Travel

Regina Grinberg
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Svetlana Avdala
Date of interview: December 2005

Regina's favorite subject at school was mathematics. And indeed, the world that she reflects upon presents itself with mathematical clarity. This is due not only to her good memory, but also to her curiosity, her interest in the new, the unusual and the colorful. In her childhood, she would grab the camera and take pictures, capturing the unique moments that were alive to her. For me, this meeting was particularly interesting for two reasons. Firstly because the details demonstrate the interaction between three cultures - Jewish, Bulgarian and Turkish -and secondly because her life clearly shows the gradual disintegration of a very traditional, patriarchal way of life.

My family background
My parents
Growing up
Our religious life
My school years
During the war
Married life
Glossary

My family background

My name is Regina Emanuil Farhi [now Grinberg through marriage]. I was born on 23rd February 1924 in Shumen. [Editor's note: Shumen is a Bulgarian town in Northeastern Bulgaria where Jews moved as early as 1730. The town was founded in the early Middle Ages as a fortress with a village in the region of Hisarlak. In the 11-12th century it was known as Misionis. The first Jews settled in the town in 1730 with the permission of the local pasha, as Shumen was then under Turkish rule. They lived in some houses in a large yard - something like a ghetto with gates - that was locked every evening. There were four charity organizations in the town at that point in time, two Jewish schools supported by Alliance Israelite and a small synagogue. By 1905 200 Jewish families lived in Shumen, and by 1912 there were 2,000 in addition to 4 Jewish charity organizations and a small synagogue.] My ancestors are Ladino [Sephardi] Jews 1 2. My sisters, Senyora and Sharlota, and their children in Israel researched our family tree and discovered that our roots on our father's side originate in Spain and those on our mother's side come from Venice. I cannot say how they discovered this information, as I only know that my cousin Yako Farhi went to Spain to research this.

I remember my maternal great-grandmother, but I cannot recall her name. I called her Bizvava, which in Ladino means 'grandmother of my mother.' When I was sick she came to my bed and told me stories and spent whole days beside me.

The mother of my mother, my grandmother Sara Ashkenazi [Kalmi through marriage], lived in Ruse but was originally from Shumen. We called her 'Gran mama.' She was a beauty with blue eyes and black hair. She dressed very stylishly and everything in her house was very neat and arranged with a European taste. I remember her well because she visited us very often, and every year I spent a month with her in Ruse. She was a great housewife. Everything had to be spotless; the blankets had to be starched and everything done as it should. I remember her nice big house, which was close to the Danube. It was not in the Jewish neighborhood. It had exquisite furniture, including a particularly interesting room with beautiful mirrors. The river brought a more open atmosphere into the house, compared to the one in Shumen, at least. Ships were sailing all the time, military men in elegant uniforms arrived, and women were dressed in the latest fashion. The streets were always full of people 3.

My grandmother's husband, grandfather Yakov Kalmi, rarely came to Shumen. His familial roots are in Ruse, and I remember him from my visits to that city. He was always singing songs. He was a 'sarafin' when he was young, and he got quite rich. [Editor's note: a 'sarafin' was a kind of a money dealer. He or she exchanged various currencies. At that time, in addition to banks, private individuals such as these could obtain a bank license and make such financial operations.] After the wars, namely the [First] Balkan War 4, the Inter-Allied [Second Balkan] War 5 and World War I 6, he sold lottery tickets. During the Holocaust he made notepads, working right up until his death in 1948. I recall that one day he gave me a lottery ticket and told me that I would win something. I did indeed win something.

Grandmother Sara had four daughters, Ernestin [my mother], Blanka, Sofi and Rebeka, and a son, Eliezer. The husband of Tanti [aunt] Blanka was Avram Daniel. He died when their son Leon was six months old [later Leon Daniel would become a famous theater director]. Blanka lived separately from her parents in another family house. She rented a part of the house in order to support herself. Tanti Sofi married Zhak Semantov, who had a glass shop in Shumen. Later he went bankrupt, and the whole family moved to Targovishte [a town located in southeast Bulgaria, approximately 339 km northeast of Sofia] in the 1930s. Tanti Sofi and Zhak had two children, Marko and Sharlota. Later - I do not remember when - they left for Israel.

The third daughter of Sara was Rebeka Kamhi. She died at childbirth. I do not remember the exact date, although it was probably in the 1930s. Shortly after the death of her daughter, my grandmother Sara, upset by the death, also died. I do not remember exactly when. Eliezer Kalmi, her only son, had a shop in Shumen. He also eventually left for Israel and died there. Only Tanti Blanka died in Bulgaria; she passed away in Sofia at the age of 85 in the 1980s.

My paternal grandmother, Senyora Fintsi, was born in Razgrad in 1858 and died in 1930. [Editor's note: Razgrad is a town located in northeast Bulgaria, around 375 km from Sofia. Razgrad was the site of an old Jewish municipality dating back to the 4th century, when there was a cult towards the Semitic God 'El' (synonym of Jehova). No information is available relating to the presence of Jews in the city until the 12th century. In the 13th century the first data regarding Jews settling in the neighborhood of Varush appeared. By 1865, 9,723 people lived in Razgrad, of whom 90 were Jews. During the Russian-Turkish war the Jews from Razgrad, numbering 234, moved to Varna and Shumen. The Jews who stayed in the town moved from the Varush neighborhood to the Armenian neighborhood and the Turkish neighborhood in the southern part of town. There was one synagogue in town and one Jewish school, where Ivrit was taught. The school was closed in 1923 due to the small number of Jewish families and the lack of resources to pay the teachers.] Her family name through marriage was Farhi. Senyora was a commanding woman. She was the head of the big Farhi family because my grandfather Yakov died long before I was born. He had a ranch 15 kilometers from Shumen and raised 3000 horses there. When Stefan Stambolov 7 issued a law on the possession of land by Bulgarians, however, he was forced to sell the ranch and subsequently died of grief. [Editor's note: there is no information on this particular law, which probably concerned the Vakaf lands and those of Turks who had left Bulgaria.]

My grandparents had five sons, my father Emanuil, my uncles Avram, Yosif, Leon and Sami, and three daughters, my aunts Viza, Reyna and Simha. Avram married Regina, and they had two children, Yako and Sivi. Yosif married Mika and they had three children, Yako, Moni and Estrea. Leon married Sarina and fathered Sami and Jaklina. The fourth son Sami killed himself; I do not remember when. My aunt Viza married Sinto, whose surname I do not remember, and they had three children, Mika, Eliezer and Mati. Reyna married Mamo - I do not know the family name - and they had two children, Sinto and Viki. Simha married Baruh and they had three children, Suzana, Senyora and Nissim.

My grandmother lost her husband very early, when she was 40 years old [in 1898]. My father was 13 years old at the time. She had to be the head of the family and thus had a lot of power over her sons. I remember that when her sons would return home in the evening, for example, they would go to her and tell her how their day went. Together they solved their problems, and she told them who they should consult and where they should study. The family was very stable financially. Senyora's sons had a shop and the business was running smoothly. Our large Shumen family Farhi was thus quite well off.

My parents

It was not accidental that my mother married my father. This is an interesting story, actually. The sister of my grandfather Yakov Kalmi, Reyna Farhi, married the eldest brother of my father, whose name was Avram. He died. According to Jewish tradition, Reyna had to marry the bachelor in the family [many of the interviewees speak about this tradition among Jews. Most of them explain that, on the one hand, this rule was followed in order to keep money in the family. On the other hand, if such a marriage was not possible, the brothers had the obligation to take care of the widow and her children until they were ready to take care of themselves.]. The only remaining bachelor was my father, but since there was such a big age difference between the two, Reyna suggested that my father marry her niece - my mother. In that way the Kalmi family was sure that my mother would be supported.

My mother was Ernestin Yakov Farhi, née Kalmi. Born and raised in Ruse, she was a wonderful woman and mother. She knew three languages - Ladino, Bulgarian and French. She was a great cook. She organized her time perfectly and had time for everything. She could not only do embroidery, but also make things from satin. She could also play the piano and paint.

She graduated from the French College in Ruse 8. The teachers there wanted her to study in the Musical Academy in Bucharest [Romania] because at that time there was no such academy in Bulgaria. My grandfather Yakov Kalmi did not allow it, however, because he thought she would become a 'shafrantia' [meaning a woman of easy virtue]. Instead of leaving for Bucharest when she was 17 years old, she was thus married to my father, who was 34 years old at that time.

My mother came to Shumen from Ruse with her fashionable clothes, her refined tastes, the piano, ancient music sheets and her French books, and suddenly found herself in a patriarchal, provincial environment. Being very young at the time her wedding was arranged for financial reasons, she accepted her fate. She never acknowledged to me that the environment in the Farhi family oppressed her. She rarely shared anything and did not like to bare her soul, nor did she require us to confess our heartaches to her. Nonetheless, all her actions were infused with her own independent spirit. She fought for a long time to free her family from the dictatorship of Grandmother Senyora, my father's mother.

My father, Emanuil Yakov Farhi, and his brothers had two textile shops. At first, after the ranch was sold, the large Farhi family had dairy farms. Gradually they abandoned them - I do not know why - and started trading with textiles. One of the shops in the center of Shumen is still owned by the family to this day. The other one was sold.

My father, a Ladino Jew, had a basic primary education and took part in the Balkan War and World War I. He was kind, tolerant and always ready to make a compromise. Everyone loved him because he helped people in many ways. His fellow citizens in Shumen called him 'bai [uncle] Manoli.' He was about 1.80 meters tall, thin, and he never put on weight. He wore suits, and under his trousers he wore a red wool girdle to keep him warm in the large and cold rooms where he worked. I remember that girdle very well; it was probably influenced by Bulgarian culture. He wore it until it was all in pieces, and then he bought a quilted jacket. He balanced the family and never went from one extreme to the other. When my mother got angry because of the family - though that happened rarely - he always found the right way to calm her down. He never missed the minyan, and he was always on time for synagogue services. This was an important duty for him.

I have two sisters, Senyora and Sharlota. Senyora was born in 1915 in Shumen. She is still alive and lives in Israel. She graduated from the French College in Ruse. In 1936 she married Haim Geron, who had a glass shop. They have two children, Sami and Ernestin. In 1949 they left for Israel. Now my sister has a lingerie shop in Yafo and, although she is 90 years old, she still goes there once in a while. As a child Senyora was a very beautiful girl - tall, slim and blue-eyed. She dressed elegantly, but not extravagantly, given that our mother taught us not to strive to stand out among the others. She was very sociable, and that quality was of great help to her in the business she ran later.

Sharlota was born in 1919. She graduated from a vocational school, but I do not remember where. [Editor's note: At that period the Agriculture Ministry established several vocational schools with various profiles and professional courses. But at the same time this name was also used in reference to economy schools, later called economy secondary schools. It is not clear which kind of school is meant in the text.] She married Nissim Levi in 1942-43. They lived in Sofia and had two children, Avram and Ernestin. The whole family left for Israel in 1949. Despite the early death of her husband in Israel, Sharlota did not start working and chose to remain a housewife.

Growing up

The Farhi family, as I have said, was well off. Food was always aplenty, and we always had a lot of clothes. Given this relative freedom, everyone was able to decide how much they wanted to study. All of my father's brothers and their families lived in four old family houses. My grandmother lived in the biggest house. I remember that we also lived there at first. Then we moved into the smaller house that was alongside it, and my uncle Yosif and his family lived with my grandmother. The small house had three rooms. My parents lived in one of the rooms, my sister and I in the living room, and my eldest sister was sent to study at the French College in Ruse. We also had a guestroom. The toilet was in the yard, a special building covered with bricks. It was used by those who lived in both the big and the small house. It had separate compartments for the men, the women and the children.

When a part of Uncle Yosif's family left for Palestine in the 1930s, we went back to the big house. I remember that Uncle Yosif, who could not bear the fact that his eldest son Yako - influenced by Zionism 9 - left for Palestine instead of inheriting the family business, died shortly thereafter. With his death, that of his wife Mika in 1934 and his daughter Estrea in 1935, my family moved into the big house. I lived there until I was eleven years old.

The furniture in the small house was stylish; Vienna chairs covered with red plush, large extending tables, wardrobes and chandeliers. We had electricity installed in 1928. We installed it the same year it was introduced in Shumen, and the gas lamps remained only as decorations. There was a piano in both the small and the big house. My mother had brought with her valuable music sheets and her whole library from Ruse. She also had a lot of French books.

My mother Ernestin knew three languages, but since she communicated mostly with my father's family, she spoke mainly Ladino. My father, his brothers and later my sisters and I read newspapers and books in Bulgarian but spoke mainly Ladino amongst ourselves. We spoke with the servants, the doctor and the workers who took care of the house in Bulgarian or in Turkish, having studied these languages in the Jewish school.

My father loved reading newspapers, and our house was full of them. I particularly remember the newspaper edition that mentioned the death of Hristina Morfova 10, the famous Bulgarian singer who died in a car accident. I could hardly read at that time, nor had I ever seen an opera, but her death was discussed a lot at home and I was very impressed. I went to the opera for the first time 20 years later, when I came to study in Sofia.

Both of the houses in which we lived shared a yard. It was quite large and full of orchards, vegetable gardens, trees, vines and a large oak tree. My father and my uncles loved to work in the garden after work. This relaxed them. We also had a vineyard outside town that was looked after by a Turkish man, which enabled us to make our own wine. We also had some big dogs that I often played with.

We always had servants both in the big house [a whole family] and in the small house [one person]. Our first servants were Jews, but later, when they had saved some money, they moved away and were replaced by Turkish girls. After some time these girls were replaced by Bulgarian girls from the nearby villages. At that time it was not very expensive to have servants. The last maid we had was from a village nearby and was one year older than me. She came to us wearing only one dress and did not even have underwear. We had to provide her with food and clothes. When it was time for her to leave, we gave her clothes, underwear and money. We gave the money to her father.

The small and the big house were in the Jewish neighborhood in Shumen, but not in the center. They were in fact at the end of town, after Tumbul Mosque 11. They were also amongst the first buildings in town, and they now have historic value. My father sold the four houses to a Russian in the 1950s after he decided to leave for Israel, but one month before the date of departure he passed away.

The historical value of my childhood homes was such that the Shumen authorities decided to preserve and restore the houses as historic monuments. The house in which we lived last and the first two houses are still preserved. Out of curiosity, I went to Shumen recently and saw that a family of Albanian origins now lives there. The toilet has also been turned into a house. A Bulgarian who spent a lot of time in Russia came with his wife to Bulgaria, and the two of them live in what was formerly our yard.

Our next house was in the center of the Jewish neighborhood opposite the Jewish community house. Behind this house was our fourth house. At that time my sisters had already married and only the three of us - my mother, father and I - were at home.

At that time Shumen was a quiet, colorful and clean town. The streets were paved and the river-bed [one of the tributaries of the Kamchia River passes through the town] was covered with stones. There were four neighborhoods in Shumen, a Jewish one, a Gypsy [Roma] one, an Armenian one and a Turkish one. Turkish houses surrounded the Jewish neighborhood. There were all kinds of professionals, including leather workers, craftsmen, merchants and tailors. My husband, for example, was from a family of tailors. One of my uncles, Sinto, was also a tailor, but after he married a woman from the Farhi family [Aunt Viza] he received money and opened a two-floor store for ready-made clothes. That was something new for the town at that time [1934- 1935].

In the Jewish neighborhood there was also a grocery and three butchers. The rabbi was mostly responsible for slaughtering the meat, or, more precisely, his assistants [Editor's note: the interviewee probably means the shochet, a trained religious person who could slaughter animals painlessly in compliance with the Torah laws]. Jews owned almost everything in the neighborhood, and we did not look for help outside of the community. Indeed, we lived in a closed world. Only the cafés were Turkish. They served coffee with white sweets while Jews played backgammon and cards. The doctor in the neighborhood was Dr. Smyadovski. If one of us got a fever, he came straight away to treat us. There were, however, no Jewish doctors. Those Jews who did study medicine eventually went to Sofia or to the other big cities. Women in Shumen gave birth in their homes with the help of midwives, who were Bulgarians. I myself was present at the birth of my niece Erna.

The Jewish municipality was led by a Jewish board. I remember that at one point my father was a member of the board, but I do not recall as to exactly when. I think the Jewish municipality collected some membership fee, but I cannot be sure. I do not know the nature of the relationship between the town municipality and the Jewish board in the town. There was a Jewish community house, which stood opposite our last house and often organized evening get-togethers and dances. My parents visited it often, and we often borrowed books from it. I remember that I once borrowed a book by Edgar Allen Poe, but I got sick and was late returning it. [Poe, Edgar Allen (1809-1849): classical American writer, who virtually created the detective story and perfected the psychological thriller.] A man came from the community house to take it because it had some special value. The Jews in the neighborhood also had a Jewish orchestra, in which my brother-in- law, Haim Geron, played.

The family business went well until the 1940s, and no one wanted to separate from the family. Only my mother decided at some point to move away from the big house in which we lived at first. That was a real revolution. She did not want to have lunch and dinner with all my father's brothers and sisters every day and sought to have her own household. My grandmother felt very hurt after that, and the two of them did not talk for a long time. It was a real matriarchy at my grandmother's home, and even my father felt very uncomfortable in front of the family.

Regardless of that, every Saturday, we, the grandchildren, dressed in our best clothes, went to kiss our grandmother Senyora Farhi's hand as a sign of respect. We waited in line in front of her door. 'Do not come in yet,' my aunt would say, 'so-and-so is inside. Wait for them to go out first.' My grandmother would smoke a shisha when we entered. We came in, bent and kissed her hand without much talking. There was no time for conversations, as the grandchildren were many and she could not talk long with all of us. Those were the last years of her life. When I was six years old, she died of pneumonia [1930]. I remember that moment. All her daughters-in-law were standing beside her silently. I was not present at her funeral because, according to the Jewish rituals in Shumen, children did not go to the graveyards.

After the funeral there was a seven-day ritual [a ritual known as 'insieti' in Ladino - meaning seven days]. Every day the men were invited to eat boiled eggs and pastry. We ate only salty foods and nothing sweet. Later when my uncle died I remember that they brought small, low tables from the synagogue and small stools. A man, like the sexton, brought them in. We call him shammash. Every day during the week the daughters-in-law took turns preparing and serving lunch. Around the table sat only those who were grieving most: brothers, children and other relatives. Their voices were muted, their movements restrained. Someone would read the prayer and the daughters-in-law and more distant relatives brought the food. I do not remember what the ritual foods at the funerals were. After the funeral we ate neither sweets, nor meat, only boiled eggs and salty foods. There was also 'rakia' [brandy].

Our religious life

We observed all rituals during the holidays very strictly until I was seven or eight years old, that is, shortly after my grandmother's death. On Pesach and Rosh Hashanah all the family gathered in the big house around an enormous table with candlesticks, placed in the center of a big hall as big as my apartment today [100 square meters]. We, the children, would dress in special clothes. Every one of us had a chair, and we were even taught how to read the prayers in the Jewish school. We gathered around that large table not only on holidays, but also during difficult and emotional periods for the family.

Following the death of my grandmother, the life of the family did indeed change. Some people died, others left for Palestine. Gradually every family started celebrating the holidays alone, and Pesach became a holiday for the immediate family. I remember a Pesach when I was 14 years old. My father did not have a son and he was very unhappy. My mother would tell me, 'please, say the prayer.' I knew how to read because I had graduated from a Jewish school, and my mother would give me the book to continue reading because my father tired easily; he was already 56 years old at that time.

On the whole, we had a very good time during holidays such as Purim, Chanukkah and Fruitas 11. On Fruitas the other children and I received purses full of fruit from my aunts and other relatives. Everyone in the neighborhood bragged about how many purses he or she had received. On Yom Kippur, as is tradition, we fasted. On Purim the entire family - some 80 or 90 people - gathered in one of our family houses. I particularly remember our stay at Tanti Viza's home. We lit candles in all of the windows and waited for the masked people to come, having prepared sweets and fruit for them. Finally, they came singing and playing tambourines. I dressed in a Bulgarian folk costume that my mother had bought for me at Varshets resort [92 km north of Sofia] when we went to the mineral baths there to treat her rheumatism. We also went there once with Tanti Blanka. I must have been five or six years old at that time.

Besides the folk costume I also put on a mask for Purim. I was always angry because I expected the others not to recognize me, but they always did. Once I dressed up as a Japanese person in a kimono, which was great fun. We sang, danced and played. Rabbi Azus, who had come from Turkey and served in the Shumen synagogue, was always present at our family gatherings. He sang at every wedding and family meeting. We danced while he sang. He often joked that he had become a Farhi family member. This is what I remember most from my childhood.

On a market day Shumen was very colorful and noisy, full of people and carts. I remember that I had to bring food to my father because he worked in a shop in the center of town. I passed through lots of stony paths, taking care not to fall down and spill the food. Once a cow crossed my way and I waited for ten minutes for it to move. Finally a 'kadana' [meaning 'a woman' in Turkish] came out and asked me, 'why are you standing?' 'Well, the cow is on my way,' I said. 'Hit it!' 'How can I hit it? It would kick me back?' Then she took a stick and hit the cow. It was not difficult to understand her Turkish because we all knew a little Turkish, too. As I have said, there were a lot of Turkish families around the Jewish neighborhood, and we had Turkish gardeners and Turkish servants at home.

Going to the big Turkish bath near Tumbul Mosque was a big event, a ritual of sorts. We went there once a week. Usually we prepared a big bag specially embroidered by my mother. Everyone put his or her robe inside, as that was the fashion at the time in Shumen. A Turkish woman welcomed us in the bath and took the bag from my mother. She took us to a bed in a special room and took care of us. She bathed us. These baths lasted three hours. Very often in the middle of the room there was a round place, where it was the hottest. The women 'teliaks' sat there. [Editor's note: a 'teliak' is a person who takes care of the body of someone else, similar to a masseur or a bath rubber].

Turkish weddings also took place in the Turkish bath, and even my sister Senyora was bathed there before her wedding because there was no mikveh. [For this ritual Jewish bath, only rainwater is collected. It is used to bathe the women before their wedding. They go there with their mother and future mother-in-law, among other women after their monthly period and before they take up their family duties.] I remember that very well because I was a 12-year-old girl when my elder sister Senyora married Haim Geron. She was taken there a few days before her wedding. Everyone looked at her closely. The Turkish rubbers danced Turkish dances and in the middle they laid a table with chocolates, sweets etc. I was so nervous I could not eat anything. I remember that in the end they gave me luxurious soap as a present. Everyone received some gift, often either soap or a perfume. I got French soap, which smelled wonderfully but was too strong for me. Unfortunately I remember nothing of the other part of the ritual, which was probably in the synagogue.

There was only one synagogue in town. [Editor's note: There is no information regarding the destruction of this particular synagogue, which probably took place after World War II when many Jews left for Israel. What is certain is that its destruction was not on purpose. It fell apart because no one took care of it.] Now it is no longer there, but I recall that it was very big and beautiful.

I was very religious from age nine to 15, having come under the influence of a very religious man who was also a distant relative of mine. His name was Kohen. One of his daughters had left for Palestine and the other was in Sofia. His third daughter was married somewhere in Vidin, and he was thus all alone. My mother made me accompany him on Saturdays because we did not go to school on that day. I remember her telling me, 'you will not waste your time with friends, you will keep him company.' His nervous system was in bad shape, and I had to be with him just in case something went wrong. He was very religious and loved the mountains. Interestingly enough, I still carry in me the desire to take care of someone, a desire that I gained during this period of my life.

I learned many things from Kohen. He acquainted me with every piece of grass, every stone, every flower and every tree in Shumen. He taught me their Latin names as well. He taught me to love nature, and he obliged me to go to the synagogue regularly. On Friday evening I was the only girl in the synagogue. And since I felt uncomfortable being all alone, I made my friends come with me. There was a separate place in the synagogue for girls.

My school years

In addition to the synagogue, there was also a private Jewish kindergarten in the Jewish neighborhood that I attended as a child. The Jewish municipality supported this kindergarten. I have vague memories of the elementary classes, but this period escapes me for the most part. At first the school also had junior high school grades, but when the number of Jews decreased these grades were eliminated. We did not study on Saturday because of the Jewish holiday [Sabbath] or on Sunday because of the Bulgarian one. We were ten students in a class. We studied mostly three languages - Ivrit, Bulgarian and French. Our teachers in Bulgarian class prepared us very well, and I did not have difficulties when I went to junior high school. My Bulgarian teacher was called Katya. Jewish women, whose names I cannot recall, taught us Ivrit. Later they left for Palestine. Our teacher in French was Adon ['Mr.' in Ivrit] Behar, who was paid not by the Jewish municipality, but by the Alliance Francaise 13.

I was always an excellent student, and I always did my homework and knew all the lessons. My mother taught me up to work hard and be independent. Every morning I got up and prepared my breakfast. My mother never prepared my breakfast for me, nor did she fuss around me while I was getting ready for school. She thought that I should take care of these things by myself. Indeed, she never shouted at us or told us what to do. That is the best thing I can remember about my childhood. My mother thought that I should develop by myself and show what I can do. She also felt that I should get what I want by myself and achieve my goals on my own.

At first I did not have any breakfast in the morning, and when she found out she gave me 20 stotinkas [1 stotinka=0,01 lev] to buy something at school. But instead of doing that, I started going to the cinema every day. And while she never told me to stop going to the cinema, she did eventually stop giving me money.

The cinema. I was there every day. Shirley Temple, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Sonja Henie [popular film actors at that time] and other famous actors took me into another world. I was totally engrossed, and at one point I even wanted to become a dancer like Fred Astaire. Thanks to the cinema, I familiarized myself with American culture. When I went to live in the USA, I even sought these old movies. When I watched them again, they seemed very naive to me. But when I first watched them, they were something else, something different from the world in our Jewish neighborhood, in which everything was narrow and fixed and you had to live like the others. There was something suffocating about that patriarchy, in which every rumor spread very fast and everyone appeared to be watching you. My mother taught us that we should not comment on what our parents said at home, so that people would not spread rumors about us. We dressed modestly so as not to stand out, and we did not befriend boys before we gathered information about them. But that world would slowly start to change.

Every Friday we went to the synagogue. On Saturday evening our mother prepared a gravy beef soup with carrots, celery and potatoes. On Sunday we went to a restaurant in the 'Kyoshkovete' park [from the Turkish word 'kyoshk,' meaning a light wooden building] to eat 'kebapcheta' [grilled oblong rissoles]. We frequently invited my mother's relatives from Ruse to eat with us. They were beautiful women and always fashionably dressed. Next to them, we looked like villagers.

Ruse is not like Shumen. It is a European city. It was only there that I actually met Bulgarians, in fact. Once a year I visited my aunts in Ruse. Two or three times a year I would see my other aunt Sofi in Targovishte. We never went to the mountains or the seaside on holiday because my parents did not have many other friends besides our relatives. They communicated entirely with Jews and with very few Bulgarians; the Bulgarian teachers from the Jewish school, who were lovely women, were among the few.

Upon graduating from the Jewish school, I was thrust into a Bulgarian junior high school, and I suddenly found myself in a class with 40 students. The shock was enormous. When I started going to the Bulgarian school I also began going to the Orthodox church because of Mrs. Kutsarova, our class teacher. She did not like me much and made me go to the Orthodox church. Can you imagine that? On Friday evenings I went to the synagogue - I even hummed the prayer because I knew all the melodies by heart. Then on Sundays I was made to go to the Orthodox church with the whole class. When I told Mrs. Kutsarova that I had also gone to the synagogue, she said, 'I cannot excuse you, you must come with the whole class.' 'But I am a Jew,' I said, 'I go to the synagogue.' 'It doesn't matter,' she said, 'you must come with the whole class.' I did not dare to oppose her because her daughter was a friend of mine. She was a very nice girl who studied medicine.

Later, around my 13th birthday, when I went to high school, I fell under the influence of a particular group of girls - socialists. Together we became partisans, and I was totally cut off from the church and the religious feelings instilled in me by Rafael Kohen. When I entered high school, I did not want to meet with him any more. The world was changing. But even today I keep in me that feeling of admiration for nature that he taught me. I still go to the mountains and know every part of the 20- kilometer area around Shumen, which I often visited with him.

Beyond my ever-changing religious outlook, I also made my first Bulgarian friends in high school. My world started to widen. I loved mathematics and the teacher who taught it, my class teacher Kutsarova. School holidays were also new and exciting. We wore white collars and laid wreaths at the monuments of patriotic Bulgarians in Shumen. Bulgarian Revival figures were very much admired in Shumen, and we often sung patriotic songs, listened to speeches and attended poem recitations relating to Bulgarian history and culture.

In many respects, my life during this period was divided between my Jewish heritage and my Bulgarian schooling. As I said earlier, for example, I went to the synagogue on Saturdays and to the Orthodox church on Sundays. When we celebrated Jewish holidays we, the Jews, were exempt from school, but we also celebrated the Bulgarian ones. During the day I was at school with my Bulgarian classmates, while after school I did sports activities through the Jewish sports organization Maccabi 14, which I visited from the age of 14 to the age of 17. Maccabi was mostly a sports organization, and I loved physical exercises. Unfortunately, and I do not know exactly why, the organization slowly died away over the years as many of the original supervisors left for Palestine.

Beyond Maccabi there were precious few Jewish civic organizations in Shumen. There were a few Betar 15 members in town, but they were not popular and could not attract young people. There was also a WIZO 16 branch, of which my mother was a member, but I cannot say anything about this organization. I remember that we did some sort of charity project once, but I do not remember why. In my last years of high school I tried joining Hashomer Hatzair 17, but I did not like it. I thought that they were too limited. They agitated us all the time, asking 'when shall we go to Israel, when shall we go to Palestine?' Despite all of this rhetoric, not one of them left. I thought they were very hypocritical, and I subsequently stopped attending their functions.

During the time I was in junior high school I did not notice any anti- Semitic attitudes towards me. All of my teachers were very kind to me, and my Jewish origins did not influence my grades in any way. Even my high school teacher in physical education, who was a Brannik member 18, asked me to demonstrate the exercises to the other students because I did them so well.

In high school I always sat in the first row because I was short and thin. Right in front of me there was a poster aimed against Jews, but I did not think it was aimed at me. I did not feel different, unwanted or isolated until a close friend of mine started telling the whole class that Jews were bad people. I objected right away, responding that there were good and bad Bulgarians and good and bad Jewish people. 'No,' she said, 'all Jews are bad. You are the only exception. That does not refer to you.' I blushed and could not sleep for a couple of nights. Then this same friend of mine went to study in Germany, where she saw the true face of fascism. Disgusted, she came back to Bulgaria. Later, when she was already working, she apologized to me on a number of occasions and thanked me for not spreading the word about her opinions.

During the war

At that time [1939-1940] many Jews from Austria and Germany traveled to Palestine along the Danube by ship, stopping off at Ruse and then going to Shumen. They came to the synagogue and we welcomed them with food and money. We also helped organize their onward travel to Burgas and Plovdiv and on through Turkey to Palestine. My father was among those who went to the synagogue and met with them. The whole organization was in fact a secret channel, and he did not speak in front of us about what was actually happening [from the beginning of World War II a large number of Jews passed through Bulgaria - approximately 15 000, with transit visas. They subsequently reached Palestine and the USA by ships. One of the routes was along the Danube and then to Kyustendja [Romania]. A second route went through Varna, while a third went by sea through Turkey.]. It was only later that we found out that there were concentration camps and that fellow Jews were being tortured and killed.

The world around us was changing. People started breaking the windows of Jewish shops, our family shops were closed down and insults were written on our walls. Finally we were made to wear badges [yellow stars] 19. The Turks who lived around our neighborhood suddenly became very vicious and started calling us 'chifuti' 20. We were even forbidden to travel. During the course of the Holocaust my father went completely bankrupt and even lost his vineyard. The head of the police bought it for an insignificant sum of money, but eventually paid us the real price for that vineyard after 9th September 1944 21. Imagine that. Haim, my sister Senyora's husband, was also broke. He had a glass shop that was closed down by the authorities. He had no money and was forced to sell his clothes. Every year he was sent to labor camps 22, as were all healthy, young Jewish men.

In 1942 I graduated from high school and wanted to study abroad, but I was not allowed to travel. I was only permitted to study economics in Varna, but I chose not to. By accident, and much to my good fortune, I met a dental mechanic who offered me work in his laboratory and paid me quite well. At first my father was not happy that I had become a worker, but later he and others started admiring me for finding the job.

At that time I had fallen under the influence of socialism, and I became a member of the Bulgarian Communist Party. Life was changing, and so too were our priorities. I realized that things were not as they had been on the Jewish street. I was the youngest of my three sisters, and I can say that I was truly a child of a different generation. My sisters did what their parents expected of them. For example, my elder sister Senyora did not marry out of love. Instead, she followed my mother's advice to trust the decisions of her elders. The family chose Rafi Kohen to be her husband. When the boy came to ask for her hand, she only made a wry face but obeyed. After an engagement that lasted a year [to see if they could live together], they married in the Shumen synagogue.

Rabbi Hananel 23, who arranged the marriage between Senyora and Rafi Kohen, also arranged the marriage of my younger sister. We were somehow related to the Hananel family. My mother shared with him that my sister could not find a husband in Shumen, and he said, 'send her to me.' My sister stayed at his place for three months. Life in Sofia at that time [1942] was hard for Jews. Their movement around town was limited, but Rabbi Hananel and his family showed my sister everything. This included the nightlife, even in spite of the curfew that existed at the time. I even remember my sister telling me that the nightclubs were open for Jews from 4 until 7 am, so that the wealthiest Jews could see the shows and give them their money. [Editor's note: the curfew was in fact in accordance with the Law for the Protection of the Nation. The Commissariat for Jewish Affairs specified the places where Jews were not allowed as well as visiting hours for those places where they were allowed to go.] It was in one such place that she met her future husband, Nissim Levi. Their wedding was subsequently held in the Sofia synagogue, and she left to live in Sofia soon thereafter. Unfortunately, I was not present at the wedding because we were not allowed to travel at that time.

While my sister was being introduced to Nissim Levi, I was falling in love with my future husband, Baruh Grinberg. Unlike my sisters, however, this was a choice that I made on my own. I had known Baruh ever since my childhood in the Jewish neighborhood. I met many boys growing up, but, acting on my mother's advice, I did not get close to any of them. In the case of Baruh, however, I researched his life and knew a lot of things about him. He was an anti-fascist hurt by the struggle, and my compassion and his views strongly attracted me to him. None of my relatives understood me, and some even tried to separate us. My mother advised me not to marry him, but I was a child of another generation.

The ancestors of my husband Baruh Grinberg were very religious people. His paternal grandfather, Baruh Grinberg, was an Ashkenazi Jew. He originally came from the town of Odessa [today Ukraine], before settling in Ruse and becoming a rabbi. His son, my husband's father, Moshe Grinberg, was also a religious man. He had a fashion atelier in Shumen with eight workers. The father of my mother-in-law Buka, whose name was Moreno Samuilov, was a Sephardi Jew born in Targovishte. He was also very religious and sometimes went to extremes in the observance of religious traditions. He knew Ladino very well and read the Bible [Old Testament] all the time. Despite all of these religious influences, however, my husband Baruh was never a religious man. He wanted to become a physicist as a child, and he and his father argued all the time about the existence of God.

In 1943 the Jews interned in Sofia 24 came to Shumen. We emptied the big house and accommodated five families there free of charge. They slept on mattresses in the big hall. Everyone had two square meters to live on, and they kept the space neat and tidy. For meals, they cooked food in a big cauldron. We decided to organize a full-time kindergarten for the children of the Sofia Jews in the 'Kyoshkovete' park, with breakfast, lunch and Ivrit classes included. I was the person who organized this.

As the war went on, I became increasingly restless. I just could not stand still. I had to do something. I was ready to go to the battlefront or become a partisan, even going so far as to prepare my luggage. Six of us - all girls - decided to go to the Balkan as partisans, but the leader of the Shumen garrison, who was a brother of one of the girls, laughed at us and said that the partisan war was not for women.

After 9th September 1944 I became a clerk in Shumen for ten months to help the anti-fascist authorities. Then I left for Sofia to study dentistry at the Medical Institute. At first I lived in a rented attic room, but then I went to stay with my sister Sharlota, who lived on Iskar Street. There I shared a room with Greti, the future wife of my cousin Leon Daniel.

Married life

Baruh studied law while working for the Shumen municipality. We loved each other very much and married in 1948, at which point I was already pregnant with my first child. The wedding was very modest and not religious. I remember that I was studying for an exam in physiology at the time along with seven or eight other students in one apartment. Suddenly, at 10 o'clock, I said, 'excuse me, I have to go out for an hour.' 'Where are you going?' they asked me. 'Our exam is in two days and you decide to go out. You cannot do that. We must prepare for the exam. It is important and 50 percent of the students fail it.' 'I'm going to get married,' I said. They were all in shock. Our witnesses were some Jewish friends of ours. None of our relatives was present.

Haim, the husband of my sister Senyora whose shop was closed during the Holocaust, eventually became completely broke. He and his family could not remain in Bulgaria any longer and left for Israel in 1949 [see Mass Aliyah] 25. My sister Sharlota and her family also soon left.

In 1949 my first daughter, Beti Grinberg, was born. By that time my parents had accepted my marriage. But while they loved their newest granddaughter, they still could not understand me. My mother always said that my life was a mess, and our relations were strained. Nonetheless, my husband and I pushed forward with our lives. We moved to Bratia Miladinovi Street and lived there with my mother-in-law, Buka Grinberg, and Baruh's brother. His name was Avram. A number of times I raised the question of Jewish holidays, but my mother-in-law did not say anything, nor did she appear eager to celebrate them. I do not know why. When Baruh and I left for the USA our life changed, and we gradually neglected these traditions altogether.

As soon as I had graduated from dentistry school, I started work as a dentist in Pernik. In order to help my poor parents, I sent them half of my salary each month. My husband started supporting his family, too, and worked two jobs. He slept only four hours a day. During the day he worked in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and at night as an editor of a newspaper. [Editor's note: the interviewee does not want to go into details.] In our first years as a couple we could not even afford to go on holiday together because we did not have enough money. My husband had to go to the seaside for health reasons relating to the abuse he had received in labor camps during the war. He went there alone, and I went to the mountains with our daughter.

At the beginning of the 1950s my father, who was quite poor, decided to leave Bulgaria and move to Israel. He sold the family houses. Most of his brothers and sisters had already died, and the others, including their children, had moved to Israel. One month before he left, he suddenly died, and we buried him in Shumen in accordance with all religious rituals. My mother then came to live with us in Sofia. She spent a few months with us before she decided that she had nothing to do in Sofia and in Bulgaria. She left for Israel in 1954 and died there in 1958.

Although our first few years were very difficult, I was very ambitious and believed that we were creating a new, humane society. It was only after the events in Czechoslovakia 26 that I gradually became disillusioned, but that was still many years away. In the interim period I was very satisfied with my life in Bulgaria. My colleagues in Pernik and in the First Workers' Hospital, where I went to work, respected me and loved me. I never had any problems on account of my Jewish origins, and for some time I was even chairwoman of the trade union committee in the hospital.

Had I had changed my name I could have made my life even easier, but I did not do that. For the record, I want to make it very clear that no one asked me to change my name. Some Jews did so by choice, especially if they worked in public posts. I, however, was never ashamed of being a Jew, nor have I ever felt threatened because of my origins. I found my place here in Bulgaria, and, although many of my relatives went to Israel, I never wanted to follow them. This is not to say that I don't understand them. They did not find their place here in Bulgaria because they were used to living in an isolated Jewish society like the Jewish neighborhood from my childhood in Shumen.

We left for the USA in 1955. My husband was invited to work there as a diplomat, and we stayed there for twelve years. In 1956 our second daughter was born. Her name is Emilia. [Editor's note: the interviewee is reluctant to talk about her daughters, both of whom have passed away.] My children grew up in an environment in which the emphasis was not on Jewish values, but universal ones. Through my husband's work my world also widened. I went to a lot of cultural events. I remember going to see 'Fiddler on the Roof,' which made me cry ['Fiddler on the Roof' is one of the most famous stage and film musicals, opening on Broadway on 22th September 1964 with music by Jerry Bock and lyrics by Sheldon Harnick. The musical is based on 'Tevye and his Daughters,' or 'Tevye the Milkman' by the Russian Jewish author Sholem Aleichem, originally published in 1949.]

The change of environment also changed the thinking of my children. Beti graduated with a degree in English Philology from Sofia University, while Emilia studied chemistry. They both married Bulgarians. They celebrated both Jewish and Christian holidays because they thought that it was very nice to have a lot of holidays in the house. Beti has a son. His name is Nikolay Todorov. He is an actor and a freelance director. At one point he lived in Chicago, but now he lives in Germany.

I am very happy that the state of Israel exists. I was a Maccabi member and grew up in a family of Zionists. Half of my relatives went to Israel before the state was even founded. I, however, had thought that they would create a unified state with the Arab community. We cannot just banish these people and just force them to leave their homes. It is simply not right. Look at how Bulgarians and Jews live here in Bulgaria. I thought that the Jews and the Arabs would live in the same manner, and I just can't imagine how relations between the two communities deteriorated so quickly. The more the crisis deepened, the more I got angry with the politicians. I read the book by Shimon Peres, for example, which never mentions the Arabs. He acts as if Palestine was empty when the Jews arrived and settled the land. It was not like that at all. The policy towards the Arabs was not right; now the crisis has escalated to epic proportions. Al Qaeda has appeared, while Palestinians blow themselves up to demonstrate their unhappiness. It gets worse and worse. At least that is what I think; I am just a dentist after all.

In 1989 I was in Israel visiting my relatives. They also come to visit us in Bulgaria on occasion. I was in Israel when I heard the news about the coup on 10th November 1989 27. I am pleased with what has happened in Bulgaria since 1989, even though we, as pensioners, live more sparsely. But this is life. All pensioners around the world feel neglected because the respect they felt while they worked has gone. The important thing is to have economic freedom, to be healthy as long as possible and to be able to support yourself. If you start moaning, no one will respect you.

Many of our Bulgarian friends have died, and our social contacts have gradually decreased. That is why I am happy that the Jewish Home [Bet Am] 28 has resumed its activities and restored the traditions that we had started to forget. Now we go there every Saturday. [The interviewee is referring to the 'Golden Age' club, established in 1999, where 30-40 Jews gather every Saturday. They invite famous personalities, musicians, artists, economists and politicians as guests.]

Glossary

Krystyna Budnicka
Warsaw
Poland
Interviewer: Anka Grupinska
Date of interview: August 2003

Krystyna Budnicka, formerly called Hena Kuczer, is a retired teacher and tutor of handicapped children. Since the fall of communism she has been an active member of the Children of the Holocaust Organization. In 1939 she was just seven years old. She remembers many surprising details, less so the coherent whole thread of a story or event. She has lived in Warsaw all her life: on Muranowski Square in the Jewish district before the war, later in the ghetto and in hiding 'on the Aryan side', and after the war in a series of apartments. We had several talks, both in the headquarters of the Children of the Holocaust Organization in Warsaw's only surviving synagogue, and in her one-bedroom apartment in a tower block on the site of the former ghetto. Krystyna told me of the worlds to which she belongs and asserted that she is consistent in the choices she makes.

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

My family background

My name is Krystyna Budnicka, my true family name is Kuczer, Hena Kuczer. I first used my Polish name when Mr. Budnicki, a Pole, who had been looking after me, handed me over to some nuns who ran an orphanage as we were leaving a burning Warsaw after the Uprising [Warsaw Uprising] 1 in October 1944. When the nuns asked my name I didn't hesitate for long. Krystyna Budnicka, I said. And it stuck.

I was born in 1932, on 8th May, in Warsaw and lived in Warsaw at 10, Muranowski Square. My father was a carpenter. I was the eighth and last child in my family; I had six brothers and one sister. When I was born, you could say my parents were of advanced age - I was 21 years younger than my eldest brother. Five of my brothers were already completely grown-up, while one of them was only a year and a half older than me. The eldest was Izaak, we called him Icie, and later came Boruch and Szaja - familiarly they called him Sewek. Then there was Rafal, his full name in Yiddish must have been Ruben, Ruwen, Riwen or something like that. The fifth was Chaim, and the youngest Jidl, or Jehuda. My sister's name was Perla; she was older than Chaim.

My father, Jozef Lejzor Kuczer, was born in Siemiatycze [a town not far from Bialystok, eastern Poland], probably some time around 1880. That's how I calculate it, anyway, because when he died in 1943 he was around 60 years old. He ran a woodworking shop, he did carpentry and also some construction work. In the workshop there was what we called a 'krajzega', that is a circular electric saw. The workshop was in the basement of the dwelling house in which we lived; we lived on the first floor above the workshop. Our family wasn't exactly rich, but we weren't particularly poor either.

My father's family came from Siemiatycze. When they moved to Warsaw I don't know. What I do know comes from a cousin who lives in Israel, whose mother was my father's sister. My grandfather's name was Abraham, he was a carpenter, too. I don't know anything else about him, except that he probably came from Siemiatycze, too. I have no idea when he was born or when he died. I learned that the maiden name of my grandmother on my father's side was Grinberg or Grynberg. Chaja Grynberg. My father's brother, Ber Kuczer, also lived in Warsaw. He was a journalist, wrote a newspaper column, texts for small variety houses. What exactly, I don't know. I met him after the war. He wrote a book in Yiddish entitled Once There Was Warsaw. Ber Kuczer and the cousin from Israel survived the war in Russia. Ber died in Israel.

There is nothing I can say about my mother's family, I know nothing about them. Perhaps my grandfather, my mother's father, lived with us - I remember an old man lived with us and I know that he died. I must have been very small then. I know that mother had some siblings but somehow I don't remember any of them, there was an aunt, but I know nothing of her. I know more about my dad's family thanks to the cousin from Israel - he used to visit us at home, he still remembers me as a small child. That's all I know about my family.

My mother's first name was Cyrla, and her maiden name was Bzura. I know that she married very young. She could have been born around 1890. I don't know where she was born. She must have come from a religious family - I remember that on Saturdays she wore a wig, and on ordinary days she went around in a hairnet. Father always had his head covered. He didn't have sidelocks - he was no Hasid 2, but he was a pious Jew, and he had a beard, a beautiful long silvery beard, which parted at the bottom. He didn't wear a hat but a kashket, a kind of a small cap with a peak. My father was some sort of elder at the synagogue.

Only one of my brothers, Boruch, was religious. He had a pious wife and he wore a kashket too. Boruch was a carpenter, like father. He lived on Twarda Street. I guess he was born in 1913 or 1914. Boruch already had two children before the war. I think the name of his son was Abram, Abramek. Also this I remember very vaguely. And his little girl's name was Dobrusia, or Towa.

My eldest brother, Icie [his official name was Izaak] rented a studio flat on Miedziana Street and had a reading room. I used to go to his place. I remember he had a funny washstand. It was concealed, in a kind of small cabinet, and on top of it there was something that looked like a shelf with books. When you opened the cabinet, there was a washbasin inside. Icie passed his high school finals before the war. As I calculate it, he was born in 1911. Uncle Ber helped my brother set up his reading room. It was the Jewish reading room called Parnas on Nowolipie Street. When the war started, Icie brought the book collection to our house and deposited it in our basement, where the workshop was located. I learned to read from that book collection myself. At that time I didn't go to school, and I recall reading in Polish: Little Jack's Bankruptcy [by Janusz Korczak] 3, The Heart of a Boy by Amicis, Korczak's King Matt the First. [These were all popular children's books]. So there must have been Polish books, too. I don't think I could read in Yiddish, although I'm sure I could speak it. Today I don't even recognize the letters, I know what the alef looks like and nothing more. I'm very ashamed of this, since I could have found the time to get interested in it somehow, but as in many matters I frequently tell myself, 'Oh well, it's not worth it'.

I remember Icie had such a beautiful tan - he used to spend time in Zakopane, in Sopot [Polish mountain and sea resorts], he was like a bit of a stray from the rest of the family. He wore bright clothes. He was certainly Mother's favorite. More of a dainty, compared to, for example, Rafal who was brawny, strong, made for physical labor. Icie was cut out for books.

The third one, Szaja, was into communism. He also married before the war, they didn't have any children. I remember Szaja's wedding. The year might have been 1938 or 1937. I remember how I was dressed. I wore a red bow in my hair and a plush maroon velour dress that had been taken out. And I also recall that it must have been May or June. That wedding took place in our home. I don't know what business Szaja was in. Religious he certainly wasn't. My cousin from Israel, Szymon, says that Szaja belonged to some party. I don't know where he lived.

