, amit otthonról hoztunk. A foglyokat egy réten gyűjtötték össze, a fasisztákkal együtt voltunk. Esett az eső, nagyon hideg volt. Egy csoportba gyűltünk össze, és vártunk. Oroszul nem tudtunk. Körülöttünk fegyveres őrök járkáltak. Mutogattunk magunkra, és közben azt mondtuk, „zsidi”, ami csehül nem sértés, egyszerűen zsidót jelent. Ettől azonban a helyzet csak még rosszabb lett. Az őr azt gondolta, hogy kigúnyoljuk a zsidókat. Valamit mondott, de mi semmit sem értettünk azon kívül, hogy azt mutatta, hogy „Lőni fogok!”.

Másnap reggel menetoszlopokba állítottak minket, és kivezényeltek a pályaudvarra. Vonattal Ungvárra vittek. Ott megint menetoszlopokba állítottak, és vezettek valahova. Mi hatan egy sorban mentünk. A menetet fegyveres őrök kísérték, körülbelül minden húsz méterre jutott egy. Amikor Ungvár központjában egy szűk utcácskához értünk, elhatároztuk, hogy nem megyünk tovább. Egy keskeny kapunál, ami egy udvarba vezetett, úgy döntöttünk, hogy elfutunk, lesz, ami lesz. Lehet, hogy lőni fognak, de megpróbáljuk. Amikor a kapuhoz értünk, egyenként elfutottunk. Az őrök nem szaladtak utánunk, mert ha megpróbálnak utolérni, akkor a többi fogoly szétszalad. Rábukkantunk egy elhagyott házra. Találtunk némi élelmet, két napra beköltöztünk, pihentünk, kicsit magunkhoz tértünk. Nagyon szerettünk volna hazamenni. Nem tudtuk, kit találunk otthon, és hogy mi folyik ott. Nagy nehézségek árán Áron, Vojta és én eljutottunk Munkácsig. Az út nagy részét gyalog tettünk meg, és volt, hogy parasztok lovas kocsiján mentünk egy darabig. Az úton a parasztoktól kaptunk enni. Megérkeztünk, senki sem volt otthon, és semmit sem lehetett tudni. Zsidók még nem voltak, mert a koncentrációs táborokból az embereket később szabadították föl, mint minket. Egy kicsit megpihentünk az út után, és úgy döntöttünk, hogy bevonulunk a Szovjet Hadseregbe [Ekkor még: Vörös Hadsereg. – A szerk.]. Még folyt a háború, nagyon sok volt a fasiszták rovásán, és a családtagjaink is koncentrációs táborban voltak. Arra gondoltunk, hogy talán részt tudunk venni a felszabadításukban. Elmentünk a sorozó bizottsághoz, és kértük, hogy sorozzanak be a hadseregbe önkéntesnek. A sorozók végignéztek rajtunk, de nem akartak bevenni, azt mondták, hogy nekünk nem harcolnunk kell, hanem felépülnünk. A koncentrációs tábor és a tífusz után sovány voltam, mint egy piszkafa, de a többiek sem néztek ki jobban. Vojtát nem vették be, de én és Áron egyre csak sírtunk, végül nagy nehezen rávettük őket, hogy bevegyenek. Lengyelországba küldtek egy újoncszázadba. Ekkor lett vége a háborúnak. Így hát a hadseregben szolgáltam, de arra már nem volt időm, hogy részt vegyek a hadműveletekben. Mivel Kárpátalja szovjet lett, sorköteles lettem, nem is engedtek el a hadseregből. Körülbelül fél évet szolgáltam Lengyelországban, aztán Ukrajnába, Vinyica megye Hmelnickij városába küldtek. Ott szolgáltam 1947-ig, a leszerelésemig. 

A háború után

A sors úgy rendelte, hogy találkozzunk Tildával. Akkor érkezett vissza Munkácsra, amikor én már sorkatona voltam. 1944-ben Tildát és a családját Auschwitzba vitték. A fiatalokat és a jó erőben lévőket munkatáborokba küldték, az öregeket és a gyerekeket megsemmisítették. A németeknek kellett a munkaerő. Auschwitzban halt meg Tilda egész családja. A nővére, Margit a fiával volt ott. Margit kerülhetett volna munkatáborba, és túl is élhette volna, de nem akart elválni a fiától, és együtt ment vele a gázkamrába. Ugyanez történt Tilda szüleivel és az öccsével, Smillel. Dávid és Hugó munkaszolgálatban haltak meg, Áron a Gulagon tűnt el. Az egész családból csak Tilda, a nővére, Szeréna és a bátyja, Fülöp élte túl a háborút. Szeréna a második világháború alatt a Szovjetunióban tartózkodott, 1945-ben pedig a már szovjetté vált Kárpátaljára tért vissza, Fülöp pedig 1946-ban tért vissza Ungvárra Angliából. Tilda és a barátnője Auschwitzból Reichenbach városába kerültek, egy munkatáborba [A Reichenau-Reichenbach városában lévő tábor a gross-roseni koncentrációs tábor egyik altábora volt. – A szerk.]. Ott is együtt volt velük mindkét testvérem, Olga és Ibolya. Ez a tábor egy hadi rádiógyár területén volt, a foglyok rádiókészülékeket forrasztottak és szereltek össze. Tilda és a testvéreim ebben a táborban voltak egészen a felszabadításukig. Miután felszabadították őket, Tilda és Frida [Tilda munkácsi barátnője] Munkácsra ment. A testvéreim nem jöttek haza. Olga semmit nem tudott a férje sorsáról, akit az esküvőjük után három nappal vittek el a hadseregbe. Néha az, ami megtörténik az életben, hihetetlenebb a kitalációnál. Amikor Csehszlovákián keresztül Munkács felé tartott, Olga összetalálkozott a férjével. A férje a munkaszázadából több más fiatalemberrel együtt börtönbe került egy Oszkol nevű ukrán város környékén. Az oszkoli hadifogolytáborból a Gulagra továbbították. Akkor Kárpátalja törvényesen még Csehszlovákiához tartozott. Amikor kezdték szervezni a csehszlovák hadsereget, összegyűjtötték a Gulagon lévő kárpátaljaiakat, és mint csehszlovák állampolgárokat, a csehszlovák hadseregbe küldték őket [lásd: Svoboda, Ludvík]. Nuchim a csehszlovák hadseregben harcolt, és Karlovy Varyig jutott. Ott kitüntetésekkel szerelték le, és kapott egy lakást. Minden nap elment a pályaudvarra, és várta a koncentrációs táborokból jövő szerelvényeket, azt remélve, reménykedett, hogy találkozik valakivel, aki tud Olgáról és a családunk sorsáról. És ott, a pályaudvaron összetalálkoztak. Mindkét testvérem Csehszlovákiában maradt, aztán egy kis idő elteltével kivándoroltak Izraelbe, és Haifán telepedtek le.

