There were cases of Jewish children who went to the Orthodox school, but came to the Neolog high school for their religion classes, or of Jewish girls who went to non-Jewish schools – because Oradea didn’t have a Jewish high school for girls – and who studied religion at the Neologs too.
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Displaying 20131 - 20160 of 50826 results
Miklos Kallos
The Orthodox community had an elementary school and a four-year gymnasium for boys and girls. The Neologs, in their turn, had an elementary school and an eight-year high school. These were secular schools, but they were supported by the Jewish communities.
There were cases of Jewish children who went to the Orthodox school, but came to the Neolog high school for their religion classes, or of Jewish girls who went to non-Jewish schools – because Oradea didn’t have a Jewish high school for girls – and who studied religion at the Neologs too.
There were cases of Jewish children who went to the Orthodox school, but came to the Neolog high school for their religion classes, or of Jewish girls who went to non-Jewish schools – because Oradea didn’t have a Jewish high school for girls – and who studied religion at the Neologs too.
There was this rabbi who was the most powerful not only in Oradea, but almost in the entire country; he was the rabbi from Vijnit, named Vijniter. [In 1915, the Russians invaded Bukovina. One of the localities they occupied was the town of Vijnit, where Rabbi Jisrael Hager shepherded a Hasidic community.
Enjoying the Russian administration’s consent and support, he managed to get, together with 70 companions, to Austria-Hungary, after transiting the Romanian territory. He was allowed to settle in Oradea. (Tereza Mozes, ‘Evreii din Oradea’ – ‘The Jews of Oradea’, Hasefer Publishing House, Bucharest, 1997, p.93)] He had a large synagogue and an entire court, with all sorts of ‘secretaries of state’ who were in charge of the rabbi’s daily concernments.
The building is still there, but I don’t know what it is used for today. All these Hasidic rabbis and their small Hasidic communities had their own prayer houses. There were dozens of such houses. So the Hasidic community was very powerful too.
Enjoying the Russian administration’s consent and support, he managed to get, together with 70 companions, to Austria-Hungary, after transiting the Romanian territory. He was allowed to settle in Oradea. (Tereza Mozes, ‘Evreii din Oradea’ – ‘The Jews of Oradea’, Hasefer Publishing House, Bucharest, 1997, p.93)] He had a large synagogue and an entire court, with all sorts of ‘secretaries of state’ who were in charge of the rabbi’s daily concernments.
The building is still there, but I don’t know what it is used for today. All these Hasidic rabbis and their small Hasidic communities had their own prayer houses. There were dozens of such houses. So the Hasidic community was very powerful too.
There were several Hasidic communities [6]. These were not Orthodox in fact, but a sort of state within a state, so to speak, because they grouped themselves around a rabbi whom they followed as their spiritual leader. In Hebrew, this was called a tzaddik, meaning holy man, righteous man and so on and so forth.
These Hasidic rabbis had different degrees, to say so. ‘The status of the tzaddik depended on how large the Hasidic community was. If it was large and the rabbi was a powerful one, they had a sort of ‘court,’ with ‘ministers’ and ‘secretaries’ and the likes of them.
In order to get to such a rabbi, one would have to go through an entire procedure.
These Hasidic rabbis had different degrees, to say so. ‘The status of the tzaddik depended on how large the Hasidic community was. If it was large and the rabbi was a powerful one, they had a sort of ‘court,’ with ‘ministers’ and ‘secretaries’ and the likes of them.
In order to get to such a rabbi, one would have to go through an entire procedure.
Around the camp were placed the SS barracks and a unit of the Gestapo. The Gestapo regularly followed the political inmates from the camp and sometimes they came looking for someone. This didn’t mean anything good, because they would always seize that inmate and either torture him or kill him.
Then this committee would remove the number from the chest of the one who was wanted and switch it with the number of a newly deceased, thus changing their identities. They would inform the camp’s registration office – ‘Schreibstube,’ they called it – where all the administrative work was done.
Jorge Semprun was also working there. ‘Watch out, that guy is no longer X, but Y,’ and so they would hide the endangered man.
Then this committee would remove the number from the chest of the one who was wanted and switch it with the number of a newly deceased, thus changing their identities. They would inform the camp’s registration office – ‘Schreibstube,’ they called it – where all the administrative work was done.
