Wir führten ein nichtjüdisches Leben, wir hatten nie eine Mesusa [25], aber zu Weihnachten einen Weihnachtsbaum. Natürlich war uns klar, dass wir Juden sind, aber wir lebten nicht wie Juden.
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Displaying 42931 - 42960 of 84581 results
It was the end of August 1944. The abbess kissed me and gave me some food and money for the road. I walked through the forest to the train station. On the way some cart caught up with me. I was lucky again – the cart was driven by my school teacher from Siauliai. He recognized me and took my things on the cart. I couldn’t get on it as it was full. Thus, we reached the train. There were no tickets. Only militaries could get on the train. Then some military said that I was his wife and I was let on the train. Thus, I got to Kaunas. There at once I found the underground members, who helped me leave the ghetto.
Unsere Töchter kamen in Floridsdorf in die Volksschule. Meine große Tochter war die einzige Jüdin in ihrer Klasse. Sie wurde von den anderen Kindern angesprochen, weil sie nicht in den katholischen Religionsunterricht ging. Sie sagte, sie sei nicht christlich. In der Schule mussten sich meine Kinder antisemitische Bemerkungen anhören. Es waren ja nach dem Krieg viele Nazi Kinder in den Schulen. In unserem Haus gab es eine Emigrantenfamilie aus dem Sudetenland, eine Nazi Familie. Die beschimpften meine Töchter als 'Judenkinder'. Wir drohten dann diesen Leuten damit, sie bei der Polizei anzuzeigen, und sie haben dann damit aufgehört. Nach sieben Jahren Nationalsozialismus gab es natürlich solche Leute.
When the Fascists came to the farmstead, they were sympathetic when they heard my story and ranted about the Bolsheviks. One of them knocked on my window and offered me to run away with them, when the Soviet troops were approaching. I replied that I couldn’t leave with the army and would have to go my own way. In the morning the Soviet army entered the farmstead. I was the first to come up to them. I was overwhelmed with joy. I couldn’t believe myself: three years in the ghetto were behind me. I told the soldiers that I was a Jew from Kaunas and they broke joyful news to me: Kaunas had already been liberated. On that very day I went back to the convent. I wanted to say good-bye to the girls and the abbess, who saved me. I stayed there for a couple of days, and decided to go back home. I was looking forward to seeing Kaunas, finding out something about my parents and husband.
May and June had passed. It was early July 1944. The German army was retreating. A Fascist unit was positioned in the convent garden. I had been staying in my cell for several days. When the Soviet troops were approaching, the abbess had the girls go home as she feared repressions from Bolsheviks. I also was to go. I was dressed like a true Lithuanian peasant. Looking at me, the girls were crying and laughing at the same time, so unusual I looked. They came to love me during that period of time. We were given a cow. Thus, the three of us – a girl, me and a cow – went to her farmstead. The girl told her parents and neighbors that I was a Lithuanian teacher from Vilnius, escaping the Bolsheviks. However, one of her neighbors told her mother that I was most likely a Jew, but luckily he didn’t betray me.
In a while another Jewish woman was brought to the convent. I don’t remember her name, though I would like to find her now. Her parents and little brother were shot. That woman was baptized in the convent and took the veil. I always wondered at how desperately she was praying. It wasn’t clear to me how one could become an apostate. Nobody compelled me to pray in the convent; moreover nobody forced baptism on me.
I stayed in the convent until the arrival of the Soviet troops. I rarely left my cell. I started knitting to kill time. The girls brought me threads. Of course, it was sad to stay in almost all the time and I took walks in the convent garden. It was the season when the berries ripened: currant, strawberries. I enjoyed eating them straight from the bushes. Sometimes I went to the cathedral by the convent. I sat in the last pew so that the parishioners wouldn’t see me – people from local villages came to the cathedral – and I listened to the Catholic mass.
