In Vienna, Jews lived in the 2nd Bezirk [German for district]. A place where I was only for a short time and could encounter them. During that period, Jews weren't allowed to go out after 10am. The 2nd Bezirk was the only area where they were allowed in public. They weren't allowed to walk the sidewalks, had to walk in the middle of the street. And they had the star. [Editor's note: When in public, Jews had to wear a badge with the Star of David.] But at least you could survive somehow there.
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Displaying 14581 - 14610 of 50826 results
Alina Fiszgrund
The ghetto had its own currency. It was valid only in the ghetto. I don't know whether it was the 'Ghettoverwaltung' [German for ghetto administration] or the Germans who were printing the notes. [Editor's note: The bills, bearing Rumkowski's signature and consequently referred to as the 'rumeks,' were introduced in 1940]. The separate currency was also a form of humiliation. The point was to prevent you from giving bribes or buying anything apart from that which was for sale in the ghetto. But bribery still existed. The ghetto was an opportunity to get rich. As the saying goes: 'Gelegenheit macht den Dieb.' [German for 'opportunity makes the thief']
I was in the ghetto for only a very short time, perhaps three weeks. [Editor's note: Mrs. Fiszgrund refused to talk about her family's experiences during the war. The issue remains too painful for her. She was in the Lodz ghetto with her mother and her sister Irena]. It was at the end of 1942, the period of great terror. Irena, my younger sister, born in 1923 or 1924, worked in a pharmacy in the ghetto. One day she left the ghetto and never returned. She had the so-called Aryan papers.
I was in the ghetto for only a very short time, perhaps three weeks. [Editor's note: Mrs. Fiszgrund refused to talk about her family's experiences during the war. The issue remains too painful for her. She was in the Lodz ghetto with her mother and her sister Irena]. It was at the end of 1942, the period of great terror. Irena, my younger sister, born in 1923 or 1924, worked in a pharmacy in the ghetto. One day she left the ghetto and never returned. She had the so-called Aryan papers.
I often wondered what had happened to the Dirungers. I searched for them after the war. I know they had the 'Jüdische Wohngebiet'... [German for Jewish residence area, euphemism for ghetto]. A summons to relocate to the ghetto. They didn't know what to do and went to live there. And there they died. They died in the early period, there must have been a reason. There was an 'Unterwelt' [German for underworld] there - thieves, prostitutes, and so on, and, in the ghetto reality, those people dominated. It was a regression to primitivism. It seems to me the Lodz ghetto actually led the way in that primitivism, that humiliation of people. The atmosphere was rather peculiar.
When the war broke out, the Germans didn't take Jews to the ghetto right away, but immediately started confiscating everything, whatever anyone had [the Lodz ghetto was set up in February 1940].
During the war, first they were thrown out of their apartment. They moved to the attic, wired it up to the mains, and turned it into an apartment. I remember when they received the summons to report at the ghetto. They were a mixed family and they had hoped they'd be allowed to stay. But they took them. They came very early in the morning and took the whole family. All of them. I think I actually visited them once in the ghetto, but then we lost touch. We had to because I left Lodz.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
The town had a very nice synagogue. A beautiful wooden baroque building, with superb paintings. An unforgettable interior. It was an architectural monument. The literature states that the most beautiful wooden synagogue in Poland was the one in Tykocin [9]. This isn't true. The Tykocin synagogue that some writers fawn over so much, was nothing compared with the Przedecz one. It was so beautiful! Mr. Zemelman was the rabbi there. A relatively young, intelligent man. When the Germans came, they set the synagogue on fire and forced him to sign a statement that he had set it on fire himself. Everything burned down.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
There was a time when the support from Joint stopped coming. That was because the Joint had developed in Warsaw, at Nowowiejska Street, an old people's home. It was to be a home for the Polish Jews. And later, like all other old people's homes, it was nationalized. That was, I think, after 1968 [39], when Gomulka made his 'fifth column' comment. [Editor's note: in a 19th June 1967 public speech, Wladyslaw Gomulka, then communist party leader, called the Polish Jews a 'fifth column' i.e. traitors.] The Joint officially froze assistance for Jews in Poland and started helping unofficially. And for several years there was no official support, but later it was reinstated. Some 25 years ago, I guess.
,
1968
See text in interview
One special anniversary is that of the Warsaw ghetto uprising [43]. Few people attend it these days, they complain it's always the same lecture, but I don't think that's true. At least during the period when I worked there, each time they tried to refer the lecture to the current political situation.
,
After WW2
See text in interview
Eventually she ran out of money and, shortly before the Warsaw Uprising [4], she moved to Lowicz [town 50 km west of Warsaw].
,
During WW2
See text in interview
Liya Kaplan
We felt lucky and surprised at the same time not to have been included in the list of those exiled. I don't know how we managed to stay safe. I guess, another stage of exile might have been planned, if Germany hadn't attacked the USSR. The war was unleashed. It was called the Great Patriotic War [24] in the Soviet Union.
I met my husband-to-be Marcus Kaplan in the last but one grade at school. I went to see my relatives in Tartu. Whilst there I met a Jewish girl named Berta, who had graduated from the Estonian Philology Department of Tartu University and taught Estonian at Tartu Jewish school. Berta and I had a frank conversation and it wasn't long before we both felt like we had been friends for ages. Berta suggested showing me Tartu. On our way we called on her brother Marcus, who owned a small store downtown. Berta introduced me to him and said that we were on the way to a café and asked if he'd join us, if he'd like to. Berta and I went to a café and after a couple of minutes Marcus came in. We spent some time together and then Berta tactfully left, leaving Marcus and I to spend the whole day together.