Jorge Semprun was also working there. ‘Watch out, that guy is no longer X, but Y,’ and so they would hide the endangered man.
This is what happened: I got to a camp called Buchenwald [20], which was subsequently dubbed ‘the red camp,’ because the German Communists, and others, like the French, had an anti-fascist committee there, which dominated the internal life of the camp, so to speak.
The place had been founded in 1936 and had initially served to imprison the German Communists. Like in most camps, the internal control over Buchenwald had been seized by the regular criminals who were doing time there too. They would bully and maltreat the others, just like in the American movies, where every prison has its own ruling gang of inmates.
The SS weren’t comfortable with this situation, because it caused disorder in the camp, and they gradually reached an agreement with the communist groups. The SS would let them control the camp on the inside, provided they accepted to maintain order and to grant them any other request.
For instance, if the SS said they needed 3,000 people for work, they expected to have those people waiting in line the next day. So an internal arrangement was made. I didn’t know there was an anti-fascist committee inside the camp. All I knew was that there were German Communists. I only found out about those other things later.
Everyone wore a number in the camp. Mine was 58,319; my father’s was 58,320. There were also numbers higher than 60,000. If an inmate had the number 12 or 8 or 9, it meant he had been there since 1936, which automatically placed him among the aristocracy of the convicts, so to speak.
These people were the ones who had positions, for inmates had their own positions: head of block, kapo [concentration camp inmate appointed by the SS to be in charge of a work gang] etc. This anti-fascist committee assured order in the camp indeed.
The place had been founded in 1936 and had initially served to imprison the German Communists. Like in most camps, the internal control over Buchenwald had been seized by the regular criminals who were doing time there too. They would bully and maltreat the others, just like in the American movies, where every prison has its own ruling gang of inmates.
The SS weren’t comfortable with this situation, because it caused disorder in the camp, and they gradually reached an agreement with the communist groups. The SS would let them control the camp on the inside, provided they accepted to maintain order and to grant them any other request.
For instance, if the SS said they needed 3,000 people for work, they expected to have those people waiting in line the next day. So an internal arrangement was made. I didn’t know there was an anti-fascist committee inside the camp. All I knew was that there were German Communists. I only found out about those other things later.
Everyone wore a number in the camp. Mine was 58,319; my father’s was 58,320. There were also numbers higher than 60,000. If an inmate had the number 12 or 8 or 9, it meant he had been there since 1936, which automatically placed him among the aristocracy of the convicts, so to speak.
These people were the ones who had positions, for inmates had their own positions: head of block, kapo [concentration camp inmate appointed by the SS to be in charge of a work gang] etc. This anti-fascist committee assured order in the camp indeed.
When we got off the stock-cars [in Auschwitz], women were separated from the men. It was then that I saw my mother for the last time. My father and I went together through the damned routine of the arrival: disinfection, bath, shaving, leaving our clothes, putting on those striped pajamas. We stayed together until September.
The living conditions were very difficult. People had brought as many supplies as they could. There was a sort of kitchen of the ghetto, where one could have some bean soup or something like that. As far as my family is concerned, I couldn’t tell we starved during that period, especially given the fact that we were still at home. We ate separately.
Orders came one after another; Jews had to hand over their radio sets and other things. Eventually, the day came when a decree requested that Jews wear a yellow star on their clothes, as a distinctive mark – on 5th April [1944]. A few weeks later, notices were posted announcing the establishment of the ghettos.
Where they were founded differed from one town to another. The ghetto in Dej, for instance, was set up in a forest, in the open air; the ghetto in Cluj was located in a huge courtyard that was used to dry bricks.
Things were different in Oradea. They picked a quarter that was densely inhabited by Jews and gathered all the Jews from the town there. They surrounded the place with a wooden wall and had the gendarmes guard it. Our family was lucky – if this can be considered luck – because our house and the Community buildings fell within the perimeter of the ghetto, so we weren’t forced to leave our home, like others were.
However, our place, which consisted of two small rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, had to shelter 30 people or so all of a sudden; they were some of those brought from the other parts of the town.
Where they were founded differed from one town to another. The ghetto in Dej, for instance, was set up in a forest, in the open air; the ghetto in Cluj was located in a huge courtyard that was used to dry bricks.