In the evening, when the girls came back from work, I was asleep. Early in the morning, the bell rang calling for prayer. One of the girls came up to me, kissed me on the cheek and calmly invited me for a prayer. I explained to her that the abbess allowed me not to pray today. After that nobody addressed the issue of praying. The abbess gathered all novices and told them that I was a Jew and would be in hiding there. The food would be brought into my cell and she strictly forbade everybody to say anything about me, even to their closest relatives.
They were waiting for me at the convent. The abbess, Mother Prontishke, was very affable with me and invited me to sit at the table at once. There were well-forgotten products on the table – I had even forgotten of their existence – bananas, oranges, apples, fried chicken and fish. The abbess and the priest were sitting at the table. They started asking me about life in the ghetto. I felt really drowsy as a result of fatigue and tension since my escape from the ghetto. I begged them pardon and said that I was really sleepy. The abbess took me to a room with three bunks. She tucked me into bed and said that I shouldn’t get up in the morning when the girls would be going to pray as I should rest as much as I wanted.
I got off in the town of Dotnuva [about 100 km from Vilnius], the place in the closest vicinity to the convent of Saint Katrina, where I was expected. I calmly went up to the policeman at the station and asked where I could call the convent from. He took me to the director of the train station and I called the convent. I was told to wait at the station and they sent a cart to pick me up. When it arrived, it turned out that they were supposed to go to another place before the convent. I was afraid to go with them as in that place the crew from the ghetto was working and I didn’t want to be recognized. I went to the convent on foot.
I saw a lady from my lyceum at the train station and tried to hide away, for her not to recognize me. I asked the man to buy me a train ticket. I didn’t want to attract attention by the booking office. I wasn’t frightened, on the contrary, for the first time in so many years I felt free. However, I was to be very disciplined and attentive. When I tried to get on the train, a Lithuanian guy started chatting me up. I was flirting with him, having decided that if I was of a somewhat suspicious appearance, he was beyond suspicion and it would be easier for me. I talked the guy into going in the freight car, not in the passenger car. There were fewer people and it was dark in the freight car, so it would be difficult to distinguish me. We had been talking for a long time and I fell asleep. Suddenly I woke up from words spoken in Yiddish. I was speaking Yiddish in my dream. The guy was looking at me agape and I burst into laughter and said that I was learning German and spoke it in my dream.
Meine Mutter eröffnete in London einen gutgehenden Modesalon. Sie heiratete 1947 Jack Schapira, der aus Brody in Galizien stammte. Er hatte bis 1938 in Wien gelebt und meine Mutter und meinen Vater aus der Wiener Zeit gekannt. Meine Schwester Franzi arbeitete mit meiner Mutter zusammen im Salon. Sie heiratete Herrn Ball und bekam zwei Kinder, David und Jacqui. Meine Schwester lebt in London, ihre Tochter Jacqui lebt in Israel und hat zwei Söhne. David lebt in England und hat sechs Kinder aus zwei Ehen.
Ich wurde im Juni 1946 zum öffentlichen Verwalter der Wiener Metallwaren und Schnallenfabrik in Schwechat bestellt. Die Bedingungen waren die Matura und Facherfahrung in der Metallindustrie, und das hatte ich. Es war eine Fabrik mit ungefähr 300 Leuten, und ich wurde bald Direktor der Fabrik, die später die 'Tyrolia' Skibindungsfabrik wurde.
Ich wurde im Juni 1946 zum öffentlichen Verwalter der Wiener Metallwaren und Schnallenfabrik in Schwechat bestellt. Die Bedingungen waren die Matura und Facherfahrung in der Metallindustrie, und das hatte ich. Es war eine Fabrik mit ungefähr 300 Leuten, und ich wurde bald Direktor der Fabrik, die später die 'Tyrolia' Skibindungsfabrik wurde.
