The Community had set up a bathroom with showers, and we were taken there for a shower from time to time. We were also given a shower before leaving Sargorod. They took us and washed us clean, there was a drying stove for our clothes, and they took us to the train station; we were boarded on train carriages and on our way to Dorohoi. We traveled from Sargorod to Dorohoi, I forget for how long. It wasn’t long, 2-3 days and 2-3 nights. But it no longer made any difference for us that we were lying and sleeping on the ground, for we were used to it. I was with my mother and sister. We were three. That’s all that was left of our family… Two of us were left there, buried in common burial grounds. I wouldn’t even know where to go… [to visit their grave.] If I wanted to go to Sargorod, Ukraine, what could I see? A common burial ground?
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Sura Milstein
We left in November 1941 and returned in December 1943. We stayed in Sargorod [5] the whole time. Life over there is beyond description. We lived in a house – a Jewish family from Poland lived there as well. Their entire house had been occupied and a couple of rooms were given to those who came from Dorohoi. We were around 4 families crammed in a single room, and that room had no windows anymore – the glass was broken –, and we slept on the floor, each family sleeping in a corner of the room, we had managed to get some straw and that’s what we slept on – I suffer the consequences now, the rheumatism. Well… there is much to be said. I had typhus. A hospital was improvised there, in Sargorod, and I was taken there for a few days. I also had typhoid fever… I don’t even know how many diseases, no sooner would I recover than I’d fall ill again. The first winter was… [awful] My grandmother died – she was elderly. And then – my father. Our father was suffering from a heart condition, he had a stroke and died. The filth killed him soon after our arrival in Sargorod. We arrived in autumn – he died in winter. He was around 50 when he died.
Forced labor was compulsory. From our family, they took me – since I was a small girl – only 2-3 times to pick tobacco. And they would give us a loaf of bread – the pay for a day’s work. We stayed alive by selling our shirts, our things, what we had brought along with us in a backpack. We sold these to Ukrainian peasants. Some folks from Bukovina knew their tongue, Ukrainian, and acted as intermediaries. They took your things, sold them, and brought you back some money. German Marks were used there, that was the currency they used in these occupied areas. People were also using Romanian money, but to a small extent. And there was a small market in the town, and you could buy potatoes there – we also ate the potato peels. And when we still had money to buy food with, we’d buy something and boil it on a stove – it was called a ‘pripicic’. There was a sort of metal lamp on an oval table and you placed wood chips in it, that’s what you used as firewood; the upper part was a round pipe where you placed the pots, and that’s where we cooked, turn by turn, all 4 families, a warm broth from what we managed to find.
Finally, in the end, when it was possible, we received support, help from Bucharest. My mother’s brother sent us some money every now and then and that’s how we survived. He sent it by mail, and we received it through the Community. A Jewish Community had been formed in Sargorod by the Jews from Bukovina: from Suceava, Campulung, from… The Community received the money by mail and called us and handed it over to us. But this was later, around 1942 or 1943 – I forget when it was exactly. About a year – shall I say –, not long before returning home.
The Community had set up a bathroom with showers, and we were taken there for a shower from time to time.
Forced labor was compulsory. From our family, they took me – since I was a small girl – only 2-3 times to pick tobacco. And they would give us a loaf of bread – the pay for a day’s work. We stayed alive by selling our shirts, our things, what we had brought along with us in a backpack. We sold these to Ukrainian peasants. Some folks from Bukovina knew their tongue, Ukrainian, and acted as intermediaries. They took your things, sold them, and brought you back some money. German Marks were used there, that was the currency they used in these occupied areas. People were also using Romanian money, but to a small extent. And there was a small market in the town, and you could buy potatoes there – we also ate the potato peels. And when we still had money to buy food with, we’d buy something and boil it on a stove – it was called a ‘pripicic’. There was a sort of metal lamp on an oval table and you placed wood chips in it, that’s what you used as firewood; the upper part was a round pipe where you placed the pots, and that’s where we cooked, turn by turn, all 4 families, a warm broth from what we managed to find.
Finally, in the end, when it was possible, we received support, help from Bucharest. My mother’s brother sent us some money every now and then and that’s how we survived. He sent it by mail, and we received it through the Community. A Jewish Community had been formed in Sargorod by the Jews from Bukovina: from Suceava, Campulung, from… The Community received the money by mail and called us and handed it over to us. But this was later, around 1942 or 1943 – I forget when it was exactly. About a year – shall I say –, not long before returning home.