We started seeing each other after that. Marcus came to Tallinn, and I made trips to Tartu. Both of my parents liked Marcus and things were evolving, so I was to marry him after leaving school. Marcus was born in Tartu in 1912. His parents were no longer alive. His sister Berta and brother Abram lived in Tartu. His other brother and sister lived in Kazan, in the USSR. They left there before the revolution to study, but then they couldn't come back.
In 1941, Jewish schools were closed down in Estonia by the new regime. Our Jewish school was turned into secondary school. Our 12th grade was left and we finished our studies in early June 1941. The war was unleashed in two weeks.
I met my husband-to-be Marcus Kaplan in the last but one grade at school. I went to see my relatives in Tartu. Whilst there I met a Jewish girl named Berta, who had graduated from the Estonian Philology Department of Tartu University and taught Estonian at Tartu Jewish school. Berta and I had a frank conversation and it wasn't long before we both felt like we had been friends for ages. Berta suggested showing me Tartu. On our way we called on her brother Marcus, who owned a small store downtown. Berta introduced me to him and said that we were on the way to a café and asked if he'd join us, if he'd like to. Berta and I went to a café and after a couple of minutes Marcus came in. We spent some time together and then Berta tactfully left, leaving Marcus and I to spend the whole day together.
We started seeing each other after that. Marcus came to Tallinn, and I made trips to Tartu. Both of my parents liked Marcus and things were evolving, so I was to marry him after leaving school. Marcus was born in Tartu in 1912. His parents were no longer alive. His sister Berta and brother Abram lived in Tartu. His other brother and sister lived in Kazan, in the USSR. They left there before the revolution to study, but then they couldn't come back.
In 1941, Jewish schools were closed down in Estonia by the new regime. Our Jewish school was turned into secondary school. Our 12th grade was left and we finished our studies in early June 1941. The war was unleashed in two weeks.
My father's store was confiscated. He was a kind man and treated his employees very well; he was loved by everybody. When my father was told to give the keys of the store to a commissar [21] who had been assigned to run the store, all the workers started to talk the commissar into letting my father stay, but my father wasn't willing to. It was the end of our trouble.
When we were still in our house, one man came and told Father to pay a huge tax to the state. I don't remember the exact amount. When my father asked why he was supposed to pay, since his store had been taken, the man just told him not to ask silly questions and give the money. My mother gave him her jewelry and he left. In two weeks he showed up again and named a new sum for the tax. My mother gave away her diamond rings. When he came for the third time we were in Nomme. He said that we were supposed to give the state all our precious belongings, table silverware and so on. My mother gave him everything and my parents were nervously awaiting another visit. They packed a suitcase and when a car passed by our house, we feared that it was the NKVD [22] coming after us.
The 14th of June 1941 was a dreadful day, remembered in Estonian history as the day of deportation [23]. It was the day when the Soviet regime exiled over 10,000 Estonian citizens to Siberia. There were Jews among them, but most of those exiled were Estonians. The majority of those exiled were political activists and soldiers of the Estonian army. They were arrested before, but exiled on that day. Intelligentsia and wealthy people were also exiled. There were people who were exiled by accident. It must have been the case that some people were included in the list simply because they were disliked.
My mother's brother Nisson Tsipikov and his family were also exiled, though they were poor people. My uncle was in the Gulag. Every day they had to walk to the work site, 20 kilometers from the camp. My uncle was involved in timbering, he cut trees. He had never done anything like this before, and he barely survived there. His teeth fell out and he became unable to do any work. By a miracle, Nisson was exempt from the camp due to poor health. He didn't live long though; he died in the 1950s. His wife died in exile as well.
When we were still in our house, one man came and told Father to pay a huge tax to the state. I don't remember the exact amount. When my father asked why he was supposed to pay, since his store had been taken, the man just told him not to ask silly questions and give the money. My mother gave him her jewelry and he left. In two weeks he showed up again and named a new sum for the tax. My mother gave away her diamond rings. When he came for the third time we were in Nomme. He said that we were supposed to give the state all our precious belongings, table silverware and so on. My mother gave him everything and my parents were nervously awaiting another visit. They packed a suitcase and when a car passed by our house, we feared that it was the NKVD [22] coming after us.
The 14th of June 1941 was a dreadful day, remembered in Estonian history as the day of deportation [23]. It was the day when the Soviet regime exiled over 10,000 Estonian citizens to Siberia. There were Jews among them, but most of those exiled were Estonians. The majority of those exiled were political activists and soldiers of the Estonian army. They were arrested before, but exiled on that day. Intelligentsia and wealthy people were also exiled. There were people who were exiled by accident. It must have been the case that some people were included in the list simply because they were disliked.
My mother's brother Nisson Tsipikov and his family were also exiled, though they were poor people. My uncle was in the Gulag. Every day they had to walk to the work site, 20 kilometers from the camp. My uncle was involved in timbering, he cut trees. He had never done anything like this before, and he barely survived there. His teeth fell out and he became unable to do any work. By a miracle, Nisson was exempt from the camp due to poor health. He didn't live long though; he died in the 1950s. His wife died in exile as well.
In 1940, the communists came to power with the help of Soviet troops. There were demonstrations of the workers, accompanied by Soviet tanks. The government resigned and the parliament was dissolved and preterm elections were announced. The communists won the elections by a majority vote. The Estonian Soviet Republic was established right away and Soviet Estonia officially became one of the Soviet republics. That was how all the Baltic countries were occupied [20].
When a number of people came to Estonia from the USSR, anti-Semitism became more common, mostly due to the newcomers. It seems to me that anti-Semitism was always present in Russia and was natural for citizens of the USSR. They were the ones who brought it into our country.
