Travel

Ihil Shraibman
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Nathalia Fomina
Date of interview: November 2004

Ihil Shraibman is an old man of medium height, with thick gray hair, gentle features and shrewd eyes. He turned 91 this year. It takes an effort for him to move around his two-bedroom apartment. His sweet-looking and energetic wife Marina, who is much younger than him, is always by his side. She treats him tenderly and sweetly calls him Ihilenka. I admire Marina: she is a real writer’s wife. Marina is Russian, but she’s learned Yiddish to understand her husband’s creative works and assist him. She knows the history of the Shraibman family very well, and when Ihil has a problem with remembering something, she comes to his help. The spouses often switch to Yiddish. Yiddish is Ihil’s mother tongue and he switches to it when he can’t remember a Russian word. Ihil and Marina live in a nicely furnished apartment in Botanica, one of the central districts in Kishinev. Marina is a great housewife. She keeps the apartment ideally clean. We have our meeting in Ihil’s study. There is a desk with a computer on it, a bookcase, a cozy sofa and a portrait of Markish Peretz 1 on the wall. Beside it is Ihil’s portrait, made by Mihay Greku, an artist in Kishinev. Ihil is used to giving interviews as a writer and some of my questions like, for example, the one about his grandfather Zusia’s appearance surprised him. Answering my questions Ihil often referred me to his creative works: ‘I wrote about this a long time ago.’ When I asked him to describe the Jewish holidays in his family he smiled: ‘Don’t you know about celebrations?’

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family backgrownd

My paternal grandfather, Ihil-Avrom Shraibman, came from Vadul-Rashkov in Bessarabia 2. There are two towns called Rashkov: Ukrainian Rashkov and Vadul-Rashkov in Bessarabia, located on the bank of the Dniestr River. When in 1918 Bessarabia became Romanian territory 3, the Dniestr formed a border between the USSR and Romania and there were no more boats sailing across. We used to say: the Dniestr has been closed. Vadul-Rashkov had no more communications with Odessa port, the railway station was a long distance away and the town grew poorer. Jews resided in the central part of the town, and the Moldovan, Russian and Ukrainian population lived in the suburbs. The streets were narrow and curved and one-storied cottages were close to one another. There were sign boards: ‘Butcher’s’ or ‘Tailor’s’ on some of them. In spring and fall the streets were impassable. There were four synagogues, a cheder, elementary and talmud torah schools in the town. My grandfather Ihil-Avrom was a cantor. He died six years before I was born. This happened in the 1900s. I was his first grandson and was named after him.

My grandmother Hana was very kind like all grandmothers, and very smart. I can’t remember her maiden name. She owned a small grocery store where she sold tea, coffee and cereals. She also sold kvas [a kind of beverage] and dried sunflower seeds, popular with Jews and Moldovans. The store was in the house and the house wasn’t big. There were two rooms and a kitchen with a big Russian stove 4. The house was lighted with kerosene lamps. The house was plainly furnished: there was a square table, a few chairs, a bedroom and a wardrobe. My grandmother had many children. I remember almost all the names. They were religious like all Jews in the town. They celebrated Sabbath, followed the kashrut and went to the synagogue.

I remember my father’s older brother Shapseh very well. Uncle Shapseh was tall and handsome. He had beautiful black eyes, but he was blind. Shapseh lived with Grandmother. He made his living by lotteries. My uncle and his old companion traveled to smaller towns with lottery tickets and rewards: clocks, samovars or silver cups. They sold their lottery tickets for five lei [the national currency of Romania] each. After selling tickets they returned home, invited a few residents of Rashkov and arranged the lottery. They wrote the winning numbers on paper strips and the rest of paper strips were blank. Then the winnings strips were picked and my uncle and his companion delivered the rewards to the winners’ homes. When I was eight, my uncle fell ill suddenly during one of his trips, died and was buried in some distant town: relatives failed to come to his funeral. 

My father was the second son in the family and after him came Meyer. They said in the family that Uncle Meyer was going to study in the yeshivah, but this dream of his wasn’t to come true. He had to help Grandmother with the store and take care of the younger children. However, Meyer spent every free minute reading his books. When his time came, he married Zisl, a Jewish girl from our town. He got some training to become a shochet, moved to the faraway village of Shepteban’ and worked as a shochet for the rest of his life. In the 1960s a Jewish woman from Shepteban’ told me that Uncle and his family wanted to evacuate during the Great Patriotic War 5, but Germans captured them before they managed to cross the Dniestr. Uncle Meyer, his wife Zisl and my cousins Malka and Tsylia were beaten to death with sticks with sharp ends.

Uncle Zusia was my father’s youngest brother. His wife’s name was Tuba. They had a son. His name was also Ihil. Uncle Zusia died before the war. Tuba and Ihil were killed by the Fascists during the war. When my grandmother died in 1931, my father and his brothers argued about the inheritance grandmother had left. It wasn’t much, but the brothers never restored their good after that. 

I also remember my father’s two sisters. One of them was Feige-Beile. She was very beautiful. She married a Jewish villager and moved to live in his village. She and her husband occasionally visited the town, I remember. She died from consumption when I was about ten.

There is an interesting story about my father’s other sister Reizl. I remember her. She was very beautiful. This happened on the other bank of the Dniestr at the time of the Civil War 6 in Russia, when Ukrainian Jews were looking for rescue from Petliura’s 7 pogroms in Bessarabia. It happened in winter, when the Dniestr was covered with ice. I even remember Mama giving food to some refugees in the kitchen. They were heading to Kishinev from where they were hoping to move abroad. One night two guys from the other side of the Dniestr knocked on the door, pushed it inside and entered the house. Everybody was asleep. One of the guys said, ‘Erez Yisroel’ [‘Land of Israel’ in Yiddish]. Grandmother and her daughters woke up, ‘What’s the matter?’ The guys were wearing military uniforms and this scared my grandmother, but they happened to be no militaries. At that time people wore whatever they could get. One of them, Ovsey Zayatz, saw Reizl and stayed to live with them. I think he lived in Rashkov for about two years. He married Reizl and opened a store. Later they moved to Bucharest, looking for a better life. They stayed there for a year or longer since Reizl visited us once. She stayed a week in Rashkov and then they moved to Canada. Ovsey was a nice person. He worked in Canada as a private teacher. Later some of his former students lent him some money to open a grocery story. He did well and became a rather wealthy man. They had children. They wrote to us and even used to send their relatives ten dollars as a gift during the Romanian rule.

My papa was born in the 1880s during the tsarist rule. He could read and write in Yiddish, but he had no profession. He also knew Romanian and some Russian. He had to support the household after my grandfather died. In winter he went around villages working for tobacco producers. He sorted out the tobacco, had very little sleep – two or three hours per day. He came back home in spring before Pesach. Papa was very kind, taciturn, reserved and not a merry person at all. I thought he was handsome. I remember him with and without a beard. I liked him, when he didn’t have a beard. He looked younger then. He always covered his head. He didn’t go to the synagogue on Sabbath, but he did on holidays. He and my mother were neighbors and fell in love with each other. Mama always said they were very much in love and had married for love.

I remember my maternal grandfather, Zusia Chokler, very well. He was born and lived in Vadul-Rashkov. He took over any job at hand to support his numerous household. During the tsarist rule he was a ferry man on the Dniestr. On the days of fairs he hauled wagons, Moldovans, Jews, bulls and chickens from one bank of the river to the other. Grandfather Zusia also dealt in lotteries, but the main occupation of his life was architecture. Grandfather Zusia designed and constructed houses. My grandfather built one of the four synagogues in town. This was the synagogue for the commonest people in the town, who had no craft. There was an open book made on the front wall of the synagogue with two lions with their forelegs up on both sides of the book. Over the lions there was an engraved inscription in Hebrew: ‘By the effort of rab Zusia Chokler’. When my brother Isrul was born, Grandfather Zusia put me on one knee and him on another to tell us fairy tales that we could listen to for hours.

My grandmother’s name was Yenta, but I can’t remember her maiden name. I remember her. She was a housewife like all Jewish women at the time. She was short and always had her head bandaged: she suffered from frequent headaches. Grandmother Yenta stuffed pillows with feathers. There was white fluff everywhere in the house. My grandfather’s household was kosher and they all celebrated Sabbath like all other Jews in the town: they had a festive dinner and lit candles. They went to the synagogue on holidays and fasted on Yom Kippur. My grandmother and grandfather had four children. My mother had a brother and two sisters. 

My mother’s older brother Srul died young. I can hardly remember him. My brother, born in 1920, was named after him. My mother’s older sister Ida was a spinster and lived with Grandmother Yenta, helping her to stuff pillows. Ida wore her hair in two plaits. She died before the war. The other sister, Dvoira, married a man from Kodyma [today Ukraine] before the Russian Revolution 8 and lived in the USSR. I never met her. When Bessarabia was annexed to the USSR in 1940 9, we received a letter from them, but then the Great Patriotic War began and we never met.

My mama Reizl was born in Vadul-Rashkov in 1892. She finished elementary school and two grades of secondary school. Mama was beautiful. She had long thick hair, blue eyes and extraordinarily soft skin. She had a good sense of humor and laughed a lot. Mama loved my father and us, her children, and always said that love was most important of all things in life.

My parents got married when they were 19-20 years old. They had a Jewish wedding with a chuppah. They rented an apartment. After the wedding my father opened a store and Mama was a housewife. I was born in Vadul-Rashkov in 1913. We often changed apartments and I remember four-five apartments that we rented. There were usually two rooms and a kitchen in these apartments. Then one acquaintance moved to America and sold his house to my father for a very low price. There were two rooms, a kitchen and a cellar in the house. However, we didn’t live there long. It was in a quiet spot and too remote for the trade to go well. My father built another house near where Grandmother Hana lived. We moved into this house with two rooms and a store in it. The former house was ours, but nobody lived in there. My parents had ten children. After me my brother Isrul, named after Mama’s brother, was born. Then came Iosif, Buzia, Feiga, Shapseh, Luba, Zisl [Zina], Hana [Anna] and Ida. Shapseh and Luba died in infancy, Feiga died at the age of ten, when she was at school and even wrote poems.

We celebrated Jewish holidays at home. I remember Vadul-Rashkov before Pesach, when there was a lot of sunshine in the town. The windows in the houses were open, some people were engaged in whitewashing their houses, some were dusting their beds and the others were digging around the trees. Mama always did a general cleanup before Pesach. She cleaned the windows and doors, whitewashed the kitchen and burnt out the crockery. When the house was clean she took out the Pesach crockery. All I remember is that all children had little wine cups with handles. Mama made keyzele, the matzah pudding, gefilte fish and chicken broth. She baked latkes from matzah flour. We bought ordinary wine for Pesach. My father conducted the first two seders, reclining on cushions and according to all the rules. He followed the rules of the Haggadah where they were described in detail. It also contains di fir kashes, the four questions and the answers to them. Initially I posed the questions, being the oldest and then my brothers took over: ‘Mah nishtanah halaylah hazeh mikol halaylot’ in Hebrew. My father put an afikoman, a piece of matzah, away and we were to look for it. However, I don’t remember getting a gift for it. We didn’t have guests on seder – just ourselves.

Shavuot came after Pesach. Mama only cooked dairy food on Shavuot.

We fasted and went to the synagogue on Yom Kippur. On Rosh Hashanah Mama made round-shaped challah and we ate apples with honey.

The children loved Chanukkah. And I remember it well. We lit chanukkiyah on this holiday. We cut out the inside of a potato, poured oil in it, inserted a wick and lit it. Every day another candle was added. They were on the window sill. We, the kids, were given some money, a little bit, of course, considering that there were so many of us. We also received a dreidl. Mama also made potato latkes.

Growing up

I was born on Purim. I remember how hamantashen and fluden were made. My wife Marina always makes hamantashen on Purim. Jam and nuts were to be prepared in advance. We also took shelakhmones around, but this was not as colorful as Sholem Aleichem 10 described, when children and adults took gifts to their relatives and acquaintances. However, there were no purimspiels, though my father told me that in his youth there were real performances in Vadul-Rashkov.

I went to cheder before I turned six. My teacher Dovid-Iosif was short, hunchbacked and very old. He never raised his voice. He taught us the aleph-beth, reading and writing. After finishing cheder I went to the Jewish talmud-torah school, also an elementary school, but more secular than the cheder. Then I finished a Romanian elementary school. The director of the school was Jewish and there were Jewish pupils in it. Then I finished two grades of a secondary school. There was a public library in Vadul-Rashkov. I liked reading in Yiddish, Romanian and Russian. There were books in Hebrew, Yiddish, Romanian and Russian in the library. The Romanians closed it at some time, but later they reopened it. I was about nine years old then. I remember that day well. I was waiting for the library to open, sitting on the stairs. I was the first one to come in there and register. I went to the library to borrow books almost every day. Within a few years I read all the books in this library. I remember the librarian advising the visitors who had a problem choosing a book to read: ‘Ask the boy over there’ and I recommended them a book to read. 

On 13th March 1926, when I was to turn 13, I was to have my bar mitzvah. Bar mitzvah is an important day in the life of a Jewish boy. On this day he becomes a man. He has one square leather box with philacterias inside wrapped upon his arm, and anther one placed on his head. On bar mitzvah the boy is supposed to say a speech in Hebrew about the Jewry and his faith in God. My seide [‘grandfather’ in Yiddish] Zusia prepared me for this most important event. I remember him visiting us – we lived in a basement then – to teach me my speech. However, literally a few days before my bar mitzvah my aunt Ida ran in agitation and woke up my parents: my grandfather had died. Mama and Papa put my brother Isrul and me into their bed and went there. They came back at dawn and took Isrul and me to our grandfather’s home. Little Buzia and Feiga stayed at home. When we came, my grandfather was lying on the floor wrapped in takhrikhim under a black blanket. There were candles on the floor. There were people all around him crying. My brother Isrul and I were standing and not crying. Then I remember he was carried to the cemetery. Then we walked back home. On our way we stopped by a stream. My father said, ‘Well, Grandfather isn’t here any longer’ and started to cry. I cried, too. After a while we went on home. My father loved Grandfather Zusia dearly. He was very smart. The adults sat shivah, but I didn’t. I made my speech by myself.

When I turned 14, I took up teaching in the village of Shestachi, 15 kilometers away from Vadul-Rashkov to help my father support the family. I had four pupils: three boys and a girl and three adults, their parents. One had two children and the two others had one each. They agreed to accommodate me during the winter: I stayed and had meals during a specified time period with each family. I taught them reading and writing in Hebrew. The boys were older than me and weren’t quite eager to study. They made me tell them fairy tales and stories. Every Friday afternoon I walked back to Rashkov and on Sunday morning I returned to Shestachi. On my way home I was plotting stories for the boys. I earned a few hundred lei in this season. 

At the age of 16 I went to the seminary in Chernovtsy [today Ukraine]; it trained teachers for the Tarbut school 11 in Hebrew. There were such schools in every town in Bessarabia. However, I already became a leftist. It resulted from my reading: if one read Itshack Perez 12, one became a leftist for sure. In my opinion, the Jewish literature was leftist, rather than Communist. In Chernovtsy I didn’t hesitate to join the ‘Krasny Shkolnik’ [Red pupil in Russian], an underground youth organization; it was some sort of Komsomol 13 for pupils. We had secret meetings and distributed proclamations. I remember bringing some to the seminary where I gave them to the first-year students. One of them reported on me to the director. Our director Mark, chief rabbi of Bukovina 14, taught us religion. The next day Mark told me to come to his office after classes. He took a proclamation out of a drawer: ‘Is this yours?’ – ‘Yes.’ – ‘You must know who you give them to. Don’t be stupid again.’ He could have expelled me, but he didn’t. He never touched upon this subject again. I also remember Doctor Porat, our literature and language teacher. The students loved him.

However, I never finished the seminary. The Siguranza [secret police of Romania] arrested me and a few others three months before we finished the third year. I was taken to the jail in Chernovtsy. There were 28 inmates in the cell. Most of them were young people. The jail was for the prisoners waiting for a trial. I was released before the trial and went home to Rashkov before Pesach. Families were hiring tutors for their children at this period and I went to teach in a few houses. I stayed in Rashkov for a few weeks between Pesach and Shavuot. On Shavuot the gendarme chief arrested me in the street. He kept me in the cell till late at night. He had received an order from Chernovtsy to send me out to the trial and had no right to arrest me, but he rather wanted to get his one hundred lei. My father brought him the money in the evening and the gendarme released me. The next day he sent me over to the station on a horse-drawn carriage. My parents were seeing me off. However, when I arrived at Chernovtsy, my comrades decided that I shouldn’t go to court. They collected some money and sent me over to Iasi [today Romania]. Somehow I wasn’t looked for.

When I turned 19, I was conscripted to the army. I served in a regiment in Iasi. However, the Romanian power didn’t entrust rifles to Bessarabians. We were doing drills. On the eve of 10th May, the national Romanian holiday, we took the oath of loyalty to the King [King Carol II] 15, and participated in the parade. On 11th May we were ordered to give back our uniforms, took our old clothes from the attic and were sent to do field work 10 kilometers from Iasi. If somebody could afford to pay 1000 lei, they could stay at home. There was a halutz camp nearby. The campers were preparing to move to Palestine. They were trained to do agricultural work. Many young people adopted Zionist ideas in the camp. One acquaintance of mine from Rashkov moved to Palestine then. To move there one had to obtain a certificate from a Zionist organization.

When my army service was over, I moved to Bucharest from Iasi. I stayed a while in a dormitory. Its director was my acquaintance from Rashkov. Then I went to work as a prompter at the Jewish theater. This was when I heard the name of Avrom Goldfaden [Avrom Goldfaden (1840-1908): Jewish playwright (Hebrew and Yiddish), founder of the Jewish theater in Russia and the USA. Comedies ‘Wizard’, ‘Two Duffers’, ‘Schmendrik’, plays ‘Sulameth’ (1880), ‘Bar-Kohba’ (1882), the father of Jewish theater]. Avrom Goldfaden arrived in Iasi from Russia and was going to publish a magazine. He met the ‘Broder zinger’ [Brody singers’] group and created the first theater in Romania on the basis of this choir. Our theater staged Jewish plays: Sholem Aleichem’s, Mendele Moykher-Sforim’s 16 plays, Rappoport’s play ‘Gadibuk’ staged by Yevgeniy Vachtangov [Vachtangov Yevgeniy Bagrationovich (1883-1922): Soviet producer and writer] at the ‘Gabima’ Moscow Jewish theater, the play was translated by Bialik 17 for the theater. There were also numerous rag plays in Yiddish. I wasn’t that interested in working for the theater. I started writing.

I had started writing back in Vadul-Rashkov. Itshack Perez was my idol. I showed my first works to my friends. In Bucharest I had my first publications. In 1936 I sent my first story to the ‘Signal’ magazine in America. It was published in Yiddish. The title of the story was ‘Erscht tretn’ [First steps]. I also wrote two short stories. However, I wasn’t even aware that they were short stories. I thought it was poetry. Unrhymed poems were in fashion at that time. The first miniature was entitled ‘Lign schtein in dem hant fun sculptor’ [Lie stone in sculptor’s hands], and the second one was ‘Testament.’ I thought I would adopt a genre based on what they published. They published the story and miniatures and since then I’ve written stories and miniatures.

I married Olga Kalyusskaya, who came from Vadul-Rashkov, in my second year in Bucharest. She was a midwife. We met at one of my friends’ place. I don’t think she was interested in me, when we had seen each other before living in Bucharest: she was a damsel and I was still a pup. Olga was eight years older than me. She was born to the family of Yefim Kalyusski, a farmer. Olga’s father had died and I could hardly remember him. Olga left Rashkov after finishing school and finished a midwives’ course in Bucharest, I think. She was an extraordinarily kind person and people liked her. She had many friends. Actually, we didn’t register our relations, but started living together. Later, when the Cuzists 18 came to power we registered our marriage in the town registry. I continued working at the theater and writing. I had my stories published in newspapers in Warsaw and America. My first book of short stories and essays, ‘Meine Heftn’ [My notebooks], was published in Bucharest in 1939. This was an edition of 1000 copies and I paid for the publication. I was planning to have ten such notebooks with general page numbering and later have them bound to have one thick book and I left 500 brochures of 1000 for this purpose, but it didn’t work. I only managed three notebooks, when in 1940 repatriation to Bessarabia began. I didn’t consider staying in Romania since nobody stayed. Firstly, there were already German officers in Romania. Germans had one foot in Bucharest already. And, secondly, the Iron Guard 19 already persecuted Jews. The Iron Guards pinned swastikas on Jews if they bumped into them in the streets. They beat Jews brutally, if they resisted.

In 1940 Olga and I arrived in Kishinev and rented an apartment. I liked the town a lot. It was beautiful, an old Jewish town: there were many Jews living in the town and there was Yiddish heard everywhere. However, there were no publications in Yiddish in Kishinev besides the ‘Word of cooperator,’ a small newspaper of a cooperative association. Romanian authorities had closed the ‘Undzere Tsayt’ [Yiddish for Our Time] Yiddish newspaper back in 1938. I had my works published in the ‘Der Shtern’ [The Star] newspaper in Kiev. My first story, ‘Happiness,’ about our departure from Romania was published there. It also published three other stories that I wrote. Olga worked at the Jewish hospital. This hospital is still there. It had belonged to the Jewish community, but at that time this was the state owned hospital #4. The Jewish community was no longer in Kishinev.

On my first days in Kishinev I met the Jewish poet Yitsyk Fefer [Fefer, Yitsyk (Isaac Solomonovich) (1900-1952): a Soviet Jewish poet.]. He was a captain and was mobilized to the army service in Kiev. He had heard about me from a girl in Orhei; she had met me in Bucharest. He also wrote in Yiddish and was interested in my writing. Fefer suggested that I organize a creative meeting and we appointed the day for the meeting. There was another young Jewish writer who had arrived from Bucharest. We had met in Bucharest. His surname was Kishinevski. I didn’t see him after the war. He must have perished during the war. I was admitted to the Union of Wof the USSR [creative public organization of professional Soviet literature workers, established in 1934]. I became a writer and didn’t have to get a regular job.

I believed in the Soviet Union and if some things were wrong we believed them to be temporary difficulties. There were, for example, Red Army soldiers selling watches in the streets: it made a bad impression. Shortly after the establishment of the Soviet regime food stores started running out of food products. There was an earthquake in Kishinev in fall 1940. We jumped outside through the windows. However, only old and worn buildings were damaged or collapsed. In early 1941, residents of Kishinev began to be deported. None of my acquaintances suffered from this, but I heard about such occurrences. One morning I saw trucks with people. They were taken to the railway station at night and put on trains to Siberia. On 21st June 1941 the Union of Writers organized a meeting dedicated to the 1st anniversary of the establishment of the Soviet rule in Kishinev. It was conducted at the conservatory on Saturday. The meeting was opened by Bukov [Bukov, Yemilian (1909-1984): a Bessarabian poet, wrote prose after the war], chairman of the local department of the Union of Writers of the USSR. I read my story in Yiddish, it wasn’t the best one, but it was about the revolution.

During the war

The next day Kishinev was bombed: the war began. I was mobilized to the army and the following night I slept on the floor at a school building. Early in the morning we walked to Vadul-Voda. From there we moved across the Dniestr, Ukraine, heading to the east. I met Liviu Delianu, a Moldovan Jewish writer, in this group. We kept together. Though we were mobilized, we weren’t sent to the front line forces. We were moving to the rear of the country. Later I got to know that the Soviet commandment didn’t trust the Bessarabians, as they were former nationals of Romania. We reached Dnepropetrovsk and the front line was moving after us. From there we moved to Zaporizhzhya and then reached Transcaucasia where we worked in a kolkhoz 20 for a few months. When the German troops approached the Caucasus we moved on to Central Asia.

So I happened to be in Uzbekistan. My wife Olga found me in Tashkent [today capital of Uzbekistan]. In the evacuation agency we obtained an assignment to the kolkhoz named after Stalin of the village of Savat kishlak. There were three Stalin kolkhozes in this district. However, we couldn’t go to the kolkhoz since Olga fell ill. She was taken to hospital. There was a chaihana inn [tea-house in Uzbek] in the district town where kolkhoz workers could stay when they visited the town. Olga happened to have caught fever that resulted in pneumonia. She was dying. I went to Tashkent to get sulfidin [a sort of medication]. I bumped into Sidi Tahl, an actress of the Jewish theater, whom I had known since Bucharest, at the railway station. Sidi and her husband helped me to get two packs of sulfidin. This saved Olga’s life.

When she recovered, we went to the village. Olga had her head shaved in the hospital and she wore a white kerchief on her head. Though she was still weak, she went to work as a midwife in the kishlak [Central Asian village]. She picked up the Uzbek language promptly and the Uzbek residents understood her. I was sent to work at a school, but this was an Uzbek school and I couldn’t teach there. All I could do was work as a secretary. The huts in the village were made of straw and clay. They had flat roofs where the locals dried grapes and apricots. These huts were called ‘kibitka.’ Olga and I rented a hut from an Uzbek woman, whose husband was at the front. There were other people in evacuation from the Jewish kolkhoz 21 from near Odessa. They were mostly children, women and old people. There were also Ukrainian and Russian people in evacuation.

My father, mother and sisters Zina, Hana and Ida also found us in Uzbekistan. Some time later a crew was formed from those in evacuation and I was appointed its leader. At first we worked in the field harvesting wheat. I was provided with a donkey, being a crew leader. Early in the morning I was the first one to show up in the field. My donkey was loaded with two linen bags full of flat bread cookies. I measured field sections for each crew member and also one for myself. I also worked with a reaping hook. It was 40 degrees above zero. The heat was oppressive. There was a little hut in the field. Starting from about 11 o’clock we took shelter in this hut. At 4 pm we went back to work, when the heat reduced. We worked till dark.

I wrote in the evenings in our kibitka hut. I wrote the book ‘Dray zumers’ [Three Summers]. It contained short stories describing our life and work in the evacuation. This was a good book that I wrote in my own manner without taking into consideration the specifics of the ‘Soviet style.’ I sent a few short stories from this book to the ‘Der Emes’ [Truth in Yiddish/Hebrew] publishing house in Moscow. Shortly afterward I received a letter from the secretary of the Bureau of Jewish Writers at the Union of Writers of the USSR, Peretz Markish. He wrote that he liked the ‘Chaver Brover’ [Comrade Brover] story from this book and he wanted to publish it in his almanac ‘Tsum Zig’ [Towards Victory]. This big almanac was published in spring 1944 and my story was one of the first in it.

Olga gave birth to a baby in this kishlak. It died and we buried it in the kishlak. In 1944, when we moved to the Ursatievskaya railway junction, our second son Edward, Edik, was born. By that time I had submitted my book ‘Dray zumers’ for print. Peretz Markish invited me to a creative meeting in Moscow. There was a train to Moscow via Tashkent from the Ursatievskaya station, but it was impossible to get tickets. No tickets were sold, and that was it! People stood in lines and begged, but no! A week or two later we finally managed to get on a freight train with other passengers to Moscow. It took us a whole month to get to Moscow. The meeting in Moscow was a very interesting one. I read stories from the book ‘Dray zumers.’ There were at least 50 Jewish writers at this meeting. Markish was chairman of the meeting. He opened it. The other writers also spoke and said many warm words about my book.

In fall 1945 we returned to Kishinev. We arrived on 8th November. I remember the day because we ate white bread sold on 7th November 22. We were told there was a parade in the town on this day. The town was in ruins. There were ‘No mines’ signs on many buildings. Another family resided in our apartment. I showed them my passport with the residence address stamp 23, but it didn’t work. We were temporarily accommodated in the corridor of the Union of Writers. There was a wide sofa where Olga, I and our little son Edward slept. Edward was one year and nine months old. The board of directors had its meetings in the room a few stairs up from the corridor and we occasionally attended the meetings, standing on the stairs. 

Mama, Papa and my sisters also returned to Kishinev from Uzbekistan. My brothers Isrul and Buzia also arrived in Kishinev. They had worked in the evacuation in Uzbekistan. Iosif went to the army at the end of the war and came as far as Berlin. Zina, the oldest of my sisters, went to work as a cashier and got married soon. Hana entered the Teachers’ Training College and Ida, the youngest, went to medical school. My brother Isrul, who worked as a crew leader at the furniture factory, helped Papa to get employed by the factory. Iosif worked as an accountant and Buzia was a foreman at the carpet shop where Moldovan carpets were weaved. Our family lived in Kishinev. My brothers got married and had children in due time and so did my sisters Hana and Zina. Mama and my father lived with my childless younger sister Ida and her husband. Papa and Mama observed Jewish traditions after the war. They always had matzah on Pesach. They fasted on Yom Kippur and went to the synagogue.

After the war

We resided in the corridor of the Union of Writers for about six months. There was an army kitchen facility near our former apartment. When this facility was vacated, the family living in our apartment notified us promptly. We moved into this facility before the other willing incumbents did. There were two rooms and a kitchen there and we lived there till we received an apartment from the Union of Writers two years later.

In 1946 my book ‘Dray zumers’ was published in Moscow. This was my first book published in the USSR. In 1948, after the murder of Mikhoels 24, the anti-Semitic campaign of struggle against cosmopolitism 25 began, the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 26 was dismissed. Many writers, who I knew and corresponded with, were closely linked with this committee. In 1950 I was accused of nationalism and expelled from the Union of Writers. I expected arrest since many Moldovan Jewish writers had already been arrested. Rivkin, one of them, died in prison and the others were released after Stalin died [1953].

This was a horrible time, the time of fear that I can still feel. This was the fear, when one was even afraid of mentioning it. You know, if you are afraid, it means that there are grounds for you to be afraid. There were books written about famine: Hamsun [Hamsun, Knut (1859-1952): Norwegian writer, winner of the 1920 Nobel Prize in Literature.] wrote the book ‘Sult’ [The Hunger, 1890], and other writers… But nobody wrote a book about fear. I’ve never read one. Fear is a terrible thing! The hunger goes away, but not the fear. I was deeply depressed and had to stay in a mental hospital for six months. My wife Olga never left me. She was the kindest person. She was a faithful and reliable friend and she always supported me. She was always my first reader.  

On 12th August 1952 a group of Jewish writers was executed: Dovid Bergelson 27, Peretz Markish, David Gofstein [Gofstein, David Naumovich (1889-1952): a Soviet Jewish poet], who lived in Kiev, Lev Kvitko 28, Yitsik Fefer. Many representatives of the Jewish intelligentsia were executed. Then there came the period of the ‘Doctors’ Plot’ 29. There were rumors that echelons for sending Jews to the Far East were prepared 30. Rumors said that Stalin wished to deport Jews to save them from people’s anger. I cannot tell how true this was, but there were such rumors. When Stalin died, this was over, but I felt no relief. I cannot say that I heard about Stalin’s death with joy or relief… However, I think he was a merder [murderer in Yiddish]. He can be called so even for his execution of writers and Soviet intelligentsia. There were hundreds of thousands of camp prisoners 31, tens of thousands of them never returned home, and these processes started in 1937 32. He issued orders for all of these doings. In 1953 I was restored in the Union of Writers of the USSR. The 20th Party Congress 33 in 1956, and Khrushchev’s 34 speech was nothing new to me, everybody knew something, but none of us imagined the extent of these crimes. We had hopes for improvements in the future then.

I wasn’t a Zionist, but when Israel was established in 1948 I was glad for Jews. I knew how important it was for Jews to have their own country. However, I wouldn’t say I was a great supporter of Israel, but my sympathy was growing in the course of time. I was particularly worried about the liberation wars in Israel: the Six-Day-War 35, the Yom Kippur War 36. So many victims! There are still victims in Israel. In the 1970s first mass departures started in Kishinev. There were meetings conducted where those people who decided to move to Israel were declared traitors in public. My acquaintances also started moving, but I never went to the railway station to see them off. My wife did, but not me. I’ve never considered departure to Israel, America or elsewhere. I didn’t want to leave here.

Khrushchev’s thaw was truly a thaw. Since the 1960s the situation in the country and the attitude toward people was changing. The 1960s was a good time. The situation of the Jewish writers in the country was improving. The ‘Sovetskiy pisatel’ [Soviet writer] publishing house was publishing books in Yiddish: five books per year at the most. In 1961 the ‘Sovietische Heimland’ magazine was established. Its chief editor was Aron Vergelis [Vergelis, Aron Alterovich (1918-2001): Soviet Jewish writer]. My miniatures were published in the first issue on 1st August. Three-four years later I was assigned to the editorial board of the magazine. Members of the editorial board were to gather twice a year in Moscow. Besides, other writers were involved in editorial board meetings to reach a wider audience. Manuscripts of new books were sent to members of editorial board for review and references, so to say.

Everything was fine at my home. My beloved son Edward was a cheerful and quiet boy. He went to the kindergarten since we both worked. At the age of seven Edward went to a music school. I wanted him to become a musician. My friends recommended me the best violin teacher for younger children in Kishinev. His name was Veschkautsan. He auditioned Edward and said he was a gifted boy. He taught Edward for four or five years before Edward went to study with another teacher. He spent a lot of his time playing the violin. His first teacher demanded that he played a few hours per day. I had to sign up his timetable and his teacher made sure that he followed it. Edward had all excellent marks.

Olga and I often spoke Yiddish at home and Edward can speak and write Yiddish. However, I didn’t specifically teach him Yiddish. At that time I still had the fear of being arrested. If somebody got to know that I taught my son Yiddish they might have formalized the accusation of nationalism made to me earlier. After finishing school Edward entered the conservatory in Kishinev. Olga died in 1967. Her death was a hard blow for me: I lost my wife and a faithful friend. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery. We buried her in a coffin and I didn’t order the Kaddish. I didn’t want to follow the ritual at the time. After Edward finished the conservatory he was offered a job at the Moldovan State Symphonic Orchestra.

I wrote a lot in the 1960s and often went to work to the Creative Houses of the Union of Writers of the USSR [specialized recreation homes to create conditions for creative work]. One of the most popular of these was located in Maleyevka near Moscow. I went there for a few years in a row in March. Each writer could have a room on his own. There were nice doctors in these centers. I met many famous writers from Moscow and other Soviet republics. I have many bright memories and books in many languages that the authors gave me. In summer I worked in the writers’ creative house in Yalta. I also went to Dubulti near Riga. In the Creative House in Pizunda [town and cape on the Black Sea in Georgia] I met Arkadiy Raikin [Raikin, Arkadiy Isaacovich (1911-1987): a popular Soviet actor, director of the Soviet Theater of Miniatures], he stayed in the House for Actors nearby. I often walked with him and his wife. He liked to speak Yiddish to me. He was a wonderful person. I wrote most of my works in Creative Houses. My three novels were written there: the trilogy ‘Zibetsnyorike’ [The Seventeen-year-olds], ‘Veyter’ [Further] and ‘Zibn yor mit zibn hadoshim’ [Seven Years and Seven Months]. They are based on my biography. You know that every writer writes about himself. Whatever he composes it’s still about himself. In other words, if he doesn’t have himself in his mind, he has nothing to write about. And if he has his life inside, all events and details, they make material for his works. So, the main material for a writer is his life. Even if he narrates it on behalf of his characters.

On 25th June 1968 I met Marina in Pizunda. I was staying in the Creative House in Gagry [town by the Black Sea in Georgia]. She came on vacation to Gagry with a group of teachers from the Ural. They had stayed 18 days, when one day, when the weather wasn’t so good, they decided to go to an organ concert in a cathedral in Pizunda. They were going back to Gagry on the boat of the Union of Writers when we met. Marina was under 30, she had thick auburn hair, bright eyes and an astonishing smile. When we met, we held hands and never parted since then. She stayed in Gagry and from there we traveled to Sochi where Edward came on tour. We stayed in Sochi for a month. Then Marina went back home to Kurgan in the Ural and I returned to Kishinev, but I wrote her three-four letters per day. We parted in August, and in October Marina visited me in Kishinev. I went to visit her on New Year’s Eve and stayed for three months. Marina was a solfeggio and music literature teacher at a music school. She also studied at the extramural Department of Choir Conductors at the Cheliabinsk College of Culture. We got married in June 1969. I was happy. The only thing that saddened our joy was that it was hard for Edward to accept Marina. He loved his mother so much.

From the first minute of our acquaintance Marina asked me to spell her name in Yiddish. This was the start of her acquaintance with the culture of my people. This was the first time she met a Jew. She studied Yiddish to be able to read my works and now she knows it better than many Jews. We speak Yiddish at home and she is my first reader now, like Olga was in the past. She tells me that when I work and when I read my works to her she lives the happiest moments of her life. I value her opinion more than that of many critics. I think I’m very lucky: I met two wonderful women: Olga and Marina.

Edward married Zhanna Kucheruk, a Jewish girl, much younger than him, in 1970. Their marriage didn’t last: they belonged to a different social class and our families were incompatible: hers belonged to business people. Edward and Zhanna got divorced. He remarried 13 years later. His second wife, Inna Shoichet, was Jewish. She was a student of the Polytechnic College, when they got married. She obtained an engineer’s diploma, but she never worked in her field of specialization. They lived with us for a year, but then we exchanged our apartment for two. Edward was working in the Opera Theater Orchestra and later he worked on the radio and TV. The Opera Theater toured all over Europe. In 1984 his daughter Olga was born. She was named after Edward’s mother. In 2000 Edward and his family moved to America. They settled in Miami Beach. My brother Buzia had moved to the USA in 1992. My sisters Hana and Zina also live in Florida, USA. Edward is a violinist and the director of a chamber orchestra. He also gives solo concerts. He thinks he has a more successful career in America than he would have had here. My granddaughter Olga finished school in America very successfully and entered the University in Palm Beach where she has a scholarship.

My mother died at the age of 89, in 1980. My father had died eleven years before her. The summer three years before she died something happened that we all remembered. I described this in a miniature. Mama was seriously ill and bedridden for a few weeks. My sisters attended to her. One day she turned very bad. She was lying with her eyes closed, her face grew very pale and she turned yellow. Ida screamed, ‘Mama!’ Zina and Hana joined her, ‘Mama!’ and then Mama opened her eyes and asked, ‘What happened?’ She lived three more years after this. We buried her at the Jewish cemetery beside my father’s grave and I recited the Kaddish.

When Perestroika 37 began, I had positive feelings about it, but then the situation changed and the results were not quite as expected… The Jewish life has revived and improved since the start of Perestroika. The society of Jewish culture was established in 1989 and I was a part of it. My students, the Kishinev writers Boris Sandler, Mikhail Lemster and I were among its organizers. There are other writers, who think I am their teacher: Mikhail Felzenbaum, a very good poet, Zicia Veitzman, Jean Krivoy. The Jewish newspaper ‘Nash golos’ [Our Voice in Russian] was established in Kishinev then. It was published in Russian, but there was one page in Yiddish and I had Yiddish publications in this newspaper.

Thirteen years ago the Yiddish center at the Kishinev Jewish Library [1991] was established. I was elected its chairman. We gather every month. I read lectures about Jewish literature and writers. Besides, I was acquainted with many writers I lecture about. I never write essays about the writers I don’t know in person. I only write about those, with whom I was friends. We conduct our meetings in Yiddish and only those whose Yiddish is not sufficiently good make speeches in Russian. Hesed 38 Jehudah provides assistance to me like it does to many other Jews. My wife and I receive food packages. I often make speeches, when Hesed invites me to its events.

In 1997 I published the ‘Schtendik’ [Always] book in Yiddish in Israel. I was invited to visit Israel on this occasion. This was my first trip to Israel. It’s hard to describe my first impression. It’s still vivid in my memory. Is it possible to find words to describe the excitement any Jew feels standing by the Wailing Wall? Marina and I left little notes there like everybody else did. We met with my brother Isrul’s family in Ashdod, who came to Israel in 1995. My brother died shortly after their arrival. We spent three weeks in Israel. We had meetings with writers in Israel, but my meetings with my readers were the most significant ones for me. Presentations of my book took place in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Ashkelon, Rehovot, Richon LeZiyon, Ashdod…  I was given a warm welcome at those meetings. What I read was received with great attention. I remember a woman in Ashkelon. She and her husband drove us to the station from where we were to leave for Jerusalem. She said with tears in her eyes, ‘We’ve never had such writers before.’ My books were read by former residents of the USSR and nationals of Israel. Hebrew is the state language, of course, but Yiddish is also our national language. There are wonderful books in Yiddish and it shouldn’t disappear from the life of Jewish people.

I was invited to foreign countries several times, but the most memorable was the Yiddish festival in Berlin in 2003. Four other writers: Boris Sandler, Mordhe Zanin, Gennadiy Eistrach and Lev Berinskiy and I were invited. Before going there I was asked to inform the organizers which works of mine I was bringing there. I sent them about 30 short stories for them to select at their discretion the ones they wished me to present at the festival, but they selected all of them. Marina and I were met by director of the festival. The evening in Berlin was brightly lighted and he took us around the town and showed us the most beautiful places. The next evening I read my short stories to the public. Lev Berinskiy read his poem before it was my turn. I read my short stories in Yiddish and then the director of the festival read their German translation. It took us a while to read 30 short stories and then 30 another time, but the public wasn’t tired. They were a success, a great success.

Glossary

Dupnista

Bulgaria

Interviewer: Dimitar Bozhilov

Date of Interview: July 2005

Ida Alkalai is a very polite, hospitable and warm, elderly lady. Her home is modestly furnished and is located on the central street of the town. She likes doing housework and is pleased with the recent renovation of her kitchen. She’s very attached to her family and relies on her husband’s opinion. She thinks that old people shouldn’t meddle into the lives of their children unless the children need it. Some years ago both her children left for Israel and her husband and she are very sad about it and are thinking whether they should follow them.

I come from the Sephardi Jews 1, who were banished from Spain in the 15th century 2. My mother’s family is from Kyustendil. My maternal grandfather’s name was Estrel Elazar and my grandmother’s name was Sara Elazar. My grandfather was a tinsmith and had a workshop in Kyustendil. My grandmother was a housewife. They were nice and modest people. We spoke with them in Bulgarian and Ladino 3. I can speak Ladino. I saw my maternal grandfather very rarely. I don’t remember him very well because he died when I was very young.

After my maternal grandfather died, every year my grandmother came from Kyustendil to spend two to three months with us so that she wouldn’t be alone. She lived by herself in Kyustendil. She was a talkative and easygoing woman. Unlike her, her sister, whose name was Reyna, was very strict and aristocratic. She wasn’t very talkative and looked very serious. I’ve vague memories about them from the time of my visits to Kyustendil. My grandmother was a little bit stooped and wore a kerchief, under which she had a braid. When I was a child, I visited my grandmother almost every year. I traveled by bus. Kyustendil was a beautiful town with nice mineral water spas. There were rich and very poor Jews living there. I usually visited my mother’s brothers and sisters when I went to Kyustendil on my summer vacations. I was still a pupil then. I had a very good time. We went to restaurants and had walks around the town. They asked me to sing and I did gladly.

My mother, Matilda Shekerdjiiska, was born in Kyustendil. She had three brothers and two sisters. The eldest one, Nissim Elazar, was a cobbler in Kyustendil. I don’t remember his wife. My mother’s second eldest brother was Estrel Elazar. He was a tinsmith in Kyustendil. His wife’s name was Vintura. They had four children, who left for Israel during the mass aliyah 4. They were very beautiful girls. I remember the names of two of them: Marika and Sarika. My mother’s third brother was Rahamim Elazar. He worked as a tailor and lived in Sofia. His family also left for Israel. I don’t know any details.

My paternal grandfather’s name was Haim Shekerdjiiski, and my grandmother’s name was Kadena Shekerdjiiska. My grandfather was related to Emil Shekerdjiiski, but I don’t know their exact relation. [Shekerdjiiski, Emil Mois (1912-1944): journalist, writer, literary critic. Born in Dupnitsa. A communist functionary and member of the Bulgarian Communist Party since 1932. Studied at ‘Kliment Ohridski’ Sofia University, as well as architecture in Belgrade (Serbia). Contributor to a number of Bulgarian newspapers and magazines. During World War II he was a partisan (with the nickname Stefan) in the Kyustendil squad. Killed as a partisan in a firing with the police in 1944.] I’m not sure where they were born, most probably in Dupnitsa. We never spoke about that. I only remember that four families in addition to my grandparents lived in the house in Dupnitsa, in which I was born. Apart from my father, the families of some of my father’s brothers also lived there.

When I was a child, probably at the end of the 1920s, my paternal grandparents left for Gyurgevo near Sapareva Banya, which is about 20 kilometers from Dupnitsa. My grandfather had a grocery store there. He sold everything: sugar, oil, flour, butter, ironware. Sapareva Banya is a resort village with a nice mineral water spa. Once, my grandfather decided to try the mineral water spa in Sapareva Banya and a bull passed through there, attacked and stabbed him. That’s how my grandfather died.

My grandfather liked his grandsons more than his granddaughters. He didn’t like me much because I was a girl. He didn’t pay much attention to me. He was a strict man. He was also quite a big man. He dressed in plain town clothes: he usually wore trousers and a jacket. I don’t remember him having a beard. After my grandfather died, Grandmother Kadena came to live with us in Dupnitsa. She lived alone in a room in the attic. She was a humble and short woman. Sometimes she had lunch with us or with some of my father’s brothers. I remember that she often sat on the big balcony and spent her time there.

My father’s name was Zhak [Haim] Shekerdjiiski. He was a dealer of second-hand clothes and goods. He had a small warehouse behind the house. He sold his goods there. He didn’t have a shop. My mother helped him. Villagers came and bought what they needed. They knew him and asked for him. That helped us during the time of the anti-Jewish laws, when Jews were forbidden to do business 5. Despite the bans the villagers continued to buy goods from us. We weren’t poor. My father went to Sofia every week and brought us nice food. But that was before the war [World War II]. After that my father got sick and stopped going to Sofia. We couldn’t afford to have a maid. My mother sewed custom-made clothes and my father’s business wasn’t too successful. We were a nice modest family. From my father’s brothers only Uncle Aron and Aunt Liza had a maid.

My father had five brothers and a sister: Buko, Aron, Adolf, Daniel, Nissim and Matilda. Uncles Aron, Adolf and Daniel lived in our yard. We were a very united family. Uncle Buko lived elsewhere and Uncle Nissim was in Sofia. Uncle Buko lived in the Jewish neighborhood. He had three sons: Haim, who was blind, Josko and Nissim. Haim was a basket-maker. All my father’s brothers were dealers. Uncle Buko sold flour. Uncle Nissim sold clothes in Sofia. Uncles Aron and Adolf also sold flour. Uncle Adolf went to Gyurgevo to help my grandfather, but after an accident he came back and became a dealer.

The eldest brother was Uncle Buko, and then my father was born. Aron was the third child, Nissim the fourth, Adolf the fifth, Daniel the sixth and Tanti [Aunt] Matilda was the youngest. She got married and lived in Sofia, but she didn’t have any children. Uncle Nissim’s wife was from Sofia. I don’t remember her name. Uncle Buko married Zumbul, nee Shimon, from Dupnitsa, Uncle Aron married Liza from Samokov, Uncle Daniel married Ester from Kyustendil, and Uncle Adolf married Vita, who was born in Sofia. Some of those families left for Israel. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the names of all my cousins and relatives. Uncle Daniel and Aunt Ester lived in Dupnitsa. They had two children: Rahamim, who became a professor in pharmacy in Sofia and Dinka, who became an accountant in Sofia.

There were a lot of Jewish houses in the center of Dupnitsa, but there was no Jewish neighborhood there. It was located not far from the center along the [Jerman] river 6, which passes through the town. There was no difference between the Jews living in the center and those along the river. You can’t say that those in the center were richer. We had a Jewish school called ‘Eliachi Hadjidavidov’ [Eliachi hadji David was a famous corn-dealer in Dupnitsa.]. The building of the Jewish municipality, the synagogue, which was massive and old, and the Jewish bank ‘Bratstvo’ [Brotherhood] 7 were in the center. The bank was governed by the Jewish municipality. It supported mostly Jews, and gave them credit for the purchase of apartments or education. Nissim Alkalai, my husband Aron Alkalai’s father, was a teller in that bank and was paying a mortgage there. We had a chazzan and shochet, who was in a separate building. Before the mass aliyah, after the state of Israel was founded [the big aliyah in 1948], the Jews in Dupnitsa were around 2000.

Our house had two floors and a big balcony. It was in the center of Dupnitsa, very close to the building of the Jewish municipality. It was built by Grandfather Haim. Each family had their own entrance. The house was old but the living conditions were good. There were two buildings in the yard. My family’s apartment was in one of the buildings and consisted of two rooms and a kitchen. We had water and electricity. We didn’t have a radio. One of the buildings faced the street and there were small shops on the ground floor. We lived in that building, but in the rooms facing the yard. The other building was further out in the yard. My father’s brothers, who lived in Dupnitsa, had separate shops with warehouses. All the shops were on the main street of the town.

My mother, Matilda Shekerdjiiska, nee Elazar, was born in Kyustendil. I suppose that my father saw her when he went to Kyustendil and that’s how they met. She worked as a seamstress. She had her own sewing machine. When I graduated from the vocational school, I started helping her with the sewing. She didn’t observe Sabbath because she had to work on Saturdays. I have seen her sew on Saturdays. But my grandmothers observed Sabbath very strictly.

My parents were humble people. They respected each other and loved us, the children, very much. My brother was also very modest. We never gave them much trouble. They weren’t very strict, but raised us warmly and lovingly.

My parents communicated mostly with Jews. Their environment was Jewish. They spoke more of Ladino than Bulgarian. In the past I heard people saying that Jews spoke Bulgarian with an accent. The interesting thing was that there were Bulgarians in the Jewish neighborhood who spoke Ladino. Their environment was Jewish, they communicated with Jews mostly and that’s how they learned Ladino. Some Bulgarians knew Ladino very well, because they had learned it when they were kids, during their games with the Jewish children. When I was a child, I was friends with all the children in the neighborhood, both Jewish and Bulgarian. We got along very well.

We had both Bulgarian and Jewish neighbors. During the Jewish holidays we welcomed our Bulgarian friends. Whole families came to visit us. My mother’s meals weren’t very different from the traditional Bulgarian cuisine, which includes a lot of vegetables and meat. But there were some differences, for example, Bulgarians didn’t make leak balls. My mother made very nice rice with chicken, okra with chicken, hotchpotch with aubergines and meat, pastries with cheese, minced meat, leaks, and spinach. She also made very nice crackers. My mother was a very good housewife. Grandmother Kadena also cooked very well.

All my father’s brothers got along very well. I saw my father and his brothers gather with friends and play poker. We were united. My mother gathered with her Jewish friends at home. I had a very good friend, Dinka, who was the daughter of Uncle Daniel. We played a lot along the river near the Jewish neighborhood. When we were a little older, I made her watch from the balcony whether Aron, my future husband, would enter the confectionery opposite the street so that I would go there to see him. Those were nice years. My husband and I met at a ‘jour:’ that’s how the gatherings of young people were called then. ‘Jours’ were for all young people, both Jews and Bulgarians. But my friends were Jews. ‘Jours’ were made in the houses. We listened to popular music and danced.

My husband and I flirted and grew closer to each other. We went out for about a year before we got married. We went together to restaurants and bars in Dupnitsa, but only after 9th September 1944 8. The synagogue was near our house. Jews visited it regularly. There was a small stream with drinking water in the yard. Weddings were also done there. My father didn’t go to the synagogue as he wasn’t religious. He liked doing the shopping. He was very good at housework and his business. Even during the greatest crisis in fascist times [during World War II] he managed to support our family. Every year we prepared winter supplies: raw and boiled pickles, flat sausages from mutton and pork. When I was a child, there was a small building next to the synagogue and we took hens there to be slaughtered by the shochet. But sometimes my father put on an apron and slaughtered the hen in the sink at home. Later when I got married, we asked someone from our Bulgarian neighbors to slaughter the chicken.

I studied in the Jewish school until the fourth grade. I think that there was also a nursery [cheder] at the Jewish school. It was for children up to pre-school age. We had a teacher at the Jewish school called Monsieur Revakh, who was very strict. He taught us Ivrit. When we didn’t know our work, he hit us with a small pencil and made us stand in the corner facing the wall. I wasn’t very good at Ivrit. Monsieur Revakh did his best to teach us the language, but I think we weren’t very hard working. There were also female teachers in the school who were Jewish. There was a stage at the Jewish school. We gathered in a big hall there to dance and party. The Jewish school was the only school in town which had a stage. On that stage I sang in the school choir.

Dupnitsa was a relatively developed town for its times. When I was a child there were carriages and buses to the nearby villages. I have traveled by carriage. There was a narrow-gauge line passing near Dupnitsa.

There were Jewish organizations in the town. The most popular were Maccabi 9 and ‘Saznanie’ [Conscience] 10. I was a member of Maccabi. I don’t remember doing gymnastics or any other sports. The association ‘Saznanie’ was a cultural and educational organization. There was a choir, library and theater group. They were all housed in the building of the Jewish municipality in the center of town. I also saw Bulgarians visit the ‘Saznanie’ community house. I don’t remember Maccabi having some concrete activities. We just gathered to see each other. Most of the Jews were members of ‘Saznanie.’ They had a rich cultural program. They put on opera performances, concerts and theater plays. They were much visited by the Jewish community in the town. You can say that the ‘Saznanie’ community house organized the cultural life of the whole town. My family also went to opera and theater performances.

When we were young, we often went to the theater and cinema. The movies were very popular and tickets were sold out quickly. The cinema was at the place of the military club in the center of the town. After my marriage we still went to the theater and cinema.

When I was a child, my parents and I often went on vacation by cart to Sapareva Banya. That is the village with the mineral water spa where my grandfather died. We usually spent 10-15 days there. My father hired a cart with a coachman; we took some luggage and went to Sapareva Banya. Usually only my family went, but sometimes we also took along other Jewish families. In Sapareva Banya we usually rented a private lodging during our stay. We did that once a year. Later, when I got married, my husband and I went to seaside resorts every year. I also often went to mineral water spa resorts.

When I was a child, we always celebrated Pesach and the other high Jewish holidays such as Frutas 11 and Chanukkah. On Pesach we weren’t allowed to eat bread. We strictly observed that for eight days. There was matzah and boyos [small flat loaves] on the table. We celebrated Pesach by ourselves. Usually some of my father’s relatives also visited us. My mother prepared a holiday dinner. We made burmolikos 12 from matzah. We put the matzah in water, then kneaded it, added eggs, and fried it in hot oil. We then dipped them in sugar syrup and ate them with a boiled egg. We also made pastel [pastry with meat]. We didn’t have separate dishes for Pesach, but before the holiday we cleaned the entire cutlery, and the house.\

When my father and uncles gathered at my grandfather’s for Pesach, the ritual was more closely followed. Firstly, they washed their hands, then said a prayer, and read the Haggadah. The observation of the rituals was done mostly by our grandparents. When I got married, my husband and I didn’t follow the Jewish rituals. After the mass aliyah in 1948-1950, not many Jews remained here.

On Yom Kippur, even nowadays, I observe the tradition of not eating anything from the evening of the previous day until 6pm the following day. I also do nothing on that day. On Frutas besides citrus fruit, my mother baked sunflower seeds, peanuts and hazelnuts. We all loved nuts at home and my father often bought them. On Purim we had small purses and went to our relatives who gave us coins. I went to my uncles and each of them put a lev in my purse. Children in fancy clothes also came and their parents gave them presents. There was a tradition on that day to give money to the children. That tradition is still being observed today. On Chanukkah there was a tradition for us to eat halva 13 and sweet things. The halva was made at home. We had a candlestick with eight candles and every day we lit a new one. Now we also have a candlestick for Chanukkah.

After three classes in a junior high school I enrolled in the vocational school in Dupnitsa. When I graduated from the junior high school, I wanted to study in a high school. Then my mother told me that I had to learn a craft and enrolled me in the vocational school. There I learned sewing and worked with my mother for some time. Sewing was what we did for a living. My mother sewed dresses and when I graduated from the vocational school I started giving her some advice. There were Jews and Bulgarians among my mother’s clients. I graduated with a master’s certificate in sewing. That was shortly before 1939. In school I didn’t have problems because of my origin. I remember that during the war [World War II] some Germans, civilians and military, were accommodated in the vocational school. I don’t know why. But they didn’t treat us badly.

At the beginning of the 1940s, when the anti-Jewish laws were adopted, we were very worried. My father continued working. He was close to a lot of villagers, who kept on buying goods from him. Otherwise, all the Jewish workshops, bank and organizations were closed. During the internment of Jews in 1943 14 in Sofia, a family of four came to live with us. That was the Kohen family. They were my mother’s relatives. We had a kitchen, living-room and one more room. We gave them the living-room. They stayed with us for some months.

From my father’s brothers only Uncle Daniel had a radio, a ‚Telefunken.’ During fascist times they hid it so that no one would see it. There was an order to confiscate all Jewish radio sets. We listened to the news on the war. During World War II, Uncle Rahamim, my mother’s brother, was interned from Sofia to Dupnitsa and lived at our place. I remember that he was with us during the bombardments. [On 13th September 1943 the British-American troops bombarded the Bulgarian towns Stara Zagora, Gorna Oryahovitsa and Kazanlak, as Bulgaria was allied with Germany. On 30th December 1943 they bombarded Sofia. In this air raid 70 people were killed and 95 wounded. The biggest air raid was in Sofia on 10th January 1944. 750 people were killed and nearly the whole city center was ruined]. He watched the planes passing through the sky and told me in Ladino that those were stars up there.

In January 1944 there were bombings in Dupnitsa. There were destroyed buildings. When we heard the sirens, we would all climb a hill near the town so that we wouldn’t get hurt. All the people from the town went there. As far as I know the American planes that went to Romania, I don’t know for what reason, didn’t throw their bombs, and when they were going back they threw their bombs over other parts of Bulgaria. It was good that they threw most of their bombs in the field. Before Uncle Rahamim came to us, he was in a labor camp in Kailuka 15 near Pleven. He was caught going outside during the forbidden hours and that’s why he was sent there. There was a fire at the place where the Jews were imprisoned and ten Jews died. My uncle survived. He lived in Sofia and died there.

When we weren’t allowed to go out, because we were being prepared for deportation 16, my father went out to sit for a while in front of the door. Then a fascist-oriented neighbor hit him and ordered him to go inside immediately. We weren’t allowed to go out even in front of our houses. There were shops with notices reading, ‘Forbidden for Jews.’ There were special shops for Jews. But we didn’t have notices on the doors of our houses. There were people in Dupnitsa who were against Jews even before the war. But most of the people supported us.

We got along very well with most of the Bulgarians. When we were about to be deported in 1943, all our belongings, everything which was stored for a girl who will get married such as sheets, towels, clothes, blankets, we gave to Bulgarians. But when they told us that we wouldn’t be deported, the Bulgarians gave us our belongings back. Then we had to stay in our houses and weren’t allowed to go out. Probably they waited for the trains to arrive to get us deported to the concentration camps.

The Aegean Jews, who were killed in the camps, passed through Dupnitsa 17. Some of those Jews spent a few days in Dupnitsa in some warehouse and the Bulgarians brought them food. I also remember that during fascist times Bulgarian friends visited my husband’s father to take him out to a friend’s house, when Jews were forbidden to go out after 8pm. He would take off the star [the interviewee means the yellow star worn obligatorily as a badge by Bulgarian Jews] 18 and they would hide him while walking on the street. During the war there was a curfew and we were allowed only to walk along the river.

On 9th September 1944 the partisans came to Dupnitsa from the Rila Mountain. I was at the square where a lot of people from the town had gathered. There wasn’t any fighting in the town, only the outright fascists were arrested and imprisoned. The authorities changed, the political prisoners were freed and we were very happy. There were speeches in the square.