The Community had set up a bathroom with showers, and we were taken there for a shower from time to time.
The deportation of the Jews from Dorohoi was scheduled in three stages. Two groups of people left while the third stayed waiting. We left with the second group. They were probably choosing certain parts of the town. And since we lived in the old town center, we were included in the second group. Actually, I didn’t even know much about what was happening, for I stayed mostly inside. Afterwards, I was deported to Transnistria together with my parents, my sister and my grandmother. The street sergeants let us know. They would come and tell us to have our backpack ready as we were about to be deported.
The trip to Sargorod lasted for 3-4 days; we were locked in cattle carriages watched by the army. The carriages were crowded, there were, say, approximately 40 persons in one carriage. The train stopped a few times, but we didn’t get anything [we weren’t allowed to get off the carriages].
We left in November 1941 and returned in December 1943.
The trip to Sargorod lasted for 3-4 days; we were locked in cattle carriages watched by the army. The carriages were crowded, there were, say, approximately 40 persons in one carriage. The train stopped a few times, but we didn’t get anything [we weren’t allowed to get off the carriages].
We left in November 1941 and returned in December 1943.
In the meantime, the law regarding small localities was passed: Bucecea and Mihaileni [Mihaileni is located 21 km west of Dorohoi.] and Saveni, and all these other small localities – the small market towns – had to be evacuated, and they were evacuated to Dorohoi, the capital city of the county. Our grandmother came to live with us – everybody did what they could.
From 1941 we all wore the yellow star [4]. We wore it until we were deported. People were no longer wearing it when we returned home. We were allowed only 1 hour a day to go out to the market, to go shopping, that was all. It also depended on the street sergeant, if he happened to be a kind person he would allow it, but if he were harsh as in our case, he wouldn’t allow us to go out. On some occasions we didn’t have any bread in the house, because my father didn’t manage to buy any. The queue for bread was quite long at the ‘Federala’, as the bakery was called, and his turn to buy came late and people chased him away. He didn’t buy bread anymore. And there were all kinds of obligations: to hand in men’s shoes and clothing for the soldiers – if you didn’t have any, you had to buy it and hand it in.
I graduated high school in 1940. That was the last year when [Jewish] people could attend state schools, and starting with the fall of 1940 it was no longer possible [1]. But Jews founded a Jewish high school. They brought 2 unemployed Jewish teachers from Siret and a Jewish girl from Bucecea itself, who had a degree in French and was unemployed, too; they also brought a few lawyers knowledgeable about teaching who filled the remaining departments. And they purchased school manuals – as long as they could find them – and that high school was in existence until I don’t know when, for we were deported in the meantime, in 1941. The high school kept providing education for the children and parents that were left there.
I went to school in Dorohoi. I started attending primary school when I was 6 – in 1928. There was also a Jewish school – but no high school –, yet my parents enlisted me at a state school. I studied for 4 years there, then I completed 8 years of high school in Dorohoi, at the State High School ‘Queen Mary.’I graduated high school in 1940. That was the last year when [Jewish] people could attend state schools, and starting with the fall of 1940 it was no longer possible [1].
Romania
I spoke Yiddish with my grandparents. I didn’t speak Yiddish with my parents that much – mainly Romanian. In time, I even almost forgot Yiddish. And I refused to learn how to write, how to read, I – ridiculous – didn’t want to. There was an elderly woman in Bucecea who went to people’s houses to teach children [how to read and write Hebrew] and she was a little senile, she smelled of urine; I didn’t like her and I didn’t want to learn. As for the cheder, I stopped going there. I don’t even know if my sister went to the cheder.
I wasn’t involved in Zionist movements. We only had – like every household – one of those blue boxes [3] with magen David, and we, the family, used to put some spare change in it, and someone would come to collect it. We had that box since 1925-1927, I think.
On Chanukkah the custom was to light candles, an additional candle on each successive evening. We didn’t have a menorah for this. But we placed a small candle on a piece of wood. And the service candle, which is used for lighting the other candles, was a bit to the side, but still aligned with the other 8. They were placed on the table. We never had toys for Chanukkah. (We had a domino game at home. My father had a domino game from his parents, and relatives came by our house and they all played domino in the evening. The parents, that is, the children didn’t play domino.) But we received money. They used to give us a few coins, Chanukkah gelt. We bought sweets with that money. Later, when they no longer afforded to give me that much, they gave me less and I needed more.