We immediately felt that a new regime had come to power. Somebody rang on our door and a Soviet colonel came in carrying a bed. He said that the municipal authorities had told him to take one room in our house. My parents gave him the largest room and he moved in there. After a while another soldier came and told us to vacate our apartment within two days. Our house was nationalized; it was needed by the Soviet regime, who decided to make a hospital there. We, the former bourgeois, had to leave there at once. My father found a small house in a beautiful suburb of Tallinn, called N?mme, so we moved there.
Of course, my parents were not delighted by the new regime, like most Estonian people. Only the communists, who were in the underground during the Estonian republic, were rejoicing as they wanted the Soviet regime. Our standards of living were pretty good before the Soviets came. Those who were working earned enough for a comfortable living. It was definitely hard to find a good job, but it was possible if a person wanted work and had skills. Food was cheap. Even if there weren't enough delicacies, there was potato, sprat and bread in every house. So, people wouldn't starve to death.
When a number of people came to Estonia from the USSR, anti-Semitism became more common, mostly due to the newcomers. It seems to me that anti-Semitism was always present in Russia and was natural for citizens of the USSR. They were the ones who brought it into our country.
We immediately felt that a new regime had come to power. Somebody rang on our door and a Soviet colonel came in carrying a bed. He said that the municipal authorities had told him to take one room in our house. My parents gave him the largest room and he moved in there. After a while another soldier came and told us to vacate our apartment within two days. Our house was nationalized; it was needed by the Soviet regime, who decided to make a hospital there. We, the former bourgeois, had to leave there at once. My father found a small house in a beautiful suburb of Tallinn, called N?mme, so we moved there.
Of course, my parents were not delighted by the new regime, like most Estonian people. Only the communists, who were in the underground during the Estonian republic, were rejoicing as they wanted the Soviet regime. Our standards of living were pretty good before the Soviets came. Those who were working earned enough for a comfortable living. It was definitely hard to find a good job, but it was possible if a person wanted work and had skills. Food was cheap. Even if there weren't enough delicacies, there was potato, sprat and bread in every house. So, people wouldn't starve to death.
In 1939, the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact [15] was signed and the first Soviet military bases were established [16]. Soviet troops came. They acted neutrally, not very confidently. I remember a funny case: a Soviet soldier came to the grocery store and asked gingerly whether he could buy 200 grams of sausages. 'Yes, please,' said the sales assistant. Then in two or three hours he came back again and asked for another 200 grams of sausages. He came in the store several more times and bought some more sausages. Finally, the astonished sales-assistant asked why he wouldn't buy as much as he needs in one go, and he asked, 'Can I?' At that time we didn't know that there were rations in the food stores, we weren't aware that there might be no goods in the stores. We knew nothing about Soviet life. Soviet soldiers couldn't believe they could just walk into a store and buy anything they liked.
Jews and Estonians were very friendly towards each other. In 1936 my father celebrated his 50th birthday. There were a lot of guests, including his business partners, Estonian entrepreneurs. They didn't find it shameful to come over to a Jew and congratulate him on his birthday.
When in 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany [14], the spirit of hatred towards Jews started penetrating Estonia. All of us felt the anti-Semitism. At that time we didn't understand the scale of it. There were short articles in the press, without details and comments. We learned about those events from the radio and papers, but no details were provided. We had wirelesses and could listen to any radio station of the world. Thus, we found out about the atrocities the fascists in Germany were committing and about the concentration camps.
Then fugitives from Germany showed up. There weren't very many of them. It must have been hard to escape. Once, somebody rang on the door and I opened it. There was a Jewish fugitive on the threshold. Half of his beard was torn. My mother let him in and gave him food and clothes. Then he was taken care of by the Jewish community.
When in 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany [14], the spirit of hatred towards Jews started penetrating Estonia. All of us felt the anti-Semitism. At that time we didn't understand the scale of it. There were short articles in the press, without details and comments. We learned about those events from the radio and papers, but no details were provided. We had wirelesses and could listen to any radio station of the world. Thus, we found out about the atrocities the fascists in Germany were committing and about the concentration camps.
Then fugitives from Germany showed up. There weren't very many of them. It must have been hard to escape. Once, somebody rang on the door and I opened it. There was a Jewish fugitive on the threshold. Half of his beard was torn. My mother let him in and gave him food and clothes. Then he was taken care of by the Jewish community.
, Estonia
Most children didn't know Ivrit. That's why there was a kindergarten in the Ivrit school, which was attended by children at the age of six, one year before school. I also went to that kindergarten. At the age of seven I entered the Ivrit school, where my elder siblings went. Apart from Ivrit, we studied German, French and English. The school was secular, but we studied religion, history and Jewish tradition.
There was a great chazzan, Gurevich, from the Tallinn synagogue, who taught music at our school. His son was the famous Estonian conductor Eri Klas. A handsome man, Gurevich had a wonderful voice. He played a small harmonica to which we sang. The director of our school, Gurin, came from Romania. The mathematics teacher, Bronimov, and the geography teacher, Kosotskiv, were from Poland. They had an excellent command of Ivrit. My distant relative Motle Zhitomirskiy taught Ivrit in junior grade. He came from a very religious family. I was friends with Evgeniya Gurina, the headmaster's daughter. We had been friends since kindergarten.
There were wonderful Jewish festivals in school. Children gave concerts; parents were invited and they were very grateful. My mother and the WIZO ladies always baked cookies and cakes for the festivals. They were sold dirt cheap in the buffet. There was also a charity auction. Rich people donated something precious: a crystal vase, golden ring or a necklace for the auction. The bid prices were higher than usual. The money from the auction and the baked goods were distributed to the poor. Those who were leaving for Palestine were given money as well.