Things were different in Oradea. They picked a quarter that was densely inhabited by Jews and gathered all the Jews from the town there. They surrounded the place with a wooden wall and had the gendarmes guard it. Our family was lucky – if this can be considered luck – because our house and the Community buildings fell within the perimeter of the ghetto, so we weren’t forced to leave our home, like others were.
However, our place, which consisted of two small rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, had to shelter 30 people or so all of a sudden; they were some of those brought from the other parts of the town.
In 1943, two Polish Jews escaped from Auschwitz [17] and filed a report – this report was known, our Council knew about it! Or, at least, some of its top members knew. And many claim that the Council is deeply responsible for not having informed the Jewish population. I have a different opinion: they simply refused to believe it, just like we didn’t believe those Polish Jews who were telling us about Auschwitz at our table.
But there were people who knew and who believed. For instance, there was a Zionist leader in Cluj who negotiated with Eichmann [18] himself through some intermediaries. The deal was that two thousand Jews or so would be allowed to leave for Switzerland to escape deportation.
But there were people who knew and who believed. For instance, there was a Zionist leader in Cluj who negotiated with Eichmann [18] himself through some intermediaries. The deal was that two thousand Jews or so would be allowed to leave for Switzerland to escape deportation.
And this brings me to the case of the Jewish councils [15]. They were founded under the German occupation in order to coordinate things. They passed the requests of the German and Horthyst [named after Horthy] [16] occupation troops to the Jewish population: they had to collect money, blankets, clothes and the likes. So they were in charge with everything that had to do with Jews. It was said – and it was actually acknowledged – that some leaders of these Jewish councils had heard about Auschwitz.
In 1942, 1943 and 1944, some runaway Polish Jews got to Oradea. When a stranger who doesn’t know anyone in town arrives, the custom with Jews is to ask him at the synagogues who he is and to invite him for a Sabbath meal on Friday evening or on Saturday. We had such Polish Jews over for the Friday dinner several times.
They used to tell us about all those horrible things that were happening to the Polish Jews. And we nodded our heads in astonishment, pretended to believe them, but didn’t fully realize what they were saying – it was beyond our comprehension. We never imagined such things would be possible in Transylvania too.
They used to tell us about all those horrible things that were happening to the Polish Jews. And we nodded our heads in astonishment, pretended to believe them, but didn’t fully realize what they were saying – it was beyond our comprehension. We never imagined such things would be possible in Transylvania too.
All the Hungarian youths came to Levente, where they marched, exercised, and sometimes practiced with wood weapons – it was a sort of paramilitary youth organization. But for the Jews, it was forced labor. They called it Levente so that it may be assimilated with the Hungarian youths; but we did forced labor four or five hours a week.
In winter, for instance, they would take us to some barracks, where we had to start the fire, carry the fire wood, clean up the rooms or wipe the floors. They sometimes took us to the army cemetery to look after the graves. In the final period, we only worked at the shooting range that had been established behind the town’s cemetery; we had digging to do. We wore the yellow stripe at that time too.
In winter, for instance, they would take us to some barracks, where we had to start the fire, carry the fire wood, clean up the rooms or wipe the floors. They sometimes took us to the army cemetery to look after the graves. In the final period, we only worked at the shooting range that had been established behind the town’s cemetery; we had digging to do. We wore the yellow stripe at that time too.
We did some sort of forced labor, and we started wearing a yellow stripe as early as 1941, so before 1944, when the yellow star [13] was introduced. Like the elderly who went to complete their chores in forced labor detachments, we went to work with the Levente [14]. This was a youth group that was half or one fourth militarized.
However, there were other things that we knew of that should have triggered our concern; for instance, there were the forced labor detachments for the Jewish men who were sent to Ukraine, where they were abased, maltreated, and even tortured – many of them died. But the ones who had remained in town lived in a state of tranquility.
There were no pogroms and no overt maltreatments. Most of the population could live more or less in peace. And this generated the blind belief that none of the things that had happened in Germany or Poland could happen here.
There were no pogroms and no overt maltreatments. Most of the population could live more or less in peace. And this generated the blind belief that none of the things that had happened in Germany or Poland could happen here.
These laws first struck the professions: physicians, lawyers, literati, artists etc. Then the tradesmen were affected, but they did just fine for a while, thanks to some arrangements they made. They pretended to sell their store to a Christian, whom they paid. The Christian became the official owner, but the real proprietor didn’t really change. So there was the possibility of such arrangements in order to elude the anti-Semitic laws.