The custom on Purim was to prepare sweets and various dishes, and guests would come over – family friends – in the evening, wearing disguises. The adults wore disguises, the children didn’t. The disguises were simple, modest, people only wore masks. The main thing was to have one’s face covered. Those wore good times, I believe it was in the 1930’s. When I was at my grandfathers’ place, I also saw musicians come over on Purim – they were gypsies who came and played music, and they were paid for it. They played traditional music, Jewish and Romanian. They even spoke Yiddish, they lived among Jews.
And there was a feast organized on Purim. Regular dishes were served, but there were also humantase [hamantashen] and honigleicheh. Honigleicheh is a flat bread with rose jam filling and walnut, it was sliced in little squares. The rose jam is made from rose petals, it has small scraggy leaves. Its color is pink to red, it smells a little of roses. Especially in the north of Moldavia, they still sell roses for making jam, mainly during spring. And people still prepare jam – the elderly housewives.
And there was a feast organized on Purim. Regular dishes were served, but there were also humantase [hamantashen] and honigleicheh. Honigleicheh is a flat bread with rose jam filling and walnut, it was sliced in little squares. The rose jam is made from rose petals, it has small scraggy leaves. Its color is pink to red, it smells a little of roses. Especially in the north of Moldavia, they still sell roses for making jam, mainly during spring. And people still prepare jam – the elderly housewives.
On Passover, my mother was more scrupulous, more serious, and more severe. We used special dishes on Passover, which we kept in the attic, wrapped in paper – we took them down on the eve of Passover and only used them during the 8 days, at the end of which they were placed back in the attic and weren’t used until the following Passover. And the house had to be cleansed of chametz. They placed a few crumbs [of bread] in the corners of the rooms and then my father would take a feather and sweep the crumbs, place them in a wooden spoon and burn them, that’s what I remember. They also recited a prayer. Both my father and my grandfather did it. And the shammash from the synagogue would visit each household on the eve of the Passover holidays and make a list of all chametz food to be found in each house. And this chametz was kept somewhere hidden and nobody touched it, and it wasn’t used at all during Passover.
For 8 days you weren’t allowed to eat anything leavened. You were allowed to eat pasca [matzah], and cornmeal – mamaliga [polenta]. We bought the matzah at the Community Center, it was the Community that supplied the matzah. For a while, it was also baked locally – before World War II people baked it in Dorohoi –, but afterwards they stopped baking it locally and it was received from Israel. We ate the same dishes on Passover as we did on all other holidays: noodle soup, the meat that was boiled in the soup, and pudding – for the third course. People made noodles from crushed matzah mixed with eggs and then left to dry; these were added to the soup as a substitute for regular noodles. On Passover, people made cakes from matzah and walnut – we called them macaroni.
On Passover, my parents observed the seder evening. They prepared it as tradition requires – with matzah and prayer rituals. We had a table that we pulled next to a divan and then placed a few chairs on the sides. We, the children, sat on the divan; I used to read a novel in the meantime – I wasn’t religious. My father and my mother would recite what needed to be recited and they would make that traditional gesture of opening the door for the prophet Elijah to enter. And when I was in Bucecea my grandfather would trick me, for I was little and I believed him. ‘But – I used to say – I see the glass hasn’t been drunk from.’ For there was a glass set aside especially for the prophet Elijah, but it didn’t show at all [that he might have drunk from it]. And I wasn’t too gullible. ‘But – my grandfather would say – what do you expect, he can’t possibly drink a full glass at each and single household!’ My grandfather used to send me to open the door. I would ask my grandfather in advance the 4 questions that you have to ask. He asked me, he taught me how to ask them. We rehearsed this in advance, he would instruct me. And on the seder evening my grandfather would lie on the bed on one side. And the custom was to place the afikoman under the pillow – my grandfather would hide it there every time, and I found it, of course I did! I wouldn’t get anything as a reward. I wouldn’t find it at home, in my family, my father didn’t observe this tradition. In the families where there were boys, these customs were respected more closely…
For 8 days you weren’t allowed to eat anything leavened. You were allowed to eat pasca [matzah], and cornmeal – mamaliga [polenta]. We bought the matzah at the Community Center, it was the Community that supplied the matzah. For a while, it was also baked locally – before World War II people baked it in Dorohoi –, but afterwards they stopped baking it locally and it was received from Israel. We ate the same dishes on Passover as we did on all other holidays: noodle soup, the meat that was boiled in the soup, and pudding – for the third course. People made noodles from crushed matzah mixed with eggs and then left to dry; these were added to the soup as a substitute for regular noodles. On Passover, people made cakes from matzah and walnut – we called them macaroni.