,
After WW2
See text in interview
1946 ging zuerst ich nach Wien zurück. Die erste Zeit wohnte ich bei Richard und Dolli Menasse, den Eltern des Ehemannes meiner Schwester Edith, im 2. Bezirk, in einer Zimmer-Küche-Kabinett Wohnung. Edith hatte in England eine Modeschule besucht und ihren ersten Mann Kurt Menasse kennen gelernt geheiratet. Kurt Menasse war auch mit einem Kindertransport von Österreich nach England gekommen. Sie bekamen einen Sohn Peter, ließen sich aber scheiden. Meine Schwester heiratete in zweiter Ehe Rudi Wein, sie bekamen einen Sohn Wolfgang. Edith kam nach dem Krieg nach Wien und arbeitete im Handel.
Uns war immer klar, dass wir nach dem Krieg nach Österreich zurückgehen würden. Ich war sehr verbunden mit Wien, und ich habe mir ausgerechnet, dass man nach dem Krieg Leute brauchen wird, die unbescholten sind. Das war ein Motiv. Ein anderes Motiv war ein illusorisches; das hatte mit Demokratie und Aufbau zu tun - es waren Jugendideale.
1946 ging zuerst ich nach Wien zurück. Die erste Zeit wohnte ich bei Richard und Dolli Menasse, den Eltern des Ehemannes meiner Schwester Edith, im 2. Bezirk, in einer Zimmer-Küche-Kabinett Wohnung.
1946 ging zuerst ich nach Wien zurück. Die erste Zeit wohnte ich bei Richard und Dolli Menasse, den Eltern des Ehemannes meiner Schwester Edith, im 2. Bezirk, in einer Zimmer-Küche-Kabinett Wohnung.
I cannot say that his was a religious family. Here things were loose. There were many that were religious, but there wasn't any fanaticism, none at all.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
Ich arbeitete in Manchester in einer Kriegsrüstungsfabrik.
United Kingdom
Meine Frau fuhr 1938 von Wien mit ihrer Schwester Alice mit einem Kindertransport [24] nach England. Die Trennung von ihren Eltern hat meine Frau nie verkraftet. Im November 2001 feierten wir den 80. Geburtstag meiner Frau. Der Böhlau Verlag hatte ein Buch über meine Frau mit dem Titel ' Edith Rosenstrauch-Königsberg: Von der Metallschleiferin zur Germanistin' herausgegeben und wir ahnten nicht, was passieren würde. Im Dezember fuhren meine Tochter Liesl, meine Frau und ich nach Riga zu einer Gedenkfeier der Ermordeten. Dort brach meine Frau zusammen. Sie hat diese Konfrontation mit der Ermordung ihrer Eltern nicht verkraftet und fiel in ihre Kindheit zurück, rief nach ihren Eltern und hat sich seitdem nicht mehr erholt.
My grandfather Haim Alvo started from scratch. He had a cart in Fraggon Street [one of the oldest commercial streets in Thessaloniki] and he used to sell various tools like screwdrivers, pliers, hammers. All kinds of iron tools. He continued working at my father's shop after 1913.
He used to come to the shop until about 1938. He would go around the shop and watch what the employees were doing. Whenever he would see someone lazing about, he would pat his back and ask him, 'What time should I wake you up?'
We had customers who used to come from Thrace, Turks. They usually sat cross-legged. I remember Grandfather with one of them, his name was Halil and he was from Komotini [city in the region of Thrace, 270 km east of Thessaloniki]. They both wouldn't sit on chairs, but on the counter, and they would order coffee and tell stories.
My father was in the office. He was occupied with the sales mostly, and less with the customers. His older brother would deal with the customers and, later on, when his other two siblings joined them, they were at first like employees with shares on the earnings.
Simon and Haim didn't intrude in each others affairs in the business. Haim wasn't involved with my father's part of the job. He would simply watch. He would watch, he would meet a couple of customers, when he would come down they would chat, but that was it. They loved him at the shop.