Tilda visszajött Munkácsra. Én leveleztem Vojtával, aki tudta a tábori postacímemet, és megmondta Tildának. Tilda írt nekem. Nem is tudom elmondani, milyen boldog voltam, amikor megkaptam a levelét! Válaszoltam neki, levelezni kezdtünk. A következő levélbe Tilda beletette a fényképét, és ezt írta rá: „Az én drága Arimnak”. Ez a kép végig nálam volt, most pedig a családi albumban őrizzük.

Tilda Ungváron telepedett le a nővérénél, Szerénánál, és dolgozni kezdett. Amikor 1947-ben leszereltek a hadseregből, egyenesen hozzá mentem. Tilda akkor a városi kereskedelmi osztályon dolgozott [A rendelkezésünkre álló információ alapján nem tudjuk eldönteni, hogy ez a kereskedelmi osztály a városi tanács vagy a városi pártbizottság egyik osztálya volt-e. – A szerk.]. Nekem egy kifakult katonai zubbony és egy durva vászoncsizma volt a ruházatom. Tilda és Szeréna szerzett jegyet – akkor mindent jegyre adtak –, és hoztak nekem ruhát. Elhelyezkedtem műszerészként egy kisszövetkezetnél. Szerénánál laktunk. Adott nekünk bútort és néhány háztartási eszközt. Mikor a hadseregből megjöttem, nem volt igazolványom, csak katonakönyvem. Együtt laktunk Tildával, az esküvőről valahogy nem is esett szó. Szüleink nem voltak, az ő nővérén kívül rokonaink sem – az úgy meg miféle esküvő lett volna? 1948. április harmincadikán Tildával sétálni mentünk, csodaszép idő volt. Akkorra már kaptam igazolványt. Már nem is emlékszem, melyikünk mondta, hogy menjünk el a házasságkötő hivatalba. Akkor nem kellettek tanúk, nem kellett előre bejelentkezni. Bementünk a házasságkötő hivatalba, bemutattuk az iratainkat, az anyakönyvvezető beírta az anyakönyvbe a nevünket, és kiadta az anyakönyvi kivonatot. Minden nagyon hétköznapi volt. Vettem a boltban egy üveg pezsgőt, egy bonbont, és megkértem az anyakönyvvezetőt, hogy koccintson velünk a boldogságunkra. A házasságkötő hivatal asztalára raktuk a poharakat, amiket az anyakönyvvezető kerített valahonnan, és fölbontottuk a pezsgőt. Aztán ugyanebben az épületben, egy fényképészetben készíttettünk néhány fotót. Aztán Tilda azt mondta, hogy be kell mennie a munkahelyére, mert összegyűlnek a kollégák, hogy megünnepeljék május elsejét. Engem meg az én munkatársaim hívtak el. Elváltunk hát egymástól, mindketten a saját munkahelyünkre mentünk. Hát ilyen volt a mi esküvőnk. Nemsokára összeházasodott a barátom, Vojta és Tilda barátnője, Frida. Ők is Ungváron éltek az 1970-es évekig. A barátságunk egész életünkre szólóan megmaradt.

A munkahelyemen nem érzékeltem antiszemitizmust vagy bármilyen más előítéletes hozzáállást. Ellenkezőleg, engem rögtön előléptettek, mert egy kicsit tudtam oroszul. Akkoriban Kárpátalján kevés ember volt, aki beszélt volna oroszul. Később aztán a gyerekek már orosz iskolákban tanultak, és az idősebbek is beletanultak egy kicsit, de akkor én az elsők között voltam, akik beszéltek oroszul. Egy barátommal alapítottuk ezt a kis javítóműhelyt. A szövetkezetben sok zsidó volt, az elnök pedig a zsidó Tamper volt. Nem kerestem rosszul, már elég tapasztalt szakember voltam. Egyszer Tamper fölajánlotta, hogy utazzak Kijevbe egy vezetői tanfolyamra, amit műszaki ellenőrzési osztályvezetőknek tartottak. Csak engem tudott elküldeni, mert más nem tudott oroszul. Megbeszéltem a dolgot Tildával, és úgy döntöttünk, hogy érdemes elutaznom. Egy hónapig voltam ott, eredményesen végeztem el a tanfolyamot. Amikor hazatértem, kiderült, hogy az elnök megszüntette azt a műhelyt, ahol dolgoztam, mert részlegvezetőnek akart kinevezni. Így lettem a fémipari termékek részlegének a vezetője. Sokkal kisebb lett a fizetésem, de a műhelyt már bezárták, választásom nem volt. A szövetkezetet pedig átalakították gyárrá. Részlegvezető voltam, jól ment a munka, jutalmakat kaptam, a munkafolyamatok ésszerűsítésével kezdtem foglalkozni. Izgalmas feladat volt valami újat csinálni, a racionalizációs javaslataimért kapott prémiumokkal pedig egy kicsit kárpótoltam magam a fizetéscsökkenésért. A vezetőségnek tetszettem, és arra buzdítottak, hogy jelentkezzem egyetemre. Ehhez először is el kellett végezni a középiskolát. Sem nekem, sem Tildának nem volt középiskolai végzettségünk. Elhatároztuk, hogy mindketten beiratkozunk levelező tagozatra egy középiskolába. Akkor már megvolt Pjotr fiunk, aki 1951-ben született. A zsidó neve Pinkász lett, apai nagyapám emlékére. A második fiunk, Jurij, akinek édesapám emlékére a Jesuá zsidó nevet adtuk, 1955-ben született.