My husband, Aron Alkalai, and I were very much in love. We have known each other ever since our adolescence. We had a large Jewish company. We got together and went to the cinema. We met at a hill near the town. He was very handsome and they called him ‘the baron.’ I was a very merry girl and sang very well. In September 1944 Aron went to the war front 19. He had enlisted as a volunteer. Then I gave him a lighter as a gift. Before that he had given me a bracelet. I had prepared my gift beforehand and hid it from my parents. Lighters were quite different then and we called them ‘tsigarnik’ [from ‘tsigara’ - ‘cigarette’ in Bulgarian]. I was very worried when Aron and my friends went to the labor camps 20 and after 9th September 1944, to the front. But the Jews in Bulgaria felt obliged to take part in the war against fascism and enlisted as volunteers. We got married in 1945. We only married before the registrar. I think that there were no religious weddings then. After we got married, Aron insisted that I shouldn’t work, so I stayed at home for some years. I did the housework and looked after our two children.

My husband was also born in Dupnitsa. He graduated from the vocational school in the town. He has a master’s certificate for a cobbler. His father, Nissim Alkalai, was a much respected man in the town. He worked as a clerk in the Jewish Bank until it was closed in 1940. His family members were very intelligent. His uncle, Mois Alkalai, was a headmaster and teacher in the Jewish school and the chairman of the Jewish municipality in Dupnitsa during World War II 21.

During the mass aliyah all my uncles left for Israel. That was the mass emigration of Jews from Bulgaria to Israel. My husband and I also wanted to leave. We did whatever my husband said. He didn’t want to leave because of his parents, because they had also decided to stay. It was very difficult to emigrate then because there was no one there to help you. You traveled by steamboat then. The people who emigrated packed their luggage in wooden boxes, so that they could use the wood to make sheds when they arrived. Now, with the help of relatives there, it’s much easier. It’s difficult to find a job in Israel, but it’s different from our times. Thanks to our older son, Nissim, our younger son, Zhak, managed to find a job. My father didn’t want to leave because of me, because my husband and I decided to stay. My parents also stayed in Dupnitsa and died here. Now my husband and I regret not leaving, because now we are alone without our kids, who are in Israel. We didn’t regret our decision earlier. We love Bulgaria and didn’t feel the need to emigrate. We often corresponded with our relatives in Israel. Now we keep in touch with my children by phone. The last time we visited Israel was four years ago.

In 1954 I started work in the Galenov Factory in Dupnitsa producing medicine. I started work when the factory was founded. My colleagues were very nice. Some of them were Jewish. The job wasn’t easy, we had quotas to fulfill.

I was respected at my workplace. I worked there for 21 years. It was later transformed into ‘Pharmahim.’ I retired from there with a small pension. I was easygoing and sang a lot. I was in the factory choir and had some solo performances in the community house of the town. I was also a soloist in the choir. I know songs in Ladino, which I learned from my mother.

After 9th September 1944 my parents stayed in the house where I was born. We continued to celebrate the Jewish holidays, but we didn’t get together with them, but with my husband’s family. My brother, Josko, often visited us. My uncles and aunts, who lived there, before they left for Israel, always got together on holidays.

My brother’s name is Josko Shekerdjiiski. He’s a little younger than me. He was born in 1927 in Dupnitsa. He also studied in the Jewish school. As a child he worked for my cousin, Haim Shekerdjiiski, with whom he made baskets. Then my brother graduated from a technical school, in food processing. After 9th September he started work in the shoe factory in Dupnitsa, where he worked until he retired. My brother’s wife is Olga who was born in Sofia. They have two children: Madlen [Madlena] and Zhak. Their family moved to Israel in the 1990s. The children were the first to go. Then they invited their parents. Zhak graduated from a technical school in communication equipment in Sofia and worked as a technician in Israel. Madlen is a nurse. My brother feels nostalgia for Bulgaria and visits Dupnitsa every year. But this year he and his wife aren’t in very good health and won’t come. Their children are happy in Israel. I think they went there for economic reasons.

After September 1944 we didn’t go to the synagogue, although it was opened. But after, most of the Jews immigrated to Israel from 1948 to 1950. It was then closed and used as some kind of a warehouse. Later, unfortunately, it was demolished and the Home of Techniques was built in its place. As far as I know the synagogue was built in 1599. I don’t know who made the decision to demolish it. The decision was made in Sofia. The Jewish organization in Dupnitsa didn’t stop working though.

After we got married, our two children were born: Nissim and Zhak. They weren’t raised especially in the spirit of the Jewish traditions, although after 9th September 1944 we continued to celebrate the Jewish holidays. You can say that they know the Jewish traditions well. We always celebrated Pesach. We lived with the family of my husband. His father read the Haggadah. The other holidays weren’t very strictly observed, probably only Yom Kippur, when we fasted. Our children don’t understand and can’t speak Ladino.

Zhak graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Dupnitsa and was assigned to work as a teacher in Dalgopol [near Varna]. There he met his wife Zhechka, who is Bulgarian. They got married before the registrar. When he came and told us that he chose a wife from Dalgopol, my husband and I didn’t object. The parents of my daughter-in-law came to us in Dupnitsa and approved us as the family in which their daughter would live. My daughter-in-law is very nice. They have a son, Aron.

Our older son Nissim is an electrical technician and was promoted to director of a telephone technical office in Sofia. There he married Roza, who is Jewish. They married before the registrar and the next day they went by themselves to the synagogue and had a religious wedding. They have three children: Kristina, Ronit and Suzana.

Nissim immigrated to Israel about twelve years ago. He learned Ivrit very fast there. Now he speaks it fluently. Zhak also left with his family a couple of years ago. My older son emigrated mainly because his wife wished so. He had a good job in Sofia as a director. In Israel he now works as a supporting technician. His wife wanted to emigrate out of curiosity and patriotic reasons. My younger son emigrated due to economic reasons because his salary as a teacher was very low.

My children were raised among Bulgarians. There are no other Jews in the neighborhood, where our house is. My children got along with the Bulgarians very well. We got on very well with our neighbors both before and after 9th September 1944. We were also welcomed by them. We can’t complain about anything. Our environment was mostly Bulgarian. When our sons were born, we celebrated the brit milah. But we didn’t celebrate their bar mitzvah. My mother-in-law sang songs in Ladino and Bulgarian to my children. I also sang to them.

It’s difficult for me to comment on the political events in Bulgaria and abroad in recent years. Now life is more expensive, but people have more opportunities. Although our pensions are small, thanks to Joint 22 we can cover our expenses. What I think about are my children. They ask us to go live with them all the time, but we haven’t decided yet. We have prepared our documents, but at our age it’s very difficult to go to another country, in which we would understand nothing.

Now I do only housework. I spend my time mostly at home. Sometimes I meet with the women from the Jewish municipality in the Jewish club. We celebrate birthdays and Jewish holidays, mostly Pesach.

Gitli David Alhalel (nee Levi)

Vidin

Bulgaria

Interviewer: Patricia Nikolova

Date of interview: January 2006

Gitli Alhalel (nee Levi) is a delicate and cultivated woman. Her home is in Kale, the old Jewish neighborhood in Vidin, very close to the Danube River. The modest flat of the hospitable Alhalel family is cozy and tidy. Although Gitli may look to be a bit overshadowed by her husband, the distinguished Mayer Alhalel, she is clearly the backbone of the family. Her calm and peaceful behavior balances the energy of her untiring husband, enlivens their home and lights it up with her smile.

Most of the Bulgarian Jews came from Spain and so did my ancestors. 1 Far back in the 15th century Jews were persecuted from Spain in 1492 by the royals Fernando and Isabella, because they refused to adopt Christianity. Some of the Jews sailed across the Mediterranean Sea in the direction of North Africa, others passed through Italy and France. A significant part of them settled on the Balkan Peninsula. They were all from the Sephardi group. 2 That’s why all Jews in Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey, Macedonia and former Yugoslavia speak Ladino 3 and not Yiddish, for example [the language of the Ashkenazi Jews, who live in Russia, Romania, Germany, Poland and the USA] The nice thing is that all Jews on the Balkan Peninsula can communicate with each other in Ladino. That language is a kind of medieval Spanish, the so-called ‘language of Miguel de Cervantes’ 4 which does not resemble modern-day Spanish.

My parents have different origin. My father David Avram Levi (1898 – 1969) is a Sephardi Jew born in Vidin [port city on the right bank of the Danube in Bulgaria, 220 km. away from Sofia]. My mother Rashel Avram Levi (nee Benjosef, 1899 – 1975) was also born here, but she is half Ashkenazi Jew. That is, her mother, my grandmother Ester, whose family name I do not know, moved from Germany to Bulgaria due to reasons unknown to me. My father was a middleman and my mother – a housewife. I have a sister – Ester David Fintsi (nee Levi), who is five years older than me. She was born in 1925 in Vidin. She lives in Sofia now and she worked as a clerk. She has two daughters: Madlena and Sheli Fintsi, who also live in Sofia.

At home we always spoke in Bulgarian and in Ladino. We spoke both languages at the same time very rarely (maybe when I was a child) - for example, my father or my mother would say something in Ladino, and I would answer in Bulgarian or vice versa. Of course, before I started school I spoke to my peers in Ladino, since we lived in the Jewish neighborhood, Kale. The truth is that the times were different then. I mean, there were not so many mixed marriages between Jews and Bulgarians. Nowadays, the first language children learn is the Bulgarian. At those times my parents and the parents of all children I knew were Sephardi. So, our mother tongue was Ladino. We spoke it at home and outside, we also used it in the Jewish school, because we were all Jewish children from Sephardi families and it was the language closest to us.

I was born in one of the most beautiful Bulgarian towns on the Danube River, which was the capital of the Second Bulgarian Kingdom 5. My hometown is Vidin, or Bdin, as they called it in the past. Every Jew born in Vidin remains in love with this town and the country. As a child I loved going for long walks along the river. If you stop at the bend of the river, you can see Kalafat straight in front of you. Here, in Vidin, people like saying metaphorically that the lights of Kalafat are like the lights of life, because at first they are broad, then the river waters shrink them more and more until they dissolve in one single ray.

Our house had two entrances. I remember that we had to pay it in installments because our family was not rich. That is why our landlords lived with us at the beginning. My family lived in one room and every month my father would pay part of the sum for the whole house. Unfortunately, we did not have a garden. But we had a yard with cobblestones – they were very clean, because we washed them every day. We also had electricity. There has been electricity in Vidin since the first half of the 20th century. At first we had some additional sheds – the hen-house, the outside toilet, the ‘shupron’ [a shed for coal and wood: the word comes from French and means 'to enter'. In Bulgaria it has another dialect meaning – a shelter covered in a hurry.] We were very close to the street where the children played all day. As a child I did not know any special games, nor did I have many toys. I remember that at first the girls and the boys played separately. We, the girls, used to jump over a rope and laugh all day long. Later, we played ball together with the boys. There were no other interesting games.

At the end of the previous century Vidin was quite a modest and small town. About 19,000 people lived there. The Jews were around 8,000 (significantly more than they are today). [According to the first census of the population, lands and cattle in the newly-liberated from Turkish rule Bulgaria – a census done by the temporary Russian authority over the Bulgarian lands (1878-1879) the overall number of Jews living in Vidin region was 2202 (1114 men and 1088 women). They lived predominantly in the cities and were 0.94% of the local population, among whom there were also Turks, gypsies and Wallachians. In 1900, 1905 and 1910 only in Vidin the Jewish population was respectively 1,784, 1,873 and 1,727 people. The overall number of citizens in the town was respectively 15,791, 16,387 and 16,450, among whom the Bulgarians were the most (followed by the Turks, the Jews, the gypsies and Wallachians) (the data was taken from the State Archive of the town of Vidin)]. I remember that the chairman of the Jewish organization at that time was Rozanov (I do not remember his first name). I also remember that the Jewish school was only up to the 4th form (equivalent to the present 4th grade). Adon [meaning ‘mister’ in Ivrit] Haim Levi, also from Vidin, taught us Ivrit from the Torah, and before that we read fairy tales in Ivrit. But we studied the letters for a whole year. After that adon Niko (Nissim) Sabetay taught us Ivrit and I also liked him as a teacher. Of course, at first I made mistakes all the time, it was very hard to learn Ivrit, because no one at home knew it. But I gradually got used to it and I even started to like it. I still remember one of the teachers (but I do not remember his name). I only remember that in the first grade we had a special teacher, who was also a headmaster. He taught us in gymnastics. We had classes outside near the Danube, that’s why I loved them. There was also a chamber mandoline orchestra in the school and my father came to conduct us. At that time I learned to play the accordion (that instrument was very popular at the start of the previous century).

From the school subjects I also loved literature, because I loved reading. As a child I read mostly the classics, such as Hugo, Balzac, Stendhal, Mayne Reid, Jack London, Jules Verne, [Maxim] Gorky 6. Later I started reading the so-called progressive [i.e. left-wing] literature written after 9th September 1944 7 – Lenin, Stalin, Marxist literature. I read many such books, probably because my father had them at home even before Bulgaria turned from monarchy into a republic [1946]. At that turning point in history there were three popular newspapers: ‘Utro’ [Morning] 8, ‘Zaria’ [Fireworks] and ‘Zora’ [Dawn] 9. What was typical about them was their different political orientation. For example, ‘Zaria’ was a progressive newspaper. It was, in a way, the forum of the new times. In other words, it was a leftist newspaper, popularizing the socialist ideas. ‘Zora’ was a fascist publication and was not bought by the common people – only by Branniks 10, Legionaries [Bulgarian Legions] 11, ‘Otets Paisii’ 12 members and chauvinists of the kind. ‘Utro’ was more social newspaper. You could see Jews reading ‘Utro’ or ‘Zaria’ in the streets, the barber’s and coffee shops.

When I finished the Jewish school, I had to continue my education in the local Bulgarian high school, which was also close to Kale. I was glad, because I liked learning. We also had many teachers and new subjects, which I found interesting. I had good marks. All the Jews in the school had good marks and no one had better marks than us. I loved our maths teacher, Miss Vasileva. Most of the girls loved her, because she was nice to us. There were obligatory classes in religion at that time, but all Jewish children were forbidden to take part in them. (the ban was imposed by the board of the school in which I studied. Everyone, including us, Jews, considered the ban normal for the times). We felt very hurt, especially in the winter, when we had nowhere to go during that time and we had to wander around along the river.

As a child I was very proud of the fact that our synagogue in Vidin was the most beautiful synagogue in Bulgaria. It was built in the end of the 19th century [the Vidin Synagogue, built in 1894 in neo-Gothic style was the second largest synagogue in Bulgaria. Now it stands as a ruin, but its restoration as concert hall is planned by the Bulgarian national Jewish organization]. Its exterior architecture was very beautiful and the acoustics inside was also strong. I went there mostly with my mother and went to the balcony, as all Jewish women did. To be honest, my mother went to the synagogue more often than my father, because he was an atheist and adamant communist even before 9th September [1944]. I loved going to the synagogue on Erev Sabbath, or as they say in Ladino, Sabbatua Nochi.

I loved it not only for the Pesach chocolates liked by all children, which we received from chazzan Meshulam. By the way, our shochet was the father of my friend Mimi Pizanti’s uncle. We had a number of rabbis, but I remember only the name of our last rabbi Avram Behar, who moved to Israel with the Mass Aliyah 13 in 1948. He distinguished himself with his bravery when he saved a lot of people, most of them children, during the floods in 1939. But after he left for Israel, nobody received any news from him. Most probably, he continued to be a rabbi there. Now the Vidin synagogue is in ruins and it will hardly ever be renovated. My heart breaks, when I look at it now.

Every Friday night my mother and I cooked in the kitchen, afterwards we washed ourselves, changed our clothes and prepared the chicken for Sabbath. We had bought it from the market before that, and on Thursday I had to take it to the shochet in the synagogue to slaughter it. I would bring it quickly back home and give it to my mother. She did not scald it with water, because it was forbidden, she plucked it and singed it and then she cooked it. When the Saturday ceremony ended, there was always food left. As for Saturday itself, as I said, we cooked on Friday and on Saturday we prepared sweets only. The word most often used by the Jews in Kale [the Jewish quarter] was ‘mitzvah’ [meaning charity in Hebrew]. The neighbors gave each other sweets and crackers, exchanged recipes, news, argued and laughed. For Purim my mother prepared sweet ring-shaped buns with ‘alkashul’ (biscuit dough with honey and walnuts). According to the tradition the sweets had to be preserved for Pesach, that is, they were eaten a month later. But I liked more the sweets sold by the grandfather of my future husband Mayer Alhalel. His grandfather was Naftali Alhalel and his grandmother who made the sweets was Mazal. All the children in Kale really believed that she brought us good luck [her name means ‘luck’ in Hebrew].

On [Yom] Kippur, the day of absolution, we had to fast all day [Editor’s note: children under age of 9 don’t fast, then they start fasting little by little. Boys start to fast as long as adults do by the age of 13, girls from 12.] But in the evening a hen was slaughtered, after which all Jewish families gathered in the synagogue. On Sukkot, the holiday celebrating the gathering of the harvest, we made tents in the synagogue. [The Ivrit word 'shalash' is identical with the Ivrit word 'sukkah' and is much older. The following example from the Torah illustrates that: 'Live in shalash for seven days: All native-born Israelites are to live in shalash so your descendants will know that I had the Israelites live in booths when I brought them out of Egypt.' (Leviticus, 23:42:43) The shalash is a temporary dwelling of Jews in the desert. The sukkah is the same but it is lighter (like a tent) while the shalash had three or four walls and instead of roof, they put branches of wood, bamboo sticks, stones etc. During the seven days of the holiday Sukkot the Jews slept, fed and celebrated there, that is why, it was a tradition to decorate the shalash (the sukkah) from the inside. The information was taken from the Israeli book 'Liyot Jeudi' (the title means 'To be a Jew' translated from Ivrit) written by Menashe-Gad Rashovski and published in Ramat Gan. Its editor was Miriam Mishal, 1991.] That nice holiday originated from a miracle, which took place during the escape of the Jewish people from Egypt in the distant past. While they were crossing the desert on their way to Israel, their God surrounded them with miraculous clouds. During the day they protected the people from the scorching sun and during the night – from the unbearable cold. On Purim we organized very beautiful masking balls. We also decorated ring-shaped buns with red paint in the form of flowers. On Chanukkah we still light candles. When I was in my 2nd grade, we celebrated Chanukkah in the cinema hall in the neighborhood. We had prepared a scene to act. I was playing the second candle and my mother had bought for me a black velvet dress with a white collar. I was followed on stage by the third candle; we were seven candles altogether.

On the day before Pesach the Jewish house had to be cleaned so well that you would not be able to find a crumb of bread anywhere [mitzvah of biur chametz]. We cleaned thoroughly all furniture, rugs, curtains, we even painted the walls. We boiled the dishes in a mixture of water, ash, salt and soap. We were allowed to eat unleavened bread only, the so-called matzah. We, the Jews in Vidin, prepared the matzah by ourselves so we made it in separate flat loaves. We kneaded the loaves without yeast, and they were as hard as stone. On Pesach we always put a white blanket and special dishes, which my mother took out only for the holiday, the so-called ‘lalos’ in Ladino. The legend of Pesach has to be read by the father [the oldest man] in the family, but my father was not religious, so our family skipped that. I have been present at that ceremony in other families, where the father or the grandfather read the legend (Haggadah) about Pesach and before he started the youngest girl in the family would give him a jug of water to wash his hands. That was the ritual purging from the sins gathered during the year. And the father or grandfather would start reading the prayer, washing his hands from time to time. The text read by the head of the family was about the misfortunes God inflicted on the Egyptians: ‘snakes, lizards and natural disasters’. Another tradition was observed in my home as well. My mother would hide a piece of matzah [afikoman] and I had to find it. It was believed that the child, who finds it, would be very happy all year long. What I also loved about the holiday, was that it went on for eight days. We didn’t work on the first and the last day only. Then my parents and I always went to the synagogue. And there the rabbi would chant in Hebrew. The Haggadah (or the legend about Pesach) says, ‘What has happened this evening, different from all other evenings - every other evening we are different, but this evening we are all gathered at the same table.’ Then follows a praise to God, ‘You are the king, you are the Master, you are all to us…’ Then the rabbi would read in Hebrew and tell the story of Moses.

Every Friday was a market day in Vidin. The market was in the center of the town. It was very colorful, and yet a typical village market. The women usually sat on the ground surrounded by lots of baskets, there were no stalls at that time. So, the vendors were all villagers from the nearby villages. Apart from animals, fruit and vegetables, they also brought charcoal to Vidin. All villagers around Vidin were Wallachians [In this case these are immigrants from central Romania, or more precisely the Wallachian region, from which their name comes. Their immigration into Bulgaria, northern Greece and Macedonia took place after the disintegration of the feudal system. The Wallachians were mostly nomads, cattle breeders, and in particular, sheep breeders.] There was no Bulgarian village around Vidin without Wallachians. I was very happy when my mother went to the market. Like all Jewish women at that time, she would walk around the market at least three times, in order to buy nice and cheap products. On Fridays I usually accompanied her to the big market in Vidin. It had three areas: a cattle area, next to it an area for wood and grain and one for fruit and vegetables. I preferred the last one. There was a large scale in the center of the market where people went to measure the products they had chosen. Of course there were a lot of small shops around the market owned by retailers, who were mostly Jewish. Most of them were retail workers, they usually sold manufactured goods in their little shops. Very few of them traded in wool or flour. There were almost no tinsmiths, farmers or fruit growers. There were a couple of booksellers but I do not remember my parents ever taking me there.

The Baba Vida Fortress 14 is in the center of Vidin. The town itself has a number of zones circling the fortress. The first zone surrounds the fortress and was a ditch in the past. The second zone surrounds the back part of the fortress. And the third zone is the so-called ‘reduti’ [the word comes from French and means a trench for one-man defense]. In fact, the Jewish neighborhood Kale took the most part of the second zone. It was the most favorable neighborhood, because it was the highest neighborhood in Vidin. During the great flood in Vidin in 1942 (when the Danube River flooded our town) the people from the whole town came to Kale. It was the only neighborhood, which was not affected so seriously.

I remember that scary flood very well, because I was 12 years old then. I got really afraid. The Danube River flooded the town because ice had obstructed its path. The river is usually not a pretty sight in winter. That particular winter it had frozen, but a big wave came and broke the ice. The waters of the river got obstructed by the ice and entered the town. For two days the whole town, except parts of Kale, was flooded by the water. Fortunately, there were no victims, apart from an old lady who died from natural causes at that time. I remember how mobilized all the people were then. All students from the upper classes of the men’s high school spread in groups around the neighborhoods to save as many people as possible. They went around the town in military boats and ordinary fishing boats, in which they transported the people from the low one-storey buildings. All of those people had left their belongings behind and fled towards Kale. Of course, most of the buildings were destroyed. On some of the preserved old houses you can still see the sign placed in 1942 showing the level the water reached then. There are also houses where the level was higher than a man’s height. That disaster could be compared in part to the recent tsunami floods in the southern part of the world.

Kale was and still is the oldest Jewish neighborhood in Vidin. It was founded when the Jews came to Vidin two centuries ago [the presence of Jews in the vicinity of Vidin dates from Justinian (527-565)]. It is between the Bath and the Baba Vida Fortress. In fact that relatively small area included the whole town at the beginning; that is, the original town was quite small. Now, the residential district ‘Benkovski’ is located there. In the past there were a lot of little streets such as Kaloyan St, Samuil St etc. And in the middle of the neighborhood was Kanlu Dere St (these are Turkish words, ‘dere’ means a river, but I do not know what ‘kanlu’ means). It was the border between the Jewish and the Turkish neighborhood, which was larger and more populated than ours. They even had another Turkish neighborhood called Ag Djamia [Mosque]. The new part of the town was established in the 1920s and the Bulgarians lived there. The Jews and the Turks remained in the old part. That is why there were very few Bulgarian families in Kale (between 40 and 50 families) especially during the Holocaust [the Jewish community of Vidin did not suffer severely during World War II. The decree of expulsion in 1943 was not carried out.].

We have always had good relations with them. At those times the Jews were mostly craftsmen. There were also tinsmiths, the streets were full of barber’s shops, bakeries, workshops of carpenters and glaziers, in which mostly Jews worked. They all lived in Kale and had workshops in various places in town.

Usually there was a fair on the 28th August in Vidin. All students and children, including me, loved going there so that our parents would buy us confetti and sweets. But unfortunately, I remember the bad events more clearly. For example, when the Law for Protection of the Nation 15 came out in 1942 a disgusting man appeared in the Jewish neighborhood, Ivan Zviara [meaning ‘the Beast’]. I witnessed how he banished our neighbors, the Pizanti family, from their own house. They were five of them and they had to sleep in the hen-house. They slept on the floor, without being able to enter their home or use their belongings. People said that the same fascist and evil Bulgarian, Ivan Zviara, went to the Aegean Sea when the Germans led the Aegean Jews 16 sacrificed by King Boris III 17 to the ships, which transported them to the Maydanek concentration camp 18. People also said that returning from there Ivan Zviara brought back so many unnecessary clothes and things that his wife did not know what to do with them or what they were used for.

Mimi Pizanti, the youngest of the three daughters in our neighbors’ family escaped from home later on and fought together with the Bulgarians at the front. All my friends in Vidin were brave Bulgarians and Jews (there were also many Armenians and Turkish people in our town too). My first experience of the Law for Protection of the Nation is also related to Mimi Pizanti, who is older than me. It happened in the Bulgarian high school where all the Jews studied after the 4th grade in the Jewish school. In March 1941 all students of Jewish origin were ordered to wear the disgraceful yellow stars 19. In that freezing March morning the high school headmaster Mr Cholakov ordered all students to go out and form columns in the schoolyard. Then he said: ‘Gitli Alhalel, Veneta Ilel, Beka Pinkas, Stela Paparo, Mimi Pizanti, Beka Arie, Fifi Kohen (there were also others but I do not remember them) – two steps forward!’ We did that and heard him say: ‘From now on you are not welcome in our school!’ I felt as if I had just been punched in the stomach.

I remember how Mimi Buko Pizanti was humiliated once at school. Some of our classmates had anti-Semitic attitudes towards us. When the Law for Protection of the Nation came into force, we put on the yellow stars and wore them at school. [Jewish children did go to school for a short while wearing the disgraceful yellow stars. After that they were really banished from the classroom because of their Jewish origin. The reason was that the anti-Semitic Law for Protection of the Nation was adopted on 23rd January, 1941. As for the children of the Bulgarian Jews, there was really a paradox because they had to go to school for a couple of months, wearing the yellow stars and studying side by side to the children of the Legionaries. They were banned to go to school in March 1942 when the Law for Protection of the Nation was in full swing.] Once the daughter of the police chief in the neighborhood (who was also the class chairman) shouted in the schoolyard after Mimi: ‘Take off your badge, or I will fine you!’ Mimi said: ‘I can’t take it off, because your father will lock me in…’ It was a very ugly scene.

Before that incident happened Mimi and I were in the same UYW group 20. The person in charge of the group was the future professor Avram Pinkas, a distinguished surgeon. The group also included Marsel Varsano, Leon Pinkas, Beka Aladgem. I was also a member of ‘Hashomer Hatzair’ 21. When we were in the last grade in junior high school we all received a leaflet propagating the establishment of a Jewish state. A committee was formed and we went to its meetings. One of the requirements for the foundation of Israel was that the Jews should immigrate there. We were divided into groups. There were people two years older than me, in high school, and two years younger than me, still in primary school. We sang songs and had fun. But most of the time we listened to lectures on various topics – from political to religious (on the essence of religion) and emancipation ones. Some members spent days discussing the fate of the character Nora in ‘Puppets’ House’ by playwright Henrik Ibsen 22. No matter how meaningless such discussions may seem through the lens of time, they helped us mature. In that way, we developed our individualities and learned to be independent and work in a team.

When the Law for Protection of the Nation was adopted in 1942 we were not allowed to leave Kale, nor go to school or leave home very often. At that time the advantage was that we could easily enter the neighbor’s yard through doors in the fences. So, all of us, the children, passed from house to house all the time, without going out on the street and spent all the time together. In fact, that helped us much to go through that period. Thanks to those small doors between the yards, we even saved people who were sought to be arrested. For example, the famous anti-fascist Asen Balkanski [The only thing the interviewee knows is that his origin is Bulgarian. He was born in the village of Chuplene, Belogradchik region and around World War II he escaped to Yugoslavia. There is no further information about him.] - commander of a Yugoslav partisan squad hid in the basement of my friend and neighbor Mimi Pizanti for a long time. In the end, a phaeton was arranged for him to leave the town, but he was caught at the border with Yugoslavia and shot as a political prisoner.

After the end of the Law for Protection of the Nation the situation in the whole country improved. In other words, you could breathe more freely. And yet, the new times after the changes in September 1944 could not obliterate my memories from the recent past. When the Law for Protection of the Nation came into force in 1942, we had to wear yellow six-beam stars made of plastic. They placed a notice with a yellow star on the door of every Jewish home. We were all registered in the municipality as special Bulgarian citizens of Jewish origin. Of course the clerks were not very nice to us. There was also a commissariat on the ‘Jewish problem’ in Vidin and in all Bulgarian towns [Commissariat for Jewish Affairs] 23. We were afraid to pass near it and were also afraid of the Branniks and Legionaries who beat us and humiliated us. There were some streets where we did not go to at all, because there was a special order that Jews should not go out after 9 pm. Our food was rationed, it was very little and one and the same. That was definitely the hardest period of my life, a real nightmare.

The people in Vidin also discussed a lot the demonstration on 24th May 1943 24 in Sofia against the internment of the Sofia Jews and the deportation of the Bulgarian Jews 25. That demonstration started from the Jewish school in Iuchbunar 26, the present-day 134th Dimcho Debelyanov High School and continued to Klementina Sq, where the Jewish Home stands today. [Bet Am] 27 People said that the police caught up with the demonstrators there, dispersed them and arrested many people. Many other were pushed in lorries and transported to labor camps 28. That demonstration was led by rabbi Daniel 29, who later hid at Bishop Stephan’s place [Exarch Stephan] 30. The Sofia bishop definitely supported the Jews at that time.

There were also some Jews who changed their religion in order to save their lives. Then the authorities ordered that the baptized Jews should not be separated from the rest. That is, the disgraceful Law for Protection of the Nation affected them too. In my opinion, and in the opinion of many other people there was not anti-Semitism in Bulgaria. The anti-Semitism was imported here. Or maybe it was based purely on spite and envy, which is something else, neither patriotism, nor chauvinism, nor pride, nor anti-Semitism.

The Soviet army entered Bulgaria not as a conqueror, but as a liberator and the people welcomed it warmly. All authorities have their positive and negative sides. Fascism was good for its supporters, gave them rights and privileges. But the more progressive people wanted to resist that policy, which helped the Germans oppose Russia. A partisan movement developed in Bulgaria, which resisted the support of the Bulgarian government to the Germans. The government, in turn, killed the partisans, set their homes on fire. The terror in that period, especially between 1943-1944 was great. Many young people died, so did many Jews, especially in Plovdiv [a Bulgarian city in Southern Bulgaria, 200 km away from Sofia] and Sofia. There was a concentration camp in Kailuka 31 in Pleven where relatives or brothers of partisans were imprisoned. One summer day in 1944 some fascist organizations set the camp on fire and killed about ten Jews. They were old people, who could not escape from the flames in time.

My husband [Mayer Rafael Alhalel] told me that the people in his first and second labor camp were about 300-400 people. They were divided into groups: a Vidin one, a Vratsa one and a more general one including workers from Jewish origin born in Northwest Bulgaria. The Vidin group had a ‘seemed-to-be’ vicious and cruel supervisor: that is he cursed the Jews and made them do the hardest work in front of his superiors, but as soon as those superiors went away, he started playing belote with the Jewish men. It was only after 9th September that my husband learned that their strict supervisor was also a UYW member. But he became a supervisor in a Jewish labor camp, because he was very poor and he needed money.

My husband and I married in 1948. Our wedding was on 9th July 1948 in Cherven Briag [a town in Northern Bulgaria, 150 km away from Sofia]. Before that we lived together for one year in Cherven Briag. We married before the registrar on a weekday. I did not have a wedding gown, nor did he have a wedding suit, because we could not afford them. After the wedding we went back to Vidin where we looked after our parents. To be honest, there was a moment when we thought about leaving to Israel. But our parents - his and mine - did not want to, because the four of them already felt old. And yet, many Jews older than them left their life in Bulgaria and emigrated. When we lived in Cherven Briag, we lived comfortably. My husband was involved in many party [Bulgarian Communist Party] activities. I worked as an accountant in the meat processing plant and the construction company in Vidin. I retired at those two positions.

My husband was also born in Vidin in 1923. He has secondary high school education. He is a polygraphist (a printer). I remember clearly the relatives of my husband, because we were neighbors. His grandfather was a confectioner and the Jewish children loved him very much. He owned a small confectionery in Kale and sold ice cream and Jewish sweets made by my husband’s grandmother Mazal. For Pesach she made biskuchicos con lokum [Ladino: pastries with Turkish delight], roskitas [Ladino: ring-shaped buns], petikas de almendra [Ladino: almond sweets], which we, the children, loved a lot. His grandmother Mazal was famous as one of the most beautiful women in Vidin. His mother [Bulisa Rafael Alhalel] was a seamstress, she sewed ladies’ underwear and men’s shirts.

He has a sister, with whom I have always got on very well. Her name is Lea Yosef Halfon (nee Alhalel). She was also born in Vidin in 1915. She has always been a housewife and she lives in Beit-Avot (Israel) with her family. Her husband’s name is Yosef Halfon. Their son is Simanto Yosef Halfon.

My husband and I have two children – Streya Mayer Puncheva (nee Alhalel) and Sheli Mayer Vladeva (nee Alhalel). The elder one, Streya, was born in 1949. She graduated from the chemical technical school in Vidin. She has been working as a chemist in the local meat processing plant for some years. My younger daughter Sheli was born in 1954 and is a construction engineer. Unfortunately, she does not have children. I have grandchildren from Streya, who also worked in the municipality in Vidin. My granddaughter Yanita lives in a kibbutz now. She has a family in northern Israel (I do not know the name of the kibbutz). My grandson Lyubomir, who is director of Bulbank in Sofia, also has children. Their names are Konstantin and Mihaela.

After 9th September 1944 my family continued to celebrate the high Jewish holidays such as Rosh Hashanah, Tu bi-Shevat (called mostly Frutas in Ladino), [Yom] Kippur, Pesach, Sukkot etc. After 9th September 1944 the general approach of the party was against all religions. The Communist Party forbade people of Jewish origin to gather on their holidays. Yet, we found ways to celebrate. Most often, we visited other families. We did not always go to the synagogue, because my husband and I were active party members, so our activities were observed and at that time visits to the synagogue were not approved.

All Jews in Bulgaria were watched closely before 1989. The Jewish community could not gather on any occasion, even on our high holidays – in the Jewish home or in the synagogue. In other words, we had to ask for permission some of the structures of the Communist Party. Our properties were also nationalized [that is, the properties of the Organization of Jews in Bulgaria ‘Shalom’ 32]. After 10th November 1989 33 the situation improved. Then the contradictory restitution law was adopted. It was unfair to the individual citizens but helped our organization. Let me be more specific. Some of our fellow citizens living in Sofia did not own any properties, except the flat owned by the municipality, which they rented. When the law came into force, those people were thrown out on the street by policemen, who threw out their belongings without waiting for the municipality to give them another place to stay. Those flats were returned to their previous owners, who already had a number of flats. That is why I said that the law was unfair. On the other hand, it is not a bad law because it returned the properties of the Organization of Jews, which were nationalized after 9th September 1944. Let’s also not forget that after 10th November 1989 ‘Joint’ 34 and the respective foundation from Switzerland sent us aid during the economic crisis and high inflation. Of course, I see the benefit from the changes and approve of them.

I am saddened by the fact that the small number of Jews in Vidin (only 26, the others have died or immigrated to Israel) do not have a comfortable life after the fall of the communist regime. The paradox is that now when we have the freedom to gather any time we want, there are too few of us left here. Now the Jewish community is well organized only in Sofia. Here the organization exists in misery and its chairman Zhak Moshe finds it very hard to raise money. The Jewish community in Vidin has had a sad fate since 10th November. We are mostly elder Jews. We gather once or twice a month to celebrate a holiday, for example Pesach, Rosh Hashanah, Purim, Chanukkah, Yom Hashoah [Holocaust Remembrance Day], Yom Atsmaut [the day of independence of Israel, introduced as a national holiday in 1948]. Unfortunately, we are not as active as the Jews in Sofia. Unlike us, they gather often at specific days during the week and at weekends. They have a number of clubs, for example ‘Golden Age’ club [of the elderly people], ‘Health’ club, and the club of the disabled people. They listen to lectures on political, social and economic topics, go to the cinema or to the theater, on excursions, dance and do gymnastics, do everything a pensioner needs to do in order to feel part of society and of the Jewish community. We, in Vidin, do not do most of these activities. We also have problems with our properties. That is what I mean by saying that our organization is in misery.

Present-day relations between Bulgaria and Israel are much different than the ones before 10th November 1989. At that time Bulgaria kept friendly relations with some of the Arab countries, which did not approve of the existence of Israel. Iraq was such a country, the country where now the Bulgarian army tries to restore peace, advocating the US policy. Politics is strange. During totalitarianism we did not speak much about the saving of the Bulgarian Jews, although there were some films and books on the topic. Yet, today, this fact is emphasized by each of the democratic Bulgarian governments. On the other hand, at the end of January 2005 when the world celebrated the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the people from the Auschwitz concentration camp (only 2000 people survived thanks to the Russian army) we were the only European country that did not send its Prime Minister to the commemoration ceremonies there. Another curious detail is that the present Prime Minister [i.e. Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Prime Minster of Bulgaria between 2001-2005] in Bulgaria is son of a monarch: King Boris III, called by Hitler ‘The Fox’. That same king was in good relations with the national socialists and Hitler. It was King Boris III who introduced the degrading Law for Protection of the Nation and sent those misfortunate 11 343 Jews from Aegean Thrace and Macedonia to certain death in the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Treblinka. But, as people say, politics is complex. That is why I think that the changes here after 1989 have contradictory character.

My family and I followed emotionally the development of Israel, the positive and negative changes. We are worried about the constant war there. I remember well how the UN decided to decree the foundation of the Jewish State in 1948. At that time all Arab states denounced that, saying that such a country could not exist. The following precedent was created: the Palestine state was seized by Egypt and Jordan. Naturally, most of the Arabs were banished from Israel, in fact their lands were no longer theirs (in 1948 when the Israeli state was founded the Jews all over the world were allowed to buy land in Palestine). So, the kibbutzim appeared, which are the most liberal form of communism. They are cooperative form of farming, in which everyone works as hard as the others and owns as much as the others. The Jews in Bulgaria worried a lot about the events in Israel after 1950. I remember that in the 1950s Zionism was declared a form of fascism. Then people in Bulgaria discussed secretly whether citizens of Jewish origin could be appointed to leadership positions in the communist party. Because at the time of the Warsaw Pact, for example, Bulgaria was forced to renounce diplomatic relations with Israel. The other countries from the former Soviet bloc did the same. 35 Yet, despite the weak relations and the distance, we were able to follow the events in Israel and discussed them among each other.

I went to Israel twice with my husband before 10th November 1989. The first was in 1964 and the second in 1973. The third time was in 1993. I see the remarkable difference between the early and late Israel, in a positive sense, of course. What is important is that we liked Bulgaria more. That is why I stayed here. And we do not regret that at all, neither my husband nor I. 

Glossary

Maria Koblik-Zeltser
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: July 2004

Maria Koblik-Zeltser is a young-looking woman with long auburn hair dressed in light pants and a sweater. She looks much younger than her age. There are a lot of books and pictures in the apartment. These were given to her husband, a great scientist. She lives in a cozy apartment in a shady street in Kishinev [Chisinau in Moldova]. Maria is brisk and agile. She easily hops on the stool and takes the books and photographs from the top shelves of a bookcase. The first time we met we were looking through albums and photographs, paper clips from medical journals, where her husband’s works were published. During the first day of the interview Maria was somehow embarrassed when the dictaphone was on and felt ill at ease. But later she paid no attention to it anymore, being deeply immersed in her recollections.

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family backgrownd

When I go back to my childhood, the first thing I remember is the town Rezina [80 km from Kishinev], where I was born and where my relatives spent their childhood. Sometimes, I think that it is the most beautiful place in the universe. I must be nostalgic about my childhood. At the beginning of the 20th century Rezina was a little town with a predominantly Jewish population [in 1897 there were 3,182 Jews (85 percent of the total population)]. The town stands on a picturesque place of the steep bend of the river Dniestr. As far as I remember, the town of the 1930s consisted of three long streets, running perpendicular to the river. Almost all the stores belonged to Jews. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the names of the owners. I only remember that one of the cafes was owned by my mother’s friend Madam Stekolshchik, and one of the stores belonged to Mr. Milstein, my classmate’s father.

The market was on Podgornaya Street. It was open for several days a week. Moldovans from the adjacent villages used to come to the market on carts to sell their produce – meat, chicken, grapes and other fruits, vegetables – and to buy the goods they needed – certain groceries, knick-knacks, fabric and dirt cheap souvenirs for children. A large Orthodox church, surrounded by an orchard was located on the square of this street. The bell toll was heard all over the town. There was only one church and there were several synagogues. The first and the largest synagogue was called ‘Itsik and Monek.’ They say it was built by the Jew Monek and his son Itsik. It was a large two-storied synagogue attended by wealthy Jews: entrepreneurs, merchants and intelligentsia – doctors and lawyers. There was also the synagogue of the tailors [synagogue maintained by the tailors’ guild union] and the synagogue called ‘Old and New Synagogue.’ The synagogue was called this because it was a very old building, restored, remodeled and considerably expanded in the late 19th century.

I didn’t know my paternal grandfather. All I know is that his name was Leibl Kozhushnyan, and he was born in the 1840s in Bessarabia 1. I don’t know exactly where he was born. The origin of my paternal grandfather’s name is unknown. Such surnames don’t indicate nationality, but rather craft or the place of origin. In Bessarabia there was the hamlet of Kozhushki, not far from Rezina. The roots of our family are probably from there. I know that Grandfather’s first wife died at a young age, and Grandfather had a son from the first marriage, who lived in the town of Orhei [about 40 km from Kishinev]. I have never seen him. I don’t remember his name either. Grandfather Leibl got married for a second time. His wife was his age. She was born in Kishinev. My grandmother Charna was born in 1847. I don’t remember her maiden name.

Grandfather Leibl was involved in commerce like most of the Jews in Rezina. [Editor’s note: in Rezina a considerable part of the Jewish population engaged in viniculture and tobacco production. In 1925, 200 Jewish families cultivated an area of 1,567 hectares, 1,400 of which were rented.] I don’t know exactly what he did for a living. Grandfather died at the beginning of the 20th century. I know for sure that Grandfather wasn’t alive when the first child of my parents was born in 1909, because my elder brother was named after our grandfather [one of the most common practices is to name a child to honor a relative. Sephardi Jews name their children freely after both living and deceased relatives. However, Ashkenazim rarely name children after living relatives].

Charna and Leibl had four children. My father was the eldest. Then in two or three years two sisters were born: Menya and Riva. Froim was the youngest. Aunt Menya and her husband Leizer Zhovnar lived in the village of Sarateny [about 45 km from Kishinev], not far from Orhei. Leizer owned a lot of land. He was involved in tobacco production. He worked in the field from morning till night all year round. He didn’t hire workers full time, only in winter time he hired a couple of workers for processing of tobacco. Their little family was rather well-off. Menya didn’t have children and she was suffering because of that.

Menya loved us, her nephews and nieces, very much. She really adored us. She invited us to visit her during summer time and gave us all kinds of presents. She also treated her husband’s nephews very well. Her husband had a lot of brothers, who lived in Sarateny and adjacent hamlets. Leizer even adopted a younger daughter of his sister, who was indigent. His step-daughter’s name was Haikele. Menya and Leizer loved her like their own flesh and blood. In 1941, when World War II broke out 2, Меnya and Leizer didn’t manage to get evacuated. They gave their cart to Haikele and her mother. The girl wasn’t able to come back to take her stepparents as the occupiers had already come to the village. Haikele couldn’t forgive herself for their death. She thought till the last minute of her life that it was her fault that Menya and Leizer hadn’t been evacuated.

Father’s second sister Riva lived in Orhei with her husband. I only remember that his surname was Sharf. Riva had five children. The eldest son, Lev, and the youngest, Sholik, became pharmacists. The middle son Abram was a driver. Riva’s daughters Zina and Rosa were married to rather well-off Jews. Zina graduated from the Bucharest University [today Romania], from the Economics department. She lived with her husband in Bucharest. She worked as an economist for large companies. When the Soviet regime came to power in 1940 3, Zina with her family moved to Kishinev. Riva died in the middle of the 1960s and all her children with the exception of Zina left for Israel in the 1980s. Zina and her husband came back to Bucharest after World War II. She lived there for a long time and recently died at the age of 85.

My father’s younger brother Froim, born at the end of the 1890s, was drafted into the Tsarist army [in this period Bessarabia was part of the Russian Empire] during World War I and perished in 1916.

My father, Yankel Kozhushnyan, was born in 1880 in Rezina. Father got only elementary Jewish education at cheder, which was traditional for Jewish families. Nevertheless Father was good at writing in Russian and Romanian. He read a lot of Pushkin’s 4 works and cited them. Father was well up in book-keeping, trade and commerce. Father became a grown-up rather early. When Grandfather died, he became the head and the bread-winner of the family of three women: grandmother and his two younger sisters. Father began to work at a young age. He was an assistant to a salesman and gradually he became a salesman in a large store, owned by a wealthy Jew. Father was a very honest man and the owner of the store totally trusted him. Father learnt a lot from him and began making pretty good money.

Father was very popular with Rezina’s potential brides as he was a modern, young, well-dressed man and a good dancer. When Father decided that it was time for him to get married, he was introduced to my mother by match-makers. Father came to meet my mother in the town of Soroca [about 150 km from Kishinev], where my mother lived. He enchanted her and all relatives and left… He came back in a year and without explaining anything proposed to my mother. It didn’t take her long to say yes. Then Father used to say that he fell in love with my mother at first sight, and it was unexpected to him, but he felt responsible for his younger siblings and left home to tackle things at home and earn some money for the wedding. He planned to come back to my mother.

I didn’t know my maternal grandparents either. They died before I was born. My grandfather Nahman Gitelmaher was born in the 1850s in the town of Soroca. Grandfather was much older than grandmother Menihe. I don’t know Grandmother’s maiden name. I know that she died of cancer at the age of 54, leaving four children behind. Grandfather was a literate man, he worked as a clerk. He didn’t have his own business. Grandfather Nahman didn’t live a very long life, though he managed to marry off his daughters and sons. He died in 1916. Grandfather had been working from morning till night, trying to earn a living for his children. He tried to educate his children as he was literate and educated himself.

The first child born by Menihe died an infant in the 1880s. After that Grandmother didn’t have children for many years. When she was on the verge of leaving for Kharkov [today Ukraine, about 450 km east of Kiev] in 1886, where Grandfather was doing his army service, her neighbors wished her to bring back two children, according to a family legend. Our family always remembered that wish of our neighbors with a smile. Their good wish was realized. In 1887 Grandmother gave birth to twins in Kharkov. The twins were my mother Soibel and her brother Aron. In a year or two a girl, Tuba, was born, then a boy Motle followed his sister. When Grandmother died Mother became the head of the family, though she was only fourteen. She was a real homemaker: cooked food, washed linen, cleaned, helped Grandfather raise his younger children. I don’t know whether Mother got some education. I think she finished a couple of classes in the lyceum [high school]. Mother was very literate: she could read and write in Russian and Romanian. She was an erudite. Besides, Mother was very strong-willed. She was actually the head of the family. She had the last word in decisions made by her siblings and later on my father didn’t take any actions, even connected with his work, without having a word with my mother.

My mother’s family was very religious. After Grandmother’s death my mother, being the head of the family, made sure that the rites and traditions were observed. She prepared the house for Sabbath by herself. Sabbath candles were lit by her. My mother told me that once on Sabbath when she was reading a prayer the curtains caught fire from the candles. Mother was at a loss. She couldn’t interrupt the prayer. Then she started to cry out the words of the prayer, in order to draw attention to herself, for people to see the fire.

Her eldest brother Aron also had another name. He was very feeble and ill in childhood and the rabbi advised to give him another name of Bukka [a protecting name]. He was called Bukka all the time, though it was written Aron in his documents. Aron finished elementary school. Then he went to the lyceum for a couple of years. He became a rather prosperous entrepreneur, though I don’t remember what kind of business he had. He had a wife, Surke, and children. They lived in Soroca. Aron had a large house. There was a club and summer movie house in his yard. All that property belonged to him. He was a patron of the arts. Jewish theater troupes, which came on tour, staged performances in his club. The performances were free of charge. There was no theater troupe in the town.

Aron had four children: the eldest Revekka, the sons Mikhail and Modik and the youngest, Menihe. By the way, all of my mother’s siblings had a daughter named after Grandmother Menihe. Revekka studied for a couple of years in the medical institute in Iasi, but she stopped studying when she got married. Her husband was a pharmacist. She had two sons, whose names I don’t remember. Revekka died at the age of 80 in Israel. It happened a couple of years ago. Mikhail, who had graduated from the institute – I don’t know exactly, I think it was a technical institution in Bucharest – was in the front lines during World War II. Then he lived in Chernivtsy [today Ukraine, about 430 km west of Kiev]. Mikhail was married, but he didn’t have children. He also immigrated to Israel. He died recently. Modik, who was my age, died at the front in 1944. He is buried in a mass grave somewhere in Czechoslovakia. Menihe went there a couple of times. Menihe is not alive either. Aron died in Kishinev in the middle of the 1960s.

Mother’s sister Tuba and her husband Boris Baletnik lived in the Ukrainian city of Pervomaysk Mykolayiv oblast [about 330 km south of Kiev]. Both of them worked in the bar at the station. They had a very modest living. Tuba had four children; I remember the names of three of them –Menihe, Nahman, who died at a young age, and Mikhail, who died in the lines in the 1940s. Having returned from evacuation Tuba, her husband and daughter settled in Soroca. She died in the 1960s, shortly after Uncle Aron.

The youngest in the family, Motle, born at the end of the 1890s, worked for a publishing house after finishing elementary school and vocational school. He had a significant position by the beginning of World War II. He was the director of the publishing house in Soroca. Motle had a wife, Fradya, and three daughters: the eldest Haya, middle Zoya and the youngest called Maria 5. When she was born she was given the name of Menihe. All of them were in evacuation and came back to Soroca after World War II. Uncle Motle died in Kishinev in the 1980s. His daughters passed away as well. My namesake Maria was the closest to me. She also became a doctor. She died in Israel two years ago.

My parents had their wedding in Soroca under a chuppah in accordance with the Jewish rite. They settled in Rezina. Some time later my father opened a drapery store. My parents used to live in rented apartments, changing them every couple of years. The first room of their apartment was always used as a store. In December 1909 Mother gave birth to her first child. The boy was named Leibl after our grandfather. Mother didn’t have children for a couple of years, and then two sons were born, with the difference of one year. Abram was born in 1913 and Velvl in 1914. I don’t know about the life of my family in that period of time. Fortunately, Father wasn’t drafted into the army when World War I started. First, he was the bread-winner of the family with three children and besides he was to take care of his mother Charna. Grandmother Charna lived in Rezina, but not with our family. Father rented a room for her.

In 1918 when the entire Bessarabia, including Rezina was annexed to Romania 6, our family was not much affected by that. Father kept working in the store. He coped with work by himself. He had no assistants. We had a rather modest living. My parents thought that it was the most important thing for their sons to be educated. All of them went to a Romanian lyceum in Rezina. When the youngest was twelve, mother unexpectedly got pregnant. First, she was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do as she was about forty, but the wish to have a daughter was stronger. On 9th December 1926 she understood from her previous experience that she was having labor pains and sent her eldest son Leibl to bring a midwife. Mrs. Paromshchik was the midwife in our town. While the son was thinking where to go, parturition began. That was the way I, the youngest in the family, was born on 9th December 1926. My parents were happy. They had dreamt of having a daughter. In accordance with the tradition in my mother’s family I was named Menihe after my maternal grandmother. However, later on when I was getting my official documents I changed my name to the Russian Maria, as it was more euphonic.

I had a wonderful childhood. My mother was deeply immersed in looking after me and taking care of the house. Father loved me very much as well. In spite of the fact that there were four children in the family, I was raised as an only child, because my siblings were much older than I was. They were interested in other things, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t care for me. They treated me very well, even pampering me sometimes. I didn’t see them very often. When I got a little older they left Rezina to continue their education.

Growing up

One of the things that I remember from my childhood is saying goodbye to my eldest brother. In 1929 he finished lyceum and ranked top among the students, having an exceptional talent in humanities – philosophy and history. Leibl wanted to go on with his education, but he understood that our father wouldn’t be able to pay for it, as there were two more people in the family who needed to go to lyceum, and besides my mother and I were to be taken care of as well. Leibl and three of his friends decided to go to Belgium to enter a university there. Father gave him money only for the trip. My brother wasn’t hurt as he understood that Father did all he could.

The four friends came to the town of Liege. Leibl entered the Pharmaceutical Department at the University. His friends also became students. They lived together in a rented apartment. One Jew from Bessarabia found a job for them. They were lodging in turns at the electric station. Leibl managed to graduate from the institute and began to work. I remember how my parents rejoiced when he sent them his first salary. By that time Abram had graduated from the lyceum and entered Iasi University 7, the Law Department. The youngest son, Velvl, studied in the lyceum in Soroca. Mother’s brother Aron took Velvl to him. Having finished lyceum Velvl entered the Medical Department of Bucharest University. Father had to support two students.

We always lived in a rented apartment. To have our own house still remained a cherished and unrealizable dream for us. Mother spent almost all her time with me. We went shopping together – to the stores and to the market. We enjoyed taking pictures rather often – sometimes the three of us, sometimes the whole family was in the pictures. There were two photography shops. One of them belonged to Golovanevskiy, and the other one belonged to Zilberman. Our family preferred having pictures taken at Golovanevskiy’s. They often took my pictures free of charge and placed them in the window case. They said I was a very pretty child. We took pictures to send them to Leibl in Belgium. He was missing us very much and he couldn’t afford to come home for a visit.

Our family observed Jewish traditions. Father usually wore a cap or a hat; he covered his head with a kippah only while praying. Mother didn’t wear a wig. She covered her head with a kerchief only when she went to the synagogue, and Father wore tallit and tefillin only when he went to the synagogue. Mother stuck to kosher principles in cooking. There were specially marked dishes for cooking dairy and meat, as well as hardware and cutting boards.

Sabbath was a holiday for me when I was a child. On Friday Mother bought a chicken and went to the shochet to have it slaughtered. We also bought fish brought from Kishinev. We bought Sabbath challah in the bakery. Besides, Mother baked her own sweet challah. Not every Jewish family could afford fancy challah made of the premium flour. The dishes cooked for Sabbath were kept in the oven. On Sabbath my parents went to the synagogue. Both of them had their own seats in the large two-storied synagogue, which was the most beautiful one in Rezina. On Saturdays my father’s store was closed. When my parents came back from the synagogue Mother took the warm dinner from the oven and we had a meal.

Rosh Hashanah is the first holiday in the Jewish year. It is very ceremonious. Mother laid the table with the best dishes cooked by her. Gefilte fish [filled fish balls] was one of them. Father enjoyed it the most, saying that it was the tastiest dish. We could hear shofar sounds from the synagogues, and that sound of a trumpet seemed pristine to me and made me think about Palestine, the Jews and their history.

I remember fasting at Yom Kippur. I began fasting early, since eight. [Editor’s note: Usually children under the age of nine don’t fast, then they start fasting little by little. Boys start to fast as long as adults do by the age of thirteen, girls from twelve.] It was my initiative. We had a lavish dinner on the eve of the fasting day. On the fasting day parents didn’t eat nor drink for the whole day. They usually spent this day in the synagogue, praying. Sometimes Mother came home for a couple of hours to take a rest. In the evening Mother laid a table either at home or in the café of her friend where our families got together. It was hard for me to fast. The hardest thing was being thirsty. Once, Mother fainted because of hunger, when she wasn’t very young anymore and ill.

We usually went to my uncle to celebrate Sukkot. He had his own house, where he made the sukkah. Grape vines were hanging down from the roof of the balcony and reached the table where we had dinner during the holiday. The next holiday of Simchat Torah was very mirthful, making young and elder people agile. [Simchat Torah (‘Rejoicing in the Torah’) celebrates the receiving of the Torah by dancing and singing. Drinking is also common during this time.] I remember how the Torah scroll was carried along our streets and followed by the dancing religious Jews. On Chanukkah my mother and I often went to her siblings in Soroca. They gave me very generous presents and Chanukkah money [Chanukkah gelt]. I felt at home in the house of Aron and Motle.

I also liked the Purim holiday a lot. There was a nice impromptu carnival procession in the street. I knew the story of Esther since early childhood. Father told me about Esther, who saved the Jews. Mother made me the costume of Esther. What I like the most was the Jewish tradition to bring presents, the so-called ‘shelakhmones’ [a tray usually filled with sweets and apples]. In the evening the trays with the treats were brought from Madam Stekolshchik and another friend of my mother’s, whose husband was the owner of the mill. We treated them as well. Unfortunately, people started to forget about this tradition in the course of time. Even at the end of the 1930s, only several families kept that tradition. I remember one very religious tailor lived at one end of the town and his nephew at the other one, and when they were carrying the treats to each other, people mocked them saying that the tradition was outdated. I am sorry that this festive mood connected with Purim is gone.

Pesach was my favorite holiday. We were on holiday at school. Bedsides, my brothers Abram and Velvl used to come. Mother got ready for the holiday beforehand. She bought chicken, meat, fish and cleaned the house. There was a present for each member of the family. They had a new coat made for me and ordered new patent-leather shoes for me. The first seder was the most ceremonious one. Father was leaning on the pillows [according to the Jewish tradition the eldest man in the family, the one who conducted seder, was supposed to recline on something soft (usually pillows were used for that), which was the embodiment of relaxation and exemption from slavery], covered with white cloth. Father was wearing festive tallit. Matzah and afikoman were hidden under the pillows. The person who found the afikoman was supposed to get a present. There was traditional food on the table: an egg, a potato, bitter herbs, chicken drumstick and matzah. Apart from the common festive dishes such as stew, gefilte fish, chicken broth there were a lot of dishes from matzah: all kinds of casseroles and tsimes. My brothers stayed with us for the entire holiday period, though they weren’t religious any more. They studied in secular universities in the capital. Like most young people of that time they left home and stopped being religious and following Jewish traditions. Rarely, only when they came home, did they participate in the celebration of Jewish holidays, out of respect for their parents and a tribute to traditions.

When I turned seven, I started going to the Jewish school Tarbut 8. It was a secular school, where along with common subjects, Hebrew, Jewish history and religion were taught. We studied Jewish literature, read and recited large excerpts from literary works. I had quite a good command of Hebrew at that time, but now I don’t remember anything unfortunately. After finishing elementary school I went to State Romanian Lyceum. It was a co-ed, where boys and girls studied. It wasn’t hard for me to pass the entrance exams and I was accepted without any bias. There were a lot of Jews in our class as the town was predominantly Jewish, and there was no Jewish lyceum.