They used to call him 'tio' - uncle in Spanish. Tio Haim, tio Haim. This is how the employees would call elder men: Tio. Not only the employees would call him Tio, but also some customers and generally other people he knew.
Haim, like many others, didn't even know what entertainment meant. He didn't go to the 'kafenio' [café]. Maybe he would play a game of cards or backgammon. Backgammon had its glorious days then. My grandfather had six children. How could they bring them all up? There wasn't any time left for fun.
They would open the shop at 7 in the morning and shut it at 9 o'clock at night. They would work non-stop, except on Saturdays. But they also worked on Sundays. They didn't have enough time. The family would get together only on holidays.
He used to come to the shop until about 1938. He would go around the shop and watch what the employees were doing. Whenever he would see someone lazing about, he would pat his back and ask him, 'What time should I wake you up?'
We had customers who used to come from Thrace, Turks. They usually sat cross-legged. I remember Grandfather with one of them, his name was Halil and he was from Komotini [city in the region of Thrace, 270 km east of Thessaloniki]. They both wouldn't sit on chairs, but on the counter, and they would order coffee and tell stories.
My father was in the office. He was occupied with the sales mostly, and less with the customers. His older brother would deal with the customers and, later on, when his other two siblings joined them, they were at first like employees with shares on the earnings.
Simon and Haim didn't intrude in each others affairs in the business. Haim wasn't involved with my father's part of the job. He would simply watch. He would watch, he would meet a couple of customers, when he would come down they would chat, but that was it. They loved him at the shop.
They used to call him 'tio' - uncle in Spanish. Tio Haim, tio Haim. This is how the employees would call elder men: Tio. Not only the employees would call him Tio, but also some customers and generally other people he knew.
Haim, like many others, didn't even know what entertainment meant. He didn't go to the 'kafenio' [café]. Maybe he would play a game of cards or backgammon. Backgammon had its glorious days then. My grandfather had six children. How could they bring them all up? There wasn't any time left for fun.
They would open the shop at 7 in the morning and shut it at 9 o'clock at night. They would work non-stop, except on Saturdays. But they also worked on Sundays. They didn't have enough time. The family would get together only on holidays.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
Meine Frau, Edith Rosenstrauch, geborene Königsberg, kommt aus einer jüdischen koscheren Familie. Ihre Familie kam um die Jahrhundertwende aus Polen nach Wien. Die Reichshauptstadt bot einen höheren Lebensstandard. Es war ja eine Monarchie, man konnte frei hin - und herfahren. Es gab schon eine Eisenbahn, die Kaiser-Ferdinands-Nordbahn, die von Wien nach Krakau und von Krakau nach Wien fuhr. Der Vater meiner Frau war Schneider und hatte einen kleinen Schneidersalon mit einem Lehrling. Ihre Eltern wurden, nach Riga [23] deportiert und mit 40 000 anderen Juden erschossen.
I saw the crew on their way back from work to the ghetto, and I hid for nobody to recognize me and call me. I managed to cross the bridge and came to the center of the city, where Kutorgene lived, near the Opera and Ballet theater. I went to her office, where the patients were received, and made an appointment. When it was my turn, I entered the office. Kutorgene recognized me immediately and took me to the living-room. Soon her consulting hours were over and she came to me. Kutorgene told me to sit at the table and we had lunch. Her son came and she introduced me to him, saying openly that I was a Jew from the ghetto. I understood that her son was aware of her anti-Fascist activity and thought that I shouldn’t be afraid of him. But Kutorgene didn’t tell her relative, who was seeing me off to the station and buying me the train ticket to the convent, that I was a Jew. She just told him to see me off, saying that I made up my mind to become a nun. On my way, the man was talking me into not going to the convent and staying in this world as I was so young! I kept silent.