Pjotr mellé dadát fogadtunk, és a feleségemmel tanulni kezdtünk. Ez egy vasárnapi iskola volt. Vasárnap egész nap órákon voltunk, és hétköznapokra kaptuk a házi feladatot. Elvégeztük a középiskolát, érettségi bizonyítványt szereztünk. Így már lehetett tovább tanulni. Az Odesszai Gépészeti Főiskola gépészkarát végeztem el levelező tagozaton, kitűnőre védtem meg a diplomamunkámat. A gyár meg kibővült egy kicsit. Amikor elkezdtem dolgozni részlegvezetőként, harmincan voltunk, mire befejeztem a főiskolát, már nyolcvan. Műszaki igazgatóhelyettessé neveztek ki, főmérnökké azért nem illett volna. Engem ez kielégített, én sohasem törtem magas beosztásokra, elég szerény voltam.

Amikor műszaki igazgatóhelyettessé neveztek ki, a vezetőség és a kijevi felettesek azt tanácsolták, hogy lépjek be a pártba. Azt mondták, ez segíteni fogja a karrieremet. A feleségem is belépett a kommunista pártba. Nekünk nem volt ellenünkre a kommunizmus, nem tudtuk, hogy mi történt a Szovjetunióban a Nagy Honvédő Háború előtt, nekünk ez az ország semmi rosszat nem tett, inkább hálásak voltunk, mert végre lehetőségünk nyílt normálisan élni, tanulni, dolgozni. Amikor a pártba való belépéshez szükséges iratokat töltöttük ki, az életrajzunkba is és a nyilvántartási lapra is ráírtuk, hogy voltunk koncentrációs táborban. Azok, akik már 1917-től a Szovjetunióban éltek, elhallgatták, ha koncentrációs táborban voltak. A koncentrációs táborokat megjárt emberekre gyanakvással tekintettek, volt olyan is, hogy megkérdezték az illetőt, hogyhogy nem halt meg ott. Mi is féltünk írni a koncentrációs táborról, de úgy döntöttünk, hogyha belépünk a pártba, akkor az igazat akarjuk mondani, és az igazat fogjuk magunkról leírni. Végül is ez nem is történt semmi.

Beléptem a pártba, és pont akkor kerestek a gyárnak főmérnököt. Én lettem a főmérnök, húsz évet ledolgoztam ebben a beosztásban. Ez alatt a húsz év alatt egy elég jó gyárat alakítottunk ki, ahol már nyolcszáz ember dolgozott. Szovjet mértékkel ez a gyár kicsinek számított, de Ungvár méreteihez képest a „Bolsevik” nagy volt. Jó híre volt. Gyakran kaptunk prémiumot, elkezdtünk viszonylag normálisan élni. Én még kitüntetéseket is kaptam. A Becsület érdemkeresztje kitüntetést és mindenféle más címet. A gyárban megkaptam a szocialista verseny élharcosa jelvényt is. Akkor ez volt a szokás. Az fő munkám mellett feltaláló is lettem. Egy nagyon érdekes lakkozó berendezést találtam fel a bútoripar számára, ami lehetővé tette a lakkbevonat mechanikus felvitelét. Addig kézzel vitték fel a lakkot. Erre a találmányra szabadalmat szereztem, és jó pénzt kaptam érte.   

Nem érzékeltem felém irányuló antiszemitizmust. Mindenki tudta, hogy zsidó vagyok, minden kérdőívben én is, Tilda is feltüntettük, hogy zsidók vagyunk, hogy a zsidó nyelv az anyanyelvünk, és én nem féltem beszélni erről. Megmaradt a zsidó lelkem. A munkahelyen mindenki jól viszonyult hozzám, bár csak néhány ember volt zsidó. Velük én mások jelenlétében is zsidó nyelven, jiddisül beszéltem. Sok cigány dolgozott ott, mert a gyár egy olyan kerületben volt, ahol cigányok éltek. Magyarok is, szlovákok is, ukránok is dolgoztak a gyárban. Én mindenkivel megtaláltam a közös nyelvet. Ez nagyon egyszerű, csak minden emberhez tisztelettel kell közelíteni, és akkor ő is igyekezni fog, hogy megfeleljen ennek a hozzáállásnak.