Romania
My parents didn’t have any political affiliation. They didn’t talk politics. In general, the issue of anti-Semitism was addressed by the press. The newspaper I’ve already mentioned, Nepunk, reported many of the things that had happened in Germany. But the truth is that we lived in a sort of unawareness, of indifference, or madness.
The unspoken conviction was that all those things were worthy of consideration, but they went on ‘there’ and they could not happen to us ‘here.’ There was this self-delusion. And it was a fact that we did have an anti-Semitic legislation after all.
The unspoken conviction was that all those things were worthy of consideration, but they went on ‘there’ and they could not happen to us ‘here.’ There was this self-delusion. And it was a fact that we did have an anti-Semitic legislation after all.
The high school was like an oasis to us. We were all alike there and didn’t feel the results of anti-Semitism within its confines. These only became apparent outside. In the final two years, 1943 and 1944, we were sort of afraid to leave the place, for thugs from other schools were known to be out there waiting to beat us; one could expect to get shoved around or verbally abused. This phenomenon was a reality. But nothing of the sort went on inside the school, obviously.
The only difference was that it was an exceptional school. It may not have always been like that. But by the time I got to the intermediate and final grades – from the 3rd to the 7th grade of high school – it had truly become an extraordinary school because of the following reason:
mostly after 1940, when harsh anti-Jewish laws were passed, many Jewish scientists and literati were banned from universities and found refuge in our high school, where they were hired as teachers, to the extent to which the school was able to absorb them. So the teaching body was extraordinary. I wouldn’t want to exaggerate, but I really think that at least three quarters of our teachers had a professor’s training.
mostly after 1940, when harsh anti-Jewish laws were passed, many Jewish scientists and literati were banned from universities and found refuge in our high school, where they were hired as teachers, to the extent to which the school was able to absorb them. So the teaching body was extraordinary. I wouldn’t want to exaggerate, but I really think that at least three quarters of our teachers had a professor’s training.
I went to the ‘Dr. Kecskemeti Lipot’ Jewish Neolog High School in Oradea. It was a Jewish school because the students were all Jewish and the teachers were Jewish too, with two or three exceptions. By tradition, the gym teacher was not a Jew, but that changed in the later years. Under the Romanian administration, until 1940, the music teacher had to be Romanian, and this was sometimes true for the teachers of Romanian literature too.
The Jewish touch of the school was that that a prayer was said at the beginning of the first class and at the end of the last class – these were the prayers uttered when one is called to read the Torah, two blessings. So these two prayers replaced the national anthem or anything of the sort.
The Jewish touch of the school was that that a prayer was said at the beginning of the first class and at the end of the last class – these were the prayers uttered when one is called to read the Torah, two blessings. So these two prayers replaced the national anthem or anything of the sort.
I started to go to school when I was six. I studied in Romanian during the elementary school and the first three grades of high school. I didn’t speak Romanian very well. The elementary school was supported by the Neolog Community.
Then the Hungarian Empire came and we had a Hungarian school – it was during the period when I was beginning to open my eyes towards the world, from the age of 14 to the age of 17. I started to write in Hungarian. I’m not saying that I totally forgot how to speak Romanian, because I didn’t; but my Romanian was rather poor – I made mistakes of agreement and spoke with an accent.
Then the Hungarian Empire came and we had a Hungarian school – it was during the period when I was beginning to open my eyes towards the world, from the age of 14 to the age of 17. I started to write in Hungarian. I’m not saying that I totally forgot how to speak Romanian, because I didn’t; but my Romanian was rather poor – I made mistakes of agreement and spoke with an accent.
However, even as I was getting older and became more and more involved in school activities, there was still a sort of rabbi who came by our house on a weekly basis and with whom I studied – and this went on until the deportation. In 1939 I had my bar mitzvah. Any Jewish boy who was religious and went to the synagogue knew what he had to do for the bar mitzvah.
The children of the Orthodox families went to the cheder. The rest depended on the family’s degree of religiousness and on their aspirations. If the parents were very religious, observed all the traditions and wanted their son to become a learned man or a rabbi, the boy was subsequently sent to the yeshivah.
As a child, I went to the cheder myself. This is a Jewish school where the Old Testament is taught, together with the Hebrew letters and a number of prayers. But I didn’t pursue my religious education any further.