I made friends with Jewish children. Slava Milstein was my best friend. Her father was the owner of a store. I also had a friendly relationship with Mara Gerkovich, whose father was a very wealthy man, a manager of a department of the Jewish bank. One boy, Fima Redka, was also my friend. He lived next door. He was from Kishinev. He came to Rezina with his mother and brother after his father had died. In Rezina his grandfather owned a large grocery store. They were very wealthy people. Fima asked his mother to buy textbooks for both of us to be able to see me more often – at that time people shared books to save money – so we studied together. As far as I remember Fima was always by me. He was a funny red-haired boy. I even taught him to embroider and his embroidery was placed next to mine on the annual exhibitions in the lyceum. I was an excellent student. I got prizes every year. The first prize was usually taken by Mara Gerkovich. As a rule, I took the second or the third, sometimes sharing it with Fima. We received books, school paraphernalia, school bags, backpacks. I had studied there for three years and then the lyceum was closed down.

During that time the position of our family had changed. My brother Leibl sent the money from Belgium regularly and finally Father was able to save money to buy his own apartment. He purchased a part of a house with a basement, which belonged to our distant relative. We had a separate entrance in the house. The apartment consisted of three rooms. As usual, there was a store in the first room. The second was a bedroom with three beds: two for my parents, and one for me, and the third one was a sort of a drawing-room combined with a kitchen. Since we didn’t have a separate kitchen Mother placed the primus [Primus stove: a small portable stove with a container for about 1 liter of kerosene that was pumped into burners] behind the curtain. The next year Father hired some workers and they joined the kitchen with the balcony to our apartment. We had a wonderful yard. There was a chicken coop in the yard. We also had a wine cellar. We didn’t have our own grapes. Father bought them at a cheap price and made wine. We drank homemade wine on Sabbath and on holidays.

The three of us lived in that apartment. Grandmother Charna died in 1935. She was buried in accordance with the Jewish traditions. We were mourning over her. I didn’t go to her funeral because of being ill. I remember my grandmother always being brisk and merry.

The coming year brought certain events to our country and in our family life as well. At that time the Bessarabian Jewish youth was divided in two groups – the adherents of Zionism 9 and underground Komsomol 10 Communists, who were striving for a Soviet mode of life and spreading the ideas of equality and fraternity. My elder brother Abram, who was then living in Rezina, became an active member of an underground Komsomol organization. In Iasi, where he studied at the university, he was seeing a girl and when her parents insisted on the wedding, Abram rejected his bride. He was totally devoted to Communism and reckoned that he couldn’t be tied with a nuptial knot. Mother was really worried and shed a lot of tears because of that. Abram was arrested a couple of times, but he didn’t stay in prison for a long time. He was released in a couple of months. He was banned from living in Rezina after he graduated from the university, because our town was a frontier one, and the Soviet Union was on the opposite bank of the Dniestr. When Abram graduated from university he began to work for a law firm in Kishinev. Then he moved to a little town close to Bucharest. 

Mother knew hardly anything about her younger son Velvl. He finished a couple of years of the medical department. In 1938 Aunt Tuba sent a letter from Ukraine. The letter was written in an allegoric style and mother understood that Velvl had crossed the border and stayed in Pervomaysk at his aunt’s. Our aunt wasn’t able to write long frank letters and forbade my mother to respond to her letters. She didn’t even indicate her address as she was afraid to be persecuted by the authorities 11, but we began to understand those things much later, in the 1940s, when we became citizens of the USSR, when mother was keen to receive letters from abroad with the message about her eldest son.

In 1939 Leibl, who had finally settled in Liege, sent money for Mother and me to come and visit him. I was looking forward to our trip. First, we went to Kishinev. Then we left for Bucharest. In Kishinev my mother and I went shopping and bought fashionable crêpe de Chine dresses and took pictures. We went to Belgium from Bucharest. I don’t remember much about Belgium. Leibl met us at the train station. He was so handsome in a dressy three-piece suite. We were with his fiancée. From the train station we went to some spa and stayed there for a month.

When we came back to Rezina my family decided that I should go on with my studies. In September mother took me to Orhei and I entered a lyceum there. I lived with Aunt Rivka for some time. Then Mother rented a room for me. I shared it with two more girls from the lyceum. I lived in Orhei for a year. My parents often came for a visit. My brother Abram came once. I went home for Jewish holidays. Abram used to come as well. Both of us were at the festive table. Once, mother came on a sleigh to take me home for the winter vacation. She also took one of the lads from Rezina, who also studied in Orhei. I knew him, but I didn’t communicate with him as he was four years older than me. His name was Froike [full name Froim]. On our way there was a blizzard, the road was covered deeply with snow and we had to stay in a village overnight. The host gave us warm tea. When we came back to Rezina, Froike’s mother met us, sobbing, and said that she had lost all hope to see us alive. At that time I liked the handsome and reasonable Froike, but I couldn’t envisage that all my adult life would be connected with him and he would become my husband.

I was only one year in Orhei and came back home. In late June 1940 Soviet troops entered Bessarabia and the Soviet power was established. It was rather peaceful. We went out to meet the Soviet soldiers, marching in the streets. They looked dusty, dirty and exhausted. Mother was worried about Abram as he lived on the Romanian territory. There was no news from him for the whole week. On the seventh day the lady from the telephone station came to us and said that Abram was calling. Mother went to have a talk with him. She came back very happy. It turned out that Abram was able to reach Kishinev and called from there. Mother said that she wouldn’t let this son go away. She left for Kishinev and came back with Abram the next day.

Abram took an active part in social work and soon was nominated the chairman of the municipal council. He had worked there for a month and then he was transferred to the integrated industrial complex and became its chairman. Abram got married two months after coming back to his native town, to a Jewish girl, Genya. She was the secretary of the municipal council. Abram had known her since taking part in the underground Komsomol organization. She also took an active part in that organization. Genya was even in prison with Abram.

Soon after the Soviets came to power they started to fight against the kulaks 12 and carried out nationalization of property. Many owners of stores and other entrepreneurs weren’t only sequestrated of their property, but also exiled to Siberia. Many of our acquaintances were predestined for that. The family of my mother’s friend Slava Milstein, whose father was the owner of the mill, was also exiled. Owing to Abram’s position as the chairman of the municipal council, we were treated loyally. Father was given the opportunity to sell out his goods and after that his store was requisitioned. Even the apartment, purchased with the money earned due to hard work, was to belong to the nation-wide property. We weren’t evicted though, and kept on living in the house which wasn’t owned by us any more.

Mother was crying stealthily, and didn’t want to say anything to Abram, as he considered all actions of the Soviet regime to be right. Father, who turned sixty, worked as a foreman in some enterprise. I went to the eighth grade of the ordinary Soviet school. First, it was hard for me to study as the classes were in Russian. I was surprised that it didn’t take me long to become proficient in Russian. Mother helped me a lot in that, as she was good at Russian. I was a good student. The first year of studies at the Soviet school went by very quickly. I became a pioneer 13 and finished the eighth grade ranking top among the students as usual.

During the war

On Sunday 22nd June 1941 we were expecting guests: my uncle Motle, who worked as a director of a publishing house in Soroca, and his daughter Hayusya. All of us were going to visit Aunt Menya. As usual, Mother got ready to receive guests and baked pies. But the train they took was a couple of hours late. At noon, Molotov 14 held a speech on the radio on the outbreak of the Great Patriotic War. Our get-together with my uncle and Hayusya was very sad. They left almost at once. In three days, Genya, Abram’s wife, gave birth to a girl. She was named Liya after a Communist friend, who perished in a Romanian prison. Germans started bombing the town as there was a bridge across the Dniestr, which was the target for the Germans. Abram decided that we should leave the town and in two weeks the whole family – I, Mother, Father and Genya with her baby – left for Sarateny where Aunt Menya lived. Hardly had we driven a couple of kilometers, as a messenger stopped us and told us to go back. Abram met us and told us to get evacuated immediately. Our things were packed – Genya’s sister had done it for us. My brother gave us a big cart and saw us off from the town. It was 6th July. Genya’s parents and sisters left with our family, Genya with the baby. Abram stayed in town, where he had to form a new volunteer battalion.

We left our home for uncertainty. We went along the bridge [across the Dniestr] to Rybnitsa [about 90 km east of Kishinev] and in a hamlet about 20 kilometers away from Rybnitsa we met Aunt Menya and Uncle Leizer. They were waiting for their step-daughter Haya, who took their cart. We couldn’t even imagine that we saw them for the last time. We were moving very slowly. The infant, who was less than a month old, required a lot of attention. We made frequent stops in Ukrainian villages. I should say that people were very hospitable towards us and treated us very well. We were given warm water in every hut, so we could take a bath and bathe the baby. They gave us milk and bread. Sometimes we had dinner. The food was simple, but it was substantial. I wanted to stay, thinking that the danger wasn’t imminent and we would be able to survive the war in one of those hospitable huts.

We reached Pervomaysk, hoping that we would be able to take Velvl and the family of mother’s sister Tuba. We were told not to go into the town and stopped in some sort of a forest. Genya’s sisters went to the town and found out that Aunt Tuba had already been evacuated. Her neighbors told us that Velvl and Abram who came to Pervomaysk for a visit had left to look for us. In two days, on Friday evening, Abram and Velvl came. Mother was happy in the end – both of her sons were with her.

Abram and Velvl joined us. Abram’s friend, a party member, was with him. They asked to be drafted into the army in the enlistment office in any town we passed by. But Bessarabians were not trusted, and they were told to leave. We reached some station in Donetsk oblast [today Ukraine], gave away our cart and got on a train. It was an echelon with evacuees. It took us a couple of days to get to Rostov oblast, about 1000 kilometers away from home. We were sent to some kolkhoz 15 and given lodging by the family of the chairman of this kolkhoz.

Literally in a couple of days, all men who got off the train were summoned to the military enlistment office. First, they didn’t want my brothers to be in the lines because they were Bessarabians. Abram showed his documents and the Communist Party membership card and managed to convince them that he, Velvl and his friend Iser should be sent to the front. Before leaving, Abram told me that I was responsible for the family. He also hinted that I shouldn’t think of my studies, but go to work to support our elderly parents. My brothers sent a couple of optimistic cards, and in a couple of months we stopped receiving letters from them. We had left the kolkhoz by that time, because the German troops were approaching. However, Genya, her baby, parents and sisters stayed. Her sisters were told to dig the trenches. No matter how many times we insisted, Genya didn’t want to leave her sisters. It turned out that the three of us left – my parents and I. After the war we met two Moldovans, who were with us on the trip and stayed with Genya afterwards. They said that Genya’s father died shortly after our departure, and Genya, her sisters, mother and the baby, Liya, were shot by the Fascists during one of their actions against the Jewish population.

We got to the district center in a cart, and then we went to Stalingrad [today Volgograd in Russia] oblast [today Russia] by train. We came to some sort of a kolkhoz. Tobacco was grown there and my father went to work there. We were given a room with an oven. We were given firewood in the kolkhoz. Our life was getting better. I also began working. First, I was a worker at the sheep farm. There were very few literate people in the village and I became accounting clerk of the firm. I learned how to ride a horse and a two-wheel carriage. I got up at five o’clock in the morning and went to the farm, where the milkmaids milked the ewes, collected the milk and brought it to the delivery point. I didn’t even think of pouring out or sipping the milk, though I was hungry almost all the time. We were given rations in the kolkhoz: oil and wheat. Sometimes they gave us the meat of the dead sheep that had died of disease. We exchanged the things we had taken with us for food products. We lived for half a year in this village. When Stalingrad was being attacked, we moved farther. The chairman of the kolkhoz gave us the best bulls to be harnessed in our cart. We went to Ushakhino, Saratov oblast, and gave the bulls to the local kolkhoz. We still keep that certificate.

In Ushakhino we took the train. It took us a couple of weeks to cross the entire Kazakhstan and reach Kyrgyzstan. We met my cousin Shoilik at one of the stations. He worked for the labor army 16, constructing a canal. Mother found out from him that Motle and his family were in Kyrgyzstan. We saw them much later. For a couple of months we lived in Belovodskoye [today Kyrgyzstan, 4000 km from Kishinev]. Father found a job as a guard. My mother and I knitted kerchiefs and blouses and sold them. It was good for us to take a lot of things from home. Now we were able to exchange them for food. Mother found out where Motle was and we came to him. Motle, his wife and two daughters lived in a village not far from Belovodskoye. They lived at the beet receiving station. My favorite cousin Hayusya died there of meningitis in 1942. She was afflicted with meningitis after typhus fever. I was sent to Frunze [today Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan] to attend the courses of agricultural storekeepers. We were taught how to sort out, grade and pile vegetables. Upon my return I was a forewoman of the vegetable storekeepers.

Then my parents started insisting on my studies. We went to the town of Kant, not far from Bishkek, and rented a room there. Father found a job as a guard at some warehouse. Mother knitted, though it was hard for her, because her eyesight got much worse. I went to school. There were mostly other evacuees in my class. Before I was admitted to the school I had to pass a test. I passed it and was enrolled in the tenth grade. Even though I was two months late, soon I managed to catch up with the rest of the class. I was exceptionally good at sciences: Mathematics and Physics. The physics teacher treated me very well and convinced a Russian teacher to have additional classes with me. Of course, she taught me free-of-charge, because we couldn’t afford to pay her. Thanks to that Russian teacher, I was able to finish the tenth grade with honors. There were a lot of Jews in our class and we were friends. My best friends were Iza Kramarova and Manya Kalmanovich. They also were excellent students. Unfortunately, we didn’t keep in touch after finishing school. I don’t know what happened to them afterwards.

That was the way we lived during the war. Of course, my parents weren’t able to observe Jewish traditions. Father was sorry to have left his tefillin at home because of the rush. He had his tallit and every morning Father prayed no matter where we were. I don’t remember whether my parents fasted on Yom Kippur. Mother said that there was no need for me to fast as I starved for many days in a year.

In spring 1944, when Bessarabia was being liberated, Uncle Motle was called to come back to his Motherland urgently. He left for Soroca, where he became the director of a publishing house. In the fall, when Kishinev was liberated, he sent us a message. In December we returned to Bessarabia. First we came to Rezina. Father’s Moldovan friend Efrem suggested that we live in his house for a while. Although Uncle Motle found an apartment for us in Soroca, mother wasn’t willing to leave Rezina, hoping to find out something about here sons. Nobody knew what happened to Velvl and Abram. One of the guys, who had been drafted with them, said that they were surrounded. He was able to break though, and he didn’t know anything about my brothers. Father came back to his previous work in the enterprise. We were given an apartment.

After the war

Mother insisted on my entering the university. When I was pondering over whether to enter the Teachers’ Training Institute or the vocational school, there was an announcement that the Medical Institute was open in Kishinev. It was my dream. Mother also wanted her children to become doctors. My mother and I went to Kishinev. I submitted the documents. I didn’t have to take entrance exams as I had a secondary school certificate with honors. Only two months later I received the invitation for the classes.

Mother rented a room for me. I shared it with a girl from our town, who also entered the medical institute. The room was dark. We slept on one bed. Nevertheless, the student years were the best period of my life. I had very many friends. I was an excellent student. In spite of the hard life and hunger, which was almost as bad as during the war we managed to save some money to go dancing, to the cinema and theater. My parents moved to Soroca. They didn’t doubt that my brothers had perished. They didn’t know anything about Leibl either because of the Iron Curtain 17, removed only long after the war. In the Iron Curtain period there was no communication between the USSR and the rest of the world.

In the summer of 1949 I was at home on vacation. The lad who was with us, when Mama and I were going to Rezina from Orhei for lyceum holidays, was called Froike in his adolescence. Now he was a handsome young man. Froim liked me very much and called on us rather often. His father, Meyer Berko, had died before the war. His mother Esther and his younger brothers were evacuated. Froim went to the lines in 1941. He met his brother Gersh in the vicinity of Stalingrad. They were even in one squad. Froim went through the entire war. He was in Prague, Budapest and Bucharest. He was in Romania, when the victory was declared.

When the war was over, Froim remained in the army for another year and was demobilized in 1946. His brother decided to stay in the army. Froim entered communications institute in Odessa [today Ukraine]. He had studied for a year or two and got in a car crash. He was afflicted with severe headaches, caused by brain concussion. It was hard for Froim to continue with his studies and he decided to come back to Moldova 18. He was dying to come back to Moldova when we were seeing each other. I had other pals and admirers, but Froim didn’t leave me in peace. He was constantly calling, sending me post-cards. He used to come to see me during weekends. Finally he was transferred to the Physics and Mathematics department of the Kishinev Teachers’ Training Institute. In 1949 Froim proposed to me. My parents lived in Kishinev at that time. Father bought a small apartment in the semi-basement premises. We had a festive dinner on the day of our wedding in my parents’ apartment and on the second day we continued celebrations in the house of my mother-in-law. My husband’s brothers, including Gersh, attended our wedding party.

We moved into our room after the wedding. My husband was transferred to the extramural department. He was hired by professor Sharapov, the leading histologist of the medical institute. My husband turned out to be really talented. He started as a laboratory assistant and gradually became a well-known histologist. Having graduated from the Teachers’ Training Institute he became an extramural student of the Medical Institute. I graduated in 1950. I got a mandatory job assignment 19 in a village. But they didn’t let my husband resign from his work and because of that I was permitted to stay in Kishinev. The same year, in August, I gave birth to a daughter. We named her Anna.

During the first years of our married life we weren’t wealthy; we managed to get by just thanks to my husband’s two jobs. When my baby turned two months old my maternity leave was over, and in accordance with the legislation of that time I was supposed to go back to work. My mother stayed with our little girl. I worked as a psychotherapist. As a matter of fact I changed my working place. The first years of my working experience were marred by the Doctors’ Plot 20, and because of that people were prejudiced against Jewish doctors. There were dreadful articles about the doctors-murderers. It was very unpleasant. In Moldova we didn’t believe what was written in the papers and in the Soviet regime in general. Frankly speaking, I have never come across anti-Semitism.

At the beginning of the 1950s my father finally received the confirmation that my brothers had perished. My father was supposed to have a pension for having lost a bread-winner. Father was paid the pension for several years and bought a two-room apartment with that money. All of us moved into that apartment. We were very friendly. My mother was a homemaker. On Friday she lit the candles just as in the pre-war period. We celebrated major Jewish holidays. Father brought matzah from the synagogue. Unfortunately our happy life didn’t last long. In 1956 mother fainted in the street because of an apoplectic stroke. She was brought to my hospital, but in spite of my efforts and the combined efforts of the entire personnel, she couldn’t be rescued and died.

In 1962 I gave birth to a son and named him Vladimir after my brother Velvl. Froim had to quit his studies after our son was born. He began teaching at an evening school so he could earn more money. Father stayed with us for the whole time, helping me raise my children. In 1969 my father passed away. Froim’s mother died in 1973. My parents and Froim’s mother were buried in the Jewish sector of the city cemetery in accordance with the Jewish rite.

In 1963 there was a joyful event in our family. Leibl finally found us. He had a nice and prosperous life in Belgium. He came to us for a visit. Leibl looked so handsome, as if from another world, which seemed a very thriving world, where there was no war, shooting, evacuation and famine. Leibl was married to a Belgian lady called Mirez. He had a big family. Leibl was a prosperous pharmacist. My brother started to help us with money and came for a visit a couple of times.

In a while we got a good apartment, where I am currently living. We were happy. My husband became a famous histologist. However, he wasn’t able to defend a thesis because he didn’t have a medical education. He collected materials for me to write a dissertation for him, but I physically had no time for that because of my job, work about the house, and raising children. However, I have always been happy, feeling loved and cherished by my husband. Froim was highly appreciated in medical circles. He was invited to attend conferences, hold lectures. He was even offered jobs in the clinics and institutes of such great cities as Moscow and Leningrad.

I used to accompany my husband on his trips. I remember that once a local professor came to the hotel we were staying in Leningrad. He tried to talk my husband into moving to Leningrad. He even asked me to influence my husband. But Froim loved Kishinev very much and really wasn’t willing to leave anywhere. Maybe it was the reason why he was totally against immigration to Israel or the USA, when my friends and relatives were leaving. They left in the 1970s.

Our children were growing up. We paid a lot of attention to them. In summer time we went on vacation together. But Froim refused to go just before leaving. He had to stay as he had urgent scientific issues and theoretical tasks to deal with during his vacation. We were in the Crimea and in the Caucasus. We skied on the Elbrus Mountain, visited capitals of Central Asia, attended museums in Moscow and Leningrad. In one word – we had a full life. We didn’t own a car or a country house, but our life was happy. We met interesting people.

After finishing school my daughter followed in my footsteps. She graduated from the Medical Institute and became a neurologist. Anna was married to a Jew, Grigoriy Sheinfeld, a philologist. However, at first they weren’t happy together in spite of the fact that they had a daughter. They divorced and Grigoriy left for the USA. He started writing heart-breaking letters, asking her to come back to him. Finally, Anna and Ella left for the USA. Grigoriy did the right thing. They are very happy together now. Ella and Grigoriy were wed in a chuppah in one of the synagogues in the state of Alabama.

Vladimir graduated from the Electromechanical Vocational School, entered the institute, but he stopped studying. Now he is working for a private company as a mechanic. He got married and had to quit studies when his baby was born. My son’s wife Svetlana is a Jew, coming from a family, where Jewish traditions are observed. I have two grandsons – the elder Maxim and the younger Alexander. Maxim goes to the Jewish school and Alexander attends a Jewish kindergarten.

In 1989 I went to Belgium to see my brother. He has a wonderful house in Liege. He was a happy old man with a large family: children and grandchildren. Leibl died in 1995.

My husband was ill during the last years of his life. He was feeling the consequences of the old trauma. He died two years ago. Our daughter went back to the USA then, because her husband was seriously ill. I didn’t work at that time, though I worked for 15 years after reaching the age of retirement. I was called upon to work in Hesed 21 as a volunteer. I am currently a volunteer doctor. I have a lot of friends among my husband’s former colleagues and among the Jewish community of Kishinev. I am a member of the Jewish community. I take part in the celebration of the holidays. I celebrate Sabbath. I feel utmost content when I am walking along the street and being greeted by people, with whom I don’t really keep in touch: my former patients. Of course, I don’t remember all of them now. I have been working all my life and restlessly taking care of my family and relatives. In spite of that I can tell you for sure that I have lived a happy life and I am totally entitled to being called a happy woman.

Glossary:

Milka Samuel Ilieva
Ruse 
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Patricia Nikolova 
Date of interview: September 2004

Milka Samuel Ilieva is a cordial, sociable and calm person. Her restless spirit, however, was a witness to stormy and contradictory political and life turning events. Her sense of humor as well as her natural kindness have saved her many times from the despair that awaited her at every single step. So many nuances of the Jewish character and Jewish spirit are reflected in her life story, that it looks more like a screenplay than real life. That’s why her words are wise, precise and sincere. Her jokes keep hidden a lot of unarticulated grief and hidden bitterness. 

I’m a descendant of a Jewish family from the Sephardi 1 branch that came from Spain more than five centuries ago. As is well known, most of the Jews expelled by the Spanish Queen Isabella in the 15th century settled on the Balkan Peninsula 2. My ancestors had a similar fate. Unfortunately, I know almost nothing about my grandparents, because they died before I was born. And what’s more, I made the mistake of not asking my parents for details about them. However, I know that my parents, Ventura Samuel Mashiakh and Samuel Moshe Mashiakh, were born in Nis, Macedonia [Editor’s note: Nis is in today’s Serbia and Montenegro.]. They met in Nis and then the two families, Shamli and Mashiakh, decided to move together to Sofia. So it was in the Bulgarian capital that my parents got married, in 1910.

We were a merry big family of ten members. Eight of us were only the kids: five sisters and three brothers. Mois was the first, born in 1911, followed by Ester in 1913, then Albert in 1915, Nissim in 1917, Sara in 1920, Venezia in 1922, Jina in 1925 and lastly I was born in 1928. We lived poorly, I would say, but our life was very spiritual and amusing despite this. What’s for sure is that we never lacked a sense of humor.

My father was very religious, but we, the kids, didn’t manage to preserve this religious spirit. Our life made us atheists. Maybe this was because we lived in poverty and everyone in the family had to start working at a very early age. Our life was hard; we saw all the injustice around us and that provoked a strong social sense in us rather than a religious one. But at least when we were young we observed all the Jewish holidays with my father. He used to tell us a lot about them. We strictly observed the kashrut at home on Pesach, and on the eve of this great holiday, all of us used to help my mother with the big cleaning up. [Editor’s note: She probably means that they had a traditional kosher meal for Pesach and maybe other holidays too but didn’t observe the ritual rules for the rest of the year.] Nobody was allowed to bring bread home during Pesach. As a matter of fact, there were no religious books in Ivrit [Hebrew] at home. I have also no information on whether my father was a member of a Zionist organization, although he must have been a convinced Zionist. What’s more important, the Jewish rituals observed on high Jewish holidays made our family really united.

I’ll never forget how we used to celebrate Purim. There was a very nice song for Purim of whose origin I know nothing. The specific point about it was that every new stanza began with a letter in accordance with the order of the Hebrew alphabet. My sister Sara sang it marvelously. On Purim my father would always tell her, ‘Sarika, please, kerida… [‘dear’ in Ladino] and she would start singing. The feeling was remarkable. I remember visiting Sara in her kibbutz during my last journey to Israel in 1990. I cannot recall the name of her kibbutz. Her job was to patch up clothes on a machine and the people loved her. So we, the three sisters, went to see her. I remember she lived in a small neat room; she also had a toilet and office in her room. Well, I went to her and asked her, ‘Sister, please, sing the first stanza of our favorite Purim song.’ She was 80 then. When she started singing something happened to me. I rushed out of the room in tears; I just couldn’t stop crying. I remember we were a very warm, united, extraordinary family.

After my mother gave birth to me, she got paralyzed from rheumatism. She sat on a chair and was no longer able to stand up. Then they decided to ‘sell me’ to some rich relatives of my mother, her cousins. In those days it was routine for the poor and fertile Jewish families to give one of their children, usually the youngest one, to a relative childless family. In exchange, the well-off family offered financial support to the poor one. As far as I know they were trading with clothes. Since my mother was paralyzed, a woman had to come to wash and swaddle me. My brother Nisso [Nissim] helped her do that. He was eleven years old then. Once he came back from school and saw a car in front of the house. Let me mention that it was 1928. Automobiles weren’t a usual thing to see even in the capital. Right at this moment, they were preparing the baby’s napkins at home to give me to these people.

My brother entered and shouted, ‘Mother! What’s that car doing here?’ Are you going to separate us? Don’t give Milka away! I’ll fill my pockets with pebbles and I’ll break this car’s windows, mind you…’ And he started filling his pockets with pebbles. And it was exactly what my mother had waited for, ‘We will not give her, go away, that’s it!’ That’s how she abandoned her decision.

Another curious fact is that all the children from my family studied in Bulgarian schools. It was only me who studied in the Jewish school, because my parents had decided firmly to send me to Israel, where my father’s sister planned to adopt me. It was a normal thing in the Jewish families then; if some of the relatives are childless, the next of kin, who have many children, give one of theirs to them so that the childless family may bring it up as their own. I was the youngest and because of that, they decided to give me to my father’s sister. This never happened, though.

My maternal grandparents were Avram Shamli, and I don’t know my grandmother’s name. I know really nothing about them. Most probably, they were poor. My paternal grandparents, however, Moshe and Venezia Mashiakh were well off. I know that they set up a sugar processing plant when they emigrated to what was then Palestine in 1930. They produced chocolate sweets there. That’s all I know about them.

My mother was something like a martyr for me. She took great care of us, but we were eight children in the family. Although she was illiterate she always knew how to be kind to us, how to bring us up, what to feed us, so that we would be healthy. She was strict about cleanliness despite the poverty in which we lived. It was easy for an infection to spread, as we were many people in the family. She would take us to public baths at least two times every week, either to the one on Slivnitsa Boulevard in our district, or to the central public baths near the city’s central market hall. Wednesdays and Fridays, just before Sabbath, were the bath days. We had to wash our hands, legs, necks and faces every time we entered the house. My sister Sarika [Sara] often bathed us in a washtub in the yard on Wednesdays. My mother had her do this and she took it as a very important obligation. She used to rub us to death, as if we were as filthy as pigs. That raised bursts of laughter. 

I remember market days in Sofia very well. On the eve of Sabbath, on Fridays, I would always accompany my mother when she set off to the market. I’m speaking of Georgi Kirkov 3 market that’s still functioning in the [then] Sofia residential district Iuchbunar 4. [Today this market is called ‘zhenskia Pazar,’ meaning ‘woman’s market.’ It is the central open market of Sofia.] For me it was the greatest pleasure in the world. My mother liked shopping for long hours; she also loved bargaining with the sellers. Then I helped her bring the products home. All the sellers were my favorite. The mere abundance of vegetables, oranges, tangerines, and everything made me feel happy. 

As I’ve already mentioned I can’t recall anything about my father’s parents. I only know that when they moved from Nis to Sofia they built a huge house for my parents. So, the whole family – the eight kids, my parents, and my father’s parents, lived together in this house. Our house was situated in the poor Jewish district Iuchbunar near Bet Am 5 and the [Great] Synagogue 6. We lived on Odrin Street, while the Jewish school was nearby, at the corner of Osogovo and Bregalnitsa Streets. The yard of our house was also big. We didn’t breed animals but we had a bungalow there that we let out. My eldest brother lived there for some time when he got married, just before the Law for the Protection of the Nation 7 was introduced. Our house was really big, according to the criteria of the time. If we look at it now, it’s just a normal two-storey building.

There were three rooms on the ground floor, and a wooden staircase led to the upper floor where there were two rooms: a bigger and a smaller one. All the eight kids slept in the big one. The smaller one was for my parents. My parents slept in one bed, my brothers in two beds and we, the four sisters, had two mattresses, each of us had a special place one after the other according to our age. Directly on the floor. My place was at one of the ends of the mattresses, since I was born last. And because it was difficult for me to get sleep, I often crept into my parents’ room and I slept underneath their bed. Usually, everyone got up early in the morning, and began to look for me. Finally, they understood I liked sleeping underneath my parents’ bed. I must have been five or six years old then.

I remember that we used to read a lot at home. And we always sang when we went to bed, when we got up, when we felt bad, when we were happy – we always sang. We had arranged our own family choir; there were ten of us after all. We sang in two parts. The second part was of course for men, and we, the women sang the first part. I remember, for example, that my eldest brother was a tenor. My sister Sara was an incredible soprano and could have had a professional career in music, if she had had the opportunity. The others were altos. My parents also took part in our singing. So, without any exaggeration our choir sounded beautiful.

I remember that in our yard a big and picturesque willow grew. During summers, my family used to install a table below the tree and we had our meals there every day. And when we finished with the food, we cleared the table and started singing the most beautiful songs we knew. We sang in Ladino and in Bulgarian. We sang [Bulgarian] folk songs: ‘Kito, girl’ and the now so-called ‘old city songs’ which were in fact modern Bulgarian chansons, called ‘Bufoon’s song.’ We also sang traditional [Ladino] Jewish songs: ‘Adio kerida’ [Goodbye darling], ‘Ande stavne amor?’ [Where are you my love?], ‘Nigna sos de basha djente’ [Girl, you are of an inferior birth], ‘Ken me va tomar a mi?’ [Who is going to marry me?], etc. Of course, my mother knew many songs in Ladino. Mind you, my parents were from Nis, so they knew also many Macedonian songs. [Editors note: Nis is located in Serbia, not in Macedonia.] From Macedonian ones, my favourite was ‘Zapali se Shar Planina’ [The Shar Mountain Started Burning], especially when my mother sang it.

These days I have discovered a hidden, inherited talent in me. I need to hear a song only once to remember it. Every spring, when Pesach was nearing, my mother used to beat out all the carpets, brush and wash everything. She had the furniture taken out, leaving only a table and a chair in the house so that she may reach the ceiling more easily. And she herself painted it. From as young as I can remember, I used to stay around to help her. I carried a bucket of paint, dipped the brushes and then handed them to her. And she would sing all the time. I would remember all her songs. She used to sing as much in Ladino as in Macedonian dialect.

This talent of mine was, however, as much an advantage as it was a disadvantage. I remember Uncle Avram who liked playing tricks on the people around him. He earned his living by making flypapers. Uncle Avram knew that I remembered every song from the first hearing and once decided to play a trick on me. He called me to teach me, say, a very beautiful song. I was quite small and quite enthusiastic about all that. I was eight or nine years old then. He started singing a ribald song and I didn’t know what it was about, ‘Lies down Lola under the quilt, what to say I know not of.’ I came back home and still being at the door I started singing it, content that I had just learned it. My brother, who had never beaten me all my life, slapped me in the face immediately. I got scared and started crying, ‘What’s that for? Why are you beating me?’ And he said, ‘You shouldn’t sing everything you hear from Uncle Avram!’ And he was right. At the same time, my sister Vinka [Venezia] sang an old chanson, it was a popular tune of the time, ‘I live to lo-o-o-ve…’ - very popular it was. And so I started singing it at the top of my voice the following day, ‘I li-i-i-i-ve to lo-o-o-ove.’ It was ridiculous.

The songs I knew in Ivrit I’d learned in Hashomer Hatzair 8. We used to sing a lot there, too. There was a very nice song. It began with, ‘O, ani-i-i itayavti, itaya-avti-i-i…’ We were taught to sing polyphonic music so that it sounded really beautiful. We were divided into two groups. When the first group, consisting of boys, started singing alone the whole first stanza and in the moment when they began the second stanza with a slightly different melody, the second group joined, starting from the beginning and singing simultaneously with the first one. And it always turned out very nice. I remember us singing songs like: ‘Ine ma tov uma naim shevet achim gam yachad’ [literally from Ivrit: ‘how nice and cozy it is, brothers, staying together’], or: ‘Sham baerev…’ [From Ivrit: ‘There, in the evening…’], and so on. It was a wonderful time.  

It wasn’t by chance that I mentioned Hashomer Hatzair. When I was as young as seven, I was a member in this Jewish youth organization. I remember very clearly that as early as 1935 Hashomer Hatzair looked after the poor kids, among whom I was, too. We were all from the poor Jewish neighborhood of Iuchbunar. Our fathers were workmen. We studied at the Jewish school where we received free coats and shoes because of our poverty. We were supported economically there, while in Hashomer Hatzair the help was spiritual. And this was more important. They helped us grow up as personalities. This organization gave a meaning to my life. They not only recommended us what to read, I’m speaking of literature with very high artistic values, but also excellently entertained us with games stimulating the sense of unity in our community. Besides, the older boys and girls played the violin for us, so that we could get acquainted with music. For example, the well-known musician Klara Pinkas often played the violin for us.

We studied astronomy as well. And when we turned twelve we started studying Horel’s ‘Sex Question’ [It was then the most popular and highly respected reading for adolescents.] and let me say, not in separated groups of boys and girls, but all together. To put it in other words, they taught us to be friends, and to be united. It often happened that we gathered all our money, about a lev or two per child, and ‘ahot’ [sister in Hebrew] Karola, the girl who was looking after us, she had to make sure we observed the required discipline and she also taught us, distributed them: ‘This is for cinema, this for sweets, and this is for ‘Shkembe Chorba’ [tripe-soup, non-kosher].’ We all loved this Oriental meal.  

All my friends then were Jewish girls, whom I was with at the Jewish school and Hashomer Hatzair: Mati Yomtov, Sarika Shamli, Dora Benvenisti and others. Afterwards they left for Israel and since then we have met by chance, well advanced in years, and we have even made out who was who. But back in my childhood years, I was always with them. We had a favorite game called ‘semanei derekh’ [literally from Ivrit: ‘traffic signs’]. We walked in Borisova Garden, the big park in Sofia’s suburbs [today this park is in the city center] separated in groups. The first group had to start before the second one, they walked and from time to time they had to put some signs, for example arrows made out of twigs, to show the direction, or they made some kind of a funny obstacle. Or they improvised a swastika, again made of twigs that meant ‘danger.’ And the ‘danger’ turned out to be a puddle for instance. Or they drew a square and a number in it with chalk. If the number was ten for example the second group had to seek for something hidden at a distance of ten steps from the square. We sought, sought and finally found pink sweets wrapped in a paper.

We often went to the Byalata Voda area, which is on Vitosha [a mountain near Sofia]. We were scouts there. We were separated into two groups: boys and girls. And we arranged fantastic competitions. We ran with our legs in sacks. Liko [Eliu] Seliktar was irreplaceable as an organizer of these games. We were taught how to light a fire in open nature, how to cook and so on. My childhood was absolutely calm. Up to the moment when the Germans invaded Bulgaria and the Law for the Protection of the Nation and the Law for the Protection of the State were introduced.

My father was a brush-maker. He made special shoe brushes and brushes for clothes. In fact, he did the hard work of the brush-making handicraft. When I was a child, I often saw him drilling holes in a board with a drill, where the threads were to be fixed after that. And this board was very thin and delicate and a single false movement could have broken it. But he was a master. I know that the owner of the workshop for brushes on Nis Street, where my father worked, was called Persiodo [Precious]; he was а Jew, too, but I can’t remember his first name now. That’s why he paid my father a substantial amount. His daily wage was 100 levs. Every day at lunchtime, when I was back from school, I carried to my father the meal that my mother had prepared for him. I took home the empty dishes and he would give me his wage to take home to my mother and always gave me a lev. These simple things made every day a holiday for me.

Apart from being a great master, my father was also a very good man. He never slapped any of his children. And he sang beautifully. I adored him. Every day when he came back home I used to wait for him with a basin filled with hot water, because he worked standing all day long and his legs got swollen. I always expected him eagerly and when I saw him approaching with five loaves of rye bread in his hands I rushed and gladly grabbed the bread. After that we used to go to my parents’ room on the second floor. There my father dipped his legs into the hot water and I washed them for him. I was a young child then. This procedure was repeated every single day. I loved him very much, and he loved me, too.

I lost my father very early. He died on 31st December 1939. The reason for his death was that he had a lot of stress then. My sister Ester was to get married. She had match-makers who had found her a boy. In those days, however, it was a big problem for Jewish girls to get married. Every Jewish girl had to have a trousseau, a big trousseau, let me say. But a girl also had to have dowry. And we were poor. My father loved my sister so much that he bought her a ‘Singer’ sewing machine [a very popular one for its time; German sewing machine], he made her a big trousseau and gave her 30,000 levs in dowry, which was a huge amount of money then. And that brought him to ruins. He had taken a loan from ‘Geula’ bank and when the policies started to arrive, he got sick. They threatened to throw out our belongings into the street, take our house and so on. His anxiety created a tumor in his stomach. They told him it was non-malignant, but he had to undergo an operation. And he didn’t want to. So that’s how he passed away. When my father died and the policies continued coming, my sister exchanged her wedding ring at a pawnshop for some money to pay at least the first policy. From then on we lived in complete poverty, especially during the Law for the Protection of the Nation, but somehow we stoically coped with everything. 

I remember very well the Sofia Jews’ demonstration in protest to the government’s decision for interning us 9. It was on 24th May 1943 10. At that time I was already 15 years old, but I was not a member of the Union of Young Workers 11, in contrast to my sister Jina, who was. Well, on this day I was just walking down Klementina Square with my sister Jina when we met acquaintances from the Jewish community. They informed us that they were going to organize a manifestation addressed to King Boris III 12 and against his decision for our internment. After that, the whole Jewish community gathered in the synagogue. And our procession started from there to Klementina Square. We reached Father Paisii Street, near Bet Am. And suddenly mounted police appeared in front of us. A severe scrimmage followed while we, the kids, fled away in all directions. I remember that I started running from Father Paisii Street and I stopped as far as Osogovo Street, in the Jewish school. Then I hid with a friend of mine. The police started visiting the Jewish families, from house to house, and they arrested all the Jewish men. Not before long, they interned us. 

Our internment was painful. We were each given the right to carry with us only 30 kilograms of luggage. We left for the railway station in order to catch the train to Shumen, where we were to be interned. It was my mother, Vinka, Jina and me. The other two sisters, Ester and Sara, had already been married: in Stara Zagora and in Sofia respectively; while my brothers were sent to forced labor camps 13. When we arrived in Shumen, several hundreds of Jews, we among them, were accommodated at the local school’s gym-hall. And a commune cauldron of food was installed there.

In that confusing situation, we were sitting desperately, my mother, my sisters and I, in the gym-hall’s crowd, when Vinka, who was 20 then already, took the initiative and said, ‘Mum, we won’t live here.’ And we started asking for lodgings. So we came across some Turks who lived near the Tumbul mosque [the main mosque in Shumen, built in 1744, also the largest in the Balkans]. It was just opposite the local Jewish school. Well, these Turks told us they could accommodate us in one of their rooms upstairs. We were six of us in that room: my mother, we, the three sisters, and one of my mum’s cousins with her daughter. We immediately started looking for jobs. We had to dig, wash, clean and all that stuff. We quickly registered ourselves at the Jewish community in the town, where they prepared a list of people like us who wanted to work. So, through the Jewish community we were sent to a ranch of 200 hectares of land. It was situated in the village of Panayot-Volovo. The owner was Ivan Praznikov. Both my sister Jina and I worked there. We dug, harvested and did all kinds of agricultural work there. My elder sister became a seamstress.

After 9th September 1944 14 we finally came back to Sofia. Then I was already 17 years old. We lived in absolute poverty. We found our house overgrown with weeds and grass. The doors and windows were levered out. The furniture had been robbed. A gaping house. We looked at each other and started crying frantically. We were only the three of us. As we were crying, Vinka said, ‘There’s no use in crying. Let’s get things moving.’
We started tearing up the weeds. We cleaned the yard, but the problem was where we were going to sleep for the night. My mother had brothers in Dorbunar [literally from Turkish: ‘Four wells’. ‘Dort’ stands for four, while ‘bunar’ means well, but in every day life people usually don’t pronounce the ‘t’.], a residential district neighboring Iuchbunar. They had come back to Sofia from their internment before we did. And they told us, ‘Until you submit the documents to have the house restored and get help from the municipality, come and stay with us.’ We stayed for a while with our uncles. The house got restored quite quickly in fact; doors and windows were installed. We whitewashed the house, disinfected, cleaned everything and moved in. We gathered our entire luggage in a single corner, because we didn’t have any furniture, we didn’t even have beds. We slept on quilts on the floor.

Just before our internment, my first and second sister, Ester and Sara, who already had their own families, had been working hard. There was a special kind of home-employment for women then. My third and fourth sisters worked for a textile factory. I worked with them. I sewed buttons on shirts, a multitude of shirts every day, so that eventually I didn’t even look at the button’s holes; I knew them by heart. I could finish 60 shirts a day. My third sister got married in Ruse. Vinka’s husband Shlomo was in a forced labor camp during the internment, but he fled to Shumen, where he met my sister and they got married after 9th September 1944.

My brothers succeeded in getting married to the women they loved. In contrast to my sisters, let me say. My elder brother married Olga; his love from the school years. In the beginning, they lived with us. My second brother’s wife’s name is Ani; she lives in Israel. Her father was a grocer; they lived in the Jewish neighborhood, near our place, at the corner of Opalchenska Street and Stamboliiski Boulevard. My younger brother married the girl he loved, also from his childhood. They lived in a bungalow attached to our house in Iuchbunar in Sofia.

Shortly after 9th September 1944 I got married, too. It happened that I had an arranged marriage with an ex-political prisoner; his name was Sason Panizhel. He was a nephew of my sister’s mother-in-law. Once he went to visit his aunt and then he happened to see me there. They arranged a marriage for us and I accepted only because I wanted to get rid of that poverty. My co-existence with him lasted for three years [1945-1947] and it turned out to be real hell.

He took me to Ruse. Yet during the first week, I realized what I was in. But I was still an innocent child brought up with books. I idealized everything. I cried all the time; I just couldn’t stop. Soon my daughter Tinka was born in 1947, and because of her I managed to put up with this nightmare for three years. Our house in Ruse shared the same yard with Dragomir Assenov [a well-known Bulgarian writer of Jewish origin]. Besides, we lived with my husband’s mother, Estel Panizhel, who was close to my mother. His sister was a friend of my sister’s; in Sofia we lived near each other. I lived with him and was in incessant fear. He had acquired some habits in prison that I couldn’t stand. 

Sason’s mother was a martyr. And his father wasn’t a good man. I remember him as a very perverted person. And he had passed his perversion to his son. For him, a woman was just a tool for satisfying primary instincts. I was disgusted. Besides, he even reached out his hands to harm me. During that time his cousin, Luna Djain, and I became friends. She often told me, ‘How can you put up with him?’ and I answered, ‘What can I do? Where can I go?’ My parents and my sisters and brothers had all immigrated to Israel by then. And I had nobody in Sofia. Where could I go? Then Luna said to me, ‘You can come and stay with me.’ We lived close to her place then. And one evening when the situation became extremely unbearable, I decided to run away. Just as I was: in a nightgown.

Of course, the situation worsened. At first, he didn’t want to get divorced. He used to go to the kindergarten to pick up our kid. He used it as a lure to make me come back. I was terrified and I let my daughter stay at their place, but I tormented myself with this. I would go to him to ask for my kid, he would let me in, lock the door, beat me, and then chase me away bleeding. Of course, the kid witnessed these scenes and also got disgusted with her father. Luna asked me, ‘Leave him, leave him alone for three days and you’ll see, he can’t handle it with this kid. Why are you going there? Want to get beaten again?’ I was obstinate, though. And everything happened again and again. One day I decided to listen to Luna’s advice. I went there neither the first day, nor the second, and on the third day he came shouting, ‘Take this tag with you, it’s yours!’ That’s what I wanted to hear. And it was over. Afterwards I lived in an even worse condition with my daughter, in complete poverty. We had only my salary as a typist for a living, which was not high at all. At least, I always had some butter to spread on a slice of bread for her.

In 1952 I met my second husband, Georgi Iliev. The same year I found a job with the Regional Council. Georgi worked there, too. He was single and I was in the process of getting divorced. What I liked about him was that he was serious and modest. We got married in Ruse in 1953. Some very big troubles followed on the part of his relatives. The reason was that I was divorced and had a child. His relatives had the mentality of villagers and couldn’t put up with this. Even his father, who had been sent to Germany as a very qualified professional, he worked in the local locomotive plant, said after he came back, ‘It doesn’t matter if she’s divorced; she has a child. But she’s a Jew!’ However, I knew what a wise Jew should do. I stayed silent and waited. I thought this was their viewpoint. I couldn’t press my position on them.

Many years passed before we went to visit them. Until the day my husband’s uncle, who was studying law in France, came back to Bulgaria. He came to visit us. Our son was still a baby then. We sat at the table and started talking, and we talked for long hours, we talked sincerely to each other. He told me a lot of things about France. I don’t know what he said to his sister, my husband’s mother, but after two days she rang the doorbell. I invited her as if we had last met two hours ago. So, step by step they started to invite us to visit them. 

Years passed and my mother-in-law died. She didn’t suffer for long; she passed away within a day. It was 1963. The old man remained alone. My father-in-law sold his house and he had to come to stay with us until we had an apartment built. My father-in-law was born in one of the neighboring villages to Ruse, Chervena Voda, which was very riotous after 9th September 1944. In that village the local inhabitants started to make fun of him. They used to tell him, ‘Well, well, Ilia, what happened at the end? A Jewish daughter-in-law, and God knows what else, but a Jewish daughter-in-law is going to look after you, as it turns out.’ And he said, ‘I hadn’t known her. She’s decent. She’s not like us.’ That’s how he spread the fame of me in that village. I looked after this man for 20 years.

My daughter Tinka has two daughters: Rossitsa and Tanya who suddenly decided to leave for Israel after 10th November 1989 15. After my granddaughters immigrated to Israel, my daughter also went there. She has been there for ten years already and lives in Bat Yam. Her second daughter moved to Tel Aviv, while her elder daughter came back to Bulgaria. Rossitsa’s children are called Adam born in 2003 and Maya in 1997. Her husband’s name is Zoar, an Arab Jew, and an intelligent boy.

My son Iliycho [Ilia] Georgiev Iliev was born in 1953 and finished his secondary education at the Ruse music school. We knew he had the talent for music, but we didn’t expect that he would get addicted to music. This way he outlined his own fate. After that, he graduated from the Conservatory [in Sofia], specializing in violin. There he met his wife, Svetla Nikolaeva Toteva, who was also born in Ruse. She’s a cello player. Between 1980 and 1992 they were both members of the [Ruse] Opera orchestra. Then a Brazilian impresario came to the Ruse Opera; I don’t know how he persuaded them, but in 1992 twelve members of the orchestra decided to leave for Brazil to strengthen their orchestra there. Off they went and it’s now twelve years I haven’t seen them. That’s what I feel heavy at heart about. In fact, Iliycho went first and two years after him, his wife and two children, Milena and Nikolay, went to join him. They gave birth to a third child there: Victor. 

I have been to Israel seven times. The first time was in 1982 when I went alone. My second visit took place in 1986. From 1989 on, I have traveled to Israel once every three years. I’m impressed that it becomes more and more beautiful there. I like the people, too. My brother-in-law is a Sabra. [Literally cactus fruit in Hebrew, Sabra became the name for the native Jewish inhabitants of Israel. The self perception of Israelis is of the cactus fruit, that is rough and thorny outside and warm and sweet inside.] A wonderful person. Every morning he smiled at me, saying, ‘Miluka kerez kadiyko? Uno Kadiyko? [From Ladino: Milka, would you like a cup of coffee? A coffee?] And he prepared for me a special coffee from selected sorts. His name was Herzel Karmel. He was my sister Jina’s husband. I married before her, even though according to the tradition it was her turn to get married since she was elder than me. He was head of the municipality’s transport department. He was our cousin; his and our fathers were brothers. However, as we know, marriages between Jewish cousins are allowed. As a matter of fact, his surname was Mashiakh. But the people in Israel made fun of this so much that he decided to officially change his surname to Karmel. [‘Mashiach’ means ‘Messiah’ in Hebrew.]

I have experienced every possible misadventure: internment, ghetto, poverty, anti-Semitic regulations, disgraceful yellow star 16, curfew, and so on. So I celebrated 9th September 1944 as liberation. However, I can’t say I accepted 10th November 1989 as liberation, too. Before this date, there were a lot of things I liked. For example, there was more freedom to speak of your ethnical origin; at least, this is my opinion. Less antagonism. More economic safety and social stability. Before, there was a certain category of people, ‘active fighters’ against fascism. They received this date with hostility. Before that, they felt themselves as aristocrats, but this date dispelled their halo. I have never been an ‘active fighter.’ And I didn’t feel any hostility. I can’t say conditions of life changed for me, because I was already a pensioner when the democratic changes in Bulgaria took place. 

I retired in 1983. Until then I worked in the Human Resources Department at the Agriculture and Mechanical Engineering Institute in Ruse. I was at a very good self-dependant position and after that I started receiving a nice pension. I had another 15 years length of service before that. So my total length of service runs to 35 years, although I started working as young as a child during the Law for the Protection of the Nation.

The events that took place in Bulgaria after 10th November 1989 didn’t fascinate me. I’m for the tolerance. I never argue with friends in the organization [Milka is speaking of the local Jewish organization in Ruse called ‘Shalom’]: if one supports the Union of Democratic Forces or the Bulgarian Socialist Party, I’m simply not interested in that. Just the other way about. I try to respect other people’s opinions. My sister, who came back to Bulgaria for a while after 10th November 1989, listened to what people were commenting then and told me, ‘Milka, the people here are mad!’ Herzel and I vote with different bulletins. He’s for the conservatives and I’m for the liberals. But should we argue about that at home?’ I think this is the right way of thinking.

Glossary 

Moscow
Russia
Interviewer: Svetlana Bogdanova
Date of interview: November 2003

Alexandr Grin is a friendly, amiable and hospitable host and an interesting and educated conversationalist. He is an average height, gray-haired, blue-eyed handsome man.
Alexandr lives with his wife Galina and their grandson Pyotr Grin in a three-bedroom apartment in a recently built house in Krasnopresnenskiy district, not far from the center of Moscow.

It’s a spacious, comfortable and nicely furnished apartment. One of the rooms serves as Alexandr’s study. There is old restored furniture that belonged to his parents.

Alexandr has many books: scientific books in geography, manuals and fiction. There are photographs of his relatives and pictures on the walls. Alexandr had a stroke in 1997.

The doctors saved him and his wife brought him to recovery. His left hand and left leg are disabled now. He can hardly walk and needs care. His wife Galina takes care of him.
Alexandr willingly agreed to tell me about his family and his life, particularly after his son talked him into recording his memories. Alexandr fondly talks about his family and speaks with ease.

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

• My family background

My paternal great-grandfather and grandfather’s surname was Grinberg. This was also my father’s surname, but later he shortened it to Grin. My father was a journalist and Grin first became his writing pseudonym and then his family name. Unfortunately, I was told little about my ancestors. Just a tiny bit. My great-grandfather, Zundel Grinberg, was a cantonist 1 serving in Nikolai’s army 2. I don’t know how many years he was in the army, but I presume it was for a long time. He retired in the rank of sergeant major and had the right to live within the Jewish Pale of Settlement 3. He settled down in Rostov-on-Don [about 1,000 km from Moscow]. I don’t know where and when he was born or his wife’s name.

My great-grandparents had seven children: Yakov, Abram, my grandfather Filip, Ilia, Boris, Vera and Sofia. There was an interesting story about his children. My grandfather Filip and his four brothers married four sisters who were their cousin sisters and came from Nevel [about 1,100 km from Moscow]. Unfortunately, I don’t know the surname of these sisters. They were a good family and I never heard anything about any conflicts in this family. They said the ‘mishpacha’ [Hebrew for family] was big and harmonious.

Yakov and his family moved to America in 1910 and contact with him was lost because after the Russian Revolution of 1917 4 it wasn’t allowed to keep in touch with relatives abroad 5. I know very little about the other brothers and sisters of my grandfather. I know nothing about his sisters Sofia and Vera or their families. His brothers lived in Rostov. Abram’s children moved to Moscow. I know that [Abram’s son] Moisey was the director of the philharmonics for some time and his other son, Lev, was the director of a big food store in the center of Moscow.

My father and Mark, the son of my grandfather’s brother Boris, were very good friends. Mark was born in 1907. He worked in the editor’s office of the newspaper where my father was manager and later he became a well-known photo-artist. Mark lives in Moscow and we talk on the phone occasionally. I don’t know when my grandfather Filip was born, but he died in Rostov-on-Don in 1925 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery there. This is an old cemetery and no more burials are allowed, but when I was there about 15 years ago, I visited the cemetery and it was still there.

My grandmother Amalia came from Nevel. Unfortunately, I don’t know when she was born. She died in Moscow in 1969.

My grandparents had two sons: Ilia Grinberg and my father, Moisey Grinberg. My grandfather was a clerk in a hardware store. My grandparents were a family with an average income. Their children went to a grammar school. There were grammar schools in Rostov where Jewish children were admitted. My grandfather paid for his children’s studies.

My grandfather and grandmother were religious. When I was born, my parents took me to visit my grandfather. When he got access to me he immediately had me circumcised, which horrified my mother and father, who weren’t religious. My grandmother was so religious that even in the Soviet Union, when it wasn’t appreciated, she celebrated Saturday lighting candles and reciting a prayer over them [see struggle against religion] 6.

My grandmother told me that my grandfather was so strong physically that during the period of Jewish pogroms in Ukraine 7 he stood at the gate of his house and when pogrom-makers saw how big he was they passed by to avoid trouble. I don’t think any of my ancestors fell victim to pogrom-makers. My grandmother told me little about their life in Rostov. She left Rostov and lived either with our family or with my Uncle Ilia’s family. I rarely saw her and she didn’t have a part in raising me. I think my parents kept us away from her so that she wouldn’t teach us any ‘religious prejudices’. Regretfully, this was their conviction at the time.

My grandmother wasn’t old, but she seemed old when she lived in our family and we showed little interest in her. She had no education. My father said that she was praying with her prayer book without understanding a word in it, that she recited prayers and pretended to be turning the pages of her book. She died in 1969 and was buried in the Jewish sector of Vostriakovskoye cemetery in Moscow. She was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions.

My father’s older brother Ilia Grinberg followed my father to Moscow. He worked in a design institute developing power equipment designs for various enterprises. His wife Sarah Maltinskaya’s father was also very religious. He conducted the ritual. He lived in a small old house near his daughter and gathered his relatives on Jewish holidays. There were many children and there was a lot of fun. On Pesach he observed all Jewish rituals and traditions. He hid matzah under a cushion [the so-called afikoman] and the children were looking for it and then received redemption for it. The youngest of the children posed the traditional questions [the mah nishtanah], but I don’t remember any details. There was traditional food and very delicious gefilte fish. Yummy! I learned to cook it from my grandmother. This was a few years before World War II. Unfortunately, I didn’t follow any traditions since nobody at home believed in it.

Uncle Ilia Grinberg was also buried in the Jewish sector of Vostriakovskoye cemetery in 1956 in accordance with the Jewish traditions. I remembered it well because numerous mourners hired for money made a terrible impression on me. He was buried in winter and was transported on sledges. There was a crowd of beggars clutching at him and lamenting and relatives could not come close. I remember a cantor at the funeral reciting the Kaddish. The body was washed and wrapped in a shroud. There was no casket. Uncle Ilia had a daughter. Her name was Zina Vaisbord. In 1980 she emigrated to the USA with her family. She still lives there now.

As for my maternal grandmother and grandfather, the Libermans: my grandfather, Aron Liberman, born in 1862, was a musician. He played the clarinet and was the manager of a small orchestra playing in a café. His father, Pyotr, was born in Bakhmut [about 1,000 km from Moscow]. My grandmother, Anna Liberman, nee Tahilevich, was born in 1869 in Azov [about 1,000 kilometers from Moscow]. Her father’s name was Zahar. My grandmother was a housewife. Aron and Anna had eight children: Zahar, Pyotr, Matvey, Nathan, Yelizaveta, Yevgenia, my mother Raisa and Sarah.

Their family must have been wealthy. All of the children, even the girls, studied in grammar school. Most of them lived in Rostov. Zahar died in 1903. Pyotr, born in 1889, was the oldest son and after his parents’ death he became the head of the Liberman family. Yelizaveta, or Lisa, born in 1894, lived a hard and poor life. Her husband died young and her son Mark perished at the front during the Great Patriotic War 8. My mother’s brother Matvey, born in 1902, was arrested in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] 9 and executed in 1939. His daughter Nora lives in the USA. Uncle Nathan, born in 1911, and his family moved to Kislovodsk. His children live in Riga, Kislovodsk and Rostov. Sarah and Zhenia lived and died in Moscow. When in Israel, I visited the diaspora museum and discovered that the Libermans were mentioned for the first time in 1310. The surname of Liberman was registered in the birth index of the synagogue in Cologne, Germany.

My father, Moisey Grinberg, was born in Rostov-on-Don in 1899. He finished school and got attracted by revolutionary ideas. During the Civil War 10 he served in the political department of the 2nd Red army cavalry unit. My mother and father met, when Red army troops entered Rostov. My mother and father never told me any details about how they met, though they actually actively communicated with us. My mother also took some part in revolutionary activities, though not as passionately as my father. He was an active member of the Communist Party, though he quit during the period of the NEP 11 because of his disagreement with the policy of the party. He did it quietly and there were no consequences of this for him. This episode was never discussed in the family because if people quit the party for ideological reasons they might have been sent to camps. During perestroika 12 my father told me the story.

My parents didn’t have a religious wedding. They belonged to the generation that made the Revolution and their position was to reject the significance of nationality. They believed that a person should be a revolutionary and internationalist and rejected religion or traditions. No nationality or tradition-related issues were ever discussed in our family and there was no orientation of our Jewish identity.