A szovjetunióbeli életem alatt egyetlen esetben találkoztam ellenem irányuló antiszemitizmussal. Lehet, hogy ez az eset nem túl fontos, annál is inkább, mert csak sokkal később szereztem róla tudomást. Az igazgatónkat kinevezték egy új, épülő gyár élére. Én voltam a főmérnök, és átmenetileg az igazgató munkáját is én végeztem. Én nem akartam igazgató lenni, meg voltam elégedve a saját munkámmal. Amikor küldtek egy új igazgatót, én lelkiismeretesen bevezettem őt a tennivalókba, eleinte sokat segítettem neki. Ezért hálás is volt. Sok év múlva egy zsidó ismerősöm elmesélte, hogy amikor a városi pártbizottságában arról volt szó, hogy a gyárunknak igazgatóra van szüksége, valaki azt mondta: „Minek keresni oda valakit, amikor ott van Galpert?” Erre a területi bizottság titkára – jó ismerősöm – azt felelte: „De hát ő zsidó!” Ez volt az egyetlen eset, amiről tudok, hogy a zsidóságom valakit zavart volna. De az emberek, akikkel dolgoztam, örülnek nekem ma is, ha találkozunk az utcán, a nyakamba borulnak.  

Tilda sorsa is jól alakult. Miután visszajött a lágerből, egy kilenc hónapos párttanfolyamon vett részt. Fogékony volt a nyelvekre, gyorsan megtanult oroszul. Miután elvégezte a tanfolyamot, a városi végrehajtó bizottság kereskedelmi osztályán dolgozott [Megjegyzést lásd fent. – A szerk.]. Jól ment neki a munka, és kinevezték a megyei végrehajtó bizottság elnökhelyettese mellé munkatársnak [Ezúttal sem tudjuk eldönteni, hogy a megyei tanácsról van-e szó, vagy a megyei pártbizottság végrehajtó bizottságáról. A hasonló magyarországi apparátusban az „elnök(helyettes)” a tanácsi apparátusra utal, ezt a tisztséget a pártban titkár(helyettes) töltötte be. – A szerk.]. Hosszú időn át dolgozott ott. Mindenki tudta, hogy zsidó, Tilda ezt minden kérdőívbe beírta, soha nem titkolta el. Akkor minden nyilvántartást ukránul vezettek. Tilda nagyon jól megtanult ukránul, jobban tudott, mint oroszul, még annál is jobban, mint olyik ukrán. Kinevezték a protokollosztály vezetőjévé, ez egy elég magas beosztás. A városban jó hírünk volt. A „Kárpátalja Könyve” című kiadványban úgy említenek engem, mint aki sokat tett a város fejlődéséért. Így hát személyes problémánk nem volt a szovjethatalommal. De az, ami körülöttünk zajlott, megérintett minket.

Én és a feleségem keveset éltünk a szovjethatalom alatt, és nehezen tudtunk kiigazodni azon, hogy mi is történik valójában a Szovjetunióban. Mi elhittük, amit a kommunista párt nevében mondtak. Hiszen mi ifjúkorunkban proletárok voltunk, egy gyárban dolgoztunk a tulajdonosnak, ki voltunk zsákmányolva. Mi tényleg hittünk abban, hogy fényes jövőt építünk, szép nemzetközi társadalmat, ahol mindenki egyenlő lesz. Csodálatos eszme volt. Olvastuk Marx, Lenin, Sztálin munkáit. Olvastuk az utópista szocialistákat. Mindaz, ami ott le van írva, szépen hangzik. Nagyon érdekes volt mindez, és mi hittünk benne. Amikor 1953-ban meghalt Sztálin, az számunkra tényleg gyász volt. Persze láttuk, hogy sok minden nem úgy történik, mint ahogy az le van írva. Azt hittük, hogy ez elmúlik, hogy ez egy átmeneti időszak, hogy ott fent nem tudják, hogy mit csinálnak itt helyben. De tudat alatt már éreztük, hogy valami nincs rendjén, hogy a tettek nem fedik a szavakat. Átéltük a kozmopolitizmus elleni kampányt 1948-ban [lásd: koncepciós perek; kozmopolitizmus elleni harc]. Minket személyesen nem érintett, de nem értettük, hogy mi történt. Az egész hamisításnak tűnt. Az 1953 januárjában zajló orvosper is látványosan hazug volt, az antiszemitizmus erősödését készítette elő. Akkor ezt mi tudat alatt éreztük, de amennyire lehetett, igyekeztünk nem elemezni. Amikor Hruscsov a huszadik pártkongresszuson Sztálinról és az egész szovjet rendszerről beszélt [lásd: az SZKP XX. kongresszusa; Hruscsov beszéde a XX. pártkongresszuson], és föllibbentette a fátylat Sztálin bűntetteiről, már fölfogtuk, hogy s mint van ez az egész. Megértettük, hogy a kommunizmus, a szocializmus eszméi már nem a mieink.

Párttagként és vezető beosztásban lévő dolgozóként kötelességem volt propagandatevékenységet folytatnom a gyár műszaki dolgozói felé. Rendszeres politikai foglalkozásokat kellett tartanom nekik. Egyet tiszta lelkiismerettel állíthatok: soha semmit nem mondtam a saját nevemben. Ezt mondja Hruscsov. Ezt mondta Brezsnyev. Így mondta Lenin – mindig valakire hivatkoztam, mert a huszadik pártkongresszus után Tildával rájöttünk, hogy ebből a kommunizmusból semmi sem lesz. De a pártnak a legutolsó napig tagjai voltunk, amikor is 1991-ben szétesett a Szovjetunió.