We were members of youth Zionist organizations at school. I was a member of Hashomer Hatzair [12], my friend joined Betar [13]. There was no animosity among us.
There was a great chazzan, Gurevich, from the Tallinn synagogue, who taught music at our school. His son was the famous Estonian conductor Eri Klas. A handsome man, Gurevich had a wonderful voice. He played a small harmonica to which we sang. The director of our school, Gurin, came from Romania. The mathematics teacher, Bronimov, and the geography teacher, Kosotskiv, were from Poland. They had an excellent command of Ivrit. My distant relative Motle Zhitomirskiy taught Ivrit in junior grade. He came from a very religious family. I was friends with Evgeniya Gurina, the headmaster's daughter. We had been friends since kindergarten.
There were wonderful Jewish festivals in school. Children gave concerts; parents were invited and they were very grateful. My mother and the WIZO ladies always baked cookies and cakes for the festivals. They were sold dirt cheap in the buffet. There was also a charity auction. Rich people donated something precious: a crystal vase, golden ring or a necklace for the auction. The bid prices were higher than usual. The money from the auction and the baked goods were distributed to the poor. Those who were leaving for Palestine were given money as well.
We were members of youth Zionist organizations at school. I was a member of Hashomer Hatzair [12], my friend joined Betar [13]. There was no animosity among us.
, Estonia
Jews in Estonia felt free. Anti-Semitism was not free. In the period of the First Estonian Republic [5] Jews obtained cultural autonomy [6] according to the government resolution. There were Jewish stores, Jewish schools and Jewish organizations. All boys who reached the age of thirteen were to go through their bar mitzvah. There was a Judaic department in Tartu University. Jews were free to enter any institutions of higher education except for military schools, where there was no admissions quota [7].
The Jewish community of Tallinn was wealthy. Of course, there were poor families, but most people lived comfortably. Jews owned houses, stores and shops. There were a lot of representatives of Jewish intelligentsia: doctors, teachers and lawyers. In general, people made a good living, nobody starved. The community helped the poor.
There was a Jewish canteen in Tallinn, funded by the Gleizer family. Not only Jews came there to eat Jewish food, but many other people came too. There were a lot of dishes on the menu, to satisfy any taste. There was a Jewish club on Karia Street, called Byalik's club [8]. There was Jewish cuisine there as well. In the evenings people got together there, had dinner, played cards and pool. All kinds of get-togethers and family reunions were arranged there.
My mother was involved in charity work. She was the chairman of the ladies Zionist organization WIZO [9]. My mother helped poor Jews a lot. Every day students from poor families came to our home for lunch. One boy, whose parents were divorced, lived with us for a year as he was lonely. My mother lead a group of women who visited the poor, gave them food and presents, and tried to support them the best they could. WIZO ladies collected clothing and footwear from rich families and then distributed them to poor people. There was a buffet in our Jewish school [10] where rolls, sandwiches, coffee, tea and stewed fruit were sold. Every day during recess, WIZO ladies served children from the buffet. My mother was also behind the counter. Apart from that, WIZO ladies baked rolls and cakes for children and handed them out for free. My mother knew all the students from the poor families in the school and always took care of them. She was also a member of the school's parents' association. My father donated furniture and curtains.
The Jewish community of Tallinn was wealthy. Of course, there were poor families, but most people lived comfortably. Jews owned houses, stores and shops. There were a lot of representatives of Jewish intelligentsia: doctors, teachers and lawyers. In general, people made a good living, nobody starved. The community helped the poor.
There was a Jewish canteen in Tallinn, funded by the Gleizer family. Not only Jews came there to eat Jewish food, but many other people came too. There were a lot of dishes on the menu, to satisfy any taste. There was a Jewish club on Karia Street, called Byalik's club [8]. There was Jewish cuisine there as well. In the evenings people got together there, had dinner, played cards and pool. All kinds of get-togethers and family reunions were arranged there.
My mother was involved in charity work. She was the chairman of the ladies Zionist organization WIZO [9]. My mother helped poor Jews a lot. Every day students from poor families came to our home for lunch. One boy, whose parents were divorced, lived with us for a year as he was lonely. My mother lead a group of women who visited the poor, gave them food and presents, and tried to support them the best they could. WIZO ladies collected clothing and footwear from rich families and then distributed them to poor people. There was a buffet in our Jewish school [10] where rolls, sandwiches, coffee, tea and stewed fruit were sold. Every day during recess, WIZO ladies served children from the buffet. My mother was also behind the counter. Apart from that, WIZO ladies baked rolls and cakes for children and handed them out for free. My mother knew all the students from the poor families in the school and always took care of them. She was also a member of the school's parents' association. My father donated furniture and curtains.
We mostly spoke Yiddish at home, sometimes German was generally accepted in Baltic countries. All of us knew Russian as well.
My parents were very religious. There were people who prayed in the synagogue twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, but this was not practiced in my family. We respected and observed all the other Jewish traditions. Friday evening we marked the Sabbath. My mother lit candles and prayed. Then we had a festive dinner.
Our house was known for tradition, which implied that anybody could come to us for the Sabbath dinner without invitation. Those who didn't have a place to have their Sabbath meal were hospitably invited to our house. Our relatives always came on Sabbath evening. There were also the visitors who didn't have a chance to get home in time for the Sabbath. We were happy to see everybody.
The next day it was a rule for parents to go to the synagogue. They took the children with them. We went to the synagogue on holidays as well. There was a large, beautiful synagogue in Tallinn [4]; it doesn't exist anymore, it burned down during the bombing in 1944.