Perla had been the only daughter for a long time. She was slightly-built, slender and had curly hair. She was a great help to my mother. I don't remember which school she went to, but I know that she attended a corset- making course, which was the reason why a Singer sewing-machine arrived in our home. That Singer machine later came to play quite an important role, for it was sold for two buns in the ghetto. Perla was probably younger than Rafal, perhaps 20 in 1939, and Rafal maybe 24. She didn't get married, much to my mother's chagrin, as Perla was already considered a spinster. Perhaps it runs in our family! [Krystyna has never married.] There was talk of match-makers, but I don't remember much. I remember that Perla once took me to some Zionist meeting. Because I recall a song in Polish that went, 'We Jewess-patriots have paws like pussy-cats...' and more about us having something to do with the Arabs.

For me, Rafal was the most important one. Later on, in the ghetto, when we were living in the bunker, he was our leader, and gave us a sense of security. He was our 'captain' - we even called him that. And when everyone else had gone, Rafal was all I had left. He was the last one. As far as I remember, Rafal graduated from a technical school - either Wawelberg's or Konarski's. He worked in the shop along with my father. I remember that once they made a crate at our shop, I don't know whether it was for flour or something else, for Dr Korczak, for his orphans. Rafal wasn't religious. It must have pained my mother very much that her children weren't religious. Rafal was still living at home. He got married in the ghetto.

Chaim was much younger, he had to be much younger than either Rafal or Perla. He was some ten years older than Jidl. I know that Jidl was born in 1931 and Chaim in 1920 or 1921. He finished some school and worked with my father as well. Jidl was a year and half older than me. We hung out, fought, and played together. He was very attached to his brothers, followed them everywhere like a little puppy.

Growing up

Very early, perhaps at the age of three, I was sent to freblowka [kindergarten] on Sierakowska Street, near Traugutt Park. That street is no more. In the morning, a child caretaker would make the rounds to take children to the kindergarten. I stayed there until I was six, when I started school. The school was located on Barokowa Street, next to Krasinski Park, and it was a Jewish school with instruction in Polish. There was a religious studies class, and I remember a gentleman who was probably grade tutor and wore a smock frock and oversleeves; he must have taught all the subjects. I remember a handbook for the religious studies class, it was called Little Biblical History. I don't recall whether only girls or both girls and boys studied at this school. I was there for just one school year.

The house in which I lived was five floors high. It was the house on the corner of Muranowski Square and Sierakowska Street, and it had two staircases, five floors, and on each floor two families. Only Jews lived in our house, only the caretaker, a woman, wasn't Jewish. My mother once sent me to the caretaker to pick up the key to the attic. She told me not to look around at the walls, that it was forbidden to look at them. 'Remember: take the key and leave,' she said. But I did look around. I think there was probably a cross hanging on the wall. I remember the feeling of guilt, of sin: I wanted to see what it was that I wasn't allowed to look at. Adjacent [to Krystyna's house] was a restaurant, run by a Pole, his name was Gojski. I remember that he had a very good-looking son, older than me. At the corner of Sierakowska and Muranowski Square there a was shop in which I bought chocolate-covered khalva [syrupy walnut dessert] for 5 groszy.

We had two rooms on the first floor. I think that it had originally been just one large room, divided in time in two, and there was a fairly big kitchen. There was a toilet, and just before the war even a bathroom was put in, with a bathtub. I still recall bathing in the washtub after a grand laundry wash. The washtub was usually stored in the cellar, but once it had been brought in, we had such solemn ablutions. Well, usually we washed in bowls. And there was hot water, there was a boiler above the kitchen stove; it was a coal stove, with a sort of coil pipe that served to heat water. The bathroom was built by Rafal.

The entrance to the kitchen was directly from the corridor, there was no hall at all. In the kitchen, on the right hand side, there was a sink; we children constantly had to wash our hands in the sink. There were no double washbasins or bowls for washing the dishes - those I don't recall, but I do remember koshering dishes before Passover. That was done in the courtyard: My mother put the dishes into a large vat of hot water and then put in a sizzling flat iron heater, fiery-red, and the water swirled, swirled, and then it was all ready. In the kitchen there was a large cupboard and a table where we ate every day, since the entire family didn't really sit down for a common meal on ordinary days, there was no time for that. In the cellar my mother kept some stocked provisions: cabbage or potatoes for the winter.

My parents' bedroom was a small room with two traditional old-fashioned beds pushed together. We gathered the bedding from the entire apartment, placed it on those beds and covered it with bedspreads. And a grand cupboard stood there; it was probably made of oak, massive-looking, with drawers. The wardrobe stood in the first room. Also in this room was a large folding table - solemn Sabbath suppers and everything else took place there. Then there were also window shutters, for we were on the first floor. They were locked with a sort of bolt from the outside. In the first room, the dining room, the walls were painted navy blue with patterns, which to me seemed like macabre scenes, as I slept in that room. An iron bed stood in the kitchen, on which my two youngest brothers slept.

Everyday food was simple. How much food my poor mother had to prepare for so many people! Soups were rather simple. I remember cabbage soup since I didn't like it, and it had to be strained because it contained 'tatters'. I remember the borsht, and a dish in aspic, called 'cold feet', made from beef, that I didn't like. For breakfast we got some kind of milk soup, I liked very much, stale challah soaked in milk. Even now I prepare such pap for myself. My mother baked challot and cakes. She didn't make braids on the challah, she just folded it in two. I recall cheesecake and drozdzowe [yeast-based sweet bread] with crumble. My mother's specialty was raisin wine. I remember that there was always a demijohn of fermenting wine on the windowsill. I remember that during the occupation kosher food was hard to get, and my mother agonized over breaking the precepts. At the beginning she wouldn't take anything treyf into her mouth.

The solemn supper was on Fridays and Saturdays, when we ate together in the dining room, on a white table cloth. I remember that on Fridays my mother served hot fish with challah. And we dipped the challah into a warm sauce. Chicken soup was mandatory. And I remember cholent being carried to a bakery at Sierakowska Street. The pot was wrapped with paper, with our surname on it. The caretaker usually came to turn off the lights, until my brother Rafal designed a switch that he could set for a specific time. I remember the gray hours on Saturdays, when it wasn't yet permitted to turn the lights on, even though it was already twilight. We would sit by the tiled heating stove, and my mother told us fairy tales. Or my father would tell us biblical stories. He certainly talked to us in Yiddish. He couldn't have been telling his children about the Bible in Polish, could he? And my mother's fairy tales were probably told in Yiddish, too, although I can't say for sure. When I hear Yiddish spoken today I understand a little of what is being talked about. At home, there was a plywood board with the Hebrew alphabet on it, and my mother used to teach a little of it to me. I also remember some Yiddish songs.

My father treated my mother as if she were a queen. I never heard him raise his voice. We used to address her, 'Would Mother be so kind and...' I used to say, 'Would Mother be so kind and give me something or do something for me?' There was an incredible respect for her. Cyrle, Cyrle - that is how my father addressed my mother. I recall that good atmosphere. For others, my father must have been a figure of authority. They came to ask for his advice. I know that he used to do the cupping on people. They turned to him in all kinds of matters.

I haven't mentioned yet that we had a telephone, which is very important - at that time a telephone was a rarity. I remember a lawyer, a Jew from the neighborhood, who came to us to make calls. From a pre-war phone book I learned that the telephone had been registered in the name of my brother Boruch. It used to hang over a side table in the small room.

I had definitely been in some kind of synagogue before the war. But I think it was probably a small prayer house, not a big synagogue. That's all I remember, though. I recall Chanukkah: candle holders stood on the windowsill. I don't remember any gifts, [though] I know that today children get gifts. I remember Pesach, the moment that the door opened for Elijah to enter. I know that I knew the questions [the ma nishtanah] that had to be asked during the seder. At Pesach we used to eat macebrajka [pron. 'matzebrayka'] - crushed matzah crumbled into beaten egg, seasoned with a little salt and pepper and fried, a kind of matzah omelette. My mother used to fry it in goose fat; these days I fry macebrajka in margarine. I remember the Purim rattles that my father made for the younger children. And I remember the beautiful window decorations in the Jewish shops for Purim. Everybody would gather in our flat on Muranowska Street for the festivals. There were so many of us that we children had a table to ourselves.

I had a lot of toys made from wood by my father. I had beautiful toy furniture. And a kind of rag doll which my sister had sewed for me - you would buy a celluloid head, sew a small sack and fill it up with sawdust. And there was plenty of sawdust in the house. Then you would stitch to it little legs and arms, and you had a beautiful doll. I didn't have a bicycle, such things I didn't have at all. In the courtyard, boys would go about with a sort of little wheel guided by a poker. I remember one girlfriend - Roza from Muranowski Square. Her parents owned a button factory. I used to visit her and we played and I must have been jealous of her, she was just my girlfriend. Once her mom treated me to a fruit jelly - never before had I eaten jelly. Roza would come out to the courtyard and we played hopscotch, tag and skipped rope. My strongest memory of the courtyard is from 1940. Isolation [the isolation of Jews] 4 had already been brought in, and our parents forbade us to go out into the street, though the ghetto had not yet been created.

A tram passed under my window, but before the war I never rode on a tram, although I did drive in a hackney carriage. When I broke my leg, my father took me to hospital for an x-ray in a hackney carriage. Later I lay at home with my leg in traction. I also rode on a [horse-driven] cart to a summer vacation spot. That was somewhere on the Otwock line. Father rented two small rooms in a little wooden house with a veranda, and a small kitchen. My mother would take the younger children with her, and my father and my elder brothers came on Fridays. The cart was used for transporting the bedding and pots. The veranda was where we would relax and take our meals. That lasted until September. I remember a conversation between my parents. They were pondering whether there was enough money for the summer holiday. Mother put the matter squarely, 'All right then, I can spend the entire summer in Warsaw, but just count: for summer in Warsaw I need a hat, new stockings and a dress, otherwise how can I go out?! And once I rode on a train with my father, but I don't recall where to.

During the war

I can't say whether we shortened our vacation in 1939, I know that there was a [pre-]war atmosphere: stocking up on provisions, buying in supplies for the medicine chest, filling crates with sand, buying gas masks (make- believe masks, tampons to be soaked in something). From the first period [of the war] I remember that we would sit in the cellar when there was an air raid. We listened to the radio. The entire family would sit in that workshop of our father's. I remember refugees, Jews from Germany, arriving in Warsaw. I'm a very poor witness for all that because I never went out. Before the ghetto [the Warsaw Ghetto] 5, I was a little child, staying with my parents. In the ghetto I hardly ever got out, since at the beginning I was still a small child and then I was in hiding; neither did I see the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising 6 with my own eyes, and when I was on the Aryan side I didn't go out on the street.

I remember a house search in our apartment. They cut open a small sack of flour with a bayonet. Under the small table in my parents' bedroom there was a trapdoor to the basement. The men were hiding because then they were only looking for men. And in the cellar there was another hiding place in a crate with sawdust. Before the ghetto, at the beginning, after the September bombings, Father still had a lot of work. Later it got worse. Rafal got married when we were already in the ghetto. He and Fela went to live one floor above us at Muranowski Square. Fela was killed during the Great Action 7. Icie also came back home when the ghetto was already in place. And he brought the book collection from his reading room to our cellar. In July 1942 we were already living on Mila Street. [The area of the ghetto was reduced in size a number of times. On June 26th 1942, Sierakowska Street was excluded from the ghetto.] The flat on Mila Street was empty, simply it was already empty. A room with a kitchen, on an upper floor. At that time we had already lost contact with Boruch and his family.

In 1942, during the Great Action, Boruch had said, 'Little children, where can I hide with such small children? A child will cry, we have nothing to eat.' So it was sort of his own decision, I don't mean that he went voluntarily, but... he didn't fight. It is likely that they were killed during the Great Action. Szaja and his wife were caught during the Great Action, too. They went to Treblinka. And Rafal and his wife were caught. Rafal escaped from the train while being transported to Treblinka, but his wife didn't manage.

We had a hiding place at Mila, too, it was located in the ventilation chimney. We survived several house searches inside that chimney. A type of disguised cabinet on rollers was used to cover the entry to the chimney. During the Great Action we hid there several times. Jewish policemen were given quotas, they had to catch a certain number of people and deliver them to the Umschlagplatz. [Editor's note: The place in the Warsaw Ghetto from which deportations left to extermination camps.] They yelled from the courtyard that they were waiting, that everyone had to come down with provisions for one day and clothes, and that they would be going on a trip. So, after such an announcement, there was a moment of silence, and later a house search would begin in the apartments. There was a padlock hanging outside our door, and it looked like the flat had been closed from the outside. But they would force the padlock open, enter and search. Well, somehow they were never able to find us. I remember the illness of my brother and the illness of my father, it must have been typhoid fever. And I remember that we were very short of food. My mother sold a ring and the Singer sewing machine, and for them she got two white buns for my father. I remember the terrible fear in that chimney, when your heart is pounding because you can hear loud steps and you know that at any moment they could catch and kill you. I remember feeling hungry later, in the bunker. [Editor's note: Krystyna was in hiding in a bunker built by her brothers from February to September 1943.] I remember how I imagined that I was eating, that I was chewing bread. But I remember my fear better than the hunger.

After the Great Action we remained in hiding, no-one from our family worked legally in the shop. [Only those who worked in the ghetto factories had the right to live there, others were so called 'dzicy', 'wild' inhabitants of the ghetto.] Rafal, Icie and Chaim, my brothers, were building a bunker. Rafal was the boss in this business. I don't know where they had found the people who gave the money for the construction of the bunker. I think that they began building it right after the Great Action. The bunker was on Zamenhofa Street. We moved into the bunker in January 1943, I think. We had stocks of provisions. I know that there was a physician among us. At the beginning, until the uprising, there were some 30, 35 to 40 people. From this bunker there was a passage into the sewers, and that was the crucial thing, that made it possible [for us] to cross over to the Aryan side. Between January and April, the boys, my brothers, would go into the sewer to explore the Aryan side.

I will now describe the bunker. The passage down from the basement was closed off by a trapdoor that weighed 70 kilo. The bunker was constructed in such a way that the whole was dug out below cellar level, and the soil that was taken out was used to strengthen the ceiling with the help of wood planks and logs. Inside there were two rooms: in one, provisions and other necessities of life were kept. From that pit a tunnel was built leading to the sewer. The tunnel might have been ten meters long or perhaps even more. That tunnel, which was hollowed out in such a way, was the second room, the bunks were there. That was the place where we lived. And when the ghetto started burning, then it was literally like in an oven there. [Editor's note: The Germans began to burn down houses in the ghetto a few days after the liquidation began on 19th April 1943. Street after street burned. By 15th May, when the final liquidation of the ghetto was announced, most of the buildings in it had been burned down.] We would escape to the sewer to cool off a bit. The bunker was designed to be very safe. Inside we had everything: light, water. We also had a radio in the bunker. The idea was that we would survive the war in it.

Every day Icie made notes on our life in the bunker; but all of that was destroyed there, nothing was saved. It was in the bunker, before the Uprising, that the marriage of Icie and Anka took place. My father led the ceremony. At that time he didn't wear a beard anymore because the Germans had cut his beard in 1939, as soon as they came in they cut off half of his beard. I was very sick once and was given one potato, which my mother mashed and then fed me. I probably had a high fever, I don't know what the matter with me was, but I got well later on. My parents were very weak, they were simply wasting away. We switched day for night. During the day we slept.

There were food rations allotted in a way to make it fair. There was this watery soup made of oats. In the bunker meals were cooked on an electric range. We relieved ourselves into a small pail and then dropped the contents into the sewer. We washed one after another in a bowl. Emissaries were sent outside. But I really remember very little. I think the most important thing was not to move around too much, and that was all. And I suppose I just learnt to live like that. I was very young and didn't want to cause trouble or bring danger on us, so I breathed quietly. I really don't recall very much at all. I never went out at all, not even at night. None of us went out. If there was any danger we would hide in the sewers. I remember going out onto the street only once, during the day, but that was before the Uprising. We went to another cellar, but I don't know why, and I remember that we returned to our bunker very shortly after that.

The people in the bunker - I don't know who they were or how they came to be there. I know that we had no money, so perhaps my brothers constructed the bunker and the other people supplied them with food and medicine. I remember a physician and his wife, a married couple with two daughters and a son, the latter left earlier and helped us after that. And there were many people, but they didn't get fixed in my memory as they were only there for a short time, and they left quickly. I don't know what happened to them. They all tried to pass onto the Polish side via the sewers. The Germans knew that people were escaping through these sewers and dropped gas and grenades into them. At one point, the cellar collapsed with all the stocks of provisions inside, and we were left with literally two sacks of oats. We were left without light, nothing, not even water. And the boys started to dig through this mass of earth in order to somehow get to the air. They bored these passages in wet rags, and finally they reached some adjacent cellar, for there was a whole chain of cellars. I didn't see any firearms on my brothers, perhaps they didn't have any in the bunker, but I know they were in the Uprising, at the beginning, maybe for several days. They said they had come back from the Uprising. And when everything was coming down, burning, they were with us.

When they tracked us down, it was already September 1943. Two girls from the bunker came into contact with the caretaker of a house somewhere on Okopowa Street; Wasilewski his name was. He later helped us. He cleaned around the manhole, and he would hand us slips of paper with information, and we would pass ours to him. One day a man came to us from the outside, carrying a backpack with food, I don't know who he was. He was a very nice young man. And he said, 'Don't worry, everything will be okay, we will take you away from here.' At that time there were thirteen of us: My mother, my father, four of my brothers - Icie, Chaim, Rafal and Jidl - I, Perla, Anka - Icie's wife - and two married couples. Then the disaster happened. My poor brother Rafal got sick - it was dysentery or perhaps typhoid. A message was sent out immediately through Wasilewski and they took him above the ground.

Chaim and Icie, along with the husband of one of the women, took responsibility now. They began to go out, up through the sewers, and once they chanced upon two Polish looters. They agreed to meet them the next day. They put us in a sewer and came out to meet the men in the hope that they would bring us perhaps bread or something. As we were sitting in the sewer, we only heard shots and incredible shouting. We just sat there on some planks and waited for hours. After several hours my sister and Anka went inside the bunker, where they found nobody, they didn't go outside. My little brother, Jidl, knew which way to go in the sewer, took a flash-light from the bunker, and led us to the manhole that served as a contact point. After several hours we gave a slip of paper to the caretaker, 'Save us, the bunker has been compromised, we are sitting in the sewer.' They [the Poles] replied that they could come the next night.

And they came. When they came, it turned out that the manhole had been soldered up and that they couldn't open it. And we had to go to another manhole. But that was hardly possible, for we simply didn't have any strength to go. It was quite a distance and ahead of us there was a sewer with a very strong current. So my mother stayed behind. She wasn't able to get up from the mud. My father didn't have the strength, either, nor did the other woman, as she had one leg in plaster. My sister Perla said that she wouldn't go, she wouldn't leave them, and she stayed with them. I also wanted to stay, but my mother said, 'No, you go, Rafal is there, so you will tell him about us and he will come to help us. Go!' And they remained there. Well, and then we nearly drowned. My little brother went first and he was carried away by a wave, his torch-light went out, and we stopped, we had no idea what to do... there was darkness, water, a terrible whirl. Then the torch-light lights up from a distance and he cries, 'Anka, I'm alive!' Jidl went up under the manhole while we stayed behind, and he told the rescuers that we were waiting there but wouldn't manage on our own.

They carried the three of us out probably at Okopowa Street, where there was a candle factory. I know that Polish policemen [the so-called 'policja granatowa'] were among those securing our rescue. They took us to that Wasilewski. Then they washed us somehow. I was almost unconscious. I remember that I saw Rafal, and he asked me where our parents were, and I said that they had stayed behind and were waiting for help. Rafal pleaded with the people and they promised to return there the next night. There was contact with my parents through the manhole; I know that Valeriana drops were passed to them. But later the contact came to an end. Later it became dangerous there, even though Mr. Wasilewski was a decent man. They packed us, Rafal, Anka, Jidl and me, into four sacks, the kind with a small opening. After so many years, I finally saw that there was a world out there.

We were all barely alive, didn't look like human beings. They drove us to 1, Mokotowska Street. The house had probably been destroyed in 1939, and only the cellars remained in very good condition. It was a corner house with windows on one side overlooking Polna Street. Only four of us stayed there, but that was only for a very short while, for Jidl fell sick after the journey through the sewers and died. A physician came to see us, probably a Jew, he set our diet. And there was a house caretaker who looked after us. His name was Grochowski. And unfortunately there was the caretaker's son, who later contributed to Rafal's death, he simply denounced him. We revived; put a bit of weight back on. After the death of my brother Jidl there were only three of us. Rafal buried him secretly, probably somewhere in the courtyard. It was October 1943. We began to receive assistance. A woman called Basia brought us various things and money. I think it could have been Basia Bermanowa [a liaison of the Jewish National Committee] 8.

Later came an order, I don't know from whom, that since my brother was skilled in building bunkers, the cellar should be used for that purpose. And then, I believe in December, a man called Antek came to us and brought my brother firearms. [The interviewee is probably referring to Antek Zuckerman, one of the leaders of ZOB] 9. The construction started. That tunnel was to lead to the closest sewer. First the descent into the tunnel was built, so we had a place to hide in an emergency. We were there when the trouble with Mr. Grochowski's son, his name was Kazik, started. He was a young man, rather unimpressive, used to drink a bit, maybe he wanted to blackmail us. He, or so we thought, brought the Germans. We then hid quickly in the shelter, and spent the entire night there. They put seals on the cellars from the outside and we couldn't get out at all. Fortunately, Rafal's colleague from the underground organization was there with us, he got out through some little window and later got us out as well. One night we walked from 1, Mokotowska Street to Podwale Street.

Ms. Stefania Socha lived at 15, or 17, Podwale Street, in a studio flat on the first floor, and she took us in. She was a kind of patriotic drunk who kissed every metal badge with the Polish eagle [the national emblem]. Naturally, she knew that we were Jewish, that couldn't be disguised - we looked ghastly. At her place, we slept on the floor. We only spent a few days there, maybe a week. We were visited by the same man who used to come to the ghetto, he was a liaison man. He always bragged that nothing could happen to him because he had cyanide. Finally, the boys decided that the Germans were no longer watching the house at 1, Mokotowska Street, and that we should go back there since it would be a pity to waste the effort they had put into the building of the tunnel. It was agreed that Rafal should go back alone, without Anka and myself. A 17-year-old boy, Zygmunt, was to go with Rafal to help him. Us they moved to Dolna Street to a woman called Ms. Zakrzewska or Zarzycka, I'm not sure, who was a midwife. It was January 1944. And they took Rafal to the place on Mokotowska Street. Ms. Zakrzewska was being given some money and she fed us. She lived with her husband and a small daughter. Whenever anyone came in, we hid behind a curtain.

January passed and we had no news about Rafal. In February no money came. The lady kept feeding us, but it was getting more and more difficult. We learned in the end that Rafal was dead. He got into a quarrel with Kazik, the caretaker's son, because Kazik was careless in his work, and Kazik brought in the Germans. The boy who had been assisting him, Zygmunt, was also killed. The money for our upkeep began to flow in again. It was brought by someone else, for Jozek, the liaison, had also been killed. I don't know exactly where the money came from but I guess it was from the Jewish National Committee. We lived there undisturbed through February, March and April [1944]. One day it turned out that the midwife had been doing illegal abortions and injured some Volksdeutsche 10 woman who ended up in hospital and the Germans began an investigation: where, what and how. We had to run. Anka and I were led out separately, but on Dolna Street some kids began to yell after me, 'Jewess'. I spent the entire night on coal in a cellar. I was not suitable to be shown to other people. I couldn't show my face in public because I looked very Semitic. [Jews identified as such by Poles were often blackmailed or handed over to the Germans.] The next day a female liaison came in the morning, put a bandage around my head and took me by tram to Dobra Street. And that's how I found myself at the Budnickis'. Anka was already there.

The Budnickis helped Jews; they were a middle-aged childless couple. I know that when the summer holidays started, Mrs. Budnicka went to a summer vacation spot with some Jewish children, somewhere in the Otwock area. When the Uprising broke out, she wasn't in Dobra Street. Anka cooked there. I recall that the Poles captured a heating plant somewhere nearby and there was great joy, euphoria. During the Uprising we would go down with everybody else to the cellar, the shelter. At that time I didn't hear a bad word directed at us. You could say that people felt a stronger solidarity with one another, all felt the same danger. We walked out of Warsaw on 6th September with the Budnickis. We crossed Warsaw, which was ablaze. I parted with Anka in Wola [a district of Warsaw]. First, there was a night stopover under the open sky, and in the morning selection for work duties.

Mr. Budnicki noticed some nuns, Grey Nuns from Warsaw, from Ordynacka Street. He went up to the Mother Superior and told her that he had an orphan, that he wasn't her father. She said, 'You will come to get her after the war?' 'Yes, yes, of course,' said Budnicki. When the nun saw me, she asked, 'My child, what's your name?' I said, 'Krysia Budnicka'. I went with the children from the orphanage to the Pruszkow transit camp 11. Later it turned out that out of eighteen children, six were Jewish. One girlfriend lives in Warsaw, she is well-educated but doesn't maintain any contact with children of the Holocaust; she doesn't want to. She doesn't even want to stay in touch with me, even though we used to like each other very much.

At Pruszkow we spent only one night. I remember I was given an empty food can, with which I went to get soup. From Pruszkow the whole children's home was moved to Bobrowce near Mszczonow. The trek took several days. We were billeted in a school. A few of the girls were Jewish, but of course I knew nothing of that. We were all very poor, we had left Warsaw after the Uprising with nothing. The nuns scoured the villages and brought us bits of food and old clothes. I got a moth-eaten coat, I remember that was a luxury; the other children envied me. My looks were a big problem and the nuns protected me. When the other children went into the village to dig potatoes, the nuns kept me back. They told the other children that I had a wounded finger. I don't think I was very popular. Nobody taunted me for being Jewish, but the other children used to call me a creep because I was very obliging - probably because after the hell I'd been through I wanted to show my gratitude for being taken care of. We were in Bobrowce when the liberation came [the Russians entered Warsaw on 17th January 1945], and in February we were moved to Osuchow, to the abandoned palace of the Plater family. There I started going to school. I was 13. In May 1945 we were taken to a village called Szczaki Zlotoklos, where we continued to go to school.

The nuns wanted to baptize me right away, in October 1944, but a priest said that he couldn't approve, that baptism could take place only in the event of a life-threatening emergency. 'We shall wait, the war will end soon, she is a big girl and she must decide for herself,' he said. I was baptized in Szczaki Zlotoklos. That was something I really wanted. I was very keen to fulfill all my religious duties conscientiously. Some men came to Szczaki Zlotoklos looking for Jewish children. The nuns brought them to me and I told them everything I remembered about my family. They said they would start looking, and that perhaps someone might have survived. I don't know what organization they can have been from. Six of us girls were Jewish. One was found by her father. I remember the tears. Another one was taken to Israel. She was very small, seven years old. First she was taken to the Jewish children's home, then to Cracow, and today she lives in Israel. They tried to persuade me to go as well, but I didn't want to, and I was old enough that they could hardly have forced me. The same people came to the children's home several times, and they carried on coming when we were back in Warsaw, too. [Editor's note: The children's home returned to Warsaw in 1946, and was located on Czerniakowska Street.] Once a man came to visit me claiming to be my cousin and telling me he was going to take me to Palestine. But I knew he was no relative of mine. I was very hurt that he tried to deceive me.

Post-war

I stayed with the Grey Nuns for a very long time, up to my grammar school graduation, that is, until 1952. I finished elementary school in 1948 and had to choose a secondary school. I very much wanted to go to the grammar school run by the Nazarene Sisters, but the nuns said that I shouldn't, because I would be ruining my chances of a career. It was at the height of the Stalinist period and a church education was frowned upon. But I insisted. And the nuns were right - later on I had trouble getting a job. At school I was different, and didn't fit in. Not because I was Jewish, but because I was an orphan. The girls who went to that school were from well- off families. They brought white bread rolls with ham, while I had black bread and jam or dripping. I really never felt different because of my Jewishness. That was never an issue, it was something we never talked about - not because I concealed the fact, but because it just wasn't a topic that we discussed. In those days we didn't talk about the war at all. I know from conversations with Jewish friends of my age [today] that it was the same for them - nobody talked about the war. Nobody talked about themselves. If ever anyone asked me about my family I said that they had all died during the war. Perhaps not revealing anything afforded us some security?

In 1952 I went to Lublin Catholic University to study pedagogy. That was the very worst part of the Stalinist period, but the atmosphere there was fantastic. Many of us were escaping from communism and found our haven there. And not only that - it was the only time in my life that I felt on a par with my peers. I was just the same as they were - like them I was not with my family, like them I had no money, like them I lived for my studies, we were all young and in a similar situation. And I used to go back to the orphanage during vacations; I treated it like my only home. The nuns would mend the holes in my shoes and give me food to take back to Lublin with me. I was 20 years old, and I remember that there, at university, I was truly happy for the first time in my life. Everyone knew that I was Jewish, but it wasn't an issue. I think I was probably the only Jew at the whole university. I remember that once my friends came and told me that the young Father Daniel [Daniel Rufeisen] 12, a convert who was going to be a monk in Israel, had come to Lublin and was going to give a sermon. I didn't go; somehow it wasn't something I was interested in. I graduated after four years.

I've always remembered what home I came from, but I didn't want to be a Jew because I considered that it was something bad, for when one is a Jew, one suffers, loses one's family - that's how I thought as a small girl and as a teenager. After the war my uncle Ber Kuczer came to see me and he wanted to take me away, but somehow he didn't insist too much. He was on his way from Russia to Paris. I didn't want to go. I couldn't make up my mind in a few seconds. I felt secure at the orphanage. I think I was afraid of more danger, more upheaval.

Later, I graduated from the Institute for Special Education in Warsaw. I wanted to get a job somewhere where I would be given lodgings. I applied to work in the militia-run emergency children's care unit but was turned down. I was also rejected by the Korczak Memorial Children's Home. Eventually I found a job in a children's sanatorium in Otwock, and I found a place to live in an attic an hour and a half's journey away - I was a squatter. I didn't get a flat of my own until 1967. There were a few people from Jewish families at the school in Otwock. The personnel officer was a Jew. Perhaps that's why I got the job. We got on well, but we didn't talk about the past. I became friendly with one of the teachers, and through her I met a family who I did talk to. That teacher and her family emigrated to Israel later. The fact that for many years I never talked about it, didn't want to think about it or remember, doesn't mean I stopped being a Jew. I was simply escaping from painful memories. And other people were doing the same. But we did keep in touch. I kept in touch with the girls from the orphanage all the time, but we didn't talk about the past.

In 1968 I got another job, but not because anyone forced me out - I simply found a better job, and one that was in Warsaw, so I didn't have to travel. And that year, in 1968, I made many trips to Gdanski Station [in Warsaw], which was where people left for Israel. I said goodbye to many people then, and cried. But I didn't have the feeling that it was anti-Semitism among the Poles that was driving them away. I blamed the communist system; after all, it was because of the authorities that these people were losing their jobs, it was communist agitators who were screaming at rallies for Jews to go to Zion. That system persecuted us in various ways, and anti-Semitism was just one of its methods.

Anti-Semitism in Poland. That's a very big, very complicated subject. In 1956 I personally didn't experience anything or see anti-Semitism directed towards others. I had just graduated. In the attic where I was squatting I had neither a radio nor a television. I wasn't living in a Jewish environment. And anyway, that wave of anti-Semitism wasn't as noticeable as the one in 1968. 1956 was mainly about purges among military personnel and people in power. And those were on the whole rather closed circles.

Anti-Semitism is either an illness or stupidity. The circles in which I move in Poland - doctors, teachers, the middle-class intelligentsia - have nothing to do with anti-Semitism. Either way, I don't believe that anti- Semitism in Poland is anything out of the ordinary. I don't imagine that anti-Semitism in France or America is any less painful. I think there has been a great improvement here in the last few years. Once the system changed, everything became more above-board and hence more normal.

And anti-Semitism within the Church? That saddens me greatly. But I believe that the Pope's teachings are being increasingly taken to heart. After all, after 2,000 years of anti-Semitism within the Church, it's not easy to change the Church in a very short time. But I believe it will change. I have a dilemma too, not a problem, because I don't find it a problem, but a dilemma, when people ask me to define who I am. Because I am a Jew - that is my nationality, my background, and a Christian - that is my religion - and a Pole - that is my culture. I can live with the problem of my identity, it doesn't worry me. And other people needn't concern themselves with it.

I've never hidden the fact that I'm a Jew at all. Everyone knows who I am. I went to Israel for the first time in 1961. Everyone at work was astonished when I came back a few weeks later. I think they were sure I would stay there. But I didn't want to stay there. I've been to Israel twice, in 1961 and 1989. I love it very much, but I would never take the decision to move there because my roots are here. Israel is a very special place for me because it's a Jewish country, the cradle of both Judaism and Christianity. My country. Mine is the grave of Rachel and mine the grave of Christ. I'm no missionary, so for me Judaism and Christianity form a kind of whole. I'm very happy when I'm in Israel and I always want to return there. But my home is here, and it's here that I feel relatively secure. I'm alone here, because I have no family, but I'm not lonely. I don't think I would be happier anywhere else. Perhaps in Israel? If I had emigrated years ago.

I have been strongly involved with the Jewish community in Poland since 1990. I was the vice-chairperson of the Children of the Holocaust Organization for a few years. I'm very attached to the people there. And it makes me very happy to see young people in Poland rediscovering their Jewishness and returning to their long-lost roots. No, I don't feel any inner discord or conflict. And people here, my friends and acquaintances, understand me, I think. On Yom Kippur, a Sunday, I went to mass in the morning, and in the evening I lit a candle in the synagogue for my loved ones. I'm sure my mother understands me. From her perspective such earthly matters are simpler.

I've been a Catholic for a long time. A Catholic Jew. I am consistent in my choice. I come from a very religious family and religious faith is in my genes. Father Daniel Rufeisen very much wanted me to stay in Israel, in his Hebrew church.

Glossary

Max Shykler
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

I've met Max Shykler several times. He is a short, thin man with thick gray hair. He is astonishingly vivid considering he is 83 years old. I visited Chernovtsy in summer, and Max spent a few hours a day in the mountains and woods. He has always liked hiking and walks 20 kilometers every day. Many people in town know him. Since the early 1950s he has been chairman of the hikers' club in Chernovtsy. He took schoolchildren on hiking tours in Bukovina. Now their grandchildren go hiking with him. Max is a very intelligent and smart man. There is one thing he told me, and that is that he 'erases' unnecessary information from his memory to keep it perceptive for anything new. He remembers very few names. There are gaps in his life- story due to that. He took me on a very interesting tour of the town. He knows every building in Chernovtsy and its history. He is a very interesting storyteller.

My father's parents lived in the town of Putila in Chernovtsy province, about 35-40 kilometers from Chernovtsy. Putila is located on the foothills of the mountains and surrounded by woods. Bukovina belonged to the Austro- Hungarian Monarchy until 1918, then it became part of Romania. There were many Jews in this town. They got along well with the Ukrainian and Romanian population. Jews were involved in all kinds of activities in Putila. Besides being involved in traditional trades they were farmers, timber dealers and even woodcutters.

Jews evacuated from Putila during World War I. There were Kazak units deployed in Putila. Kazaks used to drink a lot and behaved nastily towards Jews. There were pogroms 1, burglaries, rape and murder almost every day. Every now and then they would kill a whole family including older people and children. The local Jews evacuated to the Czech Republic and Austria. Germans behaved properly and were friendly in Bukovina. When the war was over the Jews returned from evacuation. This positive experience with the Germans had its negative impact during World War II when Jews believed they had to beware of the Russians rather than the Germans. They paid a bitter price for their trustfulness.

My grandfather on my father's side, Meyer Shykler, was born in Putila in the 1850s. I didn't know my grandfather. My father told me about him. I was named after my grandfather Meyer. He inherited plots of land covered with woods and was involved in cattle breeding. They bred cattle for sale. Timber dealers were considerate about their successors. Each timber dealer understood that his children and grandchildren would have to work for a more farsighted employer. Timber dealers were very careful about cutting wood. They always planted 2 or 3 young trees in return for one that they cut in their woods, so that their children could cut those and plant new ones for their grandchildren. That was how it worked. The woods were growing and generations were changing, and everyone had enough space for living: Jews and non-Jews.

I don't remember my grandmother's first name. I only know that it started with an M. My sister Milia was named after my grandmother. I believe my grandmother was the same age as my grandfather. She was a housewife. Putila was a patriarchal town. Women didn't work there. Married Jewish women could only be housewives.

My grandfather's family was wealthy. They had a house, owned woods and bred cattle. They had many children, but I don't remember anything about them. My father, Shai Shykler, was born in 1894.

My father's parents were religious. At that time religiosity was a common rule. On Saturdays and holidays they went to the synagogue to pray. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. All Jewish boys studied at cheder. My father and his brothers went to cheder. After finishing cheder my father and his brothers studied at the Jewish lower secondary school for 7 years. Girls were taught at home as a rule. It was more important for a girl to become a good housewife and mother to her children. The girls helped their mother about the house and looked after their younger sisters and brothers. The boys helped their father. My father's family spoke Yiddish like all other Jewish families. They spoke German and Russian with their neighbors. Most of the Ukrainians spoke fluent Yiddish. My grandfather died in 1915 and my grandmother in 1919.

The family of my mother, Leya Shykler [nee Kronefeld] lived in Vizhnitsa. Vizhnitsa was a small town on the bank of the Prut River, 50 kilometers from Chernovtsy. The Prut is a mountainous river with a strong current. Vizhnitsa was a town of woodcutters. They cut wood on the foothills of the mountains, tied it in rafts and floated logs down the river to Vizhnitsa. The whole population was involved in the timber business in one way or another. There were sawmills, drying facilities and storage facilities. Merchants and experts came to Vizhnitsa to purchase timber from the storage facilities. The timber floaters were Ukrainians, and Jews and Romanians were involved in all the other working processes. Jews were the best timber specialists. My grandfather Kronefeld was a timber expert, too. He was away on business very often, but his work paid well. My grandmother was a housewife. They were a wealthy family.

I don't remember the first names of my mother's parents. They had 14 children. My mother was born in 1897. Some of the children died in infancy. I knew a few of my mother's brothers and sisters. I remember that one of my mother's brothers lived in Vizhnitsa and owned a store. My mother's younger brother lived in Putila. He was a cattle breeder. He had six children.

It goes without saying that my grandparents' family was religious. They lived a traditional Jewish life. Perhaps, not all of them were fanatic believers, but going to the synagogue on holidays and Sabbath was mandatory. Their children grew up religious. My mother brought into our family what she had been used to since her childhood. All children in the family got religious education. The boys went to cheder and the girls were educated at home. Besides, all their children finished the Jewish lower secondary school in Vizhnitsa.

My grandfather Kronefeld died in 1927 and my grandmother in 1930. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Vizhnitsa.

I don't know how my parents met. I believe they must have been introduced to one another by a shadkhan, which was a traditional way of arranging marriages at the time. They had a traditional Jewish wedding in my mother's hometown. I know that my parents got married before 1918. There was a rabbi at the wedding, and the bride and bridegroom stood under the chuppah. The newly-weds moved to Putila and had another wedding party. I have seen a traditional Jewish wedding in Bukovina. There were Jewish weddings even after the war. Many Jews only had a religious wedding and didn't have any civil ceremonies

I saw many wedding ceremonies and parties before 1939. There were Jewish weddings even after the war. Many Jews only had a religious wedding and no civil ceremony. I have seen a traditional Jewish wedding in Bukovina. There was a chuppah installed in an elevated area. It was a crimson brocade chuppah held by four poles. Lions, flowers and Stars of David were woven on the brocade. There was a fringe with tassels on the sides. The bride and bridegroom The bride and bridegroom were standing underneath the chuppah during the wedding ceremony. The bridegroom was escorted to the chuppah by the two fathers, and the bride was brought in there by the two mothers. The rabbi said his blessings, they exchanged the rings and drank a glass of red wine. Then they wrapped the wine glass in a tissue with embroidered quotations from the Torah on it, threw it on the floor and the bridegroom stepped on it. The wine glass was supposed to break. I know that it symbolized the destruction of the Jerusalem temple that one always had to remember. This was the end of the ritual and then the actual party began.

Klezmer musicians played at the wedding. There was traditional food at a wedding: chicken, stuffed fish, stuffed chicken necks and pitcha - a spicy chicken neck and giblet snack with garlic and vinegar. There was a great deal of pastries. There were sponge cakes and strudels with jam, raisins and nuts. Maina had a meat stuffing and was served with clear chicken soup. The guests ate a lot and drank little. There were up to a hundred guests. Such weddings took place in big halls in bigger towns and in taverns or at home in smaller towns. Special wedding cooks [sarvern in Yiddish] were invited to cook. They worked in crews, and each of them specialized in one dish.

The bride and bridegroom danced the first wedding dance to a Jewish tune. They usually danced sher, a Jewish dance. The guests joined them, and the wedding party lasted all night long. After the first dance the bride poured wine into glasses to take it to the klezmer musicians, and her mother brought them a tray with food. In the morning the klezmer musicians received their money and some food left over from the wedding party.

After the wedding Mmy parents moved settled down in toPutila. I remember their house. My family lived in it until the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 2 in 1941. My father had bought this house for his future family before the wedding. The house was removed after the war. There were three rooms, a hallway and a kitchen. There was an orchard and a flower garden in front of the house. There was also a kitchen garden, sheds and pastures near the house.

My parents had four children. We were all born in Putila. I was born on 14th October 1919. My brother Mothe followed in 1921, and my younger sister, Milia, was born in 1923.

My parents were religious people, but they weren't fanatically religious. They celebrated all Jewish holidays and Sabbath. My mother always cooked Saturday meals on Friday. She left the food in the stove to keep it warm for Saturday. It wasn't allowed for Jews to light a fire on Saturday to warm up the food. It wasn't even allowed to have a fire to heat the room in the winter. However, my parents asked our Ukrainian neighbor to come in and light the fire in the stove and the lamp. On Fridays we said a prayer, my mother lit candles and we began Sabbath. On Saturdays our whole family went to the synagogue. When we returned, my father used to read the chapter of the Torah which is read on Saturday. Then we sat down at the table. In the evening we conducted HAavdalah, the separation of Saturday from weekdays. All Jews went to the synagogue to avoid being condemned by the community.

My mother strictly followed the laws of kashrut. There was kosher and non- kosher meat in every food store; it was the same price. Jews only bought kosher meat, of course. They sinned every now and then and ate non-kosher meat, but in general, Jews followed the kashrut. There was no market in the village. There were suppliers, who delivered products to each family.

We spoke Yiddish and German at home. Even after Bukovina joined Romania in 1919 German was more frequently spoken than Romanian.

My parents celebrated all Jewish holidays. We had traditional Pesach. On the eve of Pesach all children were looking for chametz at home. We conducted our search with a candle, a chicken feather and a paper bag, into which we put all breadcrumbs or pieces of bread that we found. Later we burnt it all. The family always bought enough matzah to last for all days of the holiday. We had a big family. My mother did all the cooking herself, although we had a housemaid. She made chicken, goose, and geese cracklings. We had stuffed fish on every holiday. Mother also made keyzl. She also made pastries from matzah flour. She crashed matzah through a sieve. She used fine flout flour to make pastries and made pancakes, latkes and dumplings for chicken broth from what was left in the sieve.

On the first day of Pesach the whole family went to the synagogue. In the evening we all sat down at the table for a family dinner. My mother had a special tablecloth for Pesach that she had embroidered before she got married. It was a white tablecloth with embroidered quotations from the Torah. We had high silver wine glasses that were part of my mother's dowry. On the first day of Pesach we all drank Pesach wine, even the children. There was one extra glass of wine on the table, but nobody drank from it. [This was the glass for the prophet Elijahu.] I, and later my younger brother asked our father a question [the mah nishtanah] in Hebrew. Our father replied in Hebrew. Father read the Haggadah out loud. The whole seder was conducted as it was written.

Jews in Putila also celebrated Sukkot. They made a sukkah near each house. It was a small booth made of branches where they had their meals during the whole period of the holiday. There was no special food on Sukkot, just traditional Jewish food.

We all fasted at Yom Kippur. The ritual of kapores was to be conducted before fasting on Yom Kippur. First a prayer was said, and then men took a rooster and women had a hen in their right hand. They turned them slowly above their head saying, 'May this be my atonement'. Then these chickens were given to the poor. We all fasted on Yom Kippur. It was also a tradition to fast on Tisha be-Av, on the 9th Aav and the Fast of Gedalia in September (on 3rd Tishri). The majority of Jews observed these three fasts. Children and sick people didn't have to fast, but in our family children began fasting when they reached the age of 5. The ritual of Kapores was to be conducted before fasting at Yom Kippur. First a prayer was said and then men took a rooster and women had a hen in their right hand. They turned them slowly above their head saying "may this be my atonement". Then these chickens were given to the poor.

Of course I remember Chanukkah when all children received Chanukkah gelt. All children were to play with a spinning top. We had new tops for every Chanukkah. They produced a sound while spinning, and we scared away the wicked Haman. Purim was the merriest holiday, I guess. All young people wore Purimshpil masks going from one Jewish house to another. People treated them with some food or gave them some change. Every family made hamantashen, strudels and fluden stuffed with raisins, nuts and prunes on Purim.

My father took me to the synagogue when I turned 7. There were two wooden synagogues in Putila. One of them was bigger, the other one smaller. There was a Jewish population in all villages along the highway, and every village had a synagogue. When the Romanians came here in 1941 they burnt them down. The Romanians and the local population burnt down most of the synagogues in Bukovina.

My father had his tallit and tefillin. I had tefillin after I had my bar mitzvah at the age of 13. Tallit were for married men only. At the age of 13 I lived in Vizhnitsa, but I came home for the bar mitzvah. My mother made a festive dinner. There was no rabbi in Putila, so the shochet performed his duties instead. He conducted the bar mitzvah.

My brother and I went to cheder when we turned 6. We were taught by a melamed. We first studied aleph and- bet [the Jewish alphabet] and began to study more complicated things afterwards. Those who finished cheder could continue their studies in a yeshivah. There were big yeshivot in Vilnius and other towns. One could become a rabbi upon finishing yeshivah, but it wasn't mandatory. We studied ancient Hebrew at cheder. It's different from modern Hebrew [Ivrit]. It's the Hebrew of the Torah. At the age of 8 I started to go to the Jewish elementary school in Putila. I finished 4 classes. There was no grammar school in Putila, so there was no chance for me to continue my education.

In 1931 I moved to Vizhnitsa and went to the grammar school there. My parents, my brother and my sister stayed in Putila. I lived with my mother's cousin. Her husband was manager of the orchestra of klezmer musicians in Vizhnitsa. They played at all weddings in Vizhnitsa and the surrounding areas. He left for Israel later and lived there until the age of 100.

There was a fee to pay for education at the grammar school. However, only a few students paid. When a student submitted a certificate issued by the village council saying that his family was poor, he was exempt from payment. Almost all students obtained such certificates. This was a Romanian grammar school. All subjects were taught in Romanian. Romanian was the official language of the state, and we all spoke it. All teaching was in Romanian since 1918. We studied foreign languages: German, French and Latin. We had classes in general subjects such as physics, chemistry, literature, history and geography. We also had religious classes: Jewish and Christian children studied separately. There were many Jewish children at school, as there were quite a few Jewish families in Vizhnitsa and the surrounding villages. I also continued to study Jewish traditions, prayers, Hebrew and Yiddish, and the Talmud at cheder.

I finished grammar school in Vizhnitsa in 1934. I wanted to complete my lower secondary education at grammar school. I moved to Chernovtsy and went to grammar school there. I lived with my mother's sister. I forgot her first name, but her married name was Gaber. They had a small house in the center of town. My aunt and her husband had four children: two sons and two daughters. They were all 5-10 years older than me. By the time I came to Chernovtsy they were adults, had left their parents' home and had their own families. Only one of my cousins was still living with her parents, but she got married and moved out soon. They had a brick house with three rooms and a kitchen. There was a small yard, but they didn't keep any livestock. They had no gas. There was running water and a toilet in the house. My aunt's family celebrated all Jewish holidays and Sabbath.

The population of Chernovtsy was 105,000 people; about 65,000 of them were Jews. There were about 60 synagogues in Chernovtsy. All Jews went to synagogue regardless of their level of religiosity. Purim was a real carnival in Chernovtsy. Everybody wore a mask and people laughed, danced and enjoyed themselves. There were Purimshpils in Chernovtsy organized by the Jewish theater. On this day the whole town became a stage. People installed stages in the streets and in the squares, and everywhere professional and amateur actors performed Purimshpil performances.

