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We lived on Kerosinnaya Street before the war. We had one small room there. There was a yard. We had very friendly neighbors and got along well. There were many Jewish families. There was a blacksmith and I always went to see him. I was absorbed by what he was doing. The blacksmith was a Jew. I always ran to him and said, 'Blacksmith, shoe my foot!' and pushed forward my little foot. And he pretended that he shoed my foot. All our neighbors were nice people. The ones that survived met after the war.
Later we moved downtown to Meringovskaya Street, where we had one big room in a communal apartment 10. We had four neighbors in this apartment. One neighbor's name was Nikolai Alexandrovich. He paid a lot of attention to me. When I studied in the 1st grade he checked my homework. He lived in a small room. At that time he didn't work. He had two daughters and he visited them. One Sunday he visited one of them and the following Sunday the other one. Once a week a woman came to his place, cleaned up and did everything else necessary. There was another Jewish family there. They had a boy, Vilia. His parents were the same age as my parents. There was also a Ukrainian family. There were a mother and daughter, the daughter's name was Nadia, she was already an adult. And there was an old blind man, a musician. He died, and another musician came to live in his place. He was a violinist. This was the beginning of all my tribulations. In those years Bousia Goldstein, a boy that played the violin splendidly, was very popular. And all Jewish parents wanted their children to be like Bousia. All in all, they started teaching me to play the violin. I wasn't particularly gifted, but I honestly spent several hours a day pestering the violin. Tears were running down my cheeks and I couldn't do anything about it until they took pity with me and cancelled the violin lessons. I was six years old then. Everything was fine: the communal apartment, the common kitchen - I cannot remember one single quarrel, or argument, and no yelling.
Everyone cooked on Primus stoves. There were no kerosene stoves then. Everyone had his little table, Primus stove and everything was left unlocked. Nobody touched anybody else's belongings. Nobody ever quarreled. Vilia's parents sometimes argued. We heard their yelling through the closed door. We had one big room, 25-30 meters. It was a nice, square room on the second floor; the balcony was facing the yard. There were two gardens nearby. One of them was across the street from the Franko theater. We went there for walks. The second garden was across the street from the gift store.
Later we moved downtown to Meringovskaya Street, where we had one big room in a communal apartment 10. We had four neighbors in this apartment. One neighbor's name was Nikolai Alexandrovich. He paid a lot of attention to me. When I studied in the 1st grade he checked my homework. He lived in a small room. At that time he didn't work. He had two daughters and he visited them. One Sunday he visited one of them and the following Sunday the other one. Once a week a woman came to his place, cleaned up and did everything else necessary. There was another Jewish family there. They had a boy, Vilia. His parents were the same age as my parents. There was also a Ukrainian family. There were a mother and daughter, the daughter's name was Nadia, she was already an adult. And there was an old blind man, a musician. He died, and another musician came to live in his place. He was a violinist. This was the beginning of all my tribulations. In those years Bousia Goldstein, a boy that played the violin splendidly, was very popular. And all Jewish parents wanted their children to be like Bousia. All in all, they started teaching me to play the violin. I wasn't particularly gifted, but I honestly spent several hours a day pestering the violin. Tears were running down my cheeks and I couldn't do anything about it until they took pity with me and cancelled the violin lessons. I was six years old then. Everything was fine: the communal apartment, the common kitchen - I cannot remember one single quarrel, or argument, and no yelling.
Everyone cooked on Primus stoves. There were no kerosene stoves then. Everyone had his little table, Primus stove and everything was left unlocked. Nobody touched anybody else's belongings. Nobody ever quarreled. Vilia's parents sometimes argued. We heard their yelling through the closed door. We had one big room, 25-30 meters. It was a nice, square room on the second floor; the balcony was facing the yard. There were two gardens nearby. One of them was across the street from the Franko theater. We went there for walks. The second garden was across the street from the gift store.
Location
Ukraine
Interview
Zina Kaluzhnaya