My father began to get involved in journalism in Rostov, but there were no career opportunities for him and my parents moved to Moscow in 1924. My father began to work as chief editor of a trade union magazine. He was about 30 years old then. At that time my father changed his surname to Grin.

We lived in a big communal apartment 13 on Basmannaya Street in the very center of Moscow at first. Well, it seemed big to me. There were big rooms, but the apartment as such was probably not that big. There were two families sharing it: our family and my parents’ friends who had also moved to Moscow from Rostov. I was born there in December 1924. My parents had two rooms in this apartment: my mother and father shared one room and my nanny and I the other.

My nanny’s name was Nadezhda, but everybody called her ‘nanny’ since she was the oldest sister in her family, lived in a village and raised her younger brothers and sisters. My nanny was like a member of our family. She came to work for us when I was a few months old and raised me, my younger sister and my son. She was a Christian and very religious. She attended church and contributed everything to it she earned. It’s also funny that this nanny, a plain village woman, was my grandmother’s best friend and always stood for my grandmother when the family had arguments with her about her prayers on Saturday. We were surprised at that, but probably religiosity makes people tolerant and respectful about different faiths.

In 1928 my parents bought a cooperative apartment on Krestovozdvizhenskiy Lane. This was the first cooperative in Moscow. It was a fabulous apartment for this period: three rooms and a hallway, all comforts and a bathroom. There was a gas boiler for heating water. Later, after the house was overhauled, this gas water heating was replaced with centralized hot water supply piping. We lived in this apartment till March 2003. I seem to remember, or perhaps I remember it from what my mother told me, how we moved from Basmannaya to Krestovozdvizhenskaya Street. I was four or five. I remember a horse-drawn wagon overloaded with our belongings and we walked behind it across Moscow. I was held by my hand and we were walking across beautiful sunny Moscow. This was my first childhood memory.

There was an actual threat of my father’s arrest in 1937, but thank God, he wasn’t arrested in the end. It happened due to very interesting circumstances. In 1930 he quit his job as chief editor of a trade union magazine and switched to geography. He did it because he wanted to do scientific work. Perhaps, he didn’t even realize that his fate smiled at him at that time. Probably the authorities didn’t find him. There were ten or eleven apartments in our part of the house. Only two men weren’t arrested: my father and a severely ill man.

My father was a talented man. He took part in and won literature contests, liked writing greetings in the form of poems and did it well. He wrote a children’s book entitled ‘Notes of Doctor Dobrov’ where he described his expeditions in which children took part. There were scientific and scientific educational expeditions that he arranged. He also took me along in the 1930-1940s. I was with him in the Crimea and took part in scientific expeditions in the Altay and Caucasus. He spent a lot of time with my sister and me. I became a geographer under his influence. My father was a joyful man with a great sense of humor and irony. I believe it to be a part of the Jewish nature: this ironic attitude toward one’s own self and the surrounding.

My mother, Raisa Grin, nee Liberman, was an intelligent, well-educated person, though she had only one official document about finishing a grammar school. She studied at university, but never graduated from it and didn’t have any documents proving her higher education. She sang very well and attended evening classes at the conservatory before the war, but she never reached a professional level. She had no time having to raise two children. She was a statistics economist. She worked in the institute of figurative statistics.

My mother was a wonderful person. She was my most loved and beautiful person. She spent a lot of time with my sister and me. My mother shared my father’s views on politics and religion. She had formulated her family role and later taught my wife Galia, ‘You must do everything for your home and your husband must sit at his desk earning money’. She didn’t like it that I got involved in everything going on at home and helped Galia with the housework. She thought it was wrong. Here is an example:

Once my sister or I asked my father: ‘Papa, do you eat all food at home?’ ‘Yes’, he said, ‘absolutely everything’. My mother laughed loudly, ‘But of course. You like macaroni, but we’ve never cooked any’. He never interfered with any household issues and had no idea about them. During the war there were problems with food, but he had no idea where or how to get food. He just brought his earnings home and that was it. Of course, he was the head of family, but my mother was its neck and turned the head as she believed right.

We were a close family. My mother and father loved each other and the children. My mother was very close with her brothers and sisters. She was particularly close with Yevgenia Liberman, who was single and worked as a teacher in a kindergarten. I used to visit her in the kindergarten and was a nuisance. I was naughty and she felt uncomfortable about it since everybody knew that I was her nephew. I once drowned a crayfish from the zoo room of the kindergarten in the toilet and was driven out of the kindergarten with a terrible scandal.

My parents kept the door open for friends. In the 1930s people were afraid of meeting or discussing political issues, and no political subjects were discussed in our family. Interesting people visited us. A well-known geographer named Baranskiy, the author of a school geography textbook that existed till about 1960, visited us. He was a big Siberian man. My parents had many Jewish friends visiting us, but there were no discussions of Jewish subjects. Shira Gorshman, wife of the artist Gorshman [Soviet Jewish book illustrator] and a popular Jewish writer who wrote in Yiddish was my mother and father’s close friend and often visited us.

• Growing up

My mother and father didn’t spend vacations together. My mother and we, kids, spent vacations in the Crimea or Ukraine. It was warm and there was sufficient food. My father worked hard and spent his vacations alone. He traveled to Sochi in the Caucasus alone. In 1937 my parents built a dacha [summer cottage]. My mother had a colleague, a Latvian woman whose husband was an engineer at the furniture factory.

This factory obtained a permit to build a hostel for its workers on a site in the woods. They cut the trees and built a huge barracks from the logs. Non-manual personnel of the factory was given permission to build dachas on the spots where the trees had been removed. My mother’s friend suggested that my parents join them to build a house for two families. They didn’t have money, but they had a plot of land.

My father, thank God, had money, but at that time it was very difficult to receive a plot of land. To cut this long story short: they built a house with two entrances. It was a small, but nice house. There were three rooms for each family and an open verandah. It’s still there, but we modified the house. We often spent time there in winter and in summer.

My younger sister, Galina Grin, was born in Moscow in 1932. She finished the Biological Faculty of Moscow University. My sister was a geobotanist studying plants. She was a talented person and took part in various expeditions to Kazakhstan [about 2,000 km from Moscow], where she happened to work on a nuclear testing site. She was exposed to radiation and fell ill with leukemia at the age of 23.

My mother was trying to rescue her from death. There was no treatment available at that time, but it doesn’t exist nowadays either, as it happens. There was the issue of marrow transplantation. At that time a big group of Yugoslav scientists was also exposed to radiation and there was a lot of ado about this case. There were discussions about possible treatment, including marrow transplantation.

A professor, the first-rate hematologist of the country, visited Lialia – that’ how we called my sister at home. He said we were not going to apply any new methods of treatment and that her goal was to survive as long as she could while waiting for new medication to appear, but it never did. My mother supported her for five years. My sister died at the age of 28. Everything possible was done to prolong her life. She had blood transfusion every now and then. I remember that she was taken to Botkin’s hospital, one of the central clinics in Moscow. Once there was a threat of a cholera epidemic in Moscow, when it was time for her blood transfusion. There was quarantine in hospitals and my mother wasn’t allowed to visit her. My mother managed to make arrangements for blood transfusion at home, which was a difficult thing to do. Basically, my mother took every effort to rescue her. From time to time my sister was taken to the hospital near our house for another course of treatment. She died in this hospital.

My first childhood memories are associated with our yard. It was an asphalted yard. We played lapta [rounders] in the yard. Gee, it was exciting! We also played ‘shtander’ throwing a ball up in the air and the one who caught it shouted ‘Shtander!’ [exclamation used exclusively in this game meaning ‘stand’] and then he had to hit motionless players. The boys from my yard were my friends and later I made friends at school too. The children from our yard went to different schools. I went to school #92 14 in our district. I also had friends at the dacha. Our neighbors in Moscow, the Vorontsov family, happened to be our neighbors in the dacha village. There were three brothers: one was one year older than me, one was the same age and one was a year younger. We became friends at the dacha. They lived on 5, Granovskogo Street in Moscow and when we were in Moscow I went to meet with them in their yard.

I joined the Komsomol 15 at school. It couldn’t have been otherwise at that time. I was chairman of the pupils’ committee. We were responsible for good progress in our studies. Like any other public organizations we did a lot of rubbish: had meetings and various cultural activities. The situation in our school was complicated. There were many pupils from the so-called ‘5th house of Soviets’. Families of high Soviet officials lived in the house on 5, Granovskogo Street. There were two blockheads, the sons of the Minister of Finance, in our school. They were hooligans who only had bad marks at school, but the school had to be patient with them. Who could dare to reprimand the son of the Minister of Finance? There were also nice children at school. One of my classmates was the daughter of the Minister of Heavy Industry; I don’t remember her name. She was a good pupil and so was I. I did well at school.

I have dim memories about the arrests in 1937. I didn’t have the slightest idea about things then, though I saw a suitcase with all necessary things packed in my father’s room. I didn’t feel alarmed. I was too young and our parents protected us from any subjects of this kind. My mother’s brother Matvey suffered during this period. He perished in a camp. Now we know that he was executed, but at that time nobody knew what was happening. He was arrested and disappeared and that was all. Some of my schoolmates’ parents were arrested and the children were sent to children’s homes, but nobody discussed these subjects ever. We were just children and had easy attitudes to such things.

• During the war

In 1941 it started. I had no feeling that it was going to be a world war. We just didn’t understand what was happening. All of a sudden we became friends with the Germans signing the Non-aggression Pact [the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 16; this seemed strange. No political questions were discussed at home. I remember the day of 22nd June 1941, when the war began. I listened to Molotov’s 17 speech on the radio on the first day and then Stalin’s speech on 1st July, I think. There was concern in the air and it couldn’t be ignored. We were at the dacha, but we often came back to the city.

On 1st July our Komsomol group went to the construction of defense lines near Moscow. I wasn’t mobilized, but all activities were volunteer mandatory. I was a Komsomol activist and the Komsomol was sending its members without asking their consent. The Komsomol district committee sent our group to the vicinity of Yelnya, about 250 kilometers southwest of Moscow, where we excavated anti-tank trenches. It was hard work for teenage boys.

There was intelligentsia from Moscow there. At that time people didn’t have clothes for all occasions. My parents’ clothes fit in one small wardrobe. My mother had one dress for work, one for special occasions and two pairs of shoes, accordingly. So, women came to do this hard work wearing silk dresses and high-heeled shoes. They just didn’t have anything else to wear.

We had to handle the soil standing on terraces to gradually move soil from the bottom to the top. I spent a month there. There were Spartan living conditions. Our group slept on the ground in the stables. We had more or less sufficient food, as I understand it was a soldiers’ ration. There was a field kitchen where they cooked. We worked and worked and didn’t know about evacuation or where the locals were. All we thought was going back to work.

In late July the Germans began to drop bombs on Moscow. We were still working on the defense lines when our artillery units were already firing over our heads. Germans were advancing to Yelnya promptly. We heard the roar of cannons. There was the terrible impression of German bombers flying to drop bombs on Moscow. We knew nothing. Nobody informed us on what was happening. There were no newspapers. We listened to the radio, but it was hard to tell the whereabouts of German troops by the names of towns and villages. Nobody said, for example, that they were close to Yelnya.

In the last week of July Germans broke through the front line near Yelnya and we urgently boarded a freight train to Moscow. We walked home from the railway station hoping that our houses were still there. My house was there. So I had to think about what to do. Go to the 10th grade at school? Our school was already closed. Most of our teachers and pupils evacuated. There was another school in our district, but I didn’t quite feel like going back to school and my parents didn’t insist that I did. My friend and I became apprentices of a turner at the aviation plant. The night shift began at 9 to 10 and approximately at that time German bombers started their attacks that ended at 3am sharp. There was no way to get to work during air raids. The public transport stopped and there was an alarm announcement. In order to get to work I had to catch a tram before this alarm since if they started on their route they had to continue on it regardless the alarm. But if you failed to catch it and missed your shift at work, it might have caused problems.

At times we didn’t feel like going to work at all. We went to the subway before the alarm and wandered along the tracks looking for our friends. The subway was used as shelter during air raids. There were wooden decks placed over the tracks to walk on them or sleep at night. I didn’t have any fear being a young man with romantic outlooks.

There was one episode when I felt fear in my life. Once, and I don’t know what led to it, but during an air raid I stayed at home with a girl. Probably it was just my desire to spend time with the girl. There were many bombs dropped in the center of Moscow. It was scaring. There were flak units shooting and bombs roaring. Germans attached sirens to bombs to produce this sound. It gave the feeling that everything near you was falling into an abyss and that another bomb was going to hit the house.

I worked at the plant till 13th October 1941. It was the day of great panic in Moscow, real panic, whatever they say. The Ministries were burning their papers. Military units of shabby soldiers - as if they had just come out of battles - were crossing Moscow and cattle was also moving along the streets. At night food storages went up in flames. Flour and sugar were burning and people were pulling out bags of them. Our plant was to evacuate, so they announced at work. Only workers who could repair equipment and load it were to stay. They told all boys to go home.

On 13th October my father told us that his institute was evacuating and we could go with them. My mother managed to get my father out of the Territorial army [Fighting Battalion] 17, formed before our departure from Moscow. Only later they issued an order releasing people with scientific degrees or other merits from this service. Of course nobody was going to release anybody from there. My mother found my father in his unit housed in a school building, showed this order to his commandment and demanded that they released my father. He was a doctor of sciences by then. So we evacuated. We only had a few bags packed for the road. This was all we could take with us. My mother, my sister and I and my mother’s sister Zhenia Liberman went to the railway station. My nanny refused to go with us. She said she would guard the apartment. My grandmother was living with uncle Ilia’s family at that time. They evacuated to Central Asia.

We boarded a passenger train that departed when it got dark. However, in the morning we discovered that the train didn’t leave Moscow moving along peripheral railroad tracks. This continued two or three days. There were few trains that had to take turns for departure to the east. We finally left Moscow moving in the direction of Voronezh, about 800 kilometers southeast of Moscow. In Kuibyshev we changed to a freight train heading to Central Asia. This was a train for cattle and prisoner transportation. We arrived in Frunze, about 3,200 kilometers southeast of Moscow. There was another shock waiting for us there. There was a lot of bread, vegetables, onions and fruit at the market as if there was no war. Back in Moscow there were already bread coupons. I also obtained a worker’s card at the plant. [Editor’s note: the card system was introduced to directly regulate food supplies to the population by food and industrial product rates. During and after the Great Patriotic War there were cards for workers, non-manual employees and dependents in the USSR. The biggest rates were on workers’ cards: 400 grams of bread per day.]

This abundance of food products lasted about a month and then it just disappeared as if ‘a cow licked it off with its tongue’ [Russian idiom], but there were still more food stocks in Frunze than in Moscow. We were accommodated in a room in a private house. Life was hard, but there was still enough food and it was warm. Children could play outside and run to the market. I went to work at the Kyrghyz scale repair plant where I was an apprentice to an equipment mechanic. There were high-skilled workers from Leningrad who trained me in their job. So the winter of 1941/1942 passed.

The local population treated us all right. At least I didn’t hear of any problems. Aunt Zhenia stayed at home and my parents went to work. My father became an executive secretary of the newspaper ‘Kyrghyzskaya Pravda’ since there was no work for a geographer. My mother worked in an office making provisions for artists in evacuation. She worked in the logistics department. When we returned to Moscow she continued her work in this office till she retired. My sister went to school. Life was tolerable, I would say. Aunt Zhenia worked culinary miracles. She made onion jam, for example. We didn’t starve, but of course our life in evacuation was far from the prewar level. Though even before the war, when my father was professor and dean and my mother worked as well we led a modest life. I remember my mother saying before the war: ‘I can’t afford to give you gastronomic breakfast every day’. This meant that we could only have sausage and cheese for breakfast on weekends or holidays and on weekdays we had cereal.

In May 1942, when I was 17 and a half years old [the recruitment age was 18], the military registry office summoned me. They said, ‘Sit down and write a volunteer application to the army’. Who would dare to refuse those orders at that time! They sentenced people for desertion and then nobody would ever find justice. I was recruited to the 17th squadron of the Civil Aviation near the railway station in Frunze where they trained navigators/radio operators on aircraft. All cadets had finished the 9th grade at school. Later this squadron was renamed into a radio operator school. We lived in a barrack. There was poor food: sprat soup and boiled cereals. Those who came from Frunze rarely got leave to go home. We were given uniforms: boots, trousers and overcoats. There were two groups of 25 cadets each at school. There was military order. Our commander was first sergeant of the training unit and had been at war. For some reason he became furious with us and made our life as hard as we could imagine. He was to train us in drilling.

We had wonderful teachers in other military disciplines who were navigators and radio operators of the Civil Aviation. This was a privileged group. There weren’t many pilots at that time, and they told us that they knew all of them in the Civil Aviation. We also had flying training on DS-3 [Douglas], American aircraft with which our Civil Aviation was equipped before the war. There were also German Junkers planes furnished from the vicinity of Stalingrad. Near Stalingrad [present-day Volgograd, 800 km from Moscow] many planes left from many airfields. Later the Tashkent aviation plant got a license to manufacture those DS-3 planes, but they became Li-2, of course. They replaced passenger seats with steel benches and installed machine guns on them.

We finished our training in May 1943 and went to the headquarters in Moscow by train. We were accommodated in a military unit, the 1st air transportation division of the civil military aviation, near Vnukovo airport [domestic flights airport about 75 km southwest of Moscow]. I went there a couple of years ago and there were still two-storied barracks there where we lived. The pilots flew former passenger planes modified to become military aircraft. They transported people and loads to partisan units, for example. I can tell you a few anecdotes. When we came there planes were flying to Berlin on low altitudes or they would have been knocked down, lighted the landing spot with a torch and moved our intelligence men from there. They also transported the wounded from partisan units. Lighter planes were based near the front line, but ours were heavy planes and they flew directly from Moscow. There was a division of planes. Our division was a military unit, though it belonged to the Civil Fleet.

I flew to take partisans to the vicinity of Kiev. Kiev was occupied by the Germans. These were mostly girls. They jumped from the plane with parachutes. They had so many weapons and explosives on them that they couldn’t walk themselves inside the plane and we pushed them off board. I was responsible for communications and navigation during flights. I was the navigator/radio operator of the plane. At times Germans knocked down our planes. It’s aviation, and many things happened.

In fall we were sent to a bombers’ unit, that is, to the army. I was sent to the 11th Guards Night Bomber regiment west of Stalingrad in Morozovskaya station, about 900 kilometers south of Moscow. Our regiment was also involved in the liberation of Stalingrad. We bombed German positions and ramparts. We flew to bomb Donetsk basin in Ukraine, 600 kilometers west of Stalingrad where the front line was. We only flew at night since our planes flew at low speed. Our army lost many planes and crews during the Stalingrad battle flying during the daytime.

Other pilots, war veterans, told me that they were fired at as if in a shooting range: German fighter planes came from behind shooting at them. At that time our pilots were flying on Tb-3 planes, heavy bombers that were used for transportation of expeditions to the North Pole after the war. We heard many stories when we came to this regiment. Some military started the war at the borders. Many of them perished, but some survived. They told us stories and shared their experiences.

We were located far from the front line. Later we were called ‘Long-range aviation’ and became a reserve of the chief commandment. We rarely took part in front line operations. We were sent to the locations of another one of Stalin’s blows. [Editor’s note: 10 subsequent decisive blows on German troops during World War II resulting in the expulsion of Germans from the territory of the Soviet Union. The Soviet propaganda referred to the authorship of Stalin in the development of the strategy of those combat actions and they were called Stalin’s blows.] Our commander was Marshall of Aviation Golovanov. We didn’t get closer than 200 to 300 kilometers from the front line. There were airdromes where we were deployed, but they weren’t always properly equipped; sometimes they were field air fields. The Land Lease provided the so-called ‘net’ to us. [Editor’s note: the system of USA lease or transfer of weapons, ammunition, food and other logistics resources to the countries of anti-Hitler coalition during WWII. The US Congress adopted the Land Lease law in 1941.] It could be placed on the field ground and planes could take off or land on it. We were in the vicinity of Stalingrad till winter.

In winter 1943 we relocated to Ukraine, to the town of Gorlovka in the vicinity of Donetsk liberated from fascists [about 900 km from Moscow]. We flew to drop bombs across Ukraine and Poland. There was one plane in the division equipped with photographic equipment to take photographs of the combat site after the bombardment to control the correctness of fulfillment of combat tasks. There were squadrons or regiments flying on tasks. Besides, each crew wrote a report upon return from tasks, and photographs served as proof of the accuracy of such reports. As far as I understood there were no lies written in reports. Lying might have been punished by the tribunal, penal battalions or execution.

We lived in former hostels or likewise modified into barracks. We had good food. Pilots had very good provisions. We even got chocolate under the Land Lease law, but not those who smoked. They got cigarettes. We got dark chocolate with nuts. It was packed in lumps in boxes and our logistics people broke it into pieces. For every successful flight we received 100 grams vodka, but since there was no vodka available we received 42 grams of pure alcohol. Since our logistic people were reluctant to weigh 42 grams each time they summed up a few flights to release more spirit, but our commandment didn’t appreciate this practice because they wanted to prevent intoxication. There was a poet in our squadron. He wrote: Dva pozharchika, Dva vzryvchika, Dai talonchiki na sto gramm, which means Two little fires, Two little blasts, Give me a card of 100 grams’. We called this ration of 100 grams ‘people’s commissar’s’ hundred, since this permission was issued by the people’s commissar of defense.

As a rule, we flew every night. At least, we were to be ready to fly every night whether or not we received a task that night. There was no fighters’ escort with us. At times German flak cannons attacked us. Our planes were equipped with two machine guns and a 20 mm aviation cannon gun installed in a machine gun ring in the cabin. The ring was covered with plexiglass for observation and wind protection purposes. There were machine guns on the right and left sides in the tail of a plane.

Once, when our unit was deployed near Leningrad we bombed Finland calling this action ‘to drive Finland out of the war’. This operation started after the blockade of Leningrad 19 was broken. We bombed Helsinki and Turku port in the Gulf of Finland. A shell hit our plane there, broke through the engine and fortunately exploded somewhere higher. It was a two-engine plane and there was one left. We managed to fly to the area between the towns of Porokhov and Dno in Pskov region [about 500 km from Moscow]. We landed in a field at night without releasing the landing gear. We survived.

This was the territory of partisans. The front line was somewhere near. The partisans helped us to cross the front line. We returned to our unit leaving the plane behind. Its propellers and engine were damaged. Later we repaired the plane and moved it to our unit. When we returned to our units we had to write to a number of explanatory units about what happened and how. The special department [this department dealt with the work of employees with sensitive documentation containing state secrets. This department reported to the KGB] was shaking the information out of us, particularly because we had landed behind the front line. They wanted to know whether we had had contacts with the Germans, transferred any secret information to them or intended to surrender. It was stupid and humiliating, but it was their job. They were responsible for security. We described the situation referring to partisans who witnessed the circumstances and the special department believed us.

There was another episode when we were near Leningrad. It was a siege and we were deployed on the other side of the siege. The German front line was between Leningrad and us. Though residents of Leningrad were dying from hunger we had probably the most sufficient food supplies of the war period there. I remember having red caviar for the first time in my life. Of course, they gave it to pilots. From there we flew to bomb Finland and the Baltic Republics.

I remember a funny incident. We were to know the wind direction over the target before we took off on our task, but there was no information except the intelligence data. If there were intelligence people in the vicinity of the target they provided the information about the weather conditions in the area to us, but if there were none of them, they provided the data from the area where they were located - that might be up to 300 kilometers away from the target. We once received a task and the discrepancy of the data about the wind direction we received and the actual situation was 180 degrees. They told us the wind was blowing from the north to the south in the area, while actually it was blowing from the south to the north.

We were flying over the Gulf of Finland to avoid German flaks. There was a lot of confusion and once one of our crews dropped bombs on Sweden, which was out of the war. We were to drop bombs on Finland. They returned and wrote a report: ‘These damned Finns don’t even care about black-out. Here is lighting everywhere and even trams commute. We gave them a sharp blow without seeing the target’.

In summer 1944 we were in the vicinity of Kiev. Kiev was liberated in early November and the front line was actually near our border. We were dropping bombs on Romania. Our major task was to deprive Germans of Romanian gasoline. In 1945 we bombed Berlin. At times we were wrong and dropped bombs in the wrong places, but nobody ever mentioned it in our reports for the fear of the tribunal. There were four 250 kg bombs in the plane, or two 500 kg bombs or one one-ton bomb. There was a bombardment navigator in the crew determining the location for dropping bombs. I identified the direction by radio beacons. They were reliable. Besides at night we could see geographical guiding points, such as rivers, settlements or railroads. We often returned home along railroad tracks. At times, when it was getting light at dawn, we descended at lower heights to read the name of railroad stations.

At that time I knew nothing of the genocide of Germans against Jews, the ghettos and mass shootings. When we were near Kiev, I had no idea of Babi Yar 20. I didn’t know about the Holocaust until some time after the war. My fellow comrades knew that I was a Jew. We got along well. However, as for awards or promotions, they stumbled on the commissar. The commissar and I had good relationships personally, but he probably had instructions from his commandment to not bestow awards on Jews. At least I didn’t face routinely anti-Semitism in the army. I didn’t understand then why I didn’t have awards or promotions. I thought it was a misunderstanding and tried to think of explanations. I only realized it after the war. I used to think: ‘Why did they award an order to Vanika, but no order to me?’ There are orders and medals awarded to him for his combat deeds and labor achievements on his jacket, including the Order of Great Patriotic War, Order of Glory, medal for the defense of Stalingrad, medal for Courage, etc. I thought about it after the war, but nothing of the kind occurred to me during the war.

Anyway, I was awarded an order of the ‘Great Patriotic War’ and a medal ‘For courage’ We got awards for successful flights. There were curious Stalin directives: for example, an order was to be awarded for 50 successful flights, a medal for 30 successful flights, and the award of the ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’ for 250 successful flights. This was for the bombardment aviation. It was different for fighters. They counted the number of planes they lost. Our flights were considered successful when we hit the target.

I joined the Party at the front. I joined it because of conviction; there were no other thoughts at that time. I started my service in the rank of sergeant and when the war was over I was Guards first sergeant. On Victory Day 21, 9th May 1945, we were near Kiev. We heard about the victory at night. All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, there was terrible shooting in the military living quarters near the aerodrome. We didn’t understand a damned thing at first. Naturally, we ran outside and heard the shouting: ‘Victory! Victory!’ We were in the rear. Perhaps, they felt the victory differently at the front. For us it was a huge surprise and a great joy. Then our crew was to be included in the combined regiment to prepare for the Victory Parade and fly over the Red Square, the main square of the country. This was summer 1945. The parade was to take place in May, but it was continuously delayed and when it took place the weather was terrible and we didn’t fly on that day. There were no planes taking part in the parade.

In summer 1945 we relocated to the Far East. We were to start the war with Japan 22. Crews of commanding officer, second pilot, navigator and board mechanic flew to the Far East. Our pilots were flying Tu-2 aircraft, designed by Tupolev. They were high-speed high-altitude bombers, better aircraft than we used to fly before. This was a military aircraft manufactured for military purposes. I was a radio operator/gunner at that time already. All radio operators and gunners and support personnel went to the Far East by train. It took us a month to cross Russia. It was a passenger train. When passing their home towns many of our crew members hurried to visit their homes and later caught up with the train. Trains moved slowly due to damages on the roads, taking long stops and it was not a problem to catch up with a train getting a drive to another station.

In August we arrived in Vladivostok about 7,000 kilometers east of Moscow. We installed tents on the bank of the Chornaya River in the suburb of Vladivostok and lived there for quite a while. Then we took a boat to Sakhalin Island about 800 kilometers from Vladivostok. As soon as we left Vladivostok harbor there was a vigorous storm on the sea and to approach Sakhalin Island we were to cross the Laperuz Strait. We had to heave to drift since there was no way to orient the boat. We were sailing for a week instead of one day trip. This was August 1945. We finally reached the destination, but it was a long sail.

There was a lot of spirit that they were to release to us. There was a people’s commissar rate in Vladivostok: 100 grams of vodka per day. We received this rate for flights during the war while here they released it every day. Everybody drank a lot on the boat, including the crew and there was a small fight that was stopped with a water cannon. So we were at the destination point in late August. There was Zonalnoye settlement on the border of the Northern and Southern parts of Sakhalin. The air field was very small. There were few houses that could only accommodate officers. The rest of the staff had to make earth pits. We had to cut wood. There were Land Lease furnished Studebaker vehicles that could climb the hills. There were about 600-meter high hills in this area. So we cut the trees to make cuttings in the woods. Studebecker cars drove uphill to pick 12-13 meter tree trunks and we made earth huts from them. We had to hurry. Winter was approaching and we didn’t know what kind of climate to expect in Sakhalin.

There was one episode for which later all new recruits teased us. It was called ‘They came to bomb Muroran’. Muroran, I think, was a major town on Hokkaido Island. There was an air field there. It became our target and we were preparing for this operation. There were delays due to weather conditions. There was vigorous fog and we couldn’t fly there and the ships of the Pacific Ocean Navy couldn’t leave the bay. This ended rather sadly for our commandment. Marshal Novikov, Commander of the Far East Air Force, was dismissed, and so was the Admiral of the Pacific Ocean Navy. Thank God, we didn’t invade Hokkaido Island, or things might have been worse, but there was an intention of this kind. The war was over on 11th September. We were to drop bombs on Japan, but we didn’t. We didn’t know that an atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. We got to know this much later, after the war was over.

• After the war

I served in Sakhalin till 1950. They didn’t demobilize anybody from our military unit. It was hard to bring replacement for us because we were too far away. We went on training flights and bombing. There were deserted islands along the seashore. They became our training grounds and we bombed them vigorously. I knew nothing about what was happening in the country: about the death of Mikhoels 23, or the campaign against cosmopolitans 24. Our political officers propagated communism to us. There were political hours more often than once a week. I got tired of the army by that time. Here is how I demobilized: When the Korean War began, it turned out that our planes were good for nothing; the ones that seemed so good to us. We needed replacement of equipment and training of staff. Then our commandment decided that there was no sense in spending money for training of old staff and demobilized us in May 1950. We flew to the continent in the same aircraft that I flew during the war. It also served as the main civil aircraft. Our flight to Moscow lasted two days. It turned out that it was much easier to fly when I worked than just being a passenger.  

I came home. Everything was fine there. Everybody was healthy. Lialia studied at university. Our dacha had been in a German controlled area during the war and the Germans had burnt it down. When I arrived, my parents had already built a new dacha. There was a big plot of land: 40 hundred parts of a hectare. It was turned into a vegetable garden where my parents grew potatoes and other vegetables for our family and two families of their friends. Their friends with whom they had initially shared this dacha perished in the camps in 1937.

My relatives in Rostov were in the occupation twice. The Germans retreated and then returned. My cousin Mark Yerenevskiy, aunt Lisa Liberman’s son, perished there. He served in the infantry. People saw him coming home and then he disappeared and was on the lists as a missing one. I don’t know how he perished. My cousin Nora Liberman from Rostov evacuated to Kislovodsk in the Caucasus, but German troops advanced there and she and her parents moved to Central Asia where she met Boris Gofman, a Polish Jew, and married him. Boris served in the Polish army and Nora followed him to Iran and after the war they moved to the USA. She lives in Los Angeles now. My mother corresponded with her, though it was risky, but my mother was old at that time and had no fear any longer. Nora visited Rostov twice and traveled via Moscow during perestroika.

I had to finish school and enter a college. I went to a young working people’s school. I studied at school and worked at the construction trust office as a clerk. Actually, I rather pretended to be working. I needed a certificate to confirm that I was working for school. I studied well. I finished school in winter 1950-1951 with all excellent marks. At that time the persecution of Jews in the country grew stronger. My father lost his job as dean of the Geographical Faculty of the Pedagogical College. He went to work as senior scientific worker in the College of Railroad Transport. There was no fear of arrests, though, like in 1937, and there was no packed suitcase in the house.

In 1951 I submitted my documents to the Geographical Faculty of Moscow State University. In those years they didn’t admit Jews to colleges and my parents were very concerned. I was still young and light-minded and didn’t quite understand the situation. I passed the entrance interview 25 along with other applicants with all excellent marks in their school certificates. I didn’t have to take exams and this was my good luck. The atmosphere during the interview was very calm and I answered all questions. They admitted me. Of course, I was nervous, but my parents were even more nervous having a much better understanding of what was going on. My father probably had some connections at the university and most likely made some arrangements for my admission, but I don’t know anything about it.

There were only few Jewish students at the faculty. Student life was wonderful. We went on expeditions in the Geographical Faculty and became very close. I took an active part in public life. There were only five or six party members. Other students were Komsomol members. I was the party leader of my course. I was fond of sports and went in for volleyball. We had excellent lecturers. We respected them a lot. Their lectures were very interesting. We had wonderful parties and meetings. I studied well and received the Lenin’s stipend. [Editor’s note: the highest stipend in higher educational institutions in the USSR awarded to the best students for special merits. This stipend was only awarded to a maximum of ten students per institution.]

Again, I was young and stupid and the Doctors’ Plot 26 went past me, but I didn’t believe what the newspapers wrote. I thought it was just anti-Semitism. This was what they said at home. We were a patriarchal family and respected our parents. For example, we had to come home for dinner regardless of where we were or what we were doing. My parents returned home at about 6 and then we had dinner. I smoked when serving in the army, but my parents didn’t allow me to smoke inside and I had to go into the corridor to have a cigarette. In the end I quit smoking. My father couldn’t stand the smoke and my mother decided that I wasn’t allowed to smoke at home. Everything in the family was subject to my father’s interests. There were discussions of life matters during dinner and those were interesting discussions. My father was a smart and bright person and it was always interesting to spend time with him.

I remember the day of Stalin’s funeral in 1953. It was rather dramatic. When it was announced that Stalin had died, of course everyone gathered and our lecturer in scientific communism - by the way, this was a mandatory subject in all higher educational institutions of he USSR - held a very emotional speech about the Great Stalin. This lecturer was loved by the students for her interesting lectures and of course, after this speech, there was sobbing. I listened to her quietly, but with alarm. We were raised this way. The world seemed to have come to an end. Nobody could imagine who would become the leader of the state to lead us on this fair way to communism. Fortunately, I didn’t go to the funeral, or I might have got into this meat grinder where many people died. I was smart enough to stay away from there.

During our studies we went on expeditions and training tours. I had a very interesting trip called ‘On great construction sites of communism’. We went to Kuibyshev, Stalingrad and to other hydro power plants. Later I went on an expedition to Bodaibo, to the gold mines [about 4,400 km from Moscow]. I saw things there. There were prisoners and exiles working in the mines. Dredges were washed on the surface while some deposits were underneath the river beds. A horizontal mine was operating where they mined for gold and it was like a river of gold flowing along the track. We, hydrologists, were to determine how much water they used. We were surprised that the people’s faces were dirty though there was so much water around. I asked why that was and they explained to me that when a prisoner found a nugget he put it in his mouth to keep it there till the end of the shift. Since there were metal detectors at the entrance/exit of the mine it made no sense to hide gold. After the shift the prisoner had to spit the piece of gold out of his mouth onto a cart. They couldn’t leave with it, but they just couldn’t help hiding and trying to smuggle out a piece anyway. People changed into work robes at the check-in point and after work they took off their robes to pass through the metal detector naked.

The Koreans living in this settlement of gold diggers surprised us. They managed to grow terrific crops. The Russians hardly managed to grow potatoes while the Koreans grew plenty of things and sold the vegetables at the market. They were expensive, though. One pickled cucumber could cost as much as a bottle of vodka. I traveled there in 1953. This was a terrible time. There had been an amnesty in the country, but they only released criminals. The situation there was fearful. There was no order whatsoever and the authorities were helpless. All workers in our research expeditions were former criminals sentenced for murder for the most part, but they were excellent workers and we got along well with them.

My chief of expedition, an old topographer, was a terrible drunkard. Once he was bringing our salaries, including the wages of those workers who were former criminals and got so drunk that he fell and didn’t remember anything and somebody took away his bag full of money. He said that he had lost his bag and they returned it to him and not one ruble was gone. That’s how big an authority he was. I heard many stories about the situation and rules in camps. There was a riot in a camp near Bodaibo and the guards killed everyone. It was disclosed only after the sister of one prisoner started to roll up this case. They notified her that her brother had died of heart failure. She didn’t believe them and went to the camp where she took a roster where they registered deaths and discovered that there were 100 people who died on one day from flu or heart failure. After Stalin’s death she wrote to the prosecutor’s office and finally found out the truth.

I met my future wife, Galina Ghermanson, at university. We studied in the same group. She was also a hydrologist. She was a nice young girl. We got married between the 4th and the 5th year of our studies. We had our wedding on New Year’s Eve. We had a civil registry in the registry office and a wedding party at home in the evening. There were many guests.

My wife came from a family of Baltic Germans or Swedes, but she was registered as Russian in her passport. Her grandfather was a Lutheran. He came from Rzhev, but later they moved to Moscow. Her father was an administrative worker in a military hospital. He was an officer and officers’ families were accommodated in hostels. I visited them in their room in the hostel. She was the only daughter. Neither my parents nor Galina’s expressed any discontent about our wedding. Though my parents were unhappy knowing that it was wrong for a Jew to marry a Russian, they never spoke their mind about it. I also believe that it is a wrong thing for Jews to have non-Jewish spouses. The Revolution destroyed everything Jewish and in mixed marriages things also get dispersed.

We lived with my parents. My wife defended her diploma before our son was born in 1956. I was happy to have a baby. It didn’t matter to me whether it was a boy or a girl. It was a human being and I was very happy. We named my son Andrey. My nanny looked after him and my wife or I didn’t have to raise him till he turned five. We had to start working and build up our life.

My work experience in the Institute of Geography of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR, where I worked all my life, started on the day when Andrey was born. When I was employed they made me feel a Jew. Galina and I received diplomas without any mandatory job assignment 27. This was rare. Job assignments were convenient. It was good to know that there was a job waiting for you upon graduation. I had an appointment with the deputy director of the Institute, the academician Avsyuk. Later he became my scientific supervisor. He said I would get a job and could start the following day, but I had to make arrangements with the human resources department where they told me there was no need to hurry and advised me to come by at a later time to find out about the state of affairs. This took me about a month.

I sort of guessed that the reason was my nationality. This was how it was at the time! So I told them a miserable story saying that my wife was to have a baby and they felt sorry for me and told me to come to work. I took Galia to the maternity hospital and went to work. I began to take an active part in the public activities of the institute. I must have had good organizational skills. I became secretary of the Komsomol unit of the institute. There were about 500 Komsomol members there.

I started to work as a senior lab assistant with the salary of 83 rubles per month, but soon they gave me a raise to 105 rubles. [Editor’s note: This is probably a slip of the tongue. At that time his salary was probably 830 rubles. In 1961, upon denomination of money in the USSR his salary was 83 rubles. Before 1961 1 kg of bread in the USSR cost about 1.4 rubles and 1 liter of milk 1.2 rubles and after 1961 about 14 & 12 kopeck, accordingly.] This was the average salary of a young specialist in the country, but it was hard to live on it. The chief accountant, Anatoliy Raskin, an old Jew, was quite an important person in the institute. I think that because of Jewish solidarity he soon increased my salary to 120 rubles, but again, it wasn’t that much, particularly as we lived as a family paying our expenses separately from my parents.

It was hard for Galina to live in a different family, even though all of us were smart and educated. My father had a good sense of humor and Galina had a different background. In 1956 she was only 23 years old. She was very young. My sister Lialia, my grandmother and nanny lived in one room, my mother and father shared the second, and Galina, Andrey and I were in the third room. My sister fell ill at about this time. Galina went to work at the Institute of Water Issues of the Academy of Sciences. Our parents helped us, but life wasn’t easy. We weren’t hungry or poor, but I remember I had to buy cheap meat wastes from the meat factory at the market.

My son studied well and didn’t cause us much concern. However, he was quite an idler since he didn’t learn mathematics as he should have. After school he submitted his documents to the university and mathematics was his first entrance exam and he failed. He took his documents and passed exams in French to the Geographical Faculty of Moscow Pedagogical College. My mother spent a lot of time with him. She knew French from grammar school and when Andrey studied French at school she was helping him with his homework till the 5th grade. Andrey studied in a special French school. He had excellent marks in all subjects, but mathematics where he received ‘4’ or ‘3’ out of 5.

In summer we lived at the dacha. Andrey studied well in college; his only mistake was that he got married. This was his first wife. He had four altogether. They were Russian wives. He divorced his first wife promptly. His son Pyotr, from his third wife Olia, was born in 1985. Pyotr is a student of the Faculty of Economics in Moscow State University now. Olga went to visit her friend in the USA during perestroika and stayed there. Later she married an American and they have two lovely daughters. She visited us here with her family and they stayed at the dacha. Pyotr has visited her in the USA several times, but he didn’t dare to stay there. Olga lives near San Diego in California. Her surname is Beauty now, I think.

Pyotr lives with us. He is like our son. Galina and I don’t think it’s good though. A son must live with his father and mother rather than his grandparents. Andrey is married again. We get along well with his wife. Galina is her favorite mother-in-law. She has good relationships even with Andrey’s ex-wives. I think his family life failed because he didn’t find whom he needed. At first my son was a teacher at school and then he was promoted to deputy director. He was even about to become director of a school, but then he went to work at the Academic ‘Systems Analysis Institute’. School teachers have low salaries and this was one of the reasons why he left. At the institute Andrey worked as an economist, studied in the post-graduate class and became a candidate of economic sciences [see Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees] 28. Some time later my son quit this job and went to work at the Moscow committee for architecture where he became deputy chief architect of Moscow for economics. He was responsible for all business related issues, developing estimated cost of building design and construction.

I worked at the institute of Geography for 46 years. I defended my candidate and doctor’s dissertation, received my scientific status of professor and became scientific deputy director. I have about 300 scientific works. I traveled all over the world. My first trip was to the Assembly of the Union of Geodesy and Geophysics in Switzerland in 1957. This is a strong international union uniting geodesists and hydrologists and many other professionals. I received a ridiculous per diem on this trip. I remember they gave us $30 for two weeks, but since this was the first trip of Soviet professionals abroad the receiving firm did everything they could to establish good relationships with Soviet tourist agencies. We were accommodated in a luxury hotel near Bern.

We were shocked at the life abroad. Besides plentiful shops and beautiful places we were shocked at their business management skills. The manager of the affiliate of the tourist company in Bern was a 23 to 25-year-old girl. We were trying to get more money in addition to the allowances that we had. We found out that we could refuse from lunches and get reimbursement for them which was two or three times more than we received at home. This girl had discussions with us and we were shocked when she opened a safe and gave us the necessary amount of money without asking anybody’s permission or approval. We only signed a receipt.

I bought many clothes for my wife, my son and my relatives for the money I received in compensation for my meals. A year later I went to a similar meeting in England. Of course, these trips happened because I was a member of the Communist Party and secretary of the Komsomol unit - what I mean by that is that I was a public figure - but also because I had scientific potential. I was a senior scientific employee and had scientific works.

I had an interesting job. I went on expeditions every summer. At that time I got involved in the issues of observation of the earth from space. It was very interesting. I had access to Russian, American and French cosmic photographs. Later we began to cooperate with the Americans in those issues. I traveled to America and Americans visited our country. I had an experimental ground near Kursk and they were absolutely surprised that it was located on a former military base. When our spy working for American intelligence sold our secrets this base was closed and turned over to the Academy of Sciences.

To decipher the cosmic photographs we had to identify the geodesic characteristics of the surface and compare them with earth-based photographs. We conducted open research with Americans in this field. This subject was a progressive direction and at the conference of geodesy and physics in Germany I was elected chairman of our working group. At that time it was necessary to obtain permission of the Central Committee of the Party to become chairman of an international committee. I couldn’t tell them that I needed this permission and pretended that it wasn’t quite what I wanted. What else could I do, when respectful people wanted me to become their chairman? Our interpreter was a KGB 29 informer, and she wrote in her report that I refused indistinctly, when they wanted to elect me and our organs closed the issue of my traveling abroad for six or seven years.

There was a special procedure of traveling abroad at that time. There was a special commission in a Party district committee which checked the reliability, looked closely into people’s biographies and asked idiotic questions related to the course of scientific communism. We had interviews. Now these interviews seem crazy. They instructed us: ‘You can only walk in groups of three or more’ fearing that the agents of the world imperialism were on guard and would not miss a chance to drag to their side or kill the star of Soviet science.

They also gave other instructions like: ‘do not make soup in a sink’: our actors brought boilers with them and since they didn’t have plates or mugs they plugged the sinks to boil soup or pasta to save money to buy clothes and gifts for their families. They also asked us whether we knew the words of the anthem by heart. There were old Bolsheviks in those commissions who were even crazier. So, after the report of this interpreter I wasn’t allowed to go on trips for six years. I could only communicate with my American colleagues, when they visited me.

My former supervisor, Grigoriy Ovsyuk, helped me a lot. He was working in the presidium of the Academy of Sciences and was well respected there. He was also chairman of the housing commission of the Academy. This was an important position at that time considering the deficit of dwellings. He was the one to decide whether to give an apartment to someone or not: to academicians, not common employees! He pressed on our foreign department to have their KGB representatives make the necessary arrangements for me with the relevant KGB office, and they allowed me to travel again.

I visited the USA several times. I went to their aerospace ground in Kansas and flew their aircraft. We used aircraft and helicopters for taking photographs with our equipment to compare the results and determine the level of accuracy. This Soviet-American program was complicated. Once I had an argument with our 1st department dealing in the issues of state security. They blamed us that we were disclosing our state secrets to the Americans. They would forecast the crops from our photographs and regulate the wheat prices to sell us wheat. I convinced them that it was nonsense, because if an American intelligence man drives a car from Moscow to Sochi he would disclose all so-called secrets along the way.

I conducted expeditions to study hydrology in Cuba twice. Later our institute issued an Atlas of Cuba with the whole hydrogeological part. Then I worked in China. We performed a similar program as we did with the Americans, entitled ‘Natural resources research from space’. I became deputy director of the institute for science.

In 1970, when the foreign mass media published articles about the oppression of Jews in Russia, a group of Jewish communists from Argentina arrived in Moscow looking for evidence that this wasn’t true and that Jews were prospering in the country. They gathered a group of prosperous Jewish scientists in Moscow. They were deputy directors of research institutes, including me. By the way, I never understood why we had this meeting or who they were. We had a meeting in the House of Friendship of the People. One of the employees there, a former employee of our institute, explained to me what it was about.

The chief editor of ‘Our Soviet Russia’ magazine, the only magazine in Yiddish in the USSR, with ridiculous circulation, was there. This was a pro-Soviet magazine. This editor entertained us with his chattering saying that knowing Yiddish one could travel anywhere. There were Jews speaking Yiddish all across the globe. He said he had been traveling all over the world and even in Shanghai met a man who could speak Yiddish.

We were sitting round the table talking about our life. There is a very powerful diaspora in Argentina. There are many Jews who escaped from Germany, when Hitler came to power. They gathered proof that we had a good life. We told them that we didn’t see distinct signs of anti-Semitism. The career level of the participants of this meeting was high and this was sufficient proof for them. They didn’t care about our well-being. My wife was also successful. She became a candidate of sciences and was chairman of the local committee [Mestkom] 30.

In 1980 my mother died. She had heart problems and had six or seven heart attacks. Her heart turned out to be like a cloth, even when she was young she was ill. I remember that she walked from the railway station to the dacha carrying bags, and then lay down in bed screaming from pain in her heart. Then there was the tragedy with my sister and my mother fought for her life for four years, but lost this battle. My mother was buried in Donskoye cemetery. My father died five years later, in 1985, and was buried there as well. I believe my father died from old age. He wasn’t ill. He grew older and older and then he sat in this arm-chair - where I am sitting now - and stayed there till he died. One morning before going to work I helped him sit in this chair and he died in it.

My wife Galina and my mother didn’t get along and nothing could be done about it. Two women in one kitchen – that’s impossible. In 1969 we bought a cooperative apartment thanks to Grigoriy Ovsyuk who included me in the list. We bought a two-bedroom apartment from the Academy of Sciences and moved there. We lived there till 1980. When my mother died, we couldn’t leave my father alone and moved back to my parents’ apartment. We left our apartment to Andrey. He was married at the time.

When Israel was established in 1948, I was in the army and didn’t know anything about it. Then, when I returned home, I didn’t pay attention to the issue of emigrating. I didn’t care about things, just like any other common person in the Soviet Union. Regretfully, I need to confess that my non-Jewish attitude was very strong at the time. Many employees of our institute moved to Israel. There was only one scandalous departure to America. One professor worked a long time in a health care agency in Switzerland. He developed contacts with Americans and decided to emigrate. The attitude toward him was disgusting and I didn’t even take part in this whole story. Everybody condemned him blaming him of betrayal. I didn’t understand him and also condemned him.

Now I think different about Israel. I had a heart surgery in Israel. In 1992 I had a heart attack that I overcame, but it resulted in stenocardia. I had a medical examination and they said I needed surgery. I asked the director of this clinic where he would advise me to have surgery - in our country or abroad -and he said that he was a good surgeon but had nothing for post surgery treatment. Therefore, he concluded, if I had a chance of having it in Israel, I should go there. I had friends in Israel. I stayed with them for some time and got to know more about the country. Life there was wonderful in 1993 or 1994.

My friends told me that I had to obtain the citizenship and medical insurance in Israel or the surgery would cost me about USD 25,000. I wrote an application, but it turned out that it was not specified in my birth certificate that I was a Jew. They didn’t indicate it at that time. A year later I returned to Israel and they declared that they didn’t believe my new birth certificate and that I could throw it away. They knew that for a small bribe one could become a Jew immediately in Russia. They asked for my old certificate which didn’t say that I was a Jew, but had my mother’s name, Raisa Aronovna, and my father’s name, Moisey Filipovich, and they processed all necessary documents for me. I obtained mandatory medical insurance from the Ministry of Absorption. I returned to Moscow and a year later went to Israel with Galina. I had all medical examinations and they sent me to the American-Israeli cardiologic clinic. It was a nice clinic, but since I wanted to expedite the surgery and go back to Moscow, and also wanted a Russian speaking professor from Russia to do the surgery I had to pay an additional USD 2,000. In May I had coronary artery grafting and could go home a short time later.

When perestroika began in the 1980s, I didn’t pay much attention to it. I didn’t take part in any movements. I wasn’t indifferent and was really glad about it, but I was ill at that time. I thought positive of Gorbachev 31 unlike many other people. I understood that a young and smart leader was very good for the country. I think it was a wonderful idea of democracy and glasnost, but I cannot say that the results were good. Still, it’s much better than it used to be. The country became open and people got more opportunities. Smart people can build their life without caring about Party district committees or mean secretaries of the party organization. As for contracts in society I think they are inevitable. It was transmission from one system into another in a short time and there was no different way.

I continue working. I edit books written by the director of my institute. He writes a lot and the academy allotted money for the publication of his works. My wife and I have enough for a good life. I have a big pension as a veteran of the war and we have Galina’s pension as well and we can make do without my son’s support in everyday life. When we need bigger amounts, my son helps us. We often spend time at the dacha in summer and in winter. Though I can hardly walk after the stroke, we keep in touch with our relatives and friends. Our friends visit us and we have parties. I identify myself as a Jew. I don’t know why. It’s hard to say. It’s in the blood - just like my deceased grandmother used to say: ‘Blood is most important’.

• Glossary:

Evgeniy Kotin
Moscow
Russia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of Interview: January 2005

Evgeniy Kotin is of medium height, lean, young-looking man. He is willing to tell a lot about his family. After his wife’s death Evgeniy lives by himself in a two-room Khrushchevka apartment 1 in the house built in the 1960s. Evgeniy must have loved his wife very much and he enjoys talking about her. He keeps things in the apartment the way it was when his wife was alive. There are a lot of books, photographs, all kinds of knick-knacks that people usually bring from vacation.  

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My father’s family lived in a small town Kromy, Orel province in Russia [360 km to the South-East of Moscow]. Kromy was the part of the Pale of Settlement 2 and Jews were permitted to settle there. I have never met my parental grandfather Moses Kotin, and my father I have never seen him either. Grandmother’s name was Hana-Mera. Of course, after getting married her last name was Kotinа. I do not know her maiden name nor where my grandparents were born. Grandfather was a photographer. When grandmother was single, she was a seamstress. After getting married she quit work and became a housewife like most of the married Jewish women at that time.

There were 5 people in the family. First daughters were born. The first one was Ekaterina [common name] 3, Jewish name Keizlya. Then Faina, Jewish name was Fanya, Raisa, Jewish Rohl and Liya were born. Grandmother craved for a son, and in 1895 a long-awaited son was born. It was my father. Father did not live to rejoice in his son. He died in 3 days after son was born. In accordance with the Jewish tradition the son was named after his deceased father, Moisey.

When grandmother became a widow, she moved to Orel with her children. It was a bigger city as compared to Kromy. Grandmother had to be a bread-winner and there were more opportunities in Orel. She did not get married for the second time as having five children it was problematic for her. Mother took orders and sawed linen. She was sure a good seamstress since they had a pretty good living. Of course, there was no surplus, but at least she earned enough to buy good food and decent clothes. I do not know whether sister got Jewish education, but father went to cheder at the age of 5. Grandmother must have been a very progressive woman and understood that secular education was very important and Jewish education was not enough. I do not know what pains it took my grandmother to earn money for the tuition for the lyceum. There was a Jewish lyceum in Orel, in which all children finished the full 8-year course. 

I do not remember that father told much about his childhood. I do not know how religious grandmother was. I think major Jewish holidays were marked in the family, and that was it. I guess grandmother was very tied-up with work and had hardly any spare time. Yiddish was spoken at home, but everybody including grandmother was fluent in Russian.

Upon annulment of the pale of settlement after the Revolution 4, the whole family moved to Moscow. The Soviet regime also cancelled admission quota of the Jews [Five percent quota] 5 and everybody had the chance to get higher education. The eldest sister Ekaterina and the third Raisa graduated from medical school. Ekaterina was an obstetrician in the hospital, located out of Moscow, in the town of Balashikha. Raisa worked in the hospital in Moscow. Faina graduated from agronomy faculty of Agricultural Academy and became an agronomist. The youngest sister, Liya, and my father studied at Medicine faculty of Moscow University [M. V. Lomonosov Moscow State University, the best University in the Soviet Union, also well known abroad for its high level of education and research], and became doctors. Liya was specialized in psychiatry. She was the principal physician of the children’s department of mental asylum named after Kaschenko. Father became phthisiatrician and a rontgenologist.

Ekaterina and Faina did not get married. Raisa and Liya were married to Russians. Raisa’s husband was Vasiliy, I do not remember his last name. He worked in the controls department of the State bank as an auditor. They had an only son Boris, born in 1918. Boris worked as an architect before WW2. He went through the entire war and served in the engineering troops [Engineering troops was one of the divisions of the Soviet Army. They were involved in design and building of defense and military constructions]. Then he came back to Moscow and worked as an architect. He died in early 1990s. Liya was married to Andrey Fomin. He was a very gifted man. He was the deputy director of the mental asylum, head of logistics. Liya did not change her maiden name after getting married and remained Kotinа. They did not have children. Grandmother stayed with her. She was the only one in our family who had her separate apartment; the rest lived in the communal apartments 6. Of course, Faina took grandmother in her apartment.

My mother was from the town Bendery, Bessarabia 7. Grandfather Leib Laskin was some sort of merchant. I do not remember grandmother’s name. The family was large. Out of all of them I knew only elder brother Kopl and sister Manya, who lived in Moscow. The rest had lived in Bendery, Moldova 8, all their life. As it had been Romania 9 by 1939, mother did not keep in touch with her relatives abroad 10. It was dangerous for people who lived in USSR. That was the way the family ties were broken.

My mother Basya Laskinа was born in 1893. She said when she met my father, who was younger than she, as per her request it was written in her passport that she was born in 1895. That is why the year of birth in my mother’s passport is 1895. Mother thought that wife should not be older than her husband. Her name in passport is Berta. Mother did not tell anything about her childhood and youth. I only know that she graduated from lyceum and went to Odessa 11 to study before revolution. No matter what nationality a lady was it was hard for her to acquire a higher education. Mother took courses of dentist assistants. Having finished courses she went to Moscow, where her siblings lived.

Mother’s brother Kopl Laskin was the first from the family to come to Moscow. He came there before revolution. Back at that time Jews were permitted to settle in Moscow only as per special permit of the tsarist exchequer, but it did not refer to Kopl. During WW1 he was in the army as a canoneer. Nowadays it is called firing pointer. Kopl did well at war and was awarded with St. George’s Cross 12, which was the highest award. He also got other awards. There were very few awardees of the St.George’s Cross and even fewer Jews among them. The Jews, who were awarded with St.George’s Cross were exempt from the pale of settlement and were allowed to settle whenever they wished. All they had to do was to get registered in the police department of the city they selected. Kopl found a job at some small plant and was involved in logistics. Then mother’s sister Maria moved to Moscow. First she lived with Kopl. Then she met his friend Lev Drubetskoy. Then she got married with  him and moved to his place. Lev worked as an accountant. Maria studied for a little bit and went to work as a book keeper in the housing department. They did not have children. During NEP 13 Kopl and  Lev Drubetskoy started their own business. I do not know what was their business like, or was it profitable. In the early 1920s both of them went to Palestine to start business there, but it did not work and they came back to the USSR. When NEP was winding up, they regained their previous professions Kopl was a supplier and Lev was an accountant. Things were calm before repressions [Great Terror] 14. In 1937 there was information against Lev regarding his stay abroad, in the capitalistic country. He was tried and sentenced to 10 years in Gulag 15 and 5 years in exile. He was sent to the north, to one of the camps. There were production facilities in each of the camps and the convicts were used as free manpower. First Lev was involved in general work, and when the administration found out that he was an accountant he started to work in that field in the camp. When in 1947 his 10-year sentence in the camp was over, he was allowed to choose the place for the exile. Lev wrote to Maria and both of them for some reason decided that he should move to Izhevsk, Udmurtia [1000 km to the East from Moscow]. Lev went to the exile and Maria followed him. They had stayed there for a year and a new wave of repressions had started against Jews [Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’] 16. They lived in constant fear. Lev peaked and pined awaiting arrest. In 1949 he committed suicide. Aunt Maria went to Bendery and stayed there till the end of her days. She died in the 1960s.

After finishing studies she went to Moscow to Kopl. He lived in the communal apartment of the former tenancy of the rich people. The hosts must have been either shot or died in the camp and several families moved in a large 7-room apartment. My mother also moved in there. Uncle Kopl made arrangements for mother to move in that apartment. Our family had stayed there by the middle 1970s. The suite of rooms was detached by the doors. The doors between the rooms were nailed down. Kopl’s room was the Study of the former owner. We lived in the former drawing-room. There was a bed-room and children’s room and each of those was taken by some families. There were two bigger rooms and one smaller room ( probably for the servants) on the other side. The kitchen was huge with a big wood-stove. We remodeled it into gas stove. There was wood water heater, then geyser in the bathroom.

Kopl was married to Galina, a very beautiful Russian woman. He was her second husband. She had a son from the first marriage. In 1926 their daughter Margarita was born. During WW2 17 they were in evacuation. They came back to Moscow. When A-bombs were released by Americans in Japanese cities Hiroshima and Nagasaki [1945] Galina developed a maniacal fear for the atomic bombs. She thought Moscow to become the first target and insisted moving to another town. She chose Perm [1200 km to the East from Moscow] for some reason. She was a real civilian person and was not aware that Perm was the smithery of weapon with the largest artillery plant being located there. Perm would be more likely bombed than Moscow. There they settled on the second floor of the wooden house without conveniences.  Uncle Kopl was not young at that time, besides he had heart trouble. He had to fetch the bundles of wood and buckets of water to the second floor. He died shortly after moving to Perm. Galina died in couple of years and their daughter remained by herself. Now she lives in Perm’s and from time to time she visits us in Moscow.