Before leaving the ghetto I went to see my relatives –Uncle Abram and his wife, Aunt Liza and the rest. I said nothing of my intentions as it was dangerous. It was problematic to leave the ghetto at that time: police guards had been replaced by SS-security who couldn’t be bribed. I couldn’t leave with the team as the number of those who entered the ghetto had to be the same as those who left, otherwise the whole team would be shot. My escape was prepared beforehand. First of all, I was well dressed. The cobbler made me a good pair of shoes. I looked like a true Lithuanian, not like a harrassed ghetto woman. There were secret places in the fence made by the underground members, where barbed wire was cut and connected by pegs. It was done in an area far from the main gate, out of sight of the guards. That manhole wasn’t checked by the Fascists who thought that it was impossible to get through there as it was coming onto a street so overgrown with weeds that it was difficult to walk through. I buried my documents in a convenient place. One of the underground members, my husband’s friend, helped me walk through, he distracted the SS-guard, took him aside, while I parted the wire and crept though the hole and dashed to the impassable street. This happened one evening in late May 1944.
In Manchester wohnten wir in einem Hostel. Da wir keine Arbeitsgenehmigungen hatten, wurden wir von dort interniert, das war im Juni 1940. Für die älteren Menschen, insbesondere die älteren jüdischen Flüchtlinge, war es eine Katastrophe, eingesperrt zu werden. Ich war anderthalb Jahre interniert. Wir Jugendlichen machten das Beste daraus, spielten Fußball und lernten Englisch. Im Internierungslager waren sehr korrekte Verhältnisse, wir wurden gut versorgt. Im Februar 1942 wurde ich aus dem Internierungslager entlassen.
In England gab es eine österreichische Emigrantenbewegung, die sogenannte 'Free Austrian Movement [22]'. Als ich aus der Internierung kam, wurde diese Bewegung gerade gegründet. Meine Frau Edith und ich waren dann dort sehr engagiert. Unser Freundeskreis in England bestand aus österreichischen Emigranten; wir hatten aber auch sehr gute englische Freunde.
Meine Frau wirft mir heute noch vor, dass ich zum ersten Rendezvous um eine Stunde zu spät kam, weil es ein Fußballmatch gab. Im März 1942 ging sie mit mir zusammen nach Manchester.
In England gab es eine österreichische Emigrantenbewegung, die sogenannte 'Free Austrian Movement [22]'. Als ich aus der Internierung kam, wurde diese Bewegung gerade gegründet. Meine Frau Edith und ich waren dann dort sehr engagiert. Unser Freundeskreis in England bestand aus österreichischen Emigranten; wir hatten aber auch sehr gute englische Freunde.
Meine Frau wirft mir heute noch vor, dass ich zum ersten Rendezvous um eine Stunde zu spät kam, weil es ein Fußballmatch gab. Im März 1942 ging sie mit mir zusammen nach Manchester.
United Kingdom
In England gab es eine österreichische Emigrantenbewegung, die sogenannte 'Free Austrian Movement [22]'. Als ich aus der Internierung kam, wurde diese Bewegung gerade gegründet. Meine Frau Edith und ich waren dann dort sehr engagiert. Unser Freundeskreis in England bestand aus österreichischen Emigranten; wir hatten aber auch sehr gute englische Freunde.
United Kingdom
I was haunted by premonitions. No news was coming from Ilia. Besides, his friends from the underground paid more and more attention to me. At that time they knew that my husband had perished. I also felt it, but nobody told me about that. The underground members told me about the place on the free side, where I could go into hiding. They acted fast. They met a Lithuanian woman. Her last name was Kutorgene. She was a rather elderly lady, a doctor –ophthalmologist, who had her own practice in Kaunas. Kutorgene had already saved one Jewish girl. One of her patients was a Catholic priest, who helped her save people. That priest made arrangements in the convent to hide a Jewish lady. The only condition was for that woman to speak very good Lithuanian and not to look typically Jewish. I met all those requirements and underground members suggested that I should leave the ghetto. I met Kutorgene at a house, where I was supposed to come after my escape. At that time I wasn’t in the ghetto and I could come into the city while performing work in the service team.
