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My father was the so-called shammash - in Bulgarian they call him 'a sexton' - in the synagogue on Positano and Morava [Streets]. Now there is a high chimney there. Actually it was a midrash [a little synagogue]. My father used to go there every morning around 4 to 4.30am; he used to open the midrash, warm up everything and light up the brazier. Then he was ready to make coffee. The elderly Jews used to come at 6am, so as to drink their coffee there. I usually went with my father to assist him in preparing the coffee and serving it to the old men. My father did this to earn some money because people paid for coffee there. The shammash made his living in this way because he didn't get any other salary. Children helped him as best they could.
There wasn't anything like kindergartens or nurseries then. Rich people, who had enough money, used to hire a woman to look after their children. The other kids were self-educated, so to speak. I remember one incident. My mother went to work, my father went to work and my brother cooked instead of them. We lived on Partenii Nishavski and Ibar Streets in an inner courtyard. Once my brother cooked beans. There weren't any hotplates, there wasn't anything but two bricks with logs and a pot on top of it; just like they do the picnics now. My brother, who was about 15-16 years old then, spilled the dish over his legs while stirring it. That was really very bad - no aid, no hospital. We, the kids, cleaned the wound and wrapped it. Back then there was Kupat Holim in Sofia, the former Jewish hospital. They finally helped him there but generally we, the kids, took care of each other. Our parents had to work. Very often we went to work with them.
There wasn't anything like kindergartens or nurseries then. Rich people, who had enough money, used to hire a woman to look after their children. The other kids were self-educated, so to speak. I remember one incident. My mother went to work, my father went to work and my brother cooked instead of them. We lived on Partenii Nishavski and Ibar Streets in an inner courtyard. Once my brother cooked beans. There weren't any hotplates, there wasn't anything but two bricks with logs and a pot on top of it; just like they do the picnics now. My brother, who was about 15-16 years old then, spilled the dish over his legs while stirring it. That was really very bad - no aid, no hospital. We, the kids, cleaned the wound and wrapped it. Back then there was Kupat Holim in Sofia, the former Jewish hospital. They finally helped him there but generally we, the kids, took care of each other. Our parents had to work. Very often we went to work with them.
Location
Bulgaria
Interview
Leon Levi