Család és gyerekek

A fiaink egészséges, jó gyerekek voltak. Két teljesen különböző karakter. Pjotr nyugodt, csendes, sehová sem siet, otthon ülő típus. Jurij közlékeny, vidám, rengeteg ismerőse és barátja van. Mindketten ugyanabba az óvodába, iskolába jártak, csak négy év különbséggel. Még a tanítónőjük is ugyanaz volt az alsó osztályokban. Mindketten tízosztályos orosz általános iskolába jártak, és jó tanulók voltak. Az idősebbik fiam, Pjotr kitűnőre végezte el az iskolát. Mi nem akartuk, hogy a fiunk Ukrajnában járjon egyetemre, el akartuk kerülni, hogy antiszemitizmussal találkozzon. Leningrádba ment, sikerült a felvételi vizsgája, és fölvették a Leningrádi Finommechanikai és Optikai Egyetemre. Öt és fél évet járt ott egyetemre. A diploma előtti gyakorlatot Pjotr Izsevszkben, egy hadiüzemben végezte, ahonnan kitűnő minősítést kapott.  Amikor az elirányítás volt, a fiunk megírta, hogy nem tudja, hová küldik majd dolgozni. Az ungvári alkatrészgyár főmérnöke írt Leningrádba egy kérvényt, amelyben állást kínált Pjotrnak, úgyhogy a fiunkat Ungvárra irányították. A peresztrojkáig ebben a gyárban dolgozott tervezőként.

A peresztrojka alatt a gyár, mint a többi gyár is, bezárt. Amikor Ungváron kezdték bevezetni az internetet, a fiam egy internetes cégnél helyezkedett el. Már harmincnyolc éves volt, amikor megházasodott. Nagyon szerény, visszahúzódó típus. Azt hiszem, én is ilyen voltam fiatalkoromban, de már nem vagyok ilyen. A barátai mind fiúk voltak, lányokkal nem találkozott. Egy kolléganőjét vette feleségül, aki elektromérnök volt, aztán könyvelővé képezte át magát, és főkönyvelőként dolgozott. Valamelyik barátjuk kiment Németországba, és rávette őket is, hogy áttelepüljenek. Nem ellenkeztünk. Persze nekünk jobb lenne, ha a gyerekeink itt lennének a közelünkben. De nem beszéltük le, hisz ha nekik ott jobb lesz, akkor csak hadd menjenek. Németországban Pjotr elvégzett egy elektronikai tanfolyamot, amelynek a költségeit a Siemens cég állta, utána pedig munkát kapott a cégnél. A felesége könyvelő. Frankfurt am Mainban laknak, gyermekük sajnos nincs.

Jurij, a fiatalabbik fiunk a középiskola után Leningrádba ment, hogy ugyanarra az egyetemre jelentkezzen, ahol Pjotr tanult. Sajnos Leningrádban megbetegedett, és nem tudta letenni a felvételi vizsgát. Behívták sorkatonának. Nagyon jó alakulatba került, ahol radarberendezésekkel foglalkoztak, a munka elektronikai jellegű volt. Jurij a mellett a tiszt mellett volt, aki az elektronikus tervrajzokkal foglalkozott. Miután leszerelt, visszatért Ungvárra, és egy gyárban helyezkedett el műszerészként. Aztán fölvették a lvovi műszaki egyetem villamosmérnöki karára. Miután befejezte a tanulmányait, ugyanabba a gyárba ment vissza mérnöknek, ahol előtte dolgozott. Ott volt egészen a peresztrojkáig, amíg a gyár meg nem szűnt. Akkor a barátjával egy kávéházat nyitott. Ez a munka nem tetszett neki, de muszáj volt pénzt keresnie. Három évig csinálta, aztán amikor Ungváron megalakult a Heszed, az igazgatója odahívta Jurijt. Most ő a Heszed területi igazgatója, meg van elégedve a munkájával. Itt lakik tőlünk nem messze, gyakran vagyunk náluk, ők is nálunk.

Egyik fiunknak sem zsidó a felesége. Mindketten boldogok a házasságban, és ez a fő.

Az egyetlen unokánk, Filip, Jurij fia 1975-ben született. Miután befejezte az iskolát, a Szochnutban fölajánlották neki, hogy tanuljon Izraelben. 1994-ben elment. Igaz, eleinte nem alakult minden a legjobban. Itt azt ígérték neki, hogy az oktatás ingyenes lesz. Kiderült, hogy nem úgy van. Filip szakácstanfolyamra járt, és a tanfolyam után egy, a Holt-tengernél lévő étteremben dolgozott szakácsként. Aztán behívták a hadseregbe. Miután leszolgált a hadseregben, fölvették a netanjai egyetemre sportorvosi szakra. Most már ötödéves, és nagyon elégedett mindennel. Segítünk neki, hogy sikeresen befejezhesse a tanulmányait. Nagyon tetszik neki a foglalkozása. Mi is örülünk neki, hogy ilyen lehetősége van tanulni, világot látni, hiszen korábban ilyesmit még csak elképzelni sem lehetett. Múlt nyáron Filip ideutazott. A Szochnut nyári gyerektáborokat szervez Kárpátalján. Ebben az évben is meghívták, és reméljük, hogy nyáron megint láthatjuk az unokánkat.