Teaching at the Romanian grammar school was in Romanian. I studied there 4 years, from the 5th to the 8th grade. The majority of students at this grammar school was Jewish. The attitude towards Jews was very good. There was no national segregation in those years. However, there was anti- Semitism at higher educational institutions. Officially Jews were admitted to these institutions, but all Romanian students were members of the fascist and anti-Semitic organization, the Iron Guard 3. They persecuted their Jewish co-students. Therefore, Jews couldn't study at higher educational institutions in the late 1930s. Better off families could send their children to study in Vienna or Prague. But gradually fascists came to power in those cities, and Jews couldn't hardly get a higher education from the late 1930s. But everyday life was all right until the Romanians came to power in 1941. There were individual demonstrations of anti-Semitism: A student was murdered in Chernovtsy once and some Jews were beaten, but these were rare demonstrations of anti-Semitism.

I had many Ukrainian, Romanian and German friends at grammar school. However, in 1935 the Germans stopped socializing with us, even the ones who had been good friends before. They stopped greeting us, and so on. Romanians behaved in a normal way until the beginning of the war. The Germans lived in Rosha, in the outskirts of Chernovtsy. After 1935 Jews didn't go to Rosha in the evening because they were afraid to be abused.

During my studies at grammar school I joined a Jewish youth organization, the Betar 4. It was a right-wing Zionist organization. There was strong Zionist propaganda at that period. They said Jews had to live in Palestine, sing Jewish songs and have military training.

Senior members of the Betar wanted to go to Palestine. Those who wanted to move there had to work for a landlord for about a year to learn farming. Upon completion of this course they obtained a certificate and could move to Israel. The British Embassy issued those certificates. It was their requirement to have this certificate attached to the package of submittals. However, this was just another requirement to restrict entrance to Palestine. They actually wanted to turn Palestine into their colony. The borders of Arabian countries were open, and Jewish capitalist entrepreneurs went to Palestine creating new jobs. Arabs were free to go to Palestine, but Jews had restrictions. We can witness the consequences of this policy now. It's the fault of the English. The League of Nations issued the mandate to England to found a Jewish state, but it failed to perform this task.

One could go to Palestine from the age of 18. Some of my acquaintances from Betar left. I don't remember their names, though. There was a hakhsharah center in Chernovtsy, up the street from the Town Council. Those, who intended to move to Palestine, got registered there and waited for a permit because only a restricted number of people could go to Palestine. There were many people willing to go there, but only few obtained permission. I didn't want to leave my family and friends and my country. Our friends from Palestine wrote about their hard life and work, the difficult climate, malaria, the lack of water and the simplest comforts. But they came to like this country and were enthusiastic about changing their lives for the better.

I finished grammar school in 1938. I was 19 years old. I became an apprentice at the Chernovtsy stocking factory. I still lived with my aunt's family. Late I became a professional knitter. In the evenings I met up with my former co-students. We went to a youth club. We also went on tours, hiking in the woods and in the mountains, and we met up with girls.

In 1940 Stalin threatened the Romanian government to start a war if Romania didn't transfer its western regions, Moldavia, Bessarabia 5, the Carpathian Mountains and Bukovina, to the USSR. Romania agreed and all these areas joined the USSR. I was on vacation visiting my parents in Putila when the 'liberators' came to town. The Romanian army had just left and the Soviet army was expected at any moment. Within a day the Soviet tanks came to Bukovina, and it became part of the Soviet territory. The locals, who supported the Soviet power, were appointed as heads of village and town councils.

There were many communists among the Jews. They believed in the communist ideals of equal rights for everybody, a happy future for their children and the possibility to study. However strange it may sound, there were communists even among richer Jews. There was a very rich Jew in our town. He owned a soap factory and was a communist. During the Soviet power he became the director of the soap factory. It was strange that wealthy Jews became communists, but that's what happened.

There were different views on the Soviet power. The Jews believed it was their liberation from the Romanians. Jews accepted the Soviet power hoping for a better life because the Soviet propaganda was very strong before the war. Although the Communist Party was officially banned, the communists became members of the Social Democratic Party, the Bund 6. The Bund was practically a disguise for communists.

There was a rich Jewish attorney named Grayev, who lived in the center of Putila. He was a communist and looked forward to the establishment of the Soviet power. I helped him to make a poster reading, 'Long live the Red Army'. He put it on his house. The following events were horrific. In 1941, ten days before the war, a bigger part of the - not only - Jewish population of Bukovina was deported to the North of Siberia on Stalin's orders. Wealthy and rich people were deported, including attorneys, lawyers and doctors. They also deported Grayev and his family. After the war somebody told me that he and his wife hanged themselves in the railcar on the way into exile. Another case was the story of a doctor in Putila, Gary Winkler, a Jew. When the Romanians were in power he spent 4 or 5 years in prison for his communist views. The Soviet authorities released all political prisoners, and Gary went to visit his father in Putila. He even held a greeting speech in the central square of the town in honor of the Soviet army. His father was an attorney. He was deported and so was Gary. Somebody told me later that he was in Aktyubinsk in the North during the war and managed to reach Austria after the war.

There were many weird things happening at that time. But the weirdest thing was that it all happened within ten days before the war. There was a feeling of war in the air, but Stalin was adamant about his policies. My parents, my brother and my sister were also deported. I wasn't aware of it. I visited my family in May 1941 and returned to work in Chernovtsy. My family was accused of being wealthy cattle dealers, and that was sufficient for the deportation to Siberia. I learned about it after the war.

All hopes for a better life under the Soviet power failed. The deportation of people was a brutal act. The people that had lived under the Soviet power since 1917 knew more about it, but to us it was a shock. A huge number of people was deported from Bukovina in one night.

I was in Chernovtsy in June 1941. We heard about the beginning of the war on the radio. A German fighter was shot on the first day of the war, but then things became quiet. There were rumors that the Soviet armies had occupied Warsaw, Sophia and Bucharest, but then we heard that the Soviet forces were retreating. This was at the beginning of July 1941. I worked at the stocking factory and was on a night shift. I went into the yard and saw our director getting into the car, ready to move. I asked him, 'What shall we do?'. He said, 'You have to escape'. He gave me 500 rubles. He left and took all money from the factory with him.

Young people of the stocking and knitwear factories gathered for a meeting the following morning. The majority of the employees were Jews. There were about a hundred of us. We decided to escape. It was impossible to get on the train. It was a hot summer, and we decided to walk. We left wearing shorts and summer shoes. We walked as far as Kamenets-Podolsk, about 150 kilometers from Chernovtsy. We saw trains that were heading for the front. One officer, a Jew, called us and asked whether we were from Chernovtsy. We were surprised and asked him how he could tell. He said that idiots, who were stupid enough to evacuate in their shorts and speak Yiddish on the way, could only come from Chernovtsy. He said that we were on the territory of Ukraine where nobody wore shorts. [Editor's note: such clothing was believed to be immoral, and nobody in the USSR wore these kind of clothes.] He said that the locals could take us for Germans and even kill us. We were lucky. He gave us trousers, and we proceeded on our way. We didn't have any luggage, only some money. We didn't need money, though, because villagers gave us food for free. We walked for about 15 days avoiding the main roads. The Germans were bombing the main roads. We walked as far as Uman, 350 kilometers from Kamenets-Podolsk. In Uman men were recruited to the army. I don't know where the girls went.

Regretfully, people that had met Germans during World War I remembered them as being very friendly towards Jews. These people were sure that the Germans weren't going to hurt them. On our way from Chernovtsy to Uman we passed smaller towns where the majority of the population was Jewish. At that time the Germans concentrated on areas in the direction to Moscow, and Ukrainian Jews had every opportunity to evacuate. Wherever we spoke with someone we told them to hurry up, but they replied that they remembered the attitude of Germans towards Jews during World War I. The Jews hoped to open their stores and synagogues and return to their habitual way of life when the Germans came. We were trying to explain that those were different Germans. We had heard from refugees from Germany and Poland about how the Germans treated the Jews, but people didn't believe what we were saying. They stayed and so many of them perished.

We were sent to the military unit in Zolotonosha near Uman. We stayed there for a short while when Stalin issued an order to release those that came from the Western areas from the front-line forces. Stalin didn't trust people that had lived under the Soviet power for less than a year. We were sent to the construction units; every one of us to a different one, just in case. We were upset, but other officers were telling us that Stalin was rescuing our life by sending us to the rear. Of course, it wasn't his goal to save our lives - the authorities were concerned about desertion and betrayal on our part. I was sent to the construction unit in Kamyshin, Saratov region, and from there to Saratov in Russia. We didn't have anything to do in this construction unit. There were military men of various nationalities from different parts of the USSR, but we were all 'not to be trusted and not worthy of the trust of the most fair Soviet power'. There were the former camp prisoners, political prisoners and young people from the parts of the country that had recently joined the USSR. First sergeants stole our food, and we stole from collective farms. The locals mockingly called us 'defenders of the motherland'.

There was a doctor with the military unit, Mergenier, a Jew from Chernovtsy. He was also transferred to this unit from the front. He called me once and said, 'There are only two of us from Chernovtsy in this unit: you and I. You make trenches here, but nobody needs them. So, let them do it, but lets say you will have dysentery the whole winter'. I stayed in his field hospital the whole winter. I could read and sleep as much as I wanted. In the spring the chairman of the local collective farm requested a few soldiers to help him during the seeding period. The doctor submitted his report to the commander of the regiment informing him that I could be sent to the collective farm. I became a water carrier at the collective farm. We had sufficient food there. I stayed at the collective farm until 1944.

When Chernovtsy was liberated in 1944, I was recruited to the front-line forces. I was sent to Verkhovetskiy training camp in Gorky region. Soldiers were sent to front-line forces from this camp. We lived in earth-houses. There were huge fleas, and the conditions were awfully unhealthy. Many young people were sent to the front. I went to the battalion commanding officer to ask him to send me to the front. I said to him that fleas had almost eaten me, but he replied in Yiddish, 'I'd rather fleas eat you here than worms there. When I hear that somebody needs a translator I will send you to them'. I spoke fluent German and Romanian, and he was going to find me a position as a translator somewhere with the headquarters of the army. But then the war was over in 1945, and we were sent to Termez at the border with Afghanistan. The military had to take their assignments and fulfill orders. I served there until 1946 when I demobilized.

I returned to Chernovtsy and got my former job at the stocking factory. I worked there until I retired in 1989. I was living with my aunt. She and her husband returned from a camp in Transnistria 7. The majority of Jews were taken to camps during the war, but the mayor of Chernovtsy, Marian Popovich, a Romanian, managed to rescue 16,000 Jews from Chernovtsy. He issued work permits to them, which were their official permission to stay in Chernovtsy. Those that were in the camps were starving to death and suffering from diseases. I don't know the exact number of survivors. Romanians didn't arrange mass shootings, but they created conditions under which people were dying anyway. There were mass shootings arranged by Germans, who didn't stay long and were replaced by Romanians, in Chernovtsy at the beginning of the war. 900 Jews were shot. This year a monument was erected in their memory and was inaugurated by Doctor Mark, the rabbi. My cousin, the son of my father's sister, was among those that were to be shot, but he managed to escape. I got to know that my family had been deported in June 1941. I didn't hear from my family for a long time.

Life was very difficult after the war. There was an awful famine in 1947, but then life began to improve. When I returned to Chernovtsy there were only a few synagogues operating. They were gradually closed, except for the one in Kobylitsa Street, which is still there. I sometimes went there on holidays.

In 1948 the campaign against cosmopolitans 8 began. The Jewish theater and school in Chernovtsy were closed. The official broadcasting stations told incredible stories about the cosmopolitans, who wanted to overthrow the Soviet regime. I can't remember any examples, I just know that it was terrible. The majority of the people didn't believe the official propaganda. People listened to foreign radio stations. The authorities were jamming radio broadcasts in Ukrainian and Russian, but many people knew German and could listen to those stations without obstruction. People shared the news they heard. So we were aware that anti-Semitism was Stalin's policy and that he was planning to deport Jews to Siberia. There were rumors that Stalin's daughter wanted to marry a Jewish man and that this was the reason for the persecution of all Jews, but it's hard to say whether this was true or not. Then the Kremlin Doctors' Plot 9 began. Nobody believed a word of this lie. The local population knew that Jews were the best doctors, and nobody believed this slander about Jewish doctors. There was no anti-Semitism at the factory, and I didn't face any.

In March 1953 Stalin died. Although he was a brutal man almost all people in Chernovtsy cried. I couldn't understand why they were crying when he had caused so much evil. People were aware of the truth, but they just didn't know how to carry on living after the 'father of all people' died and they had become 'orphans'. They were afraid of chaos after his death. Many of my acquaintances were in grief, which surprised me.

Krushchev's 10 speech at the Twentieth Congress 11 of the Communist Party, in which he denounced the cult of Stalin, wasn't a surprise to me. I already knew a lot of what he said. However, I believed it wasn't sincere what he said because if he had been a real democrat he would have said it when Stalin was still alive. He was aware of the true situation before but he kept silent. There is a Latin saying, 'One can only say good things or nothing about the deceased'. I believed that it made no sense to talk about Stalin like this after his death, but the Twentieth Congress was as a revelation to many people and helped them to get to know the truth.

In 1954 all members of my family were completely rehabilitated 12 and returned home. I didn't have any information about them before. I didn't get any responses to my requests about them. They believed I had perished. Besides, they weren't allowed to write letters. They lived in a remote location in Siberia, worked hard and starved. Only my father perished in exile in 1944; my mother, my brother and sister returned home. During the war their house in Putila was destroyed. We all rented an apartment in Chernovtsy. My brother found a job as a driver at the town council. I worked at the stocking factory and earned well. Later my sister and brother got married and moved to Israel. I visited them in 1994.

My mother and I stayed in the apartment. Later I received an apartment from the factory, and my mother and I moved in there. After the war we continued to celebrate Jewish holidays. There was only one synagogue open in town. There were too many people that wanted to pray, and many of them remained outside the synagogue, but they could still pray there. People bought matzah for Pesach at the synagogue.

After the Jewish theater was closed in 1948 Jewish actors from other towns came to Chernovtsy on tours. The local actors gave concerts. A well-known Jewish actress and singer, Sidi Tahl, was a favorite of the public. She often gave concerts, sang Jewish songs and read extracts from books of Jewish writers and poets. At the beginning of the war she went on tours all over the Soviet Union throughout the period of occupation. After the war she returned to Chernovtsy.

We had religious books and fiction in Yiddish at home. My mother and I read them, but my brother and sister couldn't read in Yiddish.

When I was in the army party members suggested that I became a member of the Party. I refused and told them I would do it after demobilization. Then party members at work recommended me to enter the Party, but I couldn't. It wasn't for me. So I never became a party member.

I got married after I turned 40. It wasn't a happy marriage. My wife and my in-laws were too quarrelsome. We got divorced within a year's time. My wife and her parents moved to Israel later. That's all I can say about my marriage. It was my first and last effort.

When Jews began to move to Israel in the early 1970s, I believed that they were making the right choice and that this country would have a good future. Unfortunately the latest events prove different. I was considering moving to Israel. But then, I didn't want to go with my ex-wife and her parents. I stayed and delayed my departure over and over again. Then I grew older and quit thinking about it. I visited Israel in 1994 and admired the country. I felt at home there. But again, I didn't want to move to this country as a pensioner and receive all its welfare and not be able to do anything in return.

There were meetings at work condemning the people that wanted to leave. This was an official act, performed on the orders of the management. After such meetings people used to say, 'He is doing the right thing' about those that were leaving. Party unit leaders were ordered to conduct such meetings, and they couldn't ignore the orders. Regional and town party committees issued texts for mandatory speeches to be made at the meetings.

There was actually no Jewish life in Chernovtsy after the Jewish theater and school were closed. My generation of Jews was becoming less and less religious. Celebration of holidays became just a matter of habit.

My mother died in 1985. I buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy. It was still open. I buried her according to the Jewish tradition, with no coffin, wrapped into a white shroud - takhrikhim. There was a rabbi at the funeral. I recited the Kaddish over her grave. Soon after the funeral the cemetery was closed. It's in decay now.

By the way, Adolf Hitler was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy. I'm not joking, it's true. Adolf Hitler was the name of a tailor in Chernovtsy, who was very popular before the war. My cousin's wife used to be a seamstress in his shop in Glavnaya Street. Unfortunately, somebody stole the bronze gravestone from his grave with his name in German and dates of birth and death. His grave was one of places of interest in Chernovtsy.

The cemetery was founded by the Jewish community, and its chairman at that time, Doctor Shtrauher. When Shtrauher built the community house, he was blamed for wasting the community money. [Editor's note: At that time it was customary that every Jewish family contributed 5% of their income to the Jewish community, regardless of their wealth. The community always had some money available in case of emergency and every member of the community could count on their assistance.] He said, 'Did I build the Jewish hospital for myself? No, it's for all of you. And the cemetery? That's also for all of you.'

In 1991 Ukraine became independent and Jewish life has revived since then. There is Hesed, a Jewish cultural center and library. There are concerts and exhibitions. But Jewish culture is still far from being completely restored. Jewish life will not be as active as it used to be before the war. There were 65,000 Jews in Chernovtsy before the war, and now there are only about 3,000. Many young people leave because they see no perspectives here, and there are no jobs for them. I remember Chernovtsy in the past: an orchestra playing in every square in summer and beautifully dressed Jews walking along Glavnaya Street. They believed in their future. The past will never come back, but we need to save and keep every memory of it.

Glossary

Raissa Smelaya
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: February 2003

Raissa Smelaya is a stout woman with silver-gray hair and surprisingly young looking gray eyes. She lives alone and is tired of her solitude. It is especially hard considering that she buried her son recently. This wound is still bleeding and the ache is so hard that she even refused to talk about her son during the interview. Her daughter and granddaughters also live in Chernovtsy. Raissa loves her granddaughters dearly. She proudly told me that they both work at Hesed. We met at the Jewish Charity Committee where Raissa has charity meals every day. Raissa is very sociable and friendly.

My father's parents came from Mozyr town. It is located in Belarus now, but at the end of the 19th century Mozyr was part of the Russian Empire. It was a small patriarchal town. Half of its population was Jewish and the rest of it was Belarus. I know about Mozyr from what my father told me.

I never knew any relatives on my father's side and just know about my grandfather and grandmother from what my father told me. My grandfather, Borukh Ravikovich, was born in Mozyr in the 1870s. My grandmother, Riva Ravikovich, was born to the family of a tailor, who had many children, in Mozyr. I don't know her maiden name. My grandmother was the oldest daughter. She was born in 1873. I don't know how many brothers and sisters she had exactly. My father said there were about 15 other children and my grandmother helped her mother to look after her younger brothers and sisters. The difference in age between my grandmother and the youngest child in the family was a little less than 20 years.

When my grandfather turned eleven his parents sent him to study with a tailor and that was my grandmother Riva's father. They met and fell in love with one another when they were in their teens. After finishing his studies my grandfather continued to work with my grandmother's father. He couldn't afford to open his own shop, but he also wanted to stay close to my grandmother. My grandfather was saving money for the future. He could only propose to my grandmother when he had enough money to buy a house. When he had saved a sufficient amount he proposed to my grandmother. Her parents gave their consent, but they told my grandfather that my grandmother was not getting any dowry since there were many other children in their family to provide for. My grandfather didn't get discouraged and they got married. They had a traditional Jewish wedding.

After the wedding my grandfather took his young wife into the house that he had bought. It was a wooden house. Wood was the least expensive construction material since Belarus is the country of forests. My grandfather had his own tailor's shop in the biggest room of their house. He worked alone. He had a sewing machine and an iron. There were three other smaller rooms. One served as a bedroom for my grandparents and the two others were for their children: three sons in one room and their daughter in the other. My father, Lipei, was the oldest child. He was born in 1899. The second one was Jacob, Yankel in Yiddish, born in 1904. Then came their daughter Haya, born in 1908. The last child was Oscar, born in 1913. My grandfather earned their living. They even helped poorer Jewish families before holidays. My grandfather believed that charity was his holy duty.

My grandparents on my father's side were religious. They followed the kashrut and observed all Jewish traditions. All boys were circumcised in their babyhood. At 13 my father had his bar mitzvah. He began to attend the synagogue with my grandfather on Saturday and Jewish holidays. All boys went to cheder. Haya studied Hebrew, the Talmud and the Torah with a teacher at home. They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My grandfather prayed at home every day. As was customary for Jewish families my grandfather began to teach his oldest son tailoring from his early childhood. My father liked sewing and was an industrious apprentice. He told me very little about his childhood though.

My grandfather died of a disease in 1916. He was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery in Mozyr. My father had to support the family. By that time he could already work independently. In 1922, when his brothers were old enough to provide for themselves, my father moved to Kiev. He wanted to live in a bigger town thinking that he would have more opportunities in a bigger town and more clients. He got a job in a tailor's shop in Kiev. In a short while he became a skilled tailor and had his own clientele. Gradually my father's younger sisters and brothers moved to Kiev as well.

Jacob became a worker at the shoe factory. He married a Jewish girl and had two children. I don't remember them. During the Great Patriotic War 1 Jacob went to the front and perished near Stalingrad in 1943. Haya got married in Kiev. I don't remember her husband. They didn't have children. Haya was a housewife. She took my grandmother, who lived alone in her house, to live with her. On 29th September 1941 Haya and my grandmother were shot by fascists in Babi Yar 2. I don't know what happened to Haya's husband. Oscar, the youngest brother, finished a higher tank school before the war and became a professional military. He was at the frontline throughout the war. Oscar was wounded several times, but every time he returned to the front when released from hospital. His family perished during the war. I didn't know his wife or child. After he returned from the front Oscar got an assignment at a military garrison in Yurmala, Latvia. He got married and had two children. We had no contacts with his family, I don't know their names. He must have died by now.

I knew my mother's parents well. When I was born they had lived in Kiev for several years already. Before they moved to Kiev my mother's family lived in Gornostaipol, Kiev region, where both my grandfather and grandmother were born. My grandfather, Aron Gorokhovskiy, was born in 1870s. My grandmother Haya was few years younger than my grandfather. I don't know her maiden name. My grandparents got married in Gornostaipol in 1899. They had a traditional Jewish wedding.

There were seven children in the family. The oldest, Shyfra, was called by the Russian name [common name] 3 of Shura. She was born in 1901. In 1902 Michael, Munia, followed. The next child was my mother Golda, born in 1904. Then came David in 1907 and Hanne in 1908. In 1913 their son Naum, Nuhim, was born and the last daughter Polina, Perl, followed in 1917. My grandfather Aron was a shoemaker and my grandmother was a housewife. They were a poor family since what my grandfather made for their living was hardly enough for them to lead a hand-to-mouth life. My grandmother kept a few chickens in the backyard. They didn't have a kitchen garden or an orchard.

Their family was religious. All I know is what my mother told me. They observed all Jewish traditions. They spoke Yiddish at home. My grandfather went to the synagogue on Saturday and on Jewish holidays. When Munia grew old enough my grandfather took him to the synagogue with him. On weekdays my grandfather prayed at home twice a day: in the morning and in the evening. Munia and David studied at cheder and the daughters Shura, my mother Golda and Hanne studied Hebrew, the Torah and reading and writing in Yiddish with a melamed at home. My grandfather couldn't afford to pay him, but he fixed his shoes in return. The younger children didn't study at home. They went to a Jewish elementary school.

They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. My mother told me that my grandmother lit candles and prayed on Friday evening. Then the family said a prayer together and had a festive dinner. There was always gefilte fish and freshly made challah for dinner. My grandfather drank a shot of vodka. He didn't work on Saturday. He used to read a section from the Torah to his children. My grandmother didn't cook on Saturday. She had all food cooked the day before. Their Ukrainian neighbor came in to light a lamp or stoke the stove on Saturday. My mother told me that once this woman failed to come one Saturday and they almost froze to death since they weren't allowed to light a fire in their stove.

Their favorite holiday was Pesach. My mother told me how they started preparations ahead of time. My grandmother whitewashed the house on the outside and the inside. They brushed away and burnt all breadcrumbs. They didn't eat bread throughout Pesach - they only ate matzah. My grandmother made traditional Jewish food. Chickens that my grandmother fed were taken to the shochet. My grandmother made chicken broth and stuffed chicken necks. In the evening my grandfather conducted the seder for the family. My mother was a wonderful singer. She often sang Jewish songs in my childhood. She sang at seder, too. That's all I remember about holidays in my mother's family.

Gornostaipol was a small town where half of the population was Jewish. There was a synagogue and a shochet in the town. There were no conflicts between Jewish and Ukrainian inhabitants. Ukrainians switched to Yiddish when they talked with Jews. There was no specific Jewish neighborhood in Gornostaipol. My mother told me that Jewish houses were scattered among Ukrainian houses. They had Ukrainian neighbors. They were all good friends and their children played together. When mothers of families were through with their routinely work they visited each other or sat on a bench between their two houses. At Pesach my grandmother always took honey cake, strudels and gefilte fish to their Ukrainian neighbors. And at Easter their neighbor brought them Easter bread and painted eggs. In the late 1910s there were Jewish pogroms 4 in Gornostaipol. Gangs 5 from other locations robbed Jewish houses and beat Jews when they captured any. Some Jews got killed in those pogroms. My grandmother's family hid in the cellar when gangs came to town. Once a gang came to Gornostaipol on Saturday when Jews were praying at the synagogues. The bandits closed the door and set the synagogue on fire. The Jews hardly managed to survive by jumping out of the windows.

Before 1917 according to the law of the Russian Empire Jews could only settle down within special restricted residential area [Jewish Pale of Settlement] 6 and they weren't allowed to live in bigger towns. Exceptions were made for doctors, merchants and lawyers. After the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 7 many Jewish families moved to cities hoping for a better life and more opportunities for their children to get education. My mother's family moved to Kiev in 1924. They settled down in Spasskaya Street in Podol 8, an ancient neighborhood in Kiev where craftsmen lived. My grandfather purchased a shoemaker shop from an old shoemaker that had decided to retire. This shop was near the house and all tenants of the house were my grandfather's customers.

My mother became a shop assistant in a small food store. David went to the school of political studies. [Editor's note: these were Marxist party schools where future party cadres were trained.] David finished the school of political studies. He was a political officer. He got married to a Jewish girl and had a son, Pavel. The younger children went to a Russian elementary school. Munia went to work at the reconstruction of the garment factory, which was ruined during the Civil War 9. When the factory was set up Munia was appointed director of the factory. He received a room in a communal apartment 10 on Kreschatik, the central thoroughfare [Kreschatik is the main street in Kiev]. He spent all his time at work. He was single. He lived with his parents.

Naum entered an Air Force school after finishing secondary school. My mother's older sister, Shura, married a Jew named Michael. Of all children only my mother had a traditional Jewish wedding. The rest of them had civil ceremonies and no wedding parties, which was customary after the Revolution of 1917. Sheura had two daughters. The older one was called Maria. I don't remember the name of the younger one. Shura was a housewife.

Hanne finished an accounting school. She married a Jew named Michael. I don't remember his last name. She worked before her daughter was born. When she had the baby she quit. Polina also got married to a Jew and had a son. If I remember correctly, his name was Vladimir.

My father was invited to work at the factory as production consultant. He met Munia at the factory and they became friends. I guess Munia introduced my father to his sister. They were young and handsome and loved dancing. My mother told me that my father met her after work and they went to a dance club. The popular dances back then were the waltz, the tango and the foxtrot.

My parents got married in 1926. My grandparents were religious people. My mother was their first daughter to get married. They insisted on a traditional Jewish wedding. They made a chuppah at my grandparents' house and a rabbi from the synagogue conducted the wedding ceremony. Later my parents had a civil ceremony at a registration office and in the evening they had a wedding dinner for two families. After my parents got married Munia moved back to his parents and gave his room to the newly-weds. Our family lived in this apartment until the Great Patriotic War began in 1941.

I was born in 1927. My name was written as Raissa in my birth certificate, but my Jewish name is Rokhl. In 1929 my parents had another daughter, who was named Bronia, Brukha in Yiddish. She was a premature baby. She was very weak and of poor health. She died in 1931. Only seven years later, in 1938, my younger sister, Maya, was born. Maya was a popular name at that time.

We lived in a big five-storied building on Kreschatik. Our apartment was on the second floor. The entrance door opened to a long hallway with seven doors - there were seven rooms in the apartment: one room for each tenant's family. There was a big kitchen at the end of the hallway with seven tables with a Primus stove on each of them. There was no gas in the house. All cooking was done on kerosene stoves and there was the permanent smell of kerosene in the apartment. There was a common bathroom and toilet and tenants took turns to clean themselves. Only one tenant - Gustav Dreich - was German; his ancestors settled down in Russia. The rest of the tenants were Jews. We all got along well. I cannot remember any conflicts or arguments. There were children in every family. We were friends and used to play in the hallway. The hallway was our favorite playground. We played hide-and-seek and ball.

My father went to work at a big couture shop. He was a popular tailor. He made men's suits. Party and logistics officials were his customers. My father also took private orders and worked at home in the evening. He arranged a corner for his workroom behind the wardrobe where he had a table for cutting fabrics and a sewing machine. I remember waking up at night because of the sound of the sewing machine. Several times we almost had accidents with irons that were heated with coal; electric irons were rare at the time. My father also had to keep his business in secret since entrepreneurship was almost treated like a crime. My mother always strictly reminded me to never mention it to anyone. My father provided well for us and we led a wealthy life. My mother was a housewife. My father was a hearty eater and I remember my mother buying tinned caviar and expensive sausages.

My mother was a shop assistant and I liked to go to her workplace when I was old enough. I liked my mother wearing a white apron and a lace crown. My mother liked fashionable clothes, but my father didn't have time to make any for her. She learned to sew and made nice dresses for herself and for me. She liked to wear hats and necklaces.

My mother was close with her sisters. They sometimes came to see us. The brothers were too busy at work. My mother's relatives visited us on birthdays and Soviet holidays. On Jewish holidays the family visited their parents.

My parents weren't religious. We spoke Russian in the family. Only when our parents didn't want us to understand the subject of their discussion they switched to Yiddish. We celebrated Soviet holidays: 1st May and 7th November [October Revolution Day] 11. We watched a military parade and then a parade of civilians that marched past our house on Kreschatik. My parents always took me to parades and afterwards we had guests at home. My mother made a festive dinner to celebrate. We didn't celebrate Jewish holidays at home. We never ate bread throughout the eight days of Pesach, but in general, my mother didn't observe Jewish traditions.

However, my grandfather and grandmother observed Jewish traditions after they moved to Kiev. There was a synagogue not far from their home. They dressed up and went to the synagogue on Saturday and on Jewish holidays. My grandfather prayed at home every day. I don't remember my grandmother praying at home. Sometimes when I visited them my grandmother told me that my grandfather was not to be disturbed during his prayer. My grandfather was sitting with his tallit and teffilin on his hand and forehead. It was no use talking to him at such moments - he didn't reply anyway.

All tenants in the house were Jews. Before Pesach they got together at somebody's apartment to make matzah for all families. My grandparents celebrated all Jewish holidays and all their children and their families visited them joining the celebration. My grandmother made traditional Jewish food: gefilte fish, chicken broth with finely cut matzah, matzah and egg pudding and strudels with nuts and raisins. When we visited my grandparents on the first day of Pesach we stayed overnight to be present at the seder that grandfather conducted. One of the sons usually asked him the four traditional questions [the mah nishtanah]. Each person had to drink four glasses of wine during the night and there was one extra glass of wine on the table. Grandmother left the front door open and I was told that they were expecting Elijah the prophet 12 to visit their home. Every time I hoped to see him, but always fell asleep before he came.

I also remember the Chanukkah celebration at my grandmother's house. Every day my grandmother lit another candle. I was given Chanukkah gelt. I held my hands to form a scoop and made the round of everybody present. They dropped coins in my hands that I spent on ice cream and lollypops. My mother also bought me these sweets, but they tasted more delicious if I bought them myself. That's what I remember. They probably celebrated other Jewish holidays, too, but I don't remember.

The famine in 1932-33 13 didn't have an impact on us. I remember one incident. My mother bought a loaf of bread and some boys extorted it from her. However, I can't remember people starving in Kiev. Perhaps in villages people starved to death. But this was a forced famine, as they put it now. We didn't starve. My parents were spoiling me since I was their only child at that time. Every summer my father rented a room in a summer house in Boyarka or Vorsel near Kiev. I drank cow milk, not pasteurized, there since my parents believed it was good for my health. I was a sympathetic girl since I was raised in a loving and caring atmosphere. I liked helping other people and enjoyed helping older ladies to cross the street or carry their shopping bags.

I started to study at a Russian secondary school located not far from our house in 1935. There were many Jewish children in my class, but we didn't care a bit about nationality. We were raised in the spirit of internationalism. It happened so that my school friends were Jewish girls. My favorite subjects were literature and mathematics, and I didn't like physics and chemistry at all. I liked poems and collected books. My parents gave me money to buy books. I also borrowed books from libraries or my friends. I knew many poems by heart. I often recited poems at school concerts. There was a corner in the room where I had my desk. There was a lamp with a green shade on it. My parents didn't have books. My mother liked buying little things that she put on the shelf, but she didn't buy books. My parents had a record player and many records. There were Jewish songs and music and pop music. In the evening my parents often listened to records. They were very tired after work, and it was their rest. They hardly ever left the house in the evenings.

In the 1st grade I became a Young Octobrist 14. I began to attend the Forpost club for children and teenagers in a basement. There were several rooms in the basement and a sports field in the yard. In the Forpost club I had folk dancing classes and sang in the choir. Our choir took part at a concert in the Philharmonic. There was a volleyball-ground in our yard and we played volleyball when it was warm. The leaders of Young Octobrist groups were senior pupils. They seemed very mature to us. In winter a skating-rink was arranged in the yard of the building next to ours. There was music playing. My mother made me a suit and knitted a hat. I tied my skates together with a rope to go to the skating rink. I was a 'street girl', so to speak. My parents spent a lot of time at work and I spent time with my friends. We went to ballet performances and shows at the Drama Institute. They were free and we didn't miss one single performance.

My friends and I liked walking around Kiev. Kiev is a very beautiful city with beautiful houses in the center. It's a very green city with many parks and old trees. Kiev stands on the Dnepr River. There are beautiful beaches where we liked spending time in the summer. During the tsar's reign Jews were allowed to settle down in Slobodka, a workers' district in the suburbs on the left bank of the river.

The arrests in 1936 [during the so-called Great Terror] 15 and the following years didn't have any impact on our family or our relatives or acquaintances. I wasn't even aware that there were arrests at all. The only thing I remember from those years is that sometimes our teachers told us that some of the people whose portraits were in our history and literature textbooks were 'enemies of the people' and we painted them over with ink. And I didn't know why they were 'enemies of the people'.

From the 3rd grade on we had military training at school. The boys formed two groups representing the armies and pretended to fight battles. They were taught to use weapons, clean and put together rifles and machine guns. These were replica weapons. Girls were medical nurses. We were taught to carry wounded patients on stretches, treat the wounds and apply bandages. In the 4th grade we even stayed in a village for two days. There was a field kitchen trailer. We made cereals in big bowls on the fireplace. We learned to shoot. We had an automatic rattle gun that was very much like a real gun. We learned to assemble and disassemble weapons and provide first aid to the wounded. There was competition between the various groups. It was very interesting.

I was a pioneer at school. We became pioneers in the 4th grade. There was a ceremony on 22nd April, Lenin's birthday. We went to the Lenin Museum where the ceremony was conducted. We were told that capitalists wanted to destroy the power of workers and peasants and that they were our enemies. After classes we patrolled Kreschatik. When we saw a man wearing a hat and decent clothing we understood that he might be a spy. There were articles published in children's newspapers about pioneers that captured a spy and we dreamed that we would get lucky, too.

There were many songs about the war at that time. In those songs the Soviet army defeated an enemy in a matter of days. We sang, 'If there is a war tomorrow and if we have to leave our homes tomorrow, if dark forces attack us all, Soviet people will rise as one to fight for their great motherland'. However, we never believed that somebody would dare to attack our country.

In June 1941 I finished the 6th grade with all the best marks in my report book. My friends and I were planning to go to the circus on Sunday, 22nd June 1941. Early in the morning we were woken up by the roar of explosions. Our neighbors came to the corridor to find out what had happened. German planes were bombing Kiev already. About noon Molotov 16 spoke on the radio. He said that Germany was attacking the USSR without having declared a war. My father went to the antiaircraft headquarters immediately. Volunteers patrolled the streets and put out firebombs. During air raids we ran to the basement of our building. Actually, I ran holding my sister and my mother stayed at home waiting for my father. At the beginning of July my father volunteered to the front.

The enterprise where my mother' sister Hanne worked evacuated. Her husband Michael was at the front. Hanne and her family lived with my grandparents. When lists of people for evacuation were developed at her enterprise Hanne had my mother, my sister Maya and me, Polina and her child and my grandmother and grandfather enrolled. My grandparents refused to evacuate. They said that they weren't afraid of the Germans and didn't believe what people said about their brutalities. Besides, they were too old to leave their home. And they stayed. My mother's older sister, Shura, and her two daughters evacuated to the Ural with the plant where Shura's husband was working. She also tried to convince her parents go with her, but in vain. My mother's brother, Munia, also stayed in Kiev. He was responsible for all the preparations at the factory for evacuation. After the war we got to know that on 29th September 1941 my grandmother, grandfather and Uncle Munia were shot by fascists in Babi Yar.

We, three women and four children, evacuated on 14th July, 1941. I was 13 and the other children were under five years of age. We had little luggage and food with us. We didn't think we would be leaving for long. My mother took my sister Maya's doll, but she left her winter coat at home. I can't remember how long our trip lasted. I guess we were on the way for several weeks. The train was overcrowded, but at least it was a passenger train with sleeping berths and a toilet. When the train stopped my mother and aunt got off to get some food. We were starving. I got off the train to get some water and was always afraid that the train would leave without me.

There was a horrible air raid near Dnepropetrovsk. German planes were flying so low that we could see the pilots. We got out of the train and ran to a mound. Fortunately, only two railcars were destroyed and the locomotive wasn't damaged. We reached the village of Nikolskoye village, Enataevsk district in Stalingrad region, 900 kilometers from Kiev. We got accommodation in a local house. The owners of the house, Dunia and Vania, were very nice Russian people. They accommodated us and gave us food. Once a funny thing happened. Another train with evacuated people arrived and they invited us to go take a look at the Jews that arrived on this train. My mother replied, 'You needn't go there. Just look at us'. Our landlords were shocked to hear that we were Jews. It turned out they had never seen Jews before and they thought Jews looked different from other people.

I went to work at the collective farm 17. We worked in the field picking potatoes and making shieves. My mother and Hanne also worked and Polina took care of the children. German troops were approaching and we had to move on. We got to Astrakhan in Middle Asia by train and from there to Makhachkala across the Caspian Sea. From Makhachkala we went to Kazakhstan by train covering in total over 3,500 kilometers to the East. Those were freight trains that we went by. People put luggage, newspapers and even straw onto the floor to sleep at night. The railcar was stuffed with people. One of the boys in our railcar fell ill with measles. It was impossible to stay intact in such insanitary conditions and soon all children contracted measles including our little ones. My sister Maya, who was two years old, and Hanne and Polina's children died on this train. Polina's son had dystrophy. Almost at every station a cart came to the train to collect the dead. We don't know where the children were buried.

We reached Djusaly station, Karmakcha district in Kazakhstan. We were taken to the town of Karmakchi on a coach. Polina went to the military registry office to volunteer to the front. She perished in action in 1943. My mother, Hanne and I stayed in Karmakchi. We got accommodation in a local Kazakh house. We lived three horrible years in a small dark room. The owners of the house treated us nicely and with understanding though.

Kamakchi was a small town typical for Middle Asia, with narrow streets and small clay houses. There were no trees in the streets due to the desert climate and sand soil. There were wells in the streets but the water was deep down in the well. There were irrigation streams - aryks - in some streets. Children used to have a bath in them. The locals spoke Kazakh. Only few of them could speak Russian.

I went to work at the military mechanic plant that was evacuated from Central Russia. I worked at the foundry that manufactured blanks for shell frames. When a blank got cold I had to remove all burrs and scars. We worked in two shifts: the first shift from 7am to 7pm and the second shift from 7pm to 7am. I received a worker's card for one kilo of bread. The bread was heavy and sticky and one kilo wasn't that much. My mother and Hanne received cards of non-manual workers for 300 grams of bread. They were nurse attendants in hospital. Workers at the plant got a bowl of soup and cereal at the canteen. I took soup home in a jar. My mother added some water to it and had it with Aunt Hanne. I was growing up and didn't have enough food. We didn't have any clothes to exchange for food. We were on the edge of survival throughout the three years in evacuation. I had dystrophy. Once I found potato peels in a pile of garbage. I brought them home. My mother washed and boiled them and we ate them. Sometimes we received bran per coupons. My mother added boiling water to it to make a meal for us.

There was a school at the plant. There were many teenage workers at the plant that needed to attend school. The school worked in two shifts. I attended classes after work and finished the 7th and 8th grades in evacuation. Later I got a job at the district health department - in the document control section.

Some Chechen people were deported to the town where we lived [forced deportation to Siberia] 18. Most of them were ill with typhoid and malaria. Those Chechens were such bandits. When they came to Karmakchi we were afraid of going outside and had to lock all doors, even though there was nothing to steal from us. The health department sent me to make a list of those Chechens. I contracted spotted and enteric fever from them. Later I developed relapsing fever. If it hadn't been for my mother, who worked in hospital and attended to me, I could have died any moment. There were no medications or food. Fortunately, my mother didn't contract the fever from me. Well, however hard life was I don't remember any conflicts or disagreements associated with the issue of nationality or any other issues. People were united and believed in victory. We all tried to support and help one another. There were Jews among them, but I don't know if they observed Jewish traditions.

My mother corresponded with my father. He sent us cards with the address of his field post. Once my mother's letter was returned and there was a stamp saying, 'Addressee left' on it, but soon we received the notification that my father was missing. And almost immediately afterward we received his death notification. This happened in 1942. My father had volunteered to the front when he could have gone with us but he thought that it was his duty to defend our motherland. People believed in the Soviet people and the Party. Soldiers marched into battles in the name of Stalin because they trusted him. They won because they believed.

In November 1943 we learned that the Soviet troops had liberated Kiev. Aunt Hanne left for home immediately. She wrote us about our relatives that had been exterminated in Babi Yar. Our neighbors told her about them. Other people lived in my grandparents' apartment. Aunt Hanne rented a corner in a room and was working on getting back the apartment. She got it back after a trial.

I finished eight years of lower secondary school. There was a college of film operators in Kiev. I wrote a covering letter and attached my school certificate with all highest grades in it. They replied that I was admitted and sent me an invitation to come to Kiev to study at the college. This invitation was a pass for us to return to Kiev. In summer 1944 my mother and I went to Kiev. Our return trip was less difficult. Besides, we were used to hardships after our life in evacuation.

Kiev had suffered a lot from bombing. Kreschatik was all in ruins, but our house wasn't destroyed. High-rank military lived in it. Upon arrival I obtained a certificate from our residential agency to confirm that we had lived in this building before the war. We had a certificate saying that our father had perished at the front and a certificate stating that we had worked in evacuation. There was also evidence from our neighbors that we had lived in this apartment and my mother's passport with a stamp that included our home address in Kiev. However, we didn't get our room back. We didn't even get back our belongings that we had left in the apartment when we left. Hanne and we settled down in my grandparents' room.

Victory Day 19 on 9th May 1945 was such a happy day! People seemed to have forgotten about their hardships and losses for the time being. Everybody went to the streets exchanging hugs and kisses, greeting each other, singing and crying.

My mother went to work as a dressmaker at a shop near our house. I studied at the Cinematography College and in the meantime I finished a higher secondary evening school and received a certificate. In college I joined the Komsomol 20. I was very happy about it. I still have my Komsomol membership certificate. I couldn't find a job upon finishing college: most of the cinemas had been destroyed during the war. I went to work as an assistant accountant at the shoe factory where my father's brother Jacob had worked before the war. I had a training period and learned to operate calculators promptly. I found my school friends that had survived and returned to Kiev. We went to the cinema and dance parties together; we were young and wanted to enjoy life.

In 1945 my mother's brother David returned from the front. His family perished in evacuation. David remarried a Jewish girl and had a son called Alexandr with his second wife. David lived in Kiev and was an accountant. He died in Kiev in 1980. My mother's younger brother Naum, who had finished a flying school before the war, also returned from the front. He was a fighter pilot throughout the war. After the war he got married and had two children. He didn't keep in touch with his relatives after he returned from the front. I have no information about him or his family. Naum lived in Kiev and was a lecturer at Kiev Air Force College. He died in Kiev in 1984.

My mother's older sister Shura returned from evacuation in the Ural where she was with her two daughters. Her husband Michael also returned from the front. They managed to get their apartment back and lived there all their life. Shura died in Kiev in 1972. None of them was buried in the Jewish cemetery. They didn't observe Jewish traditions after the war.

In the late 1940s we began to face anti-Semitism. This was a hard period: there was lack of food products and there were long queues in stores for any kind of food. I remember the flour sale in a store. A lame handicapped man came to the store and brandishing his stick began to yell that zhydy [abusive name for Jews in the Soviet Union] should leave the queue since none of them had been at the front. In general, people had a very aggressive attitude towards Jews. Most of them were sure that Jews had been sitting in the rear during the war and that none of them had struggled at the front.

I got married at the beginning of 1948. A friend of mine who worked at the Fire Department of Kiev invited me to a party at her workplace. Leonid Yakovenko, the head of the Investigation Department, asked me to dance the whole evening. Shortly afterwards he became my husband. Leonid didn't know his parents. He was raised at a children's home. He is ten years older than I. He returned from the front with the rank of a major. My mother took it easy that Leonid was a Ukrainian man. What mattered to her was that he had an apartment because I was poor and miserable. My friends were jealous of my luck.

We had a civil ceremony at the registration office. My mother and her sisters bought a big goose; it was their wedding gift. In the evening my mother arranged a wedding dinner for us. We had roasted goose and a bottle of wine. My aunts and my friend Zina, who had introduced me to my husband, came to the wedding. After the wedding I went to live with my husband. He had a two-bedroom apartment in Lipki, the best neighborhood in Kiev. There was heating, gas, a bathroom and a kitchen in this apartment. Soon we took my mother to live with us. My daughter, Irina, was born in February 1949. I left work after she was born and became a housewife. My husband provided well for the family.

In 1950 my husband got an assignment to Dnepropetrovsk, a big town in Ukraine, 400 kilometers from Kiev. My mother and I followed him. We received a three-bedroom apartment. Our son, Vladimir, was born in 1950. I stayed at home. My friends were the wives of my husband's colleagues. There were Jews among them, but not many. I spent little time with them since I was busy at home. I tried to be an ideal housewife. We got together with friends on Soviet holidays and birthdays. In summer I took our children to a summerhouse on the outskirts of Dnepropetrovsk. My husband had a vacation of one month that he spent with us. I dedicated my life to my husband and children. We were well provided for. My husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1956. I went to work as a radio telephone operator at the Department of Internal Affairs where my husband used to work. The children went to kindergarten and then to school. I worked and took part in amateur art activities: I sang in a choir and attended a folk dance club.

My mother left for Kiev. My aunt wrote to her saying that she knew a Jewish man whose family had perished during the war and who wanted to meet a Jewish woman. The most important factor for my mother was that he had an apartment. She moved to Kiev and got married. My mother's husband, Solomon, was almost 20 years older than my mother. He was a very nice and decent man. My mother wasn't in love with him, but she got along well with him. Solomon fell in love with my mother and she treated him with respect and care. They got along well and went to the cinema and theater together. They were pensioners. They didn't observe Jewish traditions. After the war very few people observed Jewish traditions. Every summer my children and I spent two weeks with her. She was very happy to see her grandchildren and me. Solomon also loved my children. My mother died in Kiev in 1988. We buried her in the town cemetery. I'm glad that she lived to see her grandchildren.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 21 began. There were talks about doctors that intended to poison Stalin. I think anti-Semitism got stronger then. Most of the people had no doubts that newspapers published the truth. Jews had problems with employment. Patients in polyclinics refused to visit Jewish doctors. I didn't face any anti-Semitism personally, but it was certainly there.

I remember what a terrible tragedy the death of Stalin was for me. I listened to bulletins about his condition every day when on 5th March they announced that he had died. How terrible it was! There was a big sculpture of Lenin and Stalin in the central avenue in Dnepropetrovsk. When Stalin died people got together near this monument. They were crying and grieving. There was a memorial celebration and it seemed to me that life was over and there was only uncertainty ahead of us. The railway in Dnepropetrovsk was overcrowded with those willing to go to Moscow to Stalin's funeral. Many of them traveled on the roofs of the railcars.

I was very upset to hear Khrushchev's 22 speech at the Twentieth Party Congress 23. Well, yes, people were arrested and sent into exile before and after the war. Don't they do the same now? Well, there might have been innocent people among them. Perhaps, it might have been difficult to find out that they were innocent. But it wasn't Stalin in person that sentenced them! Life was much better during the rule of Stalin and we won in the name of Stalin. And then all of a sudden he became a criminal... He is accused of having deported whole nations. Yes, he deported Chechen people, but I saw that they were bandits and rapists. Besides, he didn't shoot them. After the Twentieth Party Congress the statue of Stalin was removed.