There were two cupboards in our kitchen: one for everyday dishes and another one for Passover, which was used only once a year, on Pesach. My mother strictly observed kashrut. There were separate dishes for milk and meat meals. There was no bread at home for the entire Pesach period. Matzah was bought in the synagogue and was eaten instead of bread. Matzah dishes were cooked. My father held the Pesach seder in accordance with the rite.
The family obligatorily fasted on Yom Kippur, starting from the first evening star on the eve of the holiday and continuing until the first evening star at the end of the next day. Children began fasting from the age of 12. Younger children could choose to miss one or two meals, but it wasn't obligatory. Sick people weren't allowed to fast. They had to pray without fasting so as not to harm their health.
The Kapparos ritual was observed in our family, though not with chicken, but with money. [Editor's note: Kapparos is a traditional animal sacrifice that takes place on the eve of Yom Kippur. Classically, it is performed by moving a live chicken around one's head three times, symbolically transferring one's sins to the chicken. The chicken is then slaughtered and donated to the poor, preferably eaten at the pre-Yom Kippur meal. In modern times, most communities perform it with charity money substituted for the chicken, swung over one's head in a similar fashion and then donated to charity.] Money was given to the synagogue as a donation for poor families for them to have a chance to celebrate Pesach in accordance with the rules. We always went to my grandfather on Rosh Hashanah and on Pesach. His place looked neat, beautiful and ceremonious. We also celebrated Purim and Chanukkah.
There were kosher stores in Tallinn. My father's sister Vikhne Ivanovskaya and her husband owned a kosher store. They sold kosher meat and chicken. They also made very delicious kosher sausages. Vikhne was a great cook; she baked very tasty Jewish cookies, honey cake and keiglach, rolls cooked in honey.
My parents were very religious. There were people who prayed in the synagogue twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, but this was not practiced in my family. We respected and observed all the other Jewish traditions. Friday evening we marked the Sabbath. My mother lit candles and prayed. Then we had a festive dinner.
Our house was known for tradition, which implied that anybody could come to us for the Sabbath dinner without invitation. Those who didn't have a place to have their Sabbath meal were hospitably invited to our house. Our relatives always came on Sabbath evening. There were also the visitors who didn't have a chance to get home in time for the Sabbath. We were happy to see everybody.
The next day it was a rule for parents to go to the synagogue. They took the children with them. We went to the synagogue on holidays as well. There was a large, beautiful synagogue in Tallinn [4]; it doesn't exist anymore, it burned down during the bombing in 1944.
There were two cupboards in our kitchen: one for everyday dishes and another one for Passover, which was used only once a year, on Pesach. My mother strictly observed kashrut. There were separate dishes for milk and meat meals. There was no bread at home for the entire Pesach period. Matzah was bought in the synagogue and was eaten instead of bread. Matzah dishes were cooked. My father held the Pesach seder in accordance with the rite.
The family obligatorily fasted on Yom Kippur, starting from the first evening star on the eve of the holiday and continuing until the first evening star at the end of the next day. Children began fasting from the age of 12. Younger children could choose to miss one or two meals, but it wasn't obligatory. Sick people weren't allowed to fast. They had to pray without fasting so as not to harm their health.
The Kapparos ritual was observed in our family, though not with chicken, but with money. [Editor's note: Kapparos is a traditional animal sacrifice that takes place on the eve of Yom Kippur. Classically, it is performed by moving a live chicken around one's head three times, symbolically transferring one's sins to the chicken. The chicken is then slaughtered and donated to the poor, preferably eaten at the pre-Yom Kippur meal. In modern times, most communities perform it with charity money substituted for the chicken, swung over one's head in a similar fashion and then donated to charity.] Money was given to the synagogue as a donation for poor families for them to have a chance to celebrate Pesach in accordance with the rules. We always went to my grandfather on Rosh Hashanah and on Pesach. His place looked neat, beautiful and ceremonious. We also celebrated Purim and Chanukkah.
There were kosher stores in Tallinn. My father's sister Vikhne Ivanovskaya and her husband owned a kosher store. They sold kosher meat and chicken. They also made very delicious kosher sausages. Vikhne was a great cook; she baked very tasty Jewish cookies, honey cake and keiglach, rolls cooked in honey.
I don't know where my parents lived after getting married. When their store became profitable, my father purchased a house for our family. I was born in that house. It was a two-story wooden house in the center of Tallinn. The house was big. There were nine rooms and a large kitchen on the ground floor. There were rooms on the second floor as well. There was a huge, gorgeous orchard by the house. There were apple trees, plum trees, berry bushes and wonderful flowers. My father liked flowers a lot. He ordered buds of some special tulips in Holland. Those tulips grew in our garden. On 8th March 1944, there was a horrible bombing. Soviet aircrafts bombed Tallinn and our house burned down as a bomb fell right onto it.
Jews were not separate in Estonia; Jewish houses were mixed with Estonians. It depended on the income of the house as not everybody could afford to own a house in certain districts. The land was more expensive in the downtown area and much cheaper on the outskirts. We were friendly with our neighbors.
Jews were not separate in Estonia; Jewish houses were mixed with Estonians. It depended on the income of the house as not everybody could afford to own a house in certain districts. The land was more expensive in the downtown area and much cheaper on the outskirts. We were friendly with our neighbors.
I don't know how my parents met. I only remember from my mother's tales that my father had wooed her for a long time, but she hesitated for some reason. In the end, they got married.