On Passover, my parents observed the seder evening. They prepared it as tradition requires – with matzah and prayer rituals. We had a table that we pulled next to a divan and then placed a few chairs on the sides. We, the children, sat on the divan; I used to read a novel in the meantime – I wasn’t religious. My father and my mother would recite what needed to be recited and they would make that traditional gesture of opening the door for the prophet Elijah to enter. And when I was in Bucecea my grandfather would trick me, for I was little and I believed him. ‘But – I used to say – I see the glass hasn’t been drunk from.’ For there was a glass set aside especially for the prophet Elijah, but it didn’t show at all [that he might have drunk from it]. And I wasn’t too gullible. ‘But – my grandfather would say – what do you expect, he can’t possibly drink a full glass at each and single household!’ My grandfather used to send me to open the door. I would ask my grandfather in advance the 4 questions that you have to ask. He asked me, he taught me how to ask them. We rehearsed this in advance, he would instruct me. And on the seder evening my grandfather would lie on the bed on one side. And the custom was to place the afikoman under the pillow – my grandfather would hide it there every time, and I found it, of course I did! I wouldn’t get anything as a reward. I wouldn’t find it at home, in my family, my father didn’t observe this tradition. In the families where there were boys, these customs were respected more closely…
Romania
My father wasn’t religious. He didn’t go to the synagogue frequently, he too attended the religious service only during the autumn holidays, that was all. Also, he didn’t recite the prayer before the Friday evening dinner. Business was slow, and they didn’t always have wine for Saturday either, there was nothing with which to perform the ritual. My mother didn’t bake knitted bread, we bought bread from the town.
Romania
She didn’t have a wig, nor did she cover her head. She attended the synagogue only during the autumn holidays, that was all. My grandmother attended the religious service every Saturday, but she didn’t. My mother used to light 2 candles. Since my grandmother was more devout, she had 4 candlesticks and she lit a candle in each of them; my mother had 2 candlesticks and she would light two candles and recite the prayer. The candlesticks were placed on the table where we sat down to eat.
My mother was less of a zealot. She lit candles on Friday evening, but she wasn’t that strict about the separation of meat and milk. The rule about having separate dishes for milk and meat is a very complicated business and, in addition, you must have a lot of dishes. She did have separate dishes for meat and milk, but she would mix them. As for washing the dishes, she washed them all together.
The Sabbath in Bucecea was very nice. We had candlesticks with candles, my grandmother baked knot-shaped bread at home. For every holiday people baked colaci [elongated, knot-shaped bread] – knitted bread with egg and a little sugar.
They were nice, they rose nicely. She baked them herself. And she placed wine on the table and two large, nice colaci covered with a piece of cloth. When my grandfather was no longer allowed to drink wine, they made wine out of raisins – it was a sort of wine –, and they used it during the Kiddush – they recited a prayer for blessing the wine and the bread.
On Friday evening, when my grandfather returned from the synagogue, before eating dinner, he would intone the Saturday table prayer, he would bless me, and afterwards we all sat down to eat. As an exception, on Friday night we ate meat dishes, fowl or beef – as was the case. And noodle soup and pudding for dessert. And on Saturday afternoon it was the same, only on Saturday we didn’t light the fire and the food was kept in cold storage, in the cellar, and the meal was a hotchpotch with fowl meat and vegetables, which had the consistency of gelatin and was served cold. Sometimes people came to light the fire for us, but one couldn’t always have them come over because it was a small town, inhabited entirely by Jews. There was a village at the end of the town, but sometimes you could find a Christian to light the fire, and some other times you couldn’t. The Friday lunch meal wasn’t anything specific. We had meatballs, also made from fowl, we bought fish when we could find it in the stores – fish wasn’t always available in the stores.