My parents met in Moscow. Father was the university student and mother was a dentist assistant after moving to Moscow. I do not know exactly where they met. I assumed it was some sort of a party. Soon they got married. Neither father nor mother observed Jewish traditions, so they had an ordinary wedding – just registered their marriage in the state registration office and a family party in the evening. It was impossible to have a big wedding since the times were hard. After getting married they moved to mother’s room. After graduation father got a mandatory job assignment 18 in the town Shenkursk, Arkhangelsk oblast [800 km to the North-East from Moscow]. Mother went with him. There in 1921 my sister Rita was born. She had lived there only for 3 years. When Rita got ill, mother took her to Moscow  hoping that the doctors in the capital were better and would cure her. However, Rita died in 1924 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Now that cemetery does not exist. There is a hotel called Ukraine built on that place. In the year of 1924 father, who was specialized in phthisiology was transferred to tuberculosis sanatorium of Crimean city Yalta, [now the Crimea Republic, Ukraine, 900 km from Kiev]. I was born in Yalta in 1925. We had lived in Yalta for 2 years and father was offered a job in the sanatorium not far from Moscow to work as phthisiatrician and part-time rontgenologist. We came back to Moscow. Father lived in the sanatorium and mother lived with me in our room in Moscow. She came to Moscow on weekends. We spent the whole summer in the sanatorium. In 1929 my younger sister Ella was born.

Growing up

Parents spoke Russian with us, children and Yiddish between themselves. Then they wanted to conceal something from us they used to speak Yiddish. When some of mother’s siblings came over she spoke Yiddish most of the time, though both Maria and Kopl were fluent in Russian. Mother said that when her family lived in Bendery, Yiddish was spoken in her family and it was pleasure to speak the language of her childhood with her kin. When we came to grandmother Hana-Mera both of my parents spoke Yiddish with her. There was a Jewish theatre in Moscow at that time and parents attended all performances. I did not know Yiddish, so parents did not take me there. We did not mark Jewish holidays at home. When I was a child my parents and I went to grandmother Hana-Mera on major Jewish holidays. She marked Jewish holidays. I do not remember the details. I remember that on Pesach grandmother gave my mother a lot of matzhah and I liked to munch on that. I also remember that grandmother gave me money on Hanukah and I spent it on lollipops and sunflowers kernels – the tidbits of my childhood. Our family marked only soviet holidays such as  – 1 of May , 7th of November [October Revolution Day] 19, Soviet Army Day 20. Mother cooked festive food. In the morning the whole family went on the festive demonstrations. Then our kin and family friends, father’s colleagues came over to us. We danced, sang songs.

Upon return to Moscow mother enrolled on secretary’s courses. She learned typing and short-hand. Having finished courses she got the assignment to work as a secretary for the director of the tulle and lace factory. Then my sister and I went to the kindergarten by the tulle and lace factory. At that time it was deemed that children should be raised in the team. We were nurtured to get used to the team since early childhood. Propaganda of the Soviet mode of life had been spread since the child was in swaddles. I remember how our child-minder in the kindergarten often asked us a question who had the happiest childhood in the world and we used to reply in chorus- soviet children in our country. And the next question was whom should we thank for it and all of us knew the reply – comrade Stalin and our communist party. It was a congenital reflex.

Soon father was assigned the chief physician of the sanatorium and he was given separate house on the territory of the sanatorium. Grandmother spent a lot of time with father. The sanatorium was located in a thick coniferous forest. It was very beautiful. In 1932 father was transferred to Mytischi [Moscow suburb]. He had the same position – the chief physician and rontgenologist of the tuberculosis. When I turned 7, father gave me my first camera for my birthday. It was a small box, charged with a small glass plate. I went to develop the plate in an X-ray laboratory. I walked there with bated breath   not to catch tuberculosis germs.

I learned how to read and write before going to school. Father of one of the colleagues, lived in the sanatorium, where my father worked. We spent summer time there as well. He was retired and he was eager to teach us how to write and read as well as rudiments of arithmetic.  Owing to those classes I entered the second grade of Russian secondary school in the year of 1934. There were other Jewish children in my class, but no anti-Semitism was coming from children or my peers. From the very childhood we were taught that all of us were USSR citizens and people of all nationalities were equal. We truly believed in that.

Soon I was a good student, though I did not have straight excellent marks. Approximately from the 4th grade I started attending drama extracurricular class. Later on I was fond of theatre when I was a student in the institute. I was a young Octobrist 21, pioneer 22 like the rest of my classmates. I even did not admit that somebody was not willing to become a Pioneer or a Komsomol 23. Everybody joined, so did I. I was considered an activist, I took part in all school activities.  

I remembered the repressions of the middles 1930s in the USSR not only by the arrest of Lev Drubetskiy, but also by the arrest of the husband of my mother’s sister Maria. Almost every day at our classes at school we were told to paint over the portraits of the ‘peoples’ enemies’  24, including the portraits of the legendary commanders, ardent communists and militaries , whose portraits were in our textbooks. Nobody told us what was going on, neither in school nor at home. We were children and could not get how it might have happened that such famous people turned out to be peoples’ enemies and act against soviet power they had been struggling for. But at the back of my mind I understood that I should not ask my teachers about it. I just painted over the portraits and kept it out of my mind. I had not the slightest doubt in the correctness of the verdicts.

There was another recollection from childhood. Father’s sister Liya and her husband Andrey Fomin were old Bolsheviks 25, members of the communist party since 1919. Since that time they had had personal weapon- Andrey had a pistol and Liya had a browning. With the outbreak of the repressions the weapon was taken from all Bolsheviks. Probably those who were about to be arrested either shot themselves or the NKVD agents 26, who came over to take them. In spite of that old Bolsheviks had the permits for weapons and all of them momentarily were disarmed.

I remember how the entire school went to the cinema to watch anti-fascist movie Professor Mamlock 27. But I do not remember it, probably I was too small to understand that movie. I remember the event regarding the war in Spain 28, because for us it was not mere words. Orphan Spanish children were brought to Moscow from Spain. There was a sanatorium in front of our school and Spanish orphans were given a lodging there. They took them strolling every day and we were watching them. It was the first time we tried oranges, Spanish paid USSR for the weapon, ammunition and fuel. Those oranges were on offer in the store. Before that oranges were not sold and even now I associate oranges with the war in Spain.

When father was transferred to the sanatorium in Mytishi to work as a chief physician, he was offered to join the party. At that time any person who was taking a leading position, was supposed to be the member of the party. Being a doctor father was on the military register and periodically had to participate in military call. I remember when father was on the leave, he came back home with the saber on the side and a piston in the holster. Father tried his best to hide it from me. Father was conferred the title – doctor of the 3rd rank, that is the captain in accordance with nowadays classification.

During the war

During Finnish Campaign 29 our confidence that our army was invincible was slightly shattered. We could not comprehend how small Finland had been successfully resisting for such a long time. In general, we did not know for sure what was going on, there were only rumors. Father was drafted in the Finnish war as a military doctor. Father did not tell me much about the war. They were warned not to leak information. He only mentioned that his patients were with the frostbites rather than with the gunshot wounds. Our military leaders did not even think that those who were to fight in Finland required a warmer uniform. The uniform given to the militaries was not appropriate. Father has the gloomiest impressions about the war.

In 1941 I finished 7 grades. I did not want to go on with studies at a compulsory school.  I was going to enter military navy school in Moscow. It was the time when special military schools were founded- first artillery, then air force and navy. The latter was in Moscow, at Krasnoselskaya street. Parents approved of my decision. I was given my certificate in school administration and submitted my documents to the navy school. Only those students who had good and excellent marks were admitted in school.  I did not go through medical examination. When I was a child I had an eardrum inflammation and my tympanic membrane was punctured. That was the reason why medical board disqualified me. The laryngologist said that I might deafen during the artillery bursts of the battle ship. I took my documents to my previous school and we went to father to Mytischi. That was the place where I used to go on holidays. On Sunday, the 22nd of June 1941 my father, sister and I had breakfast and went for a walk in the forest. Mother and grandmother did some things about the house. We came back at lunch time and mother met us with the news about the outbreak of WW2. The next day father was drafted in the army. His task was to establish a military hospital. Germans onsurge was swift and the frightened authorities decided that the hospital was to be established in Middle Asia, in the town of Almaty, Kazakhstan [3200 km to the South-East from Moscow]. Father went there to take care of the infrastructure works. I went with him. Mother, grandmother and Ella stayed in Moscow. We were sure that the war would not last long and Germans would not be allowed to approach Moscow for sure.

There was no place for us to settle in Almaty. The entire city was teeming with evacuees from those areas, where Germans came first. Enterprises, institutions, theatres, cinemas were evacuated in Almaty. Father was offered to go to Chimkent, Kazakhstan [600 km from Almaty]. He made the agreement with the local authorities regarding deployment of the military hospital in Chimkent. There we found out that Moscow was being bombed. We were thinking of my family, which stayed in Moscow. Father left me in Chimkent, and went to Moscow to take them here. Father came back with mother and sister. Grandmother died during bombing. She was buried on the Jewish cemetery, next to my elder sister Rita.  

In Chimkent my sister and I went to the local school. We lived by the hospital. Mother worked in the hospital as a nurse’s aide. Father was tied up at work and practically did not see him. Apart from working with patients he was involved in organizational work. We did not stay there for a long time. When Germans were squeezed out from Moscow in winter of 1941, father was ordered to transfer the hospital to Voronezh [500 km to the South-West from Moscow]. We took the victory in Moscow defense as the sign of the end of war. We loaded things in the trains, reached Voronezh and settled in there. I finished the 8th grade there. I understood that we might have stuck in Voronezh by the end of war and I decided to look into vocational studies. I was interested in aviation and like to make the mini models of the existing planes. There was a large military aircraft manufacture plant and the aircraft vocational school. In summer 1942 having finished the 8th grade I supplied the documents to the aircraft manufacture vocational school. I had good marks and was admitted to the school without taking entrance exams. My school started on the 1st of September and I was supposed to be involved in farming works during the summer time. My mother and sister went with me. We took the train. At that time Germans were attacking Stalingrad via Voronezh.  When the hospital was being evacuated, father managed to find us at the train station, while we were waiting for a car heading for kolkhoz 30, whereto we were assigned to work. We came back. The equipment and wounded were loaded in the cars and we took the cart towards Stalingrad. We stopped in the town of Balashov, Saratov Oblast [600 km to the South-West from Moscow]. There were dug-out, most likely made by the militaries. We used them for the hospital. The wounded were taken from Stalingrad front [Stalingrad Battle] 31. We heard a constant clatter of bursts saw flashes from shells and mines. Soon there was a mishap with my father. He sent the car to take the medicine from the storage facilities and that car did not return.  The commissar [Political officer] 32 informed the headquarters against father and father was arrested. He was disarmed and convoyed to the headquarters, located in Balashov. The three of us left without knowing what to do. Father was tried in the martial court and sentenced to 8 years with the adjournment of the of the execution of the sentence by the end of war. Father was sent to the front lines. Father was the commander of the hospital platoon of the medical battalion. It was not a military hospital, but a medical battalion which was in the rear troops. The doctors and nurses assisted the wounded right in the battle field or not far from it. Father reached Hungary with medical battalion. He met the victory day there. Father has military such military awards as Medal for Military Merits 33 and Red Star Order 34.

We stayed by the hospital. Father was transferred to the hamlet. Now the wounded were not in the dug-outs, but in the village houses .Mother worked as a nurse’s aide and I started to work a water-carrier for the hospital. Early in the morning horse was harnessed in the cart with big barrels and I went to the river to fill those barrels up with water by using the buckets .Then I went back to the hospital and took water to the kitchen. If there was not enough water, I had to go to the river once again in the evening, when it was dark.

Father’s sister Faina took us from there. She had lived in the hamlet out of Moscow, called Tymkovo, Noginsk region. She was in charge of the seed-trial ground, where new sorts of grain were tested. Then the decision was made whether they should be cultivated in our agriculture. Via the regional party committee she made it possible to get the permit for us, the family of the front-line soldier, to come back to Moscow. We came to Moscow, but they did not let us in. We had the permit for the Noginsk district and we were accompanied by the patrol to the Kurskiy train station [There are nine main railroad stations in Moscow. The stations are named after train routes: from Yaroslavlskiy train station the trains leave in Yaroslavl direction, from Belarusskiy train station in direction to Belarussia, from Kiev rail station –to Kiev etc.] and were sent to Noginsk. I entered the local school and got a passport. We lived in Faina’s house. Mother managed to get the permit to come back to Moscow. She went to Moscow to the tulle and lace factory, where she worked before evacuation and the secretary of the party organization of the factory processed the invitation for my mother to come to Moscow.  There was a military in our apartment, but when mother showed up, he move out. Mother and Ella left for Moscow, and I stayed in Timkovo before vacation. On the 10th of March I got the draft notification from the military enlistment office.   I was turning 18 only in December, but it was the time when men were drafted by the year of birth. So men, born in 1925, were drafted in the army.

All draftees settled in the town club. We slept on the stage and on the floor. I did not finish the 9th grade but it was written in my military ID ‘education – 9 grades’. Those who finished at least 9 grades were sent to Novgorod-Volyn military infantry school, evacuated in Yaroslavl. I became the cadet of the school. The school was in the former cadet corps. We lived in the barracks.  We were allowed to go in the city only when were on duty on the military patrol. In the city we could go to the market and buy some food. We were clad in non-manual jackets with stand-up collars, worn pants and boots.  

I went to the field squadron. We were taught to handle all kinds of weapons when the divisions when would be able to take command after graduation. First we were supposed to study for 3 months, then the term was expanded for 6 months. Our troops gained the victory in Stalingrad battle. It was a turning point in the course of war. We even were sent there to yield the harvest .We pulled flax, scythed rye in kolkhoz before we got the order to leave everything and come back to school immediately. The commander of the school got an order to send all cadets of school to the front-lines as privates. We were aligned after breakfast and were told to hand in our linen, receive new uniform and off to the front lines. On the 25th of April of 1943 we took the oath. We aligned and marched to the train station singing a song. The train station was crowed with people! We could hear women wail when the train was leaving. We got to the station Loknya, not far from Old Russa and came to the forest. There was rifle regiment 247. It was supposed to be reformed. We were assigned in the gun squad and were given personal weapon. My rifle was manufactured before the war was unleashed. It was a bayonet rifle charged with nine cartridges. We carried the bayonet behind the belt. Most soldiers were armed with the rifles of the sample of the year 1893. We used them throughout the war. We were taught how to shoot from rifles at school and here we were trained how to shoot from the gun machine Maxim, a powerful weapon of the civil war 35. The gun consisted of 3 parts- the main body weighting 20 kg, the heaviest part –the carrier weighing 32 kg and the third one is the shield weighing 8 kg. There was a shell around the barrel, where water was poured for cooling. Every day we were to take our gun machines to the training area, located couple of km away from the regiment. It was possible to go there by tram, but we were not allowed to do that. We also were prohibited to carry the gun-machine on the wheels, as the latter might be spoiled on the pebble pavement. We had to carry all that stuff, moreover we had to do it swiftly in order to come back to the regiment at noon. We rolled out jackets put it on the back and part of the gun on the top of it. Apart from shooting training we also had march drilling in Staraya Russa and attacked the bounds of the hypothetical aggressor. Once we were taken to the drilling ground and were told to dig the trenches as the tanks were supposed to be there in 30 minutes. The trenches were supposed to be deep enough to lie down there otherwise people might be crushed by the tanks.  The training ground was made of trampled arid clay, but we managed to make the trenches. The tanks were over us and we were supposed to throw a training grenade in the tank. It was the idea of the supreme commander that young soldiers should have drilling with tanks not to be scared off by tanks in the battle. We had a pretty rigid training. We spent night in dugs-out.

At New Year’s Eve, on the 1st of January of 1944 we heard the alarm and were told to get up. We thought that it was another march drilling, but it turned out that we were sent to the front lines. The training was over. We were taken to Velikiye Luki, Pskov oblast [450 km to the West from Moscow], and marched towards Nevel. We reached the destination point in the evening, but we did not manage to have a respite. We had to dig the pits and throw straw there. It was our place to sleep. In the morning we were ordered to come back to Velikiye Luki. There was a paradise for us- the sanitary car with the bathroom. We took a bath and were given clean underwear. In the morning we were sent to participate in the battle at the station Nasva. All of us were given skis and we set out with ammunition. I was assigned to be second gun soldier and I was to carry a huge bag with the disks for the gun machine. We had been walking all day long. At night we were taken to the forest and were told to settle there over night. I was really thirsty and I drank water from some puddle. In the darkness I fumbled some sort of a log, put my head on it and feel asleep. In the morning I woke up and saw that it was not a log, but a defunct German. The puddle I drank from was in the lapel of the German’s jacket.

We had been waiting for the order to attack all day long and only at time we off to attack. It was my first true battle. Frankly speaking I was scared. I wanted to cower, to become small and inconspicuous. We were attacking at night. From time to time there were flashes from the bursts of shells. Germans were firing at us from the gun-machines and mortars. We were at a run hearing the commands ‘Straight forward’, then ‘lie down’ and again ‘Straight forward’. When we got up for another attack, I saw that the soldier next to me knelt and then slowly fell on the side. It was the first death I saw in the battle. Later on there were a lot of deaths, but I remembered the first one for ever.  

The attacks were periodic. We attacked squeezing Germans out and then they push us to the initial positions. I was wounded in the leg during one of such attacks. I bandaged my leg with the field dressing. The nurses were not coming. One of the wounded was toddling ahead of me and said that I should move otherwise I would freeze. I stumped to the squad somehow. The medical assistant examined my wound wrote in the ‘card of the leading edge’ saying: «blunt bullet penetrating wound in the upper third of right hip. Bullet was assumed to penetrate in the abdomen». I spent the night in the tent of the sanitary squad and in the morning I was transferred to the sanitary point, and from there to the replacement depot and finally to the hospital. I was taken to the replacement depot in a truck, which carried the defunct soldiers to the common grave. The corpses were half naked with frozen bodies. I was supposed to sit right on the cadavers. On the way to the replacement depot the cadavers were taken off the dug grave and the wounded were also picked up in put the truck.  Replacement depot was in the devastated church. There were walls, but the dome was demolished during bombing .We had to spend a night there and wait for the goods train, remodeled to carry the wounded. We got on the train and went to the rear hospital in Valdai. I was sent to take the X-ray in order to find out the place where the bullet stayed. It turned out that the bullet went tangentially and there was no need in operation. My wound was stitched and I was transferred to the hospital of the lightly wounded. I healed up pretty swiftly and was transferred to the reserve regiment. There marching squads were formed and sent to the lines. I was sent to the reserve rifle regiment 204, to the anti-tank weapon. The latter looks like a small cannon, but it is called the gun, because its caliber is 15 mm. It is so big that person would not be able to carry it. I was conferred the rank of the junior lieutenant. When the training was over I was given travel ration and was in the lines again. We went by trained somewhere and then we walked for 3 days. Finally we arrived. The officers from the regiments came over to select people. There was a captain who asked who wanted to be in reconnaissance and I said that I would like to. He looked through my documents, and took me together with two more people. We came to the separate reconnaissance squad # 87 of guards rifle division # 254. The squad even had its own banner and rear subdivisions. We positioned in the forest, then we were told to move forward to the town of Novorzheva. We settled in a hamlet. Part of the troops, positioned there went to the rear for replenishment. They were supposed to provide us with the complete reconnaissance data on the leading edge of the adversary. All squads left, but the headquarters of the regiment and the reconnoiterers, who could not leave before they had taken a captive German and receive the reconnaissance data from him. It turned out that out reconnaissance squad was not involved in anything until they left. I went reconnoitering 2-3 times and then it was calm. Since it was written in my documents that I had finished 9 grades and was well up in the maps I was sent to the squad of surveyors while our reconnaissance squad was at ease. Now it is called exploratory survey. It is conducted on the forward edge. I was given the so-called ‘blind’ maps. At night when German artillery was firing at our positions, we were to determine where the shooting was coming from, the caliber and the type of the cannons and the distance to the German positions. We were supposed to determine that aurally. Firs, I thought it was impossible, but soon I learned how to do it. We were supposed to mark the position and type of the cannons on the ‘blind’ map. We did not have our own telescope, so I was in the trench with the artillery reconnaissance. Artillery division had an artillery regiment, and every rifle regiment had an artillery squadron.  They used artillery telescopes only during shooting and survey of the forward edge of the Germans. It is strange that during firing I was not scared for myself. The fear came later on after the battle. When Germans were shooting there was only thing I feared that  Germans might hit the artillery telescope. I was focused on work and there was no place for any other emotions.   

We were supplied pretty well. We did not starve. Of course, we craved for home-made food. There was a semi-demolished house on the neutral strip. There was potato in its ceiling. We boiled that potato, and baked it in the fire. It was not a mere food for us; it reminded us of our previous peaceful times.

In July 1944 there was an attack. The artillery preparation was in the outset and our reconnaissance squad was in the second car together with the headquarters of the division. We stopped near some sort of a hamlet. Our squad was told to prepare for one of the commanders an observation point on the hill.  It meant to dig full-face trench, so a person could stand there and install the set a telescope there. It was not easy as there were no tripods. We were supposed to cut a log in the forest, fasten it to the edge of the trench, and fasten the telescope to the log.  It took us the whole night to do that. In the morning, when the regiment commander came over, I was sent to the forest to make sure that none of the cars passed. I was supposed to stop the cars, make the passengers get out from it and walk. In case somebody disobeyed I was to shoot on the wheels. I did not enjoy that considering that I had sleepless night. I was so weary that I physically could not walk to my dug-out and fell asleep right by the observation point. I woke up because I had a feeling that someone slapped my hand hard. It turned out that the fragment of shell pierced my arm. Shell makes a funnel and the fragments of mine are scattered on the land during the earth. The Germans noticed our observation point and opened mortar fire. I was pulled down right away.  I was pulled down the trench. They bandaged my arm and when the shooting was over I went to the medical battalion. The fragment was removed, the wounded was cleaned and I was sent to the hospital in Lisino, Pskov oblast. The wounded did not heal up and was suppurating. When the X-ray was made, it turned out that petty fragments remained in the wound, so it did not heal. I was to be operated once again. The surgeon removed the fragment of shell, part of the shirt sleeve and jacket sleeve, which were pulled in the wound by the fragment of shell, and sutured my wound. Finally my wound was getting better.   

I asked to discharge me from the hospital. In the end, the chief of the hospital allowed me to be discharged and treated in the medical battalion of the regiment. Our regiment re-dislocated to Latvia. I knew about that. When I was discharged from the hospital I went to the station of Autse, whereby our regiment was positioned. I was lucky to stop a truck, which carried the shells, and the drivers agreed to give me a lift in spite of the fact that he was violating the instruction not to carry passengers. I reached the place and found our regiment. I even managed to have my hair cut in the local barber shop. The reconnoiterers were not cut close to the skin like other soldiers so that they could pretend to be civilians in the event of captivity. When I came back I was supposed to come to the headquarters of the division. It turned out that the aide of the commander of headquarters on reconnaissance major Danilchenko was killed with his orderly. Our squad commander was to take his position. I reported that I came back in the lines after being recovered. I was sent to the reconnaissance squad. I regained my previous activity. I went reconnoitering. Then there was an order to send one person from the squad to attend the courses of the Komsomol organizers. They chose me for some reason, though I joined Komsomol only in 1943 in the lines. I had attended them for a month and came back to the squad with the rank of a senior sergeant. Shortly after that there was the order that the second Baltic Front was to be annulled and the military staff should be transferred to Leningrad front. The banner of our reconnaissance squad was taken to Moscow and we joined rifle guards division # 85. But is the officer’s position and I was only a senior sergeant. Shortly after that when a new commander came, I became his deputy. Our task was to push the German troops from Latvia. The battles were fierce.  Though, both we and Germans understood that the war was winding up. Germans still were resisting.  I was involved in reconnaissance as well as in the infantry battles. When the battle was on, I could not stay aloof saying that my business was done by making reconnaissance. Germans were bringing new forces, equipment and firing points. They had a lot of defense constructions there. We were attacking. We were ordered to take the village. We had stayed in the forest overnight and in the morning we were to attack in the morning. The battle was hard.  Germans hit with a constant mortar fire and we had a lot of casualties. There were mostly wounded because of flat mines. Any way we managed to liberate the village and Germans retreated. Suddenly we were ordered to come back to initial positions. It turned out that it was not the village we were supposed to fight for. We were furious – a lot of officers were killed. Only 20 people were left from our reconnaissance squad out 75. The squad commander was also killed in action. All those casualties were for some strategically unimportant village, just because somebody in the headquarters made a mistake. By the way, it was not the only case. The next morning, on the 14th of April 1945 I was sent in reconnaissance to find the access roads to the hill, we were supposed to fight for. I fulfilled the task and came back to the squad. The commander listened to my report, marked the attack routes on the map and told me to take people and start assault. There were hardly any people left- 15 men and 3 elderly nurses. They did not want to fight as it would be silly to be killed at the very end of war. We had to walk through the forest to get to the hillock. It was hard: there were saplings and Germans cut the trunks so that high stumps were left at a small distance from each other. It was impossible to crawl or to run. We could only walk. I was the first in the group. We did not know that a German sniper was up a tree, and the bullet hit me. I was lucky to stay alive and get just a dipnoous wound of the forearm. I was bandaged hastily and sent to the medical battalion after the battle. Soon the deputy political officer of the regiment came over and said that for that battle I would be awarded with the medal “For Bravery” 36. They also sent a letter to mother saying that her son was awarded with the medal “For Bravery” as well as the words of gratitude for upbringing of the  worthy defender of the Motherland.

My wound was cleansed and in a week I was sent to the reserve regiment, mortar battalion. I had stayed there for a week. Half of the day I was trained, and the rest of the day I had a spare time. We were not given weapon in the reserve regiment. Only when we were on duty to guard the regiment, we were given guns. We were supposed to return them when we were off the duty. We were not used to feel helpless and disarmed and when going to bed we did not know whether we would wake up in the morning. Suddenly at night of 8/9th of May we were woken up by shooting. We were scared that the Germans came over and all of us would be shot. We got out and saw that everybody on the meadow shooting in the air. People were shooting from guns, flare pistols, gats whatever people had. Somebody who was shooting noticed out frightened faces and cried out ‘the war is over’. We even could not believe it at once. In the morning we went to our neighbors, the squad of bombers, to look around what was going on there. We saw mechanics disarm the planes, dismantling bomb-carriers and guns. Only then we finally believed that the war was over. At noon, on the 9th of May our commander congratulated us on victory and gave us vodka to drink at lunch.

I did not felt anti-Semitism in the lines. I was an only Jew in our squad, but nobody ever accentuated on that. There were Russians, Ukrainians, Georgians, Moldavians, Tartars among my front-line friends. We even did not remember what nationality we were. There was common enemy and common duty. There were criteria of assessment of the personal characteristics of men by you. Your life often depended on those, who were close by. Nationality was not one of those criteria.

All of us were patriots in the lines. We were brought up by the Soviet regime. Party, Lenin 37, Stalin were out reality. We were aware that we struggled against fascism and gained victory owing to Stalin. Of course, we were thinking that we were young and did not ponder things over. Now I understand that if there were no Stalin’s repressions, there would be no war, or in the event of war there would be much less casualties if our commanders were those militaries who were exiled and shot in the times of Great Terror. At that time I was not prone to think that it was possible to question the actions of Stalin or the Party.

After the war

The war was over and I had to think what to do next. There was an order – if somebody had some sort of military education should be sent to military schools. So I was sent to attend front-line courses for junior lieutenants of Leningrad front. In summer we were sent to cut wood. When we came back the commander of the school said that army did not need junior lieutenants and we would be distributed to the military schools of the city of Leningrad and Leningrad command.  We were taken to Leningrad to the 1st Leningrad Red Banner Infantry School. We were supposed to take entrance exams – Russian language and Mathematics. Of course, I forgot mathematics, but my Russian was not bad. I was admitted to school. I was to start school on the 1st of September and we were sent to the camps. As a rule we had march drilling and got ready for the parade. Then military parade was cancelled in Leningrad. There was a victory parade in Moscow. In Leningrad sports parade was held at Dvortsovaya (Palace) square. We, dressed in white shorts and T-shirts, were doing PT exercises. After parade our platoon stayed in Leningrad. We were not let in the city since we were not properly dressed. Time went by. September was coming and I had to start school. In late October they read us the order of the Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR 38 as of 25th October saying that doctors, teachers, engineers and militaries, who had over 3 battle injuries were to be demobilized from the army. I was classified for demobilization. The commander of military school called me and asked whether I wanted to go on with my studies. I requested demobilization and on the 17th of November I was demobilized. I received the traveling documents and came back to Moscow.

Father came back from the army couple of days before I came. The sentence which was adjourned by the end of war, was cancelled by the martial court of Privolzhie command. So, father was a free man. He was immediately offered a job in the tuberculosis hospital in a small town out of Moscow, Zvenigorod. He was the deputy chief physician. Sister studied at school, mother was a housewife. First of all, I was to finish the 10th grade. There were institutions of external studies, where the demobilized from the army were prepared within three month to get the secondary education certificate. I enrolled for external studies and finished the course. We were not entitled to take final exams at the external studies institution, we were assigned to a school where we could do that. I passed the exams and got the certificate. My school friend studied at Technical Institute (former ammunition institute, and nowadays it is called Moscow Engineering and Physics Institute). The name of the school was changed, but the profile remained unchanged- weapon production. There were three departments: technological, design and physics. She talked me into entering that institute, the design faculty. The participants of war were admitted beyond the competition. I was supposed only to have the interview in mathematics. I was not admitted to the design department and I was offered to study at technological department of that institute. On the 1st of September 1946 I started school. I became an engineer- metallurgist. I had worked in that field until retirement.

I did not rank among the top students, but I was not a poor student either. Apart from studies I also was enrolled in a drama circle. In 1948 cosmopolite processes started. At that time anti-Semitism was rather conspicuous. Jewish students were expelled from the institute, and Jewish teachers were fired. There were incessant articles about cosmopolites- the activists of science or culture. Jews were baited, but fortunately our institute was untouched. There were a lot of Jews, both teachers and students, but none of them suffered. The only time we felt anti-Semitism was shortly before defending of diplomas.  During the last term more than a half of our group was transferred to the physics department. There were a lot of atom physics scientists, but there were few designers. None of the transferred was a Jew. Only Russians were chosen.  They envied us and it their job was very hazardous, not of them lived over 50 years.

I defended my diploma successfully. Nobody was given a mandatory job assignment in Moscow. I was lucky to be the third and I chose Saratov [800 km from Moscow]. Most of the assignments were in Ural and Kazakhstan.

I came to Saratov. It was an appliance building plant, evacuated to Saratov from Leningrad during the war. It remained there after war. Navigation gauges were produced there for the navy. I was assigned a foreman in the thermal department of the instrumental workshop, as it was the only shop, where the parts requiring thermal processing, were produced.  They treated me pretty well at the plant. In a year I was assigned the chief foreman. I lived in the plant hostel for engineers. It was a recently constructed log house. Married people were given separate room. I lived in one room with three engineers, who came to the plant as per mandatory job assignment.

Shortly after my arrival in Saratov, I was elected in Komsomol Committee of the plant [Komsomol units existed at all educational and industrial enterprises. They were headed by Komsomol committees involved in organizational activities]. Then I was offered to join the party. At that time party membership was very important for career, therefore I did not object. I received the recommendation of the district Komsomol committee as well as recommendations from other party members. The general meeting of the communist party members of the plant approved by candidacy, but the plant party committee did not approve me. I tried to find out what was going on, but there was no answer. I stopped looking for a response.

It was harder for me to work when I was promoted in my position. People who had worked longer than me bore grudge and started convincing the director that there was no need in chief foreman in the workshop. My position was reduced, and the position of a foreman had been already taken. I was supposed to work for three years as per mandatory job assignment, but I remained jobless. I had no right to quit job and the director was not entitle to fire me. They suggested that I should write an letter to the ministry asking to assist me. Father had some acquaintances who worked for the ministry of the armament and soon I received a letter from the ministry, where it was indicated that they did not mind my leaving the job at the plant. In 1953 I came back to Moscow. 

I was in Saratov when Stalin died in 1953. I was really grieving. I was raised with Stalin’s name; he was almost like a God to me. We went to festive demonstrations just to look at the members of the government and Stalin, who stood on mausoleum. There was no TV at that time. Everybody knew that Stalin was present at the demonstrations by 1 p.m., so people tried to get there by that time. I burst into tears when I found out about Stalin’s death.  I felt a terrible loss. I could not even imagine how I would live without him.

In some time after Stalin’s death there was tittle-tattle that repressions were unfair. Though, nobody associated Stalin with repressions, but Beriya 39. First, everybody was confounded when Khrushchev 40 denounced Stalin’s crimes at ХХ Party congress 41. First Khrushchev’s speech was secretive and it was read only at the closed party meetings. I found out about cruel things. Then rehabilitations commenced 42.There were a lot of the repressed who did not survive. Of course, exoneration meant a lot for the kin, but it was impossible to resurrect those who were killed … 

I thought that after ХХ party congress anti-Semitism would merely vanish as the term ‘peoples’ enemy’. But my expectations were not met, when I came   back to Moscow from Saratov and started looking for a job. I read all job openings, went for the interviews, but could not find a job. I was told by the HR department that I was the right person, but as soon as they read my form, wherein there was a notorious «5th line» 43 – nationality, it turned out that the position was taken. Of course, I understood that it was a pretext, but there was nothing doing about it.

Once when I was on the brink of despair, I passed by one-storied building and saw the announcement on job opening of the engineer- heat-treated. Now the institute is called Central Institute of Machine Building, at that time it was Scientific Research Institute of Defense Industry. I came to the HR department without any hope and said that I would like to work there. I had the documents on me. In spite of my expectations the head of HR department asked the director of the department to come in. A typical Jew, whose last name was Regeler. He looked at my diploma and told me that I could start the next day. It turned out that not only in my department, but the entire institute was full of Jews. There were more Jews than Russians. That year I was admitted in the party. I had worked in the institute for 13 years. Then in 1966 the elderly retired and the management changed, so I had to come across anti-Semitism once again. Without any grounds I was transferred from the position of the leading engineer to the position of the chief engineer. It was a lower position and much lower salary. I decided to change my job. I was known as an expert and had quite a few publications. I addressed to one of the institute and filled in the form there, but I was not scheduled the interview. Finally, my acquaintance, director of the department at the Institute of Steel and Alloys, also by the ministry of defense industry, offered me a job there but with a lower salary. I agreed to it. Gradually I got a pay rise and my salary was even higher than at a previous job.  

I met my future wife when I worked at the institute of defense industry. Tatiana Shamrai got a mandatory job assignment after graduation from Higher Technical School named after Bauman, the so-called Bauman institute [Moscow High Technical School named after renowned revolutionary Nikolay Bauman, today it is called Technical Institute] to work as appliances designer. Tatiana is Russian. She was born in the village of Starinki, Kaluga oblast [250 km from Moscow] in 1931. Her father Mikhail Shamrai was a farmer and mother Praskovia Shamrai  was a housewife, and also helped her husband with the field work. There were five children in the family. The eldest son was Peter. There were also Ivan and daughters Anna and Maria, born in 1926. Tatiana was the youngest one. With the outset of collectivization 44 the family moved to Moscow. Father worked as a janitor and mother worked at Caoutchouc plant in the most hazardous plant- where degreasing of metallic constructions in cyanic solutions took place. It was a hard living, but two daughters Anna and Tatiana got higher education. Tatiana was really gifted. She, a village girl, finished school with gold medal  [Editor’s note: the golden medal was the highest distinction in USSR secondary schools. A student was supposed to have straight excellent marks (100%) to get the golden medal. A student was supposed to have 90% of excellent marks to get silver medal. ], entered the institute named after Bauman and brilliantly graduated from it. She was loved by everybody at work. When we met, soon I understood that she was the one for me: a clever and healthy village girl. We got married in 1961. My parents were not against that my wife was Russian. Nationality was not important for them. We had a common wedding: got registered in the state registration office and in the evening our friends came over to mark the event. I moved in Tatiana’s place. She had a small room in the communal apartment. Her siblings were married off and lived separately. Tatiana’s father died, and her mother lived with her elder sister Anna. By the way, Anna was also married to a Jew, my friend Vladimir Tarskiy.  In 1962 our son Pavel was born. Tatiana’s sister Maria was not married, but she gave birth to a son in 1960. Maria died from cancer and her son was raised in our family. When Pavel turned 3, we got a separate 2-room apartment.

When I left the institute Tatiana had worked there for several years. Then she changed her job and went to work for the Institute of Current Sources as engineer- designer of solar batteries. Tatiana managed to become a good expert and she was appreciated at work. The leading expert of the institute was a well-know scientist Korolev 45, who liked Tatiana and took her opinion into account.

In the 1970s mass immigration to Israel started. I was not going to leave USSR. I did not know neither the language nor the customs and traditions. I was not religious either. I did not think it would be better for me in Israel than here. I did not judge those who were leaving and I tried to support them.   

We marked all soviet holidays at work. It was mandatory to attend the demonstrations on the 1st of May and 7th of November. First people got days off for participation in demonstrations and people were willing to go there. Then it was cancelled and people were made to attend demonstrations. Each department was told how many people should be present and people were responsible for the presence of the representatives of the department on the demonstration. We had a feast at work after demonstration, and a concert afterwards. On Victory day 46 veterans were honored. It was the only day throughout a year when I put my awards on. At home we also marked holidays, but apart from New Year’s day and victory day, they were just ordinary days-off when we could invite guests over and have fun.

Having finished school my son entered Bauman institute, the Technological –Physical Metallurgy department. After graduation he worked in one of the machine building design institutes in Moscow. After perestroika 47, which brought unemployment, Pavel got a new specialty –a programmer. Since that time he had worked for a firm as a programmer. Son married a Russian girl, Alexander Gonchrova. They are a good family. They have two children. The elder Elizaveta was born in 1995, and son Nikolvay  – in 1997. We keep in touch. My son and his family come over to us. Unfortunately it takes them more than 2 hours to get to us, that is why we do not see each as often as we wished. 

My sister entered Moscow Geologic Exploration Institute, Mineral Waters Faculty. Geology is not a proper profession for a woman, it is rather hard, but Ella liked it. She was involved in exploration of mineral waters and was the head of exploration department in balneology institute. She was on multiple expeditions. Ella was married to her fellow student, Russian guy Yuri Romanov, when they were in the graduate year. In 1954their son Alexander was born and in 1960 son Mikhail. Unfortunately, the elder son was a sick man and was afflicted with epilepsy since childhood. He finished the music school, violin department, but he could not work. He lived with the parents and got the dole for the disabled. The younger went to work at the plant after the army, got married. Now he has two children. He works in advertisement business.

Parents lived by themselves. They were dependable. Ella exchanged her apartment for a bigger one in late 1970s. They settled in Biryulevo, the outskirt of Moscow. It was very far from our previous place. Probably they should not move. Mother died in 1980, and father died in a half a yea. We buried them on the common cemetery. The funeral was secular as none of the parents was religious. 

When Mikhail Gorbachev 48 declared about perestroika, I took it with enthusiasm. There were new opportunities and rights that we were deprived of previously during the soviet regime. Now there was liberty of meetings, liberty of word and publications. There was no more struggle against religion 49, which was so rigid during soviet regime. Censorship of press was abolished. We had the chance to get the true coverage of the events in our country not from the western radio stations, but also from soviet news-paper and TV news. We learned many new things about Stalin’s times. Anti-Semitism was waning. All kinds of Jewish communities were emerging. The word ‘Jew’ was pronounced openly, not surreptitiously. There was no iron curtain 50, having severed us from the rest of the world. We got the opportunity to gо abroad and invite foreigners over. There was no need in concealing that we had relatives abroad. All those new things made us happy.  Then gradually things calmed down and perestroika was in the crescent. At one of the party congress during the reign of Gorbachev there was an amendment in the party statute regarding the voluntary exit from the party. Things were topsy-turvy in the party at that time. District committees were not doing their work with the primary organization. Previously there were plans and political classes. After that, sessions all activities stopped. Party activists minded only their own business. Our secretary of party organization found a job at some firm. After that I wrote a letter saying that the leaders were not managing things, there was no understanding what to do, what was the general course of the party. That is why I think that there was no use for me to stay in the party. So I left the party. Then, after breakup of the USSR [1991], there were many people who left the party.

I think the breakup of the Soviet Union to be a mistake. Before that all republics were together and productions were interconnected. Such integration was very propitious for the economy. And now things are in the wane, when each of the republics is independent. Besides, the newly founded states lack qualified personnel- engineers and scientists. They do not have their own and have to invite the experts from abroad.  Things created with the combined efforts are now pulled by new states. New Russia built a lot in other republics, and now it is bereft of its property. Besides human relationships are affected as well as they are now living in different countries. It is hard to come to Baltic countries, Ukraine, where friends are living. I think USSR could have been reorganized  to remain a big and powerful country, the way it has always been during the soviet regime.

I retired on the 1st of January 1992. I did not want to resume work. I was on business trips so many times that I just wanted to stay home with my wife. We went for a walk, attended cinema and theatres, discusses the books we read.  We did not have time for that before. I do not take part in the social Jewish communities. When I was a school student, I was involved in social work even in extracurricular time. Now, I want peace. In April 2004 my wife died. I remained by myself. Of course I want somebody to talk to and there are my friends and kin for that.

Glossary

Alexander Ugolev
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Nadezhda Lipovskaya
Date of interview: September 2004

Alexander Efimovich Ugolev is a grayish-haired person, not tall and heavily-built. He dresses with negligent grace and elegance: a dapper shirt and carefully ironed trousers. He walks slowly, using a walking stick. He lives in a small two-room apartment with his wife and adult son (a student). His room is very tidy; everything is put in its place with love – to please the owner. The window of Alexander’s room looks to the south. The room is warm and light. The furniture is very simple and comfortable: a large writing-table, a spacious bookcase,  full of books up to the top, a soft sofa  situated opposite the bookcase. Alexander Efimovich is a deliberate and interesting story-teller. His narration is thick-sown with geographical information and historical digressions. Sometimes he is rigid and hot-tempered in judgments and comments. Being carried along by his memories, he gives  way to his feelings and immerses his interlocutor  in an atmosphere of a past age.

My kin of the Ugolevs–Tsypkins came from Belarus. Probably all my ancestors are from there. Before the [Russian] Revolution [of 1917] 1 Jews were permitted to live only within the Jewish pale [of settlement] 2: on well-marked territory. There were settlements in Belarus, Ukraine, and somewhere else. But I guess that all my ancestors came from Belarus. 
The Tsypkins, the parents of my mum, lived in Krichev [a city on the Sozh River in the east part of Belarus]. I don’t remember the name of my maternal grandmother. She wasn’t tall, even small. The Tsypkins had a farm, even a cow. My maternal grandfather’s name was Haim Ayzikovich Tsypkin. As a child I spent every summer in Krichev at my grandmother and grandfather’s [the Tsypkins]. Abram Berkovich Ugolev and Haya-Ghita Israilevna, my paternal grandfather and grandmother, lived near them, in the village of Komarovka. When Abram Berkovich died in 1941, my grandmother moved from one daughter to another as a prize. She loved me. Both my grandmothers were very nice. 
Both grandfathers of mine were Jews in the full sense of the word: they went to the synagogue, prayed at home, put on tefilin, and wrapped small leather strap [tefillin] around their hands. My grandmothers and grandfathers were religious. In order to prepare a chicken, my grandfather Haim Tsypkin took it to a shochet. Grandfather Haim took my hand, we went across Krichev and carried a hen to the shochet. The shochet did his part, and then stroked my head. In Komarovka the Ugolevs – my grandfather and grandmother – observed the kashrut strictly, and in Krichev, where the Tsypkins lived in the 1920s it was difficult, because in the town there were a lot of Soviet officials who kept a vigilant watch on every citizen. 

Both grandfathers were patriarchal and hard-working. Haim Tsypkin was a small shop-keeper, and Abram Ugolev was a smith. At home my grandfathers and grandmothers spoke Yiddish. Both grandfathers were bearded, but wore regular clothes.They prayed regularly, at set hours. My grandmothers didn’t wear wigs, they didn’t cover their gray hair. They were dressed in long skirts with elastic webbings and jackets with long sleeves. Grandfather Abram had a large house in Komarovka. In Krichev Grandfather Haim also had a house: two rooms and a kitchen. Both houses in Komarovka and in Krichev were heated by furnaces. In Krichev the furniture was old-fashioned. I remember a large bed. Both in Krichev and in Komarovka my grandfathers had vegetable gardens. Grandfathers worked in vegetable gardens rarely: for the most part women did it. We, the children, were not forced to work in the vegetable garden. In Krichev there was a cow and hens. In Komarovka they kept cattle, too. My grandfathers and grandmothers had no farm hands: they were poor Jews. 

Probably, my grandfathers had their own opinions on the political situation in Soviet Russia, but they made no comments. They lived like other people, worked, and affiliated with no parties and societies. 

I don’t remember the neighbors of my grandfathers and grandmothers. It seems to me that both in Krichev and in Komarovka people lived in their own separate houses. I think they had good relations.

Usually, after staying in Krichev for several months I easily started to speak and even think in Yiddish. Almost all neighbors were Jews. They dressed the same way as my grandfathers and grandmothers, and men wore beards. I think their lifestyle was Jewish, traditional. 

I keep a few bright memories about that time. I remember myself in Krichev pilfering hay from a passing cart just for kicks. The driver noticed it. Well, I caught it from him! All children liked to do it with hay. Well, how can you keep from getting a tag of hay for your cow! Everyone pilfered, and so did I, following their example. I had friends among the boys in Krichev, we went together to the Sozh river for swimming. 

I know nothing about the brothers and sisters of my grandfathers and grandmothers. But, probably, my grandfathers sometimes visited their relatives.

My grandfathers and grandmothers didn’t tell me anything about their childhood and I was silly enough not to ask them about it. At that time I wasn’t interested in it, though my grandparents didn’t keep it from me: they would have probably told me about their childhood and their parents, if I had asked. I remember, when I wanted to learn to count, I managed to count up to 39 and didn’t know the next figure. My grandfather Haim from Krichev prompted me, and then taught me to count up to hundred and further. 

I also heard nothing about the army background of my grandfathers. Possibly in tsarist days my grandfathers could have borne arms, I don’t know exactly. At that time they didn’t draft Jews into the army willingly. 

Abram and Haya-Ghita Ugolev had ten children. Their eldest son was lost during the World War I. I don’t know his name. Their eldest daughter, Vera, born in 1896, Milkina after her marriage, has already died. She had two sons. Unfortunately I don’t remember their names. The second son of my Ugolev grandparents was Lev, born in 1901, and he also died a long time ago. He had two sons: Mikhail, born in 1926, and Grigoriy, born in 1925. All members of their family lived in Kazan. Mikhail died five years ago [1999]. Another brother of my father, Pavel, was lost during the Civil War 3. Someone else was lost together with him, his brother or sister; today there is nobody to ask about it. My father Haim, born in 1903, was the fourth child in the family. He perished at the front during World War II, in 1944. Before the Great Patriotic War 4 he worked at a military prosecutor’s office of the Leningrad military district; during the war he was appointed a commissioner, he excited soldiers to go into the assault. He was lost near the city of Novgorod in action, near the village of Koptsy.

Another son, Ghirsha [affectionate for Grigoriy], born in 1908, also went through the Great Patriotic War and died in peace time. He had a son, Mikhail, who was born after the war, but he has also died by now. My father’s sister Dorah was born in 1906; after her marriage she was called Khutoretskaya. Before the war her husband, Yosif Khutoretsky, was a director of a sovkhoz 5 in Luga district near Leningrad. Before the war he held the position of administrative deputy director at the Veterinary College. Dorah and Yosif had two children: Semen, born in 1927, and Maya, born in 1932. One of my father’s sisters died at a very young age in 1910. Her name was Sofia. 

The younger sister, Eugenia, Bryskina after her marriage, was born in 1913. When she divorced her husband Nikolay Bryskin, she decided to get her maiden name back, but the registration service employee muddled up things and wrote her family as Ugaleva. At present she lives in America in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Last year she reached the age of ninety. She left for the USA in 1992 together with her son Leonid, his wife Lyudmila and their sons Daniil and Eugeny. Sometimes they call me and my relatives. All of them are fine. The youngest sister of my father, Esther-Slava, Epstein after her marriage, was born in 1919. She died in 1999. She had a son Lev, three grandsons – Irina, Mikhail and Ilya – and one great-grandson, Mark, who is Mikhail’s son. 

My grandmother and grandfather Tsypkin had four children. Their eldest son, Yakov, born in 1901, was an economic engineer. He died during the siege of Leningrad in 1942. He was about two meters tall. He had two children: the elder daughter Galina, who was born before the Great Patriotic War and the son Alexander, born in June 1941. My grandparents’ next son, Meir-Yosif was called by his family members Misha,sometimes Yosha. He graduated from the Polytechnic College in Leningrad as an engineer and research worker, technologist. He supervised the LAMITOMASH educational courses [courses for engineers of the Leningrad Society of Mechanical Engineering]. He was found guilty of some administrative infringement and was put in prison for half a year for it. By now he has already died. He had two daughters: Lyudmila and Margarita. Both of them live in Germany now. 

My mum had one more sister, Sofia, Naimark after her marriage. All her life she worked as a bookkeeper. Before the war she married Oscar Naimark. He served at the front. After the end of the war he came back, and their daughter Lyudmila was born in 1948. Lyudmila has already died also. 

I have only a distant memory of my stay in Komarovka at my Ugolev grandparents’. I remember that there was a large earth-road, very clean. The houses stood separately from each other. Right around our house there were large public apple orchards [they had no owner, the authorities used to appoint responsible persons in turns]. We went there to eat apples.

It seems that Komarovka was a large village. They moved about it using horse-drawn vehicles. My grandfather went to Krichev by horse. Sometimes I was put next to the driver and enjoyed the ride. I came to Krichev from Leningrad each summer. I remember that in 1939 we had a long stay in Komarovka. By that time my grandfather and grandmother Tsypkin had already died.

I remember Krichev a little bit better. Houses in Krichev were not high, but well-set. A cement factory was located there. In Krichev there lived probably tens of thousands of people. There was a road paved with concrete, homesteads; each house had an enclosed ground. The cows were taken to fields for grazing. There was no electricity supply yet. Both in Krichev and in Komarovka houses were illuminated by petroleum-lamps. At that time they hadn’t even heard about a water pipe. Each house had a well.

Probably in Krichev there were both synagogues and special prayer houses. And most probably in Komarovka there were not. It seems that my Krichev grandfather took me to the synagogue with him. At that time I was about six or seven years old. I have only a distant memory of that time. In Krichev there were Jewish schools. Someone of my friends-boys studied at a Jewish school in Krichev. I played games with them and got to know about Jewish school.

A lot of Jews lived in Krichev. They were employed in different businesses. Most often Jews were engaged in retail trade. My grandfather Haim also was in the small grocery business. 

My father Haim Ugolev was born in 1903 in Komarovka. Up to the 4th class he studied at the rural school, and then he finished a seven-year school in Krichev. I guess that he never studied at a Jewish school, because there was no Jewish school in Komarovka. He was a good-tempered person, very honest. It was possible to ask him any question you liked and receive a detailed answer. He was well-informed about historical events; he had many books on history of the 19th century. He had books in English and in Persian languages – he could read English and Persian – but no Jewish ones. My father was a man of average height, he was heavy-browed, had not very thick hair. He was a pleasant man.

My mum [Pessya Ugoleva, bee Tsypkina] was born in Krichev in 1903 and lived in this city until her marriage. She was a tall, dark-haired woman with high cheekbones. She had authority with her colleagues. She was a hard-working, devoted mother and wife.

My parents were introduced to each other by their parents. My grandfather and grandmother from Komarovka and those from Krichev were acquainted with each other long before the wedding of my parents. When my father arrived in Krichev to continue his studies at the seven-year school, he stayed with an old friend of his father. This old friend was Haim Tsypkin, a tradesman. In the house of the Tsypkins my father met their daughter Pessya. Haim and Pessya fell in love with each other.

When my mum finished the seven-year school, she decided to leave for Leningrad to continue her studies together with my father. Mother decided to study at special courses, where she skilled in the profession of chemist/laboratory assistant, an analyst. My parents got married already in Leningrad. They simply went to a civilian registry office and registered their marriage. 

My father was a member of the Communist Party [the All-Russia Communist Party of Bolsheviks]. He joined the Party when he arrived in Leningrad. He graduated from a faculty for students-workers and the Oriental College named after Enukidze, Persian department, in 1932. As he was a Jew, they didn’t send him to Persia for work [authorities did not trust Jews to work abroad]. But he was a highly educated person and they had to place him in a job somewhere. So after he graduated from the College, they sent him to expand the collectivization process. He was an editor of the Machine and Tractor Station newspaper, then of a regional newspaper, and later  an editor of municipal newspaper in the city of Krasny-Sulin. This city is rather large; there is a large Metallurgical Industrial Complex. It was not renamed [after the breakup of the USSR in 1991]. My father made a long business trip: from 1932 till 1936 he worked in Azov and Black Sea territory. We visited him in Ghelendjzhik. 

When my father came back to Leningrad from his business trip in 1936, he was appointed an editor of a newspaper at the printing house named after Volodarsky. My mum worked as a chemist/laboratory assistant at a factory in Kirov. 

My parents were atheists. They didn’t observe Jewish traditions. Possibly we ate matzah – I don’t remember exactly, but most probably we did. We lived close to the synagogue, but never visited it. We had no Sabbath celebrations: at that time we had no Saturdays off – we had six-day weeks.

When my grandfather and grandmother Tsypkin came to Leningrad to visit us, they lived at our place. It was difficult for them to observe Jewish traditions and keep kosher in ‘the city of three revolutions’ [Leningrad was called this way by the Communists because it was this city where the Revolution of 1905 and the February and October Revolutions of 1917 took place] in the 1930s. It was dangerous: it could attract attention of active atheists and entail the arrest of all family members. I don’t remember them celebrating Jewish holidays, neither in Leningrad, nor by themselves in Komarovka.

My parents told me nothing about my grandfathers and grandmothers. At that time I – and my parents too – had different interests and troubles: I attended a kindergarten, later a school, and daddy and mum worked. 

Daddy and mum spoke Russian. Sometimes, when they wanted to keep a secret from me, they spoke Yiddish. They didn’t teach me Yiddish though. I studied it during my visits to Krichev, talking to local boys. When I came back to Leningrad I used to forget Yiddish words.

I loved my mum very much. Every day she bought me cakes: real creamy cakes. Other children from our yard could have such cakes only once a year. The boys didn’t believe that my mum bought cakes for me in the nearest confectioner’s shop [cakes were very expensive at that time]. One day, when my mum was going home through our yard, I asked her to give me a cake. And she gave it to me immediately. Then I took it and gobbled it up. She asked me why I ate the cake right in the street. I answered that I wanted it very much. The next day I approached her again and asked her to give me the cake. Mum asked why I was going to eat the cake right on the spot. I answered, ‘Give it to me, I will show it to the guys.’ She gave me the cake and I showed the cake to the guys. They were amazed: ‘Terrific! Each day he has a cake!’

My father was a member of the Russian Communist Party, the Bolshevik party, and my mum was only a member of a trade union. They didn’t talk about politics at home. They taught me to look for human values. For example, at that time [in the 1930s] near Kirovsk [up-stream the Neva river] there was a Jewish collective farm. My parents held up Izya Feiggin, a boy as an example for me. He was a kind of relative, who industriously worked at this collective farm all summer long and earned money to buy boots for himself. 

Our neighbors appreciated my parents very much. My mum was held in high respect. She had female friends at work, most of them were Russian. Most probably my daddy also had Russian friends.

My parents often met with their relatives. Uncle Yakov, the brother of my mum lived next to us. Most often we associated with the family of my father’s sister – the Khutoretskys: Dorah, her husband and children Maya and Semen. They lived next door. We also visited two of my father’s other sisters: Esther-Slava and Eugenia.

I was born on 16th April 1928. Now it is written in my passport that my name is Ugolev Alexander Efimovich. I changed my name after my son’s birth: I wanted to make his life easier.

I was born in Leningrad, attended all children’s educational establishments: a day nursery, a kindergarten, a zero class [a special class for children’s preparation to school]. 

I never went through the ceremony of bar mitzvah. But they arranged the brit for me. I guess my grandfathers initiated it. You see, my parents were atheists. It seems that among my family members only grandfathers Abram Ugolev and Haim Tsypkin observed Jewish traditions and practiced Judaism. Nobody else did. On the contrary, a lot of my relatives became Communist Party members and atheists. Probably, in the terrible time of revolutionary changes and Stalin’s mass repressions my uncles and aunts followed the law of self-preservation. 

Since my childhood everybody called me Alexander, and Sasha or Sanya as a term of endearment. I found out that my Jewish name was Isaac only when I went to school. At first I didn’tlike its sound and became upset. But my father was a clever man. He showed me a portrait of Isaac Newton and told me how talented this scientist was, and I calmed down. I even took pride in my Jewish name.

All my life I’ve lived in the same house on Kurlyandskaya Street. As a child, I lived with my parents in the apartment no. 9, and now I live in the apartment no. 4, which is smaller. As a child, I lived in a two-room apartment. One room was 19 square meters large, and the other one – 12. Both rooms got all the sun. Two small gardens were located in front of our house. All windows of the apartment faced south. The kitchen was small. For its time that apartment was very good. There was no bathroom though. In the courtyard there was a cesspool and a laundry. The house was heated by stoves; a woodshed was situated near our door. In the house there was a sewerage system and cold water supply; we cooked meals by means of kerosene stoves. The house had an electric power supply. Gas appeared in houses only after the war. The furniture was good, both modern and old. The cupboard was mahogany with statuettes of horses – an antique one. 

There were a lot of books in our apartment: books written by Lenin and Stalin, books devoted to the history of the 19th century, two books of Pushkin’s 6 works and a lot of others. When my father started working in the Office of the Public Prosecutor, there appeared a lot of juridical literature. We subscribed to the ‘Leningradskaya Pravda’ and ‘Smena’ newspapers [official Soviet newspapers]. I was a registered reader of a library. When a pupil of the 5th grade, I was given a souvenir book from the library as the best reader. I was fond of reading popular-science literature, adventures. My mum read almost nothing: she had no time to read; she had to run the house. My grandfathers probably had religious books.

I remember my first voyage by car. My father worked as an editor of the newspaper at the printing house named after Volodarsky. They celebrated the 40th anniversary of service of a type-setter. He started his work as a type-setter at the end of the 19th century. My father gave a report. Then there was a banquet. Children and grandsons of the type-setter sat at a table. I was the youngest among them. They made me sit down near the type-setter. He asked me, what I prefer to eat. At that time I liked fish and meat in aspic. And cakes too. They brought a tray full of cakes. I ate three or four of them. Then I was nauseous and got pain in my stomach. Those cakes were real: made using not margarine but butter. I was taken home by a car, which belonged to the printing house. When I came to my senses, I suffered terribly that the children from our yard and our neighbors had not seen me arriving by car.

At home I remained with our housekeepers. My mum worked all day long. When my mum was alive, Olga Pavlovna from Rostov, our housekeeper, worked for us. She was 75 years old. She was very tall, like a grenadier. I liked Olga Pavlovna very much; I kissed her and called ‘my pretty face’. She was Russian, a wife of a teacher of literature. Later she left and sent me a letter: ‘Good-bye, Sanya! Kissing you, your ‘pretty face’’. 