After getting married both my parents worked. My mother made hats at home and my father was a tailor. They lived modestly, refusing themselves many things. With time they managed to save enough money to open a fabric store. They sold silk and woolen fabric. The store was in the downtown area, located in a thoroughfare and gradually it became prosperous. At first, my mother worked in the store as a cashier. Once the business took off, they hired workers and my mother became a housewife. My father didn't work in the store either, he hired sales assistants. The family was large and my mother had maids.
After getting married both my parents worked. My mother made hats at home and my father was a tailor. They lived modestly, refusing themselves many things. With time they managed to save enough money to open a fabric store. They sold silk and woolen fabric. The store was in the downtown area, located in a thoroughfare and gradually it became prosperous. At first, my mother worked in the store as a cashier. Once the business took off, they hired workers and my mother became a housewife. My father didn't work in the store either, he hired sales assistants. The family was large and my mother had maids.
Jewish families were large at that time and there were twelve children in Grandfather's family. Apart from my father Isaac, born on 16th April 1886, I knew only two of them: his brother Iosif and his sister Vikhne. The family was truly Jewish, which was customary for that time. Jewish traditions were kept: they went to the synagogue, observed the Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. Yiddish was the mother tongue of my father and his siblings. The sons went to cheder. I think they got a secular education as well. My grandparents died long before I was born. I have never seen them, not even in a picture.
From his childhood my father helped my grandfather at work; it was from him that my father learned the profession of a tailor. My father said that before the outbreak of World War I he was drafted into the tsarist army. Even as a child, my father had an ear for music and he was admitted to the regiment orchestra. He played the trumpet and violin. Upon his return from the army, my father got married and my parents settled in Tallinn. Of course, they had a traditional Jewish wedding; it couldn't have been any other way.
From his childhood my father helped my grandfather at work; it was from him that my father learned the profession of a tailor. My father said that before the outbreak of World War I he was drafted into the tsarist army. Even as a child, my father had an ear for music and he was admitted to the regiment orchestra. He played the trumpet and violin. Upon his return from the army, my father got married and my parents settled in Tallinn. Of course, they had a traditional Jewish wedding; it couldn't have been any other way.
When the putsch started in 1991 [49], we were glued to our TV sets and followed the news blow by blow. There were tanks in Moscow. People were shot and killed. Nobody knew the outcome and dreaded to think what would happen next. It ended in the breakup of the USSR. My first reaction to that was boundless surprise. I needed time to get used to the thought that it had really happened. Now we see that it was real. It's good that it happened. Every country should be free, allowed its own political views. The most important thing is to tune the economy. That's why any state should strategically count on its neighbors and the global economy not to go down. It's the most important thing. Estonia succeeds in that.
Of course, it's harder from a material standpoint. Pensions are skimpy and prices are going up. We were promised our pensions would be increased, but if pensions were raised, prices would be increased as well. It's one and the same thing. We're aware that we are living in hard times and our government does its best. Recently I got to know a pleasant piece of news from my community. Our parliament adopted a resolution to increase pensions for those who had been evacuated, as they would be considered having suffered in Stalin's time. I've already submitted all the necessary documents.
Of course, it's harder from a material standpoint. Pensions are skimpy and prices are going up. We were promised our pensions would be increased, but if pensions were raised, prices would be increased as well. It's one and the same thing. We're aware that we are living in hard times and our government does its best. Recently I got to know a pleasant piece of news from my community. Our parliament adopted a resolution to increase pensions for those who had been evacuated, as they would be considered having suffered in Stalin's time. I've already submitted all the necessary documents.
When the General Secretary of the Communist Party, Mikhail Gorbachev [45], declared perestroika [46], I took it skeptically. Then I felt more optimistic when I saw quick changes happen in my country. We obtained the freedoms we had been bereft of since 1917, namely freedom of speech, meetings, demonstrations, press and religion. We really felt that our lives were changing for the better. The Iron Curtain [47], having severed us from the rest of the world for over 70 years, wasn't there any more. It became possible to correspond with people who live in other countries, go abroad, invite relatives and friends from overseas.
Since childhood I have dreamed of visiting Israel. It became possible during perestroika, but I couldn't afford it. Now I can't go there for another reason: my legs hurt and I can barely walk. Thus, this dream has remained unrealized.
The Jewish community of Estonia [48] was one of the first Jewish communities officially founded in the Soviet republics. We had high expectations from Gorbachev and it was sad for us to observe the downfall during perestroika. Things gradually reverted to how they were in the past. Even in my most audacious dreams I would never have imagined the collapse of the Soviet Union. It's the miracle of all miracles!
Since childhood I have dreamed of visiting Israel. It became possible during perestroika, but I couldn't afford it. Now I can't go there for another reason: my legs hurt and I can barely walk. Thus, this dream has remained unrealized.
The Jewish community of Estonia [48] was one of the first Jewish communities officially founded in the Soviet republics. We had high expectations from Gorbachev and it was sad for us to observe the downfall during perestroika. Things gradually reverted to how they were in the past. Even in my most audacious dreams I would never have imagined the collapse of the Soviet Union. It's the miracle of all miracles!
My sons identify themselves as Jews and I thank God for that. Both of them live in Mordu, a small town about 80 kilometers from Tallinn. Both sons and their families come to us on all the Jewish holidays. My sons are very close to me, they love and respect me. They help support me with anything I need, and call me and come to visit.
My husband died in 1988. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn according to Jewish tradition. My sons recited the Kaddish over his grave. Every year on the anniversary of his death they come to Tallinn and go to the cemetery with me. I have lived by myself since my husband's death.
My husband died in 1988. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn according to Jewish tradition. My sons recited the Kaddish over his grave. Every year on the anniversary of his death they come to Tallinn and go to the cemetery with me. I have lived by myself since my husband's death.