I married a Ukrainian man in 1958. My second husband's name was Petr Smely. We met at our acquaintances' and Petr began to court me. I was afraid that my children would have problems with their stepfather, but they liked him at once. Petr was a very nice man and I agreed to marry him. I took his last name when we got married. Petr came from Dnepropetrovsk. His father, Vassiliy Smely, was a worker at a plant and his mother, Galina, was a housewife. Petr was born in 1921. He was at the front during the war and after the war he studied and graduated from the Faculty of Road Transport Operation at the Road Transport Institute. He was a driver until he retired. Petr accepted my children as his own.

My husband insisted that I quit work and became a housewife. My friends were my colleagues for the most part and there were Jews among them. I didn't care about nationality. I was raised that way. After I quit work I didn't see them often, but I was busy at home and didn't have time to get bored. I didn't celebrate Jewish holidays with my first or second husband. This wasn't just because both of my husbands were Ukrainian. They were raised in the spirit of internationalism. I was raised an atheist. I couldn't even imagine what could make a grown-up person believe in fairy tales about God or Elijah the Prophet. I raised my children in the same manner. They didn't make a difference between nations. Personality is important for them. They didn't identify themselves as Jews, but they knew that I was a Jew, of course. We celebrated Soviet holidays in our family. Soviet holidays always were days off and I cooked a festive meal. My husband's friends and colleagues and my children's friends visited us. In the morning we went to the parade and in the afternoon we had lunch at home. We had a good time and enjoyed ourselves, sang and danced.

We moved to Chernovtsy in 1959. My husband got a job assignment there and my children and I followed him. We exchanged our apartment in Dnepropetrovsk for one in Chernovtsy. Chernovtsy is a nice town. There are beautiful old houses in the central part of the town, which have their own history. I felt at home in this town.

I was very surprised to hear Jews speaking Yiddish in the streets. Jews observed Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays. And they weren't old people, they were the same age as I. There were many Jews living in Chernovtsy. After the Great Patriotic War many Jews moved to Romania from Chernovtsy and from there they moved to Israel, but there were still many Jews left in the town.

When Jews began to move to Israel in the 1970s I didn't even consider this possibility. I was married to a Ukrainian man and my children were Ukrainian, even though they were aware that their mother was Jewish. Many of my friends left then. I wished them a happy life, but I didn't understand why they were leaving their own country for a different one. The non-Jewish population was very loyal to Jews.

I wasn't a member of the Communist Party. I was a housewife and had nothing to do with any public activities. However, I always believed that our country became so powerful because of the guidance of the Communist Party. Like the majority of people I believed that we had a better life than people in capitalist countries.

I didn't work after we moved to Chernovtsy. My children studied and my husband worked as a driver in a car pool. He was very tired when he came from work and went to bed. I read in the evening. We occasionally went to the theater or to the cinema. Sometimes we went to see friends. My husband went to work even at weekends to earn more for the family and it was difficult for us to make plans. We spent vacations with my mother and aunt in Kiev. They were always happy to see us. My mother got along very well with them. Petr died in Chernovtsy in 1987. I live alone now.

My daughter finished Music Pedagogical School in Chernovtsy. After finishing this school she worked as a violin teacher until her retirement. Now she plays the violin in a symphonic orchestra. Irina is married and has two daughters, my granddaughters. Irina took her husband's last name of Kantemir. Irina's husband is Ukrainian, but his nationality was of no significance to me. What I cared for was that they were in love and cared about one another. My older granddaughter, Ludmila, was born in 1969 and the younger one, Tatiana, in 1975. My daughter and granddaughters live in Chernovtsy. My granddaughters are musicians: Ludmila is a violinist and Tatiana is a pianist. Ludmila works at the symphonic orchestra. Although my grandchildren weren't raised religiously they identify themselves as Jews. They care about Jewish culture and traditions. My granddaughter Tatiana works at Hesed. She is the art director and concertmaster of a Jewish song and and dance group called 'Mazltov!'. I shall not talk about my son. He died recently and this is still an open wound. It's hard for me to talk about him.

I believe life has got worse significantly after perestroika 24 in the 1980s. If it hadn't been for perestroika the great and powerful Soviet Union wouldn't have fallen apart. Young people have nothing sacred nowadays. Lenin and Stalin were our idols and we loved our people and our country while young people now don't believe in anything, but money.

Jewish life has revived in the past decade. Hesed provides great assistance to old people. I live alone and I appreciate the assistance provided by Hesed very much. I receive Jewish newspapers and attend the communication club in Hesed. This helps me to overcome my solitude. I have lunch at the canteen of the Jewish Charity Committee every day. It's not only a big support for me, but also an opportunity to communicate. I know that I will see people that have become close to me. There are 50 of us and we feel like a family. In recent years I've identified myself as a Jew thanks to Hesed. I attend lectures on Jewish history, go to performances of the Jewish drama studio in Hesed and to the communication club for elderly people, where we often watch Jewish movies or listen to life stories of outstanding Jews. It's all very interesting. Regretfully, my memory is getting worse and I can't study Hebrew any more. I've got new friends at Hesed that help me to overcome my solitude.

Glossary

Larissa Rozina
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Elena Zaslavskaya
Date of interview: June 2002

My grandfather on my mother's side, Mihail Rozin, was born somewhere in Russia in the 1860s. Before the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 1, he lived in with his family. He worked as a salesman. I don't know what or where he was selling. He didn't get any other education. After his wife's death in 1920 he went to live with his daughter Catherine who lived in Belaya Tserkov, Kiev province, Ukraine. He didn't work there, because of his old age.

My grandmother Haya Rozina, nee Rabinovich, was born in 1874. I don't know anything about her. In 1920 my father was in Kiev and my grandmother was traveling on the train from Voronezh to visit him. My father told me later that this train was attacked by bandits. My grandmother vanished and nobody ever saw her again.

They had four children: my father Alexandr, Lena, Sophia and Catherine.

My father's first sister, Catherine, was born in Voronezh in 1893. All I know about her is that she worked at the shoe factory in Belaya Tserkov before the war. Her son, Aron, was born around 1928. I don't know anything about her husband. She and her father and her son were shot by Germans in Belaya Tserkov in 1941.

My father's second sister, Sophia, was born in Voronezh in 1894. She didn't study at school, but she could read and write. She went to work when she was eleven. I don't know where she worked. She lived in Voronezh. She was married. Her husband Osip, a Jew, died in the late 1920s. After he died, she and her children moved to Kiev. She worked as a nurse at a kindergarten before the war. She had two daughters and a son. Her son Natan, perished at the front. Her older daughter had four children. Sophia got married for the second time after her husband also died at the front. Sophia, her younger daughter Chara and her three children were in evacuation in Frunze, Kirghisia [today Kyrgyzstan], during the war. Chara's husband also perished at the front. They returned to Kiev in 1944. Sophia didn't work after the war. She looked after her grandchildren. She died in Kiev in the 1960s.

My father's third sister, Lena, was born in Voronezh in 1895. She could read and write, but she didn't study anywhere. When she was eleven she began to work at a hat shop and learned to make lovely hats. In the late 1900s she was inspired by revolutionary communist ideas. After the Revolution of 1917, she studied at the Institute of Red Professorship in Kiev. [Editor's note: This institution was later renamed the Institute of Marxism-Leninism; it prepared the party officials.] She was a convinced revolutionary and a member of the Bolshevik Party. She was arrested in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] 2. Her husband Mihail Moiseyev, a Jew, was arrested a few months later and shot in 1937.

Lena was in exile in a camp near Magadan from 1937 to 1952. She lived in Magadan until 1954. Throughout this period she wrote a few letters to my grandfather. In 1941 he perished and other members of the family went to the front, or evacuated from their homes, and she didn't know their address. We didn't know anything about her until she returned to Kiev. Her skills in making hats saved her life. Instead of working on a wood cutting site, she was sitting in a warm office making hats for the camp managers' wives. She made hats in Magadan, too. She got married for the second time. She and her husband, Iosif Maidlah, a Jew, came to Kiev in 1954. She didn't work after she returned from exile.

Lena had a son with her first husband. His name was Mark Moiseyev, born in 1923. He was 14 when his parents were arrested. He went to live with his mother's sister, Sonia. In 1941 he went to the front, survived the war, and ended up in Berlin. After demobilization from the army he had to submit a questionnaire to obtain a passport. He wrote that his nationality was Russian. This enabled him to enter and graduate from the Moscow Aviation Institute and work at the cosmonauts' town in Podlipki near Moscow. He died in 2000. Lena died in the middle of the 1970s.

My father, Alexandr Rozin, was born in Voronezh, Russia, in 1896. His family wasn't religious. Voronezh wasn't a Jewish town. It was located outside the Jewish residential area. [Jewish Pale of Settlement] 3 I don't know how they managed to obtain the permit to reside there. My father's parents didn't know Yiddish. They spoke Russian. My father didn't know one word of Yiddish. Their family was very poor. My father didn't have an education. He had to go to work at the age of ten. His parents taught him to read and write. He worked as an apprentice in various small shops. He read a lot. Even when he was very young, my father already believed that the Soviet power was the best system.

In 1918 he went to the Civil War 4. He was a cavalry man and then a horn player in the army of General Budyonny. [Editor's note: Marshal Semyon Budyonny was one of the most famous Bolshevik Cavalry Commanders of the Russian Civil War]. When I grew up and made critical comments about the Soviet power, he replied, 'You know, there is nothing worse than working for a master, a private employer'. From 1920 my father lived in a big room that his sister Lena and her husband were sharing with him in Merengovskaya Street, Kiev.

My maternal grandfather, Lemel Gurtovoy, was born in 1871. I don't know where he was born. Before the Revolution he lived in Fastov with his family. Fastov was a small town within the area of residence. Jews constituted about half of the population. There were many Jews, rich and poor, in this town. There were several synagogues there. My grandfather had a huge brick house and a garden and owned a small mechanic plant or shop. He had a few employees and was like an engineer himself - he could do everything. I don't know what exactly they were producing. My grandfather didn't have a professional education. He learned everything he knew by himself.

In 1918 the power in town was continuously changing, and a Jewish pogrom 5 began with each new system. My grandfather's family found shelter in a friend's house. His friend was Polish. Many Jews were killed during the pogroms in Fastov between 1918 and 1919. In the early 1920s my grandfather and grandmother left their house and shop in fear of pogroms and moved to Kiev. Their three daughters - Anna, Fania and Bronislava - lived in a room in Proletarskaya Street in Kiev. My grandfather didn't work in Kiev. His daughters provided for him and their mother. My mother told me that my grandfather was a very hospitable man. They always had about twenty guests sitting at the dinner table. He was very kind and agreeable. My grandfather died in 1933. I was only two years old then and can't remember him. In the 1950s or '60s we were on vacation near Fastov and my mother told me that my grandfather's house was still there. It served as an office for a governmental institution.

My grandmother Keina, nee Galperina, was born in 1873. I don't know where she was born. My cousin Grigory, the son of my mother's older sister, Anna Gurtovaya, said that their family came from Austria. My grandmother had two brothers and two sisters. All children, including my grandmother knew German well. My grandmother got married when she was 17. Her parents died when Eva and Esphir, her sisters, were still small. Both of them grew up at my grandmother's house.

My grandmother Keina was a very intelligent woman. I remember that she always had a book with her. I don't know where she studied. She read fiction and memoirs in Russian and German. My grandmother knew Yiddish well. She often spoke Yiddish with my grandfather, but never with the children. I don't know whether their family observed Jewish traditions before 1917. They never told me anything about it. I don't remember my grandmother doing any housework. She had a housemaid. My grandmother wore plain clothes and didn't cover her head.

In 1933, after my grandfather died, my grandmother lived with her daughter Lena's family in Gorky Street, Kiev. They lived in our building, a floor below us. This family didn't celebrate Jewish holidays or observe Jewish traditions. They weren't religious. They were Bolsheviks, after all.

In 1941 my grandmother and her daughters, Fania and Bronia, evacuated to Sverdlovsk. Fania worked at the Bolshevik plant in Kiev [one of the biggest machine tool plants in Kiev], and the plant was evacuated to Sverdlovsk. My grandmother fell ill and died there.

My grandmother's sister, Eva Medvinskaya, nee Galperina, was born in 1880. I don't know where she was born. The family called her Havka. She was married to Iosif Medvinsky. She had a son. Her husband and son died from tuberculosis in the 1920s. She lived in Kiev until 1941. She gave German lessons to private students. She had an excellent command of German. From 1941 to 1944 she was in evacuation in Buzuluk, Orenburg region. After the war she returned to Kiev. She worked as a nurse at school and lived in a small room there. She died in 1961. I don't know whether she got married for a second time, or whether she had children.

My grandmother's other sister, Esphir Voloshyna, nee Galperina, was born in the 1880s. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. I don't know whether she had a higher education. She worked at the library of the Academy of Sciences in Kiev from the middle of the 1930s until retirement. She was married to Yakov Voloshyn, a Jewish man. She had two children: a son, Iosif, and a daughter, Liya. In the late 1930s Iosif entered a Navy college in Leningrad. He was 16. After finishing it he worked on various military ships. He was the captain of a submarine. He died in 1994. Liya, Rubashevskaya after her husband, worked at the library with her mother. Esphir died in 1967. Liya died in 1989.

My grandmother's brother Aizek was born in the 1860s. I don't know where he was born. Before the Revolution of 1917 he lived with his family in a big house in Gorky Street, Kiev. Once I overheard a conversation between my parents in which they mentioned that, before 1917, he was part-owner of a big six or seven-story building. This was the kind of a house where the owner leases apartments. He rented apartments to not very rich people. They weren't big or posh apartments. After the Revolution of 1917, Aizek lived in a small communal apartment 6. His property was expropriated by Bolsheviks. Aizek died in Kiev in the late 1930s.

My grandmother's other brother lived in Odessa, but I have no information about him. I don't even know his name.

My grandfather and grandmother had six children: Efrem, Hava, Anna, my mother Revekka-Liya, Fania and Bronislava.

My mother's older brother, Efrem Gurtovoy, was called Froichik in the family. He was born in Fastov in 1880. He finished Russian grammar school and graduated from the law department of Kiev Institute of Commerce. He worked as a lawyer at various offices in Kiev. He died of a heart attack in Kiev in 1953. His wife's name was Beila. She finished grammar school and was a housewife. Froichik and Beila had two sons: Mitia, called Mihail, and Boris.

Mitia was born in 1911. He finished Kiev Polytechnic Institute before the war. He fought at the front. He was a talented physicist. He lectured at the University in Kiev. Mitia died in Kiev in 1981.

Boris was born in 1913. He graduated from the Kiev Polytechnic Institute before the war. During the war he was severely wounded. He survived, but due to his spinal cord injury, he couldn't even tie his shoe-laces. He was a talented welder. He worked at Kiev Paton electric welding institute. He was single and died in Kiev in the early 1990s.

My mother's sister Hava Gurtovaya was born in Fastov in the 1890s. She finished Russian grammar school and Dentistry College in Kiev. She worked as a dentist in Gorodnya village, Kiev region. In 1937 she got married and moved to Leningrad where she also worked as a dentist. She and her Jewish husband, Zeidel, survived the blockade of Leningrad 7. She died of a heart attack at her work place in 1947. Her husband had died a year before. They didn't have children.

My mother's sister Anna was born in Fastov in the 1890s. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. She had a beautiful voice and dreamed of becoming a singer. She married Haim, a Jew, when she was very young. I don't remember her husband's last name. She worked as a stenographer and typist. Haim was a member of the Bund 8. He had kidney problems and received a small pension as an invalid. He didn't go to work. They were very poor, and, it is my understanding that he was not that ill that he couldn't go to work. But he realized that if he did go to work he would have been arrested for anti-Soviet activities. They lived in the same house, one floor below us. They had a separate apartment. These were small apartments in this building: a study, a bedroom and a dining-room. My grandmother and Fania and Bronislava lived with them. Haim was helping Lena with her typing work until 1941.

During the war they were in evacuation in Serdobsk, Penza region. Haim was a very intelligent, talented and well-read man, though he didn't have any special education. After the war he earned good money by writing dissertations for other people. They had two sons. They were named after Lenin and Plekhanov 9: Vladimir, born in 1926, and Georgiy, born in 1929.

Vladimir was recruited to the army in 1944. He reached Berlin with the army. After the war he finished the school for workers and graduated from the Kiev Polytechnic Institute. He got married and moved to Stalingrad, where his wife lived. He worked at the plant. He died of a heart attack at his work place in 1977.

Their younger son, Georgiy, had asthma. He studied by correspondence at the Kiev Polytechnic Institute and worked at the Paton electrical welding institute in Kiev. He died in 1969. My mother's sister Anna died in Kiev in the 1960s, and Haim died in 1954.

My mother's sister Fania was born in Fastov in 1900. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. Her fiancé was killed during a pogrom in Fastov in 1918. She stayed single. She worked at the Bolshevik plant in Kiev. She evacuated to Sverdlovsk with the plant and stayed there. Fania died in the late 1970s.

My mother's sister Bronislava was born in Fastov in 1907. She finished Russian grammar school in Kiev. In 1937 she married Piotrovsky, a Polish man. He was the son of my grandfather's friend who gave shelter to the family during Jewish pogroms in 1918. He was a member of the Communist Party and a military. In 1937, during the 'clean up' campaign [the Great Terror], he was arrested. There is no information about what happened to him. He was probably executed. Bronia's daughter Natasha was born in 1938. In 1941 Bronia and Natasha evacuated to Sverdlovsk. They didn't return to Kiev after the war. Natasha is still living in Sverdlovsk. She got married and has a very big family. In the 1950s, after Stalin's death, Natasha was trying to find out what happened to her father, but she failed. Bronia died in Sverdlovsk in the early 1980s.

My mother's name was Revekka-Liya Rozina, nee Gurtovaya. She had a double name. In the course of time, the family members called her Liya, and her childhood friends were calling her Venia. She was born in Fastov in 1898. Mama didn't have a higher education. She finished grammar school in Kiev and entered Kiev Medical Institute in 1919. In 1920 or 1921 Mama went to Povolzhye to help fight the famine 10 there. She helped to arrange canteens or other catering facilities. Besides that, she was involved in the distribution of humanitarian aid that was provided by the Americans. This famine was arranged by the Bolsheviks in order to suppress the citizens that weren't willing to accept the socialist revolution. People like my mother didn't understand the actual cause of the famine and made every effort to help those who were starving. Mama told me that they were unwilling to let volunteers go to famine-stricken areas.

Mama returned in 1924, but she couldn't continue her studies, because she had been away for too long. She took a course in planning and got a job as a planning economist at the alcohol factory in Kiev.

My father was working as a laborer at this same plant. He was a very handsome man. I know that my father's first visit to my mother's home was on 8th November. The day before, the two of them went to the parade dedicated to the anniversary of the great October Socialist revolution [October Revolution Day] 11 and forcedly stayed beside each other for over five hours. My father realized that he didn't want to let this woman go. They got married in 1930. They didn't have a wedding party - they couldn't afford it. In due time, my father was sent to take a course in accounting. He became an accountant. At first he was working at the same alcohol factory, but then they decided that it wasn't very convenient for a husband and wife to work at the same place. My father got a job as auditor- accountant for the protection of patent rights and as a part time auditor- accountant at the Red Cross.

I was born in Kiev in 1931.

My parents didn't earn well and they had to take on additional typing work in the evening. We didn't have an apartment. We had a room. We lived in a four-story house. There were two apartments on each floor: one three- bedroom and one two-bedroom apartment. There was a bathroom on three floors, but there wasn't one on the fourth floor. The fourth floor was like an attic. We lived in the study on the fourth floor. Our neighbors lived in the bedroom and dining-room and we had a common kitchen. There were four of us in our family: my father and my mother, my sister Lena, born in 1937, and I. We joked that Lena had been born thanks to the Communist Party and the government that banned abortions. We had a photograph of the building under construction in Tereschenko Street, where we were supposed to move. My parents paid a monthly fee - a considerable amount of money - for an apartment in this building. We didn't have any riches, but we had a huge collection of books in Russian. This was a collection of classical literature, books about adventures and tours, historical books and a few encyclopedias. My father was very fond of reading and had a wonderful book collection. Through him I developed a love for reading.

Here is what my father had to do at work. If a writer wrote a play and this play was staged in a theater, he was supposed to receive a certain interest fee. My father had to go on audits all over Ukraine to make sure that the theaters were paying such fees. There was an authorized representative in each city and Papa worked with these employees. Often such representatives were free-lance employees of the Association of Writers and worked full- time in bookstores. They helped Papa to get books that he wanted to buy. There were lots of propagandizing publications at that time and buying a good book was a problem.

My father was very kind. Mama used to say that he was ready to sell anything if he wanted to bring me a chocolate. I was shy about asking him to get me something because I knew that it would be hard for him to refuse me. If I asked Mama about something that was beyond what she could afford her usual reply was, 'I wouldn't steal'. Therefore, it was easy to ask her about things, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to do because she could easily refuse.

One of my childhood memories is that we were living in Proletarskaya Street. When Gorky 12 died, I saw our janitor replacing the plaque with the name of our street to another one that said, 'Gorky Street' [gorky means 'bitter' in Russian]. I could already read at that time. I read the name, went home and said that I didn't want to live in 'bitter' street. My parents explained to me that it wasn't a 'bitter' Street, but Gorky Street, named after a writer that died.

Later I went to the kindergarten, but only attended it for two or three months. That wasn't because I didn't like it, but because I fell ill and it took me about half a year to get better. I got scarlet fever that turned into measles, and then chicken-pox, etc. I attended a group of frebelichka [tutor] for some time. Our tutor had five or six children to look after while their parents were at work. We stayed at her house, had meals - we brought snacks with us - and slept. Our parents were paying her for taking care of us. She was German and my mother hoped that she would teach me some German. She did try to explain things to us in German.

In 1937, when I was six, I remember that some fathers of the children from our yard had vanished. Adults didn't say anything to us kids, but we understood that these fathers were arrested and that we weren't supposed to ask questions about it. I remember one of my parents' discussions in the evening; they talked when they thought I was asleep. They were talking about my father's sister Lena and her husband Misha Moiseyev, and I heard that they had been arrested. My parents took parcels with food and cigarettes - it was all that was allowed - to jail twice a week or even more often. If the jail officers accepted such parcels, that meant that a person was alive.

I went to a Russian school, located not far from our home in 1938. There were Jewish schools at that period, but neither my parents nor I knew Yiddish, so we didn't have a choice. We received second-hand textbooks during our first day at school: ABC and other books. There were portraits of leaders in these books with their eyes poked out. The children who had used the textbooks before us had been told that these leaders were enemies of the people; that was why they poked out their eyes and crossed them out. I remembered well the expression, 'enemy of the people' 13.

I remember very well the Jewish and Ukrainian children in my class. I already understood that people had different nationalities. In 1940 all Jewish schools in Kiev were closed and our class was placed in a formerly Jewish school. Few former schoolchildren from this school came to our class. Thus, there were quite a few Jewish children in our class. I can't quite remember how I knew whether one was or wasn't a Jew. It happened subconsciously, perhaps. But I can't remember any anti-Semitism among children or teachers at that time.

I remember, in 1940, after the Non-Aggression Pact [Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 14 with Germany was made, there was a ban on anti-fascist literature issued in our country. Such books were to be removed from libraries and destroyed. Papa brought home a few anti-fascist books. He couldn't let these books be destroyed. There were a few children's books among them. I remember the title of one book, 'Henry Starts Fighting'. Its main character was a boy that was helping his father in his struggle against fascism. I enjoyed reading these books. I was nine years old. The anti-fascist spirits of the population were high and the Non-Aggression pact turned out to be a big surprise for many people.

I remember how Haim, Anna's husband, was visiting us in the evenings and he and Papa argued passionately about whether there was or wasn't going to be a war. Papa said that there was going to be a war, considering the circumstances, and Haim maintained that the German working class would never allow a war against a socialist country. As for me, I had a dilemma: on one hand, I wanted Papa to be right, and on the other, I didn't want a war.

I also remember that one night I woke up hearing someone tramping on the staircase. Mama said, hearing the noise, 'They aren't coming here, are they?' It turned out that some late guests were visiting our neighbors, but my mother got very scared. Anybody could be arrested at that time.

We had a Ukrainian housemaid. She was very nice. She was more of a nanny than a housewife. She helped Mama about the house, but she mainly took care of us and would even punish us when we were naughty. We always had the radio on at home. We didn't observe any Jewish traditions, nor did we know any Jewish songs, but I remember my sister and I loudly singing revolutionary songs. We learned them at school. We went to parades on 1st May and 7th November. We also sang patriotic songs there and enjoyed it. My parents were apolitical people. They didn't sympathize with the Soviet power, they were afraid of it and tried to stay away from any politics.

In June 1941 I went to the pioneer camp for the first time. I stayed there for a week. Papa turned up one day and went to the director of the camp and told him that the war had begun. We packed quietly to prevent any panic and left. I was so sorry to leave the camp, but I enjoyed the ride home from the railway station on a cart. It was a rare treat for me. We always walked because we didn't have money to pay for a ride. The following day my friend and I were seriously discussing the possibility of joining the army when we were out in the yard.

Kiev was overwhelmed with panic and Papa didn't want to wait until his enterprise began orderly evacuation. He said that if he were to go to the army, Mama wouldn't leave Kiev, but would be waiting for news from him. Papa wanted his family out of Kiev. He read anti-fascist books and had a very clear idea of what fascism was like. So, we packed and walked to Brovary [a small town on the outskirts of Kiev]. At Brovary railway station we saw the announcement that men of Papa's age, 46, were to join the army. He went to the supervisor of the train that was evacuating a children's home and asked him to take his family on the train. We left on this train: Mama, my four-year-old sister Lena, Mama's sister Anna, her husband Haim, their two sons and me; I was ten. My father returned to Kiev, destroyed all photographs and documents - they were important to him and he couldn't allow anybody else to have them - and went to the military registration office.

He mobilized on 9th July, and on 14th August 1941 he was severely wounded. It must have been a big battle, and the Red army and fascist units left the battlefield scattered with dead bodies. My father was unconscious and stayed on this battlefield for almost 24 hours. By chance, a Russian military cart was passing by. It picked my father up and took him to a field hospital. He stayed there from August till December. He was severely wounded: a few floating splinters near his heart and splinters in his legs. He didn't want to tell us any details; those were hard memories for him. Once he told us that German tanks drove over the trench that they were sitting in. Many of those sitting in the trench turned gray. For many years we dedicated two birthdays to my father. The second birthday was 14 August, because he survived on this day.

Papa didn't return to the front-line forces after the hospital. He went on a month's vacation and came to where we were in Penza region. He registered at the military registration office on the first day. He was sent to various military units six times, but they didn't accept him due to his condition and age. He returned and we were happy, but then he had to go to the registration office another time and again he was sent to another military unit. He then stayed at the military unit in Penza region. He served there for a year and a half as a private, first-sergeant and sergeant-major. He wasn't promoted because he didn't have an education. In 1944 their military unit was transferred to Moscow, and he served there until the end of the war.

We were in evacuation in Serdobsk, Penza region. I remember the apartment that we rented from a landlady. Mama told the landlady that her husband was in the army, and the landlady asked immediately, 'Do they take Jews to the army?'. When we moved in our landlady took away our passports in which our nationality was indicated. Besides, we looked like typical Jews. I played with our neighbors' children. When asked about my father I answered that he was in the army. People used to tell me that Jews weren't taken to the army. I mean, people knew that we were Jews. Or boys would see me in the Street and say, 'Zhyd - rope-walker. The rope tore, killing the zhyd'. I fought with them angrily: I even scratched and bit them. They stopped teasing me after a while. I mean to say that I understood that they called me 'zhyd', but I didn't feel humiliated because I believed them to be fools. Mama was surprised. She thought that, as there had been no Jews in this area before, this was preplanned propaganda. This was my mother's interpretation of such hostile attitudes.

I went to the third grade of the Russian school. I don't remember any anti- Semitic attitude on part of other children or teachers. I studied well and could fight, if necessary.

Mama found a job at the tobacco production shop. She had to mill tobacco leaves with her feet. Her daily payment was three rubles - and one bucket of potatoes cost 300 rubles. When he left for the front, Papa told Mama that he would be writing to Hava, my mother's sister, in Leningrad so we didn't lose each other. Papa was very much afraid that if he went to the front, he would never see us again. But he found us promptly and we began to receive some payment as the family of a military. This payment was called 'certificate'. Papa was a private and we received 100 rubles.

We were starving. But within about a month a military transport plant from Belarus was evacuated to Serdobsk and Mama was employed as a planning department supervisor. She received a worker food card and my sister Lena received a children's card. I didn't receive a card, because I was over ten years old. I went to work when I was eleven. There was a farmyard and a kitchen garden at the plant. I weeded the kitchen garden, and received a card. There was a list of food products on the card, but not all of them were available. Besides, the products were of poor quality. Bread was half- done, for example. I dreamt of eating a lot of bread after returning to Kiev.

We tried to celebrate birthdays whatever the circumstances, especially children's birthdays. I remember birthday treats: Mama gave us a few slices of bread and a few dry beetroot slices. On my birthday Lena acted as a guest and I treated her; and on her birthday, I was her guest. We cut bread into small pieces and ate it with beetroots.

In summer 1942 Mama fell ill and the doctors suspected typhoid. We called the ambulance. My mother had gorgeous hair. I asked the nurse to not cut her hair. I understood that they were taking my mother to the ward for patients with typhoid. The nurse replied, 'Hair? She won't live until morning'. I was eleven and my sister Lena was five years old. But Mama survived.

I read books for adults at that time: Balzac, Maupassant, etc. Our landlady's daughter studied at a pedagogical college. She had to read a lot. She borrowed all these books from the library, but she didn't read them. There was a wonderful library in Serdobsk. I think it was because the authorities confiscated private collection after the revolution. In the first months I read Rabelais, Cervantes and [Homer's] 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey'. I remember these books very well.

We left Kiev on foot and didn't have any winter clothes with us. I went to school until September while it was still warm. I stayed at home through the winter and read books. In May Mama came home and told me that she'd discussed with the school director about letting me take the 5th grade admission exams. I went to school for a month and passed my exams successfully. I stayed at home most of the time in the 5th grade, but this time I knew how serious Mama was about school and I did my homework, exercises, read my German textbooks and passed my exams.

In 1944 we returned to Kiev by train. Our room was occupied by my nanny, her daughter and her daughter's child. We didn't receive the apartment that we had paid for before the war. We didn't get any money back, either. We didn't have anywhere to go and we stayed in this small room. There was no electricity or water. I fetched water from a pump a few blocks away from our house. The room was heated by a stove. Gas supplies were arranged in 1947 or 1948. The center of the city was completely destroyed. We played hide-and-seek in the ruins until Mama found out and forbade us to do it.

In 1948 Mama sold the only valuable possession that we had: her father's golden dental plate. She gave this money to the nanny so that she could buy a small room in the neighboring wooden building and move out. There was nothing left in our room - everything had been stolen. There was only an empty wardrobe left. My father returned from the army in 1945 and went to work at his previous job: auditor-accountant at the patent right supervision committee. When my father was receiving his passport after demobilization from the army, a clerk at the office suggested that he might have his nationality written as Russian, but my father refused.

My sister Lena and I went to the Russian school for girls, not far from our house. My favorite subject was literature; I liked to write compositions. After school I often ran into my former math teacher on my way home. He couldn't forgive me for not going to study at the department of mathematics.

We didn't face any anti-Semitism at school. There was one teacher of physics: she gave Jewish girls lower grades. She gave me a '4' at the final exam and I didn't receive a gold medal. I received a silver medal instead. My composition at the final exam was mentioned in a newspaper.

Our favorite teacher was Tamara Fyodorovna, a Ukrainian. She was a teacher of history and she spent a lot of time with us. We attended a historical club that developed into a drama club: we staged some excerpts from plays. I enjoyed it a lot. In the 10th grade I read The Oppermans, Jud Suess [Power] and then, Success, by Lion Feuchtwanger 15, and understood that sooner or later things end up with Jewish pogroms. It is just a matter of time. For how long had Germans lived in Germany and everything was fine until Hitler came to power giving a start to mass extermination of Jews? Well, what I mean to say is that one has to have a home. Our problem is that we were not born at home. Jews must have a country of their own.

I didn't choose my friends according to their nationality, but it so happened that I had more Jewish friends.

My sister Lena finished school in 1954. She faced anti-Semitism for the first time when she was finishing the 10th grade. She was supposed to finish school with a gold medal, but she was treated with prejudice and didn't get it. At the end of the academic year, correspondents came to their class to interview the best students. The teacher pointed at Lena saying that she was the best student in class. My sister and I have a typical Jewish appearance. The correspondents ignored her and interviewed other girls. It was then that she faced anti-Semitism and she was very upset. After school she entered the woodwork department at the Academy of Agriculture. She got a job at the design institute, furniture department and worked there her whole life.

After finishing school I was eager to study at the department of journalism at Kiev University. I had a medal and I was supposed to be admitted without exams. I submitted my documents and didn't even go there to inquire whether I was accepted or not, as I was sure that I was. However, it turned out that I wasn't. This was clearly a prejudiced attitude. According to the law I requested to be allowed to take exams in accordance to general procedures, but they didn't allow me to.

Before I obtained my documents, the entrance exams were over in all higher educational institutions. I met one of my acquaintances, a Jew. She had also tried to enter the university, but had failed. She told me that the Institute of Foreign languages had just been opened and that academic year there began on 1 October. Both of us had medals and we were the first attendees with medals and were admitted right away. I liked studying there. I learned English very well. We were short of money, and I gave English lessons from my first year at school.

I didn't face any anti-Semitism during my studies at the institute. However, I wasn't admitted to the post-graduate school, even though I deserved it. Upon graduation I got a job assignment in the village of Yaroslavka, Khmelnitskiy region. It was a distant Ukrainian village, 60 kilometers from the railroad. I worked as an English teacher at school. The school rented me a room in a house in the village.

The establishment of Israel in 1948 passed by me. I wasn't interested in politics. I cared more about my private life. But I was hurt by any demonstration of anti-Semitism. I couldn't forgive anyone for such things.

During the winter vacation of 1953 I went to Kiev and fell ill. The doctor issued me a sick-leave certificate and I went back to school. I was absent for three days. It was the first time that I got a sick-leave and I didn't know that this certificate was to be stamped at the polyclinic. I submitted this sick-leave certificate to the accountant at school. He sent it to some place as if it were a false document without mentioning it to the director. They opened a criminal case against me and wanted to expel me from Komsomol 16. If one got expelled from Komsomol the next step was dismissal from work and an impossibility to get another job. The director of the school was a very decent man. He was trying to delay things and he stood up for me. Finally, Stalin died. The director didn't know that he would die, but he knew that it was necessary to drag out the case for as long as possible and that time would tell. After Stalin died in spring 1953 the case was closed. Stalin's death didn't make any impression on me. People around were crying, but I didn't care to cry.

At 26 I had a discussion about departure with a friend of mine. Moving to another country was so far from me that he said angrily, 'If you need a Communist Party, you'll find two there'. But I didn't care about the Communist Party. I just couldn't imagine living in a different country. When I worked in the village they were trying to drag me into joining the party, but I didn't give in. At first, I was always afraid of having to attend another meeting, and I understood that a party member couldn't ignore party meetings. Secondly, I knew that one day they would expel me anyway for violation of discipline. To cut a long story short, I didn't join the party then.

My father joined the Communist party in 1943 during the war. In 1953 my father's office fabricated a case. I don't remember exactly what it was about. Some employees were accused of some criminal actions. My father wasn't in this group, but they said that he wasn't watchful enough when it was his duty as a communist. Papa was expelled from the party and they wanted to open a case against him in court. A famous writer and dissident, Viktor Nekrasov 17, supported him. He was the only one that supported my father. After Stalin's death, this case was closed. Within about a year or a year and a half my father was called to the party office and his membership was restored. My father told me that the same people that expelled him were shaking his hand saying that they always understood how he felt. I asked him, 'Why did you want to be restored? You should just ignore them.' He replied, 'I got restored, because I didn't want my daughters to write in the questionnaires that their father was expelled from the party.' This could have been a reason for persecution at that time.

I couldn't find a job for a long time after I returned from the village. I wanted to teach at school. Directors were willing to employ me, but their human resources departments didn't give their consent. They told me openly at one place, 'Our goal now is to promote Ukrainian employees.' At that time patent-right departments were established in many design institutes. They were checking a unit under development that had a patent abroad. They needed translators. By that time I had finished a course in German and French and studied Polish a little. I was employed by an institute and received the lowest salary possible.

In 1964 I married Aron Hankin, a Jew, born to the family of Leiba and Sophia Hankin in the town of Snovsk, Chernigov province, in 1927. Snovsk was renamed Schors 18 in honor of the hero of the Civil War. It was a very small town. The majority of its population was Ukrainian. They were farmers. There were rather few Jews in the town and there are none left at present. I know that there was a synagogue and a church in the town and that people were poor, but friendly. In the late 1920s the family moved to Kiev.

My husband's father, Leiba Hankin, was born in Snovsk in 1894. When I saw him for the first time I had the impression that he was a very important man. He looked like a school director. He studied at cheder, but at the time when we met he didn't observe any Jewish traditions, though both of his sons were circumcised. They knew about the Jewish holidays, but had no specific celebrations and didn't cook anything special on holidays. They spoke Russian in the family. Leiba didn't have a professional education. He worked as a packing specialist at the vegetable storage facility in Kiev. He died there in 1971.

My husband's mother, Sophia Hankina, nee Yegudina, was born in 1896. I don't know where she was born. She finished a private Jewish grammar school in Snovsk. Teaching was in Russian. She didn't have any professional education. She was a very nice, kind and intelligent woman. I lived with her for a year and came to like her a lot. Fasting at Yom Kippur was the only tradition that she observed. She didn't cover her head. She got married in 1923 and her husband told her that a woman had to do the housekeeping. He didn't allow her to go to work even during the war when they were in evacuation in Ufa. She died in Kiev in 1973.

They had two children. Their older son had the Jewish name of Faiba, but he used the Russian name [common name] 19 Fedia - for pronunciation reasons, he explained. He studied at school in Kiev and finished it in Ufa. He had a poor sight and wasn't recruited to the army. After the war he graduated from the Kiev Institute of Finance and worked at the bank for many years. He was a member of the Communist party. He died in 1987. He was married and his daughter lives in the US.

My husband, Aron Hankin, was born in Kiev in 1927. He studied at a Russian school in Kiev. He finished seven classes before their evacuation to Ufa where he continued his studies at school. They returned to Kiev in 1943.

He finished school in Kiev in 1945 and entered the department of philosophy at Kiev University. He graduated in 1949. Beginning in 1948, Jews were not admitted to university. However, he couldn't find a job. He had to work part time in 18-19 schools at a time, because there was one logic and psychology class a week at school. In the early 1950s he entered the department of mathematics at Krivoy Rog Polytechnic Institute and graduated. Later he finished a three-year course in cybernetics.

When we met in 1963, he was a teacher of mathematics at school. Later he read an announcement about a vacancy of a mathematician-cyberneticist at the Institute of Mathematics at the Academy of Sciences. He went to an interview and was employed. He was interested in the job, but the salary was very low and it took some time for him to accept the job.

We got married in September 1964. We didn't have a wedding party. We just obtained our marriage certificate at the registration office. I moved into the apartment that my husband shared with his parents. It was an old communal apartment, and there was a 'splinter of the past' - an old woman in every room. I was short-sighted and had to put on my glasses to be able to tell who was who. Immediately after we got married we started paying fees for a new apartment.

In 1965 we moved into a small two-bedroom Khrushchovka 20 apartment. Our daughter Alexandra, or Sasha, was born in February 1966. When she was six months old I had to go to work and we started looking for a baby-sitter. A Ukrainian woman came for an interview and we came to an agreement with her. The following day her neighbor came to tell us that she didn't want to work for us because we were Jews. That was when we faced everyday anti-Semitism.

Our daughter often faced anti-Semitism demonstrations in her class. Some girls used to call us on the phone and say nasty things about Jews. Our daughter was a tight-lipped girl and spent her time with a book. She hardly had any friends at school. Her friends were our acquaintances' children. We had warm relationships in our family. We had many friends visiting our home with their children. We had up to 30 guests at birthdays or New Year celebrations.

We didn't celebrate religious or Soviet holidays. We were atheists and didn't raise our daughter religiously. After school our daughter graduated from Kiev Institute of Culture. She had the profession of an 'amateur group manager', but she couldn't find a job for many years. Every month we gave her a small amount of money. She got married in 1992, but her marriage only lasted four months. She didn't have any children. In the middle of the 1990s she became fond of the study, 'Jews for Jesus'. She changed and became more sociable and easy-going. She was going to get married. She died from brain aneurysm in 1999. She is buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.

My sister Lena got married when she was almost 45. She doesn't have children. She and her husband are pensioners and live in a small apartment that belonged to our father.

I've never been interested in the Jewish history. My husband Aron took more interest in such issues. He used to buy books like 'Beware - Zionism!' [available at that time] and read them attentively. He also had a special scrap book where he kept articles on the subject. He also kept articles from newspapers. We still have this scrap book. Besides, he listened to the American Radio Liberty 21 every day. We read Samizdat underground publications, books that were forbidden by the Soviet censorship, and books by Solzhenitsyn 22, Zoshchenko 23, Bulgakov 24, etc.

In the 1970s my husband was trying to convince me to emigrate to Israel. I didn't mind, basically, but I was afraid that my parents - my father, in particular - wouldn't accept this decision. This was the main reason for my unwillingness to move. Besides, I am a woman of the Russian culture and I love Kiev. But this wouldn't have stopped me. I often think that if my husband had said to me that he would go alone, I would have followed him. But he has a soft character and he wouldn't have said anything like that. Our friends were leaving. I had a friend, and when he was leaving I said, 'I'm very happy for you and unhappy about myself. It's a pity you are leaving'.

I felt like a Jew only when I was hurt. My husband is different in this respect. He never forgot about his roots, religion and traditions of his people. He wanted to live where his people were living on their own land.

My parents retired and spent all their time with their granddaughter and books. My mother died in 1985. My father died in 1991. Sasha grew up and refused to emigrate, without giving any reasons.

During Perestroika 25 in the 1990s I came across a book by the famous Zionist, Jabotinsky 26, that changed me. I read Isaac B. Singer 27. We couldn't find such books before. Now my national self-consciousness has returned to me. But I still believe that one cannot be proud of being Polish or Jewish. It's equal to be proud of being red-haired or blonde. But my heart aches when I hear about terrorist attacks in Israel. I have become chauvinistic about Arabs.

Many of our friends left in the 1990s. We couldn't afford to visit Israel. We've seen photos, guide-books and read books about it. My husband knows more about it than I do. We listen to all the news from Israel. We listen to Israeli programs in Russian on radio Reka [River] every night.

If there is love in absentia, I can say that I love this country. My sister Lena has never been interested in Jewish subjects, but when she visited Israel in 1995 she said that she had felt at home.

In the 1990s the Sholem Aleichem Society 28 was established in Kiev and I enjoyed going there. Its leader Sophia Polisker died, and no activities are conducted there today. It used to be a real Sholem Aleichem Society: we had meetings, dedicated to him and his writing, and other Jewish writers. We met with interesting people.

I participate in the daytime workshops at Hesed. I spoke there about poets in Israel twice. My article about Rachil Baumwol, an Israeli poetess, was published in the 'Jewish Tuning Fork' in Israel, in Egupets magazine in the Ukraine and in the US. Hesed supports us a lot. We receive food packages that make a very good addition to our small pension.

We haven't come to observing Jewish traditions yet, which is unfortunate. Perhaps our Jewish self-consciousness has come too late.

Glossary

Zina Kaluzhnaya
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: December 2001

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

My name is Zina Petrovna Kaluzhnaya. I was born into an ordinary Jewish family on 29th March 1932. My father had no higher education, but he was a very intelligent, well-read and smart person. My mother never worked, but she was also intelligent. I didn't meet my grandparents. Mama's parents emigrated to America in the 1920s, and my father's parents died during a gang 1 attack in 1918. Therefore, our family was very small. My older sister fell ill and, basically, she didn't live with us.

My father's name was Pinhus Zelmanovich Slobodskoy. He was the director of a greengrocery. Mama didn't work. My parents came from Skwira, a small town in Kiev region. My father was born in Volodarka, in the vicinity of Skwira, but his family didn't stay there long. His younger brothers and sisters were already born in Skwira. I know little about my father's family, my grandmother Sarra Slobodskaya and my grandfather Zelman Slobodskoy. I only know that my grandfather worked in the synagogue. He was very religious. He went to the synagogue regularly. He followed the kashrut, worshipped Saturday and observed all Jewish holidays. My grandmother had a little store.

My grandfather was much respected, people regarded him as a wise man and were seeking his advice, as at that time disputes between the Jews were resolved in the so-called court of arbitration. Some of my grandfather's advice is still remembered in our family. An example: 'Never speak about your dreams, especially not the bad ones. Because if you don't speak about them, it is possible that they will not come true'. It was known in the family that some gang came to the village - they were chasing a peasant girl; they wanted to rape her. And she ran to the house of my father's parents. They hid her. The bandits stormed into the house and slashed my grandfather and grandmother to death. They didn't touch the children. The peasant girl escaped.

My father, born in 1903, was the oldest of the children. He was 14 then, and he couldn't study, as he had to support the family. He started to work after this incident. My father raised all the children, three sisters and a brother, and they all finished a rabfak 2, a trade school. This kind of education allowed finding a good job. My father had to take up any work he could find, which included selling stockings and socks at the market, to support them all. He took some precious metal, silver and gold, to a Torgsin store 3; he even melted coins.

I hardly remember my childhood. But one of the few recollections I have is about how I got lost, when I took my cousin to my father's workplace. I was three years old then and my cousin was about five. My father worked as the director of a greengrocery on the corner of Kreschatik [main street in Kiev], near Roofed market. We lived in Shuliavka, near former Kerosinnaya Street. From there my cousin and I were walking to my father's workplace. We came to Kreschatik, and from there I didn't know the way. We stopped in the middle of the road and burst into tears. A crowd gathered around us. This was at the time when the film 'Foundling' was showing, and right away there was somebody who wanted to adopt me, and someone wanted to adopt my cousin, but the militia interfered. They took us to the militia office, started asking questions and found out from the little information they could get out of me where my father worked. They called his workplace and someone came and picked us up.

My father's younger brother, Lyova, was born in 1908. He was a very active Komsomol 4 member, one of the organizers of the Komsomol unit in Skwira. My mother's sister, Aunt Golda, was also an active Komsomol member. My father also had three sisters: Aunt Rosa, born in 1907, Aunt Mania, born in 1911, and Aunt Etlia, born in 1914. Aunt Rosa stayed in Skwira during World War I and II. She died there along with her children in 1941, when Skwira was occupied by the Germans. Etia evacuated to Alma-Ata during the war and survived. She had a good life. Her husband was very lucky - he was in captivity, in the encirclement, but he was rescued and survived. Later they emigrated to America. Aunt Mania lived in Moscow all her life. She married a Russian and any relationships with the family were terminated, as my father rejected her for doing so. Once, before the war, my father went to Moscow to take her and her two children away from her husband. He brought them to Kiev, but her husband took them back. Only after the war they started writing to each other and she came here.

My mother's name was Bluma Fridelevna Slobodskaya, nee Tsyrulnik. She was born in Skwira on 8th July 1905. There were 14 children in the family; ten of them survived. I don't know anything about the other four. In the early 1920s two sisters and two brothers went to America and took with them my grandmother at first, and, later on, also my grandfather.

The departure must have been illegal, they might have used somebody else's documents, as they lived under a different name in America. In Skwira my grandfather was called Fridel Tsyrulnik, and my grandmother Sarra-Rukhl Tsyrulnik. In America they lived under the name of Segal, and my grandmother's first name was Amy. At that time only single people could leave, and later they closed the border. That's how it happened that six children are here and four children in America. I visited the USA and went to the Jewish cemetery in Philadelphia where my grandparents were buried.

There is a story in the family: one of the brothers was eager to join the Komsomol, but he wasn't accepted as my grandfather was considered to be a rich man. He left for America and sent a letter to this Komsomol unit from Philadelphia. There was a picture in that letter: he and his own car in the background. And on the back of the picture he drew a big doulia [insulting gesture].