I went to school at the age of eight, when our family returned from Krasny-Sulin. My father made a long business trip to Krasny-Sulin: he spent about a year there, and his family joined him there. When the lessons were over, our housekeeper gave me meals and I started to do my homework. I tried to do it quickly before five o’clock, because five o’clock in the afternoon was the time to listen to the radio broadcast for schoolchildren. There were no TV sets at that time. To listen to such broadcasts as ‘Theater at the Microphone’ or an opera performance over the radio, people changed their working hours with their coworkers. My favorite broadcasts for schoolchildren were presented by Valery Petrov, Yury Adamov and others. Most often they told us about outstanding revolutionaries. Most of all I liked Alexander Sergeev; his underground nickname was Artem. I liked him so much that I decided to name my future son Artem. And when my son was born, my relatives wanted him to be my father’s name-child. Understanding their determination, I decided to call my next son by the name of my father Efim, but to call my first son Artem. 

If they sent me for a walk to the yard, I didn’t object. In general, I was a very disciplined child. In the first class I received good and excellent marks, and in the second grade - only excellent ones and was awarded an honorary diploma for my achievements in studies. My mum wasn’t afraid to let me go for a walk: she could watch me from the window. Sometimes I obtained her permission to go somewhere with the boys: we played different outdoor games. 

During state holidays I went to look at demonstrations in Leningrad together with my father and mum. Before the war I went to demonstrations with my schoolmates. I liked patriotic songs by the composer Isaac Dunaevsky – they were melodious – and texts by the poet Lebedev-Kumach. 

Before my sister Polina was born, my father left for an out-of-town military camp; he was not in the army before the war with fascist Germany. I have his photo, where he is shown in the uniform of a second lieutenant. 

On 11th April 1938 my mum gave birth to my sister Polina, and died three weeks after delivery because of complications.

When my mum died, Masha Belenkova helped us about the house. We brought her from Belarus. At first she worked as a housekeeper at my father’s sister Esther-Slava. Then we took her away with us to Leningrad, because my sister Polina saw the light of day, and it was difficult for us to look after the baby and keep the house in order without my mum. Masha was Belarusian. Though she finished only seven grades, she knew everything that was necessary. I asked my father a lot of questions regarding my school studies, but my German lessons I checked only with Masha, because she was older than me and an excellent pupil. 

In some months after my mother’s death another woman appeared in our house. She had to take the place of our mother. My stepmother, Galina Baranova, appeared in the following way: We were acquainted with Boris Abramov. He had an unmarried sister of 28 years of age. At that time Boris was a manager at the municipal training center, and my father was his subordinate at the Lenin branch on Ogorodnikova Avenue. So Baranov ‘pushed’ his sister to become my father’s secretary – he told her that my father was a widower. She was an old maid – lived in a room together with her brother – and my father had a self-contained apartment and he was young – 38 years old. 

I tried to have nothing to do with my stepmother. She didn’t want me to call her Galya. And I wouldn’t have the heart to call her Aunt Galya or Galina Petrovna. She appeared in October 1938. And my sister was brought from the maternity hospital only in June 1939; she was a premature baby and physicians took care of her during a long period of time, especially knowing the fact of her mother’s death. Galina Petrovna was Russian. She had finished seven grades. She went in for sports: put the shot and was awarded a diploma for her results in a hurdle race. When she came to us, she left her job. At last she got everything she needed. 

After my sister was brought from the hospital, I was lost in thoughts: how to call my stepmother? I was eleven at that time. Certainly I could call her Aunt Galya or Galina Petrovna. But by that time they brought home my younger sister, a baby who didn’t know yet that her mum had gone and that her daddy had a new wife. I spent a sleepless night and decided that is was necessary ‘to bring myself to perform a deed.’ There appeared a child, who didn’t know who is who; but she had a father and a brother, so she had to have a mother. That’s why from then on I started calling my stepmother ‘Mum.’ I asked no advice and decided it on my own. It means that my parents brought me up well.

Before the beginning of the war I attended School no.10 7, and after the end of the war – School no.277. Now this school is situated on Kurlyandskaya Street, 29. These schools were usual comprehensive ones, not Jewish. During the war it housed a hospital, after the war, for a short period of time, the hostel of the Kirov factory. Later, in this building there was the Technical college no. 9, which belonged to the ‘Metallist’ factory. At present, they are repairing this building and will house a boarding school for disabled children in it. 

Before the war the school was mixed: boys and girls studied together, more than 30 pupils in a class. In elementary school – classes one to four – all subjects were taught by the same teacher. Nina Lorinova was our class teacher – a mathematician and a fine woman. Before the war we all together visited Andrey Kisselev, the author of the textbook on arithmetic and algebra. We visited him for no particular reason: just to get acquainted and have a talk. I liked many school subjects; in general I was an ‘omnivorous’ schoolboy. The teacher was strict, but her lectures were very interesting. I liked the lessons of Russian language, geography – when we left our classroom for the school courtyard with a compass and drew a plan of the district. I even enjoyed the PT lessons. In the first grade our teacher was often sick, and her lessons were replaced by singing lessons. At our school there was a choir and a percussion band. I wanted so much to play the castanets, but they didn’t have enough castanets for all of us – that’s why I played the bells At present I am still very sorry about it: sometimes I’d like to be able to play the castanets.

I never experienced any manifestations of anti-Semitism from our teachers. Our school staff was multinational. The head of the education department, Frida Moiseevna, was Jewish. She taught in senior classes. The director of the school, Petr Sokolov, was Russian. German language was taught by two sisters, russified Germans – their family name was Miller. My classmates never teased me or discussed Jewish topics with me.

After lessons I was engaged in additional physical training sessions at school for all comers. I liked to swarm up a rope and sway to and fro. In the gym hall there were bars and a horizontal bar for high jumps. Right at that time an idea came into my head: to try high jumping turning my back on the bar – some sort of the modern Fosbury-flop. At that time nobody tried it. As a child, I had many ideas, which later were embodied by clever people, and they took prizes for it. 

At school I had neither friends, nor enemies; I treated everybody alike. In my house there lived one Russian friend, Yura Nikiforov, and one Jewish friend, Shura Imatovich. Together with Yura Nikiforov I attended kindergarten and elementary school, but I wasn’t that fond of him: he was very ambitious and arrogant. Most often I visited Vitya Yassinovich and our excellent pupil Igor Uspensky. He was a Jew, he was a more successful pupil than me and his character was closer to me. 

At school I was a [Young] Octobrist 8, then a pioneer [see All-Union pioneer organization] 9. I was a son of a convinced supporter of the Communist Party. Though, to tell the truth, it wasn’t absolutely clear for me, why there were so many poor people and why our life was so hard. But in 1937 we didn’t even think about it: it was dangerous [see Great Terror] 10.

I have a few clear memories about political events in the country before 1941. I asked my parents no questions. I sussed things out for myself, and my opinion was formed from broadcasts and newspapers. I made conclusions myself. Some things seemed strange to me. For example, in 1935 in the USSR there were five marshals. Later only two marshals remained: a metalworker, Klim Voroshylov  11 and a Cossack junior leader, Semen Budenniy [Budenniy, Semen (1883-1973): USSR marshal (1935), Hero of the USSR (3 times: in 1958, 1963, 1968), commander of the 1st Cavalry (1919-1921), Deputy People’s Commissar of Defense department (1939-1941), commander of group of armies (1941-1945), delegate of the USSR Supreme Soviet (1937-1973)]. What happened to the rest of them? But the main public prosecutor Vyshinsky’s speeches for prosecution against ‘spies and traitors’ were so convincing … [Vyshinsky, Andrey (1883-1954): Soviet diplomat and lawyer, Professor of Law and Chief Prosecutor in Stalin’s purge trials (1934-1938), Foreign Minister (1949-1953), Deputy Foreign Minister and permanent delegate to the UN]

Each summer we left for Krichev to see my grandmother and grandfather, or for Komarovka. I remember my first journey by train: we went with my mother to Krichev, to Grandmother and Grandfather. At that time I was four years old. It wasn’t a shock for me. We went in a carriage with numbered reserved seats. We traveled for more than a day. We were eating all the time: chicken, boiled eggs, etc. 

In Krichev I went for a swim in the Sozh River. In Ghelendzhik, where my daddy worked, I swam in the Black Sea. Sometimes I took a bath with sea-water. After a while they pulled out a cork and I watched ‘the sea’ flowing away from a small bath. I fell into raptures over it. 

On birthdays all my relatives gathered, brought gifts, ate tasty meals, talked. We celebrated only state holidays: 1st May, Soviet Army Day 12, etc. We didn’t celebrate Jewish holidays, because my family members and our relatives were atheists.

On 18th October 1938 the Moscow cinema was opened – the first cinema in Leningrad with three halls. In all three halls they showed the film ‘Chapaev’ [a classic from the year 1934, directed by Georgi and Sergei Vasilyev, based on the life of the Soviet military leader Vassiliy Chapaev 13. Up to that time we used to visit ‘Udarnik’ cinema – now it’s called ‘Record’. Zina Yaruk, a friend of mine, a Belarusian, got tickets for us at a low price of 50 kopecks.

I remember an episode from my school life. In our court yard there was a lath fence. Before the war I liked to play ball games in the court yard. I wore trousers, which my stepmother remodeled using trousers of my father. Its texture was very close. People called it ‘devil’s skin.’ My ball rolled under the lath fence. Looking around, to avoid reproof of adults, I started climbing over the lath fence to take the ball. Accidentally my trouser-leg was caught on the lath fence. The result was unexpected: the trouser-leg remained safe, and the lath fence was broken off. 

In 1944 I returned to Leningrad from evacuation. People, who lived in the city during the blockade 14, warmed their houses using material at hand. They used everything: books, furniture, etc. But that lath fence in our court yard remained safe as it was before the war. Only one part of it was broken – by me. Nobody touched it, though it was made of wood and could have been used for heating. 

My sister Polina didn’t attend a kindergarten, because she had ill health from her birth. She attended a seven-year school on Kurlyandskaya Street. Later she finished a secondary school [10 grades]. After that she studied at a commercial college in Krasnodar. At school she studied so-so. She had no special abilities, no schoolmates. Soon after leaving school she got married. Her husband was a senior lieutenant, Ushkov Victor. She gave birth to a daughter, Olga. After the putsch of 1956 15 they lived in Hungary, where her husband served, later in Krasnodar and other places. Polina worked as a sales assistant in different shops. She returned to Leningrad after she divorced her first husband and soon married a man, who was older than she, a captain in retirement named Alexander Alexandrov. Later they also got divorced. Then she married Valery – I don’t remember his surname – and lived at his apartment. She got acquainted with Valery during her figure skating training sessions: he was a brother of her coach. Polina worked as a sales assistant in a shop near the Baltic railway station. She had numerous customers. At that time in the context of serious deficiencies, it was her luck to work in a shop – she was able to get whatever she liked. Later she retired on a pension and didn’t work any more. Polina got ill with an oncological disease. She sank all her savings into a financial pyramid and lost almost all money. The rest she spent for treatment of cancer. Polina underwent chemotherapy, but without success. The treatment was very expensive – all our family helped her to find money. The malignant growth was inoperable, and it developed into a sarcoma. Polina died at home [in 1999] in the presence of her daughter Olga.

News about the beginning of the war reached me in Novgorod, at the relatives of my stepmother Galina. At that time I was 13 years old. In two weeks I went back to Leningrad by train and arrived there in July 1941. At that time my stepmother was recruited for digging entrenchments in the city suburbs. On 8th September 1941 the blockade of Leningrad was started.  

At the beginning of the war my father worked in the Leningrad military district headquarters [(in the prosecutor’s office, which was located in the Peter-and-Paul Fortress]). Later, at the beginning of August he was recalled to the military unit. I saw him off. When my stepmother came back from digging entrenchments, he had already left. My father left for the front in the rank of senior lieutenant. Later he was made captain. When we wrote him letters, we addressed envelopes to division headquarters [prosecutor’s office]. 

A sister of my stepmother, Valya, arrived from Novgorod. She was a student of the Leningrad Chemical and Pharmaceutical College. 

On 1st September our school was closed, several pupils and I studied in an air-raid shelter in the house next door. Someone said that the blockade had already begun. At first we didn’t believe it, but when the authorities reduced the daily rate of foodstuff, we felt it. Ration cards appeared in June. At first the daily rate of bread per capita for children and dependents was 400 grams, later 300 grams, later 250 grams, 200 grams and, at last, 125 grams. It was a small, but heavy piece. It contained a small amount of flour, but mainly cellulose and sawdust. Strangely enough it seemed to me that ration cards existed not too long. 

In February 1942 I lived at Sofia Naimark’s, my mother’s sister’s, on Chaikovskogo Street. One day I came to her and she told me that my stepmother Galina had visited and informed her, that our family would be sent into evacuation. We were evacuated in the middle of February 1942. We moved by divisional lorry, heavily loaded with something, to the front headquarters. The lorry had to return back to Leningrad. At first I decided not to leave for evacuation. By that time they had already increased the daily rate of bread up to 300 grams. It was almost wholesome bread. My stepmother raised objections against my stay in the besieged city. She said that she was responsible for me to my father. We all – me, my stepmother, her sister Valya and my sister Polina – went safely. 

My father sent me a tank man’s helmet. This helmet stood me in good stead: once on a rough road our lorry bobbed us up and I hit my head against a sheet of plywood above my head. A nail projected from it. I wore this helmet. The nail stuck in my helmet, and I wasn’t hurt. We were brought to a village near Kobona on the opposite bank of Ladoga Lake [Road of Life] 16, to back areas of division. In back areas of division there was everything necessary for normal life: hairdressing salons, shoe workshops, photo studio and so forth. We were sent to shoemakers. There we had a rest and were replete with food for several days. My stepmother’s sister Valya cooked boiled rice. Then we packed our things: we had ten packages. My stepmother left my father’s coat in the charge of her brother Boris. Boris was just going to use it to warm himself, but my stepmother Galina didn’t allow him to. She said, ‘This coat belongs to Efim. I leave it to your care. When Efim returns home from the front, he will wear it.’ 

We continued our way to Tatarstan [a Soviet autonomous republic] by train. On the way a lot of passengers died from weakness or ileus [intestinal obstruction] because they pounced on the food. We reached the town of Tutayev in Yaroslavl region. Before the revolution it was called Romanov. There we lived two weeks in a school building, grew fat, visited bath-house, cleaned our clothes and linen in a steam chamber [delousing station]. I was cold and decided not to clean my clothes – went on with lice. One day I caught a louse in creases of my clothes, and investigated it in all its bearings: its organization, the way it bites and moves – all in all, notwithstanding the war and starvation, I kept my thirst for knowledge. At last we reached Agryz – 37 kilometers to the north from Izhevsk, the capital of Udmurtia, in Tatarstan. We were placed into two rooms, in the house of a young woman. There we spent winter and spring. In Agryz there gathered all members of the Baranov family – relatives of my stepmother: Grandfather Petr Mikhailovich and Grandmother Evdokia Vassilyevna, the elder brother of my stepmother, Boris, with his family. 

I carried on a spirited dialogue with my father by correspondence. I finished the fifth grade before the war in Leningrad, I started studying in the sixth grade in the village of Muslimovka in Tatarstan, and later we (the whole Baranov family) moved to Menzelinsk, where I finished the sixth and the seventh  grade. 

Aunt Kapitolina worked in Agryz in a soup-kitchen catering for the party workers, and her husband, Vassiliy Shabokhov, got acquainted with the director of the ‘Sheepman’ state farm in Muslimovka district. They agreed, that he would work in this state farm as a forest warden, and then as a forestry chief. We lived in Muslimovka during 1942 and 1943. Later Shabokhov had a squabble with the state farm director and we had to move to Menzelinsk. We lived there on Konny Square. There I finished the seventh grade. It was a real city: there was a cinema and a cultural center, where evacuated people gathered for rest and for amateur art activities. 

We received news about our relatives. A central information bureau on evacuees was organized in Buguruslan. Several times we wrote to them and received information on many of our relatives.

Grandfather Abram Ugolev and Grandmother Haya-Ghita Ugoleva together with their daughter Esther-Slava were caught by the war at home in Komarovka, in Belarus. They moved their family out of the war zone to Russia, because the Germans could make away with them as Jews. They reached Penza. Grandfather Abram died there in 1941. 

Their daughter Eugenia was an army person; she worked in rear services during the war and was awarded medals. She was married to Nikolay Bryskin, a Navy man. One day after the end of the war we were speaking with him, and I mentioned Yury Gherman, a well-known Soviet writer. Nikolay Bryskin told me, that Yury Gherman had given him a photo as a keepsake. At first I didn’t believe him. Then Nikolay took the photo down from the shelf: Yury Gherman in the uniform of a seaman, wearing a sailor’s cap). It was signed: ‘To my friend Nikolay Bryskin from Yury Gherman – remember me.’ During the war Eugenia was in the army, in a housekeeping unit, I don’t exactly know where. It seems to me, all the war time she worked in a naval housekeeping unit in besieged Leningrad. At that time she already had a son, Leonid. They survived, thanks to the fact that she received an army ration. 

I don’t know where my father’s elder sister Vera was during the war. She also survived. After the war she returned to Leningrad, where she lived and worked in a hostel of the Leningrad College of Railway Transport. Later she left for Karelia, where she died. 

I know nothing about Lev, my father’s elder brother. 

During the war the younger brother of my father, Ghirsha, was in the front-line forces – he was a private, survived and married Mira, a Jewess. She gave birth to their son Mikhail [in 1949]. After the war they moved to Leningrad and settled in our house, in the apartment no.88. They were Communist Party members Ghirsha died in a hospital in Leningrad some time in the 1970s. His son Mikhail also was very unhealthy; he often underwent medical treatment in different sanatoriums. He loved his mother Mira very much. He was married twice. He died young in 1990. Mira outlived both her husband and her son. She kept in touch with me and with one of her daughters-in-law. She wanted to live in an old people’s home and asked me to assist her in this matter, but I refused, because I thought she wouldn’t be fine there. She died at the beginning of the 1990s.

The brother of my late mother, Meir-Yosif, was in the army during the war. Before the war he graduated from the Polytechnic College. In my opinion he was a captain of the engineering and technical department. In wartime he already had one daughter, Lyudmila – same age as my sister Polina –, and after the war his second daughter, Margarita, was born. At present both his daughters live in Germany, as for Meir-Yosif, he  died a long time ago. 

My mum’s other brother, Yakov, died during the siege of Leningrad in 1942. He was an engineer and economist. He had two children. His elder daughter, Galina, was born several years before the war, I don’t remember the date. His son Alexander was born in June 1941, in the first days of the war. Before the war they lived not far from me in Derpt Lane. Their mother was the second wife of my uncle Yakov. Her name was Alexandra Ogneva, after marriage Tsypkina,a Russian. 

My mum’s sister, Sofia Naimark, lived in Leningrad throughout the siege period. Before the war she worked as a bookkeeper. Before the beginning of the war she got married. Her husband was a soldier at the front, in a tank unit. I saw him off to the front. He survived and returned home. He was a long-liver. His sister moved to America a long time ago. After the war she sent parcels to Leningrad, and even visited us and bought a two-room apartment in Leningrad, on Nauka Avenue. It happened at the time when the Soviet authorities permitted to organize building societies [at the end of 1980s] to give people a chance to buy apartments. His sister immigrated to America before the war. Now America is crammed full of Jews.

My cousin Semen was a little older than me when the war broke out. He was born on 28th August 1927. His sister Maya was born in 1932. Their father Yosif [the interviewee’s father’s brother] also was at the front and returned home. Before the war he served at the railway guard forces,Fontanka embankment, 117. During the war he served in railway troops. During the war Dorah, a sister of my father, together with Semen and Maya, stayed presumably in Yoshkar-Ola [capital of Mari Republic]. 

During the war we lost my father. He was killed at the front. It happened near Novgorod, in the village of Koptsy, on 14th January 1944. As always, they also wrote us that he had died ‘a hero’s death.’ Later his company commander wrote us that my father had been the first to go over the top to launch an attack and was shot. 

The brothers of Aunt Dorah’s husband, Ilya and Alexander Khutoretsky, also perished at the front. Ilya was a private, and Alexander probably served as an officer; before the war he finished a college. I know that none of my relatives were taken to forced labor in Germany. 

As soon as the blockade of Leningrad was lifted, we decided to return to Leningrad. It was in 1944. My aunt Sofia Naimark got to know by chance, where we stayed during evacuation and sent us letters. She wrote that she had moved to Izmailovsky Prospekt. She had a room in a large communal apartment 17. A chief mechanic of the Kirov plant also lived in that apartment. He sent us an invitation and we returned to Leningrad, to Izmailovsky Prospekt. It wasn’t difficult to return to Leningrad. 

We had a long way by Kama River, and then by Volga River on board a motor ship. The authorities of the city had no objection to our return, because we were a family of a front-line soldier [Editor’s note: After the end of the war authorities decided to check the status of citizens and did not permit everyone to get back to Leningrad: to return one had to receive an invitation card from someone who lived in the city]. After our return my stepmother went to the housing department of the house where we had lived before the war, and got the keys to our apartment. During the war it was occupied by our house-manager, so our apartment appeared to be well-kept and available. All things were safe, except for the 5th volume of French history and two textbooks of English language. 

One day, as I was walking around the city I saw an advertisement of the Leningrad Military Mechanical Technical School. They offered two very attractive items: occupational deferment and a worker’s food-card [see Card system] 18. I didn’t worry about deferment at that time – I was only 16 years old – and the worker’s food-card, which gave possibility to receive high food norm, could be of great use for me. I quickly submitted my documents to this technical school. My school certificate was full of excellent marks, so I entered it without problems. However, all new students were forced to work on the reconstruction of the city. I was a disciplined and law-abiding person – I didn’t object. Later I got to know that a worker’s food-card was offered not only by this technical school, but practically by each educational institution. So I had a choice, but at that time, when I was 16, I didn’t think about it. When I became a student, I refused to study the German language, and chose English. 

After the war Leningrad seemed to me not that much destroyed. To tell the truth, instead of some houses there were bomb-holes, and the dome of the Troitsky Cathedral [a well-known Orthodox Cathedral] was damaged a little. 

After the war, in 1946 the Khutoretskys – Dorah, her husband Yosif, their children Semen and Maya, who still went to school – moved to our house on Kurlyandskaya Street. They lived next door. I often spent a lot of time there. They gave me food. I went back home only to sleep. I slept on a box in our kitchen, because one room was occupied by my stepmother and sister Polina, and the other one my stepmother hired out. I didn’t consider the situation to be infringing: I understood that it was necessary to have a source of income. During my studies in the technical school I lived at the Khutoretskys’, and then with Sofia Naimark, my mother’s sister. After the war with Germany the national economy collapsed, food was distributed according to special cards. There was shortage of tasty meals and good things. I remember that soon after the war someone came to my aunt Sofia and brought melted butter with honey in a braided lime bark basket. It was very tasty. 

On 18th April 1959 I moved from the apartment no.9 to the apartment no.4, as my stepmother and my sister had changed our apartment for two smaller ones. They moved to Gas Prospekt #52, and I moved to the same house and the same entrance, where I lived earlier, but in the apartment one storey lower. There was a bath-room and not many neighbors; it was good. My neighbors were elderly Russians, a married couple.

Our neighbors – not Jews – considered our return to be natural. My father was one of the first persons, who had settled in this house before the war. Our neighbors thought that our return was a sign that life in our house was all in the day’s work.

When we returned, my stepmother Galina got a job connected with the passport system. Her salary was 250 rubles per month – it was very little for that time. My worker’s food-card helped us. One day the technical school director issued an order docking me of my scholarship. All students of the technical school gathered to look at this order and at me. And the point was that I could receive either pension for my father, lost at the front, or a scholarship. My scholarship was only 25 rubles, and the pension – 170. I chose the pension. But in spite of all my efforts, we had a hard time. One day I went to the black market together with my aunt Esther-Slava Epstein, my father’s sister, to buy a coat for myself. We paid 150 rubles for it and the sum was rather large for us: my mother-in-law had to put money aside for this purpose.

Right after the end of the war I knew nothing about the emigration of Jews to Israel. I heard about it only in the time of Khrushchev’s 19 ‘thaw’ [see Twentieth Party Congress] 20. At that time I got to know that Golda Meir 21 was the Israeli ambassador to the USSR. I could not bring myself to immigrate to Israel: I never could imagine myself in another country.

I already had some experience of living in different cultural surroundings: I lived in Tatarstan from February 1942 till August 1944. Their language, literature, life, culture – everything was different. For me it was unusual and difficult. In the post-war period I thought about politics rarely. However, attacks on Jews went on. For example, I didn’t manage to watch any performance of the Jewish theater, though I wanted to so much. When Mikhoels 22 was killed they closed his theater. 

The Doctor’s Plot 23, which started after Stalin’s death, suggested to me that having killed Mikhoels, the authorities began to repress his family and other Jews. I didn’t believe that the doctors were guilty of the death of the Leader. 

I remember that when I got to know about the illness and death of Stalin I didn’t believe it at first, and later I was surprised that the medical certificate about his death was signed not by the Minister of Public Health Services, but by a doctor in charge of the case, a candidate of medical sciences [see Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees] 24. I wanted to go to Moscow to attend Stalin’s funeral, but they didn’t let me go. And it was good: if I had gone there, I could have been hurt in the crush. 

I took neither the Hungarian [1956 Revolution], nor the Czech events of 1968 [Prague Spring] 25 very much to heart. During the Czech events a jazz band from the Czech Republic performed on tour here and I thought that if the Czech orchestra came here to play, it meant that in Czechoslovakia everything was fine. 

I took a grave view of the rupture of diplomatic relations between the USSR and Israel. Neither the Torah, nor the Bible tells about the Arabs, but Jews and their State are mentioned there. I didn’t like that our country supported Egypt and Palestine in their struggle against Jews. When Nikita Khrushchev went to Egypt in order to decorate Gamal Abdel Nasser and his minister with Soviet government awards, I was shocked. When Israel managed to gain victories, I obtained satisfaction. 

After the end of the International Youth Festival in Moscow in 1957 [biennial International Youth Festivals took place in different countries and included a great number of cultural, social and political events] I took a great interest in professional dancing. Up to then I played volleyball – since 1949. At that time I worked at the central design office no. 34, in the new office building on Borovaya Street. When our office was moved to ‘Arsenal’ enterprise, I played volleyball for ‘Arsenal’ championship; I was a skilled volleyball player. 

One day I was going home from a training session and saw a large board with the following advertisement: ‘Ball-room dancing parties.’ There they studied to dance foxtrot and tango, and during the campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’ 26, before 1957, these dances were forbidden as immoral and alien to the Soviet people. Young people had an opportunity to meet only at dancing classical dances. In the Palace of culture named after Gorky dancing parties went the following way: a Viennese waltz, a figured waltz, waltz galop, polonaise and mazurka, and in the end – final waltz. There were five or six polka dances. We didn’t study Jewish dances. In the Vyborg palace of culture, Vladimir Shuvalin, a soloist of Alexandrov’s ensemble performed a tailor’s dance, which included elements of Jewish dances. 

After finishing the technical school, I worked in the central design office no. 34 for Navy armament named after Ilya Ivanov, as a designer. Later I worked in the central design office no. 7 at ‘Arsenal’ enterprise, and later yet, as a designer at the factory named after Kalinin. And after that at the ‘Metallist’ factory. From there I moved to the Engineering Castle to Ghipro-Energo-Prom – a State Institute for design of electro-technical enterprises. 

There were no obvious conflicts at my work or during my study because of my Jewish origins. But sometimes strange things happened, for example: I failed to enter the Military Mechanical College. They told me that I got a poor mark in the literature exam. It happened in 1952, when I worked at ‘Metallist.’ Later I passed the examinations and entered the Northwest Forestry College. I finished the first course, but didn’t continue my studies there. 

I had friends. It was of no importance for me whether they were Jews or not, but I was interested if they were Jewish or not. My first wife was Jewish. We were introduced to each other by Mira Israilevna, a friend of my aunt Dorah, elder sister of my father. Her name was Inna Moisseevna Graevskaya. She still lives in Leningrad. She is one month and 13 days older than me. I got acquainted with her in 1950. But our marriage failed. She wanted to have a child very much, me too. But she lived with her mother, who was very sick. I also lived in bad conditions: in the same room with my sister and stepmother. At that time young mothers were permitted to take maternity leave two months before and two months after childbirth. And then it was necessary to start working. What to do with a two-month-old child? Certainly, it was possible to stay at home and look after the child, but lose the job. Inna even could work at home, giving private lessons, but for this purpose it was necessary to have a separate apartment, and her apartment on Ghatchinskaya Street was not. I visited her only twice during a period of several years; I even do not remember her apartment. When she visited me, we could stay in my room together for a short period of time. So finally we decided to give up the idea of marriage. 

At present she lives at another address, behind the Polytechnical College. At that time when a man appeared near her, Mira Israilevna reported it to me. And I went to see Inna again: so, I behaved as a dog in the manger: if I can’t have her, nobody will. Until now I can find no excuse for my behavior. Now she has neither a husband, nor children. We get in touch as friends, but not often: we congratulate each other on the occasion of birthdays, call each other, and borrow money from each other during hard times. I visited her at the Conservatoire. She worked as a concertmaster in an opera studio at the Conservatoire. 

In 1981, at the beginning of April, the ‘Metallist’ administration gave me two tickets for a paid trip to a rest home in Komarovo [suburb of Leningrad]. There I got acquainted with my present wife, Elena Petrovna Shikalova. She was born in the city of Glazov on 25th May 1954. She is Russian. Her father’s name is Peter Shikalov, born in 1924. Her mother Inna, born in 1926, is a teacher. At present they are pensioners. Peter worked at Chepetsk Mechanical factory, where 80 percent of Soviet uranium was smelted. His health is poor now. He lives in the family of his younger son [in his apartment]. 

Elena has three brothers, all of them are older than her, and all of them live in Glazov. The oldest brother Mikhail graduated from art school. He has a son, Denis. At present he lives in Germany with his family. The second brother Sergey graduated from Perm Medical College. There he got acquainted with his wife. They have two children: Maria and a younger son. 

I got acquainted with Elena during my annual leave. For the first time in my life I managed to arrive in the sanatorium in time. Usually I came to have a rest in the afternoon and had second shift dinner. And that day I arrived early. I asked employees of the sanatorium, ‘Girls, what can you offer to a young handsome man of average fatness in the prime of life? I do not drink alcohol, I do not smoke, do not romance…’ I tried to publicize myself. They asked me, ‘Do you mind if we place you on the second floor, where mainly women live?  I answered, ‘Sure, I do not mind! I promise to behave properly! If I depart from my word, you can kick me out immediately!’

I lodged in a large room. To tell the truth, the room was slightly damp. Later I went downstairs and saw a man who was about 35 years old. We got acquainted, I told him about myself, and he told me about himself: he came from Petrozavodsk, visited Leningrad and arrived here to have a rest in the sanatorium. We made friends, went for a walk, talked a lot. Unintentionally I mentioned that soon I had my birthday. On that day – 16th of April – my friend arranged an unforgettable festival for me: he gave me a bottle of my favorite wine as a gift, ordered fried fish, smoked fish, etc. and treated me to it. 

Next morning I went out of my room to take a shower. I soaped myself and heard a woman’s voice: ‘Why are you washing yourself in the women’s shower-room?’ I asked, ‘And why do you think that it is the women’s?’ She answered, ‘Because only women live on this floor!’ I said, ‘Not only women, I also live here!’ She replied, ‘You are lodging on the women’s floor illegally!’ I was surprised: ‘Where did this legalist come from?’ She answered, ‘From Glazov, do you know it?’ I said, ‘I know everything: it is situated on the way to Perm and Sverdlovsk through Cherepovets, one day journey from Leningrad.’ She said, ‘You know everything indeed; I already noticed that.’ You know, several days before I had won two quiz-games in that sanatorium. 

Later I got to know that her name was Elena. We found plenty to talk about. After dinner I invited her to play badminton. It was Sunday and the rental store of sports equipment was closed. Elena got upset, but I had brought two rackets with me from Leningrad and she was delighted. Elena is 25 years younger than me. I showed her magazines with photos of well known dancing couples: elegant men and beautiful women in evening dresses with décolleté and a cutout back. Elena considered these photos to be nearly pornographic. She stayed in the sanatorium for a long time, and I came there to see her on my days off. We had a stormy romance. I used to spend nights in her room. She told me about herself: in Glazov she worked as a teacher at a kindergarten. She graduated from a Pedagogical School in Glazov and Perm Pedagogical College by correspondence. Elena is an extra-class teacher. At present she teaches one very sick child. She took a fancy to him and doesn’t want to change this work for a better-paid one. 

That summer I took her to Leningrad to my room – 12 square meters. I told her about my work, my wages. At that time her salary was higher than mine. And that was the moment when I made a stupid action. We’d better have handed in an application to a civil registry office and they would have given us two months to think everything over. During that period of time I would have got acquainted with her parents, they would have felt at peace with themselves, they would have accepted me in their house. But we were in love with each other. Elena didn’t want to wait; she told her parents that she was going to leave for Leningrad to live with me. She left her job, her apartment in Glazov and arrived in Leningrad. It turned out, that we did everything to complicate our life. They didn’t want to register Elena for a long time, therefore she couldn’t find work: she did temp work, unofficially. For a very small salary she went to nurse a child out of the city – she had to spend four hours to get there – her working day lasted ten hours. 

On 19th February  1983 we got married. It was a historic day not only for us, but also for the country: the day of abolition of serfdom[it happened on the 19th of February 1861] in Russia. But in contrast to peasants who celebrated their freedom, we celebrated our interdependence.

In 1984 our son Artem was born. By now he has already finished school and entered the St. Petersburg University, the Geographical Faculty: he is a second-year student. He is very sociable and curious. He has no family of his own yet. I tried to tell Artem about Jewry. But he and my wife don’t like to listen to my stories. I told my son that he is half Jewish very early, but he hasn’t become interested in it yet. 

After the end of the war I didn’t celebrate Jewish holidays. It seems to me that the synagogue was closed for a long period of time. Now I visit the synagogue on Jewish holidays from time to time. For some time I even had meals in a Jewish soup-kitchen. My wife doesn’t want to accompany me for Jewish holidays, meetings, concerts, but I go sometimes. My wife and my son celebrate New Year’s Day as a state holiday and Russian Easter, because my wife is Russian. 

From Jewish tradition and culture our family chose only the book ‘120 Recipes of Jewish Cuisine’. Jewish cuisine was highly respected by Inga Fedotovna, my mother-in-law, now deceased. She cooked mezenos [sweet pastry], tsimes, forshmak. 

I have few friends now, some of them are Jews. The proportion of Jews among my friends approximately equals the proportion of Jews in the population of St. Petersburg. 

When Mikhail Ugolev, a son of uncle Ghirsha was alive, he visited us. After Mikhail left for the army, his wife often came to see us. She missed her husband very much and I tried to distract her someway. Her relatives complained about her spending time with me, and after the end of the war, when her husband returned home, they divorced. 

At present Semen and Nina Khutoretsky – his wife – live in the same house with us. Sometimes we visit each other on business or for no particular reason; we help each other if we can. 

I’ve never been to Israel. I have no relatives there, except Irina Epstein, the elder daughter of Lev Epstein, my cousin. He is a son of Esther-Slava Ugoleva, Epstein after marriage, my father’s sister. He has two children born in his first marriage: Irina and Mikhail, and a son born in his second marriage, Ilya. I remember Irina as a little girl, but now we are not in touch. Lev, her father, informs me about the way she lives. I didn’t find any special opportunity to visit Israel until 1989, and I didn’t search for it because of my laziness. Though I guess it could have been an interesting trip. 

The state authorities didn’t really disturb me because of my Jewish origins. It can be explained by the fact that I didn’t make a show of my Jewish origin. I knew that the authorities didn’t like Jews, therefore I tried to hide myself: I even changed my name and my patronymic in my birth-certificate and in the passport. Earlier I was registered as Ugolev Isaac Haimovich, and now I am Ugolev Alexander Efimovich. I did it for the sake of my son. I wanted him to have the patronymic Alexandrovich, not Isaacovich. This will make his life easier. 

Before Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev 27 came to power I couldn’t keep in touch with my relatives abroad 28. It was dangerous: authorities supervised all contacts of the citizens with foreigners and didn’t approve it. At present Eugenia Ugoleva, after marriage Bryskina, my aunt and my father’s sister, her son Leonid Bryskin, his wife Lyudmila and their children Daniil and Eugeny live in the USA. They left in 1992. They live in the city of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Sometimes we call each other, I wrote to Aunt Eugenia twice. It would be better to communicate more often, you see, she is already 90 years old, and Leonid is not young either. 

Before Perestroika 29, Lyudmila – (daughter of Sofia and Oscar Naimark – left for the USA. But we are not in touch. I know that in the period of Perestroika she visited St. Petersburg. 

After 1989 life in Russia changed a lot. Capitalism came to our country. It isn’t easy for people of my age to accept such global changes in our social order. I considered Gorbachev’s Perestroika to be great nonsense. If Shatalin, G.A. Yavlinsky and other scientists-economists offered the ‘500 Days’ program [this program was created to improve the economic situation in Russia in 500 days], it is necessary to use it and carry out reforms. What is the purpose to philosophize and search for historical basis for changes in the USSR, if there is a specific program of gradual, step-by-step economic and political transformations? Why not supervise the process of reforms day by day according to this program? You see, if you sit on your place and reflect, manna would not fall down from heaven, and it was necessary to pay debts to the world community. During Perestroika there was no planning and no order, even some sort of communists’ order. 

When I got to know about the fall of the Berlin wall, I couldn’t conceive of this fact. I used to think that Western Berlin is our opponent and Eastern Berlin is our ally. I thought, that life in the Eastern part of Berlin was better, than in the Western part, but it turned out to be absolutely on the contrary. 

After Perestroika nothing much changed in my life. My personal economic stability is expressed in the fact that I live as poorly as before. To tell the truth, our cultural life became richer. It became possible to speak about politics, to express your own views, but within reasonable limits. I had a sensation of the decline in anti-Semitic policy. 

Now I go to the synagogue sometimes, I am a client of Hesed 30. I didn’t receive any assistance from foreign Jewish organizations. Sure I’d like to receive it: it isn’t easy to make ends meet. But I’m not depressed.

I feel community life to be very active. I’m pleased that we have a lot of Jewish organizations. If I were a wealthy man, I would like to join the Jewish donor’s circle. At the Synagogue and Hesed Center I receive souvenirs and food packages for each Jewish holiday, I attend concerts, I’m a registered reader of the Hesed library. 

I’m very grateful to Jewish organizations, which help me live, send food packages for holidays, arrange concerts. I thank JDC [Joint] 31, Hesed Center and Mirilashvili [a Georgian Jew – a businessman and a sponsor] personally for their charitable activities. 

Glossary:

1 Russian Revolution of 1917: Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during World War I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

Yelizaveta Zatkovetskaya
Kherson
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: September 2003

Yelizaveta Zatkovetskaya lives in one half of a private house built in the 1950s in a sunny street in the suburb of Kherson. She opens the gate for me and I see a nice old woman with young eyes wearing a kerchief, a modest dark blue dress. We enter the house: nice clean rooms with the 1960-70s furniture and a kitchen on the verandah. We make ourselves comfortable for our conversation on the verandah. There are onions, garlic and pepper drying on the walls. The hostess grows them in her little garden near the house. There are also jars with freshly made jam and pickled cucumbers, tomatoes and paprika that she preserves for the whole family. There are hens and a turkey cock walking in the garden, and every now and then there is a friendly little dog running around the yard. Her neighbor drops by to borrow some salt and her son Alexandr comes to see his mother few times a day. On this lovely sunny day this old woman’s house is warm and cozy: the hostess seems to emanate this warmth, and it makes one feel like staying longer in her home.

My parents’ families come from German colonies south of Russia where in the Azov region, in Kherson steppes [present southeastern Ukraine, about 500 km from Kiev] during the rule of Catherine the Great [1] settlements of the minorities, so-called colonies were established on rich fertile lands. In the middle of the 18th century the tsarist government of Russia sent Polish, Greek and German minority groups to populate the areas that previously belonged to the Cossacks [2], who were actually exterminated. Later, in the middle of the 19th century, they deported Jews to this area. They took to farming. I didn’t know my maternal grandparents. They died before I was born. I became an orphan when I was just a baby. My mother, dying from puerperal fever asked to name me after her mother, my grandmother. Therefore, all I know about my grandmother is that her name was Yelizaveta like mine, and that she and my grandfather died during an epidemic in the 1910s. I don’t know my grandfather’s name or what he did for a living. I think that he dealt in farming, like the majority of colonists in the Jewish colony of Ingulets [450 km southeast of Kiev], in Yekaterinoslav [present Dnepropetrovsk] region. [Editor’s note: Ingulets, a big Jewish colony; its population in early 1900 2700 residents and 2600 of them were Jews. There were two synagogues and a Jewish elementary school. Now it’s a small industrial town. After WWII there were hardly any Jews left in the town]. My mother’s brother Zalman Miller, about 10 years older than my mother, lived in Ingulets. Zalman was married twice. His first wife Tsylia died leaving him with four children. He didn’t have children with his second wife, and they were raising those four children. During the Great Patriotic War [3] Zalman and his family were in evacuation somewhere in Siberia. He and then his wife Lubov died shortly after they returned from the evacuation. Zalman’s older son Moishe, born in about 1912, finished a college and lived in Dnepropetrovsk [450 km from Kiev]. His wife’s name was Rosa and their son’s name was Rudolf. During the Great Patriotic War they evacuated to Siberia, Novosibirsk town [about 6000 km from Moscow] and stayed there after the war. Moishe died in the middle 1960s. This is all information I have about his family. Zalman’s second son Israel, born in 1915, perished at the front at the very beginning of the war. Zalman’s daughters Yelizaveta, born in 1913, and Riva, born in 1919, had education. Yelizaveta became a zootechnician and Riva finished a teachers’ college. Yelizaveta married a Ukrainian name, and the family kept it a secret from Zalman for a long time. She and her husband went to work in Yama, a miners’ town in Stalinsk [present Donetsk region in about 700 km from Kiev]. Yelizaveta named her daughter Tsylia after her mother. Yelizaveta and her husband passed away a long time ago, and Tsylia lives in Yama. Riva married Yan Usviatov, a Jewish man. They settled down in Krivoy Rog [about 400 km east of Kiev], where she lives now. She has a son and a daughter. As for my mother’s brother Benyum Miller, a lame man, I saw him few times. He was single and died long before the Great Patriotic War.

My mother Mirl Miller was born in Ingulets in 1898. I don’t know anything about her childhood. She got a Jewish education at home, finished two or three forms of a Jewish elementary school and could write and read in the Jewish language. Before she got married she was helping her father with farming and about the house. From what my uncle Zalman says, my grandmother and grandfather were very religious. They observed all Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays. I don’t know how my mother met my father. Probably they met through matchmakers that was customary with Jewish families. She got married in early 1916.

My father’s parents lived in Sagaydak, a Jewish colony in Nikolaev region. It was a small colony: there were 2 or 3 streets in the settlement. (Editor’s note: according to the census of 1897, the population of Sagaydak constituted 770 residents and 760 were Jews). The Jews dealt in farming in the colony. It was a green town and there were gardens and vegetable gardens near each house. Villagers lived in plain clay houses with ground floors and thatched roofs. My grandfather and grandmother Etah were born in Sagaydak some time in the 1860s. My grandfather was a farmer and my grandmother was a housewife taking care of the house, the garden and raising seven children. They got Jewish education and were raised in accordance with Jewish traditions, but when they grew up and left their parents’ home moving into bigger towns, they lost their religiosity. However, they had Jewish spouses, but their families did not observe any traditions.

Feiga, the oldest of the children was born about 1885. Feiga’s husband Abram Lubashevskiy perished during a pogrom [4] during the civil war [5] leaving Feiga with three children: sons Mosia and Semyon and daughter Olga. During the great Patriotic War Feiga’s sons were at the front, and Feiga and her daughter were somewhere in the Ural in evacuation. Feiga lived a long life. After returning from the evacuation Feiga lived with her younger son Semyon in Odessa [6]. She died in 1980. Semyon and his family live in Germany now. Mosia became an invalid at the war and died shortly after the war. Olga, whose family name was Zeldina, finished a college and moved to Zhdanov (present Mariupol in the east of Ukraine, 670 km from Kiev). She died in the middle 1990s.

My father’s second brother Motia , born about 1888, lived and worked in Kirovograd [about 260 km from Kiev]. I don’t remember his wife’s name, but his children Yura and Asia and I were friends, when we were children. During the Great Patriotic War they were in the evacuation. Motia and his wife died in 1946, shortly after they returned from the evacuation. Yuriy became an engineer. He lives with his family in Dnepropetrovsk. Asia and her children moved to Israel in the middle 1990s. I have no contacts with her.

My father was the next child in the family and then came his brother Berl, born in 1892. Berl married his friend’s widow whose husband perished during a pogrom in the middle 1920х. She had a child, but Berl didn’t have children with her. In the early 1930s he and his family moved to Krivoy Rog to work in a mine. They lived there until the great Patriotic War. During the war he evacuated with his mine and after the war he moved to Kirovograd. He died in the middle 1970s.

My father’s youngest brother Duvid lived in Dnepropetrovsk. I don’t remember about his education. He worked as assistant accountant. His wife Olga came from Sagaydak. Duvid perished at the front during the Great Patriotic war. I lost contact with his wife and two children afterward. I know that they moved to USA in the early 1970s.

My father’s sister Manya. Born in 1898, was an elementary school teacher. Her husband Abram Schwartzman was a musician. Before the revolution he played at weddings with his orchestra and after the revolution he worked at the philharmonic. They lived in Kirovograd. Manya and Abram had one daughter whose name was Clara. She finished a Medical College after the war. She lives in Odessa now. Manya and Abram died during the evacuation.

My father’s youngest sister Yelizaveta, born in 1902, didn’t get a higher education. She married Yontl Paikin, a Jewish man from the Jewish colony of Romanovka. She and her husband worked in a Jewish kolkhoz [7]. During the Great Patriotic War Yelizaveta, her husband and their son Mikhail were in the evacuation, and stayed in the Ural after the war. Yelizaveta died in the middle 1980s. Mikhail lives in Israel now.

My father Haim Zatkovetskiy was born in 1889, I don’t know the exact date of his birth. My father got an elementary Jewish education. He studied in cheder till the age of 13 and then he followed into grandfather Benyum steps taking to farming. This is all I know about his childhood. I know that shortly after he married my mother, and they had a traditional wedding under a chuppah at the synagogue, my father was recruited to the army during WWI. My mother was pregnant with me. I was born on the 2nd day of Chanukkah in December 1916. My mother had mastitis that resulted in blood poisoning. She died in winter 1917 when I was one and a half months old. My grandmother Etah was looking after my mother, when she was ill. When my mother was dying, she took grandmother Etah’s hand and asked her to name me Yelizaveta after her mother. Besides, my mother made grandmother Etah promise that she would never allow me to be raised by a stepmother. My mother said that my father would get married. He was young and handsome, she said, and asked my grandmother to raise me in her house. Grandmother Etah became my mother from then on, and I called her ‘Mama’ till the last days of her life.

My grandmother’s neighbor Sarrah Nikitina, who also had a baby, gave my grandmother her breast milk once a day and I also had cow milk. About 1919 my father returned from the war. He came to live with us. He loved me dearly and my first memories are associated with him. He spent all his leisure time after working hard as He played with me, carried me around and made plain toys for me: straw and cloth dolls. The first years of my childhood passed in the atmosphere of love and care. Everybody loved me: grandmother Etah, who gave me the most delicious food, though the family was poor, grandfather Benyum, who always told me interesting stories about Jews before bedtime, and my father’s sisters and brothers. Uncle Motl, who was young away from him hiding under the table and he caught me, held me in his hands and kissed. When I was asleep by the time he returned from his outings, he en over grandmother (I slept with my grandmother) to kiss me. My aunts Manya and Yelizaveta always argued about whose turn it was to bathe me and comb my hair. They loved me so dearly that they enjoyed taking care of me. My father’s younger sister Yelizaveta loved me the most. During pogroms, when gangs broke into Sagaydak, Yelizaveta grabbed me telling them I was her daughter. Bandits used to rape young girls, but they didn’t touch those who were married and had children. Pogroms stayed in my memory as one of my first childhood memories. I remember that my father’s brother Duvid was ill, when a pogrom began, and my father took him to the attic fearing that bandits might kill him. Then my father grabbed me and ran into a field where we were hiding in high sunflower plants. I remember that I was thirsty, and he went to pick a watermelon in the adjoining field and there bandits captured him. My father begged them to allow him take me from the field or I would get lost in the field of sunflowers that were 3 times higher than me. They ordered him to take off his boots, and made him run across the fields holding me to the village. At home bandits turned our wardrobes upside down looking for good clothes, but we were poor and there was nothing to take. My father often hid me and other children in a haystack during pogroms and at times we spent few days there. My father brought us water and food and ordered to be quiet. I remember some military staying in our house. They made my grandfather unharness horses, water and feed their horses and told grandmother to bake bread for them. I have this vivid picture before: my grandmother Etah kneading dough in a big kneading trough with her sleeves rolled up, and tears falling from her eyes into the trough.

Those were horrifying years. When pogroms were over, another disaster began: famine in the early 1920s. Aunt Yelizaveta and uncle Boris gathered everything there was in the house including a Zinger sewing machine and went to sell them or change for food in a town in the north of Ukraine or in Russia. I was almost 5 years old, and I remember well the feeling of hunger. Our neighbor, my wet nurse, whose family was a little better off than ours, brought us potato peels, and my grandmother made Saturday challah bread with them. Our family was very religious, and celebrated Sabbath even in those hard years. My grandfather, father and his brothers went to the synagogue on Friday. There was a big beautiful two-storied synagogue from red bricks in the town. When they returned, the family sat down to dinner. There was challah bread, salt in a salt-cellar covered with a clean napkin and at least some wine on the table. My grandmother lit candles, and my grandfather said a prayer. Then he took a piece of challah, dipped it into salt, and the meal began. In those hungry years there was nothing, but challah baked from potato peels on the table. I remember celebration of Sabbath after the famine was over and life improved. The family was big: Feiga and her children also lived with my grandparents after Feiga’s husband was killed during a pogrom. There were 13 of us sitting at the table. All adults worked in the field. On Friday Feiga stayed at home to help grandmother prepare for Sabbath. My grandmother cooked in the Russian oven [8], and needed help with handling heavy casseroles and frying pans. My grandmother and Feiga always covered their heads: with either a plain kerchief on weekdays or a lace shawl on holidays. Men also covered their heads and always had a kippah on sitting at the table. They followed kashrut, and grandfather even forbade his sons to smoke inside.

I remember preparations to Jewish holidays. Before Pesach kosher crockery was taken down from the attic. As a rule, there was more needed and grandmother koshered everyday utensils in a big trough. The walls were whitewashed and the floors clayed and painted on edges to imitate carpeting. All children had new clothes made for them before Pesach. I remember dresses made for Yelizaveta and Manya from gray sack cloth with colorful edging, and grandmother made a dress from the remaining pieces for me. My grandfather usually conducted seder reclining at the head of the table: with his big beard, tallit and fancy kippah, posing questions and one of the older boys answering them. I also liked Sukkoth, when the family had meals in the sukkah near the house installed by grandfather and his sons. Chanukkah was my favorite holiday since it was my birthday. On Chanukkah every day another candle was lit in a special chanukkiyah candle stand. My grandmother made delicious dough nuts and potato pancakes. The children were given some money. The family bought another dress for me and there was a birthday cake made.

When I turned 6, my father remarried. His wife Esther came from Bobrinets, a Jewish town in Kirovograd region. She didn’t have children, and my father wanted to take me with him moving to her town, but my grandmother didn’t let me go: she promised my mother that she would not let me grow up with a stepmother. She promised my father that I would visit them. Once every few months my aunts Manya or Yelizaveta took me to Bobrinets. I didn’t like it there: my stepmother, who actually wasn’t a wicked woman, was cold with me. She wasn’t bad, but probably having no children of her own, she didn’t have any motherly feelings. My father loved me dearly and missed me a lot. Therefore, one or two years later he insisted that they sold their house in Bobrinets to buy one in Sagaydak. My father bought a small house across the street from where my grandmother lived. From then on I sort of lived with my father, though I spent all of my time with my grandmother. My father bathed me and washed my hair. I remember that once he decided to rinse my hair with kerosene solution. Some women advised him that it made the hair grow better. He did something wrong and burned my skin. He almost cried from annoyance applying some herbs on my head. He combed my hair plaiting in ribbons and putting fancy combs into my hair. My stepmother only cooked food and set the table for me. I was used to loving care in my grandmother’s house and I often ran into the field crying. Once my aunts Manya and Yelizaveta found me there. They insisted that I told them the reason, but I never confessed that it was because of my stepmother. I felt sorry for my father.

There was a 4-year Jewish school in Sagaydak. I studied very well. I even remember that I helped my cousin brothers and sisters with their studies. On winter evenings we all sat by the stove nibbling seeds and read books. I only went home to sleep, but often stayed in my grandmother’s home overnight. My teachers thought I was the best in my class recommending my father that I continued my education. After finishing the 4th form in my school in 1928 a group of my classmates and I went to Israilevka, a Jewish colony [editor’s note: in the late 1940s this village was either renamed or became a part of the nearest town; it didn’t seem possible to identify its present status] near Sagaydak, to continue our education. Israilevka was bigger than Sagaydak. There were twice as many residents and there was a 7-year Jewish school in the village. We, children from Sagaydak, were accommodated in an abandoned house that formerly belonged to a Jewish family declared to be kulaks [9] and exiled to Siberia. Fortunately, residents of Sagaydak didn’t suffer from this dispossessment, so poor they were. Boys accommodated in one room and girls – in another. I studied in Israilevka for a year. When my uncle Zalman got to know that I lived in a hostel, he came to pick me up and take to his house in Ingulets colony, my mother’s home town.

My life in Zalman’s house was very good. His wife Lubov treated his children like her own, and I was like their third daughter. I even envied my brothers and sisters for having never enjoyed so much warmth from my stepmother. My brothers Moishe and Israel had left their parents’ home by then. I became lifelong friends with my sisters Yelizaveta and Riva. Uncle Zalman was a grain procurer. He traveled on business a lot and the family always looked forward to his return. Zalman wasn’t a truly believing Jew. He had to work on Saturday. However, they celebrated holidays, symbolically, though: Pesach, Rosh Hashanah and Chanukkah. I studied in the 6th and 7th forms in Ingulets. I studied well and was a pioneer and an activist. I was usually responsible for helping pupils who were not so good with their studies. I liked it and decided to become a teacher.

In 1932 I finished this 7-year school. Two of my friends also wanted to become teachers and convinced me to go to the Pedagogical College in Kiev. Uncle Zalman tried to talk me out of traveling so far, but I was eager to see a big town, live and study in it. Besides, I had never seen a train before. Everything seemed interesting to me, and I was not afraid of anything. In Kiev we accommodated with a distant relative of one of the girls. Her husband was a Party official, and they lived in a big apartment in the center of the city. There were rabfak schools [10] in colleges – faculties preparing workers for colleges. The girls and I submitted our documents to this school. There were interviews and exams, and I was the only one of the three of us who was admitted. The girls left home ad I stayed in Kiev. I became a student of the Jewish Faculty of Kiev Pedagogical College. This faculty trained teachers of the Jewish literature and language for Jewish schools. There were many Jewish schools in Ukraine at that time. We studied in Yiddish. I lived in a hostel. There were huge rooms. There were 16 tenants in my room. We got along well and had a lot of fun together. Then the period of famine [11] began. Our stipends of 24 rubles were only enough to buy tea and sugar plums. So we had sugarplums with boiled water. In the college canteen we got thin soup with a bit of cabbage or beetroots. Many girls quit their studies. There were military schools in Kiev where cadets received rationed food. The girls were eager to meet cadets and many of them got married and quit the college. Some left home. Once I missed two days of classes looking for some work to do for money in Kiev. The dean asked me why I missed my classes. He started telling me that I should continue my studies in college for whatever it cost me, that I was a born teacher and had to study regardless any problems. I wasn’t going to quit the college. I even wrote my father that everything was fine and that we had good stipends. He wrote back that he was happy for me. In summer 1934 I visited my father, and he proudly walked with me around the town brabbing of my successes. My stepmother also gave me a warm reception. She even wanted to give me her suit since I hardly had any clothes, but I refused understanding that my stepmother wouldn’t manage to make another outfit for herself. I only took a skirt and later my co-tenants borrowed it from me to wear to a date or to the theater.

I also became a Komsomol member [12], when I was the first-year student and took an active part in public activities. Again I was responsible for helping other students with their studies. We were to study four years, but there was a need in teachers, and they reduced our course to three years. After the second year of studies this Jewish Faculty moved to Odessa to be farther from the capital. We didn’t understand then that it was a beginning of a slow attack on the Jewish culture and education. I lived in a hostel in Odessa. We celebrated all Soviet holidays, went to parades and festivals, but I also remembered the Jewish traditions. Being a Komsomol member, I couldn’t openly celebrate holidays or go to the synagogue, but I tried to observe traditions quietly. I tried to do no hard work on Saturday and fasted on Yom Kippur without mentioning it to anyone. Of course, following the kashrut was out of the question since we were always hungry and ate whatever we could get.

In the late 1920s – early 1930s new Jewish settlements were established in the south of Ukraine with the help of AgroJoint [13]. Some villages had names and some – Numbers: 16th, 17th, 23rd sites. AgroJoint helped poor Jews with moving to new locations and built houses and schools for them. There was also a need in Jewish teachers, and I received a job assignment [14] to a 7-year school in the 17th site in Kherson region. I am sure that this village is no longer there. It probably became a part of the nearest town. I rented an apartment from the logistic manager of school. Her family treated me like their own daughter. I made friends with doctor assistant Fira who came there from Gaisin Vinnitsa region after finishing a medical school. She worked in the laboratory where we received two rooms where Fira, sanitary assistant Nina, Russian, and I were accommodated. We got along well and had lots of fun. We made a communal budget putting our salaries together spending it for food. We also shared clothes, and my stepmother’s skirt became a popular outfit for my friends. The 17th site was a small settlement with a railroad station. There were trains to and from Kherson stopping there. Local young people used to walk along the platform at the station. There was a custom to dress up and go there at the time when a train arrived, walk along the platform nibbling sunflower seeds making comments about boys. Fira dated a zootechnician from the farm. Once we invited him to our home. That evening we made macaroni for dinner and the moment we served the table there was a knock on the door. We put our dinner under the table, just in case, having no intention to share our dinner with anybody and opened the door. There was Fira’s friend and an interesting young man with him. It was his friend, senior zootechnician. Fira’s friend wanted us to meet. They stayed for quite a while, and we were only concerned that one of them didn’t turn our dinner upside down. When the guys left we burst into laughter, but I didn’t really feel like laughing. I liked the guy very much. We began to see each other and few months later he proposed to me. I wrote my father (my grandmother Etah and grandfather Benyum had passed away by then) that I was planning to get married, described my fiancé and he gave me his blessing. Then my father and uncle Zalman visited us to meet my husband to be. In late 1936 we got married. We just had a civil ceremony in a registry office. Traditional Jewish weddings were not practiced at that time. We were both Komsomol members and might be expelled from Komsomol or even fired from work. Besides, there was no synagogue in our village.