Mitte September 1938 marschierten die Deutschen ins Sudetengebiet ein. Wir wurden zurück nach Brünn gerufen. Es gab eine Organisation, den 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund'. Diese Organisation half politischen und jüdischen Flüchtlingen bei der Flucht. Von Brünn flog ich mit dem Flugzeug am 28. Februar 1939 nach England.
Der 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' hatte seinen Sitz in London und kümmerte sich auch um unsere Unterbringung. Zuerst wohnten wir in einer Pfarre in Greater-Chesterfield bei Cambridge. Nach einiger Zeit übersiedelten wir auf Vorschlag des 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' nach Manchester.
Der 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' hatte seinen Sitz in London und kümmerte sich auch um unsere Unterbringung. Zuerst wohnten wir in einer Pfarre in Greater-Chesterfield bei Cambridge. Nach einiger Zeit übersiedelten wir auf Vorschlag des 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' nach Manchester.
The underground organization also reinforced its activity. Now people were taken out of the ghetto en masse. Security guards by the gate were bribed and many people were taken via the gate. The whole network was organized. Women were taken from the ghetto in a truck as if for work and they weren’t coming back. Of course, all that cost a lot of money as both Germans and policemen were to be bribed. Unfortunately, I should admit that Jewish policemen made a fortune on the sorrow of their fellow Jews. It was important to take people from the ghetto, but it wasn’t the most important thing. People, having left the ghetto, were to be provided with shelter. Underground members also took care of that.
Ich war zu dieser Zeit aber schon bei Freunden in einem Siedlungshaus versteckt, und im April 1938 ging ich über die grüne Grenze in die Tschechoslowakei. Die Tschechen erwischten mich und sperrten mich an der Grenze zwei Wochen ins Gefängnis.
Dann bekam ich Hilfe durch die Organisation 'Solidarität'. Ich wurde entlassen und lebte in Brünn mit Flüchtlingen aus Deutschland, Österreich und anderen Ländern zusammen. Wir schliefen zu dritt in einem Bett, es war alles sehr eng. Einmal die Woche bekamen wir von einem Fleischhauer Wurst - ich lebte ein nichtjüdisches, politisches Leben.
Da es in der Slowakei Arbeitsgenehmigungen für Flüchtlinge gab, fuhren wir in die Slowakei und lebten bei jüdischen Familien. Ich arbeitete zum Teil als Installateur, zum Teil als Sortierer für Wollschafhäute. Mitte September 1938 marschierten die Deutschen ins Sudetengebiet ein. Wir wurden zurück nach Brünn gerufen. Es gab eine Organisation, den 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund'. Diese Organisation half politischen und jüdischen Flüchtlingen bei der Flucht. Von Brünn flog ich mit dem Flugzeug am 28. Februar 1939 nach England.
Der 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' hatte seinen Sitz in London und kümmerte sich auch um unsere Unterbringung. Zuerst wohnten wir in einer Pfarre in Greater-Chesterfield bei Cambridge. Nach einiger Zeit übersiedelten wir auf Vorschlag des 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' nach Manchester. In Manchester wohnten wir in einem Hostel. Da wir keine Arbeitsgenehmigungen hatten, wurden wir von dort interniert, das war im Juni 1940. Für die älteren Menschen, insbesondere die älteren jüdischen Flüchtlinge, war es eine Katastrophe, eingesperrt zu werden. Ich war anderthalb Jahre interniert. Wir Jugendlichen machten das Beste daraus, spielten Fußball und lernten Englisch. Im Internierungslager waren sehr korrekte Verhältnisse, wir wurden gut versorgt. Im Februar 1942 wurde ich aus dem Internierungslager entlassen.