My grandfather owned a pawn-shop in Skwira before the Revolution of 1917. My grandmother was raising the children. They were believed to be well-to-do for those days. Judging from my mother's clothes one could tell that she didn't like cheap things. Se used to say that we weren't so poor as to buy cheap clothes and therefore it would be better to save some money, make do without something else and buy a good quality piece instead. In general, she had high-and-mighty manners. But she had difficult times. They took away my grandmother first, and my mother stayed here. She told us she had to travel, exchange things, sell something. She often traveled on the roofs of trains. When she was very young she attended a dress-making course. She specialized in shirt making.

My mama had a very soft character, but at the same time it was tough to some extent. If she believed somebody to be dishonest, or if somebody tried to say something bad about her family, she tried to stop seeing those acquaintances. She did a lot of good to her acquaintances, family and relatives, and she loved children. Relatives and neighbors always brought their children to her, and she looked after them. She was very kind-hearted, and when I grew up and got married, all our acquaintances used to say, 'You know, Zina, you are really lucky with your mother'.

Growing up

My sister Sarra was born in Skwira in 1926. She was very intelligent, but her health was failing her. She was ill for the bigger part of her life. She fell ill when she was about six years old. For a very long time the doctors couldn't find out what it was - her legs were failing her. She was prescribed physical exercise. It didn't work and her condition was getting worse. This happened at the time when Postyshev 5 held the highest position in Ukraine. Mama was told to try and meet with him to ask him for my sister to be sent to the Crimea. They told her that Postyshev always walked in the park over the Dnipro river. Mama went there early in the morning, waited for him and addressed him with her request. At that time things were different. Mama told him about this trouble in the family and on his direction my sister was taken to the Crimea.

She didn't stay long in the Crimea - just about half a year. Her illness progressed rapidly and her legs got paralyzed. Then they diagnosed the disease - it was bone tuberculosis. She was put into hospital in Puscha-Voditsa. During the war the hospital moved to Buzuluk and she stayed there throughout the war. Then, gradually, the paralysis retreated, she returned to Kiev and stayed in the health center where she studied all the time. Later she went to school, finished it and graduated from university. However, my mother had to take her to the university and back home. My sister worked as teacher all her life, but she didn't live a long life and died in 1990.

My father's family was religious. My father observed all holidays except Saturday because it was a working day. One couldn't just say that we had to have the day off on Saturday, so we had to work on Sabbath. But on holidays my father always went to the synagogue; he had his own seat there. He even went there when he was already very, very old. And later we took him there by taxi and I brought him back home. And even the year he died he was at the synagogue at Yom Kippur. At home we observed all holidays. I knew what this holiday was about and what was to be done for each other holiday. For Yom Kippur they cooked chicken and stuffed fish; for Purim they made little pies with poppy-seeds and so on.

We generally spoke Russian. My parents only switched to Yiddish when we, children, weren't supposed to know the subject of their discussion. I understood Yiddish, but I never learned to speak or read in Yiddish. My parents knew it well. My father could read and write perfectly in Yiddish and Hebrew; my mother only spoke Yiddish.

After my older sister was born in 1926, the family moved to Moscow looking for a better life. My mother's older brother, Solomon Tsyrulnik, lived there. But for some reason they didn't stay long in Moscow. They came back to Kiev, and I was born there.

I never heard my father call the Soviet power anything other than, 'these bandits'. Mama only said, 'Careful'. Well, but this does seems to be all one can say about the Soviet power, really. My father didn't take it seriously. He never spoke about it seriously. He didn't even want to talk about it. If there were discussions he used to tell me, 'Remember what I tell you, Zina. These bandits won't last long'.

We openly discussed things. Once, when I was younger, they warned me, 'Zina, you're not supposed to talk about this elsewhere'. Besides, we knew very well what was going on in the 1930s [during the so-called Great Terror] 6 because Aunt Golda's husband, Semyon Novobratskiy, was repressed. He was raised in an orphanage, and he was promoted in the Party and was a delegate of the Congress and Party organization in Vorontsovo-Gorodische. And he was a Jew. Once they came and took him away. When they took him to their office an NKVD 7 employee said to him, 'You understand, Semyon, that I can't do anything. All I can do is to allow you make a phone call'. He called my father immediately.

Aunt Golda - she was also a party member - was a woman with a strong character. She went there, put her party membership card on the table and said that if her husband was an 'enemy of the people' 8 she couldn't be a party member, and left. Late in the evening an acquaintance of theirs came and said, 'Leave immediately'. My father went there and took her to Kiev right away. There they separated. My aunt and her younger son were in Belaya Tserkov at her brother Gershl's, her second oldest son stayed with us and her older daughter was in Dnepropetrovsk. My aunt changed her name but she was afraid all her life and kept it a secret. She always took on minor jobs as a cleaning woman or something the like because she was afraid of being recognized. However she was summoned to the authorities during the rehabilitation 9. They told her that her husband had been rehabilitated and that she would receive compensation. She replied that she wouldn't accept anything for her husband. She took the certificate and left. But she was on the lists for an apartment and she received it promptly, strangely enough. Mama's brother Yankel lived in Alma-Ata. His son-in-law was also repressed and shot.

We lived on Kerosinnaya Street before the war. We had one small room there. There was a yard. We had very friendly neighbors and got along well. There were many Jewish families. There was a blacksmith and I always went to see him. I was absorbed by what he was doing. The blacksmith was a Jew. I always ran to him and said, 'Blacksmith, shoe my foot!' and pushed forward my little foot. And he pretended that he shoed my foot. All our neighbors were nice people. The ones that survived met after the war.

Later we moved downtown to Meringovskaya Street, where we had one big room in a communal apartment 10. We had four neighbors in this apartment. One neighbor's name was Nikolai Alexandrovich. He paid a lot of attention to me. When I studied in the 1st grade he checked my homework. He lived in a small room. At that time he didn't work. He had two daughters and he visited them. One Sunday he visited one of them and the following Sunday the other one. Once a week a woman came to his place, cleaned up and did everything else necessary. There was another Jewish family there. They had a boy, Vilia. His parents were the same age as my parents. There was also a Ukrainian family. There were a mother and daughter, the daughter's name was Nadia, she was already an adult. And there was an old blind man, a musician. He died, and another musician came to live in his place. He was a violinist. This was the beginning of all my tribulations. In those years Bousia Goldstein, a boy that played the violin splendidly, was very popular. And all Jewish parents wanted their children to be like Bousia. All in all, they started teaching me to play the violin. I wasn't particularly gifted, but I honestly spent several hours a day pestering the violin. Tears were running down my cheeks and I couldn't do anything about it until they took pity with me and cancelled the violin lessons. I was six years old then. Everything was fine: the communal apartment, the common kitchen - I cannot remember one single quarrel, or argument, and no yelling.

Everyone cooked on Primus stoves. There were no kerosene stoves then. Everyone had his little table, Primus stove and everything was left unlocked. Nobody touched anybody else's belongings. Nobody ever quarreled. Vilia's parents sometimes argued. We heard their yelling through the closed door. We had one big room, 25-30 meters. It was a nice, square room on the second floor; the balcony was facing the yard. There were two gardens nearby. One of them was across the street from the Franko theater. We went there for walks. The second garden was across the street from the gift store.

I didn't go to kindergarten, I attended the Froebel Institute 11. This was sort of a private governess system. The groups were small: six to eight children. We took our breakfast with us and went outside. We studied German. But it wasn't academic studies, it was everyday conversation. The teacher only spoke German with us. I spoke fluent German. I started to understand Yiddish due to German. In the afternoon we went to somebody's home to eat our food there. Then we went out again. She talked to us all the time and played with us. It all lasted from morning till five o'clock in the afternoon. It's difficult to say how many Jewish children were there, as there was no such issue - Jewish or not Jewish. However, all our relatives and acquaintances were Jewish. When my aunt married a Russian man it was a terrible scandal. But otherwise nationality wasn't an issue. No one seemed to pay attention to it. By the way, I can tell you that those who weren't Jewish always knew that some Jewish holiday was coming up and it was all right with them. I remember them saying, 'Your Easter is soon', for instance. And, fish got more expensive before the Jewish holidays.

People who weren't Jewish visited us on Jewish holidays. They danced, and then a good dinner was served. And, by the way, my mama never made cakes with cream, which were in fashion then. They were always traditional Jewish dishes: strudel, honey cake and sponge cake. And I told her that some people soaked white bread in milk to add to the mince for cutlets. I thought, the cutlets were more delicious that way. Mama told me in horror that one should never do such a thing. All laws were followed in our family, but somehow intuitively, traditionally.

We were doing quite well. In summer we went to the dacha [cottage] in Puscha-Voditsa, as my sister was there in the health center. We rented a room and lived in the dacha all summer. We were well dressed. It's not that I had millions of dresses. I may have had two summer dresses and one woolen one, so I didn't have many of them but they were of good quality. And we were well fed.

Before the war I finished the 1st grade at school #79 12. School #79 was located near the Franko theater, on the square. After the war Kievenergo was housed in the building. At that time one could start school at the age of eight. Therefore, I went to school later. I studied well, and things were easy for me.

During the War

I remember well the first day of the war [see Great Patriotic War] 13. My cousin Volodia, Aunt Riva's son, was visiting us. And in the morning we had a fight. Mama wasn't at home. When she came in we started complaining about one another. But Mama sat down and started crying. She said, 'What are you talking about? The war has started, and you have nothing better to do than fight?' Papa was at work. Later they took Papa away, first to the militia unit and then to the army. Within a few days he was gone.

They managed to send Volodia to Dnepropetrovsk on that very day. And then there were just mama and me left. Mama was at a loss - she didn't know what to do. All of a sudden the son of Mama's older brother, Uncle Solomon, came. He worked as doctor with the NKVD. He had changed his name to Alexei. Previously he had a different name [see common name] 14. He came in and said, 'Bluma, get packed and leave immediately. The car is waiting in the yard'. 'What?! I won't go!', my mother replied. And he urged her, 'Go now! The Germans are killing all Jews'. Nobody else said anything like this back then; nobody knew. That's why mama didn't take his words seriously and didn't want to leave. I remember how mama was holding on to the doorway crying that she wouldn't go and leave Sarra alone in the hospital. Alexei and the driver lifted mama up, took her outside and threw her into the car. And he said, 'I will take care of Sarra. They will evacuate health centers first'. I believe, this was on 6th August. We were one of the first people to evacuate. When we arrived in Alma-Ata they welcomed us with an orchestra, as we were the first ones to arrive.

I remember the trip. Uncle Solomon's younger son Misha was with us. He was a 1st-year student at a medical institute. We traveled in railcars, and the people in there were lying side by side like sardines. It's unbelievable how many people fit in there. On all stops we were given some boiling water; sometimes they gave us some soup. Then, all of a sudden, we heard a siren, which meant there was a raid - and then all people got out of the train and hid wherever they could find a place to hide. After the raid they all came back to their places and the journey went on. Of course, there was no schedule whatsoever. When we were passing by a river the train stopped and we could wash ourselves in the river. That was our trip to Stalingrad and that took us three weeks. I remember one thing that helped us on the way. During one bombardment they ruined a food store and the people ran over there to take whatever they could away with them. And Misha brought a big piece of ham and a pack of cookies. I don't really know how we managed to keep that ham in the summer heat. We sailed from Stalingrad to Astrakhan. And in Arys they put us on a train again.

My father went to the militia unit and we didn't hear from him for a long time. Then he was a private in the army. In 1942 they sent him to Novosibirsk as a result of his illness. Later he joined us in Alma- Ata. They put us in the apartment building of NKVD employees, where we lived with the secretary of a minister. Mama, myself and my cousin lived in the connecting room. Later mama's brother, Misha's father came with his daughter Sonia. And mama and I moved in with another family on the first floor. This was done unofficially. A woman and her son lived there and her husband was on the front. The kitchen was occupied by a family from Kiev; a woman and her daughter. A woman and her son lived in another room. When she saw our condition she mentioned to mama that she might be more comfortable living with them. We settled in her room. There were four of us - herself and her son and mama and I. After my father returned he went to work at the Ministry of the Fish Industry. He was logistics manager. He wasn't satisfied with the life we were leading, so he made some arrangements and we moved in with a Jewish family in a private house. Mama worked for entrepreneurs - she knitted stockings and leggings on the knitting machine.

We corresponded with my sister. She told us afterwards that she was living in horrible conditions and that they were starving. Nurses were begging to get some food for the children. But the children were treated nicely. By the way, my sister was the only Jew, but she shared much love and compassion. Mama didn't see her throughout the war. When my sister was back it took us some time to get used to her. We helped her to learn to walk. All relatives on my mother's side moved to Alma- Ata. We got along all right, but we hardly ever saw each other. The children did meet, but the adults were always busy. Mama worked at a factory and she only came home to sleep.

Our life improved after my father returned. I remember I received 400 grams of brown bread and my mother received 600 grams of white bread. In addition, mama received half a liter jar of semolina porridge. I only remember this semolina porridge and white bread. I don't know what mama ate. Besides, mama gave blood regularly: not only because it was needed, but also because she received an additional ration of food for it. I was awfully thin and tall and my face had turned green. Once Aunt Riva, who lived better, suggested that I moved in with them for some holidays. She said that I would eat better and would fatten a little. My mother had never let me away from her side. But then she decided it was a good idea and we should take advantage of it. She let me go stay with Aunt Riva. That evening we sat down for dinner, but I wasn't used to such rich food and so much of it. So the next day I had jaundice. Mama took me back home right away and put me on a semolina porridge diet. Aunt Etlia, my father's younger sister, was a waitress in Mosfilm studio. On Sundays many actors were away. The employees could bring their families and children to give them food. Her son and I regularly went to the studio and had dinner there. After my father had come back, we got fish as he worked in the Ministry of the Fish Industry.

I went to school. We studied the Kazakh language, but the teaching was in Russian. Nek tepte means school in Kazakh. That's all I remember. I had a Kazakh friend. After school we always went to the hospital. We read to the patients and wrote letters to their families. I studied in the 2nd, 3rd and 4th grades in the Kazakh school. The conditions were very difficult - we wrote on pieces of newspapers. I remember losing a book from the library. It was 'Package' by Gaidar 15. My teacher said to me that she wouldn't give me my award diploma for successful studies until I return this book. I was sobbing and huge tears were running down my face, as I couldn't get a copy of this book anywhere. I became a member of the pioneer organization in the 3rd grade. I remember them gathering us all in the hall, and we all aligned. There was a bust of Lenin and everything was very official. They told us about Pavlik Morozov 16, the main pioneer, and we tied up our red neck kerchiefs. We were happy. This was such a great event! They told us to study well to be accepted into the pioneer organization. Our parents didn't care about us becoming pioneers.

We knew everything that was going on at the front. We knew the commanding officers and the marshals. We knew that Zhukov [Marshall of the USSR, played a leading role in gaining victory in the Great Patriotic War] showing up on some front meant victory. At that time the novel Timur and his team by Gaidar, was very popular. We were timurovtsy 17. We helped people who were alone or old people. Then we got together and shared what we had done. At some place I fetched some water, in another place I lit a fire in the fire place, etc. This was all discussed. But somehow it wasn't associated with the pioneer organization. We made tents or little huts and we were kind of different from the others. Our parents complimented us for this assistance.

After the War

As soon as Kiev was liberated we started preparations to leave for Kiev. We were back before the new academic year - in summer 1944. We traveled via Moscow - mama, papa and I. Sarra joined us later. We didn't have a dwelling in Kiev - our apartment was ruined. At first we lived on 3, Kruglouniversitetskaya Street. Then it was Krutoi Spusk Street, where we lived on the first floor, on the side of the yard. It was an amazing building, a real Kiev building, that is the neighbors felt and lived like a big family, shared things and supported one another. Rosa Sheitskaya, my friend, lived in the same building. I remember well one Ukrainian family - they were a very nice family. They got along well with everyone. We had a small room, 14.5 square meters. We had no neighbors, though. 1.5 meters were separated for gas storage. The apartment had very thick walls, and I could sleep on the window sill because it was so wide. Then we took my sister away from the hospital, so there were four of us living there.

My father continued working in commerce. He was the director of a vegetable storage base in Podol 18. He didn't work there long.

I studied in school #78, which was high standard. It was located in Pechersk, beside it there were mansions and ministries. Therefore I studied with the girls from ministry employees and the party elite. At that time girls and boys studied separately. There were Jewish children at the school but I didn't feel any discrimination. There weren't many Jewish teachers. One of them was our history teacher Isaak Lvovich and we all dreamed of having him teach us. He taught about the history of the USSR. Not once did I witness any anti- Semitism in all these years. I didn't even feel that nationality was of any significance when at school. The teachers treated me very nicely. When boys or girls in the streets tried to abuse me somehow, I would fight back since I was a strong girl. I was a big patriot and an active Komsomol member, although I knew what had been happening in the 1930s. When at school I heard a lot from my sister, she told me about things, and one of the things she told me about was Lenin's testament. But I still thought that if Lenin had been alive things would have been all right. It wasn't much that I knew about Lenin, so I blamed Stalin for everything. Only later, when I had to deal with things like these, I changed my mind.

I believed that communism was good, that we had a wonderful constitution, that everything was fine. I remember well the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 19. I remember that I didn't quite believe that it was all against Jews. I remember mama preparing for the expulsion of the Jews. Mama understood everything. Once she bought three Orenburg headscarves - warm woolen headscarf to be worn in winter. We never wore headscarves. She explained to us that we were supposed to depart and needed something warm. And she ordered three pairs of warm, fur-lined heavy boots. She was preparing for departure and I rebelled and said that it couldn't be, and that she just heard some rumors.

I became aware of the struggle against cosmopolitism in the institute. At that time KPI [Kiev Polytechnical Institute] proved that it was no better than university. Everything always started at university. But I knew what was going on at university because Sarra studied there. There was a girl there - Gershunina. Her father was a general and there were weapons in the house. She wasn't Jewish. Then all of a sudden that girl committed suicide. Back then they thought that girls who lost their virginity could do that. But they said it happened because she attended some nationalistic meeting and was afraid. Then there was Reznik - they declared him a cosmopolitan, put his daughter in prison and killed him. He was a lecturer at the university. Then there was a young and very intelligent man studying with Sarra called Edinger. The works by Lenin and Stalin were discussed in the faculty of philosophy. When they were discussing one of Stalin's works Edinger said that he didn't think there was anything new in that work, that it was a repetition of what Lenin had said. But at least he was smart enough to go home and tell his family about what had happened. His parents put him on the train immediately and sent him to their relatives.

My sister entered university in 1947. One probably had to be a Gestapo man to reject my sister being accepted to university. [Editor's note: The term Gestapo man was used as a nickname for someone extremely cruel.] With her disease, and the signs of it were visible, and with her knowledge I can't imagine what kind of person could have rejected her. One could tell that she had bone tuberculosis. After she came out of hospital she wore a corset for three years; a plaster corset at first and a leather one later. The corset reached from her waist to the root of her hair. Mama used to take her to classes and pick her up again. My sister was very smart, they listened to her, she went to the academic library, read books in the original language and could read between the lines, as they say. She couldn't go to discotheques or meet with boys, so, she spent all her time reading. Afterwards she told me the contents of what she had read. She gave me to read whatever she could.

I was shocked when I encountered anti-Semitism during my entrance period to university. I couldn't imagine anything like that existed. I finished school with a gold medal. At that time this was sufficient to enter a higher educational institution without taking exams. So I submitted my documents to University. I wanted to study at the economy department. I liked The Capital by Karl Marx. In general, I was a girl with high ideological principles and very intelligent. When at school I read works by philosophers, Kampanella, etc. I was familiar with this subject and wished to continue studying it. I submitted my documents and was rejected. They told me that I didn't make it. I have always been a fighter, so I made my way to the office of Bondarchuk, the rector. I went into his office and said, 'Competition! But we are out of any competition! Nobody called me in, nobody talked to me, I didn't take any exams. I submitted my documents, I have a gold medal - that should be it!' He said to me, 'It's because you are a Jew. We are only supposed to accept a certain percentage of Jews'. He said it openly. I went numb. This was the first case of anti-Semitism I experienced in my life. It had happened before that somebody would say 'zhydovka' and my response would be punching him with my fist. But nothing like that had ever happened in my life before. I left the rector's office. But with my high ideological principles and my faith in our system and justice I couldn't leave it at that. So I sat down and wrote a letter to Stalin without speaking to my parents.

It was a month or a month and a half later that I received a response from Stalin's reception office. Mine was a copy; the original letter was sent to the rector of the university. It said that nothing like that could possibly exist in our country. And they requested the rector to look into this issue personally, although I had written to them that it was the rector in person who had said that to me. My parents were horrified, when that response came, because everything could have ended in a very different way. If they had known, they would have sent me away from Kiev that very same day.

The rector of the university invited me to an interview. He asked where I studied and said that I should pass the exams of the term and then I could be transferred to university. But I was too indignant and proud and told him that I wouldn't study in their anti-Semitic university. This was the end of that issue. Nevertheless, I didn't want to study at the Economy Department and entered KPI the following year. I studied well. But that was the time of the struggle against cosmopolitism and it also echoed at Kiev Polytechnical Institute. I faced it for the second time, when they wanted to expel Jews from the Komsomol first and then, consequently, from the institute. All those students were Jewish. As we didn't have such serious things as discussions of Stalin's works they were picking on anything they could.

I remember Stalin's death. First I was happy because my father was taken away and under investigation then. And it was my prior intention to let him know about Stalin's death. Secondly, I felt happy that Stalin had died. But I learned so well to conceal my feelings that one couldn't tell anything by my looks, neither happiness nor grief.

My father was arrested in 1952 on the charge of squandering. A big case was being prepared then and they wanted to cook up a counter- revolution. He wasn't alone, there was a group of them, 25 people, which was even worse. The manager of that office wasn't Jewish. The rest of them were Jews. My father's charge was that he named the amount lost and how much was to be covered. He participated in it. This case lasted long. After 15 years in prison he started collecting certificates from people, stating how much he owed and to whom. They all gave him a signed piece of paper and it turned out that he didn't owe anything to anybody. This means that this whole case was built on sand. There were no debts and no embezzlement, but there was a very big case. They were even going to enforce the death sentence to some of them but it was abolished then.

I remember well how they arrested him. They came to his workplace, he called home from there, but didn't return home on that day. And they sealed off his workplace and started searching. They took him to his workplace and then they took him away. He had to transfer his office to his replacement. The process lasted two weeks, and during those two weeks I went to his workplace and brought him some food and could see him when he was escorted past me. Mama had to steal away. They said then that wives would be arrested, too. I saw her secretly.

Then they came one day and took me away to a mansion in Pechersk, and into an office. And then they brought my father in there. My father was all swollen up, I couldn't understand what had happened to him. Stalin had died and I wanted to let him know somehow. I said to him, 'Our country is undergoing great changes. We all hope for the better'. I was interrupted right away. The investigation officer was Jewish; I could tell from his surname. He made such a hullabaloo to prevent me from saying too much. Papa said, 'Give them all our valuables'. We didn't have anything of value. My sister and I had a ring, a pendant and a watch each, and mama only had her wedding ring. I said, 'Papa, what can I give away? I don't have anything! I pawned everything we had. We had to live somehow! I have the receipt'. But he kept saying, 'Give away everything. Here, this officer will go with you and you give him everything'. 'All right', I said.

The officer and I made the rounds of our relatives, my father must have given them their addresses. I entered and said right away, 'Aunt Etlia, give them all your valuables, please'. She was staring at me. 'Do you have anything that belongs to us? Give it to them!' - 'But I don't have anything!', she replied. I went on, 'You have nothing that is ours? Then give them something of yours, so that they leave me alone! Because they demand that I give them something but I don't have anything except my gold medal!' She still didn't understand what this was all about. Shurik, her younger son, was playing with his watch, so I said, 'There! There is a broken watch - give it to them!' The officer didn't take it. That way we made the rounds of all our relatives. They had to make sure that we hadn't hidden anything at anybody's place. Then our trip was over because we really didn't hide anything.

They took me back and then there was a trial. I attended the court hearing; it was very hard. Sarra worked in Khmelnitskiy at that time and mama was away all the time. Therefore I brought my father parcels and tried to have him see me, to let him know that we were fine. Reality very soon destroyed my youngster's illusions. After my father had been arrested I went to the Komsomol leader at the institute and told him about it. He said, 'So what? Firstly, he hasn't been convicted yet, and, secondly, are you going to announce this at every opportunity now?' I said to him, 'Well, I just wanted to let you know, that's it'. Later, when the second wave of expels came, I was swept over by it for the reason that I concealed the fact of my father's arrest. However, my co-students at KPI were fighting for every person. We won and nobody got expelled. Only one person from the list was expelled for the reason that he smiled at the announcement of Stalin's death.

This was a difficult time. Mama didn't work and was hiding away. I didn't eat enough. There had to be something to keep me alive, and it was my future husband, Alexei Dmitriyevich Kaluzhniy, or Alyosha as I call him, who supported me. He came to the classes, and during the first break he stated that he hadn't had breakfast yet, unwrapped a huge package and said, 'Zina, let's have breakfast'. I accepted it, and we ate his huge breakfast. In the afternoon I walked to Volodarskogo Street for dinner at his aunt's. As for dinner - I cannot remember whether there really was any food though. I was a thin girl. As for mama - I don't know what she was eating. Later, after the court hearing, mama took a job at some dressmaker's shop; she was sewing underwear. In the evening she brought home bras and we sewed buttons onto them.

Alyosha helped us sewing on buttons. Mama thought nicely of him. After my father's arrest they stopped people coming close to our home and interrogated them. We were spied on. So all my admirers disappeared immediately. I valued highly how my husband treated me then. My mother liked Alyosha very much, but such a 'present', that is a second 'goy' in the family because he's Ukrainian was terrible. She was very afraid of papa's reaction. So, she said to me, 'You know, Zina, you will graduate from the institute, go on your [mandatory job] assignment 20 and you will get married there. Then I will tell papa that I had nothing to do with it'. But everything turned out to be much easier when papa returned because he accepted Alyosha.

Alyosha comes from an intelligent family. His ancestors were Cossacks 21. On his father's side they were a well-to-do family. And their grandparents on his mother's side were well-off, too. When the dispossession of the kulaks 22 began, they left their village for Dnepropetrovsk. His mother got higher education there. She was a candidate of Chemical Sciences at the Academy of Sciences. Her second husband was also a teacher; he worked in a military college. They didn't want Alyosha to marry a Jewish girl. They didn't accept me and we didn't keep in touch. Alyosha left his home before we got married. He stayed away from home for a year, we finished our studies and got married. Life was difficult, we hardly had anything, as our belongings had been confiscated. [Editor's note: if a member of the family was arrested, the Soviet authorities also confiscated the family's possessions.] Alyosha took nothing from his home. We bought a mattress and placed it on four chocks. We had to start from scratch.

I started working in 1956. Kievpribor plant was hiring young specialists then. They needed 180 employees. Their representatives came to the KPI human resource department in search of specialists. They didn't want to employ me, but they took Alyosha's documents for review. He was called in for an interview with the director. My husband told them that he couldn't take this job. 'Why?', they asked. 'I'm married', he said. 'Well, in that case, your wife is hired, too', they replied. So that way I was hired, too and worked at Kievpribor all my life. At first I worked in the energy department, then I was transferred to the design office. I worked there as a designer for 15 years and then went to the standardization department. In total I worked at this plant for 33 years.

We earned little money, but our life was gradually improving. We all lived in harmony. At first we lived with my mama, then we got a child and later my sister joined us. And we all lived in that one room, 14 and a half square meters, and there were no rows or arguments. Then we received a one-bedroom apartment. We exchanged our room and this one- bedroom apartment for a two-bedroom apartment. My father returned and we continued living in peace. We lived like that for three years, and then we got ourselves a cooperative apartment. We left the two-bedroom apartment to my sister and my parents and moved into our cooperative apartment.

My father was in prison, which was a camp at the same time - prisoners were sent out to work in the woods and those who weren't strong enough stayed and worked in the camp in Soswa, Sverdlovsk region, for 15 yeas. It was located behind the Urals. It was a small village. I visited him there. The roads were planked with wood, there was terrible frost, but the people were friendly. I came to this prison, and the director gave us three days to spend together. My father did everything there, including dentistry. He was a dentist assistant. People treated him well. He loved life. There was always music in our home and records, and dancing. He was always the entertainer at weddings. So, he easily found a common language with the management and convicts in the camp. They didn't send him into the wood, he stayed in the camp. My father didn't tell us about the prison camp. He tried to forget it. Only rarely he would mention something, but never - about preliminary investigation. I tried to ask him but he wouldn't say a word.

Although my husband wasn't a Jew we still observed Jewish traditions. First Alyosha was surprised about some things. He couldn't get used to stuffed fish, for instance. Then he finally took to liking it. I don't cook Ukrainian food like his grandmother did. So, he likes to eat when we visit people. His eating manners are the same as they were in his childhood. At home I always give him a fork and a spoon at the table. But at the end of the meal he always returns a clean fork, as he eats with his spoon. After getting married I started buying pork because he likes pork. But he doesn't mind veal or beef either. He is very patriotic, he loves Ukraine and everything Ukrainian. But with due respect of each other and different traditions and habits there can be no conflicts. Whatever one likes is good.

Our son Alexander, or Sasha as we call him, was born in 1957. When I got a son, I couldn't afford to leave work for good. There were two months of maternity leave, one month vacation, and one month vacation saved from the previous year. That made four months altogether and then I had to go back to work. Mama arranged for herself to only work one shift. I arranged to work without lunch break. When I came home she had already left. So, mama wrapped my son into a blanket, put him to sleep and placed his pram under the balcony of our neighbor's, right next to her window. Sasha was sleeping and I took him home when I came back from work. And the neighbor watched him all this time. If there was trouble she took him to her place, changed his nappy and the like.

Sasha was an ordinary boy. His friend was the neighbor's boy, Kostia, who was also a good boy. Once Sasha came home and whispered to me, 'Kostia doesn't want to be my friend'. 'Why? I asked. 'I called him zhyd [kike]', he replied. I was paralyzed with horror. I said to him, 'Kostia is a Jew. Only bad people say zhyd. But at least he is a Jew whereas you are nobody.' He asked, 'How come?' and I replied, 'Your papa is Ukrainian and your mama is Jewish. So you are a nobody'. He was confused. Then I decided to draw his attention to this issue. At that time Kuznetsov's 23 Babi Yar was published, so I told Kostia about it all, and then I gradually introduced him to the Jewish history. I got the World History of the Jewish People by Simon Dubnow 24. I made some notes. As nobody knew about it, I decided to type it. We had a typewriter at home and Sasha and I were typing my notes. As a result, Sasha knew about the history of the Jewish people and their traditions very well.

He was raised Jewish, although not religiously, and with all respect to his Ukrainian origin. We all respected and accepted each other. My son's wife is Jewish. Of course, deep down in my heart I wanted him to marry a Jewish girl, but I thought I didn't have the right to decide. So I'm happy he did. My sister had books of the well-known writer Schopenhauer 25; three volumes. She said, 'Sasha, they will be yours if you marry a Jewish girl". Of course this wasn't the reason why he got married to a Jewish girl. He simply fell in love with a Jewish girl, but at least he got close to the Jewry that way.

Our son was 13 when his grandfather returned. It was the most difficult thing to have them get used to one another. It took a lot of effort on everybody's part. It took about half a year, or maybe even longer. The difficulties lay in the behavior and manner of speaking. My son was used to a different manner of speaking; he didn't understand how a person could spit on the floor, and my father had forgotten what a normal life was like. But gradually it all improved, my son realized what his grandfather had gone through.

When my father returned he continued going to the synagogue. My father died on 2nd December 1990. In his last years we went to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But he couldn't go there by himself. He went to the synagogue by taxi in the last three years of his life, and I brought him back. He was very proud to introduce his daughter to people. He liked the fact that his daughter was at the synagogue. And they allowed me to sit beside my father in the synagogue, along with his childhood friend Iosiph Mats. My father was happy. I have a special feeling when it comes to the synagogue. I don't go there but I would like to go there. I've heard psalms since my childhood. Iosiph used to sing them whenever he visited us.

Being Jewish didn't really interfere with my life. I never regretted being Jewish. I encountered anti-Semitism when I took my entrance exams to the institute, and another time when my boss told me she wanted me to be her deputy. She was told that it wasn't possible. I didn't feel sorry about it. I lived behind my husband's back, and we earned all right for that time. And that was all I wanted. Therefore, I cannot say that I had any problems in this regard. But once my husband had a problem. They didn't allow him to go abroad. They explained to him that it was because his wife was Jewish. My Jewry was of no assistance to me either, until we became very poor. Then Hesed and Joint 26 started supporting us.

Of course, I dreamed about a different career. I could have chosen a different way. In this respect my Jewry interfered, of course. They once even cut my wings after this incident with my entering the institute. I lost faith in myself. My husband made a good career for a person without any support from 'above'. He defended his dissertation and became a candidate of sciences. He got promoted at work. But he decided he didn't care about titles. His degree allowed him an additional 100 rubles to his salary. I also wanted a quiet life after all we had gone through. We were content with what we had. We could only afford to go to a restaurant once or twice a year in Kiev. But we could afford to go to any theater, any performance of a theater on tour in Kiev. And buying a pair of shoes or a suit wasn't a problem either.

We also had many hobbies. My husband has always been very fond of music. He plays the guitar, and participated in amateur performances at the institute. He went in for sports. I was also fond of sports when I studied at the institute, but then I gave it up. My family and son were enough for me. We liked swimming, and my husband was very fond of skiing, he went skiing to the Carpathian Mountains in winter and took me with him. We often had guests at home. My son was a gifted boy, but he got ill in his teens. He spent almost a year in the same sanatorium where my sister had spent so many years. He studied a lot and finished the faculty of mathematics at university. He is a candidate of mathematical sciences and lectures at Solomon University at present.

I keep in touch with my relatives. I've found my relatives that had left in the 1920s. I've been to America to visit my two cousins. We went to my grandparent's grave there. I saw my cousin's son. My cousin was in a different country then. We correspond with those that emigrated. This year my last cousin died.

My sister Sarra died a long time ago. She was more patriotic than I. If she could she would have taken the first chance to move to Israel. Whenever she found out that somebody was a Jew she would tell me. She also made notes. Now we have a book of 'Famous Jewish people', but I had more names written down. Sarra always told me what new she learned about the Jews. I'm very glad that Sarra attended the first Jewish concerts at GVF [Institute of Civil Aviation] Institute. There was already a rabbi there at the time. The whole family went there: papa, myself, Sarra and Sasha. And Sarra was translating a little for us.

Sarra worked as a teacher all her life. She taught logistics and psychology first and then chemistry and mathematics. She changed her profession, as she couldn't find a job. All those who had a philosophical education took to public activities or teaching history. One could only teach history if a party member. And we never wanted to be party members. Sarra was a very smart woman and she reacted promptly to everything. What took me three days to grasp she got in three minutes. If somebody said something to her at the pedagogical council, and it was touching her indirectly, she would retort in such manner that they wouldn't want to speak against her again. It was noticeable that she had been ill, therefore, people were feeling sorry for her. I think, she was treated well.

Many of my relatives and friends moved to other countries for good, but I had made up my mind on this question a long time ago - the remains of my dear parents and all my close ones are buried here and I will always live here.

My granddaughter Lubov studied in a Jewish school for five years. She is a 4th-year student at KPI now and studies well. May God give her happiness. As for my son, I only wish him health and lots of it. My family has always been doing okay, but it has always been health that we lacked.

Glossary

Dora Slobodianskaya
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: November 2002

Dora Slobodianskaya lives in a big three-bedroom apartment in the center of Chernovtsy with her husband Boris and granddaughter Marina. Dora is a tiny woman with nicely done gray hair. She is a very sociable lady and still takes an active part in public life regardless of her age. She prepares material for the monthly radio program of 'Dos Yidishe Wort'. Besides Dora collects information about victims of the Holocaust and sends questionnaires that she fills in to Yad Vashem 1. She is fond of Jewish folk songs, which she collects and sings in the Veteran Club in Hesed. Dora also reads a lot.

My parents and their families came from the Moldavian town of Faleshty. It was a small town in Bessarabia 2. Before 1918 it belonged to Russia. After World War I Faleshty became part of Romania. The majority of its population was Moldavian and Jewish, but there were also Russians and Ukrainians. A church and a choir synagogue were in the main square. The choir synagogue was the biggest and most beautiful of all the synagogues in town and was attended by wealthy Jews and local Jewish intellectuals. There were several smaller synagogues around town. There was a cheder as well as Romanian secondary schools. Jews lived in the center of town. Moldavians, for the most part, lived on the outskirts of town where land was less expensive. They had big orchards and vineyards. There were never any pogroms] or even minor conflicts between the different nationalities in Faleshty. There was a spring on the outskirts of town. Water was delivered by a horse-driven cart with a huge barrel filled with water from that spring. There was a barrel in the corner of my father's shop, which the water carrier filled with water. We paid him for this service.

Power supply was provided in 1938. Before then there were kerosene lamps to light the houses. We had nice bronze kerosene lamps in the house. Before holidays these lamps were polished with chalk. There were cobblestone pavements and ground sidewalks in Faleshty. Owners of houses swept and cleaned the area near their houses. There was a lot of mud when it rained and people wore knee-high rubber boots.

My grandfather on my father's side, Aron-Itzyk Melman, was born in the late 1860s. His family came from Faleshty. My grandfather was the youngest in the family. His brothers and sisters moved to the US, Palestine and Argentina at the end of the 19thXIX century. My grandfather was a short slim man with a well-groomed beard. He always wore a long black jacket. He wore a kippah at home, but he put on a black hat when he left home. My grandfather was a very nice and kind man. He died of pneumonia in 1938 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Faleshty. My grandmother, Dvoira Melman, also came from Faleshty. She was born in the 1870s.

My grandfather was a shahmmash in the main synagogue. My grandmother was a housewife. My grandfather didn't earn much, and she had to do her best to make ends meet. They lived in a small house near the synagogue in the center of town. There was a small shed and a toilet in the backyard. They were a very religious family. They observed all Jewish traditions, celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays and followed the kashrut. My grandfather was a well-respected man in Faleshty. When somebody needed to borrow money he was asked to be a guarantor between the parties. He took the responsibility to pay back a debt in case a debtor wasn't able to do so, but my father told me that it never came that far. My grandfather charged some interest for his service.

My grandparents had three sons and a daughter. The oldest, Motl, was born in 1897, my father, Wolf, in 1901, Zeilik in 1903 and Feige in 1905. The boys finished cheder. Feige was educated at home; her brothers and parents taught her mathematics and how to read and write in Yiddish. My father didn't tell me much about his childhood - he was a taciturn man and didn't like to recall the past.

My grandfather didn't remarry after my grandmother's death in 1912. Other relatives helped him to raise the children. The sons studied crafts after they finished cheder. Motl got involved in farming and Zeilik became a shoemaker. When they were old enough they got married. They had traditional Jewish weddings in a synagogue. They started their own businesses. Motl and his family moved to Kalineshty village. Motl and his wife Rekhl had five children: Srul, Khona, Reizl and the twins Khova and Moishe. They perished when the Germans occupied Kalineshty in 1941. Zeilik, his wife and two sons managed to evacuate. After the war they settled down in Chernovtsy. Zeilik died in Chernovtsy in the 1960s. His sons are doing well. They graduated from a construction institute and work as engineers for private companies. They are both married and have adult children. Feige married Yekhil Rozhansky, a shoemaker. They had two daughters. I don't remember the older daughter's name. The younger one, Tube-Rekhl, and I were the same age. Feige, her husband and both daughters were shot by the fascists in Faleshty in 1941.

After finishing cheder at the age of 11 my father studied to become a fur specialist. His tutor, Shloime Shnaiderman, lived in the same neighborhood. He was my mother's father, my future grandfather. He was born in Faleshty in the 1870s. His wife, Perl Shnaiderman, also came from Faleshty and was the same age as my grandfather. He was a fur specialist. He bought sheep and lambskin from farmers and made hats and other things of fur. There were two or three employees and a few apprentices in his shop. My grandmother was a housewife. The shop was in their house.

They had seven children: five daughters and two sons. My mother, Golda, was born in 1905. She was the oldest in the family. The next child, Nehama, was born around 1907, Mindl in 1910 and Sheindl in 1913. Then came two sons: Yankel, born in 1916, and Shmil, born in 1918. Khaya, the youngest in the family, was born in 1922. The boys studied at cheder, the daughters were educated at home. They had a teacher from cheder who taught them Hebrew, Yiddish, the Torah and Talmud, history, literature and mathematics. They spoke Yiddish at home.

The family was religious. They observed Jewish traditions. My grandmother strictly followed the kashrut. She had separate utensils and tableware for meat and dairy products, and different pieces of cloth for washing dishes for meat and dairy products. They celebrated Sabbath. On Friday mornings my grandmother began to cook food for Saturday. She baked challah bread in the Russian stove 3, made carrot tsimes, gefilte fish and clear chicken soup. She left pots with food in the oven to keep the food warm. She made Jewish stew, cholent and chicken. My grandmother baked delicious strudels and honey cake - the best I've ever had in my life. On Saturdays my grandparents dressed up to go to the synagogue. When they returned my grandfather read the Torah and prayed.

Their daughters cleaned and washed the house thoroughly before Pesach. They walked the rooms with a candle looking for chametz, breadcrumbs. My grandmother and her daughters took fancy dishes down from the attic to use them on Pesach and put utensils for everyday use in the attic. They ordered matzsah at the synagogue, which was delivered in white cloth bags. They ate matzsah during Pesach, and my grandmother baked pastries from matzah and matszah flour. She made chicken broth, gefilte fish and matzsah and potato puddings. She always made strudels, honey cakes and cookies. My grandfather conducted seder on the first night of Pesach.

After the October Revolution of 1917 4 in Russia, young Jewish people in Romania became very fond of revolutionary ideas. My mother's sister Mindl became a member of an underground revolutionary group. Members of this group studied works by Marx and Lenin, distributed flyers with communist ideas and arranged parades on 1st May . The Romanian police had lists of young people involved in revolutionary activities. Every year before 1st May there was a search in my grandfather's house. Policemen were looking for underground books or posters, which they never found. The other children didn't share Mindl's enthusiasm. My mother's younger brother, Yankel, was a shoemaker. Shmil and Khaya finished a course of tractor drivers and began to work in a tractor crew. Before the war Khaya married Pinia Kislyuk, a Jewish man from Faleshty, who was also a tractor driver. Yankel and Shmil were single.

My father met my mother when he became an apprentice to my mother's father at the age of 11. My mother was 7 years old then. When they grew up they fell in love with one another. Grandfather Shloime gave his consent to their marriage. They got married in 1924 when my mother was 19 and my father 23 years old. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. Two years after the wedding my father bought a house from a Jewish family that moved to Argentina. The house was in the main street of town. When my father bought the house he quit his job in my grandfather's shop and opened his own leather shop. He purchased black and gray sheep and lambskin from farmers in the neighboring villages. He put sheepskin in a tanning solution that had a terrible smell. Afterwards the sheepskins were dried in the yard. When they were dry my father removed the inner layer of the leather and treated the skins with a fur polishing solution. Then they were placed in a big drum with sawdust. It had to be rolled with a handle for 12 hours before the sheepskins were ready for further handling. They were brushed and then my father made hats, collars and coats. He had a special sewing machine for leather. After the harvest in the fall Moldavians came to buy hats from my father. My father had two to three apprentices. They learned at his place for a couple of years and after their apprenticeship my father paid them for their work.

Jews settled down in central parts of towns because they were tradesmen and craftsmen in their majority and had more business opportunities and clients, if they lived close to the center. Land was expensive and the cost of a house was based on the width of the façade of the house. Therefore, Jews made facades of their houses narrow to reduce the cost. Our house was like this - built with its narrow façade facing the street and advancing into the backyard with its wide part. The rooms were in a row and accessible from a long hallway. The first and biggest room was my father's shop. The next one was the dining room, then came the kitchen, my parents' bedroom, a nursery room and a living room. There was a door to the backyard leading onto a verandah annexed to the back of the house. There was a cellar where my mother stored eggplants, carrots and parsley during winter. She also kept tinned vegetables and fruit. There was a big shed in the backyard of the house. My father bought wheat in the fall and kept it in this shed. There was a toilet behind the shed. We had several fruit trees in the backyard. There was a fence around the house and a gate with a lock. My father's sister Feige, her husband and two daughters lived in the same neighborhood.

I was born in this house in 1930. I was named Dvoira but was always called Dora. My mother's grandmother Esther moved in with us after I was born. She was widowed a long time before. My great-grandmother was the oldest in the family and had helped her mother to raise her brothers and sisters. When she joined us she helped my mother to raise my brother and me.

My brother was born in 1933. He was named Shmil. I was very jealous of him because I was told that I was his older sister, and I thought that I was no longer a child and my parents were going to give me less of their love. I remember the ritual of circumcision of my brother. Actually, I don't recall the ritual as such. All I remember is that there was a rabbi and many old Jewish men with long gray beards. I also remember the party. Many children were invited and there was a wooden baby cradle full of candy in the yard. When the cradle was rocked candies fell out and children picked them up. My father hired klezmer musicians, who played Jewish music. Guests danced and enjoyed themselves.

My great-grandmother always wore black clothes. She wore a black kerchief over a white kerchief. My grandmother told me that when my great- grandmother got married she had her hair shaved and began to wear a wig. Once my great-grandmother went to visit my grandmother Perl and fell ill there. She wanted to be taken back to our home, so my father went to pick her up. He also brought a doctor to examine her. She had pneumonia. She was ill for several weeks before she died in 1936. She was about 100 years old. She was buried in accordance with Jewish traditions in the Jewish cemetery in Faleshty. This was the first time I saw a Jewish funeral. My great- grandmother lay on straw in the room. All relatives were sitting around her crying. They had their shoes off. My great-grandmother was wrapped into a white shroud.

We also had a housemaid, a Jewish girl from a poor family. She did all the housework, worked from morning till night, and my mother paid her. My mother followed the kashrut. We spoke Yiddish at home. My parents were religious. On Saturdays and on Jewish holidays they went to the synagogue. My father had a black suit and a black hat that he only wore when he went to the synagogue. Women had to wear black clothes to the synagogue. My mother had two fancy black dresses, a silk dress and a woolen one, as well as a silk shawl.

We always celebrated Shabbath at home. My mother made dough for challah bread in a big bowl on Friday mornings and went to the market to do some shopping. When she returned she started baking challahhala bread. She always made gefilte fish and chicken broth. After she took the challahhala bread out of the oven she put Jewish stew with meat, potatoes and beans in a ceramic pot into the oven. It stayed there until lunch on Saturday. It wasn't allowed to heat food or do any work on Saturdays, but the food was kept warm until the next day that way. A Moldavian farmer, who lived on the outskirts of town, came to all Jewish houses in our neighborhood to light kerosene lamps and stoke stoves. Jewish families paid him for doing this. He was paid on other days because it was forbidden to touch money on Saturdays. In the evening the family got together for the ritual of lighting candles. My mother wore her best gown and said a prayer over the candles before she lit them. Then a general prayer for the health and wealth of all those that were dear to us followed, and afterwards the family sat down for dinner. We had silver shot glasses for festive dinners. My father drank a shot of vodka and my mother brought fish sprayed with herbs in from the kitchen. After dinner my father read the Torah to the family.

Pesach was my favorite holiday. Long before Pesach my mother and the housemaid began with the cleaning of the house. Furniture was removed from all the rooms to paint the walls and wash the floors. The house was shining before the holiday. My brother and I went around the house with a candle and chicken feather looking for breadcrumbs. We swept whatever we found on a sheet of paper, and later it was burned in the stove. Fancy dishes were taken from the attic and everyday utensils were taken away.

A Jewish bakery in Faleshty stopped baking bread to make matzah for Pesach. A rabbi had to inspect the bakery and issue a certificate to confirm that any bread or dough with yeast had been removed. Matszah was put into 10 kilo linen bags to be delivered to Jewish homes. Every family needed a lot of matzah because it wasn't allowed to eat bread for the eight days at Pesach. Pastries were also made of matzah flour. My mother bought live chickens and geese from farmers and took them to the shochet. Goose skin and fat were melted in a frying pan, and afterwards onions were fried in it. My mother made chicken broth and added finely cut matzah. She also made goose stew and gefilte fish. My mother made delicious strudels with nuts and jam, honey cakes and little round cookies that melted in the mouth. On the first evening of Pesach my father conducted seder. The table was laid with a snow-white tablecloth. Traditional food, wine and beautiful high silver wine glasses with engraved Stars of David were sitting on the table. There was always one extra wine glass for Elijah, the Prophet2. My mother told us that he came to every Jewish house to bless it. During seder everyone had to drink four glasses of wine. When my brother and I were small we were given water with a drop of wine in it. On the other days of Pesach we went to visit relatives or had guests at home. My father's shop was closed and his apprentices left to see their families.