Azt nem mondanám, hogy a háború után a feleségemmel vallásosak maradtunk volna. Nem imádkoztunk, nem jártunk a zsinagógába, nem állt módunkban kóser háztartást vezetni. A koncentrációs tábor után, a családom halála után én végérvényesen eltávolodtam a vallástól. De a gyerekeink tudták, hogy ők zsidók. Meséltem nekik a zsidó történelem eseményeiről. Minden zsidó ünnepkor elmeséltem nekik az ünnep történetét és hagyományait, elmondtam, hogyan kell megtartani ezeket az ünnepeket, és mivel kapcsolatosak. Pészahkor elmeséltem nekik, hogyan kerültek a zsidók Egyiptomba, hogyan szabadította őket ki Mózes, honnan erednek ezek a húsvéti szokások, elmondtam, hogy a hagyomány szerint maceszt kell enni Pészakhor, és még sok minden mást is. És minden ünnepről ugyanígy. Amikor ünnep volt, mindig így meséltünk: „Ma Pészah van. Nálunk otthon ez így zajlott…” Tilda ilyenkor a zsidó konyha ünnepi ételeit főzte. Pészahra mindig elrakott egy kis hordó céklaitalt, volt macesz, Purimra mindig volt hámántáska, Ros Hásánákor pedig méz és alma volt kitéve az asztalra. Meséltem a fiaimnak a gyerekkoromról, a héderről, arról, hogy jártunk apámmal a zsinagógába, a bár micvómról, mindarról, amit már itt elmeséltem. Elmondtam nekik, hogyan távolodtam el kissé a vallástól, amikor dolgozni kezdtem. Elmondtam azt is, hogyan sértettem meg édesanyámat, és hogy ez a bűnöm teherként ül azóta is a lelkemen, hiszen anyámmal többé nem találkoztam, és csak gondolatban tudok bocsánatot kérni tőle a szavaimért. A fiaink gyerekkoruktól tudták, hogy a zsidósághoz tartoznak. Én úgy tartottam, hogy mi kötelesek vagyunk ezt átadni nekik. Aztán hogy mihez kezdenek a tőlünk kapottakkal, az már az ő dolguk. A koncentrációs táborról nem beszéltünk velük a gyerekkorukban. Ez akkor túl nehéz volt nekünk. Úgy éreztem, hogy ha beszélni kezdek róla, akkor elsírom magam. Már felnőttek voltak, amikor először hallottak erről tőlünk.

Sok barátunk volt, többnyire zsidók, de voltak nem zsidók is. Mi mindig örültünk, amikor ünnepet rendezhettünk, és barátokat hívhattunk hozzánk. A családból mindenkinek megünnepeltük a születésnapját. A szovjet ünnepeket is megtartottuk, bár nem mondhatnám, hogy a lényegüket tekintve ünnepek lettek volna számunkra a szovjet ünnepek. De mindig szabadnapok voltak, és örültünk, hogy összejöhetünk a barátainkkal az ünnepi asztal körül beszélgetni, és hozzánk közel álló emberek társaságában pihenhetjük ki a dolgos hétköznapokat. Annyi vendég gyűlt össze mindig, hogy összenyitottuk a két szobát, és az asztalt hosszában állítottuk fel. Még e mellett a nagy asztal mellett is mindig szűkösen voltunk. Nagyon jó volt a hangulat. Szinte minden barátunk idősebb volt nálunk. Idősebbekkel barátkoztunk, mert a mi nemzedékünkből nemigen jöttek vissza zsidók a lágerből. Most meg nézzük a fényképeket: ez sincs, az sincs… Senki sincs. Ketten maradtunk az egész baráti társaságból. Érti, hogy ez mit jelent? Félelmetes, amikor az ember fölidézi, hogy milyen vidám baráti társaságunk volt, és csak ketten maradtunk. Megyünk a temetőbe, itt van eltemetve az egyik, amott a másik… Ez félelmetes. Jó, hogy a barátaink gyerekei barátkoznak velünk. A barátaink Ungváron maradt gyerekei közül sokan tartják velünk a kapcsolatot.

A szabadidőmet mindig a családommal töltöttem. Hétvégeken sétáltunk és hegyet másztunk. Nyáron kirándulni, télen meg síelni jártunk a hegyekbe. Nyaraltunk délen, a tengerparton is. Az 1970-es években kaptam egy telket, és építettünk rá egy dácsát [orosz: víkendház], gyümölcsfákat és virágokat ültettünk. A dácsa lett a szabadidőnk kedvenc színhelye. A fiaim segítettek fölépíteni a házat. A feleségem szeret kertészkedni. Tilda és én sokszor mentünk koncertre és színházba.

Amikor az 1970-es évek végén megkezdődött a zsidók tömeges elvándorlása Izraelbe, én és a feleségem nem készültünk kivándorolni [Néhány ezer, többnyire magyarul beszélő szovjet zsidó – főleg beregszászi, huszti, munkácsi, ungvári és nagyszőllősi lakosok – az 1970-es évek végén engedélyt kapott az Ukrán SZSZK Kárpátontúli területének elhagyására. – A szerk.]. Az ismerőseink és barátaink közül sokan elmentek, a hozzánk legközelebb álló emberek, Frida és Vojta is. De mi nem kockáztattuk, hogy mindent elölről kezdjünk. Ha kivándoroltunk volna Izraelbe, mindent a nulláról kellett volna kezdenünk. A hébertudásom elegendő lett volna a köznapi kommunikációhoz, de ahhoz, hogy dolgozzam, már nem. Hozzászoktunk a lakásunkhoz, az itteni életünkhöz. Sok barátunk van, a legtöbbjük zsidó, de vannak nem zsidók is. Nehéz lett volna a megszokott társasági élet nélkül. Átgondoltuk a dolgot, megvitattuk a gyerekekkel: Na gyerekek, megyünk? Ha azt mondták volna, hogy megyünk, akkor valószínűleg rászántuk volna magunkat a kivándorlásra. De a fiaink sem mutattak különösebb szándékot arra, hogy kimenjenek, így maradtunk. Minél idősebbek vagyunk, annál kevésbé reális, hogy elmenjünk. Már nyolcvan éves vagyok, és új életet kezdeni, az már nem nekünk való.