The local population disapproved of many actions of the Soviet regime, and was against it in general, but there were no organized attacks. People were too scared that they would fail because any force would seem insignificant in comparison to the Soviet army. Of course some Estonians welcomed the Soviet regime. They were communists. There were a lot of go-getters, who joined the communist part only in order to advance their career. They understood that they would benefit from being a member of the party. They didn't even know to what extent they believed in the party's philosophy.
Stalin died in March 1953. There was no sense of grief, but all of us were very scared. We were afraid of uncertainty. We thought that an even worse tyrant would take his place. Beriya [40] became the successor of Stalin and we were horrified. Beriya was feared even when Stalin was alive. Then there was the twentieth communist party congress [41], where Khrushchev [42] held the speech exposing Stalin's personality. All of us understood that nothing would change for the better while the Soviet Union existed. We couldn't hope for normal life.
Stalin died in March 1953. There was no sense of grief, but all of us were very scared. We were afraid of uncertainty. We thought that an even worse tyrant would take his place. Beriya [40] became the successor of Stalin and we were horrified. Beriya was feared even when Stalin was alive. Then there was the twentieth communist party congress [41], where Khrushchev [42] held the speech exposing Stalin's personality. All of us understood that nothing would change for the better while the Soviet Union existed. We couldn't hope for normal life.
After evacuation we lived in Soviet Estonia, in the Soviet Union. It was strange and unclear to us: totally different laws, customs and way of life. We couldn't correspond with our relatives aboard. Such people became 'peoples' enemies' right away [35]. We weren't allowed to speak Ivrit as we could be blamed for being Zionists or even imprisoned. My husband and his relatives spoke Yiddish mostly, but at work and at school we had to speak Russian. My sons know Yiddish, but they mostly speak Estonian. We couldn't even think of teaching Ivrit, not even Yiddish. We couldn't have dreamed of having Jewish schools.
Though the USSR was called the state of all people who resided there, the regime was intolerant of those who wanted to speak their mother tongue. If a person lived in the USSR and didn't want to speak Russian, he was considered a peoples' enemy. There was a struggle against religion [36], any kind of religion, not only Judaism. People couldn't even tell their friends that they were thinking of leaving for Israel. I knew one person who was imprisoned just for considering leaving for Israel. He stayed in prison for ten years and finally he got a permit for departure. When he left, he wasn't allowed to take any of his things.
Though the USSR was called the state of all people who resided there, the regime was intolerant of those who wanted to speak their mother tongue. If a person lived in the USSR and didn't want to speak Russian, he was considered a peoples' enemy. There was a struggle against religion [36], any kind of religion, not only Judaism. People couldn't even tell their friends that they were thinking of leaving for Israel. I knew one person who was imprisoned just for considering leaving for Israel. He stayed in prison for ten years and finally he got a permit for departure. When he left, he wasn't allowed to take any of his things.
Both of my sons were circumcised. It was mandatory and natural for my husband and I. There was no synagogue in Tallinn at that time. It burned down in 1944. There was a smaller place, a prayer house. The circumcisions were made at our place. We invited a surgeon who did things the way they were supposed to be done.
We kept on observing Jewish traditions at home. Of course, it was hard to do that, but we did our best. Matzah was not sold there. There was no place to buy candles for Chanukkah, and there was no chanukkiyah. We managed somehow. We taught our sons the Jewish traditions, the history of the Jewish people. Our sons knew all about the Jewish holidays and the purpose of each of them. We were not ashamed of being Jews and didn't try to hide it. We also marked Soviet holidays: 1st May, 7th November [33]. They were just additional days off at home. Only the Victory Day, 9th May [34] was a true holiday for us.
We kept on observing Jewish traditions at home. Of course, it was hard to do that, but we did our best. Matzah was not sold there. There was no place to buy candles for Chanukkah, and there was no chanukkiyah. We managed somehow. We taught our sons the Jewish traditions, the history of the Jewish people. Our sons knew all about the Jewish holidays and the purpose of each of them. We were not ashamed of being Jews and didn't try to hide it. We also marked Soviet holidays: 1st May, 7th November [33]. They were just additional days off at home. Only the Victory Day, 9th May [34] was a true holiday for us.
In 1944 we found out that Estonia was liberated from the Germans, but we didn't manage to return home until July 1945. We were supposed to get the permit for re-evacuation in the re-evacuation department of the Council of Ministers of Estonia.
During the war there were a lot of concentration camps in Estonia. There was the notorious Klooga camp in Tallinn [31], by Harku Lake. My husband told me that when the Estonian corps was liberating Estonia, they came to Klooga and saw burning fires made of layers of corpses and logs. They came too late.
Many of our distant and close relatives, about one hundred in total, who remained in Estonia, were exterminated. They each stayed for different reasons: some of them were sick, others thought that they were too old to move, others truly didn't believe that the Germans would murder Jews. I knew that Estonians supported the fascists, but I thought it was because they hated the Soviet regime. Their loved ones were exiled in Siberia, their property was taken, and they were banished to the streets. How could they have loved the Soviet regime? Of course, they thought that the Germans would liberate them from Soviet oppression. Germans treated Estonians pretty well. Communists were definitely persecuted during the German occupation, but common people were treated loyally.
But still, I think that the Holocaust cannot be compared to living in exile. I understand that the latter was terrible, that many people died there as well, but still the difference between exile and the Holocaust is enormous. Jews in concentration camps were leaving on their last trip to the crematorium, holding a small child. They were to face death and they were aware of it. There was no chance for them to be saved. In exile there were inhuman conditions: people died from emaciation and overwork, but still many of them survived. No matter how it might sound, exile turned out to save them.