On Yom Kippur the family fasted. Children were supposed to fast from the age of 5. My mother was always upset because we were so thin. On other days she worked to give us more food while during the fast she begged us to be patient and wait until the fast was over. She told us that God would bless us with a good year for our patience. Before holidays our relatives and acquaintances came to ask forgiveness for intentional and unintentional insults. My parents also made the rounds of other homes asking forgiveness. Christians have a different theory - repent and God will forgive you - but Jews believed that God couldn't forgive people. We always had the ritual of kapores conducted before Yom Kippur. My mother bought white hens for herself and me and white roosters for my father and brother. It was necessary to roll the hens over our head and say a prayer repeating the words, 'May you be my atonement'. My mother was very serious about the kapores.

Before the harvest holiday of Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard - he installed posts and we twined them with branches. The roof was also made of branches and decorated with ribbons. There was a table in the sukkah, and we had meals there during the whole period of Sukkot. On Chanukkah all children got Chanukkah money. Another favorite holiday of mine was Purim when my mother made hamantashen. Every family sent messengers with shelakhmones, gifts for their relatives, friends and neighbors, and they also received gifts from them. Performances were arranged in the main square. People dressed in Purimshpil costumes made the rounds of Jewish homes with their performances and got some money for it.

I attended a Jewish wedding for the first time in 1936. It was Aunt Mindl's wedding. Her fiancé, Avrum Kessler, shared Mindl's revolutionary convictions. They didn't want a traditional wedding with a rabbi, but the family convinced him that a traditional wedding was more of a tribute to traditions. They registered their marriage in the town hall and had a traditional Jewish wedding afterwards. Mindl was in my grandmother's home and wore a white dress and a bridal veil. Her friends were with her and the bridegroom and his friends were waiting in the house next-door. The bridegroom wore a black suit. They had the wedding in the yard of my grandmother's house. The bridegroom, his father and friends came to the house where the bride was waiting. A cantor from the synagogue sang a Jewish wedding song. The bride cried because she felt sad about saying goodbye to her girlhood.

Later everyone went into the yard where a chuppah covered with a crimson brocade with golden patterns had been set up. The bride and bridegroom were taken to the chuppah. A rabbi stood beside the chuppah. He said a prayer and the bridegroom said, 'I take you to be my wife'. Mindl and Avrum exchanged their rings, drank wine from a wine glass and broke the glass. Then they went around the chuppah seven times hand in hand, and the guests shouted 'Mazel tov!' [good luck]. Then the bride and bridegroom started a dance, and the others joined them. After dancing they sat at the table, which was full of traditional Jewish food: gefilte fish, chicken and goose stew. There was a lot of wine and a little vodka. Klezmer musicians were playing at the wedding. My mother's other sister, Sheindl, got married to Shaya Fishman in the winter. They had a chuppah installed in the synagogue. My mother's sister Nehama married Shopse Tirerman at the end of 1939, and they also had a Jewish wedding.

There were no Jewish schools in Faleshty. There was only cheder for boys. I started to study at a Romanian school for girls in 1937. We studied in Romanian. All children spoke fluent Romanian. There were many Jewish girls at this school. Our teachers were very strict. They punished us when we misbehaved - sometimes we even had to kneel in the corner. I have one sad memory associated with that period. When I was 10 or 11 my father believed I was big enough to have wine at seder. The next day I went to school. We had to learn a poem by heart, and I was called to recite it. After the mandatory four glasses of wine I had the night before, I couldn't remember one single line and burst into tears. Since then I've never had another drop of alcohol.

I had classes at school on Saturdays. When I came home my father played records of Jewish music. We had many records of Jewish secular and religious music, and wethey also hadve records of Moldavian and Romanian popular music. We often had guests. We sang, danced and told each other stories. Besides Jewish holidays we also celebrated the birthdays of family members. On these days my mother made a festive dinner, and our relatives and friends got together. After dinner adults had discussions or danced and children played in the yard or in the children's room.

My mother was very strict with us, children, but my father spoiled my brother and me. We always turned to him when we wanted something. There was a sausage store near our house, owned by a Moldavian man. There were pork sausages behind the shop-window that looked ever so delicious! How I wished to try them! We never had any pork at home. Once I ran into the store. The storeowner was a kind big man wearing a white gown. He asked me what I wanted. I felt like a criminal but I still bought a piece of pork sausage for my Chanukkah money. I ate it hiding behind the house. I became obsessed with the idea of buying sausage, and once I asked my father for some money and bought another piece of sausage. After that I began to ask my father for some money regularly. He was quite indulgent when he heard what I spent the money on, but my mother fainted when she heard the news - they heard it from our neighbor, who saw me in the store. My mother was shocked, but when she came back to her senses she said, 'Let that beanpole eat anything she wants, if she only gains some weight!' My mother was deeply concerned with my thinness. Every summer she took my brother and me to a resort in Zakarpatie. It was expensive. Sometimes we rented a room in a village. My brother and I spent a lot of time in the open air, and our mother made food for us. She used to say that children never felt hungry when there was a lot of food available, but if there were no food, they would ask for it. I often recalled these words later when I was in the ghetto.

I had finished the 3rd grade before Moldavia became part of the Soviet Union. In 1940 the USSR declared an ultimatum to Romania about the return of Bessarabia3, which became part of Romania in 19184. Romania agreed to transfer these areas. There was anarchy in our streets for three days after the Romanian army had left and the Soviet army hadn't arrived yet. Everyone came into the streets when the Romanian army was leaving. There were tables with bread, butter, sausage and new Moldavian wine in the streets. People liked the Romanians - life in town was good when they were in power. On 28th June 1940 everyone in town came out into the streets to meet the Red Army. According to Russian tradition the 'liberators' were met with bread and salt. We liked to see Russian soldiers talking to officers and addressing each other with the word 'comrade'. There was a strict subordination in the Romanian army, and it was hard to imagine anything like that.

The euphoria about the 'liberation' was over soon. There was a lack of food products in stores, and people were queuing to buy food. Bread in stores had a terrible taste. We were starving. Children and older people were starving to death. Due to the currency change one ruble was 40 lei, and we didn't have enough money to buy the most necessary things. People who moved here from the USSR were astonished how inexpensive life was in our area. A chicken cost 40 lei at the market. It was rather cheap for them while my father had to work a whole day to earn 40 lei. Many wealthier people, Zionists and even those that had been involved in revolutionary activities during the Romanian regime, were arrested and exiled. The Soviet power didn't touch my father since he only had a few apprentices in his shop and therefore wasn't considered an 'exploiter'.

A Russian school was opened in town. All Romanian schools were closed. We didn't know a single word in Russian, and our teacher didn't know Romanian. I was lucky that my parents knew Russian because they grew up in Faleshty when the town belonged to Russia. I became one of the first pioneers in Faleshty, which was a big honor for me.

On 22nd June 1941 the war [the so-called Great Patriotic War] 55 began. On Saturday night we were woken by the sound of distant explosions. We thought that this was another military training, which became a routine during the Soviet regime, but in the morning we heard that the war had started and that German and Romanian troops occupied Faleshty. We became captives. Aunt Khaya, her husband Pinia and my mother's brother Shmil went to a collective farm 6 before the war. Shmil was captured by the Germans, and we never heard from him again. He must have perished in captivity. Khaya and Pinia managed to escape. Pinia went to the front, and Khaya was in evacuation in the Ural. My mother's brother Yankel was in the army during that period and the rest of the family was at home.

At the end of June the Germans ordered all Jews in Faleshty to come to the main square. Communists and members of their families were taken away and shot. My grandfather Shloime, Aunt Sheindl and her one-year-old daughter Esther, my mother's pregnant sister Nehama, her husband Shopse and his mother, Rivke-Surah Tirerman, were shot that day. Shopse was ordered to dig a grave for his wife and mother before they were all shot. The Germans also shot my father's sister Feige, her husband Esil Rozhansky and their two daughters. About 200 people were killed that day. The rest of us were taken to the ghetto. Old people and children had to march with the rest of us. Mothers were carrying their babies. There were dogs trained to 'herd' people. When someone stepped aside from the group they attacked them and usually went for their throat. Those that got exhausted or couldn't catch up with the rest of us were shot or beaten to death with rifle-butts.

There were four of our family: my parents, my brother and I. My mother was pregnant. Our grandmother Perl, Aunt Mindl, who was also pregnant, and her husband Avrum were also with us. We went from Faleshty to Lymben, Marculesti and Kosoutsy, covering about 100 kilometers. We were allowed to rest for a few hours per day. Once we met German motorcyclists, and they began to photograph us. A Romanian gendarme who saw their craving for sensation, grabbed a baby from a woman and hit its head against the wheels of a cart. In Kosoutsy we were distributed to various ghettos. More than half of those that arrived in Kosoutsy were shot in Kosoutsy forest in one night.

We proceeded to Vinnitsa region: Yampol, Olshanka, Obodovka, Ustye. We stayed in Yampol overnight. My brother and I sat down on the ground. A Romanian officer asked us where we came from and how we happened to be in Yampol. We talked with him in Romanian. The officer ordered his fellow soldier to give us food. We couldn't stop eating. A Jewish ghetto was set up in Ustye village and fenced with barbed wire. The German troops moved on from Ustye, so the ghetto was guarded by Romanian gendarmes. We were accommodated in former cowsheds with ground floors covered with a thick layer of frozen manure. There was no heating and no door. We put some straw on the floor and slept there side by side. Men were taken to do road repairs every day. They didn't get paid and weren't given food for their work. The only way we could get food was to exchange clothing for food products in the village. My mother and I knitted socks, sweaters and mittens for villagers. They gave us yarn and paid us with food for our work. My brother Shmil fetched water and brushwood for villagers and helped them with the harvest in the fall.

The winter of 1941-42 was very cold. Many people died every day. Frozen corpses were stored in the anteroom of our dwelling. We passed by them every day, but all our emotions were gone. Sometimes the dead bodies stayed there for weeks, sometimes they were thrown into a pit near our barrack. I slept beside my grandmother Perl - she warmed me at night. One morning I woke up and she was dead. We lived in constant fear. Every week a few people were shot. Nobody knew who was going to be next.

My younger sister Rachel was born in the ghetto in March 1942. A few days later Aunt Mindl's daughter, Esphir, was born. All tenants of our barrack helped to raise the girls and brought us whatever they had. A woman living next-door taught me how to swaddle babies.

The Roumanians allowed inmates of the ghetto to go out, but no further than to the village. My mother and I went to villagers' houses to take their knitting orders. One winter day in 1942 my mother and I took a sweater to a woman, who lived on the outskirts of the village. She gave us a bottle of sunflower oil, salt and matches for our work. When she went out to see us off she suddenly pushed us back into the house. The woman told us that she saw a group of Jews accompanied by gendarmes in a convoy. She saved our life that time. Another incident happened in February 1943. My mother and I were on our way home with some potatoes and flour that we received for our work. We met an old villager who told us to come into his house immediately. He said that he had seen that Jews were being shot in the ghetto. We stayed in his house for several hours before he let us return to the ghetto. We found out that a Romanian soldier had disappeared and the Romanians shot 40 Jews in reprisal for him. There was another tragedy in the ghetto in May 1943. There was a German hospital in Vinnitsa where they kept wounded German soldiers from the front. They ran out of stocks of blood for blood transfusions. Some doctors from that hospital came to the ghetto, selected ten Jewish boys of 14-15 years of age with the required blood group, took their blood to the very last drop and left.

In the summer of 1943 a group of men, including my father and Mindl's husband, were sent to the construction of a bridge across the Dnieper river in Nikolaev. Before they left the ghetto the Romanians ordered all men to line up near the gate to the ghetto and then every tenth man had to step forward - in effect taking two steps towards death. They were hung on gallows erected along the fence. Our co-tenant, a Roumanian Jew, fell from the gallows three times, and every single time he was hung again. The rest of the men walked to Nikolaev, 300 kilometers from the ghetto. They lived in terrible conditions there. They were ordered to make holes in the ground and lived in those holes. The Germans provided one meal per day - they brought potatoes and threw them in a bowl with water. Prisoners starved and died of diseases and hard work. The Germans usually killed exhausted prisoners, but for some reason they let the group of my father go home. They probably thought the prisoners would die on the way anyway. My father was either dragging Uncle Avrum or carried him on his back all the way home. They managed to get back to the ghetto.

We didn't observe any Jewish traditions in the ghetto - life was too hard. Many people stopped believing in God. They couldn't believe that He would let these tragic things happen. We were living on the brink of hope that rescue would come. We were liberated on 24th March 1944 when the Soviet troops entered Ustye village. The Romanian troops had left the village two days before. We were in a state of stupor and nobody even tried to leave the ghetto before the Soviet troops arrived in the village. Then we started on our way home to Faleshty. We walked following the frontline. Sometimes we got into bombardments, sometimes we got a ride on villagers' carts and sometimes military trucks gave us a lift. We reached our house, which hadn't been ruined. Mindl, her husband, their daughter Esphir and our family settled down there.

In September 1944 I went to the 6th grade. When I turned 14 I became a Komsomol 7 member. I took part in all Komsomol activities, attended meetings and spoke at the meetings. My brother also went to school, and my father became a worker at the garment factory.

We went to Kalineshty village where my father's brother Motl and his family lived before the war. Their neighbors told us that his family perished at the very beginning of the war. We never got to know whether they were killed by the Germans or by locals - that might have happened, too. Aunt Sheindl was shot in Faleshty. Her husband, Shaya Fishman, survived. In the middle of June 1941 he went to see his relatives in Beltsy. He was arrested by the Roumanians there but pretended he was Georgian and they released him. He moved to Balta, Odessa region, and worked for a Romanian owner of a fur shop until the end of 1944. In 1944 he volunteered to go to the front to take revenge for his family. He was killed in action near Budapest. My mother's brothers, Shmil and Yankel, perished in captivity. We lost over 30 close and dozens of distant relatives during the war. There were only nine survivors of our families.

Pinia Kislyuk, Aunt Khaya's husband, was on the front during the war. After he demobilized he was sent to work at the railway station in Chernovtsy. In 1945 Khaya, Pinia and their son Arkadiy, born in the evacuation in the Ural in 1941, moved to live in Chernovtsy. Their daughter Nina was born after the war. Aunt Khaya was a housewife after the war. In the 1970s their family moved to Israel. Khaya died in Israel in 1991. Her daughter Nina, her husband and two children live in Beer-Sheva in Israel. Khaya's son Arkadiy and his family live in Canada. Mindl, her husband and their daughter also moved to Israel. Mindl died in Israel in the late 1990s.

I finished lower secondary school in Faleshty in June 1946. I wanted to continue my studies, but there were no higher educational institutions in Faleshty. My parents were thinking of moving to a bigger town with more Jews and more opportunities for us to study. They corresponded with Khaya and decided to move to Chernovtsy. When we arrived there we settled down in Pinia and Khaya's home. We liked the town. It was a beautiful town. Besides the majority of the population was Jewish. After the war one could hear people speaking Yiddish in the streets. There was a synagogue, a Jewish school and even a Jewish theater. Shortly after we arrived Pinia helped my parents to get two rooms in the basement of a house. We had to renovate them before we could live in them.

I went to the 9th grade of a Russian school. There was a Jewish school in town, but I intended to get a higher education and all higher educational institutions were Russian. I spoke fluent Russian by that time and had no problems with studying. I got along well with my classmates. Many of them were Jews. There was no anti-Semitism at that time. I finished school with a silver medal and entered the Faculty of Biology at Chernovtsy University in 1948. I was a first year student when the campaigns against cosmopolitans 8 began. This process involved scientists and cultural workers that were arrested and sent to camps. They were innocent people, and we understood that it was just a preparatory step before the authorities started persecuting all Jews. Jews were accused of propagating Zionism, espionage and God knows what. The word 'Zionist' became a curse- word at that time. Several Jewish lecturers were fired from university. The Jewish theater and Jewish school were closed. KGB informers patrolled the area near the synagogue. They didn't pay any attention to older Jews, but when they noticed a young man go into the synagogue they informed his management that he was under the influence of Zionism. At that time this might have resulted in dismissal or even arrest.

My father was a laborer at the garment factory. He had a low salary, but he had to go to work. There was a law against jobless people. They were called 'parasites', and militia offices were responsible for making them go to work. My father made hats at home. He purchased sheepskin from villagers and treated them until they were ready to make hats out of them. There was a wood-shed in the yard of the house where my father placed barrels with tanning and painting solutions. My mother assisted him. She, poor thing, rolled the drum with sawdust at night. The earnings of my father's extra work were often higher than his salary. My mother stayed at home looking after my little sister and my brother. He was sickly after our time in the ghetto. When he couldn't go to school my mother helped him do his homework.

My parents celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays after we moved to Chernovtsy. Every Friday my mother lit candles, and afterwards the family sat down for a festive dinner. In the first years in Chernovtsy my mother made matzah at home. Later a Jewish bakery was opened. All Jews in Chernovtsy knew its address. They brought flour for matzah at dusk and returned to pick up bags with matzah late at night. My father and mother went to the synagogue on holidays. We were short of money, but my father made contributions to the synagogue and also paid for a seat for himself and my mother. My mother also saved money from my father's salary to buy food for a festive meal on holidays. She always managed to make gefilte fish, chicken broth and strudels. My father always conducted seder on Pesach. My parents followed all fasting rules. We spoke Yiddish at home.

I did very well at university. I was elected Komsomol leader of the students of my year, but in 1952, at the height of the struggle against cosmopolitans, I got almost expelled from the Komsomol and dismissed from university. My fellow student, Haim Rabin, a Jew, corresponded with his sister residing in Israel. All other students were aware of it. Later he moved to his sister in Israel. Our Komsomol leaders blamed me that I failed to talk him out of emigration to a capitalist country. They said it was my duty to be on guard in such situations while I almost became a supporter of Zionism. Those were serious accusations at that time. My future husband, Boris Slobodianskiy, helped me. He was secretary of the Komsomol committee at the garment factory. He knew the secretary of the town committee of the Komsomol well. He reviewed my 'case' and said that there were no reasons for such accusations. The Komsomol meeting of my fellow students and the Komsomol meeting of the Faculty approved my expulsion from the Komsomol. There was only the district committee of the Komsomol that we had to go to in order to get a final decision. I went there with the secretary of the Komsomol organization of the Faculty. On our way I asked him, 'Kostya, why?' He replied, 'I don't know why, Dora, but this is how things are'. The district committee of the Komsomol didn't approve the decision of the Faculty to expel me.

Uncle Pinia's brother worked at the garment factory. He introduced me to my future husband. Boris was born to a poor family in Poyana village, Rezin district, Romania, in 1926. His father, Moshe Slobodianskiy, leased a field to grow tobacco. His mother, Pesia Slobodianskaya [nee Koopershtok], was a housewife. Boris had two sisters: Khaya, born in 1922, and Sheiva, born in 1932. His family was religious. They observed all Jewish traditions and raised their children religiously. During the war Boris, his mother and younger sister were in evacuation in Kata-Kurgan, Uzbekistan. His father died when he moved the cattle of the collective farm to the Caucasus in 1941. Boris worked at a collective farm and later on a construction site. In 1944 he went to the front and served in the army until 1950. He served with the Soviet troops in Germany. He became a member of the Communist Party in 1948. After the war his mother and sister moved to Chernovtsy, and Boris joined them after demobilization. He became a human resource inspector at the factory where his mother worked. Boris finished an evening secondary school and entered the Faculty of Economics at Chernovtsy University. He studied there by correspondence. He became secretary of the party organization of the factory. Boris was very busy with his party activities. His mother died in 1958.

We got married in 1952. We had a civil ceremony and my parents arranged a festive dinner party for us. My parents wanted us to have a traditional Jewish wedding, but my husband was a communist and it was unacceptable for him.

Boris received a room in a communal apartment 9 from his factory. We installed partitions to arrange a kitchen and a bathroom in the room. The room was dark and damp, but it seemed like paradise to us. We received an apartment 20 years later.

In March 1953 Stalin died. There was a marble bust of Stalin on the second floor of the university. Lecturers and students got together next to the bust. We were grieving over Stalin and many of us cried sincerely. Gradually we came to understand the situation. After the Twentieth Party Congress [710] I believed every word of Khrushchev [811]. He revealed the truth about the tyranny of Stalin and his companions. I guess, many people understood these things before, but refused to believe that it could be happening to us. I hoped that the bad times were over and that Jews had finally lived through their hard time, but I was wrong. Anti-Semitism continued.

I graduated from university in 1953. I was offered a job at a Ukrainian school. I didn't know the language, and it was a difficult year for me. In the fall I was going to take exams to be admitted to a post- graduate course. I had publications and my favorite professor told me that there was a vacancy at the university for me, but during the entrance exams it turned out that there was another candidate - a demobilized officer. I got the highest grades at my exams in Biology and English, but my exam in Marxism-Leninism lasted over two hours. They looked for a chance to give me a satisfactory mark, but I answered all their questions. However, they still put a satisfactory mark, which I didn't even argue about. It was useless. I couldn't be a competitor to a non-Jewish officer and party member. I returned to my school and taught biology until I retired in 1981, when my granddaughter Marina was born.

My daughter was born on 22nd May 1959. We named her Polina, and she also has a Jewish name, Pesia-Perl, after Boris' mother and my grandmother Perl. I had had a few miscarriages before my daughter was born. The doctors said that former inmates of ghettos had problems with pregnancy due to hard living conditions in their childhood. My husband and I had to go to work, but there were no kindergartens available. I didn't want to quit my job because I feared that I wouldn't be able to get another one. My parents helped me raise my daughter. Polina went to kindergarten at the age of 5. My husband and I spoke Yiddish at home. My parents also spoke Yiddish with my daughter, and she said her first words in Yiddish. Our neighbors were loyal to us. One of our neighbors, an old Russian woman, told me that I should speak Yiddish with Polina since she needed to know her mother tongue.

We celebrated Soviet holidays at home. Soviet holidays were days off and we took advantage of this chance to get together and have a party. We enjoyed such occasions very much. My parents continued to celebrate Shabbath and all Jewish holidays after the war. We visited them on Jewish holidays and participated in the seder on Pesach. My father died in 1968. We buried him in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy in accordance with Jewish traditions. My mother died in 1983. The Jewish cemetery was closed, but we still buried my mother next to my father. There is an inscription in Hebrew, Yiddish and Russian on their common gravestone.

My brother and sister finished the College of Light Industry in Chernovtsy. They became production engineers in the garment industry. My brother was a production engineer, and my sister became a forewoman in a shop. My brother married a nice Jewish girl and they had two children. In the 1970s my brother and his family moved to Israel. They live in Bat-Yam. My sister married Isaac Dinishenskiy, a Jew, in 1962. They have a son and a daughter. Since my sister was born in the ghetto she always had health problems. She died in Chernovtsy in 1989. Her older granddaughter was named after her.

In the 1970s many Jewish families began to move to Israel. We sympathized with them. Many of our friends were leaving and we wanted them to have a happy life. As for us, we didn't want to move to Israel. We were afraid that we wouldn't be able to get adjusted to a new life. My husband and I like to be at home, and it's hard for us to change things. Even when we are on vacation we get homesick. Therefore, we decided we'd rather stay.

Polina finished a secondary school. After that she finished a music high school and entered the Music Pedagogical College in Ivano-Frankovsk. It was a smaller town, so it was easier for a Jewish girl to enter a higher educational institution there. Polina returned to Chernovtsy after she finished college and became a teacher at a music school. She still works there. She married a nice young Jewish man. My husband and I were happy that our daughter married a Jewish man. They didn't have a traditional Jewish wedding because my husband was secretary of the party unit of the garment factory. If his daughter had decided to have a Jewish wedding he might have lost his position. Our granddaughter Marina was born in 1981. I helped my daughter raise Marina. Marina finished a Polytechnic College. She is a manager in a company now.

In the late 1980s my husband and I organized a club for old people. This took place at the beginning of perestroika when we felt free. We wanted to take part in the restoration of Jewish life. There were 300 seats in our club, and it was always overcrowded. We arranged meetings twice a week. Poems by Jewish poets were recited and Jewish music and songs were sung. I sang Jewish songs I knew from childhood. There was still anti- Semitism, and my daughter was concerned about a possibility of Jewish pogroms, but we were alright. Our club existed until Ukraine became independent in 1991 and Hesed was established.

We believe that the restoration of the Jewish way of life is our mission. In 1995 my husband established a radio program in Yiddish called 'Dos Yidishe Wort'. It's a monthly program and we get free broadcast time. I help my husband to collect material for this program. We invite many interesting people. About once every three months we broadcast a program on Jewish history.

My husband and I take an active part in the work of Hesed. Once a week my husband conducts a meeting of veterans of the Great Patriotic War. Hesed is our big family. We celebrate holidays and birthdays at Hesed. I also try to do all I can to preserve the memory of the victims of the war. In 1990 I began to collect data about Holocaust victims. I send this information to the Yad Vashem museum in Israel. I've sent over 400 forms there. It's my duty to do everything to contribute to the memory of the innocent people that perished, so that we may never forget this horrific tragedy of our people, the tragedy that took 6 million lives or a lot more, I guess. This must not happen again, and if we don't want it to happen again, we need to know and remember.

Glossary

Engelina Goldentracht
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: October 2002

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

My family background

My grandparents on my mother's side, Aron and Matlia Stravets, lived in the town of Ekaterinoslav [regional town of Dnepropetrovsk now] in the south of Ukraine. I have no information about where they were born. They must have been born around the 1860s. My grandfather may have come from Pinsk. I have no information about my grandparents' families. I don't know my grandmother's maiden name.

My grandfather was a building contractor in Ekaterinoslav. He built houses. He had a construction crew. He developed construction designs and managed construction processes. He didn't have any professional education, but he was very skilled. He constructed several houses in the town. He didn't have his own house. His family lived in a four-bedroom apartment in one of the buildings that he had built in Philosophskaya Street in the center of town, near the synagogue. There was a living room, my grandparents' bedroom, a children's room and my grandfather's study in their apartment. In his study he had a desk, bookcases with books on construction, and a drawing board.

My grandfather was a caring husband and father. At the beginning of the 20th century, when many Jews were leaving Russia in search of a better life, my grandfather also decided to move to America. He went alone to settle down and bring his family later, but he only reached Madrid. He became so homesick that he had to return home.

My grandmother Matlia was a housewife. They had five children: Abram, born in 1896, Rachel, born in 1898, Bencion, born in 1900, my mother Lubov, born in 1902 and the youngest, Maria, born in 1904.

My grandfather Aron wasn't religious. He didn't go to the synagogue. They celebrated Pesach at home - out of respect for old traditions. They spoke Russian in the family, but they knew Yiddish very well. My grandfather believed that it was very important for the children to get an education. He spent all his savings paying for their education. All of them had teachers at home; they studied to read and write, French and German, manners and literature, and finished grammar school. They had many books at home: fiction, Russian and foreign books on philosophy and economy. They read books by Gertzen 1 and Maxim Gorky 2. There were quite a few of Karl Marx's works in their collection of books. There were also other books about revolutionary movements and communist ideas. Those were read with great interest and discussed in the family. The result of the good education the children received was that their oldest and favorite soon, Abram, became a revolutionary.

After finishing grammar school Abram graduated from the Law Faculty of the Uuniversity in Ekaterinoslav - he took an external degree. He was a very intelligent and talented man and finished the whole law course in two years. He became a lawyer at the age of 19. But he didn't work - he became overwhelmed with revolutionary ideas. Abram organized an underground Bolshevik unit in Ekaterinoslav that published flyers and a newspaper. Abram's name in the party was Pavlov; it was a pseudonym. Abram corresponded with Bolshevik leaders. He also wrote books about the poor, their hard work and misery, about the revolution and happy life in Russia in the future, and sent them to Maxim Gorky for review. Gorky sent him very warm recommendations.

My grandfather Aron was against Abram's revolutionary activities. He argued with him and even stopped communicating with him for some time. My grandmother Matlia was on her husband's side, but she also supported Abram. She even helped her son with the distribution of the newspaper. He also asked her to go to the market square to see whether people were reading his newspaper and flyers.

His underground group was about to be exposed to the authorities and, in order to continue their revolutionary activities, they moved from Ekaterinoslav to Kharkov. But there Abram's group was reported, and all of its members were taken to court in 1916. My grandfather Aron found out about the court sitting and came to Kharkov. He didn't even mention it to his wife. The judge sentenced Abram and his assistant to execution by hanging. Grandfather was near Abram during the execution. The executioner offered to blindfold them both, but they refused, and grandfather was looking into the eyes of his beloved son until the last minute.

Grandfather returned to Ekaterinoslav and only said to his children, 'Your brother is gone'. He fell severely ill shortly afterwards. He stayed in mental hospital for two months and became taciturn and reserved after he returned home. He couldn't talk to his family about Abram. Once he got together with his friend Zamanskiy and told him the story of his son's execution. His friend realized that my grandfather told him the story on purpose, so that he would tell it to Matlia and the children. He visited them when grandfather was away on business and told them about Abram's execution. When grandfather returned home, they all pretended they didn't know a thing about Abram, and nobody dared to talk to him about it until he died. After his son's death grandfather turned to God and became a deeply religious man. He believed that God had punished him for his heresy and searched for atonement in his prayers. Every morning my grandfather put on his tallit and tefillin and prayed. He began to go to the synagogue. But he couldn't change his children's convictions. They were very enthusiastic about the revolution of 1917 and the Soviet power.

Rachel, my grandmother's oldest daughter was born in 1898. She entered the Medical Institute in Ekaterinoslav after finishing grammar school and graduated in the first years after the revolution. She was a physician in a hospital in Dnepropetrovsk. She was married. Her Jewish husband Misha Gurvich, also a doctor, was in evacuation with their son Abram, named after Abram who had been killed, during World War II. Misha was released from the army due to his poor eyesight. Rachel was recruited to the army in the first days of the war. She worked at a front line hospital. Rachel was sickly, but she couldn't afford to get ill at the front. She died a few years after the war. Her son became a builder. He was construction manager at the airfield construction site in Izhevsk. He got married there and stayed in this town. He died in 2001.

Bencion, my grandmother's younger son, graduated from the Construction Institute in Dnepropetrovsk. Bencion specialized in the construction of cinema theaters and cinema sites. His wife Sonia was a doctor. They had two sons: Abram and Galiy. Abram was at the front during the war, and Galiy perished in a plane crash during training in pilot school. Bencion died in the middle of the 1960s in Dnepropetrovsk.

My grandmother's youngest daughter, Maria, also became a doctor. At the institute she met a young Russian man, Yuri Grigoriev, and married him. My grandfather took it dramatically. He was very religious at that time, and he never forgave Maria for this marriage, but he always helped her when she was in need. Upon graduation Yuri and Maria worked at a hospital in the country where they both got their job assignments. Later they lived in Dnepropetrovsk. Their daughter Nelia became a chemist. She lives in Kiev with her family. She lectures at the Road Transport Institute. She has a Ukrainian husband named Parkhomenko, who was Minister of Higher and Professional Education in Ukraine at one time. They have two children and three grandchildren. Maria died in Dnepropetrovsk in 2001.

My mother, Lubov Stravets [1902-1970], finished grammar school for girls in 1917. She was very close with her older brother Abram. She was very influenced by him and performed his assignments. She became a member of the Bolshevik Party after the revolution. During the Civil War [1918-1921] she became a member of the revolutionary committee. [Revolutionary committees were the first revolutionary punitive units. - ed.] My mother had an office in which she interrogated 'enemies of the revolution'. She always kept a grenade on her desk in case somebody attacked her. My mother's party name was Pavlova and she had the name of Pavlova-Stravets written in her party membership card. She never changed this name.

In the first years of the Soviet power she lived with my grandfather Aron's family. Grandfather Aron was invited to lecture on construction at the Construction Institute in Dnepropetrovsk. He was paid lower rates as he didn't have a higher education, and the Institute Management never paid him full compensation for his work at the end of each fiscal year. My grandfather sued them every year, and the court always decided in his favor. During the NEP 3, when students had to pay for their education, my grandfather paid for poorer students and they all paid him back upon graduation.

My grandfather wanted my mother to get a higher education and felt very critical about her involvement in revolutionary activities. He insisted that my mother entered the Medical Institute. She studied there until her first class of anatomy. She couldn't bear the sight of a human corpse and quit. In 1923 my mother met my father, and they started living together.

My father, Zakhar Voosiker [1904-1958], was born to an ordinary Jewish family. His father David Voosiker was a shoemaker; he was a very religious man. His father and his mother Sophia were born around 1875 in Dnepropetrovsk. They lived in the basement of a small apartment. My father's family was religious. My grandparents went to the synagogue and observed all Jewish traditions. However, I can't remember any celebrations in their family. They were very poor and couldn't afford any celebrations. Besides, my revolutionary mother boldly forbade my grandparents to arrange anything related to religion in our presence. They talked in Yiddish, but they spoke Russian to their children and grandchildren. They were very enthusiastic about the revolution. They were so poor that they couldn't even dream of giving their children an education. The boys went to cheder because it was free, and the girls didn't study at all. They had four children: Gutl, born in 1900, my father Zakhar, born in 1904, Jacob, born in 1914 and Galia, born in 1915. My father's sisters and brothers were not religious and didn't observe any traditions after they had left their parents' home.

Gutl married Roman Simonian, a Persian man of Armenian origin. My Her parents were not against this marriage. They probably wanted her to marry a Jewish man, but they understood that it was their daughter's choice and they had to give in to it. Roman lived in the Soviet Union, but he had a Persian citizenship. He was a skilled shoemaker and made shoes for the party officials and their families. The Soviet authorities tried to convince him to accept the Soviet citizenship, but he refused. My father was working at the NKVD office 4 in Dnepropetrovsk, and his management threatened to fire him, if he didn't convince Roman to become a Soviet citizen. He managed to do so. A few days later Roman became a Soviet citizen and received a Soviet passport. He was arrested and nobody ever saw him again. Gutl didn't talk to my father for many years. She couldn't forgive him that she had lost her husband. Gutl and Roman didn't have any children, and Gutl never remarried. She died in Dnepropetrovsk in the early 1950s.

My father's younger brother Jacob entered the Faculty of Journalism at Kiev University after finishing the Rabfak 5. He proved to be a talented journalist. During the war he was a political officer at the front, and after the war he became a leading journalist with the Kiev newspaper Vecherniy Kiev. He married a Russian woman called Nina. Their daughter Natasha and her family live in Kiev. Jacob and Nina died in the early 1990s.

Galia married a Jewish man called Leonid Lapidus. He was a professional military. Galia finished a military college in Chernigov, and they left for his service location. He was at the front during the war. After the war Galia and Leonid lived in Chernigov, where her husband came from. They died in the early 1990s. Their daughter lives in Israel and their son lives in the US.

My father finished cheder and this happened to be his only Jewish education. My father studied at a Russian elementary school. He was a very gifted man: he wrote poems, fables, and parodies, and drew well. He got very fond of revolutionary ideas, just like many other young people from poor families did. He became a Komsomol 6 member, and in 1923 he became a member of the Communist Party. At that time it was popular to change first and last names to better sounding ones, and my father chose the name Vladimir Zorin. Vladimir after Lenin1, and as to his last name: he just found it beautiful.

Growing up

My parents met at one of their party related events. My mother didn't know my father's real name until he invited her to his home and introduced her to his family. They got married at the beginning of 1924. At that time many young people merely announced themselves husband and wife and began to live as a family. That was my parents' plan, but their parents convinced them to register their marriage. A Jewish wedding was out of the question at that time. My parents celebrated their wedding with their party comrades and left for Berdiansk on one of their party assignments to organize a commune in a village. Members of this commune lived in barracks and did the farming together, hoping to harvest big crops and establish new communal relationships. They had a very poor life and ate potatoes and sauerkraut. In the evenings they got together to sing revolutionary songs, recite poems and dream about a happy future. I was born in this commune on 18th December 1924. I was named Engelsina after Frederic Engels 7. Later, after the war, I changed my name to Engelina.

Shortly after I was born my mother's father Aron visited the commune. He insisted that my parents moved to Dnepropetrovsk. In the middle of January 1925 we returned to my grandfather Aron's house. My father got a job at the NKVD office, and my mother was secretary of the party unit at a factory. I stayed at home with my grandmother Matlia and my grandfather Aron. He called me 'my pet'. I was their first granddaughter - they only had grandsons before. My grandfather told me fairy tales and stories, both Russian and Jewish tales. In the morning my grandfather prayed, and I often helped him to put on his tallit and tefillin. My grandfather attended the synagogue. Once he took me to the synagogue, which made my mother very angry. She forbade him to tell me any religious stories or take me to the synagogue or speak Yiddish in my presence. .

In 1929 my brother was born. He was named Julen [Junior Leninets]. There was a portrait of Lenin over his bed and a portrait of Engels over my bed. Shortly after my brother was born my parents moved to Kharkov and then to Chernigov as directed by their party authorities.

My father was an NKVD officer, and my mother was chairman of a woman's council at the equipment yard [collective farm equipment maintenance yard]. My mother went to villages and met up with young women in order to propagate for the Soviet power and to explain to them the need to study. My mother came home late after work and often went on trips. My mother's younger sister Galia came to help my mother in the house. She lived with us for a year or two before she married Leonid Lapidus. She

In 1934 the capital of Ukraine was transferred from Kharkov to Kiev, and my father was assigned to be director of the NKVD cultural center in Kiev. We received a big three-bedroom apartment in Pechersk. [This was an elite neighborhood in Kiev where all government institutions were located and where high governmental officials lived. - ed] It was a spacious apartment, and my father's parents and his brother Jacob moved in with us. My grandparents prayed quietly in their room. It wasn't possible to follow the kashrut at that time. There was no place selling kosher food. My grandfather David and my grandmother Sophia went to the only synagogue in Podol 8. My parents understood their religious needs, but they didn't allow them to involve their children in any religious activities. We got along well. On Soviet holidays - anniversaries of the October Revolution 9 and 1st May my mother's friends visited us and we used to party. They sang revolutionary songs, Ukrainian and Russian ballads, recited poems and danced. In summer my parents went on vacation to Sochi or Yalta [popular holiday resorts in the Soviet Union] and sent us to our grandparents in Dnepropetrovsk. Our family never celebrated Jewish holidays. My mother didn't allow our grandparents to speak Yiddish to us. My parents spoke Russian, although Yiddish was their mother tongue. Sometimes my grandfather Aron visited us on my birthday. My birthday was often at the same time as Chanukkah and my grandfather gave me and my brother sweets and money. This is how I knew that we were Jews in my childhood and about Chanukkah, a Jewish holiday. My grandfather Aron died in 1937.

I went to the best Russian secondary school in Kiev in 1932. My brother went to the same school. In this school children of the party elite studied. There were Ukrainian, Russian, Jewish and Polish children there, but we didn't segregate between children of different nationalities. We were all raised as patriots. We had no doubt that we were living in the best country of the world. There was no issue about nationality among us.

Our family faced the issue of nationality for the first time in 1936. My mother, who was deputy director of the art workers club, was offered a position as an instructor at the Party Town Committee. My mother sincerely believed that this position was too high for her and that she couldn't take it due to her lack of education. But the First Secretary of the Town Committee convinced her to accept this job, which she did. Some time passed, but she received no notification from them. She went to see the First Secretary, and he told her that the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Ukraine didn't approve of her for this position because it could only be taken by a Ukrainian national. My mother was so hurt that she even cried. But neither she nor my father thought it was anti-Semitism.

In 1936 many innocent people were arrested. 10 My parents' friends stopped getting together. Our neighbors began to vanish. People were arrested at night. Some of my schoolmates' parents were arrested. But before this disaster swept over our family we believed that all these people were enemies of the people and that everything in our country was done in accordance with the laws of justice.

In summer 1938 my father went to the sanatorium in Zheleznovodsk to get medical treatment for his ulcer. [Zheleznovodsk is a resort in Northern Caucasus.] He went there with my brother Julen, and my mother and I went to Sochi. After a few days my mother received a telegram. My father's co- tenants informed her that my father had been arrested and that my brother was staying with them. My mother and I went to Zheleznovodsk. My mother was trying to find my father, but she was told that he had been sent to Kiev. We returned to Kiev.

My father was kept under arrest. Later he told us that he spent a few weeks in jail in Minvody, a town near Zheleznovodsk, after he had been arrested. There were many inmates in his cell. Once a little bird flew through the window and sat on my father's shoulder. One of the inmates said to my father that this was a good sign and meant that he would be free soon. My father was charged of espionage and declared either a German or a Japanese spy. Investigation officer Gorodinskiy, who defended the case, was our neighbor, but he pretended that he didn't know us when we met. The interrogation lasted for hours and hours, and Gorodinskiy was trying to make my father confess, to give him evidence of his guilt. He told my father that I had fallen ill with tuberculosis and that my mother had become a street woman [prostitute]. Of course, my father didn't believe him, but he was still nervous and worried about us. The interrogation officer hit him on his lower leg during interrogations, didn't let him sleep for days and wore him down with non-stop interrogation.

After my father was released it took months for his leg to heal. My father had a sick stomach and he felt very bad in jail. At times he felt like signing any charges brought against him in order to stop the tortures. But he thought that if he was believed to be an enemy of the people, Julen wouldn't be accepted to serve in the Soviet army when he turned 19, and that I wouldn't be able to become a Komsomol member. These thoughts stopped him from signing any charges brought against him.

Immediately after my father was arrested my mother sent me to her sister Maria, and Julen to my father's sister Gutl. She was afraid that she would be arrested, too, and that we would be sent to a children's home for being children of enemies of the people. Soon my mother was told to move out of our three-bedroom apartment. My grandparents and my uncle Jacob moved to some relatives, and my mother stayed with some distant relatives of my father. In order to keep her stay with them a secret from their neighbors, she went there in the dark of night. She left the apartment at dawn. She didn't want these people to be accused of contact with enemies of the people.

My mother also had problems at work. There was a party meeting at her workplace at which she was supposed to be expelled from the Party. She was asked how she could live with an enemy of the people for so many years. My mother replied that she didn't believe that her husband was an enemy. He was the son of a poor shoemaker and the Soviet power had given him everything, and she didn't believe that he had betrayed his people and the Party. She put her party membership card on the desk of the secretary of their party unit. He was a very decent man, didn't submit the details of this meeting to higher authorities and kept my mother's card in his safe. When my father was released sometime soon after this meeting (he was in jail for more than four months), my mother's boss gave her the membership card back.

At the end of 1938 the Soviet authorities announced an exaggeration in the struggle against criminals, and the Chief of the State Security, Yezhov 11 was arrested. My father was released at that time. He was told that he had come through this test - they called his time in jail 'test' - and turned out to be a devoted communist. When my father was leaving the jail he said to the militiaman at the gate that he had no money for the tram. The militiaman gave him some change. My father went to our apartment in Pechersk. He didn't know that we had been told to move out of there. He got off in Engels Street, which went up a hill, but he was so starved and exhausted that he couldn't go up the street. Our acquaintance Colonel Lebedev was passing by. He saw my father and carried him to our house. He put him on a bench in the yard. Our neighbors saw my father and ran to him, bringing him some food. He ate a lot and suddenly felt terrible pain in his stomach. He was taken to hospital by ambulance and was diagnosed with intestinal disease. He spent a long time in hospital.

We didn't get our apartment back. We got one room in an apartment in Lenin Street. Jacob moved in with us, and my grandparents went to Dnepropetrovsk. My father was ill for a long time and didn't work. My mother hired a country girl called Ustia as a housemaid. Ustia slept on a folding bed in the corridor next to the door.

During the war

In 1941, after I finished 9th grade, my mother sent my brother and me to our grandparents in Dnepropetrovsk. We left on 21st June. There were many young military men in the train. They were going on vacation. They enjoyed themselves, joked and sang. We arrived at our grandparents' on the morning of 22nd June 1941 12. We had breakfast and went to sleep. At 12 our grandmother woke us up screaming, 'It's the war!' We listened to Molotov's 13 speech on the radio.

A few days later my mother and Ustia came from Kiev. Mother told us that our father had gone to the front although he was released from service in the army due to his bad health condition. But he insisted and managed to pass a medical check. My mother's sister Rachel also volunteered to the front.

In the middle of July we were all evacuated. My mother's parents joined us. My grandfather was paralyzed, so he was taken on the train on a stretcher. My grandmother Matlia went into evacuation later with some of her children. We didn't have enough food with us and were starving. When the train stopped my mother and Ustia exchanged clothes for food. Our trip lasted almost a month until we reached Kustanai in Kazakhstan [about 3,000 km from Kiev]. We rented a room there.

My grandfather's condition got worse and worse. He died in December 1941. My grandmother died at the beginning of 1942. They were both buried in the town cemetery. Ustia was a big help to us. She went to work as a cleaning woman at the theater and often brought some bread or cereal back home for us. My mother also worked, but I don't remember where she worked. We also received a food package given to us because of my father serving at the front line. I entered the Pedagogical College and studied there until February 1942. My brother attended school.

In February 1942 we moved to Cheliabinsk [Russia, 1,000 km from Kustanai], where my mother's acquaintances lived. It was a big town and easier to find a job there. My mother wanted me to study at the Pedagogical Institute. When we arrived there it was empty. There was only a cleaning woman. She told us that all students and lecturers were helping with the harvest at a collective farm. She also said that there had been no classes that year - everybody was working in the field, where they were starving. My mother and I went back home. I didn't study until March 1942 when my mother and I saw an announcement that the Kiev Medical Institute (which was in evacuation in Cheliabinsk) was admitting students. The rector of the institute, Lev Medved, admitted me without exams when he found out that I was from Kiev.

In autumn 1942 my father fell ill with tuberculosis and was released from the army. He stayed at the hospital for some time and then came to us. My father needed to live in a warmer climatic zone, and in January 1943 we moved to Frunze, the capital of Kyrgyzstan, where grandmother Matlia and Rachel's husband and son were in evacuation.

It was easier in Frunze. We had a kitchen garden where we grew potatoes. My father got a job delivering roasted geese to the town officials. He collected fat from the trays and brought it back home. We dipped bread into it and ate it with potatoes. I can still remember the bitter taste of this fat. Ustia got ox tails and we made soup with them. It was a delicious meal. My mother worked as an assistant to the Minister of Culture of Kyrgyzstan. The minister was a plain Kirghiz woman. She shared her food with my mother. They had plov [a traditional oriental meal of rice, meat and herbs]. The minister ate it with her hands [in the traditional oriental way of eating], my mother used a fork. They ate from one plate. I was transferred to the Medical Institute in Frunze and studied there until we returned to Kiev.

Kiev was liberated on 6th November 1943. We returned to Kiev in April 1944. There was a lot of snow when we came back. It was a shock to see the ruins of Kreschatik [the main street of Kiev]. 2. We returned to our house. During the war our neighbors from the upper floor had moved into our room. They thought lower floors were safer during air raids. We were happy to get our room back.

Grandmother Matlia, Michael and Abram returned to Dnepropetrovsk. My grandmother lived with Rachel's family. She died in 1952.

Post-war

My mother went back to her former job at the art workers club. She was the director there until the pre-war director returned from evacuation. My mother then became an instructor. My father worked for some time until his condition aggravated. He often had to stay in the tuberculosis hospital and sanatoriums for patients with tuberculosis. He developed lung cancer and died in 1958 at the age of 54.

I went to study at the Kiev Medical Institute in 1944. There was an anti- Semitic atmosphere in Kiev at that time already. All students with Jewish last names were transferred to the Neurology Faculty, which was considered to be the least promising faculty of the institute. My last name was Zorina [which is a typical Russian surname], so I could remain at the Therapeutic Faculty - they didn't expel me.

In April 1946 I met Michael Goldentracht at a party. He was born to a family of doctors in Kiev in 1920. His father, Grigoriy Goldentracht, was a famous veneorologist in Kiev and his mother, Alexandra, was a doctor, too. She graduated from the Moscow Medical Institute. They were Jewish. Michael and his sister Lialia also became doctors. Lialia became a dentist. Michael entered the Kiev Medical Institute and graduated from it during the war, when the institute was in evacuation in Fergana. In 1942, after receiving their diplomas, all graduates went to the front. Michael worked as a military doctor in hospitals.

We got married on 24th June 1946. We had a small wedding party with about 20 guests, my closest friends and relatives. After the wedding we began to live with my parents and brother. My husband was still a military doctor and I went to work at the polyclinic. In 1947 our daughter Alla was born. I quit work and stayed at home for two years.

In November 1949 my husband got a job assignment in Petropavlovsk- Kamchatskiy, Kamchatka [over 12,000 km from Kiev], and we followed him there.