A peresztrojkát örömmel fogadtuk. Már mi is láttuk, hogy a szovjet berendezkedés az egy abnormális rendszer. Mindkét testvérem Izraelben élt, de nem tudtam velük levelezni. Én is és a feleségem is párttagok voltunk, vezető beosztást töltöttünk be. Azokban az években nem volt tanácsos a kapitalista országok állampolgáraival levelezni. Tilda bátyjának, Fülöpnek a felesége levelezett az Izraelben élő bátyjával. Tilda és én a húgomnak és a nővéremnek szóló leveleket odaadtuk neki, ő pedig beletette őket a bátyjának szóló levél mellé, a borítékba. A bátyja pedig továbbította a testvéreimnek. Visszafelé is ugyanezen az úton jöttek a levelek. Nagyon ritkán leveleztünk, mert a procedúra nagyon körülményes volt. Még így is féltem, hogyha kiderül a dolog, akkor az minimum elbocsátással és a pártból való kizárással fenyeget, de az is lehet, hogy bírósággal, kémkedés vádjával és még ördög tudja, mivel. A testvéreimmel csak ilyen kapcsolatom volt, tudtam róluk, és ők is tudtak rólam. Tudtam, hogy Ibolya húgom Izraelben férjhez ment egy Stein nevű emberhez. Olga Izraelben könyvelőként dolgozott mindaddig, amíg nyugdíjba nem ment. Van egy fia, 1947-ben született, informatikával foglalkozik és egyetemi tanár. Ibolya, miután férjhez ment, már nem dolgozott, háztartásbeli volt. Két lánya van: Margalit, aki 1950-ben született, és Érit, aki 1953-ban. Ibolya mindkét lánya férjnél van, gyerekeik vannak. Ezeken a levélváltásokon kívül nem volt semmiféle kapcsolatunk. Korábban, ha valakinek az állandó lakhelye más országba került, már nem volt arra remény, hogy valaha is viszontláthatjuk, hogy ellátogathatunk hozzá, vagy meghívhatjuk magunkhoz. A peresztrojka megadta nekünk ezt a lehetőséget. Először 1988-ban utaztunk a feleségemmel Izraelbe, a peresztrojka elején. Mindannyian összegyűltünk az ünnepi asztalnál, és a találkozás első napján minden tósztot Gorbacsovra mondtunk. Hogy feléledtünk akkor! Tilda és én találkoztunk a barátainkkal: Vojtával, a barátommal, akivel együtt voltam az összes lágerben, és Tilda barátnőjével, Fridával, Vojta feleségével, akivel meg Tilda járta meg a koncentrációs tábort. Egy ilyen barátság többet jelent, mint a vérrokonság. Ilyen hosszú szünet után újra találkozhattunk, megölelhettük, megcsókolhattuk őket… Azóta már többször is voltunk Izraelben. Megismertem és megszerettem ezt a rendkívüli országot, lelkesedem a népéért, amely a kősivatagban létrehozta a paradicsomot. És nagyon örülök, hogy az unokám ebben az országban élhet.

A zsidóság újjászületése is éppen a peresztrojka idején kezdődött el.

Három évvel ezelőtt Tilda és én Auschwitzba utaztunk egy csoporttal a hmelnyicki Heszedből. Én voltam a csoport rabbija, nekem kellett kádist mondanom az Auschwitzban elhunytakért. Beszéltem a csoport tagjainak arról, hogy mi történt velünk, és mi lett a családunk sorsa. Ebben a csoportban mi voltunk az egyetlenek, akik nem hallomásból ismerték Auschwitzot, a többiek Ukrajna különböző gettóit járták meg. Nagyon nehéz volt ez az út számunkra. Amikor a kádist mondtam, Tilda azt hitte, hogy ott helyben meghalok: remegett a lábam, remegett a kezem, elcsuklott a hangom. Nagyon félelmetes volt. Persze azért próbáltam tartani magam, hiszen nem voltam egyedül. A tárlatvezető meghallotta, hogy Tildával magyarul beszélünk egymással, azt gondolta, hogy Magyarországról jöttünk, és átvitt minket a magyar terembe. Ott az összes falat beborítva, ábécé rendben vannak fölírva a nevek. A plafontól egészen a padlóig. Megtaláltam közöttük édesapám és Jidl bácsikám nevét. Nem tudom, hogyan éltem túl azt a percet. A neveik lent voltak. Lehajoltam, amikor olvastam a listát, elestem, és nem tudtam fölkelni. Még emlékezni is szörnyű rá. De emlékezni kell rá, és el kell mesélni, hogy soha ne ismétlődjön meg.

1983-ban otthagytam a főmérnöki állást. Saját akaratomból mentem el, már nehezemre esett megbirkóznom a rengeteg tennivalóval. Marasztaltak, hogy dolgozzam még. Hogy főmérnök legyek, azt határozottan elutasítottam, erre fölajánlották, hogy legyek tanácsadó. Hiszen az utolsó kis csavarig ismertem ezt a gyárat, minden az én időmben épült. 1991-ig dolgoztam ott. 1991-ben indult egy kampány, amelynek keretében az összes nyugdíjast eltanácsolták. A gyár igazgatója azt javasolta, hogy a gyárra támaszkodva, hozzak létre egy kisvállalkozást, és legyek az igazgatója. Összeszedtem néhány nyugdíjast. A kisvállalkozásban két évig dolgoztam, de a munka nem tetszett, és 1994-ben végleg nyugdíjba mentem. A pártból 1991-ben léptem ki.

A feleségem sem ment még nyugdíjba, amikor elérte a nyugdíjkorhatárt. Már betöltötte az ötvenötöt, de a munkahelyéről nem engedték el, marasztalták, azt mondták, hogy nem tudnak nélküle meglenni. Tilda még öt évet dolgozott ugyanabban a beosztásban, aztán ragaszkodott hozzá, hogy nyugdíjba menjen. Eljött az idő, amikor ideje volt már pihenni.