They were nice, they rose nicely. She baked them herself. And she placed wine on the table and two large, nice colaci covered with a piece of cloth. When my grandfather was no longer allowed to drink wine, they made wine out of raisins – it was a sort of wine –, and they used it during the Kiddush – they recited a prayer for blessing the wine and the bread.
On Friday evening, when my grandfather returned from the synagogue, before eating dinner, he would intone the Saturday table prayer, he would bless me, and afterwards we all sat down to eat. As an exception, on Friday night we ate meat dishes, fowl or beef – as was the case. And noodle soup and pudding for dessert. And on Saturday afternoon it was the same, only on Saturday we didn’t light the fire and the food was kept in cold storage, in the cellar, and the meal was a hotchpotch with fowl meat and vegetables, which had the consistency of gelatin and was served cold. Sometimes people came to light the fire for us, but one couldn’t always have them come over because it was a small town, inhabited entirely by Jews. There was a village at the end of the town, but sometimes you could find a Christian to light the fire, and some other times you couldn’t. The Friday lunch meal wasn’t anything specific. We had meatballs, also made from fowl, we bought fish when we could find it in the stores – fish wasn’t always available in the stores.
My grandfather was kind and pious. He was bearded and wore a kippah on his head – that’s what Jews wore to cover their head. My grandmother wore her hair short and covered her head with a scarf. She also had a wig. It was custom-made, I believe it was from Poland. It was nice, made of dyed, brown hair, and it had a loop at the back. And on Saturdays, on holidays, she wore the wig – she would cover it with a scarf – and she would go to the synagogue. She went to the synagogue on Saturdays. Only men attended the synagogue on Friday evening, the women went to the synagogue during the day, on Saturday. She also wore the wig when she visited people. She had a few friends and they used to meet, especially on Saturdays. My grandmother wore ordinary dressing gowns, with buttons all the way down to her feet, and I wore them myself for I enjoyed playing, dancing in these dressing gowns. They were made of marquisette – that’s what that fabric was called –, it was transparent, for summer wear – you also wore it as a dress. And I would titivate myself with her dressing gowns and put on performances for the neighbors. She had dresses and she also had dressing gowns – her financial situation was fairly good. But she wore dark, sober colors.
My grandfather dressed in the German fashion, he wore a coat and a shirt. He was very religious, both of my grandparents were. My grandfather always attended the synagogue – I believe he went there every evening, or maybe every morning. My grandmother read prayers in the morning, too. She used to wake up early in the morning and sit in the dining room and read prayers. She was very religious.
My grandfather dressed in the German fashion, he wore a coat and a shirt. He was very religious, both of my grandparents were. My grandfather always attended the synagogue – I believe he went there every evening, or maybe every morning. My grandmother read prayers in the morning, too. She used to wake up early in the morning and sit in the dining room and read prayers. She was very religious.
Bucecea was a very small, modest town, with a few small shops selling odds and ends. There were linen shops – they were called manufactures –, and a couple of shoe stores. I also remember that we used to go and buy white candles – Jews use white candles. And Bucecea – which seemed appealing to me, nice – was a small town in the fashion of old Jewish towns: with one main street and a couple of side alleys. And for me it was heaven on earth. There were villages around the town of Bucecea – I forget their names – which fell under its jurisdiction. Our house [the grandparents’ house] was located on the main street near the end of the town, and I used to go strolling towards the village and pick flowers on the way. There was a synagogue not far from our house and I would walk past it and politely greet the rabbi… The rabbi lived in the courtyard of the synagogue, and there was a lime tree in front of the house that had the nicest fragrance!
There was – I believe it still exists today – a small park in Bucecea with a remarkably good spring water. Bucecea had exquisite drinking water. And plenty of it too, even the city of Botosani was supplied with water from Bucecea. There were a few benches there, and I used to play with the other children in that park. I had girls as friends, but I don’t remember any of them. We used to play tipcat. The game is played using a larger stick and a smaller one, and you strike the smaller stick with the larger one and throw it up in the air. But you had to make it land inside a certain circle – we used to draw it on the ground using chalk or a piece of stone. And you have to run after the stick, it is still you who has to pick it up. And there was another game: we drew one small square on the ground using a piece of chalk, then two small squares, then one, then two once again. And we remained outside the squares; you had to throw the pebble and make it land inside the square, then jump and kick the pebble along with your foot from square to square. We also played hide-and-seek.