In Kamchatka Michael was a junior, and, later a senior doctor at a tank regiment. I worked at the hospital. We had a room in a hostel. It only had one kitchen and one toilet for 50 families of the military. We got meals at work. Michael was the only Jew among the doctors. The Doctor's Plot 14 and the fight against the cosmopolites 15 didn't affect us. Life was too hard in this northern part of Russia, and we had too many problems to face to concern ourselves with political matters. We had red caviar and fish brought to us by fishermen. Bread was delivered once a week, and we could buy one kilo of it. We forgot the taste of butter, milk or eggs. Smaller children got half a kilo of powder milk when planes could fly to deliver it. Newspapers and magazines reached us in two to three months, and we were not aware of what was going on in the country. Only once there was a meeting at Michael's workplace to discuss and condemn the Doctor's Plot, directed against Jewish doctors. Such meetings were required to be conducted by the party leadership. During the meeting someone said that it was necessary to exterminate rats at the military unit. The commander commented, 'There, you've learned to persecute people, but can't cope with rats?'. People sympathized with my husband, knowing that he was a Jew, and accompanied him home on that evening to show their support.

I was missing my parents. At the beginning of March 1953 I went to Kiev by train. When I was boarding it, it was announced on the radio that Stalin had died. The conductor checking our tickets dropped them, burst into tears and went to her compartment. The trip to Moscow lasted two weeks, and passengers made acquaintances and friends during this time. There were a few young soldiers going on leave on this train. They said openly that HE [Stalin] could have died before they were going on leave. They weren't in the mood to listen to the mourning music on the radio. We arrived in Moscow and could feel the horror that Muscovites were in after Stalin's funeral. Many people died in the crowds, many lost their loved ones. My parents came to meet me in Moscow. They were impatiently waiting to see me. My mother and father sincerely mourned for Stalin who remained their chief and idol until the end of their life.

At the beginning of 1954 Michael came to meet me in Kiev, and we moved to the town of Pavlovsk near Leningrad, where he got a new job assignment as a doctor in a military hospital. We lived in Pavlovsk until 1961. The head of the Soviet government, Nikita Khrushchev 16, declared demobilization: 1,200,000 militaries were demobilized from the army. After the war was over most of the militaries were dismissed and returned to their civil life. My husband was one of them. We returned to Kiev and lived with my mother, my brother and his wife in one room in our communal apartment. In 1961 my husband and I got two rooms in a communal apartment in the city center. After a few years we exchanged it for a two-bedroom apartment - this is the one I still live in now.

Michael was a very good surgeon. He worked at the polyclinic. He became a member of the Communist Party when he was at the front. It was necessary for his career. But he was very critical about what was happening in the Soviet Union. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind. At night he listened to the Voice of America and Radio Free Europe. These broadcasts weren't allowed, and foreign radios were jammed. However, the Radio Free Europe broadcasts in German weren't jammed. My husband knew German very well and could understand the news. He shared what he had heard with his colleagues at work and with friends. He told them about medical achievements in the West and how far behind we were, etc. My husband never had an anti-Soviet attitude. He loved his country and his people. He was a good doctor and helped many people. In 1988 he fell ill with polyarthritis, which confined him to bed. He was bound to bed for eight years until he died in 1996.

I worked as a children's doctor at the polyclinic throughout all these years. I was well respected at work. My former patients still congratulate me on my birthdays and come to see me.

Our daughter Alla entered the Kiev Institute of Foreign Languages after finishing school. When she was a student she married a construction engineer, Alexandr Karelshtein, a Jew. He was a leading engineer at a design institute. In 1970 Alla gave birth to Marina. My mother died shortly after Marina was born.

My brother Julen was a builder. He graduated from Kiev Engineering Construction Institute. His first wife Lida and his daughter Valeria moved to the US in 1978. In the early 1990s Julen went to Israel. I visited him in Ashdod in 1999. Julen died shortly after my visit.

My husband always spoke about Israel with respect. During the Six-Day-War 17 and at the height of anti-Jewish propaganda in the Soviet Union, Michael spent hours listening to the radio to hear the truth about Israel. My husband wanted us to move to Israel or the US. But I was concerned about having to start things anew and facing difficulties. We often argued, and my work was mostly the crucial factor in the end. I adored Israel when I went there. It's a truly amazing country. It's a garden on stones in a desert. I traveled a lot across the country and felt very proud of my people. I feel sorry that we didn't emigrate in the early 1970s. Now it's too late. My children want to stay here, and I'm too old to change my life.

Ukraine declared independence in 1991. People had more freedom and opportunities to improve their life. The Iron Curtain 18 fell, and they could travel and visit their relatives and friends abroad. I've always dreamt about traveling, and I've visited Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels and many other towns and countries lately. The economy is improving and we can buy books and products that we knew nothing about during the Soviet times. Isn't it wonderful!

Neither my brother nor I were members of the Communist Party although we grew up in a family of devoted Bolsheviks. We never celebrated Jewish holidays. Jews can speak proudly about their nation, its history and culture for the first time in many years. Only now I gradually get closer to the Jewish way of life. There is a Jewish religious community, an association of Jewish culture, the Israel Cultural Center and the Hesed in the Ukraine. I'm interested in Jewish traditions. I go to the synagogue and attend the Torah study classes. I celebrate Pesach and other big holidays. My daughter Alla works at the International Solomon University [Jewish University in Kiev, established in 1995], and my granddaughter Marina works at the Judaism Institute.

Glossary

Asaf Auerbach
Praha
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídil: Lenka Kopřivová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: říjen 2005 – únor 2006

Vždy, když jsem za panem Auerbachem přišla, měl výbornou náladu, neustále se usmíval. Nepamatuji se, že bych ho kdy viděla mračit se. Ba naopak, zpívá si, pohvizduje si... Po smrti své ženy žije s Robinem, svým psem, v bytě na jednom z pražských sídlišť. Ŕíká, že jeho život není moc zajímavý - a přece. Jeho rodiče byli sionisté a pan Auerbach se narodil v jednom z palestinských kibuců. Rodina se však vrátila zpět do Čech, prožila zde těžká třicátá léta a na jejich konci se rozdělila. Asaf Auerbach se svým starším bratrem Rubenem měli to štěstí, že se dostali mezi tzv. Wintonovy děti 1, skupinu dětí, kterou se podařilo zachránit Angličanu Nicholasi Wintonovi. Válku prožili v Anglii a po návratu domů, do Československa, byli konfrontováni s hrozivou realitou osudu evropských židů. Navzdory všem očekáváním, z nichž žili po celou dobu války, mnoha z nich se nepodařilo přijít domů a znovu se šťastně shledat se svými rodiči - také rodiče Auerbachovi zahynuli v Osvětimi. Pan Auerbach říká, že jeho život není zajímavý - není to tak docela pravda.

Rodina
Dětství
Pobyt v Anglii
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Chcete, abych vyprávěl o rodině, ve které jsem žil, o svých předcích, jaké prostředí mne, příslušníka minoritní entity žijící, jen občas v harmonické symbióze se svým okolím, obklopovalo. Své rodiče jsem viděl naposledy v létě ´39, kdy jsme s bratrem jako Wintonovy „děti“ emigrovali do Anglie. Bylo mi jedenáct, v tom věku jsem se o tyto reálie moc nezajímal, bral jsem je jako danosti, to snad nezajímalo žádné dítě mého věku pokud nepřišlo na příklad do bezprostředního styku s agresivním antisemitismem. Znal jsem ho jen zprostředkovaně, o tom co se děje v Německu jsem do určité míry věděl od rodičů. Takže jsem neměl mnoho podnětů ke kladení otázek, spíš jsem informace přijímal, ne je vyhledával.

K seznamování se svou dávnější minulostí jsem se dostal až velmi pozdě. Náhodou. Četl jsem asi před šesti lety, nejspíš v Roš Chodeš 2, to je měsíčník židovské obce, poznámku o tom, že vyšel almanach k tuším 900. výročí založení Bečova nad Teplou, a že v tomto almanachu je také stať o dějinách tamní židovské obce. To už byl silný podnět, neboť v Bečově se narodil můj otec. A tak jsem zašel do Židovského musea za autorem této stati a požádal ho o kopii. V ní jsem se dozvěděl, že přítomnost židů v Bečově je historicky doložena od roku 1310, že se tam počet židů postupně zvyšoval, jejich počet kulminoval v roce 1880, kdy tam žilo 100 židů, asi 4,5% tamního obyvatelstva. Chtěl jsem se ponořit do „stromu života“ rodiny svého otce, vypůjčil jsem si ve Státním archivu na Hradčanech matriky bečovské židovské obce, ale daleko jsem se nedostal. Teprve za vlády Josefa II. byli židé nuceni přijmout rodinné jméno 3 a z tohoto roku je první zachovaný zápis o narozeních a sňatcích v Bečově. Matrika zemřelých se zachovala až z roku 1840. A tak nevím, kdy se mí předkové přistěhovali do Bečova a odkud. A nebylo jednoduché luštit matriky. Jsou psány v němčině, jak jinak. Ale švabachem a o krasopisu se už vůbec nedá mluvit. Nicméně jsem tam snadno vyhledal zápis o narození mého otce Rudolfa 23. března 1899, Simonu Auerbachovi a Luise rozené Fischerové. Jejich sňatek však v matrice zaznamenán není, nevím kde se uskutečnil.

Dědeček Simon je v knize narozených veden jako Samuel Auerbach, narozený 8. 6. 1849 jakožto nemanželský syn Abrahama Auerbacha a jisté Löblové, jejíž rodné jméno jsem nerozluštil. S ní měl už jednoho syna narozeného 16. 7. 1847. Prababičku rozenou Löblová dodatečně pojal za ženu, a to v červenci 1849. Její věk není v knize uzavřených sňatků uveden, ač to bylo zvykem. Nebyla to však pradědečkova první žena. Tou byla Babette Kleinová, se kterou se oženil 28. 10. 1840. V té době mu bylo 30 let a 3 měsíce, nevěstě 29 let a 11 měsíců. Asi to bylo bezdětné manželství, v knize narozených jsem žádného potomka nenašel, nenašel jsem ani v knize zemřelých pradědečkovu první ženu, takže je možné, že ji zapudil, protože mu nepovila žádná dítka a tak si mohl vzít matku svých nelegitimních synů.

Pradědeček Abraham zemřel podle matriky na marasmus v roce 1896 ve věku 86 let. V knize zemřelých jsem v roce 1902 nalezl záznam o úmrtí Fanny Auerbachové ve stáří 86 let. Narodila se tedy v roce 1816 a mohla by to tudíž být má prababička rozená Löblová. Z údaje o stáří pradědečka Abrahama v době jeho prvého sňatku vím, že se narodil v červenci 1810. V matrice jsem však záznam o jeho narození nenašel, takže se asi do Bečova přistěhoval a tím mi znemožnil pátrání po prapradědečkovi. A není to tím, že pátrání mi znemožnila skutečnost, že židé nemívali rodinné jméno, v době jeho narození už jej mít museli.

A tak nevím, odkud přišli. Mám takovou nedoloženou hypotézu. Na sever od Bečova, několik desítek kilometrů za naší hranicí s Německem, leží městečko Auerbach, Kolega z práce mi odtud před 15 lety poslal pohlednici, je to malebné městečko označené Kurort Auerbach, u nás se tomu říkávalo klimatické lázně. Před časem jsem si zahrával s myšlenkou, že tam zajedu, ubytuji se v hotelu a až jim řeknu, že se jmenuju Auerbach tam na mne budou koukat s otevřenou pusou. Ale jet tam kvůli tomu?

Jméno Auerbach není vzácné, to jenom teď v Čechách, dřív bylo dost časté a jinde je asi časté i dnes. Nedávno mi dokonce jedná známá vyprávěla, že kdesi četla, že to je nejstarší doložené židovské příjmení v Čechách. Slyšel jsem to poprvé, ale nevylučuju to. Na Starém židovském hřbitově v Praze, na zdi vedoucí podél chodníčku po kterém se hřbitovem prochází, jsou plechové tabulky se jmény naproti hrobkám pochovaných osobností. Hned ta první říká že tam leží jistý Auerbach, byl to současník Rabi Löwa 4 a císaře Rudolfa II [Rudolf II. (1552 – 1612): z rodu Habsburků. 1576 – 1611 římsky císař a český král – pozn. red.]. Takže to bylo v době, kdy ještě židé příjmení zpravidla nepoužívali. Kolikrát už jsem si říkal, že bych měl zajít do Židovského musea a někoho se optat čím se tak vyznamenal, ale skutek utek.

Zpět k dědečkovi. Podle matriky sňatků se Samuel Auerbach, svobodný, 1.3.1882 oženil s Annou Luxbaumovou, starou 31 let a 1 měsíc, která je vedena v knize narozených jako matka tří dětí zplozených s (teď už) Simonem Auerbachem. Nejstarší Jenny se narodila v roce 1883, kdy zemřela nevím, neznal jsem ji, nevěděl jsem ani o její existenci. Až po válce jsem se dozvěděl, že trpěla duševní chorobou a zemřela v psychiatrické léčebně. Zda před válkou nebo až za války to nevím, ptát jsem se nechtěl. Ale znal jsem nevlastního otcova bratra Leopolda, ten se narodil v roce 1885, jediný z rodiny byl zámožný, měl v Karlových Varech obchod s obuví a velký činžovní dům. Občas přijížděl do Prahy a navštěvoval nás, ale nebylo to často. Byl svobodný a v roce 1940 se mu podařilo utéct do Palestiny. Tam se mu moc dobře nevedlo, zemřel v polovině padesátých let. Byl to nezvykle obětavý člověk, podporoval mou babičku, svou nevlastní matku, po úmrtí dědečka jí koupil v Terezíně domek, kde měla obchůdek, táta z Terezína dojížděl do Litoměřic do obchodní akademie. A tak zřejmě financoval i studia svého nevlastního bratra a nevlastní sestry, která vystudovala konzervatoř.

Druhý sňatek Simona Auerbacha jsem v matrice nenašel, asi se oženil s Luisou, tedy mou babičkou, v jiné obci. Nevím odkud babička pochází. Kdysi mi to sestřenice řekla, když jsem se jí ptal, zda babička mluvila česky nebo německy, neboť ani to jsem si nepamatoval. Pocházela z vnitrozemí a proto uměla dobře česky. S babičkou měl dědeček dvě děti. Jako první se narodila v roce 1897 teta Ida a po ní 23.3.1899 Rudolf, můj táta.

Dědeček zemřel v Bečově 13.3.1914 ve věku 64 let a 9 měsíců. Fáma tvrdí, že byl alkoholik. Táta ani teta o něm nikdy nemluvili.Tomu se nedivím. Jak už jsem řekl, babička se s dětmi pak přestěhovala do Terezína. Já jí však pamatuju až z doby, kdy žila v Nuslích u své dcery, tety Idy. Babička toho moc nenamluvila, proto jsem si taky nedokázal vybavit, zda mluvila česky nebo německy. Před očima jí stále mám jenom jak sedí v kuchyni na židli, mírně se usmívá, ruce v klíně. Sestřenice mi vyprávěla, že se jednou strašně pohádala se svou dcerou, sbalila si svých pět švestek a odebrala se žít u svého syna, tedy u nás. Jenže přechod z obvykle poklidného prostředí u tety, kde nejvíc hluku nadělalo křídlo, na němž teta učila děti hrát, do bytu, kde se bratři věčně hádali a prali, tak to bylo z bláta do louže a za několik dnů prý sbalila svých pět švestek a vrátila kajícně k dceři. Toto je bez záruky pravosti.

Babička byla v roce 1942 deportována do Terezína 5 a tam, zemřela tak zvanou přirozenou smrtí díky nepřirozeným podmínkám. Jinak by se dožila vyššího věku. Datum úmrtí si nevzpomenu, musel bych zajít do Pinkasovy synagogy a tam ho na zdi vyhledat.

Takže zbývá něco říct o tetě Idě a její rodině. Vystudovala konzervatoř, hru na klavír. Vdala se za Otto Druckera, stavebního inženýra, v lednu 1927 se jí narodila dcera Dita a v únoru 1929 zemřel manžel na zánět středního ucha. Přecházel ho, bylo to právě v době pověstných třeskutých mrazů, které tehdy sužovaly střední Evropu, a tak teta ve 32 letech ovdověla. Po druhé se už nevdala, a tak ty tři ženy tří generací, babička, její dcera a vnučka, žily spolu. Měl jsem k nim z našeho vršovického bytu blízko a navštěvoval je tak jednou za čtrnáct dní, to už přesně nevím,většinou jsem chodil sám. Pěšky. Teta i sestřenice přežily válku v Terezíně, teta mi jednou vyprávěla, že se tátovi podařilo ji dvakrát vyreklamovat z transportu do Osvětimi, do kterého již byla zařazena. Měl nějaké vlivné známé. Takže možná, kdoví, bylo dobře, že už se nevdala. Bylo by určitě obtížnější vyreklamovat z transportu oba a tak by nakonec možná odjeli do Osvětimi oba. O tom, jak by o jejím osudu rozhodl Mengele nemám pochybnosti.

Neměla to lehké po válce. Malou penzi po manželovi – jaká asi mohla být po asi pětiletém zaměstnání – strýc už jí nemohl podporovat, hodin hry na klavír po válce taky moc nebylo, její předválečná „klientela“ byla nejspíš převážně židovská. Poměrně velký byt v Nuslích, ve kterém žily do transportu do Terezína, už zpátky nedostaly. Místo toho jí a Ditě dali podkrovní garsoniéru na Pankráci v šestém patře, se skoseným stropem, asi tak šestnáct metrů čtverečních, bez výtahu, a tak uhlí tahaly ze sklepa do šestého patra po schodech. Když Dita emigrovala do Austrálie v roce 1949, tak jsem tetu často navštěvoval a při té příležitosti nanosil uhlí. Teta odjela za dcerou na jaře 1951, bydlela z počátku sama, byla zaměstnána v kavárně, kde vařila kávu a čaj, později, když už sestřenice s manželem měli dům, tak se přestěhovala k nim. Dostávala po nějakém čase z Německa, v rámci tak zvaného Wiedergutmachung, jakousi penzi, s tím vystačila. Často jsme si psali, až do její smrti v roce 1986. Jednou tu ještě byla na návštěvě v doprovodu dcery, bylo to v květnu 1978, zrovna když jsem slavil padesátiny. Dita teď z té dálky jezdí poměrně často, jednou za rok, nejvýš za dva – vídám ji tak častěji, než sestřenici z matčiny strany, která bydlí v Mostě. Přitom nejsou mezi mnou a mou mosteckou sestřenicí žádná nedorozumění, jenom to časově nevychází.

Dita mi vyprávěla, že jí v Terezíně jedna cikánka věštila z karet budoucnost a předpověděla, že se s budoucím manželem seznámí na lodi. Na obchodní lodi, co ji vezla z Marseille do Sydney déle jak dva měsíce protože po cestě v každém přístavu nakládali nebo vykládali zboží, se rozhlížela po potenciálním manželovi, ale nebyl tam. A pak se s ním seznámila na přívozu v Sydney. Což je taky loď. Takže cikánka nelhala. Je to maďarský žid, před válkou emigroval do Anglie a po válce se přestěhoval do Austrálie, mají dva kluky, čtyři vnoučata. Manžel ještě pracuje v makléřské firmě. A to je mu už přes osmdesát. Doma by ho prý nicnedělání zničilo. Alespoň Dita to tvrdí.

Víc už toho o tátově rodině nevím. Tak teď mámině rodině. Pocházela z odlišného prostředí. Tátova rodina, to byli velmi chudí němečtí židé, máma pocházela zase z českožidovského středostavovského prostředí. Dědeček, Jindřich Fantl, narozený v roce 1867, pocházel z vesnice Chlebnik. Babička, narozená v roce 1873, byla tuším odjakživa Pražanka. Její maminku, tedy mou prababičku jsem znal. Jmenovala se Róza Epsteinová, narodila se v roce 1848, tedy v roce, kdy se narodil o generaci mladší dědeček Auerbach a zemřela v roce 1936, to už mi bylo osm let, takže si ji pamatuju. Měla prý nálevnu alkoholických nápojů, ale v době, kdy jsem ji znal už žila u své dcery, dlouhá léta jí vedla domácnost, protože babička trávila hodně času v obchodě. Její vnoučata jí milovala. Mám pocit, že jim byla bližší než jejich maminka, asi proto, že na ně měla víc času.

Když jsme přijeli s mámou za jejími rodiči na Smíchov, kde měl dědeček U Anděla, v dnes už zbouraném domě, obchod s pánským prádlem, a to bylo pravidelně jednou týdně, tak jsme vždy nejdřív zašli za prababičkou. A když jsme jí nezastihli doma, tak jsme jí našli v parčíku u Vltavy. V kapsáři měla pro mne vždycky cucavý bonbón. Nebo několik slepených. Pak jsme teprve šli do krámu za dědečkem a babičkou. Dědeček s babičkou a prababičkou a před tím i se svými dětmi bydleli ve Vltavské ulici, pár minut chůze od Anděla. Byl to typický prostorný měšťanský byt v domě z přelomu století.

V krámě za kasou kralovala babička, dědeček „úřadoval“ vzadu v „komptoáru“, což byla úzká temná chodba ohraničená zdí a zadní stranou stěny z regálů, na jejím konci psací stůl se stolní lampou, telefonem, psacím strojem a dalšími náležitostmi a tady zase kraloval dědeček. Občas mi dovolil psát na stroji, což jsem považoval za velký projev dědečkovy přízně. A za pultem obsluhovala teta Oly s příručím. Později, když děda předal obchod tetě Oly, tak mne posílali pro dědu do blízké kavárny, kam chodil každé odpoledne, samozřejmě kromě šabatu, na partičku karet. Tam jsem ho vždy našel s nezbytným viržinkem a nedopitou vystydlou černou kávou. Vždy dohrál hru, dopil kávu a bez reptání, že mu zrovna jde dobrá karta, posbíral na stole drobné a odešel se mnou do kšeftu.

Měli čtyři děti. Nejstarší Markéta, moje máma, se narodila v roce 1900, rok po ní strýc Rudolf, s delším odstupem v roce 1908 teta Olga a v roce 1915 teta Mirjam. Strýc Rudolf byl stavební inženýr, vídal jsem ho zřídka, byl na stavbě tabákové továrny na jižním Slovensku jako stavební dozor Československé tabákové režie, to byl státní monopol na zpracování a prodej tabáku a tabákových výrobků. Byl svobodný, měl vážnou známost, křesťanku, naléhala na něj, aby si ji vzal, nechtěl ji však ohrozit a chtěl se oženit až po válce. Kdyby si jí byl vzal tak by neskončil svůj život kdesi v Polsku, jenže jak to mohl tušit?

Zato teta Olga přežila právě proto, že se v roce 1937 vdala za křesťana, taky to byl stavební inženýr, Němec z Těšínska, vystudoval německou techniku v Praze. Oskar Dworzak. Takže asi jeho předkové až tak moc čistokrevní Němci nebyli. Samozřejmě na něj naléhali, aby se rozvedl, nedal se, možná tak i sobě zachránil život, neboť z tohoto důvodu nenarukoval do armády. Mohl taky zmrznout u Stalingradu, v lepším případě být po válce vysídlen nebo vyhnán 6, vyberte si sloveso, které se Vám víc líbí. Dědečkovi, pravověrnému židovi, se ovšem manželství s „nežidem“ pranic nelíbilo, asi se ani nezúčastnil svatby, na fotografiích ze svatby není ani on, ani babička.

Hůř na tom byla teta Mirjam. Ta se vdala sice za žida, ale o rok dřív než její sestra, a to bylo pro dědečka taky těžce stravitelné, měla počkat až se vdá starší dcera. To se u židů nedělá. Prožila Terezín, půl roku s manželem v tak zvaném rodinném táboře v Osvětimi, při selekci oba sice obstáli, ale byli už odděleni, strýc Oskar zemřel vysílením na pochodu smrti 7, několik desítek kilometrů od Terezína, kam je pěšky vedli. Teta pak byla v Hamburku, kde hlavně odklízeli sutiny po bombardování, konce války se dočkala v Bergen-Belsen, což bylo snad v posledních dnech války to nejhrůzostrašnější místo pod sluncem. Po válce se vdala za Františka Klemense, ten se vrátil do Prahy po emigraci v Anglii, sloužil tam jako navigátor v bombarďáku, dokončil tu pak studia medicíny. StB 8 ho obtěžovalo, něco na něj měli a slibovali mu beztrestnost pokud se upíše ďáblu jako spolupracovník, což odmítl a tak se rozhodli v roce 1951 ilegálně překročit hranice. V té době měli už dvě děti a třetí na cestě. Dr. Klemens měl obavu dát mladšímu, tehdy dvou nebo tříletému synovi, kterého nesl spícího na zádech dostatečně velkou dávku sedativ, ten se probudil v tu nejnevhodnější chvíli, zařčal brečet a tak je pohraničníci chytili. Strýc seděl delší dobu, přidali mu za neúspěšný pokus o útěk z vězení, teta si odseděla tuším půl roku, a to ještě nadvakrát, byli tak „ohleduplní“, že jí přerušili výkon trestu, aby mohla porodit mimo věznici. Nejspíš tam neměli porodníka ani porodní bábu, tak proto. A tak po tu dobu měla teta Oly [Olga] pět dětí na starostí. Nezáviděníhodné. Strýc měl po výkonu trestu zákaz vykonávat lékařskou praxi, pracoval ve fabrice, rozhodli se emigrovat legálně, trvalo to dlouhou řadu let, než jim to povolili. Emigrovali do Izraele, strýc už zemřel, devadesátiletá teta žije teď u své dcery. Podrobně o tom martýriu píše můj bratranec, syn tety Olgy, Ivan, ve své knížce nazvané „Report“. Já jsem s nimi užší kontakt v padesátých a šedesátých letech neměl, přestěhovali se nedlouho po návratu strýce z vězení do Písku.

Vlastně jsem Vám zapomněl říct o dalších osudech dědečka a babičky Fantlových. Dědeček měl štěstí – jinak se to nedá říct – zemřel ve své posteli na zápal plic v květnu 1940. Nedovedu si představit, jak by ty hrůzy snášel. Nepřežil by ani Terezín. Když jsem tento názor kdysi řekl tetě Mirjam, tak mi ho potvrdila. Babička byla z jiného těsta, to byl bojovník s obrovskou energií, který se jen tak nedal. V 72 letech onemocněla v Terezíně břišním tyfem, nechápu jak v těch podmínkách dokázala tyfus přežít a dočkat se tam konce války. Osvětim by nepřežila.

Babička zemřela v roce 1954. Ani ten závěr života neměla lehký. V posledních dvou letech žila v židovském starobinci, šťastná tam rozhodně nebyla, to mi bylo jasné, když jsem jí přicházel navštívit. Tehdy starobince vypadaly trochu jinak než dnešní domovy důchodců a jak neměla co dělat, tak se jí hlavou honily asi hodně smutné neodbytné vzpomínky na zemřelé děti. Měl jsem jí moc rád, po válce mi byla ze všech příbuzných nejbližší.

Dětství

Takže se mám konečně vrátit ke svým rodičům, osudům svým a bratrovým? Nerad, pořád to bolí, i po tolika letech. Mládí rodičů bylo poznamenáno příslušenstvím k sionistickému hnutí 9, to bylo v té době in, tak se tomu dnes říká, ne? Tam se zřejmě seznámili a připravovali na návrat do zaslíbené země. Připravovali se na práci v kibucu na nějakém statku a učili se ivrit, tedy novodobé hebrejštině V roce 1922 emigrovali do tehdejšího britského protektorátu Palestina. Stali se členy kibucu v Bet Alfě, patřili mezi zakládající členy, přijeli do pustiny vykoupené od arabských šejků, postavili stany a postupně obojí zvelebovali. Na fotografii z roku 1930 už to tam vypadalo velmi slušně. Je to pohled z kopce, na stráni je veliký sad s již vzrostlými stromy, nejspíš pomerančovníky, pod svahem už řada budov, zejména hospodářských. Při kopání jejich základů narazili na zachovalou mozaikovou dlažbu synagogy z šestého století, tak je z toho museum. Hodně známé, fotografii té dlažby jsem viděl v několika publikacích.

Kibuc je zemědělské družstvo, fungující na principu každý podle svých možností, každému podle jeho potřeb. Ovšem velmi uskrovněných potřeb, podle možností kibucu. Měli společné stravování, když se jim roztrhaly kalhoty tak dostali nové, atd. Tedy základní komunistická idea. Jak řešili problém nekuřák versus kuřák deseti cigaret denně versus kuřák třiceti cigaret to nevím. Možná dostávali jakési kapesné. Kibucy jsou v Izraeli ještě dnes, je jich už méně, nežijou tam taky už tak sparťanským životem jako tehdy. Od zemědělských družstev, tak jak jsme je znali tady, se ale podstatně lišily tehdy i nyní. Do kibucu vstupovali dobrovolně, mohli kdykoli přijít a kdykoli odejít. Často tam začínali svůj život imigranti i po válce, než se rozkoukali a rozhodli pro jiný, nezávislejší život. Takže ke kibucu měli a asi dosud mají poněkud jiný vztah než měli naší družstevníci k jejich družstvu, tomu asi taky odpovídala pracovní morálka. Byl je tam navštívit prezident Masaryk 10, dochovaly se fotografie, jak si s kibucim povídá v jídelně, ale jsou tmavé a neostré.

No a my jsme se tam narodili. Ne v Bet Alfě, ale v Ain Harodu, to je nedaleké městečko s nemocnicí. Nejdřív bratr Ruben na Silvestra v roce 1924 a pak já v květnu 1928. Zachovalo se potvrzení vrchního rabinátu v Jeruzalémě o svatbě rodičů. Bylo to až v roce 1926, asi hromadná svatba všech párů do té doby žijících na hromádce, nejspíš byli rabíni pohoršeni a tak jim kibucim vyhověli. Jim samotným to asi nevadilo. Bratr byl tedy v době narození nemanželský, ale na rodném listu nic takového napsáno není. Zato v mém rodném listu je omylem napsáno, že je otec Polák. Asi to bylo rodičům lhostejné, byli přece pouze Židi. Až těsně před naším návratem do Československa koncem roku 1930 se otec chtě nechtě musel odebrat na matriční úřad v Ain Harod a tam podepsat místopřísežné prohlášení, že není Polák ale Čechoslovák. Na základě toho mi příslušný matriční úředník na rub rodného listu napsal, že se na základě přeloženého místopřísežného prohlášení Nationality Polish mění na Nationality Czechoslovak. Takhle jednoduše jsem změnil svou státní příslušnost. U nás by to asi bylo složitější. Zejména po válce. K cestě z Palestiny se mi váže jedna vzpomínka. Je to bez záruky, taky jsem si to mohl dodatečně vsugerovat. Stojím na palubě lodi a přede mnou nic než moře. Mohla by to být skutečná vzpomínka, ten rozdíl mezi vyprahlou Palestinou a Středozemním mořem mohl být hluboký dojem.

Proč jsme se vrátili? To nevím, nezeptal jsem se, proč by mne to tehdy mělo zajímat? Neznal jsem ani pojem sionismus. Vracela se tehdy řada rodin, asi hlavně ze zdravotních důvodů, jsou tam dost jiné klimatické podmínky než na jaké byli zvyklí a také fyzicky namáhavá práce, slyšel jsem, že tam řádila malárie, tak asi hlavně proto. S několika těmito rodinami jsme se stýkali i tady. To víte, že jsem si mockrát po válce řekl, že kdyby tam tehdy rodiče vydrželi, tak by bylo všechno jinak. Asi si to za války, možná ještě naposledy na rampě v Osvětimi, řekli také. Kolikrát v životě děláme klíčová rozhodnutí, která pak litujeme když dodatečně zjistíme jejich následky pro celý zbytek života? To co se stalo nemohli v roce 1930 předvídat ani astrologové. V té době byl Hitler ještě směšná bezvýznamná nula. O tři roky později by se už určitě rozhodovali jinak.

A tak jsme se tu octli v době velké hospodářské krize 11. Začátky asi nebyly jednoduché,  přijeli jsme se s holýma rukama, jak v té situaci táta sehnal práci nevím. My kluci jsme neuměli česky, já měl dost času se naučit, bylo mi dva a půl roku, bratr si ale musel pospíšit, měl na to před vstupem do školy tři čtvrti roku. Ale v Anglii jsme na to měli mnohem méně času. Z počátku, do mých šesti let, jsme bydleli v pavlačovém domě na Žižkově. Vzpomínky téměř žádné, jen to že jsem chodil rok do mateřské školy Na Pražačku, to byla tehdy úplně nová škola, asi proto se na ní pamatuju. A pak si ještě vzpomínám na to, že v domě byl obuvník, spíš příštipkář, že jsem ho chodil navštěvovat do jeho temného krámku, zvědavý na to, jak to dělá a on mi něco vyprávěl. Jak vypadal náš byt si nevzpomínám. Vlastně ani na ten další, kde jsme žili dva roky. To bylo v Podbabě, kousek do kopce od konečné tramvaje. Tam jsem začal chodit do školy. Na školu si pamatuju. Bylo to několik provizorních přízemních dřevěných staveb, v každé z nich dvě třídy proti sobě. Po Praze jich bylo víc, v jedné takové učila pak začátkem padesátých let v Bráníku manželka.

Když jsme přijeli koncem letních prázdnin v roce 1936 z pionýrského tábora, tak nás na nádraží očekávali rodiče, ale místo do Podbaby jsme jeli do Vršovic. Do našeho třetího, teď už posledního bytu. O stěhování nám předem neřekli, to bylo překvapení. Byla to novostavba, byt byl prostornější, měli jsme tam velký obývací pokoj, který byl dětským pokojem a jídelnou, rodiče měli pokoj o něco menší a po celé šířce obou pokojů byl balkón. Měl asi stejnou velikost jako ten můj současný. Kuchyň měla jen nepřímé světlo, mezi naším pokojem a kuchyní byla od metru až ke stropu zeď ze skleněných cihel. Byl to už moderní byt, s ústředním topením, teplou vodou, výtahem v domě, v suterénu byla prádelna s pračkou a vyhřívaná sušárna. Ten tento byt bych dokázal ještě dnes namalovat, vidím ho zcela jasně před sebou. Tam jsem dochodil tehdy tak zvanou obecnou školu, to byla první až pátá třída, na konci školního roku v červnu 1939 jsem se ještě přihlásil na měšťanskou školu, ale tam už jsem nechodil, koncem července jsme s bráchou odjeli do Anglie.

Mé vzpomínky na mládí se vážou v podstatě jen k Vršovicům. Tehdy tam bylo ještě spousta nezastavěných ploch, kousek od nás kasárna 28. pěšího pluku a jeho vojenské cvičiště, tam jsme jako děti taky směli, o pár set metrů dál Eden s kolotoči a letním cvičištěm, které se v zimě proměnilo na kluziště. Nic nám nechybělo. Hodně jsem tehdy četl, to byla moje nejmilejší zábava, ležet na břiše a číst si. Doma jsme mnoho knih neměli, já si z nich pamatuju jen na Švejka 12, toho jsem poctivě celého přečetl, z dětských knih si pamatuju na Čapkovy 13 pohádky a Dášenku a taky na knihu Bambi od nějakého severského autora, byla o životě kolouška. Ta se mi moc líbila. Měla zelenou plátěnou vazbu se zlatým nápisem. Asi mi jí někdo daroval k narozeninám. Vzal jsem si ji s sebou do Anglie, asi tam zůstala. Chodil jsem pravidelně do dětské knihovny, byla na Korunní třídě na Vinohradech vedle vodárenské věže, pěšky to nebylo ani půl hodiny. Ta dětská knihovna je tam pořád.

Jak to vím? Chodím se psem k veterináři do Vršovic. Našel jsem ho kdysi v telefonním seznamu, když jsme si pořídili tady toho welsh teriéra, jmenuje se Dr.Bondy, takže bylo zřejmé, že je souvěrec, tak proč bych ho nepodpořil, a navíc Vršovice, na které stále nostalgicky vzpomínám. A tak tam jezdím minimálně dvakrát za rok na vakcinaci, pokud nespěchám tak jedeme tramvají k Orionce, kde to v oněch dávných dobách nádherně vonělo, sejdu po schodech dolů na Ruskou, pak do Bulharské, v té jsme bydleli, na chvíli se zastavíme a já se dívám na náš balkón, vzpomínám a v duchu tam vidím mámu. Bulharskou pak dojdu do Kodaňské, po obvyklé trase do školy, u té se taky chvíli zastavím, před tou jsme v hodinách náboženství my nekatolíci hrávali škatule škatule hejbejte se, no a pak už je to jen kousek k panu doktorovi Bondymu.

Rodiče byli komunisté. Zřejmě si to přinesli z kibucu, což byla jediná fungující skutečná  komuna, fungující bez diktatury proletariátu, vedoucí úlohy strany, represí, gulagů či drátěných zátarasů nabitých elektřinou. O tom, co se dělo už tehdy v Rusku nevěděli a pokud někdo něco tak svatokrádežného tvrdil, tak to určitě považovali za nepřátelskou kapitalistickou propagandu 14. A tak nás v tomto duchu také vychovávali, nechodili jsme cvičit do Sokola 15 ale do Federace proletářských tělovýchovných jednot, místo do Skautu do Spartakových skautů práce a v létě jsme jezdili do pionýrského tábora v Soběšíně na Sázavě, tam ta indoktrinace intenzivně pokračovala, jak jinak. Byla to nezpochybnitelná, nekriticky přijímaná víra, Svatou trojici nahradili Marx-Engels-Lenin, mesiáše Ježíše nahradil Stalin. Jinak si podlehnutí tomuto náboženství nebo spíš bludu neumím vysvětlit.

Nevěřím, že by v té době někdo vstupoval do strany s výhledem, že si tím vytváří předpoklady pro to, aby v budoucnu získal neomezenou, nekontrolovatelnou moc nad lidmi a zdroji bohatství společnosti, být rovnější mezi rovnými, ale možná někdo byl tak předvídavý. A stejně to nemůže ospravedlnit to co někteří z těchto původně idealistů a těch co k nim přidali později napáchali. Promiňte mi tu odbočku od tématu. Klidně ji vymažte.

Tak tedy táta se po návratu z Palestiny angažoval, pokud vím, hlavně v tak zvané Rote Hilfe, po česku Rudé pomoci 16, která pomáhala komunistickým, možná i sociálně-demokratickým utečencům z Německa a Rakouska u nás. Zůstala ve mně vzpomínka na to, jak jednou k nám přišel jeden pán, ve vaně se čvachtal jako pominutý, a tak jsem se mámy ptal, proč tam tak vyvádí. Vysvětlila mi, že utekl z koncentráku, a že se několik měsíců nekoupal a proto si to teď chce pořádně užít. Pak u nás ještě poobědval a odešel. Takové návštěvy chodívaly často.

Ovšem jako člen komunistické strany mohl mít táta v práci problémy. A tak na 1. máje šli do komunistického průvodu máma s Rubenem, mne vzal táta na Václavák na chodník a tam jsme jim mávali. Vzpomínám, že máma měla na hlavě červený šátek. Jednou se nás druhý den paní učitelka ptala, co jsme dělali o 1. máji. Jeden snaživý hoch se hned přihlásil a žaloval, že viděl mámu s bratrem v komunistickém průvodu. Ale paní učitelka ho za tuto informaci nepochválila, místo toho nám udělala přednášku o demokracii.

Po okupaci 17 ihned vypuklo zatýkání angažovaných antifašistů podle předem připravených seznamů, a tak v prvních dnech po okupaci táta doma nespal, občas zašel ve dne, ale na to jsme měli zvláštní znamení: kdyby byla na balkóně pověšena deka, tak by to znamenalo, že je u nás Gestapo. Nevím, zda bychom stačili deku pověsit, naštěstí táta v těch seznamech nebyl, a tak se po skončení vlny zatýkání vrátil domů. Ale pracoval i potom ilegálně, to vím, byl součástí organizace zajišťující ilegální přechody do Polska. Vlastně i já jsem, věřte nevěřte, ve svých jedenácti „ilegálně pracoval“. Několikrát mne táta někam poslal s ústním vzkazem. To byl vzrušující zážitek, ale taky to mohlo být nebezpečné, kdyby v tom bytě právě bylo Gestapo. Jak bych jim vysvětlil proč přicházím k neznámým lidem na návštěvu? Ale táta mne asi neposílal tam, kde by takové nebezpečí hrozilo. Detaily si už nepamatuju.

Doma jsme mluvili jenom česky, nevzpomínám si, že bych byl poznal, že to není tátova mateřská řeč. Perfektní ale asi nebyla, protože v dopisech, které nám rodiče psali do Anglie, byly k poznání máminy opravy tátových gramatických prohřešků. Ale dělala to tak, že to bylo téměř k nepoznání. A nebylo jich mnoho. Na výslovnosti to asi znát bylo. Jenže v tom věku jsem to nevnímal.

Tedy abych řekl pravdu a nic než pravdu. Chodil jsem asi dva roky jednou týdně na soukromou hodinu němčiny a máma dostala nápad, že budeme jeden den v týdnu mluvit německy, abych se procvičil. Nápad nepochybně dobrý, určitě bych se tak naučil víc a rychleji, toho je dokladem, jak jsem se pak rychle souběžně naučil anglicky a německy v Anglii. Tam ovšem nouze naučila Dalibora housti. Doma jsem to po delší či kratší době vždy vzdal a máma nebyla asi důsledná a trpělivá.

Nevím, co bych Vám ještě řekl k životu před válkou. V mých dětských očích to byla idylická doba, žili jsme dost skromným životem, zámožní jsme určitě nebyli, nepamatuji se, že by rodiče, když spolu mluvili někdy zvýšili hlas nebo se hádali, když jsem to později vídal u jiných manželů tak jsem z toho byl vyjevený, nemohl jsem to pochopit, protože jsem s tím předtím nepřišel do styku a nevěděl, že něco takového existuje. Něco jiného byly vztahy mezi mnou a bratrem, tam to jiskřilo pořád, jak už to tak mezi sourozenci bývá, zejména když jsou dva. Asi když je jich víc, tak už to tak není, to už se ta sourozenecká soutěživost a závist rozptýlí. Taky to v Anglii hned přestalo. Rodičovskou přízeň jsme si už závidět nemohli.

Bratr hodně sportoval, tak moc doma odpoledne nebýval, já byl zase domácký typ, nejraději jsem byl s mámou, pozoroval jak vaří a vyptával se na to i ono, pomáhal když mi to dovolila, po velkém prádle jsem s ní chodil dolů do prádelny a pomáhal dávat prádlo do odstředivky, věšet a sbírat prádlo, jezdil s ní pravidelně jednou týdně na Smíchov, někdy i na návštěvy jinam. Ale asi jsem taky zlobil, občas mne máma honila kolem jídelního stolu s vařečkou, asi se mi podařilo mnohé dobře mířené ráně přece jen uniknout. Že bych dostal někdy nabančeno od táty, tak to si opravdu nepamatuju. Možná taky tím, že pracoval mimo Prahu, byl účetním revizorem, kontroloval zda členové kartelu dodržují dohodnutá pravidla, a tak v pondělí ráno odjížděl a vracel se v pátek večer a v sobotu dopoledne pak odcházel do auditorské firmy, pro kterou pracoval a zřejmě podával zprávu o svých zjištěních. Pamatuji se jen na jeden nedokonaný výprask, utekl jsem před ním do koupelny a zamkl se, strašně jsem se bál bití, odolal jsem tátovým výhrůžkám, že to bude horší když neotevřu, táta to nakonec vzdal.

No a pak bylo najednou po idyle. Hitlerovy projevy přenášené rádiem, které rodiče poslouchali, já jim sice nerozuměl ale z jeho způsobu hysterického řvaní poznal, že to nebude nic příjemného, okupace Rakouska 18, Mnichov 19, protektorát. A jak už bylo nebezpečí cítit ve vzduchu, tak začínala cvičení leteckých poplachů, vřískaly sirény a my se museli jít schovat do nejbližšího domu a čekat až siréna oznámí konec poplachu. Máma vstoupila do dobrovolných zdravotních sester, koupila si uniformu a chodila po večerech na školení Červeného kříže. Vzpomínám jak jsme šli s mámou koupit plynové masky, prodávali je vedle Viktorky Žižkov, byl jsem na tu svou moc pyšný.

Ráno 15. března 1939, to už jsme z rádia věděli, že prezident Hácha 20 tak zvaně požádal Hitlera o ochranu ,–nevím před kým - jsem šel jako obvykle do školy, jako vždy procházel Heroldovými sady a tam se rozvalovali němečtí vojáci, náramně hluční a veselí, sami se sebou spokojení, topili pod vojenským kotlem a cosi si vařili k snídani. A taky si pamatuju, jak obléhali cukrárny a s odpuštěním se přežírali šlehačkou. Asi v Třetí říši nebyla. Nebo využívali pro ně velmi výhodný směnný kurz 10 Kč za marku, který zavedli hned první den po okupaci a obchodníci byli povinni přijímat platbu v markách.

Ještě jedna vzpomínka, nezdržuju? Klidně to pak vymažte. Jako školní dítka jsme jednoho dne místo vyučování šli povinně vítat našeho prvního protektora rytíře von Neuratha 21. Tuhle povinnou vítací činnost si po Němcích oblíbili i komunistické režimy. Ale to už chodili vítat i úředníci, vojáci, milicionáři a kdo ví kdo ještě. Učitelé nás odvedli na Smetanovo nábřeží, před námi na kopci Hradčany, kde se pan protektor hodlal usídlit, kolem špalírů školních dítek projížděly kabriolety a rozdávali papírové fangličky s hákovým křížem. Školní dítka je házela pod sebe, byli jsme přece čeští vlastenci a tehdy ještě nevěděli, jak moc se máme bát, a tak přivezli další várku, a to se několikrát opakovalo, pan protektor měl zpoždění, stáli jsme tam asi tři hodiny. A pak kolem nás projel dlouhatánský průvod a my ani nakonec nevěděli, který z těch mnohých uniformovaných pánů se spoustou pozlátka je ten pán, kterého jsme přišli přivítat. Stejně už jsme fangličky neměli, ležely v kalužích pod námi. Asi jsme si ve vlastních očích připadali jako nebojácní hrdinové.

Pobyt v Anglii

O chystaném odjezdu do Anglie jsme museli vědět brzo po 15. březnu, neboť jsem přestal chodit na němčinu a místo toho začal chodit na angličtinu. No a po skončení školního roku už jsme se začali připravovat na odjezd, měli jsme odjet 1. srpna. Před námi báječné dobrodružství, jak jinak bych se v tom věku podíval do Anglie. Stejně to bylo jen na pár měsíců, brzy buď padne Hitler, přece se ho Němci musí chtít zbavit, a my se vrátíme nebo rodiče přijedou za námi. Tak proč si dělat starosti? Začaly horečné přípravy, všelijaké nákupy, na každém kousku prádla muselo být našito jméno, aby to mohli po vyprání roztřídit. Teprve po letech jsem si všiml, že na mé prošívané dece je v jednom rohu paspulka s nápisem AUERBACH našita jen z části a do ní zapíchnuta jehla s nití; máma asi musela odejít od šití a pak na to zapomněla. I takové maličkosti dokázaly po letech vnést do duše hluboký smutek.

Jedno červencové nedělní ráno, právě jsme seděli v kuchyni u snídaně, zazvonil u dveří listonoš; přinesl telegram, ve kterém bylo napsáno, že odjíždíme už 18. července. Nevím proč tehdy z původního velkého transportu nás 70 vybrali k dřívějšímu odjezdu, ti zbývající pak ještě odjeli do Anglie 1. srpna, ale ten další, který měl odjet 1. září už nedojel. Podle fámy sice odjel, ale v Německu je vrátili. Ten den Němci napadli Polsko, vypukla světová válka. Když přišel ten telegram, tak jsem se rozbrečel, protože to znamenalo, že opustím rodiče dřív, než jsem to měl v hlavě zafixováno. A to už máma nevydržela a taky se rozplakala. Pak už jsme byli stateční, nebo jsme se alespoň, tedy hlavně rodiče, přemáhali. Vlak odjížděl o půlnoci z Wilsoňáku, tak nás rodiče ještě před tím vzali na večeři do nóbl restaurace na Václaváku. Pamatuju si to jako by to bylo dnes, protože jsem byl poprvé v restauraci. Byl to Vašatův rybí restaurant s úslužnými číšníky ve fracích, stříbrnými příbory, atd. Moc jsme toho asi tu první noc nespali, byly tam děti mnohem mladší než já, ty celou noc proplakaly. Ještě v noci jsme překročili hranice protektorátu, pozdě odpoledne druhého dne jsme opustili Německo a byli v Holandsku. Z vlaku jsme do té doby vystupovat nesměli, jídlo a pití na cestu jsme měli z domova. Sice jsme z toho asi pojem neměli, ale najednou se nám ulevilo, cítili se volní. Z Holandska si pamatuju, že tam snad nikdo nechodil pěšky, všude spousta kol, není divu, když je to samá rovina. Pozdě večer jsme dojeli do přístavu, tam nás naložili na loď, přidělili kajuty a konečně jsme se mohli natáhnout a vyspat. A ráno jsme se už vzbudili v anglickém přístavu v Harwichi. Takže jsme si tu plavbu lodí ani trochu neužili. Vlak do Londýna odjížděl až v poledne, tak nás vzali na hřiště, hráli jsme fotbal. No a odpoledne jsme už byli v Londýně, na nádraží nás odvedli do nějaké haly a tam si nás naši budoucí opatrovníci rozebrali. Pro mne, bratra a ještě dalších šest dětí si přijela paní Hanna Strasserová a odvezla nás do Stoke-on-Trent, čtvrtmiliónového zakouřeného průmyslového města ve střední Anglii. Těch šest dětí jsem do té doby neznal.