My husband Peretz Freidkin was born in 1910 in Kalinindorf, a Jewish colony in Kherson region. His parents Zalman Berl and Rasia Freidkins also dealt in farming. Besides, my father-in-law was a shoemaker and it made his additional earnings. My husband’s family was a traditional Jewish family. He studied in cheder and then finished a Jewish elementary school. He also finished the Agricultural College in Kherson and became a zootechnician. After the wedding we lived in a small room of a three-apartment house in the 17th site. Our co-tenants were few other newly wed couples. We had a common kitchen and ‘comforts’ in the yard. Then we moved to the Jewish colony of Seidemenucha where I got a job assignment from the regional department of education half a year later. My husband worked as a zootechnician there as well. In 1937 our son was born. I named him Mikhail, by the first letter of my mother’s name. After our son was born we moved to my husband’s parents in Kalinindorf. We had a good life together. My husband’s parents had a nice big house and a garden. I worked at school. We hired a baby sitter for my son and my mother-in-law was helping me. She observed Jewish traditions. On Saturday our Ukrainian neighbor came to set the table for our family and feed our livestock. My mother-in-law made matzah and we celebrated Pesach. We usually spent vacations with my husband’s sister Tsylia in Kherson where she lived with her husband and two daughters: Yenia and Genia. Tsylia and I became friends, though she was significantly older than me.

My husband was a zootechnician in the kolkhoz [15] ‘The way to communism’. It was a very rich Jewish kolkhoz, a ‘millionaire’, adjoining to Kalinindorf. It was an advanced kolkhoz in the district, and in the late 1930s my husband and his crew were invited to the Exhibition of Achievements of Public Economy in Moscow. He took his pedigree cows and bulls to the exhibition and received a diploma for participation in the exhibition. I still keep this diploma and the photograph of my husband’s crew at the Exhibition in the fair memory of Peretz. By that time I had lost my job: the Jewish school was closed. Many teachers got training to become teachers of Russian, geography or history, but I couldn’t afford any training having to take care of our son.

This was a concerning period. In 1939 Jewish refugees from Poland appeared in our area escaping from fascists. At that same time my husband’s older brother on his father’s side Moishe Freidkin, his wife Kleina and their five-year-old daughter and little son Mosia arrived at Kalinindorf from Bessarabia [16]. We began to receive letters and photographs from him after Bessarabia was annexed to the USSR. Of course, we knew about Hitler and fascism, but we didn’t have thoughts about a war: it all seemed to be so far away. The Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact [17] made people think that there was going to be no war. I shall always remember the day of 22 June 1941, when the Great Patriotic War began. It was a warm sunny day, Sunday, and we were at home. My husband was cutting wood in the yard and I was playing with my son nearby. It was about noontime and we were going to rest in the garden after lunch, when our neighbor ran in screaming ‘It’s the war!’ We ran into the house: we were the only owners of a radio. We listened to Molotov [18] who spoke about the war and perfidious attack of fascists on our country. Mobilization began. My husband obtained a military service release certificate. He was responsible for evacuation of the livestock. He went to Lvovo colony with his crew where they arranged transfer of the cattle. He stayed there few weeks. I and other residents were digging an anti-tank trench. If only we had known how easily Hitler’s tanks overcame those funny obstacles for them while we believed that this trench would stop fascists and they would not invade our home town.

My husband returned in late July. There was panic and people tried to escape wherever they could manage. On 8 August my husband went to a meeting in the district party committee. Although he wasn’t a member of the party, they invited all managers of the kolkhoz to this meeting. They said at this meeting that fascists would not come to this area and that it was necessary to stop those defeatist moods and tell people that everything was all right and that they had to go back to work and stop panicking. My husband returned late. Our neighbors waited for him at the gate. He told them what he heard at the district committee. We went to bed. At 2 o’clock in the morning somebody knocked on our window. It was Gudkovich, chief of the district chemical department, who was on duty at the district executive committee. He said Germans were bombing Kherson and that we had to leave. He managed to keep two good horses and now he harnessed them. His wife and four children were already sitting in the wagon. They were small children: the youngest was a 2-week-old baby. Gudkovich offered us a ride. We packed whatever we could grab in a basket and a bag, locked the house – and left. In all this chaos I didn’t take warm clothes, but I grabbed white bed sheets for my sonny: I couldn’t imagine that Mikhail could sleep without white sheets. We didn’t have any money. The day before we left my mother-in-law wanted to take our savings from the bank, but they told her there was no money available. I didn’t say ‘good bye’ to my father. I never saw him again. It turned out that his wife refused from evacuation and sent back the wagon that uncle Boris sent for them from Krivoy Rog. Like other Jews she believed that Germans were not going to do anything bad to Jews. My father obeyed her thinking that I was staying in Kalinindorf and he would be there to support me. Besides my husband’s parents, my husband, my son and me, there was my husband’s niece Genia, a ten-year-old girl, his older sister Tsylia’s daughter, with us. She was spending her vacation with us and since we didn’t where her mother was at the moment we had to take her with us. Besides, there was senior accountant of the district chemical department with his wife and daughter in our wagon. Gudkovich also rode with us as far as the river crossing. On our way a wheel broke and while the men were fixing it, local boys were running around shouting ‘zhydy [kike] are running away!’ It was the first time in my life that I heard an abuse of this kind. I had always lived among Jews before and I don’t think I even suspected existence of anti-Semitism.

So we reached Lvov where there was a crossing on the Ingulets River. There were masses of wagons, horses and cattle near the crossing and the crossing was closed following the order of authorities who were concerned about possible panic. While we were there waiting we heard that my husband’s sister Tsylia and her younger daughter Genia came to our home and were looking for us. My husband and father-in-law took one horse and rode back home to pick her up. They were also concerned about the older brother. It turned out that Moishe and his family also made an effort to evacuate, but the crossing was closed and they were told to go back home. This family perished in the occupation.

A messenger from the town came to the crossing telling people to go back home. I still don’t know whether he represented some authorities or he was a saboteur. There were many sent by fascists. .The crossing was often bombed. During an air raid people around began to yell at me demanding that I took away my son’s white sheets and our white horse that might be a guiding point for German bombers. I took the horse to the bushes. There was screaming and groaning, cows and bull mooing and horses shying. After the bombing about ten people remained lying on the ground. This was terrible! In the morning my husband and father-in-law returned with my husband’s sister Tsylia and her daughter Yenia. My husband made arrangements for us to cross the river. People knew him since he had been involved in evacuation of the cattle some time before. Gudkovich said ‘good bye’ to us and we agreed to keep in touch via his relative living in Kazan. When we crossed the river my husband said that thought he was released from military service he could not be an outside observer in this blood shedding war and that he had to fight fascists. Peretz hugged and kissed me and said he understood that I would have a hard time having to take care of our son and old folks. He gave me his watch to sell it for money. I begged my husband to stay, but he was inexorable. In the morning he left with the accountant’s son. I never saw my husband again. There was no military registry office in Kalinindorf and the accountant’s son returned, but Peretz went on looking for our troops. He must have perished on his way: there were violent battles in this area at that time.

We went on. My father-in-law was riding the wagon and Tsylia and I walked behind it. There were few bombings on the way. We reached Rostov region having covered over 250 km. We spent the nights in the woods. Local villagers gave us some food on the way. We stayed in a kolkhoz. There was an order issued to kolkhozes to accommodate the newcomers and give them jobs. We rented a room in a house. Tsylia and I worked in the kolkhoz. My father-in-law was a shoemaker and my mother-in-law looked after the children. Tsylia and I went to the railroad after work every day: there were trains passing to the front or to the rear with the wounded. We were hoping to find our husbands or hear something about them. Tsylia’s husband was recruited on the first days of the war. We were standing there giving bread or crumbs to the soldiers: whatever we had with us. We never heard anything about our relatives or acquaintances. My father-in-law’s brother Gershl Kalman found us in the kolkhoz. He had evacuated with his daughter, a lame and sickly girl, and his wife. His wife died on the way and his daughter got lost. Gershl stayed with us. His daughter found us few days later: somebody told her where we were.

In late October the management of this kolkhoz notified us that we had to leave urgently: fascist troops were approaching Rostov. There were no horses available. Chairman of the kolkhoz had left on them. We got two bulls. My father-in-law was angry: how was he going to manage them? But what could we do? So, we harnessed them and started on our way. My son fell ill with measles on the way, he had fever of 39 degrees lying in the wagon in the rain. Tsylia sprained her joints jumping off the wagon. I walked after the wagon carrying my son. Every night we asked villagers to let us in to stay overnight. There was so much trouble. Once the hostess’ husband wanted to rape me and we had to pack and escape. Once I left my son lying on the floor and went out to unharness the bulls, when the hostess ran out of the house screaming: she decided that I left a dead child in the house. I told her that my son had measles. She started fire in her oven to warm up my son, gave him a hot drink and tried to help me. I was grateful to this woman and felt like staying in her warm house. But we had to move on. Winter began. We were cold having no warm clothes. Gudkovich’s wife came to our rescue. She shared her warm clothes with us. In the daytime fascists were bombing roads and villages and Tsylia suggested that we traveled on forest roads that were quiet. She said we had to stay near rivers so that if fascists captured us we could rush into the water and get drowned. The bulls were very good especially considering that ground roads became muddy and they were very enduring. We often unharnessed them to help to pull other wagons out of the mud. I liked these bulls and tried to gather more grass or hay to feed them.

In late November we reached Elista town, the capital of Kalmyk ASSR in 900 km from home. It was a small town. There were mostly private houses in it. There were bigger houses in the center of the town: the Supreme Soviet, Party Central Committee, central post office and a theater. There was a kolkhoz in the suburb where we left our hardworking bulls. A Kalmyk family gave us shelter. We slept on the floor in a big room. I was sleeping near the door and every morning I found a piece of bread or a lump of sugar by my side. The host of the house left them feeling sorry for us, but keeping it a secret from his wife. His wife also sympathized with us. She gave food to the children till I went to work. I began to work at the post office and Tsylia got a job of a cloakroom attendant at the theater. We received bread coupons for us and the children. My father-in-law worked as a shoemaker and his customers paid him with food: milk, eggs or read. Gudkovich arrived shortly afterward. His relative from Kazan told him our whereabouts. I asked him whether he knew anything about Peretz, but he didn’t. He left with his family. We lived there till summer 1942.

When fascists approached the Volga, we decided to move on to the east. Again we harnessed our bulls and went to the railway station. We left our bulls with some people. We kissed the animals thanking them for rescuing us and asked their new owners to take care of them. We boarded a freight train. Our trip lasted about ten days. We didn’t know where we were going. My mother-in-law Rasia fell severely ill on the way. She got poisoned and had high fever, vomiting and bloody flux. We got off at a station. It turned out to be inviting people to come with them. Our family left for a kolkhoz and I stayed with my mother-in-law. Rasia was taken to hospital. My son and I spent the nights at the railway station. I exchanged some clothes for food and cooked in a casserole on stones and visited my mother-in-law in hospital. Rasia recovered: she had good treatment and food in the hospital. We stayed at the railway station ten days more before I found out where our family was. We got a ride there. I remember an Uzbek girl kissing me ‘hallo’: this turned out to be Genia’s daughter wearing an Uzbek gown. We were accommodated in a nice house. The kolkhoz provided wheat grains to us. Tsylia and I took it to the mill to have it ground. We worked in a cotton field. It was hard work. Misha and I were allergic to cotton. We decided to leave this sovkhoz. We took a freight train to Begovat station near Tashkent where we met a Russian woman from Nikolaev. We started talking to her at the station. She helped us a lot. She found accommodation and paid for us, lent us some money and helped me to find a job. She also helped us to obtain a residential permit [19] through her Uzbek acquaintance working in the militia. We lived in a small room in the basement. Tsylia and I went to work at a shop manufacturing ropes for the front. Mikhail and Yenia went to a kindergarten and Genia went to school and helped her grandmother about the house. Tsylia received letters from her husband. I wrote many requests searching for him, but it was in vain. One of commanders wrote me that my husband may have perished never reaching our troops. I was ready to do any work to support my family. After work I made jam from cherry plums or apples – whatever I could pick in the streets, and ran to the market to sell it. I sold jam in glasses and then bought food for the money I got. I was surprised that locals didn’t make jam, but willingly bought it from me. My father-in-law fixed shoes sitting and working on his box outside. He earned a little, when a financial inspector [state officer responsible for identification of illegal businesses], a young and strong Uzbek man demanded that we paid him 10 rubles per day. My father-in-law didn’t have this much. Once this inspector pushed his box throwing his tools about the street and told the old man to stay away from the street, if he didn’t have money for him. When we came back from work, my mother-in-law and father-in-law were crying. I wrote a letter to the Ministry of defense in Moscow. I wrote about our life, about having to escape from our home leaving all our belongings behind, and that our husbands had perished and the old man was trying to earn some money to support the family and we didn’t beg the state to help us, while this young strong inspector was not at the front for some reason. Two weeks later a commission came from the executive committee. They inspected our room, saw drying bread on the stove and allowed my father-in-law to do his work without fearing anyone. . The financial inspector, his offender, never showed up again. I don’t know what happened to him. In early 1944 my father-in-law died. Local Jews buried him wrapping him in his tallit and recited prayers. They buried him on planks in the grave. There was no coffin.

On 14 March 1944 Kalinindorf was liberated. I submitted a request for going back. We received permission for reevacuation only in November. I wrote to the village council that we were returning and asked them to inform me on what happened to our relatives. They wrote me back that Moishe and Kreina Freidkins and their children were shot by fascists in Kalinindorf. I received the same notification for my father and stepmother in Sagaydak. I was eager to go back to my home place. Our return trip lasted for about a month. The trains were passing by without stopping, so overcrowded they were and we had to wait at stations for a long time before getting on another train. Finally in late December 1944 we arrived at Kalinindorf. I hired a wagon to take us home. Our house was there, but the door was locked. A Ukrainian woman and her son had moved into our house. She came back in the evening with a friend of hers and chairman of the village council. They allowed us to live in half of the house, but we were happy about it. Hungry and exhausted, we fell asleep on the floor. In the morning we found out that there was nothing left in the house: this woman had taken our belongings away. Our Russian neighbor Maria came to see us. She was very happy that we were back. She gave us stools, dishes, buckets and casseroles: everything we needed to start with. That same day the Ukrainian woman moved into another Jewish house. Its owners had perished. There were many empty Jewish houses in Kalinindorf and other colonies. Tsylia and I went to work in the kolkhoz. People were helping us giving us whatever they could. I remember how my son got severely ill. I found the apartment of an assistant doctor, but he wasn’t at home. When I returned home, my son was almost fainting from pain and I burst into tears for the first time in the past years. I felt so unhappy that I rescued my son in Asia and in the hard conditions when we were evacuation, but now my son was dying. At night the assistant doctor knocked on the door. He examined my son, gave him some medications and stayed beside him through the night till my son got better.

In January 1945 the Supreme Soviet issued an order about opening children’s homes for all homeless children. In Kalinindorf a children’s home was opened in the building of the Jewish school built before the war. The executive committee [20] authorized me to take the responsibility for restoration of the building and opening of the children’s home. We gathered bricks to make a stove and washed and cleaned the walls and windows, bought beds, desks, blankets and bed sheets. The villagers also donated whatever they could. On 16 March 1945 I conducted the opening ceremony. At first there were six children in the home. Four of them were German children, whose parents had been deported from the colony before fascists came to the village. The children stayed in a Ukrainian family. At first I was acting director of this home till they appointed a nice man for this position. He returned from the front where he had lost his arms. I became a teacher. I assisted director with everything. We celebrated 9 May 1945 – Victory Day, in the children’s home. God, it was happiness!

Some time later men began to return from the front. In early 1946 Abram Aral, our neighbor, returned. We were friends with his family before the war. Abram had a wife and two children: Sonia, 6 years old and a baby son. His older brother Shmilyk lived in this same house. When the war began, Abram was recruited to the army and Shmilyk took his time considering whether they should evacuate or stay home. When they finally decided to move, it was too late. There were Germans all around. They were shot by fascists in 1941. Abram’s sister from Zaporozhie, whose husband perished at the front, came to live with him. Abram and his sister often came by to see us and Tsylia visited them. We were sad about our deceased dear ones often talking about them. In summer 1946 Tsylia’s husband Avrum returned from the front. They moved to Kherson, and my mother-in-law Rasia went with them. My mother-in-law sold the house under condition that my son and son would live there as long as we needed. Some time later Abram and I felt that there was more to our relationship than just the memories: our late and much suffered for love came to us. I moved in with Abram and we got married in 1947.

We got along very well. My husband was good to Mikhail and my son began to call him ‘papa’. In 1948 our son was born. I named him Alexandr after Avrum’s brother Shmidyk. I worked in the children’s home and my husband worked as a storekeeper in the military registry office. In 1956 our second son was born. I named him Yuriy after my father (Yefim is ‘Yuhym’ in Ukrainian, and I found the name with the same first letter). My mother-in-law Rasia visited us every summer.

My older son Mikhail finished school in 1956 and went to take exams to a military college in Tambov. It was his dream to become a military. They didn’t admit him without explaining the reasons, though it clearly had to do with his nationality. He went to work at the mechanic plant of Perovskiy in Kherson. He lived with Tsylia’s family. Then he went to his mandatory service in Azerbaijan and then in Moscow region. Mikhail’s dream was to study in college. He wanted to become a doctor and he studied a lot when in the army. After the term of his service was over Mikhail entered Moscow Medical College and after finishing it he became a physician. He married Galia Aronina, a Jewish girl from a traditional Jewish family. I often visited my son in Moscow and went to the synagogue with her parents. I always brought matzah for my family from Moscow. Mikhail had twin boys: Pyotr (after his father) and Ilia, born in 1964. Ilia and his wife live in Israel and Pyotr lives in Moscow.

My middle son Alexandr was very fond of history. After his service in the army he submitted his documents to the Historical Faculty of Simferopol University. They didn’t admit him explaining that there was a quota for Jews. He returned home and went to work as a mechanic. He finished Machine Building College in Kherson. He married Sopha Yudich, a Jewish girl from Kherson. They have two children: son Yevgeniy and daughter Alla.

My younger son Yuriy also got a secondary technical education. He married Yelena Zeiger, also a Jewish girl and they moved to Kherson. Yuriy and Yelena have two daughters: Lilia, born in 1980, and Anna, born in 1984. Yelena’s parents went to Israel telling their daughter to come with them. My son Yuriy didn’t want to leave me here. So his wife and the girls moved to Israel and Yuriy lives alone in Kherson. They get along very well. Though they are officially divorced Yuriy visits them once a year and my granddaughters visit us here. My sons Alexandr and Yuriy are in computer and software business and so is Yevgeniy: he has a store in Kherson. Alla is a 5th-year student of University. She wants to move to Israel upon graduation.

I retired from the children’s home in 1972. Abram and I often visited our children in Kherson, and our children and grandchildren came to see us. We had a big and close family. Abram was always interested in the situation in the world, particularly in Israel. He bought a good radio listening to the Voice of America and Free Europe [The Voice of America and 'Free Europe’ were popular radio stations broadcasting from America and Germany in Russian. They were thoroughly jammed in the Soviet Union so that Soviet citizens couldn’t hear the truth about life in capitalist countries and actual state of things in their own country], Freedom [21], in the evening discussing their programs with his Jewish neighbor. He was particularly concerned when there was a war there and the Soviet propaganda throwing mud at Israel. However, none of us wanted to leave the country where our dear ones perished. We tried to observe Jewish traditions and teach our children to remember them. . Abram knew when it was a holidays. Of course, we didn’t follow kashrut, but we never ate pork or mixed meat and dairy food. On holidays we had festive meals with traditional Jewish food: chicken necks and gefilte fish. We invited friends and neighbors. On Yom Kippur my husband and I fast and so do our sons and their wives. That’s mandatory.

We never traveled on vacations: at first our children were small and there was nobody to look after them and later we were hard up and couldn’t afford a family vacation, though my husband and I worked and had a garden and a vegetable garden where we grew vegetables and fruit, but we lived on our salaries. We were doing well and our children had all they needed, but we never afforded any luxuries. We lived like everybody else: from one pay day to the next one.

In 1982 Abram died. I lived 7 years in our house and then gave up to my sons’ requests to move closer to them. They sold my house and bought half a house for me in Kherson in 1989. My sons support me and I have everything I need. I know that many people are unhappy about perestroika [22] and the resulting changes in the country, but I feel content as long as my sons are happy. They manage well in life and support me. My grandchildren often visit me. They treat me with great respect and love.

In 1962 I decided to visit Sagaydak to bow to the land where my father perished. I went there by bus. When it stopped in the square an old Ukrainian woman met me. She was our neighbor. She said she recognized me and that I was Haim Zatkovetskiy’s daughter. We went to the suburb and she told me how they were shot: children by the edge of one pit and adults – another. The earth was stirring for a long time afterward. There were human remains on the ground. After the war the chairman ordered to plough the field and forget the deceased. It was an insult. It was terrible that people didn’t install a monument to honor the deceased. I left that same day so hard it was for me.

There was a monument to the deceased installed in Kalinindorf. My sons and I attended the opening ceremony in 2001. Two old women approached me there, too: they were daughters of the storekeeper of the school. Back in 1936 I rented a room from them. Their father also perished, and we recalled our dear ones with grief. The opening ceremony was grand. There were administration representatives and veterans of the war present. After the opening ceremony Jews and a rabbi recited the prayer. My sons recited the words of prayer with them. They observe Jewish traditions, go to the synagogue on Sabbath and celebrate Jewish holidays. It was Rosh Hashanah recently, and my sons and their families came for a festive dinner with us. I attend the synagogue once a year on Yom Kippur. I am not religious, but I always remembered Jewish traditions. I do my best to observe the rules: I light candles on Sabbath and give my grandchildren Chanukkah gelt on Chanukkah.

GLOSSARY:

[1] Catherine the Great (1729-1796): Empress of Russia. She rose to the throne after the murder of her husband Peter III and reigned for 34 year. Catherine read widely, especially Voltaire and Montesquieu, and informed herself of Russian conditions. She started to formulate a new enlightened code of law. Catherine reorganized (1775) the provincial administration to increase the central government's control over rural areas. This reform established a system of provinces, subdivided into districts, that endured until 1917. In 1785, Catherine issued a charter that made the gentry of each district and province a legal body with the right to petition the throne, freed nobles from taxation and state service and made their status hereditary, and gave them absolute control over their lands and peasants. Catherine increased Russian control over the Baltic provinces and Ukraine. She secured the largest portion in successive partitions of Poland among Russia, Prussia, and Austria.

[2] Cossack: A member of a people of southern European Russia and adjacent parts of Asia, noted as cavalrymen especially during tsarist times.

[3] Great Patriotic War: On 22nd June 1941 at 5 o’clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War. The German blitzkrieg, known as Operation Barbarossa, nearly succeeded in breaking the Soviet Union in the months that followed. Caught unprepared, the Soviet forces lost whole armies and vast quantities of equipment to the German onslaught in the first weeks of the war. By November 1941 the German army had seized the Ukrainian Republic, besieged Leningrad, the Soviet Union's second largest city, and threatened Moscow itself. The war ended for the Soviet Union on 9th May 1945.

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

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

[6] Odessa: The Jewish community of Odessa was the second biggest Jewish community in Russia. According to the census of 1897 there were 138,935 Jews in Odessa, which was 34,41% of the local population. There were 7 big synagogues and 49 prayer houses in Odessa. There were heders in 19 prayer houses.

[7] Jewish collective farms: Such farms were established in the Ukraine in the 1930s during the period of collectivization.

[8] Russian stove: Big stone stove stoked with wood. They were usually built in a corner of the kitchen and served to heat the house and cook food. It had a bench that made a comfortable bed for children and adults in wintertime.

[9] Kulaks: In the Soviet Union the majority of wealthy peasants that refused to join collective farms and give their grain and property to Soviet power were called kulaks, declared enemies of the people and exterminated in the 1930s.

[10] Rabfak (Rabochiy Fakultet – Workers’ Faculty in Russian): Established by the Soviet power usually at colleges or universities, these were educational institutions for young people without secondary education. Many of them worked beside studying. Graduates of Rabfaks had an opportunity to enter university without exams.

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

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

[13] Agro-Joint (American Jewish Joint Agricultural Corporation): The Agro-Joint, established in 1924, with the full support of the Soviet government aimed at helping the resettlement of Jews on collective farms in the South of Ukraine and the Crimea. The Agro-Joint purchased land, livestock and agricultural machinery and funded housing construction. It also established many trade schools to train Jews in agriculture and in metal, woodworking, printing and other skills. The work of Agro-Joint was made increasingly difficult by the Soviet authorities, and it finally dissolved in 1938. In all, some 14,000 Jewish families were settled on the land, and thus saved from privation and the loss of civil rights, which was the lot of all except for workers and peasants. By 1938, however, large numbers left the colonies, attracted by the cities, and most of those who stayed were murdered by the Germans.

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

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

[16] Bessarabia: Historical area between the Prut and Dnestr rivers, in the southern part of Odessa region. Bessarabia was part of Russia until the Revolution of 1917. In 1918 it declared itself an independent republic, and later it united with Romania. The Treaty of Paris (1920) recognized the union but the Soviet Union never accepted this. In 1940 Romania was forced to cede Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina to the USSR. The two provinces had almost 4 million inhabitants, mostly Romanians. Although Romania reoccupied part of the territory during World War II the Romanian peace treaty of 1947 confirmed their belonging to the Soviet Union. Today it is part of Moldavia.

[17] Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact: Non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union, which became known under the name of Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Engaged in a border war with Japan in the Far East and fearing the German advance in the west, the Soviet government began secret negotiations for a non-aggression pact with Germany in 1939. In August 1939 it suddenly announced the conclusion of a Soviet-German agreement of friendship and non-aggression. The Pact contained a secret clause providing for the partition of Poland and for Soviet and German spheres of influence in Eastern Europe.

[18] Molotov, V. P. (1890-1986): Statesman and member of the Communist Party leadership. From 1939, Minister of Foreign Affairs. On June 22, 1941 he announced the German attack on the USSR on the radio. He and Eden also worked out the percentages agreement after the war, about Soviet and western spheres of influence in the new Europe.

[19] Residence permit: The Soviet authorities restricted freedom of travel within the USSR through the residence permit and kept everybody’s whereabouts under control. Every individual in the USSR needed residential registration; this was a stamp in the passport giving the permanent address of the individual. It was impossible to find a job, or even to travel within the country, without such a stamp. In order to register at somebody else’s apartment one had to be a close relative and if each resident of the apartment had at least 8 square meters to themselves.

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

[21] Radio Liberty: Radio Liberty, which started broadcasting in 1953, has served as a surrogate 'home service' to the lands of the former Soviet Union, providing news and information that was otherwise unavailable to most Soviet and post-Soviet citizens. During that time, the station weathered strong opposition from the Soviet Union and its allies, including constant jamming, public criticism, diplomatic protests, and even physical attacks on Radio Liberty buildings and personnel. In 1976, Radio Liberty was merged with Radio Free Europe (RFE) to form a single organization, RFE/RL, Inc.

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

EMILIA KOTLIAR
Russia
Moscow
Interviewer: Svetlana Bogdanova
Date of interview: August 2003

Emilia Kotliar is a quiet considerate lady with big hazel eyes. She is a little taller than average and she combs her dark hair back.
She has a very friendly expression of her face and dresses decently.

She lives alone in a 2-bedroom apartment in the southwest of Moscow. She has no close relatives left.  She recently had a surgery on her broken femoral neck. She moves slowly with a stick.
She is a member of the writer’ association and writes children’s poems published in a number of popular magazines and her own books of poems. 

Her apartment needs to be repaired.
Her apartment is furnished modestly, but it is clean.

Once a week the Jewish public charity fund ‘A Hand of help’ sends her a charwoman who cleans her apartment and another volunteer does shopping for her. 
There are many icons and pictures on biblical and Testament subjects on the walls.

Emilia Kotliar lived through a very hard period of life associated with professional failures and her mother’s lethal disease.
At the recommendation of archpriest Alexandr Men’ she adopted Christianity in 1988, but she identifies herself as a Jew, anyway. 

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My family came from Vasilkov [30 km from Kiev], a small town in Ukraine. The majority of population in Vasilkov was Jewish, but there were also Ukrainian residents in it. I visited it when I was very small and I don’t remember anything.

Unfortunately, I know little about my father’s family. My father died young, when I was only 9.  My paternal grandfather’s name was Efraim Kotliar. His family led a patriarchal way of life. They were respected people in the town. My grandfather was wealthy. He owned a business. He was a glasscutter and made frames. There were 8 children in the family and all had higher education. All of his sons, and there were 5 of them, used to help my grandfather in his shop. My father Peisach Kotliar was the only son who didn’t help his father in the shop. He was an idol in the family being talented and having all excellent marks at school. My grandfather used to say: ‘I don’t need your sawdust, I need your marks’. My father studied in a realschule 1. Its students got a good technical and mathematical education. I don’t know for sure, but I think my grandfather had a house having his business. My grandfather was a merry man. The family sang very well. My father’s younger brother Yasha had a particularly strong and beautiful voice. When the family got together they sang sitting at the table.  They sang Ukrainian and Jewish folk songs. 

My father’s brother Yakov studied with my father in Moscow College of Light Industry and I’ve known uncle Yasha since childhood. I didn’t see my father’s other brothers and don’t know what happened to them. My father’s mother Mendel Kotliar had a meek character. She was bringing quietude, order and peace into the houses and demanded that her children made no mess of it.  She was a housewife.
Their house was always clean and cozy. My grandmother taught the girls to do craftwork, sew and embroider. There was a custom in their family: whatever problems one had they had to wipe their shoes on a welcome rug and smile. They had to leave all their problems on the porch. There was a cheerful atmosphere at home. They loved each other very much and respected parents in the family.  Undoubtedly, they observed all Jewish traditions in the past times.  There was a synagogue and a Jewish community in Vasilkov. Unfortunately, I don’t know how religious my father’s parents were or how they observed Jewish traditions. I know that their older daughter Feiga after finishing a college in Sverdlovsk moved my grandfather and grandmother to live with her in Sverdlovsk in the Ural in about 1000 km from Moscow shortly before the Great Patriotic War 2. My grandmother died in 1942 and my grandfather died in 1943 in Sverdlovsk and there they were buried.

I know more about my mother’s family. In her older age my mother tried to write about her town and her family, but she never got to finish it. She fell ill and asked me to finish her notes for her. Following her will I wrote a poem ‘A gorgeous town’ and dedicated it to the memory of my mother Anna Vaisman. This book was published by ‘Mozhaysk-Terra’ Ltd. in 2001 in 1000 copies.

My maternal great grandfather’s name was Vigdor. Regretfully, I don’t know his last name. He lived in Vasilkov and was a very bright person. He was a melamed. Besides, he was involved in various public activities. His wife died young leaving him with 6 children. He never remarried. His older daughter Leya, my grandmother, became a housewife. Vigdor taught Talmud in cheder. Studying Talmud was his favorite pastime. He was very fond of it. Vigdor was the authority of his community. He was very smart and his neighbors often addressed him with their problems, when there was a dispute, or they wanted to share heritage or had routinely problems. Grandfather judged them objectively. He studied Talmud ‘for the development of brains’ and read religious books. At his old age he worked at a slaughterhouse where he issued receipts for one kopeck. This was a slaughterhouse that belonged to the synagogue where they slaughtered poultry in accordance with kashrut rules. He was sitting behind his counter having coins and receipts in front of him and a Talmud on his lap. Women even felt hurt that he didn’t look at them issuing those receipts. He was plunged into his book.  In 1920 white guard officers 3 during a pogrom 4 killed him. When they were shooting him, he was an old man with one leg. Something had happened to his leg and he had it amputated without anesthesia. Assistant doctors didn’t have any anesthesia means in this small town where he lived. He walked with crutches and they shot the man with crutches. I dedicated a poem to him: (translation by the line)

In the eleventh year

Reb Vigdor got in trouble.

He went to ‘elections’

In the neighboring ‘capital’,

Caught cold and was taken to hospital.

Gangrene developed.

Assistant doctors

Cut off his leg like a log without anesthesia.

Reb Vigdor clutched his teeth and kept silent.

Being a strong old man.

He came back to his village on crutches

And took to his usual activities,

As if nothing had happened.

The old reb

Like all Jews in town,

Was dreaming about his own plot of land,

About bread.

In the seventeenth he advised

his former pupils

to join the Bolsheviks

They would give them land!

A Talmud scholar, philosopher,

Connoisseur of Jewish laws,

He failed to discern

Who Bolsheviks were,

Since it’s this was with God: white is white,

Black is black

Yes is yes and no is no!

Could he imagine,

That God’s covenants were nothing for Bolsheviks?

That was the thing:

They didn’t hesitate,

With cheating people or the God

…In the twentieth

the white guard during a pogrom

shot reb Vigdor

by the wall of his house.

My maternal grandfather Isaac Vaisman was an extraordinarily kind and nice person. Grandfather Isaac had an artistic personality. He carved trays, cups and vases from wood.  My mother told me they were amazingly beautiful. Everybody laughed at him and he used to do this work in hiding. My grandmother Leya had no confidence in his work. Why make them, those unpractical things?  She told him off for his hobby and occasionally threw his works into a stove.  Grandmother Leya adored her father Vigdor, though she had a hard childhood. She grew up having no mother and was responsible for the housework and raising her younger sisters and brothers. 

Grandmother Leya!

What burden fell on your shoulders

What sorrow was awaiting!

From the age of thirteen

With a widower of a father

You had to raise

Five brothers and sisters!

You replaced their mother to them.

Vigdor, Leya’s father was a genuine

Local Talmud scholar.

His daughter respected him infinitely

And pleased him in every way.

Dreaming to marry

Another scientist like her father,

Fond of Talmud.

But her father couldn’t support

A ‘golden son-in-law’

And poor Leya

Had to lock her heart .

A ‘golden son-in-law’ was one involved only in spiritual activities studying the Talmud and his wife’s family was to provide for him. Since my great grandfather was very poor he couldn’t support this kind of a son-in-law and Leya had to marry Isaac Vaisman, my grandfather, who was as poor as she was.  This happened approximately in 1900. Of course, they had a traditional wedding and it couldn’t have been otherwise at that time. Grandfather Isaac was meek and kind. I almost shrink thinking about my grandfather. He was the best person in the family. He was very patient and his wife scolded him.  She didn’t quite respect him for his being quiet and meek and was up in the clouds, though he did everything about the house. He was very handy. I don’t know what he did before the revolution of 1917 5, but afterward he worked as a janitor in a kolkhoz 6.

The name of my second great grandfather, my grandfather Isaac’s father, was Leib.  All I know about him is that he made a sukkah at Sukkot and installed a table and a trestle bed in it, dropped grass on the floor and compacted it, put flowers on the table and lived there until night frosts. He was very handy. My great grandfather Vigdor was more a philosopher while my great grandfather Leib was an earthly man. He was a craftsman. He was also shot in 1918 or 1922. A bandit from a passing gang 7 shot a bullet on the run. He was about 70 years old. His wife, my great grandmother died young of some disease and I don’t even know the name of. My great grandfather Leib remarried. His second wife was very nice. I know little about them. People didn’t talk about themselves in the past. There is a saying ‘Every bush has its acoustics’. Everything was forbidden.

My great grandfather Leib

Was a poor man

In a small distant town.

His little house

Was all patched,

Like a dress.

His house was called

‘Leib’s palace’!

a samovar and a mattress with holes,

Iron cast in a Russian stove 8

And candles in the 7-candle stand…

He got married in the same coat,

In which he came into this world!

Grandmother Leya and grandfather Isaac settled down in Stavishche town near Vasilkov after their wedding. Before the revolution of 1917 grandmother Leya owned a store selling her products on credit for peanuts. She sold salt, matches, soap and herring. Villagers from a neighboring village liked doing shopping in Leya’s store. She even sold on credit to those who didn’t pay back their old debts. When Jewish pogroms began Ukrainian families gave shelter to Leya’s family and rescued her children.  At their old age my grandmother and grandfather worked in a kolkhoz.  My grandfather was a janitor and my grandmother worked in a kolkhoz canteen. They lived in a small clay house. I visited there. There was a living room and a table covered with a fancy white tablecloth, a mirror and scarlet ribbon along the table serving as a decoration. There was a bed for guests in the living room. My grandparents slept in a corner in the kitchen. There was a Russian stove in the house. They fetched water from a well. They had a cow. There was a manger that dried up in the sun. It glittered and looked nice and I said I wanted to sleep in it and asked my grandmother to put a sheet there for me. 

Grandmother Leya and grandfather Isaac had 8 children. Four children died in infancy and four survived. Grandmother Leya was very much attached to her father Vigdor and often left her home to visit him. Can you imagine what it was like when she came back home? When she returned the house was a mess and the children were hungry. She would have cuffed one in his nap and kick another.  Shortly before the Great Patriotic War my mother’s younger sister Sophia Goloborodko took my grandfather and grandmother to live with her family in Uman  [180 km from Kiev]. Grandfather Isaac died there in 1943 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery. After the war grandmother Leya lived in Uman. She died in 1950 and was buried in the Jewish sector of the town cemetery in Uman.  

My mother grew up in a very poor family. She was the oldest of all children. She had to do a lot of work. To tell the truth, her family wasn’t quite like a family. Grandmother Leya spent all her time with her father Vigdor and my mother had to do the housework. My mother was very proud and had a character. She had more problems than anybody else. When they punished her and told her to ask forgiveness she was stubborn and never asked pardons and thus, set her mother in opposition. The situation in the family was hard.  My mother had congenital glaucoma, but nobody knew about it and nobody intended to know.  She needed at least glasses, but she didn’t even get these. My mother was not supposed to do some work like sewing or standing by a fireplace, but they thought she just didn’t want to do this work. She was made to clean the farmyard and she worked there with my grandfather.  So, frankly speaking, she had a hard childhood. And I think that when all this revolutionary agitation began she got interested in it and joined Komsomol 9 to somehow get distracted from home and her crazy family. Later my mother joined the party. 

My mother had brothers David Vaisman and Shakhna Vaisman and sister Sophia Goloborodko. David had a higher education and lived in Leningrad [present St. Petersburg, today Russia]. He worked as a shipbuilder. During the Great Patriotic War he stayed in Leningrad and survived in its siege 10. He almost starved to death and showed no signs of life. He was taken to a morgue where he recovered his consciousness. The aftereffects of this siege had an impact on his health. He was sickly and died in Leningrad in 1950. He was buried in Leningrad. He had a family: wife Anna and sons Alexei and Isaac. David, his wife and children were not religious. Shakhna was born in 1910 and had a secondary technical education. He lived in Kadievka, Ukraine, in about 900 km from Moscow. He worked in the system of mine management. His wife Rosa was Jewish. They had a son named Leonid and a daughter named Yelizaveta.  His family wasn’t religious. Shakhna died in 1989 and was buried in Kadievka. Sophia was born in 1912. She lived in Uman, Ukraine. She had primary education. She was a housewife. She had four children: three daughters – Anna, Larisa and Lubov and son Vladimir. Her husband Goloborodko, whose surname I don’t know, was a Jew. None of them was religious. Sophia moved grandmother Leya and grandfather Isaac to live with her in Uman. Sophia died  in 1959 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Uman.  My mother kept in touch with her brothers and sister. She corresponded with them and they visited us in Moscow. She had the closes relationships with her brother Shakhna. 

My father was a middle child in his family. He finished a realschule with honors. My father wasn’t a member of the Communist Party, though he sympathized with the revolutionary movement. He spoke at a meeting. I don’t know what Party he spoke for, but I believe it was an incidental matter since it wasn’t what he really was up to. My mother and father gave up observing Jewish traditions and religion when they were young. This was the way it was at that time: the Revolution of 1917, when everything was breaking up and crashing, the routinely way of life was replaced with something different when new authorities were building up different ideology, propagating and forcing communism and atheism into people’s minds. Besides, I don’t think they would have found jobs had they remained religious. Soviet authorities did not appreciate religiosity and struggled against it 11 in every possible way. If my father had come to his plant with his kippah on and a beard and had begun to pray, can you imagine what it would have been like? Same with my mother. Although her grandfather was a Talmud scholar and she accompanied grandfather to the synagogue every day carrying his tallit for him she didn’t see anything beautiful in the life of her family regardless those traditional ceremonies. She didn’t see that it was a good life and therefore, she didn’t quite accept it. My parents and their brothers and sisters did not just nominally give up religion, they actually parted with it. Young people joined the revolution and began to study. They had nothing to lose. Most Jews were so poor that it could not be worse for them.  Many finished cheder, but few could afford to go to yeshivah. Not all of them were smart enough to go into theoretical studies of the Talmud.  Becoming a melamed? How many did a small town need? Two at the most. The rest of them had to take to trade or patching jackets or sewing? There were no vacancies in this little town and even skilled craftsmen earned little. Other towns also had their own coopers, tailors and tradesmen. Therefore, they rushed into revolution. A road to new life opened to them.

My mother and father met in Vasilkov. After finishing the realschule my father couldn’t find a job near home. He found a job in Kazan’, about 720 km east of Moscow, my mother joined him there and they got married. My father worked as technical manager in a leather factory. It was a small factory. Then the factory sent my father to study at the College of light industry. My mother didn’t tell me anything about my father: how they met or what kind of person my father was. She was very withdrawn and stern and she was not good at sentimental talk. It probably had to do with her severe childhood years. 

Growing up

I was born in Kazan’, Russia, in 1925. In Kazan’ my mother worked in zhensoviet (women's council) [editor’s note: Women’s councils – departments, included in Party organs at the direction of the party Central Committee in 1918. Their members were women activists and their tasks included ideological work with women industrial employees and peasants with the aim of their socialist education. Reorganized in 1929] with education of Tatar women. They didn’t know Russian and were taught in likbez 12 schools. We rented an apartment with three big rooms in a private house. There was a small kitchen. There was a real big stove with oven forks, wood and cast iron pots. Water was delivered to houses in barrels. There was a cellar with huge bottle green pieces of ice in it. There was food stored on them. The cellar was a very tempting place: there was sour cream in ceramic pots, milk and pelmeni dumplings. It was a very delicious cellar. My father was sent to study in Moscow in 1931 and our family followed him there: my mother, I and our nanny. The nurse was with us since I turned 2 and stayed 14 years. 

My father entered Moscow College of Light Industry. My mother also entered this college after finishing a rabfak 13 school.  We didn’t have a place to live and our nanny went to work for other people. We lived out of town. I liked it there. There was a wooden house, so mysterious, in the woods.  There were pine trees. We rented this “izba” hut, but then my mother was accommodated in a hostel and so was my father. They lived in different rooms on different floors and since children were not allowed to stay in hostels there were always problems with my presence there. My mother lived with some girls in her room and I was with them. Later I went to a kindergarten. Children could stay there overnight, but it turned out, this was not for me. I was withering away there. Nobody actually looked after me or how I ate there. Our family was poor. Then my parents got another room and there was a student girl living there with us. She was a stranger living with us. I remember my father asking her: ‘Sonia, I need to get dressed. Turn away, please’.  We lived in this room until 1938. In 1934, before my father defended his diploma, they convinced him to go to Irkutsk [4120 km east of Moscow] to become production manager of a big plant. Of course, an ill-advised step. He should have defended his diploma and besides, the climate in Irkutsk was very bad, but he went there. We were going to follow him. We started packing our miserable belongings, when all of a sudden we received a cable that he died. He only lived there 3 months. And there is still no clue to this mysterious story. We didn’t understand whether he was ill or what he had. My father’s brother Yasha went to his funeral. My father was buried in a town cemetery. They never told me anything about it. My mother got severely ill and didn’t tell me anything later: she didn’t remember. And a long time afterward I asked my father’s brothers about my father’s belongings or letters. There was nothing left. Well, this was a strange and tragic story. After my father died we were told to move out of this room, but we didn’t have a place to go. They threatened to call militia. Four years later my mother received a room in a communal apartment 14 in Moscow where we lived until 1966.

Some time later after my father died my mother entered the History Department of Moscow University. My mother liked history much. At first her co-students who were young girls, gave her a hostile reception since she was a mature woman already. I was 9 years old then. Those girls sniffed and chuckled about me, but then my mother somehow happened to become a head student of her course. They called her ‘our Mom’. She was awarded a Stalin’s stipend [Editor’s note: Stalin’s stipend was awarded to most advanced college and university students].  Shortly after my father died our nanny returned to us. My mother received a stipend and nanny had her pension and I was given minor monthly allowances after my father’s death.  We were hard up, but we didn’t lead secluded life. We received guests, especially when we lived in the hostel our door was always open. My mother was tight-lipped to talk about herself, but she was very sociable otherwise. She had many friends when a student and later she made friends with her colleagues and I had many school friends. We were very close with the family of Shakhna Vaisman, my mother’s younger brother. His family lived in Kadievka [1100 km south of Moscow]. He worked in the coal industry. He visited us in Moscow with his son Lyonia and daughter Sima and we visited them in Kadievka. Shakhna’s son Lyonia served in the army and once he came to see us in Moscow. Handsome and tall and his military uniform was so becoming. My mother’s younger sister Sophia with her numerous family and grandmother Leya lived in Uman. We met very rarely. There is nobody left in Uman. Sophia and her younger son Vladimir died. Sophia died in 1959 and Vladimir died in 1973. Their graves are in Uman. Sophia’s three daughters Anna, Luba and Larisa moved to Germany in 1990 and live in Portenschmiede.

I went to school in 1932. I went to a preparatory “zero” class. I finished this zero and 3 primary forms in this district school and then my mother sent me to the 4th form at the preparatory department of Central Music School at Moscow Conservatory. My initial audition went well and they admitted me to their piano class, but then it turned out that my hands were not technical enough. Later I understood that it had something to do with my vestibular apparatus. For example, I can dance waltz step turning to one side, but cannot change to another. My hands were not quick enough. Therefore, I didn’t do quite well at school. After the war I didn’t go back to this music school. They also got general education in this school. It was an amazing and unique school, a cradle of talented and gifted children. Leonid Kogan [Editor’s note: Leonid Kogan – (1924 – 1982) a virtuoso Jewish violinist and professor, graduate of Moscow Conservatory, laureate of several international contests and Lenin’s Award] was in my school. Later he became an outstanding musician of world class. There were many talented children, but only few came all the way up. It took colossal work, luck and skills to go up. They became schoolteachers or worked in orchestras. Many became ordinary musicians. The boy I shared my desk with became my friend. We went home together after school and went to the zoo. It was friendship of two children.

There were many Jews. Everywhere. It was some sort of a ‘Jewish Zoo’.  There were 18 children in my class, but only 12 attended classes regularly. Some were ill and others had other reasons. It was the end of the 1930s 15. This was the period of arrests of their fathers and there were children of ‘enemies of the people’ 16 in my class. Their fathers were in jail or had been executed, but they didn’t have a status of turncoats in the class. They studied like everybody else and we were all equal. I would like to say that this music school added a lot to my spiritual education, even though I didn’t feel quite comfortable there since I was sort of backward. I often went to the Bolshoy Theater 17 and to concerts at the conservatory, we were given free tickets. Besides, I studied with talented children and enjoyed talking to them. There were no conflicts in our class and children behaved themselves. They just didn’t have time for fooling around. In the morning we had music classes and studied theory and at 2 our general classes began. Therefore, there was a good atmosphere in class and we had nice teachers who were selected by special requirements.

I didn’t join Komsomol. Here is what happened. It’s not that I was some hero or something. I was sickly and at the time when my classmates joined Komsomol I was ill.  Nobody asked me about it or mentioned it afterward and I wasn’t quite eager to touch upon this subject. I was an active pioneer at my previous school. I was very interested in pioneer movement and believed it was something interesting. Once I went to a pioneer meeting. So I came there and listened. One speaks looking into his notes, then another one does the same – how dull.  So by the time I returned home I stopped being an active pioneer. Something broke up in me. I wasn’t interested in public movements since then.  My mother believed in communist slogans and tried to convert me to her views, but she failed. I was passive and somewhat deferred. Maybe it was because I was often ill. Besides, it was something not for me. She started a few times when I was an adult: ‘Why don’t you join the Party? Life would be easier for you. You have an antisocial position.’ But she understood that if somebody didn’t want something, then it didn’t make sense to force this person.  So it all went past me.

I didn’t face any anti-Semitism before the war and my mother didn’t either. There were many Jews at the university where my mother studied.

Then my school sent me to the best and biggest pioneer camp ‘Artek’ in the Crimea [1200 km south of Moscow] on the shore of the Black Sea.  I liked this camp very much. It was a model camp and lots of funds were allocated in it. There was good food and we had beautiful uniforms, there ere interesting children and at the end of our term we had a party around a big fire. There was a Kabardinian boy in the camp and he was a symbol of Artek. Kabardinians are backward mountainous people. Even now only few of them have education and it was symbolic that their boy came to this wonderful camp. We even sang song about him in Artek. During holidays he rode a horse and it was beautiful. We also arranged amateur concerts and sang songs. There was a piano in the camp. We sang pioneer and other songs. Some children sang, some danced and it was nice and joyful. I sat at the seashore gathering seashells. I brought home a suitcase full of seashells.

During the war

I had no idea that there was to be a war and was quite indifferent about a treaty between the USSR and Germany 18. Only my nanny Anna Dormidontovna spoke in agitated manner turning to Stalin’s portrait. I need to mention here that there was a portrait of Stalin in every family. ‘What are you doing, what are you doing? Why are you shipping them all our wheat and giving them our bread?’ (She meant fascists). The nanny stayed with us until the war and during the war she left us. I have no memories about the days when the war began. I remember that later, standing round a corner I thought: ‘What if I catch a spy?’ I was stupid and didn’t understand anything. And I thought: ‘What is it like when bombs begin falling all of a sudden I wonder.’ I didn’t know a thing about the war and what we were up to. I understood that something terrible happened, but I didn’t apply it to myself.  Nothing was going to happen to me and my life could not be terrible. 

We took hiding in the basement and bombshells to find shelter from bombs. There were many people hiding in metro. The University where my mother studied evacuated to Sverdlovsk, about 1400 km east of Moscow and my mother and I went there, too. We didn’t find any suitable accommodation in Sverdlovsk and my mother quit University and decided to go with me to the vicinity of Alapayevsk about 138 km north of Sverdlovsk, to Kostino village where my mother was teaching history.  My mother rented a corner in a village hut. Life was terrible there. There was only hunger. I didn’t go to school since there was only a 7-year school in the village and I was to study in the 9th form. I was hanging around there. There was a woman in evacuation in this village. She worked in a club before the war. She was a nice and tactful woman of about 60 years of age. She gathered young people into something like a drama club and we performed in surrounding villages. We didn’t get anything for it, but we were at least busy. People called us ‘artists’. There was no entertainment in villages. There was a radio near the library in the village and there was no electricity. Our performances were like holidays for them. People had a very hard life in the kolkhoz. They worked hard and worked a lot for almost nothing. Our landlady had 7 boys. Can you imagine what it took to provide food for them?  The oldest was 12. He didn’t go to school since he had to work in the kolkhoz. The only food we had were potatoes in jackets. And I remember an episode. My mother and I are eating when there appears a little face with begging eyes. This was one of our landlady’s sons. So what were we to do? We gave him a potato. Older children never begged, probably their mother told them not to, but younger ones always asked for food. It was hard to see this. Alapayevsk was a town near Sverdlovsk where members of the czar’s family were killed, including czarina’s sister Yelizaveta Fyodorovna, but in those years nobody knew about it, this was concealed. It was an industrial town. There were many steel casting and military plants in it. We stayed in Alapayevsk for a year, but I didn’t go to school. I was too weak from hunger. We rented a hallway in an overcrowded apartment. My mother taught history in a vocational school. I worked as a tutor in a kindergarten for about 8 months. In 1943 we returned home. As soon as victory was won in Stalingrad we could go to Moscow. There was nobody in our room, but it was looted and ravaged. They even stole our piano. Later my mother found this piano at our neighbors’ and they returned it. Moscow was military and there were newspaper strips on windows and bulbs were painted dark blue. We arrived and right away got under bombing. We also waited for news from the front every day. This was the most important thing for us. I remember my mother and I having 10 potatoes. They lasted 10 days: we had one half potato each per day. We boiled it and cut into halves and this made our meal. Nobody could help us. My mother’s relatives also had a hard life.  My grandmother Leya’s sister Maria Rudnik lived in Moscow. She had 7 children. They had a miserable life. We kept in touch with her at the time, but what could she do for us when she was starving, too?

My father’s brothers Israel and Volf perished at the front. My father’s cousin brother Aizenberg, unfortunately, I don’t remember his name, was a singer and had a very good voice. He perished in one of death camps. 

When we returned to Moscow, my mother defended her diploma and went to teach at school. My mother graduated from University brilliantly and was offered to start her postgraduate studies, but she had problems with her eyes. I told her: ‘Mother, you won’t be able to read this pile of books’. She could not write much. When she wrote me letters later it took me a while to guess what she wrote about. With her handwriting she couldn’t write articles or reports. She went to teach history in school # 12 [In the USSR schools had numbers and not names. It was part of the policy of the state. They were all state schools and were all supposed to be identical], where children of 3rd-rate chiefs studied. They were capricious and spoiled children. One came to the second class, another one came to the third, but they liked my mother’s classes. They gave her pictures on historical subjects, she managed to arouse their interest in history. She worked there until 1948 and then her eyes got worse and she retired. She was allowed to retire due to her poor sight. Then she went to lecture in the association of blind people. I went to work as a tutor in a kindergarten. I couldn’t continue my studies in my music school due to my hand defects. My hands turned out to lack technicality. I had finished the 9th form of district school #9 in Moscow. I didn’t like it in this school after my previous school at the Conservatory. It was like farce. Most teachers were in evacuation or at the front.  Our teachers had low qualifications and it was ridiculous how they conducted their lessons and I kept thinking about our wonderful teachers at the Central Music School. My mother knew my opinions and agreed that I should become a tutor in a kindergarten. I worked there 4 years. It was hard work, but I managed and children were good to me.  I couldn’t work as a music teacher at school due to my hands. There were 37 children in my group. It was a big group and besides, children of the war, they were problem children. Many didn’t have fathers, they had dramatic living conditions and they were all hungry. They were nervous and excitable children. In general, they made a hard company. While working in the kindergarten I finished a pedagogical school with honors and entered a Pedagogical College without taking entrance exams. I was only allowed to not take entrance exams at the Preschool Department. I wanted to go to the Philological Faculty, but I just wasn’t strong enough to take exams there. I finished my college with honors. I worked a mandatory term 19 in the kindergarten and then couldn’t find a job for a long time until I managed to become a preschool education teacher at the Pedagogical School. I began writing poems. At first I didn’t think much of it, but then I caught myself sitting at an exam at school putting down my lines instead of listening to a student. This shouldn’t be! I met young poets and we became friends and they told me that I had to quit school immediately. ‘Or, you will always remain a teacher and will never become a poet’. I left school, though we didn’t have anything at home.  I found a job in a publishing house with low payment. I was to write responses to beginners of poets. In 1958 my first book was published and I received a small fee for it. So I lived. My mother didn’t talk me out of it. She understood this was my cup of tea. I enjoyed writing poems tremendously, though it wasn’t easy, hard to find a word I needed, on the whole, it was hard work. Soon young poets began to get invitations to recite poems at schools and in libraries. I communicated with young poets in the poet section in the house of literature workers or in a café there. I wasn’t a member of the Union of writers, but they allowed me to the house of literature workers. We recited our poems to one another there.  I didn’t finish Literature College. There was a literature association ‘Magistral’ [‘highway’ in Russian] where I attended classes and took my entrance into literature. Igor Levin, a wonderful pedagog, conducted classes. We recited our poems and criticized each other. It was a good school. Levin invited best poets of the time to our sittings and they shared their views with us, recited their poems and listened to ours. I learned a lot at those classes. In 1961 I entered the Union of Writers. It was difficult to become a member of this Union at the time. I only had one book issued and I needed recommendations. S. Marshak 20 gave me one.  Somehow they admitted me, though my poems left much to be desired and unusual and people felt stunned. Then I began to have my books published.  I had 6 books for adults and 15 children’s books. I also translated 10 children’s books. My publishing house gave me books for translation. I met famous poets to be in ‘Magistral’ like Bulat Okudjava [a famous Russian bard (1924-1997)]. We were closely acquainted for a lifetime. It was hard to have books published, not only for me, but for all. Some people were against my books. There were spokes in my wheels and there were other things, but I had a wonderful editor: Victor Faigelson. He worked in the poetry section of ‘Soviet writer’ publishing house. He came to work there upon graduation from University. He adored poetry and poets and frankly speaking, he supported me. How? For example, it was very important to have not a piece read by a person who might have wanted to drown me. I had no idea who was going to read my poems, but he found ways to have a nicer person read my poems.  Reading and issuance of statement took a long time and then I was nervous about what they wrote about my poems since if proofreader wrote a few negative sentences that meant that a book was canceled.  Then one had to worry about having his book included in planning of publications. Even if they did include it, they might revise their plans. These were all nerves. Then there might be small edition, since my book might have been in little demand. If it hadn’t been for this editor I wouldn’t probably have had one book issued. My latest book is ‘Gorgeous Town’. It wasn’t published for a long time and I received an official note that the editorial portfolio was full and they were not going to publish my book. I was going to take it from there, when Faigelson all of a sudden read this paper and then said to me: ‘You go home and take a rest and don’t show up here’. I left and then my book was published some time later. So this was the way Victor Faigelson was. He supported all talented people.

After the war

After the war I faced anti-Semitism in everyday life. In 1948 mass persecution of Jews began. Being a Jew I was very concerned about it. Murder of Mikhoels 21, cosmopolitism 22 and ‘doctors’ plot’ 23. I happened to meet a boy, medical Professor Yegorov. His father was arrested during the period of ‘doctors’ plot’. He and his family were very worried. Many acquaintances turned away from his family then. One acquaintance of mine hanged himself at that period. His uncle was arrested under this case and he was hunted down. There was anti-Semitism among members of the house of literature workers. Not always evident and open, but there it was. One renowned poet was a militant anti-Semite and didn’t conceal it. Everybody knew him and avoided him. Routinely anti-Semitism was at its height and our co-tenants in our communal apartment tormented us. We used to have no conflicts before when all of a sudden our neighbors began to shout into a telephone receiver: ‘There are Jews living here’.  Of course, this was badgering against us. Other co-tenants didn’t interfere and kept silent, and my mother and I were distressed. Our neighbor used to polish his boots by our door grumbling: ‘Jews, Jews’. My mother and I lived in this communal apartment until 1960 and then the union of Writers gave me a one-bedroom apartment in the center of Moscow. 10 years later, in 1976, I received this apartment. The Union of Writers gave me this apartment since it’s impossible to write poems when there is another person in the room.

When in 1953 Stalin died, I was very upset. I thought it was going to be worse without him. I believed in his wisdom. I understood so little. One acquaintance said: ‘Better, Emilia. It’s going to be better’. I didn’t believe him, but later everything fell in its place. I remember Stalin’s funeral. I almost died in the crowd. I didn’t go there by myself, our college obliged us to go. There were no excuses accepted. My mother didn’t know. I wasn’t at home a whole night.  What could she think? And we could hardly get out of the crowd. We were on the edge of death. Denouncements of the 20th Congress 24 were a shock for me. My mother was happy that the truth found its way. My mother had different outlooks since she was a historian, but she didn’t share her opinions with me. 

When I began writing poems and then became a member of the Union of Writers my life changed. I got very interesting friends who were poets. Later they became renowned poets in the country. I can name Victor Bokov, Bulat Okudjava and others. They visited us on New Year, my birthday or my mother’s and we often celebrated on of my friend’s birthday at our place. We had joyful and noisy parties. I spent vacations in houses of creativity of the Union of Writers, mainly in the vicinity of Moscow and made new friends there.  My mother lectured in the association of blind people. She had friends there and they also visited us. Since I was plunged into my creative work my mother cared about our simple life at home. 