In England gab es eine österreichische Emigrantenbewegung, die sogenannte 'Free Austrian Movement [22]'. Als ich aus der Internierung kam, wurde diese Bewegung gerade gegründet. Meine Frau Edith und ich waren dann dort sehr engagiert. Unser Freundeskreis in England bestand aus österreichischen Emigranten; wir hatten aber auch sehr gute englische Freunde.
Dann bekam ich Hilfe durch die Organisation 'Solidarität'. Ich wurde entlassen und lebte in Brünn mit Flüchtlingen aus Deutschland, Österreich und anderen Ländern zusammen. Wir schliefen zu dritt in einem Bett, es war alles sehr eng. Einmal die Woche bekamen wir von einem Fleischhauer Wurst - ich lebte ein nichtjüdisches, politisches Leben.
Da es in der Slowakei Arbeitsgenehmigungen für Flüchtlinge gab, fuhren wir in die Slowakei und lebten bei jüdischen Familien. Ich arbeitete zum Teil als Installateur, zum Teil als Sortierer für Wollschafhäute. Mitte September 1938 marschierten die Deutschen ins Sudetengebiet ein. Wir wurden zurück nach Brünn gerufen. Es gab eine Organisation, den 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund'. Diese Organisation half politischen und jüdischen Flüchtlingen bei der Flucht. Von Brünn flog ich mit dem Flugzeug am 28. Februar 1939 nach England.
Der 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' hatte seinen Sitz in London und kümmerte sich auch um unsere Unterbringung. Zuerst wohnten wir in einer Pfarre in Greater-Chesterfield bei Cambridge. Nach einiger Zeit übersiedelten wir auf Vorschlag des 'Czech Refugee Trust Fund' nach Manchester. In Manchester wohnten wir in einem Hostel. Da wir keine Arbeitsgenehmigungen hatten, wurden wir von dort interniert, das war im Juni 1940. Für die älteren Menschen, insbesondere die älteren jüdischen Flüchtlinge, war es eine Katastrophe, eingesperrt zu werden. Ich war anderthalb Jahre interniert. Wir Jugendlichen machten das Beste daraus, spielten Fußball und lernten Englisch. Im Internierungslager waren sehr korrekte Verhältnisse, wir wurden gut versorgt. Im Februar 1942 wurde ich aus dem Internierungslager entlassen.
In England gab es eine österreichische Emigrantenbewegung, die sogenannte 'Free Austrian Movement [22]'. Als ich aus der Internierung kam, wurde diese Bewegung gerade gegründet. Meine Frau Edith und ich waren dann dort sehr engagiert. Unser Freundeskreis in England bestand aus österreichischen Emigranten; wir hatten aber auch sehr gute englische Freunde.
Life was hard for me when my husband left, but I thought that he broke through the ghetto, would help me leave it so that we would meet in a partisan squad and never part again. The spring of 1944 was very hard. There were constant actions in ghetto. People were taken to executions more often. In April the Fascists carried out the most horrible actions against children. Within an hour they walked from house to house and took all the ghetto children, including infants. Everybody, who couldn’t find a shelter, perished.
In November 1943 my husband Ilia Olkin left the ghetto in a group of five people. The group had connections with Lithuanians. They were met and taken to Belarusian forests. My husband said good-bye to me and both of us hoped to see each other again. My husband asked his friends from the underground to make arrangements for me to leave the ghetto at the earliest convenience and take me to the place where I could wait for the Soviet Army. In a while the intermediary gave me a letter from Ilia. That man took people to Belarus. He came back for another group.
One of the tasks of the underground was to save young people and children. The latter were stealthily taken from the ghetto to an orphanage, to Estonians, who presented them as their own children. It was so to say a global task, viz. not to let the fascists fulfill Hitler’s order on the ‘Final Solution of the Jewish question’ [17] that is the extermination of Jews as a people. It was obvious that the underground members decided not to fight within the ghetto as it led to irrevocable losses and deaths of innocent ghetto dwellers, who had nothing to do with the underground organization. It was decided to arrange escapes for as many people from the ghetto as possible.