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The war began on June 22, 1941. At that time my mother was pregnant with me. The factory where my parents were working was converted to a military plant and promptly evacuated to Tashkent. My parents were evacuated with their plant. My father’s parents were also evacuated - but some time later. They also lived in Tashkent, but not with us. I remember that both of them died in 1943. My grandfather died first and my grandmother followed him few weeks later.
My parents lived with an Uzbek family. These people sympathized with them, especially with my pregnant mother. My mother had suffered very much during the long train journey to Tashkent. When I was born the doctors didn’t think I would survive. I was born with many lesions and bleeding sores. In fact, nobody believed that I would live, and the doctors didn’t want to take the responsibility for my treatment. My mother was discharged from the maternity hospital and sent home. But then our Uzbek landlords took over. The landlady went to her home village to see the healer. She brought back some ointment and herbs and they nursed me to health. So I owe my life to these Uzbek people. I don’t even know their names. I don’t know why, but after returning to Kiev my parents did not keep in touch with this family, but I remember that my mother always spoke with gratitude about their kindness and cordiality.
My grandfather Haim and grandmother Haya-Surah, my mother’s parents, stayed in occupied Kamenets-Podolsk and my mother didn’t know anything about their fate. But at that time it was already common knowledge that the Germans left no Jewish people alive in the occupied areas, and my mother had no hope of finding her parents alive. However, she kept praying for them and hoping for a miracle. But no miracle occurred. My grandfather Haim and grandmother Haya-Surah Altman were shot along with all other Jews in town including their daughter-in-law, Uncle Munya’s wife Fania and their three year old grandson Abrasha. We found this out after we returned from evacuation.
My parents lived with an Uzbek family. These people sympathized with them, especially with my pregnant mother. My mother had suffered very much during the long train journey to Tashkent. When I was born the doctors didn’t think I would survive. I was born with many lesions and bleeding sores. In fact, nobody believed that I would live, and the doctors didn’t want to take the responsibility for my treatment. My mother was discharged from the maternity hospital and sent home. But then our Uzbek landlords took over. The landlady went to her home village to see the healer. She brought back some ointment and herbs and they nursed me to health. So I owe my life to these Uzbek people. I don’t even know their names. I don’t know why, but after returning to Kiev my parents did not keep in touch with this family, but I remember that my mother always spoke with gratitude about their kindness and cordiality.
My grandfather Haim and grandmother Haya-Surah, my mother’s parents, stayed in occupied Kamenets-Podolsk and my mother didn’t know anything about their fate. But at that time it was already common knowledge that the Germans left no Jewish people alive in the occupied areas, and my mother had no hope of finding her parents alive. However, she kept praying for them and hoping for a miracle. But no miracle occurred. My grandfather Haim and grandmother Haya-Surah Altman were shot along with all other Jews in town including their daughter-in-law, Uncle Munya’s wife Fania and their three year old grandson Abrasha. We found this out after we returned from evacuation.
Location
Ukraine
Interview
Zinaida Leibovich