During the war there were a lot of concentration camps in Estonia. There was the notorious Klooga camp in Tallinn [31], by Harku Lake. My husband told me that when the Estonian corps was liberating Estonia, they came to Klooga and saw burning fires made of layers of corpses and logs. They came too late.
Many of our distant and close relatives, about one hundred in total, who remained in Estonia, were exterminated. They each stayed for different reasons: some of them were sick, others thought that they were too old to move, others truly didn't believe that the Germans would murder Jews. I knew that Estonians supported the fascists, but I thought it was because they hated the Soviet regime. Their loved ones were exiled in Siberia, their property was taken, and they were banished to the streets. How could they have loved the Soviet regime? Of course, they thought that the Germans would liberate them from Soviet oppression. Germans treated Estonians pretty well. Communists were definitely persecuted during the German occupation, but common people were treated loyally.
But still, I think that the Holocaust cannot be compared to living in exile. I understand that the latter was terrible, that many people died there as well, but still the difference between exile and the Holocaust is enormous. Jews in concentration camps were leaving on their last trip to the crematorium, holding a small child. They were to face death and they were aware of it. There was no chance for them to be saved. In exile there were inhuman conditions: people died from emaciation and overwork, but still many of them survived. No matter how it might sound, exile turned out to save them.
On 9th July Samuel came to us. Each of us took a backpack, my brother hired a cab and we went to the station. The five of us went: my parents, my brother Rudolf, my sister Vera and I. David Berkovit?, the son of my father's younger brother Iosif Berkovit?, and Mother's sister Rosa joined us at the station. Their eldest son Samuel went into the army as a volunteer. In 1944 Samuel perished in the battles under Narva. David was 14 in 1941. He was a very gifted boy; he played the violin. He was the student of a great teacher at the Tallinn conservatoire. David took the train with us, but a military convoy took him from the car. He was told that he was an adult and was supposed to dig antitank trenches with the others. David stayed in Tallinn and perished during the occupation. His parents weren't going to leave. They stayed in Tallinn and died in the concentration camp.
We were lucky to get a passenger train; our trip was comfortable. There were trains with open carriages, full of evacuees. We saw a train coming from Riga, where a lady stood on the open carriage with an infant in her hands. It was horrible. The train set off, the pace was slow. We had to let the trains going to the front go first. When we were approaching the bridge across Narva, an air raid started. Our train was being bombed, but antiaircraft weapons which were on the bank, were aiming at the planes. The train was crossing the bridge and I was trembling with fear thinking that the bridge would be crushed and the train would fall into the river. For many years after war I had a recurring dream: the train was going along the bridge and we didn't know whether we made it or not.
We passed the bridge and had the first stop at Mga station. It was burned after a bombing and I heard cries, the lamentations of scattering people. I remember people rushed to the station trying to look for a place where bread was being handed out. It was a brief stop and the train started off pretty soon. It was a long and tiring trip and finally we reached Arsk station, in Tatarstan [1000 km east of Moscow].
We were lucky to get a passenger train; our trip was comfortable. There were trains with open carriages, full of evacuees. We saw a train coming from Riga, where a lady stood on the open carriage with an infant in her hands. It was horrible. The train set off, the pace was slow. We had to let the trains going to the front go first. When we were approaching the bridge across Narva, an air raid started. Our train was being bombed, but antiaircraft weapons which were on the bank, were aiming at the planes. The train was crossing the bridge and I was trembling with fear thinking that the bridge would be crushed and the train would fall into the river. For many years after war I had a recurring dream: the train was going along the bridge and we didn't know whether we made it or not.
We passed the bridge and had the first stop at Mga station. It was burned after a bombing and I heard cries, the lamentations of scattering people. I remember people rushed to the station trying to look for a place where bread was being handed out. It was a brief stop and the train started off pretty soon. It was a long and tiring trip and finally we reached Arsk station, in Tatarstan [1000 km east of Moscow].
Later, when we came back from evacuation, the warden of the Jewish cemetery told us that they had all been taken during the night to the concentration camp Harku [25]. A couple of nights later, two Estonian men brought the corpses of Mary Lurie and little Hersh to the cemetery. Mary couldn't stand the ordeal of the concentration camp and couldn't bear to see the execution of her little son, so she poisoned him and cut her veins. Those wonderful Estonian guys brought their bodies to the Jewish cemetery and asked for them to be buried in accordance with Jewish law. The warden did as she asked, though according to Jewish law, those who commit suicide are not meant to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. But if you think deeper, Mary and her son were murdered by the fascists.
Sarah and her mother were also killed in the Harku concentration camp. My brother Samuel was killed on 10th January 1943 in the battle in the vicinity of Velikiye Luki [a city on the Lovat River in the southern part of Pskov Oblast, Russia]. My mother's brother Leopold didn't want to get evacuated and stayed in Tallinn. He didn't think the Germans would be any worse than the Russians. He died when the Germans occupied Estonia.
Sarah and her mother were also killed in the Harku concentration camp. My brother Samuel was killed on 10th January 1943 in the battle in the vicinity of Velikiye Luki [a city on the Lovat River in the southern part of Pskov Oblast, Russia]. My mother's brother Leopold didn't want to get evacuated and stayed in Tallinn. He didn't think the Germans would be any worse than the Russians. He died when the Germans occupied Estonia.
Ljudevit Blumenberg
I have to admit that as Flora and I are older now we miss our children very much. We are quite alone and it's very hard for us that our children are so far away. However, I wouldn't like for them to return. I'm sure that they don't wish to because they have made good lives for themselves elsewhere. Vlada has a wonderful and very good practice, with four assistants and Miki is also successful.
Serbia