Most sem ülök tétlenül. A szovjethatalom évei alatt zsidó maradtam. A lelkemben is zsidó vagyok, zsidó nevelésben is részesültem, a vallásom is zsidó, és a koncentrációs táborban is zsidó családtagjaim haltak meg. Miután nyugdíjba vonultam, hívtak az ungvári hitközségbe. Így lettem vezetőségi tag a Heszedben, a jiddiskájt írott és íratlan szabályaiért [Jiddiskájt/ jiddiskeit – itt: a zsidó szokásokban való jártasság. – A szerk.], a zsidóság törvényeinek betartásáért felelek. Vannak persze mások is, akik tudják mindezt, de fiatalabbak nálam, kevesebbre emlékeznek, hiszen nem egy ilyen haszid családban nőttek fel, mint én. Úgyhogy nekem kellett az első időkben tanítani a felnőtteket és a gyerekeket is. El tudom mesélni, hogy volt nálunk otthon, és hogyan kell lennie annál, aki betartja a zsidó hagyományokat. Most már egy kicsit egyszerűbb, mert már vannak zsidó iskolák, ahol a gyerekeket tanítják, a felnőtteknek meg a zsinagógában tartanak előadást. Most már sok zsidó újság, könyv van, de az 1990-es években mindez még nem volt. Még most is ezzel foglalkozom. Nagyon gyakran meghívnak, főleg ünnepek alkalmával, hogy meséljek a hagyományokról, az imákról, a jiddiskájtról, a történelemről, mert én mindezt tanultam, és valamire még emlékszem belőle. Néha, hogy jobban felidézzem, hozzáolvasok, de általában olyanokról mesélek, amit magam is átéltem. Különösen sokat foglalkoztam a gyerekekkel. És örömemet lelem abban, hogy az embereknek hasznára válok. Én zsidó vagyok, és úgy tartom, hogy egy zsidónak tudnia kell, miért zsidó. Hogy tartja magát ahhoz, amit megtudott, vagy nem, ez az ő lelkiismeretén múlik. De ha úgy tartod magadról, hogy zsidó vagy, akkor valamennyire ismerned kell a zsidó hagyományokat.

Miután nyugdíjba mentem, a feleségem és én megtartottuk otthon a zsidó ünnepeket. Minden szükséges dolog megvan ehhez nálunk otthon. Van hanukijánk, a zsidó iskola tanulóitól kaptunk ajándékba a macesz letakarására szolgáló terítőt, amit ők hímeztek ki. Amikor a zsinagógánkba amerikai rabbik érkeztek, én voltam az egyetlen, aki tudott velük héberül beszélni. Annyira megszerettek, hogy adtak ajándékba széderhez való tálcát [szédertálat], amin kis kerek mélyedések vannak, és a széderhez való poharat. Ezek valamikor, a gyermekkoromban ezüstből voltak, most meg valami rozsdamentes fémből készítik őket, nagyon szépek. Most ezeket használom otthon a széderhez. Ha eljön az ideje, én is odaadom majd valakinek. Most mi Tildával és a fiunk családjával a Heszedben ünnepeljük meg a zsidó ünnepeket. Ebben az évben kiálltam a színpadra Purimkor. A Heszed a városi színházban rendezte meg a Purimot. Kérték, hogy szerepeljek. Azt gondoltam magamban: na, most megint meséljem el Hámán és Eszter történetét, amit már úgyis mindenki ismer… Inkább csinálok én nektek egy kis meglepetést! Kigomboltam az ingemet, gumicsizmát húztam, az egyik nadrágszáramat betűrtem a csizmába, a másikat kint hagytam, föltettem valami sapkát, és kiszaladtam a színpadra. Bolondoztam, énekelni kezdtem nekik. Előre megbeszéltem a műsorvezetővel, hogy vigyen le engem a pódiumról, mert én részeget fogok játszani, és magamtól nem megyek le. Ő persze tudta, hogy én részegnek tettetem magam, de a többiek azt gondolták, hogy csakugyan részeg vagyok. Megpróbált lehozni a színpadról, én meg elkezdtem ellenkezni, azt mondtam, hogy ha egy zsidónak részegre kell innia magát Purimkor, akkor miért visznek le a színpadról? Aztán dicsértek, mondták, hogy jó színész vagyok, és hogy mindenki biztos volt benne, hogy valóban részeg vagyok. Többet ilyet nem csináltam. Egyszer megvicceltem őket, elég is az. Az öregember olyan, mint a kisgyerek. Öregkoromra rávettek, hogy szórakoztassam az embereket. A hanukiját is én gyújtottam meg Hanukakor a városi színházban.

A feleségem is, én is idén töltjük be a nyolcvanat. De igyekszünk nem megadni magunkat az évek számának. Akármilyen idő van is, minden nap sétálunk egyet kettesben. Hó, eső, fagy nekünk nem jelent akadályt, csak a szél zavar. Minden nap hat kilométert gyalogolunk. Van egy kedvenc útvonalunk a város szélén levő parkban. Már tizenöt éve hetente háromszor uszodába járunk. Igyekszünk jó formában maradni. Nem tudom, meddig tudjuk még tartani magunkat. Az én fő és kedvenc időtöltésem mostanság a számítógép. Először csak arra kerestem lehetőséget, hogy az Izraelben élő unokámmal kommunikáljak, hiszen telefonálni nagyon drága. Vettünk egy számítógépet az e-mail miatt. Aztán elkezdett érdekelni a dolog, járok a Heszedbe egy számítógépes klubba, tanulok. Ha valami nem sikerül, akkor idegeskedem, bosszankodom. De amikor valami új dolog sikerül, például megtaláltam a zsidó betűket a számítógépen, és már be tudom írni a héber szöveget, akkor nagyon örülök. A számítógép az egyetlen szórakozásom, amit nem oszt a feleségem. Egyébként mindig ketten vagyunk, mindig együtt vagyunk. És annak ellenére, amiket átéltünk, hálás vagyok a sorsnak, hogy találkozhattunk, és leélhettük egymással az életünket.