As a child, I went to the cheder myself. This is a Jewish school where the Old Testament is taught, together with the Hebrew letters and a number of prayers. But I didn’t pursue my religious education any further.
The Purim of my childhood and of my adolescence consisted of two parts. First, there was the exchange of cakes with the acquaintances and the neighbors. I carried them around on a small plate. There was an entire strategy to this. Those who were known to make better cakes were sent more cakes, so that the number of cakes received in return was equally large; those whose cakes were not that good were sent fewer cakes. I used to carry those cakes, and I was entitled to a tip for that too.
Then we would stay at home and wait for the children dressed up in carnival clothes. From morning till evening, there were all kinds of them coming over; they would recite small poems and sing songs, most of which were rather silly. However, there were some groups who were better at it and who even staged sketches, getting the deserved tip in exchange.
These children and youngsters were Jewish, but I wasn’t among them. I only went over to some acquaintances, told a poem of six to eight lines, got my tip and that was it.
Then we would stay at home and wait for the children dressed up in carnival clothes. From morning till evening, there were all kinds of them coming over; they would recite small poems and sing songs, most of which were rather silly. However, there were some groups who were better at it and who even staged sketches, getting the deserved tip in exchange.
These children and youngsters were Jewish, but I wasn’t among them. I only went over to some acquaintances, told a poem of six to eight lines, got my tip and that was it.
Rachel Averbukh
In addition to my mother, Leibe and Hana had three daughters and two sons. All were born in Dvinsk in what today is Latvia: I know very little about them, but what I know, I will tell you. The eldest, Evsei, was born in 1884, lived in Pskov, and taught drawing at a school. He was an artist, and his wife was the director of a kindergarten.
Evsei fought in the war [1941-1945] as a soldier at the Leningrad front. He died in Pskov in 1970. His sister Berta was born in 1885, lived in Pskov, was a housewife, later she was exiled to the North with her husband for espousing Zionism2 , and died in Karaganda in 1950.
Evsei fought in the war [1941-1945] as a soldier at the Leningrad front. He died in Pskov in 1970. His sister Berta was born in 1885, lived in Pskov, was a housewife, later she was exiled to the North with her husband for espousing Zionism2 , and died in Karaganda in 1950.
Sister Polina [1890s-1960s, Moscow] was an economist. Brother Efim [1894-1957, Leningrad], a trade dealer and salesman, went through the blockade in Leningrad. I do not know which Jewish traditions they followed in their families, but I don’t think they were especially religious. You couldn’t be a religious Jew in the Soviet Union and have no problems.
Mom and Dad liked each other very much. But mother noticed that my father, Meer Averbukh, was not pious. On Saturdays, for example, he walked with a cane. [Using all sorts of devices and instruments – including a walking stick - is prohibited during Sabbath]. So she sent her father to the rabbi, to ask whether she could marry a man who did not observe Sabbath.
Rabbis were very clever people. This one said: Do what you consider the right thing to do, and God will take care of the rest. And this is how it all worked out. Mom and Dad got married in 1912, Mom was 27, father - 29.
Rabbis were very clever people. This one said: Do what you consider the right thing to do, and God will take care of the rest. And this is how it all worked out. Mom and Dad got married in 1912, Mom was 27, father - 29.
I, Rachel Meerovna Averbukh, was born in 1915 in Pskov. I was the sole and favorite child in the family. From childhood I had a teacher from the synagogue in Pskov, who came to our home and taught me to read and write. But he was an elderly man, and I didn’t like those lessons – you see, I was a small girl, 6-7 years old. I wanted to play, not study, and I refused to take those lessons.
I could read and write in Hebrew. And now I still know the letters, but I can only read the printed text, not the written Hebrew. I can speak the language all right, though.
I could read and write in Hebrew. And now I still know the letters, but I can only read the printed text, not the written Hebrew. I can speak the language all right, though.
The population in Pskov was mixed – Jewish families did not live separately from Russian families. The different national groups co-existed quite peacefully.
Daddy had a private workshop in the courtyard where he made leather upper parts for footwear. The workshop was in the courtyard in an extension of the next brick house, with windows facing Arkhangelskaya Street. We lived next door, also in a brick house, in a three-room apartment on the first floor. There was a bedroom, a dining room and a nursery. All the tenants in our building were Jews.