It happened so that I never got a family of my own. My mother was my only close person. My mother was ill for a long time before she died. She was bedridden for 10 months. I attended to her and my friends were helping me. I wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t have managed it alone. My mother died in 1993. I buried her in the Khovanskoye town cemetery in Moscow. There was no Jewish sector in this cemetery. I had a very hard period before my mother died: both in my creative work and because of my mother’s illness. My life was always hard, but it was particularly miserable during that period. My mother’s hopeless disease and I had no support. Besides, I had no luck. I wrote little and didn’t have anything published at all. I didn’t know where to apply myself and what to do with myself. We had very little money to live on. I received rare and low royalties and a health pension, or I would rather say, poor health pension. I needed money for my mother’s medical treatment. And then I met archpriest Aleksandr Men’ [Editor’s note: Aleksandr Men’ (1935-1990) Fr Alexander Men’ served as a priest in the Russian Orthodox church for thirty years. His legacy includes an Orthodox University, a Charity Group at the Russian Children's Hospital, and a Youth Missionary School. Fr Alexander is sometimes referred to as the architect of Christian renewal in Russia. He was a prolific writer, whose books cover all areas of religious thought, capped by a multi-volume study of world religions. On September 9, 1990 he was murdered. Fr Alexander's murder was never solved] and adopted Christianity. He was such a bright and light person that I followed him.

My parents gave up Judaism and didn’t give me religious education, and I had a craving for religion.   Perhaps, I took after my great grandfather Vigdor in this respect. There was a hollowness in my heart. I was a very credulous simpleton in my childhood and youth.  They told me at school that religion was a tale of uneducated old women. Teachers said this at school and chucked all religion out of my soul. I wasn’t religious at school and at 30 I became an atheist. However, I wasn’t an active atheist, I was passive. I couldn’t resist general moods. 

I heard about father Alexandr Men’ for the first time from my close friend Tamara Zhirmunskaya, a Jew and a poetess. She had stresses at home and was distressed about the situation. Alexandr Men’ whose spiritual daughter she had been for 10 years actually put together splinters of her soul. He busied himself with her like he would have with pieces of a broken cup and brought her to her feet. After I heard her story I realized that I had to see him. This was in 1988.

One Sunday my friend and I went to his church out of town. At the beginning everything was a surprise for me. It was a small wooden church. There was a crowd of people, there was no room to move.  Almost all of them came from Moscow. They were mainly intellectuals. Students, college lecturers. Many Jews. It was a fancy service and I felt like part of a stunning performance. His every move, each word, the sound of his voice, his oration imbued all. He was shining. There were strong fluids of light and kindness coming to people from him. I met a person who was convinced that Christ existed and I believed him.

Afterward I attended his lecture ‘Spiritual perestroika’ in the house of literature workers. I was shy and I went behind the curtains and said: ‘I do need to talk to you’ and he gave me his address. It was easy to address him. There were always people around him. He was very democratic. He didn’t even have arrogance inside. Although he knew his value he valued others. The following Sunday I went to the address he gave me and there was another service. There was confession. I waited till he talked with all others. They actually tortured him with their questions. He didn’t refuse one person. He listened to people and helped them to resolve their everyday issues. I waited till he finished talking with them and in 10 minutes I told him about my sorrow and problems. He replied: ‘I understand, I understand’. He was sitting in a small old arm-chair when he jumped to me like a tiger, recited a prayer and laid his hands on me. It felt so good.  They said he had healing hands and I can confirm it.  He said I had to cross myself very quickly and attend confession at least every three weeks. Then I had a feeling of faith. I began to write spiritual poems. I was different. Yes, a miracle happened to me. My life changed. I had lived with a quarter of my heart before, but then it became free and I started breathing.  And all of sudden poems came like from space, generously.  I wrote a book of poems. I started attending a temple and I made friends and they are still my friends. I stopped being alone. At first I was afraid of the thought that I was a Jew and Orthodoxy was religion of Russians and I didn’t go to church for a long time. I didn’t know that Alexandr Men’ was a Jew. And only after I got to know that he was a Jew I felt at ease and began to cross myself. Alexandr Men’ fully acknowledged his belonging to Jewish people and even believed it to be an undeserved Gift of the Lord. He highly valued his being a Jew and was proud of it. ‘Kinship with prophets, apostles, Virgin Mary and Christ is a great honor and great responsibility as a member of the Lord’s people,’ he said. In his opinion, a Christian Jew was still a Jew.  He didn’t baptize me. I was baptized after my mother died. During two years of her illness I couldn’t leave her and after she died Father Alexandr was not among the living any longer. In September 1990 he was murdered with one hit of an axe on his head on the way to church. I couldn’t understand how one could  raise his hand on a priest. This was horrible and it was a loss for me. 13 years passed, but they haven’t discovered the truth about this crime. Who plotted and committed it and will this murder ever be disclosed?  Father Alexandr belonged to the group clergy whose spreading influence was viewed by communists and their police as a threat to their power. For KGB and anti-Semites Alexandr Men’ was a suspicious figure. I think that they or the latter or together they murdered Alexandr Men’ to make him silent. Perhaps, the axe, this weapon of murder, was a symbol. They shook their axes fighting against Jews during pogroms.  Father Alexandr was concerned about increasing xenophobia in Russia. He saw a grain of Russian fascism in it. KGB authorities manipulated these fascists.

I stayed in hospitals 9 times in my life. Every time it was terrible. Last time in May 2002 I broke neck of femur on my left leg. I had limped slightly on my leg and had severe trombophlebitis. I sat on my bed 17 without moving, and even slept sitting. I thought it was trombophlebitis, but it was a fracture with displacement. I didn’t even fall I just sat on a bench somehow incautiously and then I fell from my bed and it led to displacement. I was alone, but members of our community helped me. Other patients in my ward were jealous about me. Their relatives didn’t visit them as often as my friends. I had a surgery. It was free of charge, but as it is customary in this or other hospitals I gave my doctor 100$ [Editor’s note: it is not uncommon to give small gifts or money, usually dollars, to doctors in Russia unofficially, in return for good treatment. Doctors usually expect such expressions of gratitude. This practice has always been especially widespread in bigger cities]. He was a nice doctor. I didn’t think that such skilled doctor would do this surgery on me, but he was on duty when I came to hospital and he started talking to me. I had health problems, and my heart was poor and I had diabetes and lots of other things. He said: ‘And what shall we do with you?’ I said ’Surgery’ ‘What if you remain on the table?’ I said: ‘It’s also a way out’. So he did this surgery on me. It was well done. They inserted an artificial joint. Staying in our hospitals is a great ordeal. I don’t like recalling this hospital. For example, if you need a night pot or want a wash you have to pay each time. I had 150 rubles [$6 at the time] in my drawer, an attendant saw money and took it looking as if she was doing me a great favor.  But there was nothing else to do. I was helpless and couldn’t rise from my bed. Those attendants were like gangsters and doctors were good specialists. They watched my health condition and my heart constantly. There were 8 patients in my ward and all were bedridden and helpless. One might even have died there at night if the door had been closed and nobody would have noticed. At night there was one attendant for 70 patients in the hospital. What could she do? Besides, her salary was very low and there were not many willing to take this job. It’s hard and low paid work. Now I can walk in my apartment, go downstairs to pick my mail, but my walking radius is limited.

I had big hopes for perestroika 25. It was like some fresh wind blowing. I do not watch TV now, but when I watched it, Duma meetings and speeches of various politicians I had hopes for something better. As for Gorbachev 26, I do not blame him. He raised the ‘iron curtain’ 27. This stupid Cold War that swallowed all our money and brought our state to ruin. It became easier to breathe and I got to know more.  It was always hard to be published. For different reasons. In the past it was a state monopoly and only literature officials, absolutely ignorant and uneducated, could decide to publish or forbid a book, whether it complied with moral and ethical standards of a Soviet citizen or not, there was censure and ideological commission and a book also needed to be included in publication plan.  Now one can publish anything, but it is a matter of money, which I don’t have. My savings were gone during default in 1990. Besides, I am old and cannot go around and ‘legs feed a wolf’, they say. There were many democratic slogans during perestroika and they seemed to have a meaning. I was glad about it and had hopes. But unfortunately, these events happened at my old age and illnesses when I couldn’t be an active member of society any longer. I don’t care that some people became rich and I am almost a beggar. I won’t get rich regardless of regime. I don’t need it. I have moderate demands and don’t need extra riches, they are a burden and do not contribute to creativity.

So who am I? A Jewish woman in blood turned to Christianity. Of course, I am a Jew. Jews were my ancestors. I am interested in their life, history and traditions. I think I am genetically linked to Jewry.  I don’t know why, but I am touched by Jewish folk songs and dances. If I had healthy legs, probably hearing Jewish music I would start dancing. I like Ukrainian and Russian songs, but listening to them, I do not have this anxious feeling that overwhelms me when listening to Jewish songs.  I didn’t get any religious education and was raised in a family of atheists, but I cannot say that my linking with Jewish people is merely ethnic or determined by a stamp in my passport. This is not the only reason why I feel my connection to Jewish people. If in the past religion in Russia was determined by nationality, now it’s not so. Not all Russian become Christian and the word Jew is not a synonym of a follower of Judaism. Though I adopted Orthodoxy, I’ve identified myself as a Jew.  I don’t attend a Jewish community since I haven’t left my home since I fractured my leg. When I asked the Hand of Help for help a curator visited me and when she saw icons on the walls she was struck dumb and didn’t know what to do at first, but then she decided to include me in the patronage list after talking to her management.

Gossary:

Janet Arguete
Istanbul
Turkey
Date of Interview: August 2006
Interviewer: Feride Petilon

If you see someone with silver hair, sparkling eyes and a young heart on the streets of Buyukada, do not refrain from approaching her. She is Camila Arguete. Even if her name on her birth certificate is Camila, this sweet lady who goes by the name Jana or Janet, has without fail, a message to give to you, or a joke, or a riddle. I shared a few summer mornings with her pleasantly. Here is what she recounted...

Family background

Growing Up

During the War

After the War

Glossary

Family background

I never knew my father’s father Menahem Sages and my father’s mother Camila Sages. The only information I have about them are their images on faded pictures. My grandfather with a fez, and my grandmother with a headscarf, they had to live during the time of the Ottoman Empire.  During the period of Ataturk’s 1 reforms 2 Menahem Sages and Camila Sages was a family who observed religious rules meticulously, who spoke Turkish but did not consider Turkish to be their mother tongue. They lived in Bursa [It is a city in the region of Marmara. It was the capital for a period of time during the Ottoman Empire, with an old historical background, famous for Uludag (Mt. Olympus), its hot springs and silk commerce. Today Uludag is a ski resort]. 

Menahem Sages and  Camila Sages were members of the Jewish community who resided in Bursa (Bursa was the most advanced Jewish community of its time. There were 3 synagogues. Yirush, Mayor, Etz Hayim. All of these synagogues served their own Jewishs population flawlessly. The community in Bursa had a Jewish club also. Balls would be organized in these clubs). Among the family members I can remember are Tia Sultanicha and Tia Mazaltucha (Tia: aunt in Judeo Spanish). While my older brother got a spanking for his misdeeds, I would silently laugh to myself, and Tia Sultanicha or Tia Mazaltucha would say “I tu mereses haftona” [Judeo-Spanish term for: And you deserve a spanking] and incite my father needlessly. Words and discipline methods were futile, they did not serve anything. My father would insist doing it his way and showed me preferential treatment over my older brother.

Since Tia Mazaltucha and Tia Sultanicha’s financial situation wasn’t too good, on Thursday evenings, they would take their share of the food cooked for the Sabbath. Even though I don’t have much information about their spouses, I know that Tia Mazaltucha had two children named Michel and Ester, and Tia Sultanicha, Leon and Viktorya. I did not see these children very often in the following years.

My mother’s mother Flor Abravanel and father Senor Abravanel on the other hand were a family from Salonika [Today it is a city in Greece. But during the years we are talking about Bursa and Salonika were cities of the Ottoman Empire]. My mother’s father Senor Abravanel was a manager of a bank in Salonika. In those days, being a highschool graduate was quite a big deal. His brother Jozef Abravanel was the ambassador for Portugal. His wife Viktorya and only son Jak were the other members of the family. My maternal grandmother Flor Abravanel was a teacher in Salonika. [The information given uses the term “profesora de eskola”: school teacher. This indicates an elementary school teacher rather than a teacher of a specific subject]. 

I remember my maternal grandmother living across the fire station in Sishane [Sishane is the district where Neve Shalom synagogue 3 is today. During that time the Jewish community lived in this district. The area they called “Kula” was the surrounding area of Galata Tower. A lot of merchants from the fish seller to the sundries/notions store manager were Jewish. The largest fire organization of Istanbul was at the Sishane plaza. Only Jews lived in a lot of the houses then.  Fresh Han is an example of this]. When I came to Istanbul from Bursa, the city that looked so big to me would seem even bigger from the iron-barred windows of my grandmother’s. Flor Abravanel who remains in my memory with her wrinkled face and the pieces of cake she gave me would seat me on the corner of the window at her house with a pillow and enable me to see the  surrounding area. I still like sitting at the window, watching the people passing by in the street probably as a habit acquired from those days.

Through the eyes of a child, Sishane appeared to be fun, mysterious and quite entertaining to me. Across the largest fire organization in Istanbul, the red trucks that moved with sirens, the Jews that lived all together in this neighborhood that was at the heart of Istanbul, moved me.

When we compare my father’s and my mother’s families, we encounter different things. The Jews of Salonika, that is to say, my mother’s side were people with a more modern outlook. There were differences in the education levels as well.  Salonika was a European city nonetheless, whereas Bursa was an Anatolian city. [This difference wasn’t really considered in those days because both cities, Bursa and Salonika were cities that belonged to the Ottoman Empire.  With the downfall of the Ottoman Empire and the declaration of the Turkish Republic, Salonika and Bursa took their place in history as a city in Greece and Turkey respectively].

I do not know how Menahem Sages and Camila Sages, and how Senor Abravanel and Flora Abravanel met or married.  These subjects were not broached next to us.
.
My father Jak Sages was the son of a very crowded family with 9 siblings.
The oldest brother Albert Sages was married to Kler Bensason. He had two sons named Menahem and Moshe. When the older son was in the military, Kler Bensason started having irregular periods. While the various doctors they went to recommended different therapies, Kler was pregnant with her third baby.  And Michel was born 9 months later. This child who could only be circumcised three months later, whose arms looked like pencils and his fingers like strings brought luck to the family. Their financial situation improved. The children of Albert and Kler Sages, who immigrated to Israel continued living in Israel. Today Michel who still calls me often, has a personality that values family relationships.

My father’s second brother, Michel Sages had contracted tuberculosis. Michel married a lady named Margeurite and passed his illness to her. When Margeurite died, Michel Sages married a lady named Judit this time. Judit took very good care of my uncle Michel. When my mother was warning us not to even drink water when we went to my uncle’s house, Judit would use the same handkerchief she used to wipe my uncle’s sweat, to wipe her own. And Judit did not contract the disease. Judit was left alone with the death of my uncle Michel and remarried. You can only call it fate that she infected her new husband with tuberculosis. My uncle Michel Sages did not have any children from his first wife Margeurite or his second wife Judit.

Another one of my father’s siblings, Isak Sages went with the flow of the times and ran away to France at the age of 17.  [It was very common for the young people to seek their future out of the country. At times you even lost communication with the people who left. Because the only form of communication at the time was letters. Letters sometimes got lost in the mail and you might not hear from the person who left for a long time. France, Canada, Argentina, and the United States were the countries that were favored]. He married Albertine Elkabes; had three daughters named Janine, Arlette and Suzi. He and my father never lost touch.

Now it is the girls’ turn. Ester married and went to Adana [a city on the south of Turkey, on the coast of the Mediterranean] as a bride. She had a daughter named Leonora.

Sinyora went to the United States for a marriage arranged by matchmaking. Matchmakings like these were done in those days. First they would send each other pictures, then either the girl or the boy would travel and try to get to know their spouse. Sinyora went to the United States for such a prospect. After an unsuccessful attempt, reason unknown, she returned “Kon los mokos enkolgados” [Judeo-Spanish idiom meaning: “with her mucus hanging”; that is to say “without gaining anything from this enterprise”.] She married Monsieur Semo in Bursa and had four sons named Menahem, David, Sami, and Nesim.

Oro married Isak Tovi in Bursa; had children named Kemal, Sara, and Camile.

Coya married Monsieur Sevia and had two children named Janet and Jak. Jak served as ambassador of Israel.

Rebeka married Monsieur Bensason. She had three sons named Menahem, Rıfat and Albert.

My father Jak Sages was born in Bursa (1881). He came and went to Istanbul often. He wasn’t very educated but he was an esteemed merchant. My father’s good looks were legendary. He had good relationships with the women in his factory. He was a tough father. He had an authoritarian attitude with his wife and son, but when it came to me, he melted down. He was cool toward religious matters, some of the arguments he had with my mother were even about how to apply our religious traditions. When the usher knocked on our door on Saturday mornings and yelled “Monsieur Sages al kal” [Judeo-Spanish term for: Mr. Sages to the synagogue], I would respond “En la fabrika de Paskal” [Judeo-Spanish term for: at the factory of Paskal meant to rhyme with the previous sentence in a mocking way]. During the hours when the usher came to the door and encouraged the community to go to the synagogue, my father would be at the factory to prevent the silk cocoons from tangling with each other. Silk commerce was his life. There was a concept of  spinning wheel for silk. He was an expert in this subject. He knew how to produce more silk from less cocoons. [Even today Bursa is at the heart of textile commerce]. He always protected his good name in the commercial circles.

In the last years of his life, he moved to Istanbul with my mother at the insistence of my older brother. Unfortunately the disagreements between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law are like a law of nature and happened between my mother and my sister-in-law. Of course quietly... In those days the problems within a family were not brought out to the open.  They were kept within the family as much as possible or the saying “les linges sales se lavent en famille” [French for: dirty laundry is washed within the family] was observed. My father died in Istanbul in 1975.

My mother was also the daughter of a family with a lot of children like my father.

The older daughter Rasel Saporta was already a widow when I knew her. She did not have children.

Another sister, Henriette Konfino lived in Romania. What took her away from Turkey was marriage chords. But the nostalgia for her native country was an unbearable longing for Henriette. She burned with the desire to come to Turkey.  When her older brother fulfilled her wish, it probably was too late already because Henriette was too sick to even know that she had come to Turkey. And she closed her eyes here for the last time. She did not have children.

Lucy Abravanel married David Abravanel. The fact that Lucy and David had the same last name was not a coincidence, it was an indication of an interfamily marriage. Lucy and David were cousins. Even though their first child Arman Abravanel was a healthy child, the second child Neli was deaf and mute. Lucy Abravanel left her spouse in Istanbul and went to Israel with her daughter Neli. She provided a special education for her daughter in Israel and she learned sign language.  Neli married there. Neli’s first child was born normal and learned how to talk from grandmother Lucy. Unfortunately the second child was also deaf-mute and the grandhild did not learn how to talk because the grandmother was not alive.

Ester Molho used to live in Salonika. They were a family affected by the horrors of Second World War. Her son who was a bank manager and her husband were deported. No one heard from them again just like no one heard from the 6 million Jews...

Another sibling was Anjel Karako. She was married to Isak Karako. Their daughter Ester Cakartas and her husband lost their life in a traffic accident. Ester’s daughter Gila married a prince in France. I think this prince was Jewish because the maternal grandmother Anjel Karako went to Paris to hold the thallis over her grandchild. Everything really started like a fairy tale. But just as everything that shines is not gold, this reality was also true for Gila. Gila stayed married for only 6 months. The prince was not a good man. Maybe he was a fake prince, it was rumored that “no era ombre ansina diziyan” [Judeo-Spanish for: “he was not a man”, this saying is used for homosexuals]. Gila suffered a great depression and paid for this marriage by sinking into darkness. Gila had therapy in La Paix [one of the Mental Hospitals in Istanbul] and in other places after returning to Istanbul. She is currently hospitalized in Balikli Greek Hospital [one of the mental hospitals of Istanbul]. Ester’s son Isak on the other hand left the country. No one heard from him again.

Jak Abravanel was the oldest of the brothers. He searched his luck in Argentina. None of his siblings saw Jak except in photographs. Even if some pictures were received from the communications with his sons, the siblings were never able to reunite.

Another one of the older brothers, Isak Abravanel was married to Viktorya Levi. He had four daughters named Flor Benzonana, Eliza Elver, Sol Bener and Coya Kohen. Coya Kohen and her husband took their daughter-in-law to France to prepare her dowry. The plane that crashed on the return trip was the end of this story. They all lost their lives together. (Coya Kohen’s son had stayed in Istanbul. The mother and father of the bride never lost touch with the son-in-law throughout their lives. This young man even married and had children. The mother and father of the girl who died remained as part of this family).
  
Ida - David Tasman are another sister and brother-in-law of my mother. David Tasman was a Russian refugee. He was a true Russian aristocrat. He had studied dentistry in Russia and practiced this profession for a long time. Later he ran away from the mismanagement of Russia and the pogroms and came to Istanbul. Rumor had it that David Tasman had a son named Boris that he left back in Russia. His wife had died but this child never came to Istanbul. There was no communication between father and son. After David Tasman came to Istanbul, he worked with another dentist since he did not have the right to open a clinic. He was a very well-mannered and dignified man. He provided very well for my aunt. They celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. He died at the age of 80. He loved me a lot too. Only, you should never play cards with him. Because he always wanted to win. This is a joke I remember about David Tasman. Ida’s child died while still in her womb because of the cord that was wrapped around its neck. She did not have a child again.

My mother Mari Sages’ last name before she was married was Abravanel. Mari Sages was an educated woman. She was a teacher. When she came to Bursa as a bride, the siblings of her husband were not married yet. They all started living together. My mother’s French was advanced. Her religious beliefs were very strong. She used to light the Sabbath candles, she tried to observe the rules of kashrut. The hardest days of our home were the days close to Passover. My mother would clean the whole house from top to bottom and did not want us to enter the place she cleaned until Passover. This was called “Ya entro pesah en esta kamareta” [Judeo-Spanish for: Passover has arrived in this room].  When it was the turn for the diningroom, my father would start getting upset. Because he did not like eating in the entrance hall that we called kortijo at all, he used to topple the table over. My mother, on the other hand, continued Passover preparations with a lot of calm. My mother who liked to get dolled up never refrained from putting on her lipstick before my father came home from work, and would put on her necklace and earrings a lot of the times too.

When there was a wedding in Bursa, the women of Bursa would go to Istanbul to have an outfit sewn. All the ladies would seek  a tailor that was popular in those days at the same time, and the tailor would sew the same outfit for all of them, and all of them would be identical during the wedding. They would not learn a lesson from this and continue the same procedure in the next wedding. When the smell of coffee started to permeate from one of the gardens in the afternoon, it was the sign of the women of the neighborhood starting to congregate. The biggest pastime during those days was to gather together to prepare the homemade pasta, to prepare tomato sauce or talk about the food that was going to be cooked for Friday.  All this important business was embellished by coffee breaks. My mother died just as she wished. One night, when they were returning from an outing, she did not feel good, and that was it. The calendar showed the year 1968.

When the children of two large families, the Abravanel’s and the Sages’, were married, they started living in Bursa. I know they married in the matchmaking style. My mother came from Salonika, my father lived in Bursa. In Bursa, family gatherings were important. There was a Jewish association. Balls would take place and my mother and father participated in these balls. There wasn’t a luxurious life in Bursa, but there was an orderly and good life. 

I am the second child of this family.

My older brother Menahem Sages was born in 1921 in Bursa. He continued his education in St. George High school [Austrian missionary school]. But he could not finish it. I know he went to this school for a few years but I do not have any information as to why he wasn’t able to finish. In reality, it wasn’t possible to question some things, especially by children. If he quits school, he quits, and if he continues, he continues. “No es komo la espesutina de agora” [Judeo-Spanish for: It isn’t the same hassle as today]. His wife Rene Nahmias was the sister of my uncle Michel’s first wife Margeurite. She was a very beautiful woman but she was too meticulous, she was obsessively meticulous. When we went to her house, she would look at your shoes before she looked at your face. She had a very good relationship with her son. She took care of him like a baby, she paid a lot of attention to her husband too but we generally did not go to my older brother’s house, he would come to our house to see me. My brother and my childhood were not alike at all. Because our personalities were not alike. He was calm whereas I was naughty and mischievous. He did not like drinking alcohol or gambling. He did not smoke. But for whatever reason he was always the one spanked during the childhood years. I would climb trees, he would sit at home.

His son Jak Sages was born in 1946 in Istanbul. After attending elementary school in Kurtulus Elementary School, he went to the British High school 3. And then he went to Israel. Adventure. Later he immigrated to Canada. Currently he lives in Canada, in the city of Victoria. In those days naming after the grandfather or grandmother was a tradition.  Meaning the son of Menahem carries my father’s name. My older brother did not want his son to do military service in Turkey, for that reason, especially encouraged him to go out of the country. His going to Canada was an adventure like his going to Israel but it was as if my older brother continually encouraged this adventure. My older brother died in Canada where he went to see his son in 1984.

Even though I carry my grandmother’s name according to traditions, Camila is only my name on my birth certificate. I am called Janet or Jana in my daily life. I remember being Camila only when I use my passport. 

Growing Up

I was born in 1924. The house where we lived when I was born was the same as the house I lived in when I went to Istanbul as a bride. That neighborhood was called “La Juderia”.  All of the Jews in Bursa lived on the same street. On both sides of the hill full of trees houses were lined up. Only Jews lived there until the place we called Catalfirin [Forkbakery]. We had 3 synagogues: Yirush, Mayor and Etz Hayim. We were crowded, we were like siblings. We would eat and play together with the daughters of the poor families who came to our house as helpers. Mrs. Hanife who came from the factory every day would take food to my father.  Mrs. Hanife was one of the workers in the factory. My father who liked to eat fresh food, preferred eating lunch with the food that was cooked that day rather than the leftovers from the previous night. When Mrs. Hanife came, the food that was placed in the thermos would go to my factor at the factory. 

On a day I took advantage of the fact that my mother was making dessert. I ran away and continued walking in the street. When my mother realized I was not home, she rushes out to the street with her apron and finds me in the hands of a woman. My mother screams “Give me my child”. The woman calls the police and invites my mother to prove that she is my mother. My father being a well-known person and his good relationship with the people around him enables the problem to be solved. Is there an end to my mischievousness? One of my favorite things was our hill that would be under snow on cold winter days. When I put my bag under my butt, I would slide quickly from top to bottom.

In our street, the yoghurt-seller, the poultry man, the egg-seller would pass. The yoghurt-seller would carry his pans full of yoghurt on strings that were attached to a pole. We would buy this yoghurt sold by kilogram into our pans. We would joke saying “Los guevos del dede son grandes” [Judeo-Spanish for: The grandfather has big eggs, meaning balls]. The poultry man would bring the chickens, my mother and her neighbors would bring the chickens to the rabbi to check if they are kosher or not and would cut them according to the rules of kashrut. They would put aside some chickens as non-kosher. The chickens that were cut were taken to Jewish women to have their feathers removed this time. Those women would almost memorize which chicken belonged to whom but once in a while, the chicken of Madam Rebeka would get mixed up with the chicken of Madam Zelda. But the smell of the cooking chicken would spread to the neighborhood. On Saturdays the firesetter would pass through the neighborhood. The Jews who did not consider it appropriate to light a fire on the Sabbath were able to light the lamps or stove thanks to the firesetters who were Muslim.  Even though this tradition was applied by my mother, my father would turn on the lights before he left for the factory.

We have to add the cotton fluffer who was a tradesman of those days who passed through the neighborhood. The fluffer was the one who renewed our mattresses at certain times, who beat the cotton inside with a mallet to air it. The same person sewed the comforters. The work of the cotton fluffer would be very intensive especially in summer and fall cleanings.

Even if shopping was done from retailers in Bursa, the heart of commerce was in the Closed Bazaar. Towel sellers, fabric merchants were inside this bazaar. At the end of the Closed Bazaar you could find Salt Bazaar. Silk cocoons would be displayed as if in an auction during the season. There would be lawyers’ offices or offices associated with commerce on the top floors. My uncle was a representative of Michelin [French tyre company] and had an office in the Closed Bazaar.
 
The house we lived in had three stories. Like the twin houses of today, we could go to the neighbor’s house from the stairs in between. The basement of this house where the ground floor was a grocery store, served almost like a refrigerator. Every kind of document and food was kept there. On the top floor, in the entrance which was called “kortijo”, were the kitchen, bathroom and laundry. We even called the laundry lady who came to the house Tia Rahelina. [She indicates that they considered the lady who came to do the laundry part of the family and addressed her as tia-aunt].  When Tia Rahelina tackled the laundry, the whole place would smell clean like white soap, the whites would be boiled in large pots with bluing [a substance used in the old times to whiten laundry]. The laundry that was hung to dry in the garden would sway in the wind. Coal stoves and braziers would be lit on laundry days, food would be cooked on the same stoves. Tia Rahelina’s sons later became very rich and saved their mother from this job. In reality, after we came to Istanbul, we did not see Tia Rahelina for very long years. Later on they became in-laws to some distant relatives and we saw her sons and her at a wedding. We learned that her sons were in the tin and oil business. In our times the women did not know much the work that the men did. Men did not explain, and the women would not be interested. But I know that Tia Rahelina’s sons were in commerce.

We had a sofa, armchair and a table with a golden mirror in our living room. When I see these end tables in decorating magazines, I understand that the saying “If there was a demand for old things, flea markets would flourish” is not very valid. The floors were linoleum, the stairs made of wood. Sparkling the linoleum was a symbol of cleanliness. The wooden stairs, on the other hand, squeaked. The cleaning supplies were not as strong probably. Soft soap, white soap, bleach was used. Clean water flowed from the taps always, there were heating stoves in each story, and in the kitchen stoves were lit.

In those days, the traffic did not resemble today’s mess, there were few motorized cars, and one horse-carriages were vehicles that were used [she used the ladino term “talika brijka” for the horse-carriage]. Obviously in a neighborhood where automobiles were seldom seen, even if there weren’t playgrounds designed for children, the streets, the gardens were our play areas. We grew up with this distinction, the orchards and gardens were ours. We would play hopscotch (We would draw squares in the street with chalks, would skip on one foot to move the stone while not letting it touch the lines. In every neighborhood, different rules would be applied to the game of hopscotch. We would explain those who came from other neighborhoods the rules of that neighborhood. For example, holding the stone on top of your foot while playing would make it more difficult, but that was another rule) in the streets, jump rope.

The hamam is one of the biggest features of Bursa. The mikveh habit of older ladies would be satisfied in the hamam too. It was customary to prepare food for the hamam entertainment. One of the favorite pastimes of those days was for a few families to get together to go to the Gonlu Ferah Hotel in Cekirge [Cekirge is a district of Bursa famous for its hot springs. It has hamams that are left from the old times. It is known that these waters are therapeutic and you could go there for medical purposes. Until a short while ago, taking baths as a cure for rheumatism with a doctor’s recommendation was a valid procedure].

Going to the Gonlu Ferah Hotel was the favorite entertainment of those days. There were one-story hotels, rooms with their private hamams, and multiple room hotels also in Cekirge. When you went to Cekirge, you would sit in the gardens. Chatting in gazebos covered in vines was one of the preferred pastimes of our elders. Sometimes these outings were not for one day, but could last a few days, because the men went to and from work in Cekirge.

Picnics were part of life in Bursa that you couldn’t do without. We would go up to Uludag with buses. Barbecues were brought but the meat would be carried from home. The rules of kashrut were always in effect. Even the dolmas and salads were prepared from home. The breaking of the ropes of melons and watermelons that were thrown down wells to keep them cold at times would cause disappointments (Because using refrigerators wasn’t widespread in those days, melons and watermelons would be tied up and lowered to wells in summer to keep them cold. Sometimes the watermelon or melons would be too heavy, the rope would break and the watermelon and melons would fall into the well).

I used to go to a school named “mestra” before I started school. Mestra was a kind of preschool like the ones that exist today. Ms. Suzan who spoke French would gather a few kids in her house, play games, and supposedly teach them French. Ms. Suzan was a spinster, she was thin and scrawny. Whoever saw her would utter “poor thing”. Mr. Geron on the other hand was big and burly. When you compare it to the preschools of today, the children were raised in primitive conditions there. 

I started school in a Jewish school, then I transferred to Istiklal School. We met again with friends with whom we studied together, years later. None of us had changed, only our birth certificates had grown old. We would visit each other with these friends. They would not look down on us. They would not regard us as inferior because we were Jews, on the contrary, they wanted to be with us. In Bursa, the holiday visits were important too. We socialized with our school friends and their families. They were all children of intellectual families. We had very good relationships with the teachers in our school too. I remember Mr. Halit and Mrs. Muazzez among the teachers. We thought that these two teachers flirted with each other in school. When we saw them next to each other, we would start giggling right away. But we were never disrespectful toward our teachers, we did not step over our boundaries. I loved Mr. Halit most among the teachers. We would go to kiss their hands on holidays.

I loved reading a lot. I bought all the magazines that came out in those days. Solving puzzles is a habit left over from those days. There were no puzzle books of course, we waited for the puzzles section of the newspapers impatiently.  Afacan Çocuk [Mischievous Child], Ses [Voice], Hayat [Life] magazines, Dogan Kardes [Brother Dogan] were among my favorites.

Among my childhood memories, the bar-mitzvah of my older brother is prominent. We had visitors at home for three days and three nights. We distributed food to family and friends for two days, and to the needy for one day. We the children, played around. Towels, pyjamas and socks were among the preferred gifts. 6 monetary units (of the time) were considered a good gift, and would be saved by the mother. My older brother had gone to the synagogue with only my father. My mother waited for them at home, and immediately started giving out sweets. The children of that time had limited means but were happy, today they have everything but they are tense.

Bursa’s summer resort was Mudanya [A neighborhood on the border of the sea around Bursa]. When my uncle’s family went to their summer resort, they would take me with them. I would show my wild side over there too, and would climb to the top of trees. My father loved Buyukada a lot. [Buyukada is one of the islands in the Princess Islands group on Marmara sea. The others are named Kinaliada, Burgazada, and Heybeliada. Today Burgazada and Buyukada are summer resorts that are in demand by Jews]. In those days, the upper crust people especially went to Buyukada for the summer. Attire and clothing was important in Buyukada, ladies went around with hats, and would go to meet their husbands from the dock.

We would go to the Cankaya Hotel in Buyukada for a month. Such a vacation was a luxury in those days. My father would rent a room every summer in the Cankaya Hotel for 1,5 months. The hotel was all inclusive. We ate our meals there, in the hotel. When summer came, we would take our suitcases and settle there. The clothing to be worn in Buyukada was separate. A separate shopping was needed. Because my mom liked to dress fancy and would not go down from her room without her necklace and her earrings. I would go to Degirmen Beach ever morning with my friends [One of the most famous beaches of Buyukada. Now it is a club, only members can go in. Another one of the beautiful beaches in Buyukada at the time was Yorukali Beach]. My mother did not swim in the sea. My father only came in the weekends. My mother would play cards with her friends or go down to the dock to sit in the tea gardens. I and my friends would enjoy summer vacation thoroughly.      

During the War

When I became a young woman, around the 1940’s, it was the period when antisemitism was prevalent in Bursa. They called us “Chifut” [Jew]. When we returned home from school we would walk without looking around. All of us (my cousin Ester Carktas, myself and the other Jewish girls) were attractive girls. That is why we were very scared of being approached or made improper advances to. “Citizen, speak Turkish” 4 was one of the most important events of our time. There was a fine of 5 units of money for people who did not speak Turkish. There is even a joke about this subject.  An official from the public registrar’s office came to a house and asked what is your name. Rebeka asked Moshon: “Ke disho, ke disho? [Judeo-Spanish for: What did he say, what did he say?]  “Komo te yamas?” [Judeo-Spanish for: What is your name?]  Moshon answers “Rebeka and Moshon”. The official continued asking. “Your year of birth?” Rebeka asks  “Ke disho, ke disho? [Judeo-Spanish for: What did he say, what did he say?] “En ke anyo nasimos” [Judeo-Spanish for: What year we were born]. Moshon answers again. While this continued, the official asks “What is your mother tongue?”  Rebeka asks again “Ke disho, ke disho? [Judeo-Spanish for: What did he say, what did he say?] Moshon: “Kuala es muestra lingua maternal?” [Judeo-Spanish for: what is our mother tongue?]. Rebeka immediately answers “Turkchas, turkchas” [Turkish, Turkish].

We were very afraid during the 2nd World War, there were even rumors that ovens were prepared for us. From our family, my aunt Esterina Molho who lived in Salonika, her husband who was a bank manager, her children and her grandchildren were all sent to concentration camps. They were a very esteemed family, and they were very wealthy.  Unfortunately in the following years, this money was squandered on attorneys. When the sisters researched this wealth they took part of what was theirs but they did not fight hard enough. The real estates was all lost. Whatever the lawyer wanted to show that is what he showed and that was it. What could my mother do other than grieve. We were not aware of this right away. We became aware in time. When we were made aware it was too late anyways. When the sisters looked for this wealth, they received a portion of what was rightfully theirs.

My mother-in-law had two brothers. One was named Leon Ancel, the other Jojo Ancel. Leon Ancel lived in France. He was able to hide himself by marrying a Christian woman named Helen. I had the opportunity to meet Dominique, the son of Uncle Leon who was saved thanks to his wife in the later years. The other brother Jozef Ancel lived in Switzerland anyways. He was not affected by the war.

I heard about the Thrace Events 5, but noone from our family was unjustly treated.

The Wealth Tax 6 left a lot of people in hardship. My father was registered as a janitor in the factory, therefore he was not affected much.  But some families had everything taken from them. There were those who went to Ashkale and of course those that were not able to come back.

I was already in Istanbul during 6-7 September events 7. I had come to Istanbul in 1946. There was a Greek grocer under the home of my mother-in-law, Lucy Arguete in Dereboyu [Main street of Ortakoy. Greeks, Jews and Muslims lived alongside each other on this street. A river ran through the middle of this street, and crossing from one sidewalk across to the other was by bridges. Ortakoy is one of the first places in Istanbul that the Jews who ran away from Spain settled in when the Ottoman Empire accepted them. It is situated on the shores of the Bosphorus in Istanbul]. Looters entered the house and cut up my mother-in-law’s rugs. My mother-in-law escaped with her nightgown and came to us. When I went out the next day, my heart ached. There were refrigerators, washing machines, rolls of fabric, sacks of all kinds of produce dragging through the streets. It looked more like a war zone than a looting zone. What attracted my attention most was the Greeks still continuing to speak in Greek fearlessly.

My husband Avram Arguete was a very principled man, hard-working and honest. At first they were very rich. His father Albert Arguete’s nickname was “Golden Bee”. They had a haberdashery store in Ortakoy. He was born in Ortakoy. That store was the one with the most variety at the time. But I was not around for the times of wealth. Yo me topi en la aniyud [Judeo-Spanish for: I was around for the poverty]. The Wealth Tax erased all of this wealth. My father-in-law did not have a single experience with the police in his life. Police officers came to his store during the Wealth Tax. He fell ill with that stress and died in 1946. 

His mother Lucy Arguete’s maiden name was Ancel. Lucy Arguete was of medium height, could be considered on the short side and had gray hair. Lucy Arguete’s story is quite interesting. When my mother-in-law was in her first marriage, it was the time for the flu epidemic. This epidemic was called the Spanish flu. This epidemic was in the news in the newspapers too. Her husband died on the night of the wedding before they could even have any relationship. Lucy became a widow with her wedding gown, as a virgin maiden. This flu that was called the Spanish flu, is considered an epidemic historically. A high fever and sudden death were the typical symptoms of this illness. Lucy Arguete lived through such a tragedy on the night of her wedding to her husband.

Lucy turned her back to life with this disappointment. She went to visit her relatives in Ortakoy. In reality the reason they called her to Ortakoy was to introduce her to my father-in-law Anri Arguete. At the time, a widow had to be very careful about the steps she took. Lucy, in reality, was a very optimistic and luminous woman. She loved giving out presents.  That is why her purse was always full of candy and chocolates. When children saw her, they always approached her.  This woman who was of short stature, who put her long gray hair up in a bun on her neck, agreed to marry my father-in-law Anri Arguete who was a widower with one child, with the mentality of those days. Anri Arguete had lost his wife in Ortakoy. He was a very religious, quiet and inoffensive person. There was an age difference with Lucy. Along with the age difference, there was a cultural difference and a difference in life style. Lucy was a modern person who liked to go out, to spend money, to strengthen her dialogue with people. My father-in-law Anri on the other hand, was an introverted person who was lost among religious books, who spent his life within religious books. There were differences from their family structures. Lucy had an aptitude for western cultures, due to her siblings and her connections outside the country.  Anri on the other hand, was a good person, and that was it. Lucy never treated Anri’s daughter from his first wife Suzan  any different from her own children. When Lucy was married, Suzan was 5 years old. But she became the apple of Lucy’s eye. Suzan knew that Lucy was not her mother. Besides, the mother’s family used to come to see Suzan. But because Lucy did not distinguish Suzan from her own children, she even showed her preferential treatment at times.  When she went out, she always took Suzan with her.

Suzan was a lively, cheerful girl. In later years, she turned out to be a very capable woman. Suzan shared a similar fate with my mother-in-law Lucy. When Suzan married Albert Cukran, Albert’s wife had died in childbirth and left her daughter Beki without a mother. In those days, Beki was given her dead mother’s name. Suzan took the baby to her heart since she knew the feeling. She did not even tell the three sisters she gave birth to, Juliet, Sara and Zelda this step-daughter situation for years. Beki was told the truth by her fiance. Beki’s first reaction was “It does not matter, Suzan is my mother. Please don’t tell it to my sisters”. Every sister was told that they were of different mothers by their fiance, and the sisters never talked about this amongst themselves during their lifetime, in reality. In Suzan’s old age, her sons-in-law competed to take her into their house.

Juliet married Jojo Franko (another last name is Aker). She has two children named Sami and Ari. Sara married a gentleman named Ibrahim, she has three daughters. Zelda married Refik Celik.  Refik also had a daughter from his first marriage. (When Lucy Arguete married, she found Suzan.  When Suzan married she found Beki.  Suzan’s one other daughter Zelda, when she married, she married a gentleman who had a daughter from his first marriage.  In this way, three generations of women married men who were on their second marriage and found a daughter each).

My mother-in-law’s daughter Ceni Arguete was married to Marko Uziyel.  She had one daughter named Bella.  Ceni was a chubby woman of medium height.  She lived with her mother Lucy.  Marko Uziyel’s financial situation was not very bright.  Ceni-Marko Uziyel lived in Nisantas [One of the best neighborhoods of Istanbul] in a basement flat.  That house was a humid house.  My mother-in-law had succeeded in making that house cozy.  Lucy used to receive financial help from her siblings who lived in Switzerland.  She in turn gave it to her daughter.  Ceni’s daughter Bella did not grow up as the daughter of a family with no means.  The best of everything was always at Bella’s disposal.  Bella married but became a widow at a very young age.  She had only one son.  Her son is a tutor who prepares students for the university exam. 

Yomtov Bonjur Arguete on the other hand, was the apple of the family’s eye.  He was married to Keti Frankfort.  Keti was a German Jew.  Her father owned a bank.  He did not know Judeo Spanish 8, when this language was conversed within the family, his face became sullen.  The Frankfort family was an aristocratic family.  Komo se dize, guantes blankas [Judeo-Spanish for: How do you say this—white gloves.  It is a saying indicating you were speaking to someone from the upper crust, i.e. you need to have white gloves to be able to address them].  I would be amazed when I went to their house.  Starched white table cloths, starched napkins.  I would be face to face with a different world view.

My husband Avram Arguete had the nickname “Fuhrer” in Ortakoy because of his adherence to his principles and his harsh reactions.  Just think about it.  He was of short stature, always in a hurry, someone who walked fast and who was anxious.  Our meeting was the result of a coincidence.  In reality, when I started to grow up and to develop, it was an indication that it was time for matchmaking for me.  I came to Istanbul for this purpose, but when it was found out that the person they were thinking of introducing me to wasn’t appropriate, I started waiting for the return trip.  They had told me that the hand of the boy they were proposing for me was disabled.  In the meantime, my husband had broken up with his first fiancee.  I do not know the reason for this separation, but within years, when the two ex-fiances met, they would greet each other in a civilized way.  I also would greet this lady and talk to her on the streets of Buyukada.

My husband encounters a friend while walking absentmindedly in the street after this separation.  He tells him of his troubles, the solution is a new matchmaking, looking for a new fiancee.  Mrs. Rosa Palashi was our neighbor.  She was a family friend of theirs.  When Mrs. Rosa Palachi learned about Albert Arguete’s situation, she opened her house to us.  We met there.  My husband was a handsome, well-dressed man.  I was there too.  My father and my husband went to the back room.  I waited in the livingroom.  When their discussion was finished, they told me I was promised.  My father did not even ask me, the apple of his eye, if I liked Albert or not.  I did not react at all to this event, it was as if what needed to happen, happened.  It seemed to me that that was what was supposed to happen.  My husband did not react at all too.  He accepted it very coolly. 

The next day, there was a meeting again, tratos [Judeo-Spanish for: negotiations, i.e. the money that the girl’s side is supposed to give to the man for a marriage] started.  My husband’s aunt Tant Regina acted as the go-between.  My mother-in-law had a voice, but she never used it.  Tant Regina finished it.  They settled on three thousand liras.  Because my husband was a very honest man, he clarified that he was going to give one thousand liras of this money to his sister Ceni who was going to get married before us.  In this way, two thousand liras would be left in my husband’s hands.  When the negotiation ended, we, the two fiances, went out.  My husband took me to my aunt’s house whose housekey I had, upon a pretext, and asked me to clean up all the make-up on my face.  His jealous nature was evident at that moment.  Yes, he really was very jealous, he did not even want me to go to Bursa.  No seya ke me arevaten los flortes de Bursa [Judeo-Spanish for: Maybe the boyfriends of Bursa would grab me].

After the War

The engagement party took place in an establishment called Belle Vu.  I don’t even remember if there were rings exchanged.  We got engaged on June 24th, 1946,  the civil marriage was on October 24th, 1946, and the wedding on November 24th, 1946 in the Zulfaris Synagogue 9.  One of the most famous traditions of Bursa was the showing of the dowry. My mother prepared a beatiful dowry, the dowry was shown in the accompaniment of the lute.  My mother-in-law did not pay much importance to such stuff.  She had just been widowed when I got married anyways.  She did not have the state of mind to deal with this stuff.  But tradition was tradition and it was done.  A black coat, light-colored coat, black suit, light-colored suit, silk broidered nightgowns, tablecloths were integral parts of a dowry.  On the wedding night we went to the Park Hotel [in Taksim, one of the most luxurious hotels of the time] in great secrecy.  The two of us were alone and no one had been made aware.  I still haven’t understood the reason for this secrecy.  Nothing was ever told to anyone in the family.  As if, if it was kept secret and nobody knew, my husband’s business would go better.  He thought this way.  He was afraid of a lot of things, the evil eye, the jealous eye, he did not like to be talked about.  From this point of view, he would do everything in secrecy, and prevent being talked about in his own way. 

Our first house was behind Tokatliyan Passage [a passage in Beyoglu.  The area where the entertainment places were in the old times] for a rent of 40 liras.  My husband was paying half the rent and my father the other half.  This wasn’t a dowry agreement but my father did everything in his power so we would not have difficulties.  Even the laundry would go to Bursa, get washed and ironed and return.  Some of our basic necessities like cheese or butter would come from Bursa too.  Everything was a principle for my husband.  He would do anything in the name of honesty.  He did not like debts or such.  When we were setting up our house a lot of things came as gifts.  Lamps, tables, chairs all came as gifts.  We bought a bedroom for 400 liras that someone had been using for 40 years.  Right now, a piece of that bedroom set still exists.  It is almost an antique piece. 

My older brother wanted me to choose between an armchair and a radio for a wedding gift.  I was already feeling wretched and preferred the radio.  I made a divan from orange crates.  My husband opened a hardware business with whatever was left from the dowry.  He started commerce with two thousand liras.  My husband’s business slowly took off.  He always said “you brought me luck” to me.  He never let me work, I wish I had worked, but his jealousy exasperated me.  No going out, no coming in, going to Bursa absolutely not.  We fought a lot.  My husband, in addition to sticking to his principles, was very easily offended.  For example if I didn’t say “to your health” after he shaved, he would get cross with me.  Another thing that is a reality is that a girl who has been raised in a wealthy family, if she marries someone of lesser means and cannot find what she is looking for, gets stressed.  This stress amplifies in the woman, the struggle of the man who is trying to attain that lifestyle makes her irate.  Sometimes I would win these fights, sometimes my husband.  That is how a life was spent.  

My husband adored children.  When I had my period, all hell would break loose.  He would wail “I won’t have children”.  My mother-in-law consoled him “be smart Albert, there is no reason not to have any”, she would say.  When I became pregnant with Lucy, it meant the world to him.  But I had such a difficult pregnancy, such a difficult birth, and a difficult postpartum period that the guy did not want a child again.  When Lucy was born she was the sweetest baby in the world, or it seemed that way to me, but I would faint all of a sudden.  My mother took me to Bursa during this period, cured me and sent me back to Istanbul  again.

My house during this period was at Kuledibi.  It was very small, humid and full of mold.  We changed houses within a short period and moved to our house where we resided for 11 years.  A house in Cihangir [A neighborhood in Istanbul.  This neighborhood underwent a lot of changes with time.  First it was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods of Istanbul.  Good families resided in the homes with a view of the sea.  Later the image changed.  This time it became the place of transvestites.  Nowadays it is a candidate to be an artists’ neighborhood.  Those beautiful homes are finding the old owners back] with a sea view, but the moving-in price is 500 liras.  Where would we find this money.  Friends prove their friendships in such days.  A friend, again from my family’s side lent us money.  We paid back the money we owed in a short time.  My husband always said that I brought him luck anyways.  Later on we moved to Pangalti [A neighborhood in Istanbul].

My daughter Lucy (naturally she carries my mother-in-law’s name) was born in 1948.  Just as is the case for every baby, a festive wave spread through the family.  But I remained very weak after the birth, and I would faint all of a sudden while nursing the baby.  My mother came from Bursa and took care of me.  After a while, she had to go back to Bursa because our house was very small.  She took me and the baby, and cared for us in Bursa, returned me to my good health and sent me back to Istanbul.  During this period, my husband used to come to Bursa too in the weekends.  I prepared wonderful birthdays for my daughter.  The neighbors, the cousins would come.  I would go to Beyoglu on every birthday [The favorite shopping street in Istanbul.  Stores were lined on both sides of the sidewalk.  Famous restaurants were lined on this street alongside stores with European merchandise.  Movie theatres were in Beyoglu too.  Women do not go out without wearing a hat.  Men went around with canes and felt hats.  The tram was also a mode of transportation], I would buy her a dress from the best store, take her to a studio and have a picture taken.

My daughter was a very good student starting in elementary school.  According to her father, her grades had to be 9’s or 10’s all the time.  It was that way anyways.  After finishing Saint Benoit French Junior High, she entered Notre Dame de Sion [French Catholic schools].  My daughter became engaged to Eliya Barokas before she turned 18.  I can say she was obliged to get engaged, to say it more correctly.  My husband investigated and found my daughter’s spouse from the commercial circles.  As you can understand, she married through matchmaking in 1965 at the Neve Shalom synagogue.  We went to Lido in the evening, very few people, no friends, there were limited amount of people from the family. Of course my daughter’s matchmaking was not like mine.  My son-in-law would come, pick my daughter up and go out.  On their first meeting, Eliya came and picked my daughter up.  We went out, they in front, and us in the back.  Later they stayed engaged for 1.5 years, and had opportunities to meet each other during that period.  One day before the wedding my husband told me that we were having our son-in-law as a live-in [“mezafranka”: to help curb the expenditures for the newly weds, the girl’s family takes in the son-in-law and takes care of all their needs].  He had decided this without asking me, as was the case in a lot of other occasions.  Even if he asked, I did not have the luxury of expressing my opinion.  I wasn’t asked my opinion very often.  Of course this upset me a lot.  But because I did not know otherwise, this seemed right to me.

I rearranged my house for the newlyweds.  I allotted them the main room and bought a new bedroom set.  They lived with me for three years, summers and winters, and 5 years only summers.  But my son-in-law is truly a great kid.  He had asked for the dowry before getting married.  These procedures were not looked upon warmly then.  Some said “Albert loko sos tu dota se da de antes?” [Judeo-Spanish for: Albert, are you crazy, dowry shouldn’t be given before the wedding].  My husband said “Si me las komyo las paras ke me las koma, ma a la ija ke no me la keme” [Judeo-Spanish for: if he burns through my money, let him burn it, but my daughter let him not burn].  I cut up a very beautiful fabric for the wedding and took it to a tailor.  The fabric was a little expensive.  I did not know how to tell my husband.  But he liked it too and did not say much.  My husband in the meantime started becoming successful in commerce.  He dabbled in a lot of stuff like textiles, and dry goods and notions.  In the end, he was in the underwear business before he retired.  He used to send undershirts and underwear to Anatolia.  He died in 2003.  He had difficulty breathing.  He had a problem in his bronchial tubes.  He passed away after a short period of illness, around 6 months.

Lucy Barokas has a son named Semi born in 1969 who currently resides in Israel, and a daughter named Zelda, born in 1972 who lives in Istanbul.  My husband Albert Arguete was a man devoted to his children, he would especially die for his grandchildren.  When my daughter Lucy went on a trip, the children would stay with me.  Then Albert would act like a child, even more than they did.  He would exhaust me with his nagging “Ya komyo no komyo, ya tosyo, ya sudo” [Judeo-Spanish for: he/she ate, didn’t eat, he/she coughed, sweated].

My grandchildren mean everything to me.  I love them very much.  Semi studied hotel administration.  He served as bartender in the Sheraton Hotel.  Later he decided to live in Israel where he had gone for an internship.  He went to Israel right after his mother’s 25th wedding anniversary to realize his dreams.  He married Ronit Simonpur.  I have two grandchildren named Linoy (born in 1998) and Maya (born in 2003).

Zelda (she was born in 1972) on the other hand grew up in my house.  She is an extremely pleasant girl.  Las piedras de la kaye la konosen [Judeo-Spanish for: Even the stones on the street know her].  She was living apart from her family, keeping up with the times.  When she started earning her own money she moved to her mother and father’ flat in Ortakoy [a neighborhood in Istanbul on the shores of the Bosphorus].  Her father was a little conservative.  But he could not deal with her.  There would be a row at every Sabbath meal. “Who are you going out with? What time are you coming back” were among the questions asked in raised voices.  One day when she was out with the boy she was dating, she realized she had lost the ring her mother had given her and she was very upset.  Her friend Vedat Eskinazi claimed that she was a messy person and that she lost everything.  Later on they went on a trip to the far east together.  At dinner, Zelda saw a bouquet of flowers on the table, she thanked her friend.  Her friend suggested she take a look inside the bouquet.  There was a box and a ring inside the bouquet.  After this romantic proposal, they called us and told us they were engaged.  The mystery of the lost ring was solved too, her friend had taken it to have it sized.

I was very happy when Zelda Barokas and Vedat Eskinazi had their civil marriage.  This ceremony was done in Bozcaada [Bozcaada is an island on the Aegean sea famous for its grapevines], they loved Bozcaada a lot.  They wanted it to be different.  All the guests made their reservations in the hotel.  A private van was rented and we went to the place where the civil marriage was going to take place.  All the guests, men and women had worn white.  The bride came on a tractor.  Even the geese had bows on.  The friends of the groom carried white pigeons from Istanbul and released them in Bozcaada in honor of the young newlyweds.  The offerings were like the offerings of the most luxurious hotel.  Vedat Eskinazi exports handbags, belts and accessories.  Zelda works at a bank.  She went to the United States to learn English.  She went to Italian classes in Istanbul.  My husband could not see all these wonderful things..  But according to my grandchild, he was watching us from wherever he went.  She told me that she  went to his grave, and told him about her engagement, her civil marriage and her wedding.  She had “Lokum [Turkish delight—a type of candy] papi, I love you very much” inscribed on his tombstone.

My husband, that is to say, Albert Arguete was a very good Jew.  He went to visit the dead every year. First we would visit his mother and father in Ortakoy cemetery, and later his sibling and my mother and father in Arnavutkoy [the largest cemetery in Istanbul is in Arvavutkoy.  There are two cemeteries adjacent to each other, the Ashkenazi and the Sephardic].  He wished to ask for a haftorah at the synagogue for all the deceased members in his family in the month of July [one of the prayer rituals].  He reminded his son-in-law about this as soon as July came around.  In any case, when he died, there was a notebook found in his pocket showing the death and burial dates of all the members of the family.  Our family is very sensitive on this subject.  I still remind my husband’s brother, Yomtov Arguete about his mother and father’s yartzheits.

My daughter Lucy Barokas and son-in-law Eliya Barokas try to obey the religious rules.  My daughter eats kosher meat, and prepares  for crowded tables on holidays and Shabbat evenings.

I was in Bolu [A city between Istanbul and Ankara.  It is a mountain.  It has several hotels.  It is a place that a lot of people go to relax] during the 1986 massacre in Neve Shalom 10.  We were shaken by the tragedy we heard on the radio.  The name of Eliya’s uncle was read.  Our family had a victim of terror.  We cut our vacation in half and returned.

I was at my home during the bombings in November of 2003 11.  First there was a loud noise.  We thought it was a gas tank explosion.  Then sounds of ambulances, sirens and chaos....  I grabbed the telephone, called Lucy.  “Where is Eliya?”, I asked.  “Mommy, hang the phone up immediately, Eliya is wounded” she said. My son-in-law was at the Sisli synagogue 12.  He was taken to Florence Nightingale Hospital.  My husband had just died and I was wearing black clothes that are a sign of mourning.  My first instinct was to take off the black clothes, get a box of chocolates and rush to the hospital where my son-in-law was.  Thank G-d that he recuperated quickly.  Eliya is a gem of a guy.  May G-d grant peace to all the deceased, and patience to their loved ones.

I am slowly getting to the end of my story.  I want to wrap it up with a beautiful event.  One of the important days of my life is my 50th wedding anniversary (1996).  One Sabbath evening, Eliya put two tickets in my hand.  He said “I want you to celebrate your 50th wedding annivesary in Israel”.  My grandson Semi Barokas picked us up at the airport and took us to his home.  We were in Israel for more than 20 days.  We went all the way to Eilat, my husband bought me a necklace [she showed the necklace around her neck and said that she never took it off after that evening].  Another Sabbath evening, my daughter said “we are going out to dinner on Sunday night, get ready, I will come and pick you up”.  When we went to a fish restaurant on the Bosphorus, we saw the surprise; every member of the family apart from me had helped Lucy organize this.  It was a wonderful evening.  We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary by cutting a cake.

Now my life is spent among my grandchildren, my children, my memories and my friends....

We wish dear Camila Jana Arguete all the best...

Note: Jana was so happy while this interview was taking place, that at times, when she received phone calls, she would say ‘’No te puedo avlar tengo echo. Me estan azyendo reportaj vana eskrivir la vida mia (I cannot talk to you now, I am busy.  They are interviewing me, they are going to write about my life). She answered the questions with a lot of care and sincerity

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