To bylo tak: Hanna byla přítelkyní rodičů, znali se z kibucu, i ona s manželem a synem se vrátili do Československa, žili v Teplicích odkud její manžel pocházel, asi dvakrát jsme s mámou byli u nich na návštěvě. Bratr byl u nich rok na výměně, aby se naučil německy, tomu se říkalo na tauši, jejich syn byl zase u nás, aby se naučil česky. Po Mnichově bydleli v Praze nedaleko od nás, taky v Bulharské ulici a do Anglie emigrovali už začátkem roku 1939. Asi se tam Hanna dozvěděla o akci Nicholase Wintona, a tak iniciovala vytvoření Czech Children Refugee Committee – North Staffordshire Branch neboli výbor na záchranu českých dětí, který dával dohromady lidi, kteří chtěli pomáhat, shánět finanční dary na kauci, kterou chtělo ministerstvo vnitra dřív, než dali Nicholasu Wintonovi pro nás povolení k pobytu, peníze na financování našeho pobytu a zajistili i ubytování, paj nás často navštěvovali, zvali k sobě domů, vozili na výlety a tak. Městské zastupitelstvo dalo k disposici jeden z domků v sirotčinci – nazývalo se to Children´s Homes neboli dětské domovy – nebyl to obvyklý sirotčinec, ale to čemu se dnes říká dětská vesnička: oplocený pozemek s vraty neustále otevřenými, od vstupu vedla slepá ulice, spíš alej se vzrostlými stromy, na konci velikánské hřiště, po obou stranách aleje dvojdomky, v každém domku opatrovnice, kterou děti oslovovaly mother, a s ní asi deset dětí obou pohlaví ve věku od tří do čtrnácti, takže to byla taková velká rodina, ale bez otce. Tak jako v rodině taky museli doma pomáhat: zametat a vytírat podlahu, mýt nádobí, škrábat brambory, nosit uhlí a tak.

No a jeden z těch domků byl tehdy prázdný a město ho dalo k disposici našemu výboru. A tak bydlení,vodu a elektřinu výbor pořídil zadarmo, jednou za rok nám tamní důlní společnost darovala fůru antracitu a na to ostatní potřeby už sháněl peníze výbor. Ze začátku to šlo, později už to bylo stále obtížnější, válka přinášela lidem jiné problémy, odborové organizace, náš hlavní sponzor, měly podstatně menší příjmy a asi i pomáhal rodinám členů, kteří narukovali. I my jsme pomáhali v domácnosti, to mi nevadilo, byl jsem z domova zvyklý, táta v neděli vařil oběd, uměl jen jedno jídlo, rizoto s uzeným masem, ale to nevadilo, vždy jsem se na to znovu těšil. No a my s bráchou po obědě myli a utírali nádobí. Postě máma měla v neděli den odpočinku. Už jsem zase odbočil.

Z těch domácích prací jsem měl strach jen když jsem přišel na řadu se zatápěním v krbu, jiné vytápění tam nebylo. Několikrát to zhaslo, kouř šel do pokoje místo do komínu, chvíli to vždy trvalo, než se oheň umoudřil. Ale zima tam byla stejně, pokud člověk nestál přímo u krbu, kde si nahřál půlku těla a po otočení o sto osmdesát stupňů tu druhou. Navíc jednoduchá okna a já rozmazlený z bytu s ústředním topením. A první dlouhé kalhoty mi koupili až v patnácti!

Ale první týden jsme byli rozmístěni po rodinách, neboť nás očekávali po 1. srpnu, a tak ještě nebyly dokončeny přípravy. Po nastěhování začala intenzivní výuka angličtiny, neboť ani ne za dva měsíce začínal školní rok. Učila nás Angličanka, učitelka angličtiny v penzi, předtím učila angličtinu v Palestině, ta ovšem česky neuměla, takže jsme se učili pomocí obrázků, ukazováním na věci a tak. Asi to měla vyzkoušené, něco nás naučit musela, takže jsme za šest týdnů nastoupili do školy. Mne nechali opakovat pátou třídu, po půl roce usoudili, že už umím dost anglicky a převeleli do šesté třídy, do které jsem věkem patřil. Tam jsem dokončil šestou a sedmou třídu, pak udělal zkoušku na dvouletou průmyslovku, tam mne to bavilo, učitelé nás dokázali zaujmout, bez problémů jsem jí absolvoval. Dokonce jako premiant. Poslední dva roky v Anglii jsem strávil v Československé státní střední škole, což bylo gymnasium financované československou vládou v exilu, tak tam už jsem problémy měl. Ne kvůli češtině, tu jsem nezapomněl na rozdíl od mnoha jiných, ale s biflováním nezáživného učiva, to mne nebavilo. A tak jsem procházel s odřenýma ušima.

S rodiči jsme si po nějakou dobu mohli dopisovat, jenom to dlouho trvalo, pošta procházela cenzurou v Anglii a Německu a navíc jsme ji posílali přes známé v USA, také to byli bývalí kibucim z Bet Alfy. V Praze jsme k nim s mámou chodívali na návštěvu. To šlo až do vypovězení války Spojenými sáty Německu, ale i pak jsme ještě měli nějakou dobu kontakt. Byla možnost dopisování zprostředkovávané Mezinárodním červeným křížem v Ženevě, to bylo vlastně určeno pro válečné zajatce na obou válčících stranách a nějak se stalo, že i nám to bylo umožněno. Bylo to velmi sporé psaní asi jako telegram, omezené na dvacet pět slov kromě adresy a psát jsme museli německy. Na druhou stranu se psala odpověď. Kam se to odnášelo k odeslání nevím. Několik jich mám schováno, všechny asi ne, tak nevím, kdy to přestalo. Nejspíš v roce 1942, když rodiče byli odtransportováni do Terezína. Ne, nepřišlo mi to divné, neboť i ostatní děti už tyto zprávy nedostávali a tak jsem si myslel, že to Němci zatrhli, nebyli jsme váleční zajatci.

Bombardování jsem nezažil, jen jedou spadla bomba do nedalekého domku a zcela ho zdemolovala, nejspíš nějaké německé letadlo bylo zasaženo a potřebovalo odlehčit zátěž. Přitom to bylo průmyslové město, uhelné doly, strojírenské podniky a tak. Ale nálety jsme v průběhu bitvy o Britanii užili ažaž, prakticky noc co noc přes Stoke létaly bombarďáky někam dál na sever. Začaly houkat sirény, vzbudili nás, my se rychle oblékli a běželi do nedalekého protileteckého krytu, který byl společný pro celý sirotčinec. No a když na zpáteční cestě přeletěli tak zahoukali konec náletu a my mohli zpátky do postele. Dost často se to opakovalo i víckrát za noc. Takže jsme se moc nevyspali. Ale ráno se šlo do školy, jakoby nic, s nezbytnou plynovou maskou, ta se nedala porovnat s tou, která mi zůstala doma nepoužitá. Tato byla uložena v papírové krabici ze které čouhal špagát, aby se dala nosit přes rameno a místo skleněných zornic tam byl ovál z celuloidu. Takže jsem tou maskou pohrdal, ale nosit jsem jí musel. Jako všichni, i dospělí. Jiné pro civilisty nebyly, zato byly zadarmo.

Opatrovala nás časem se měnící manželská dvojice, také z Československa. Bez výjimky to jim byla němčina mnohem bližší než čeština, případně čeština jazyk neznámý, a tak jsem se vlastně souběžně s angličtinou naučil i německy. Tak ale už tak dokonalá zdaleka nebyla, se slovníkovou zásobou jsem na tom byli dobře ale z gramatiky bych dostal pětku. Brzy jsme si na sebe zvykli, nevzpomínám, že by mezi námi dětmi byly nějaké animozity, hádky, rvačky. Samozřejmě mi byla část osazenstva sympatičtější, ale to nebránilo celkem pohodovému soužití. Taky z nás udělali pěvecký sbor, bratr hrál na pianovou harmoniku a Ralph, to byl jeden z nás na housle, a tak jsme chodili „koncertovat“ po městě, to nás ještě oblékli do čehosi strašného, co sami ušili a o čem si Angličané měli myslet, že to je československý kroj, ani vám to nechci popisovat. Nám říkali, že to má být propagace Československa, aby si nemysleli, že pocházíme z Afriky, ale nejspíš hlavním cílem byla sbírka na provoz domova. Ale na tu dobu stejně rád vzpomínám.

Horší to bylo s pobytem v Československé státní škole, kde jsem byl poslední dva roky. Něco jiného je soužití deseti dětí a soužití dvou set dětí. Vadila mi deprivatizace, nechápu proč Angličané si tolik potrpí na své boarding schools, tedy po česku internátní školy. Možná proto, že poslat dítě do takové školy není nijak laciné, že u bohatých to patří k bontonu, ale taky si asi myslí, že se v tom prostředí jejich dítko „zocelí“. Na sobě jsem to nepozoroval.

Čtvery letní prázdniny jsem prožil na severu Anglie na různých ovčích farmách, tak trochu jsem pomáhal, v posledních dvou letech dost pilně se senosečí. Byly to obrovské plochy luk s víceméně volně se pasoucími stády tak osmi set ovcí, noci trávily pod širým nebem a jelikož sníh je tam vzácností, tak se asi zčásti i v zimě napásly a nebyly závislé jen na senu. Ale bylo ho dost, sklízeli jsme ho celé léto. Tedy když nepršelo. A to bylo dost často.

Bratr byl z nás osmi nejstarší a v osmnácti, v létě roku 1943, vstoupil dobrovolně do československé armády. Po něm postupně i ostatní kluci, kromě mne, já byl nejmladší, osmnáct mi bylo až v roce 1946. Takže ke konci války jsme z původních osmi zůstali už jen, tři, kromě mne ještě dvě holky, ty byly mladší než já. Koncem května, možná začátkem června mi do školy přišel dopis od bratra, který mezitím dorazil s armádou do Prahy. V něm mi psal, že ve Vršovicích nikoho nenašel, tak zajel na Smíchov, tam našel tetu Oly a Mirjam a babičku, že děda zemřel a že o rodičích je známo jen to, že byli odvezeni kamsi z Terezína a od té doby nic. Asi si už uvědomoval, nejspíš z vyprávění tety Mirjam, jaký osud je postihl, to mi naplno napsat nedokázal a tak jsem dál žil v iluzi, nebo chcete-li v naději, že se ještě odněkud vynoří. Podobně na tom byli asi taky matky a manželky vojáků, jimž napsali vojenští páni, že jsou nezvěstní a taky dlouho doufali, že se vrátí, obzvlášť pokud byli na ruské frontě. Odtamtud se váleční zajatci vraceli ještě začátkem padesátých let.

Návrat zpátky organizovala naše vláda a tak nás, tedy mne a ty dvě dívky, jednoho dne koncem srpna 1945 naložili do vojenského letadla asi pro přepravu parašutistů, protože jsme seděli jsme podél trupu na dřevěných lavicích, pohodlné to zrovna nebylo. A bez občerstvení! V Ruzyni nás naložili do autobusu a odvezli do budovy YMCA v Žitné ulici, kterou předělali na provizorní ubytovnu a přidělili nám každému postel. Dal jsem kufr pod postel a rovnou šel na Karlovo náměstí, nasednul na šestnáctku, a jel na Smíchov. Neboť šestnáctkou jsem tam vždy jezdíval s mámou. Anděl byl v tu chvíli můj jediný pevný bod ve vesmíru. Zašel jsem do obchodu, neboť jsem nevěděl kde teta bydlí. Tam byl jen příručí, kterého jsem znal už před válkou a ten mne nasměroval.

Kolikrát jsem si v Anglii představoval jak přijedu do Vršovic, vzhlédnu nahoru k balkónu zda tam nezahlédnu mámu, pak zazvoním u dveří, otevře mi máma nebo táta, vykřikne radostí a tím přivolá druhého rodiče. Jak budeme nekonečně šťastní, vstoupíme po druhé do stejné řeky a pak už to bude jen nádherný, idylický život …

Po válce

Dopadlo to jinak. Zazvonil jsem u tetiných dveří, přišla mi otevřít drobounká stařenka, pozdravil jsem, zeptal se zda je paní Dvořáková doma, stařenka řekla, že šla nakoupit, že se brzy vrátí, a pak jsme se s babičkou ve stejném okamžiku poznali a objali. Babička mne vzala do pokoje, sedli jsme si a babička začala plakat současně radostí i bolestí. A pak jen opakovala, a to velmi často až do své smrti „Proč jsem raději nezemřela já?“ Od té doby vím, že pro ženu není větší bolest, než smrt dítěte. Ten den když babička umírala, tak jsem ji s tetami navštívil v nemocnici. Byla v morfiovém deliriu, nepoznávala nás a jen opakovala „Grétinko“. Tak oslovovala svou dceru, mou mámu.

Občas si půjčuji v místní knihovně anglickou knihu, abych úplně nezapomněl, co kdyby se to ještě někdy hodilo. Minule jsem si půjčil autobiografický román Sons and Lovers od D.H.Lawrence. Vypráví tam o smrti svého staršího bratra, o zármutku své matky, jak stále opakovala „If only it could have been me!“ Takže babiččina reakce nebyla výjimečná.

Asi za půl hodiny se tety vrátily z nákupu, zase velké vítání a objímání, Mirjam rozhodla, že okamžitě zajdeme do Žitné pro můj kufr a hned první noc v Praze jsem spal u tety na Smíchově. Bydlel jsem tam dva roky, až do maturity. Měl jsem postel v obývací hale, která byla zároveň jídelnou, halou se procházelo z předsíně do obývacího pokoje, ložnice i koupelny a tak o soukromí nemohla být řeč. Samozřejmě to bylo lepší než žít v sirotčinci, což se stalo mnohým, i těm dvěma dívkám, co byly se mnou v Anglii. Jednou jsem v tom židovském sirotčinci byl se spolužákem navštívit jeho bratra. Byla to otřesná zkušenost, která mi umožnila uvědomit si oč lépe na tom jsem a snad se i tolik nelitovat. Ale i tak návrat domů byl nesrovnatelně smutnější než odjezd do Anglie. Tehdy to byla doba velkých nadějí, spíš jistoty, že se brzy shledáme. Ale život musel pokračovat, tak jsem zašel do nejbližšího gymnasia a s odřenými uši přečkal zbývající dva roky do maturity. Po maturitě jsem spolu s několika spolužáky odejel na tříměsíční výpomoc zemědělství do vylidněného pohraničí. Tehdy to byla údajně podmínka pro přijetí na vysokou, mnozí se na ní vykašlali a stejně je do školy vzali. Ale nelituju, byla to taky životní zkušenost.

Manžel tety Oly tehdy už projevil zájem, abych se odstěhoval. V té době už byla teta Mirjam přestěhovaná do svého původního bytu, kupodivu nebyl obsazen. Bylo to v Bulharské ulici, tedy několik domů od mého předválečného bydlení. V tom domě mi našla podnájem a tak jsem se tam odstěhoval. S financemi to bylo špatné, měl jsem sirotčí penzi po tátovi necelých šest set korun a k tomu od americké židovské organizace JOINT jsem prostřednictvím pražské Židovské obce dostával tisíc korun měsíčně. To představovalo dnešních asi dva tisíce korun. Ale na oběd jsem v týdnu jezdil na Smíchov, večeřel většinou u tety Mirjam, takže takhle to šlo jakž takž zvládnout. Za čtyři roky jsem vystudoval na ČVUT statistiku a nastoupil do práce v energetice, v té jsem byl zaměstnán v různých ekonomických funkcích celý život.

To ne, problémy v zaměstnání s tím, že jsem žid, jsem neměl, i když to bylo všeobecně známo. Bodejť ne, když mám tak exotické jméno, nad kterým mnozí kroutili hlavou. To spíš s tím, že jsem nebyl v partaji, to samozřejmě mělo vliv na mou kariéru, v tom jsem nebyl výjimka. Občas mi někdo řekl že kdybych, tak bych, ale to pro mne nebyl dostatečný důvod k tomu, abych se o členství ucházel. Když mi to po vojně v roce 1954 přímo nabídli a dali mi do ruky přihlášku k vyplnění, tak jsem si ji sice odnesl domů, ale po několika dnech jsem to decentně odmítl, že je mi sice myšlenka socialismu velmi blízká, ale že do strany s projevy antisemitismu vstoupit přece jako žid nemůžu a nechci. Bylo to nedlouho po procesu se Slánským 22 a jeho bandou sionistických spiklenců, kupodivu můj postoj pochopili. S další nabídkou mne už nikdy neobtěžovali.

Na jaře 1950 jsem se oženil s dívkou, se kterou jsem chodil už od oktávy, ke konci roku se narodil první syn, Ivan, a v roce 1956 druhý, Pavel. Oba se slušně učili, vystudovali techniku, starší strojařinu, mladší elektrotechniku, oba jsou ženatí. Ivan má dvě děti, dcera nedávno ukončila vysokoškolské studium, stavařinu, syn zase loni na vysokou nastoupil, studuje architekturu. Mladší Pavel bohužel děti nemá. Chtěli je, ale nevyšlo to. Oba synové cítí sounáležitost se svým židovstvím, ale nijak ho nepěstují. Proč by taky měli, když ani jejich „čistokrevný“ otec se v tomu nevyžívá. Ivan jednou před námi prohlásil, ani už nevím v jaké souvislosti, že je víc hrdý na své poloviční židovství než na své poloviční češství, což mne u srdce zahřálo, manželku popudilo. Ale kupodivu na to nereagovala, přešla to, jakoby to přeslechla. To bylo dost neobvyklé.

Takže ještě zbývá něco povědět o dalších osudech mého bratra Rubena. Ty byly poněkud méně přímočaré, než ty moje. Po propuštění z armády se odstěhoval do Brna ke kamarádovi z vojny, který tam dostal byt, a tak tam s ním bydlel, dostudoval průmyslovku a v létě 1946 maturoval. Do zaměstnání nastoupil do Teplic, nevím proč si vybral Teplice, možná proto, že tam kdysi byl na tauši. Své komunistické přesvědčení z mládí nezapřel, vstoupil do strany, možná taky proto, že to pokládal za dědictví po rodičích, a byl velmi aktivní. Chtěl splynout s majoritní společností, a tak si změnil jméno na Pavel Potocký. Stejně jsme ho ale všichni jeho blízcí do konce jeho života oslovovali Rubene. Nenásledoval jsem ho, protože pro mne jediným dědictvím bylo mé jméno a mým úkolem bylo, aby ve mně pokračovali. Nenásledoval jsem ho ani ve vstupu do strany, ne proto, že bych myšlenkám socialismu nevěřil, ale spíš z pohodlnosti, nechuti k organizovanosti, ke spolkaření všeho druhu.

To, že si změnil jméno mě mrzelo, ale nic jsem mu neřekl, byl to starší brácha, tak jakým právem bych ho mohl kritizovat, jenom jsem si říkal, že když už, tak mohl zvolit mámino jméno za svobodna Fantl, to německy ani židovsky nezní. Prý je to jméno sefardských židů 23, to jsou ti, co přišli ze Španělska. Údajně odtud pochází dědečkovi předkové. Mirjam mi jednou vyprávěla, že nám máma chtěla po návratu z Palestiny nechat změnit rodná jména, a že já měl být Karel. Ale tehdy to nešlo, jenom změnit německá příjmení na česká. Tedy po vzniku Československé republiky 24 v roce 1918, kdy se to stalo „in“.

Zase odbočuju. Tak tedy jak už jsem řekl bratr byl velmi činný ve straně v Teplicích, a tak rozhodli, že je to, čemu se tehdy říkalo perspektivní kádr a že by se měl politicky dál vzdělávat. K tomu sloužil Lidový dům v Hybernské ulici, kdysi a teď znovu sídlo sociálních demokratů. Internátní škola, ve které strávil školní rok 1949/1950. Pak byl asi půl roku jakýmsi začínajícím referentem v partajním aparátu. Ale to už začaly čistky ve straně, podezřelí byli hlavně interbrigadisté, kteří bojovali proti generálu Frankovi ve španělské občanské válce 25, ti co byli za války v Anglii a jak už je zvykem po staletí, židé. Bratr vyhovoval dvěma kritériím, tak mu decentně řekli, že by měl odejít pracovat mezi dělnickou třídu, aby ji lépe poznal 26. No, mohl taky dopadnout hůř, mohli z něj taky udělat protistátního spiklence. Ale na to tam byl asi příliš krátkou dobu a se špičkami nepřišel do styku.

Odejel do Ostravy, fáral dva nebo tři roky pod zemí, žil s dalšími brigádníky v dřevěných barácích, tedy spíš s lumpenproletariátem než s proletariátem, nevím už kolik jich bylo na pokoji, měl tam postel, skříňku nic víc. V roce 1951 jsem byl služebně v Ostravě, tak jsem to využil a zajel do ubytovny, dost mne to šokovalo. Po několika letech se vrátil do Prahy, dojížděl do Vodochod, kde se vyráběly tryskové stíhačky, pracoval tam několik let jako zámečník. Když Sověti v roce 1956 vyslali armádu do Maďarska 27 k potlačení povstání tak to byla ta pověstná poslední kapka a vystoupil z partaje. Tehdy to nebyla žádná sranda, snad desetkrát si ho povolali na výbor a snažili se ho různými „argumenty“ přesvědčit, aby zůstal straně věren, byli peskováni, že dělník vystupuje z partaje, ale trval na tom, tak ho konečně pustili. Byl z toho ve velkém stresu. Po nějaké době si našel práci v Modřanech, denní dojíždění do Vodochod bylo časově hodně náročné. V Modřanech taky pracoval jako zámečník a pak nějaký čas jako technolog, takže konečně mohl uplatnit své vzdělání. Oženil se, narodily se mu dvě děti a v roce 1969 emigroval do Spojených států, zemřel před dvěma lety. Po roce 1989 byl jednou s dcerou, ta je taky Mirjam, na návštěvě v Praze, když jsem ovdověl tak jsem byl u nich, to bylo v roce 2000.

Ani tam to neměl lehké, zejména první roky. Z počátku žili v New Yorku, pak se přestěhovali do Denveru, našel si práci jako technolog, manželka pracovala v továrně na prádlo jako šička, dcera vystudovala vysokou a nyní je profesorkou na vysoké škole v Miami. Synovi se do studií nechtělo, v něčem se potatil, nechal si změnit jméno z Jana na Michaela a doma mu stejně říkají Honzo, je řidičem náklaďáku, svobodný a stále bydlí s mámou. Což je vlastně dobře, protože by jinak byla sama, její angličtina je i po tolika letech prachbídná, nikdy si v emigraci nezvykla ale zpátky taky nechtěla. Dospělí děti by se určitě nevrátily, tak proto asi. Mají tam pěkný domek se zahrádkou a hypotéku už splacenou.

Takže to by snad už o rodině bylo všechno. Říkal jsem Vám hned na začátku, že na nás nebylo nic zvlášť zajímavého, co by stálo za sepisování. Byly dramatičtější osudy, ty by se spíš měly uchovat v paměti. Jenže v mnohých rodinách nezůstal nikdo, kdo by jejich příběhy mohl vyprávět.

Takže chcete ještě abych řekl něco o vztahu naší rodiny k náboženství, k židovství v širším slova smyslu, k tradicím. Byli jsme téměř všichni bezvěrci. Dědeček z máminy strany byl hluboce věřící, denně chodil ráno i večer do synagogy se pomodlit, o šabatu tam pobýval téměř celý den, byl v představenstvu smíchovské synagogy a členem, snad dokonce předsedou pohřebního bratrstva, které v židovských obcích obstarává poslední věci člověka. Jeho členové se chodí modlit k umírajícímu, po smrti oblékají do rubáše, ukládají do rakve a A pokud byl nemajetný tak zajišťovali z darů souvěrců pohřební výdaje. Židovský pohřeb jsem zažil jen jednou, pohřeb smíchovské babičky v roce 1954. Tehdy mne zarazilo, že je pohřbívána v obyčejné bedně sbité z hrubých neopracovaných prken, zprvu jsem se v duchu pohoršoval, myslel jsem že tety chtěly ušetřit na rakvi. Pak mi teprve došlo, že to je židovský obyčej vyjadřující myšlenku, že při narození i ve smrti jsme si všichni rovni. O náhrobcích to ale neplatí. Těmi už se dávají najevo majetkové poměry zesnulého stejně jako na křesťanských hřbitovech.

Snad ještě dědův syn Rudolf byl věřící, ale určitě nebyl tak častým návštěvníkem synagogy. Ani nevím jak to bylo s babičkou. Za dědečkova života určitě dodržovala určité zvyky, ženy se však tradičně tolik nemodlí jako muži, nemají na to čas, když se musí starat o domácnost když muži někde mudrují a hádají se o význam toho či onoho biblického výroku, nemají ani přístup do modlitební síně, smí jenom do vyhrazených prostor. Zatímco muži od nepaměti se v útlém věku učili hebrejštinu, aby mohli číst svaté knihy a o nich disputovat, jejich ženy zůstávaly analfabety asi až do zavedení povinné školní docházky. Takže s babiččinou nábožností jsem se setkal až po válce. To jednou v roce, v Den smíření trávila čas od rána do pozdních odpoledních hodin v Jubilejní synagoze, to je ta v Jeruzalémské ulici, celý ten den se v souladu s náboženskými příkazy postila. To znamená u Židů nejen nejíst ale také nepít. Teta Oly měla obavy, aby v důsledku toho v jejím věku na cestě domů neomdlela a tak jsem pro ní před koncem bohoslužeb došel, čekal před synagogou a doprovodil ji domů. Jom Kipur a Roš Hašono tedy Nový Rok a Den smíření jsou tak zvané Velké svátky a v tyto dny mnozí Židé, kteří jinak synagogu nenavštíví po celý rok a ani doma se moc nemodlí a nejspíš i mnozí nevěřící zaplňují synagogy po celém světě. Asi to v nich posiluje vědomí sounáležitosti s židovstvem i když jinak se snaží asimilovat a splynout s většinovou společností.

Rodina se však přece jen scházela kompletní jeden den v roce a to na seder [seder: termín vyjadřující zejména domácí bohoslužbu a předepsaný rituál pro první noc svátku Pesach – pozn. red.], slavnostní večeři k uctění památky odchodu Židů z egyptského otroctví. Ta večeře má velmi přísný přesně stanovený rituál, nejmladší člen rodiny klade nejstaršímu členovi rodiny stanovené, vždy stejné otázky, a dostává na ně každý rok přesně stejné odpovědi. Tím nejmladším jsem byl já, vzpomínám, že dědeček seděl v čele prostřeného stolu, já vedle něj po pravé straně na delší straně stolu, a kladu mu v hebrejštině otázky, které mne v hodinách náboženství naučili, on mi hebrejsky odpovídá a já mu nerozumím ale vím o čem povídá, to nám v hodinách náboženství pan rabín vysvětlil. Všichni se usmívali, jak jsem to krásně přednesl, měl jsem před sebou knížku, ve které samozřejmě hebrejsky byly napsány otázky [Čtyři otázky, Ma ništana: tradične přednesené nejmladším účastníkem sederu o Pesachu – pozn. red.]a odpovědi, ale naučit jsem se je musel nazpaměť, jinak by to bylo hrozné koktání.

Do synagogy jsem jednou ročně chodil, ale ne na Den smíření, byl to svátek kdy děti pochodovali synagogou, každé v ruce propůjčený praporec s Davidovou hvězdou [byl to svátek Purim – pozn. red.]. Jak jsme procházeli kolem představenstva synagogy, které sedělo před schránkou na tóru, tak jsme byli jeho členy obdarováváni kornoutem cukroví. Děda tam taky sedával a já byl na něj pyšný.

Ještě jednou jsem byl v synagoze, vím přesně datum, bylo to 1. ledna 1938, bratr měl bar micvah, neboť den předtím mu bylo třináct, věk kdy hoch vstupuje mezi dospělé a četl z Tóry text stanovený pro tento týden. Bar micvah je moc slavná událost v židovské rodině. Zda to uměl přečíst nebo si to nabifloval to nevím. Já jsem už o bar micvah přišel, kdybych byl o to stál, tak jsem ho mohl mít v Anglii, v Československé státní škole jsme měli „svého“ českého katolického kněze i rabína a malou motlitebnu. Tuším, že se v ní střídaly katolické a židovské bohoslužby, určitě by mne rád připravil, ale já byl hrdý na své beznabožství. Dnes toho lituji, patří to neodmyslitelně k židovství tak jako obřízka, takže se cítím o to ochuzen.

Věřící, nevěřící, na náboženství jsem chodil, bylo to vždy jednou týdně odpoledne ve škole, chodili jsme tam z více tříd a učil nás kantor z nuselské synagogy, asi ve Vršovicích žádná nebyla. Byl to starší vysoký hubený pán, velmi tolerantní, přicházeli jsme skoro všichni bez jarmulky, neměli jsme žádnou, a tak jsme si při modlení na začátku a konci hodiny – „Šema jisrael adonaj elohejnu, adonaj echad.“ [hebrejsky: „Slyš Izraeli, Hospodin je náš Bůh, Hospodin je Jeden.“], dál už to nevím, jedna taky začínala „Boruch ato Adonaj“ [hebrejsky: „Požehnán jsi Pane“] - si dávali dlaň na temeno hlavy a tím ten handicap překonali. S úsměvem se nás ptal, zda jsme měli k obědu vepřo-knedlo-zelo, když ano, tak jsem mu to řekl, ani jsem asi v té době nevěděl, že bych to jíst neměl [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]. Ale on se jen usmíval a nekomentoval to. Pak nám vyprávěl biblické příběhy, před začátkem svátků proč je slavíme a taky se pokoušel nás naučit hebrejsky. Tak v tom jsme nevynikali, myslím, že jsme se nedostali dál než k přečtení slabikáře, z něhož si pamatuji jen první stránku, tedy po vašem tu poslední. Na ní byla namalovaná zahrada a pod ní hebrejsky GAN. Opravdu se zlobil, jen když jsme s námahou odslabikovali v textu slovo „jejo“, což nic neznamená, židé tím obcházejí napsání božího jména, Jáhve, to je zakázáno. Podezřívám se – a nejen sebe – že jsme se na to, jak se rozčílí těšili a nikdy nezapomněli říct jejo. Proč jsem, doma vychováván k bezvěrectví chodil do náboženství? Ze stejného důvodu, ze kterého brácha absolvoval bar micvah: kvůli dědečkovi. A mně to nevadilo ani neuškodilo.

Jinak jsme židovské tradice nepěstovali, ani košer stravu. Už jsem vám přece říkal, že táta v neděli pravidelně vařil rizoto z uzeného, miloval jsem chleba se sádlem posypaný škvarkama, to byla nějaká pochoutka [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]! Nevím, ale možná ani na Smíchově na to nebyli tak přísní, tedy kromě séderu a že po celou dobu svátků pesach jedli macesy místo chleba. Proč si to myslím? Když jsme s mámou byli na každotýdenní návštěvě tak jme tam byli až do večera a tak jsem večeřel na Smíchově. To mi dali dvě nebo tři koruny, to už nevím kolik, v létě mne poslali do vedlejšího krámu, mlíkárny, a tam mi mlíkařka nalila hrnek mléka, k tomu dvě housky a trojhránek možná dva ementálu, měla tam stolek, u kterého jsem to snědl. Ale v zimě mne posílali na roh do uzenářství na párek s hořčicí. A to zrovna kóšer není. Ale svíčkovou na smetaně jsem ochutnal až po válce. Takže tu máma asi neuměla, neboť to jí doma nenaučili, maso a mléko v jednom pokrmu být nesmí, dokonce má být oddělena sada nádobí na masové pokrmy a na mléčné pokrmy [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla zakazuje jest masitou a mléčnou stravu při tomtéž jídle. Podobně se striktně navzájem odděluje vše, co přichází do styku s mléčnými a masitými pokrmy – pozn. red.]. V biblických dobách nebyly chladničky a při těch teplotách na Středním východě toto pravidlo bylo rozumné, ne? Jinak jme asi jedli to co ostatní. Měl jsem rád plněné bramborové knedlíky se zelím, buchty, ty máma upekla den před velkým prádlem a my je pak měli k obědu, miloval jsem houskové knedlíky s vejci, to bývalo k večeři, ještě teď mám před očima, jak sedíme s bráchou u stolu a já mu je kradu z talíře a hned byl důvod k sváru.

Ne, ani vánoce jsme doma neměli. Nejspíš jsem se doma na to zeptal, když mi kamarádi vyprávěli o štědrovečerní večeři a nadílce. Ale doma mi zřejmě na to odpověděli, že křesťani mají křesťanské svátky a my židé zase židovské svátky. S tím jsem se zřejmě spokojil, neboť vím, že jsem svým spolužákům vánoce nezáviděl. S tímto logickým zdůvodněním jsem se spokojil.- I když později jsem ke svému údivu zjistil, že někteří židé vánoce dodržovali právě kvůli tomu, aby to jejich dětem nepřišlo líto.

Ale tak úplně jsem o vánoce nepřišel. Zaměstnanci firmy, ve které táta pracoval, dostávali od pana šéfa kapra. Živého. Ale táta ho domů přinést nemohl, protože byl v týdnu mimo Prahu. Sídlo firmy bylo v ulici Ve Smečkách a tak máma vzala síťovou tašku, starý ručník a mne a jeli jsme pro něj. Tam měli v kanceláři dřevěnou káď, takovou co se z nich loví kapři na ulici před vánoci, z ní jednoho vylovili, zabalili do mokrého ručníku, vložili do síťky a my ho odvezli domů. A pak už musel ve vaně počkat až přijede v pátek táta a vykoná nad ním ortel smrti. Ale určitě jsme s jeho snědením nečekali až do Štědrého večera. Asi jsme ho zbaštili hned v sobotu nebo neděli. Jak ho máma připravovala si nepamatuju.

A pak tu byla ještě jedna vazba k vánocům. Bratr měl o Silvestra narozeniny, ty se u nás slavily, a aby mi nepřišlo líto, že dostal dárek a já nic, tak mi darovali pytlík s prskavkami. Zapaloval jsem jednu od druhé dokud jsem všech deset vevyprskal. Na tento dárek jsem se vždy předem těšil a byl jsem s těmito svými vánocemi naprosto spokojený. Vlastně jsme těmito prskavkami přivítali i nový rok.

Takže chcete mermomocí vědět, v čem spočívá mé židovství, jak ho vnímám, co pro mne znamená. Nebyla by nějaká jednodušší otázka? Proč se klade zrovna nám, židům? Nebo nám tak často a jiným jen sporadicky? Co víc: proč si ji klademe sami? Když se zeptáte deseti Čechů co pro ně znamená češství, tak vám všichni dají přibližně stejnou odpověď. Podobně když se zeptáte deseti Němců, deseti Francouzů, a tak dále. Nikdo se nezamýšlí nad tím, že se Čech píše s velkým Č nebo Němec s velkým N. I když těsně po válce jsme psali němec, ne Němec, ale to proto, abychom dali najevo své hluboké a nesmiřitelné opovržení. Když jsme se naučili rozlišovat mezi hodnými a zlými Němci, tedy těmi, kteří žili na východě a těmi na západě, tak to už jsme je zase psali s velkým N. Vlastně se divím, mohli jsme nadále ty západní psát s malým a ty hodné s velkým a takhle jednoduše je rozlišit. Cikán se snad taky téměř vždy psal s malým c, Roma s malým r už nikdo nenapíše. Zase zbytečně odbočuju.

Ale tak úplně zase ne. Protože když se zeptáte deseti židů, v čem vidí svou židovskou identitu, tak asi dostanete řadu nesourodých odpovědí. Jsou židé s velkým Ž a židé s malým ž, ale to nesouvisí s jejich opovrhováním nebo neopovrhováním majoritní společností. Nejjednodušší to mají ti, co se už narodili v Izraeli a žijí tam, ti asi mají stejný vztah k židovství jako Češi k češství, tak to jsou Židé s velkým Ž. Což nevylučuje, že jsou zároveň židé s malým ž, tedy věřící. Tedy židovští židé. Vy jste to ještě nikdy neslyšela? To se nedivím, já taky ne, právě jsem si to vymyslel. Ale proč ne, když může být český katolík nebo pakistánský muslim.

Horší je to s námi v diaspoře. Pro věřící je to asi taky poměrně snazší na tuto otázku odpovědět. Prý když se v Brooklynu zeptám pejzatého žida v kaftanu, který vypadá jako jeho předkové, když se před sto lety přistěhovali z Haliče kým je tak mi hrdě odpoví, že je Američan. Pro něj je tedy vztah k židovství, alespoň si to myslím, především jeho vztah k židovskému náboženství, takže to je žid s malým ž. Je to tak jednoduché? Vždyť ten pejzatý židáček, hrdý na to, že je Američan se záměrně anachronicky svým zevnějškem odlišuje od většinové populace, stýká se téměř jen s jinými pejzatými židy, žije v jakémsi dobrovolném skoro ghettu, mnozí z nich ještě mluví, čtou a píší nejen anglicky, ale i jidiš, nejspíš pro mnohé z nich je jidiš mateřská řeč. S tím se tuším u třetí generace Italů či Irů či Čechů narozených ve Spojených státech sotva setkáte. Nejspíš si to své amerikánství ten pejzatý anachronismus osvojil v americké škole, kde se vlastenectví pěstuje ve velkém, vlajky jsou na všech možných místech. Ale lepší vlajky než neustále se měnící fotografie nejvyššího pantáty v rámečku ve školách a úřadech. Takže lituju, v tom amerikánství brooklynského žida se  nevyznám.

A co s námi neznabohy? Nedávno jsem o tom mluvil s jedním moudrým, vzdělaným pánem, vysokoškolským profesorem v penzi, taky nevěřícím. Když jsem mu řekl, že neznám odpověď na to co jsem víc, zda Čech nebo Žid, tak mi řekl, že on je především Čechem a pak teprve židem. A to prošel těmi nejhoršími lágry. Copak se to dá změřit? Je snad z 80 % Čech a z 20 % žid? Nebo to je 90 ku 10, nebo 70 ku 30? Když řeknu český katolík nebo americký mormon nebo francouzský jehovista tak všichni vědí co mám na mysli. Ale když řeknu český žid? To už nemusí být nutně věřící. Takže zase jsou s námi problémy, vybočujeme stále z řady.

A když řeknu židovský žid? To nelze napadnout ale je to pojem neznámý a na první pohled absurdní. Ale v tom je zase ta zvláštnost: všechna ostatní významná náboženství jsou náboženství bez hranic, na rozdíl od křesťany pěstují misionářství, nejraději by ze všech černochů nadělali křesťany, nechápu proč je k tomu někdy dost nevybíravě nutili, jindy zase mazaně jim nadbíhají prostřednictvím charitativní činnosti. Proč jim neponechají jejich víru? Jako by na tom záleželo v co věří, zda mají jednoho boha nebo deset bůžků. Hlavní je, aby alespoň v něco věřili, k něčemu měli úctu, v něčem nacházeli útěchu, něco vytvářelo základ etiky. Teď mne napadlo: nenahrazují křesťanům svatí bůžky? Taky má každý z nich nějakou funkci, ten ochraňuje před tím, ten druhý zas před něčím jiným, a tak dále. Misionářství se mi proto protiví. Že by to byl podvědomý vztah k antimisionářskému židovství?

Má v tom jasno alespoň židovská náboženská obec? Chcete-li vstoupit do obce, tak to musí schválit nejvyšší náboženská autorita v obci, rabín. Ale neřídí se tím, zda jste věřící nebo nevěřící. Řídí se halachou , tj. předpisem, který mimo jiné říká, že židem je ten kdo pochází z židovské matky. Na otci už nezáleží, neboť kdo ví kdo opravdu je otcem, dokažte to. Teď už by to šlo, umíme přečíst DNA, jenže co kdyby pak vyšlo najevo, že hlava rodiny není otcem? To by byl malér větší než to, že ho rabín nechce jen tak přijmout do obce.

Takže ten, kdo má jen židovského, s prominutím, nejistého otce, už židem tak říkajíc ze zákona není, musí konvertovat k židovství a to není snadné. Musí před rabínským soudem vykonat zkoušky ze znalosti hebrejštiny a svatých spisů, zejména příkazů a zákazů, dodržovat základní náboženská pravidla a nevím co ještě. Zatímco já můžu být analfabet a totální ignorant a nevěřící a přesto nikdo nemůže zpochybňovat mé židovství a tudíž i právo být členem náboženské obce. A tak nejvyšší náboženská autorita rozhoduje podle kritérií, která s příslušností k náboženskému společenství, řádně zaregistrovanému na ministerstvu kultury, nesouvisí. Samozřejmě to nevím, ale možná polovina členů této náboženské obce jsou nevěřící. Pokud vím, tak do synagogy z nich s tou pravidelností jako můj děda chodí hodně málo, možná deset, možná dvacet. Není to absurdní? Takže vidíte, že u židů nelze uplatňovat standardní postupy.

K něčemu se přiznám. Když jsem byl na vojně, to bylo začátkem padesátých let, tak na nás chtěli, abychom vystoupili z církve. Byl jsem nevěřící, a tak jsem si logicky řekl, že tam nemám co dělat. Tak jsem jim to lejstro vyplnil a odevzdal. Na štěstí jsou vojáci bordeláři, kde to lejstro skončilo nevím, z obce mi nadále před každým židovským Novým rokem posílali složenku na náboženský příspěvek s tím, že od počtu přispěvatelů závisí výše státního příspěvku. Tak jsem jim pravidelně posílal stovku nebo dvě a tak jsem členem obce nakonec zůstal. Taky mi posílali Židovskou ročenku, tu jsem koupil a poctivě celou přečetl. Ale to byla má jediná židovská aktivita. Žil jsem ve smíšeném manželství a necítil potřebu se s touto náboženskou komunitu stýkat. Je mi to líto, na stará kolena k tomu neumím najít cestu zpět.

Že se vyhýbám přímé odpovědi a na dotazy odpovídám dotazy, pochybuju o všem možném, zejména o sobě? Tak to asi opravdu jsem žid. Já se těmi otázkami nesnažím vyhnout odpovědi, já ji těmito otázkami hledám. Tak tedy jsem Čech i Žid a necítím potřebu nebo nutnost kvantifikovat poměr mezi mým češstvím a židovstvím. Proč taky, k čemu by to bylo. Čech jsem ze stejných důvodů jako ostatní Češi. Žiju tu téměř od narození, téměř celý život, čeština je téměř můj rodný jazyk a je to jazyk, který ovládám zdaleka nejlépe v porovnání s těmi ostatními, které také nějak ovládám. Chodil jsme téměř jen do českých škol, mí předkové tu už žijí nejméně dvě století a nejspíš mnohem déle – co když ten na starém hřbitově je jakýsi vzdálený příbuzný – takže mám s Čechy, ale nejen s Čechy společné dějiny. Česká kultura je mi nejbližší, je to prostředí, na které jsem zvyklý. Takže nemám důvod, proč bych se neměl cítit Čechem, i když mne někdy štvou. Zejména jejich časté projevy xenofobie. Ale to není české specifikum.

Tak proč jsem tedy taky Žid? A jsem s tím malým nebo velkým ž? Škoda, že není nějaké třetí, to by mi vyhovovalo nejlíp. Prostě mé židovství je něco ve mně, nezávisle na mé vůli, ať se mi to líbí nebo ne, i kdybych přestoupil k jiné církvi jako to udělal olomoucký arcibiskup Kohn [Kohn, Theodor (1845 – 1915): římskokatolický církevný hodnostář, částečne židovského původu – pozn. red.], protože mí rodiče byli židé, jejich rodiče byli židé, rodiče jejich rodičů a tak dále až do těch biblických dob, kdy ještě Češi nevěděli, že jednou budou Češi. Ale ani to není odpověď. Protože dejme tomu třetí generaci Holanďanů narozených ve Spojených státech už asi vůbec nic nepojí k jejich prapředkům v Nizozemí, k holandské kultuře. Neznají ani slovo holandsky. Na rozdíl od toho pejzatého anachronického brooklinského žida, který mluví a píše anglicky i jidiš a navíc hebrejsky, aby mohl předčítat v synagoze z Tóry, číst si v talmudu a porozumět čtenému. Holanďan třetí generace se nezajímá o to, která partaj tam je u moci a nejspíš ani neví jak se jmenuje holandská královna. Zase na rozdíl od Židů i židů, kteří dění v Izraeli vnímají velmi citlivě.

Někteří Holanďané ještě pěstují krajanské spolky, jednou dvakrát za rok se sejdou, vezmou si holandské kroje, na nohy dřeváky, ve kterých už neumějí chodit a zpívají holandské národní písně s americkým přízvukem. A možná ještě lamentují nad tím, že si New York nezachoval své původní jméno New Amsterdam, o to je připravili ti zatracení Angláni. Ale určitě už nemají pocit, že jsou američtí Holanďané a určitě se jich nikdo proto taky neptá, v čem spatřují své nizozemství.

Asi nic nevymyslím. Kdysi na tuto otázku odpověděl Ota Ornest [Ornest, Ota (1913 – 2002): vlastným jménem Ohrenstein. Divadelný režisér a překladatel – pozn. red.] slovy, že je to osud a úděl. Nevím zda to měl z vlastní hlavy ale nic lepšího nevymyslím. Asi opravdu je ve mně to židovství dáno především tím, že jsme byli po staletí nenáviděni, pronásledováni, zaháněni do ghett, zabíjeni při pogromech a nakonec systematicky vyvražďováni. To je asi to společné dědictví, to jsou asi ty naše společné dějiny, které se odvíjely společně s dějinami zemí, ve kterých jsme žili nebo nás přechodně tolerovali, které z nás dělá židy, ať chceme nebo nechceme. Samozřejmě kromě víry a svatých spisů, které měly rozhodující podíl na přežití židovstva. Proto i arcibiskup Kohn zůstal podle mého názoru židem, ať už si to přiznával nebo ne. Přinejmenším proto, že kdyby se dožil holocaustu, tak kdo ví, co by se s ním stalo, zda by ho katolická církev dokázala ochránit před Osvětimí. Asi by si to musel přinejmenším uvědomit, chtě nechtě. Tak jako mnozí konvertité, kteří nebyli arcibiskupy. Ale já jim tu konverzi nezazlívám, jenom mám pocit, že je od židovství neosvobozuje. Vždyť i pokřtěná Madelaine Albright [Albright, Madelaine (nar. 1937): americká politoložka, diplomatka a politička. Dcera československého diplomata židovského původu, Josefa Korbela – pozn. red.] si to na stará kolena uvědomila, a ta přitom nebyla ohrožena.

Na druhé straně si myslím, že by můj pocit sounáležitosti s židovstvím asi časem hodně vybledl, kdyby nedošlo k tomu, k čemu došlo a život uplýval po roce 1937 poklidně dál tak, jako před ním a s antisemitismem jsem se bezprostředně nesetkával. A to zejména po smrti dědečka, který byl mým nejsilnějším poutem k židovství, který by mne určitě ještě dovedl k bar micvah…

Pochybuju, že by mne byl nějak zvlášť zajímal osud Izraele, možná by to ještě dnes byl britský protektorát Palestina, ale asi bych ze zvědavosti svou rodnou zem navštívil. Snad by to ve mne už tehdy něco probudilo. Byl jsem tam v roce 2000 a uvědomil si až tam , že to je víc než standardní turistický poznávací zájezd s cestovní kanceláří, že tam jsou mé kořeny, že se tam kdysi rodili, žili a umírali mí dávní předkové. Ale už předtím jsem si uvědomil, že je domovem mnohých, kteří zázrakem unikli holocaustu, jejich dětí a dětí jejich dětí, proto je pro mne něčím jiným, než by byla kdyby…

Zase ten rozdíl mezi námi a většinovou společností. Znáte snad Čecha, který by měl nějaký vztah k místům odkud je před jeden a půl tisíciletím přivedl do této země oplývající medem a strdím praotec Čech? Vědí alespoň s jistotou odkud přivedl?

Napovídal jsem toho víc než dost, kdo asi najde trpělivost si to přečíst, nebo se nad tím dokonce zamyslet? Benjamin Franklin kdysi na konci dopisu své dceři napsal přibližně: „Promiň, že jsem neměl čas napsat ti kratší dopis.“ Moudrý to pán.

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