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It was as late as fall 1945, on Yom Kippur, in the yard of the Sofia synagogue [see Great Synagogue] [11], when my father heard someone calling him as he was called in Greece: ‘Tio Efraim’ [‘Uncle Efraim’]. A distant cousin of my mother’s accidentally saw him among the multitude of Jews and recognized him. He was dumbfounded. He hardly recognized her, she had changed a lot. It turned out that she had been traveling with a group of Salonica citizens who had survived Auschwitz. The Soviet troops who entered the camp in 1944 and released them asked them about their home towns and where they would like to go. And they all said ‘Salonica.’ So an echelon of Jews from various Balkan countries headed for Salonica.
When they arrived at the Sofia station it was Yom Kippur and some of them asked to be taken to the synagogue. She told us that she had been in one shed with my cousin Renika and they remained alive because they were working. When they were released in the commotion my cousin asked where the French were. She spoke French and probably she wanted to speak to someone and understand more about the situation. They showed her and she disappeared in the crowd. Nobody saw her again. When my father heard that he wrote letters to various organizations. They all replied, ‘We regret to inform you that we have no information about this person.’ Our main hope was in the International Red Cross. But they also couldn’t help us.
At the border checkpoint in Svilengrad some people in uniforms rummaged through our luggage, which consisted of four suitcases. It also contained a small bag with all our personal documents: birth certificates, the ketubbah of my parents, my father’s degrees and other similar documents. The man in uniform opened it, eyed it suspiciously and passed it to the other officials. The bag disappeared. We never saw it again. And we had to hurry because our train was leaving at any moment.
When they arrived at the Sofia station it was Yom Kippur and some of them asked to be taken to the synagogue. She told us that she had been in one shed with my cousin Renika and they remained alive because they were working. When they were released in the commotion my cousin asked where the French were. She spoke French and probably she wanted to speak to someone and understand more about the situation. They showed her and she disappeared in the crowd. Nobody saw her again. When my father heard that he wrote letters to various organizations. They all replied, ‘We regret to inform you that we have no information about this person.’ Our main hope was in the International Red Cross. But they also couldn’t help us.
At the border checkpoint in Svilengrad some people in uniforms rummaged through our luggage, which consisted of four suitcases. It also contained a small bag with all our personal documents: birth certificates, the ketubbah of my parents, my father’s degrees and other similar documents. The man in uniform opened it, eyed it suspiciously and passed it to the other officials. The bag disappeared. We never saw it again. And we had to hurry because our train was leaving at any moment.
Location
Bulgaria
Interview
Jul Efraim Levi