There was – I believe it still exists today – a small park in Bucecea with a remarkably good spring water. Bucecea had exquisite drinking water. And plenty of it too, even the city of Botosani was supplied with water from Bucecea. There were a few benches there, and I used to play with the other children in that park. I had girls as friends, but I don’t remember any of them. We used to play tipcat. The game is played using a larger stick and a smaller one, and you strike the smaller stick with the larger one and throw it up in the air. But you had to make it land inside a certain circle – we used to draw it on the ground using chalk or a piece of stone. And you have to run after the stick, it is still you who has to pick it up. And there was another game: we drew one small square on the ground using a piece of chalk, then two small squares, then one, then two once again. And we remained outside the squares; you had to throw the pebble and make it land inside the square, then jump and kick the pebble along with your foot from square to square. We also played hide-and-seek.
My mother was a housewife, and my father was a trader. We had a hosier’s shop in Dorohoi that my father inherited from his father. The store was located in the house where we lived, in the old downtown area of Dorohoi. The street was called Grigore Ghica, opposite our house there was a cinema which no longer exists. The house was as old houses are, the rooms were placed like in a train carriage, without separate entrances, and it was very dark inside – we had the lamps burning during the day as well. We had two rooms and there was a small kitchen in the courtyard with a tiny adjoining room that we built. The store was in a larger room in front of the house – it was the only room that was spacious and well lit.
My parents’ marriage was an arranged marriage, as was the custom in those days. They didn’t talk about their marriage, but they had both a civil and a religious ceremony.
My mother, Haia Sulimzohn, was born in Bucecea. She didn’t attend secondary school either, she stopped going to school after graduating primary school. But she had a private tutor – employed by my grandfather –, and she took French and German lessons.
My mother’s sister’s name was Ana and she was married to Leon Solomon. I was about 8-9 when they married. They lived in Herta [nowadays Gertsa, Ukraine], near Cernauti, my uncle owned land, forests over there. They had an only child, Suzana, who is 10 years younger than me. When World War II broke out and people fled Herta, they fled as well. He was doing forced labor, and she and their daughter fled on the last train and went to Bucharest where she had a brother, Nathan.
The Germans shot him. The people he lived with loved him very much, they were older French Catholics and they loved him as if he were their own son. And these hosts offered him a hiding place during World War II, they kept him there, protected him all the time, but they couldn’t hide him towards the end of the war. German soldiers took him out of the house and shot him.
As for the other brother, Marcu, he lived in Grenoble, France. He went to France in order to study, he graduated the Commercial Academy and settled there, he had a job there. He used to come to Romania every now and then.
My uncle settled in Israel with his family [after World War II]. He left out of patriotism, as it was in the days when people were leaving, but also for the sake of their son, so that he could have a future – he was still little, a child or in his teens. And indeed, he made a career for himself. He was an aviator, now he too is retired, and may God keep him safe for he is an aviator and I believe they are recalling reservists into service.
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After WW2
See text in interview
My mother had two older brothers, Nathan and Marcu, and a younger sister, Ana. Their actual name was Soifer, and they took the name of Safir. And this younger woman, who is my aunt, went by the name of Ana Safir. But officially they never changed their name.
They had a nice house, with three rooms and a kitchen. My grandfather’s financial situation was better. They also raised livestock, but that was before I was born. They didn’t raise fowl. I don’t even know what animals they raised, it was either a horse or a cow. And it was there, in that shed, that my grandfather improvised a bathtub. He ordered a wooden bathtub, he bought a small cauldron, and we’d take baths there with walnut leaves and salt. We could stretch inside the bathtub. Only the family used this bathtub.
My grandfather worked in the woods of a boyar. I don’t know what he did exactly, he went into the woods and took care of things, supervised – in the employment of a boyar.
Sura lived in Dorohoi. Her actual name was Sura, like mine, but she later married a Christian, and her husband changed her name to Silvia – I don’t remember their last name, I forgot it. She died last year [in 2006], she was 91 or 92 when she died.
Romania
And in his youth he traded timber from the woods together with his brother, my grandfather.